Old Carter's eyes widened in shock, his weathered face tightening as disbelief took hold. "How do you know?" he demanded, his voice edged with suspicion and unease.
Cohen gave a faint, almost amused smile, completely unfazed. "What, no one told you I'm a priest?" he said casually, as if the claim were the most natural thing in the world. He lifted a hand and pointed toward the angel statue standing solemnly in the cemetery. "You're protected by angels, and I'm guided by God."
Old Carter stared at him, clearly struggling to process what he was hearing. Before he could respond, Cohen snapped his fingers sharply, and in an instant, the Avengers closed in, forming a loose circle around the old man. A metallic sound rang out as Wolverine's claws extended with a clean, lethal "clang," catching the dim light.
Johnny Blaze's expression twisted into something conflicted and uneasy. He glanced between Cohen and the old priest, his mind spinning. Was this guy really a superhero, or had he just walked straight into a crime scene? The way things were going, it looked a lot more like they were about to gang up on an old man than save the world.
"Old Carter," Cohen said calmly, his tone steady but firm, "I don't have anything against you. I just don't think you're capable of protecting that contract." He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening. "For the sake of the world, I believe I'm the only one who can make sure it doesn't fall into the hands of a demon."
His voice softened just enough to sound reasonable. "Hand it over, and I promise you—no one here will lay a finger on you."
Old Carter's beard trembled with anger, his jaw tightening as he struggled to contain himself. The tension in the air grew heavier by the second, and just as it seemed like things might erupt, the last trace of sunlight slipped beneath the horizon. Darkness began to settle, and with it came a sudden, biting wind that swept through the cemetery.
"He's here," Cohen said at the exact same moment Old Carter spoke the same words, their voices overlapping in eerie unison.
Johnny blinked, confused. "Who's here?"
Before anyone could answer, a pale-faced man appeared beneath the shadow of a large tree just beyond the cemetery gates. His presence was abrupt, unnatural, like he had stepped out of a different layer of reality. He glanced at the group, a flicker of doubt passing through his eyes, but his attention quickly locked onto Johnny.
"Johnny Blaze," he said coldly, his voice carrying an unsettling calm, "if you want to redeem your woman, bring me the Saint Vanganza Contract."
With that, he vanished as suddenly as he had appeared, leaving nothing but empty air behind.
Johnny froze for a second, then exploded. "You bastard!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the cemetery. "You didn't even say where to meet! How the hell am I supposed to find you?!"
"Relax," Cohen said with a slight frown, clearly unimpressed. "He just came up from Hell. Give him a break—he's probably not great at the whole kidnapping thing yet."
Still, his expression tightened as he thought it through. Roxanne being taken this early wasn't part of the original sequence of events. Blackheart was supposed to act after Johnny had already confronted the wind demon, not before. The timeline had shifted, and that meant his own plan needed to adjust immediately.
Originally, he had intended to secure the contract first, then let Johnny willingly offer up the Spirit of Vengeance, using that to enhance his own power before figuring out how to deal with the contract itself. But now, there was no room for that kind of pacing.
They had to move.
"Old Carter," Cohen said, turning back to him, his tone sharpening again, "tell me something. Why do Mephisto and Blackheart want that contract so badly?"
The old man's lips parted slightly, hesitation flickering across his face. He looked like he wanted to speak but couldn't quite bring himself to do it. Cohen watched him for a second, then shook his head.
"If you keep quiet," he said flatly, "you're basically signing Johnny and his girlfriend's death warrant."
Old Carter shot him a hard look, then let out a long, weary sigh. The resistance in his posture softened just a fraction, and when he finally spoke, his voice carried a heavy weight.
"With that contract," he said slowly, "you can control the thousand evil spirits bound to Saint Vanganza."
Cohen frowned slightly. "A thousand evil spirits? And what exactly does that get you?"
"In the human world, they're just restless souls," Carter explained. "But in Hell, they become a thousand powerful war demons under the command of a Demon Lord." His eyes darkened as he continued. "With that kind of army, Mephisto could expand his territory, invade the human world, and crush his rivals. And if Blackheart gets it…"
He didn't need to finish the sentence for the implication to land.
Cohen nodded slowly, understanding dawning. "No wonder they're so obsessed with it."
Johnny, however, still looked confused. "Wait," he said, frowning, "how can a thousand human souls be that strong?"
Old Carter shook his head, his expression solemn. "It's not just a thousand souls. At its peak, Saint Vanganza had twenty-seven thousand devoted believers."
Cohen's eyes narrowed. "Then why are there only a thousand left?"
"Because the city fell," Carter said quietly.
"What happened?"
For a moment, Old Carter didn't answer. His eyes seemed to drift somewhere far away, caught between memory and fear. When he finally spoke, his voice carried both.
"Back then, Saint Vanganza was a holy place. People came from everywhere to be baptized, to pray, to be closer to God." He paused briefly. "Then one year, a plague broke out. People flooded into the city, seeking refuge."
His expression hardened. "But what they brought with them wasn't just disease. It was deception, violence, greed, jealousy… every kind of sin imaginable."
"The bishop prayed for guidance," Carter continued. "And something answered."
"Mephisto," Cohen cut in quietly.
Carter nodded. "He gave the bishop a so-called oracle. And the bishop believed it."
What followed was madness.
Under the bishop's command, a purge began. People were ordered to kill their own families—wives, daughters, parents, lovers. Trust shattered, sanity broke, and the city spiraled into chaos. By the time the bishop realized what he had done, it was already too late.
"He prayed for forgiveness," Carter said, his voice low. "Three days and three nights. Not for himself—but for the people he had doomed."
"But the corruption was already too deep," he added. "Because there was no plague. There never was."
"It was Mephisto all along."
Cohen frowned slightly. "And God just… did nothing?"
"I don't know," Carter said after a pause. Then, almost reluctantly, he added, "Maybe… He didn't care."
"Didn't care?" Cohen echoed, intrigued rather than offended.
"Didn't care," Carter repeated.
Cohen gestured lightly. "Go on."
"The bishop eventually realized prayer wasn't enough," Carter said. "So he performed a blasphemous ritual."
That was when everything changed.
"God grew angry," Carter said simply.
The group fell silent, the weight of the story pressing down on them. Even Wolverine, who rarely cared about anything beyond the present, spoke up.
"So what do you think about that, Father Cohen?"
Cohen shot him a sharp glare, clearly not appreciating the title.
"God sent an angel," Carter continued. "To see if the city was worth saving."
Cohen exhaled quietly. "See? Not immediate destruction. That's reasonable."
"The angel came in mortal form," Carter said, his tone darkening. "And the moment he arrived… he was captured."
Mephisto had already revealed everything.
The people of the city knew exactly what they had in their hands. Even as a mortal, the angel's body was perfect—his voice, his blood, his presence, all of it carried divine power. And instead of reverence, it inspired greed.
"They wanted more," Carter said.
What followed was something no one spoke of lightly.
The angel screamed, struggled, begged… and was consumed by the very people he had come to judge.
Cohen swallowed, his expression tightening slightly. For once, even he looked unsettled.
"When the angel didn't return," Carter continued, "God sent another. A war angel."
Its mission was simple: find the first angel, and pass judgment on the city.
"But when it arrived," Carter said, his voice hollow, "it couldn't find him."
He let out a grim, humorless laugh. "Because the angel was everywhere. His essence… was in every person."
A heavy silence followed.
"God was furious," Carter said. "And so, He abandoned the city."
Saint Vanganza became something else entirely. A place where demons thrived, where evil spread unchecked, where even Hell itself hesitated to look too closely. Within a month, only a few thousand people remained alive.
And twenty thousand broken souls.
Rejected by Heaven, ignored by Hell, they turned on each other, devouring what was left until only a thousand remained.
A thousand evil spirits.
When Carter finished, no one spoke for a long moment.
Cohen cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yeah… about the priest thing," he muttered. "That was a lie. Fake credentials. I'm not exactly on speaking terms with God."
Wolverine raised a middle finger without hesitation. "Knight of God, my ass."
Cohen grimaced slightly, clearly annoyed. He hadn't expected God to outdo him in sheer brutality before he even had the chance to make his own move.
Carter turned to Johnny then, his expression serious once more. "I know that girl means a lot to you. But the contract cannot fall into their hands. I hope you understand."
"Yeah, yeah," Cohen cut in, waving a hand dismissively. "Not your girlfriend, not your problem, right?" He stepped forward, his tone turning decisive. "Give me the contract and step aside. I'm handling this."
He wasn't bluffing.
Those so-called evil spirits might be intangible, resistant to physical damage—but that didn't mean they were untouchable. Between the two strongest telepaths on the planet and the hellfire abilities he and Johnny possessed, dealing with them wasn't impossible.
This wasn't Hell.
This was Earth.
A few hours later, night had fully fallen.
Cohen and his team arrived at the ruins of Saint Vanganza. The group was larger now—Johnny, Professor Charles, Phoenix, Wolverine, Storm, Cyclops—all present and ready.
The moment they stepped into the city, Charles froze slightly, his expression tightening. "I can feel them," he said quietly. "So many minds… twisted, broken… it's overwhelming."
Wolverine glanced at him sideways. "Thought you said God was supposed to be the good guy."
Charles gave him a confused look.
Cohen shook his head. "Don't ask. I regret hearing that story already."
They moved forward, eventually reaching a half-collapsed structure that looked like it had once been a church. Cohen stepped inside first, his eyes scanning the interior.
A figure stood with his back to them.
Blackheart.
He didn't turn immediately. Instead, he stared at the broken cross ahead of him, his voice calm and almost amused. "I've been waiting for you, Johnny Blaze."
Then he turned, his gaze sweeping over the group, lingering briefly with something like curiosity.
"You really think numbers will save you?" he said lightly. "And… you even brought an old cripple?"
Johnny didn't react to the insult. "Where's Roxanne?" he asked flatly.
"Where's the contract?" Blackheart replied just as calmly.
Johnny pulled out the yellowed parchment, and the moment it appeared, greed flared unmistakably in Blackheart's eyes. With a flick of his hand, he dragged a woman out from behind a pile of rubble.
Roxanne.
"One hand gives, the other takes," Blackheart said.
Johnny glanced at Cohen, who gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Steeling himself, Johnny stepped forward, carefully handing over the contract while pulling Roxanne close the moment she was released. As soon as the exchange was complete, he retreated quickly, putting distance between them.
Blackheart laughed, a wild, triumphant sound as he unfurled the scroll. His voice rose as he began chanting an ancient, twisted incantation.
The moment the words left his mouth, the world around them shifted violently.
....
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