Marvel: The Enlightened One#148+149: Christmas Break, Heading to the Mountain, Phoenix and the Himalayas

Blackheart's pupils dilated in slow motion, his hand still reaching for the contract.

Time seemed to freeze.

The finger pressing toward his forehead moved with a glacial slowness that made his heart seize—yet it struck with the speed of lightning.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

Space itself warped. An ominous purple-black flame erupted at Hawk's fingertip—fire without heat, flames born from pure resentment and terror given form. The flickering shadows traced the outline of a phoenix's wing, silent yet radiating a suffocating pressure that promised annihilation.

The next second—

Hawk's finger touched Blackheart's forehead.

CRASH!

Blackheart's body went rigid, every muscle locking up like a plank of wood. His pupils constricted violently, lost focus, then dilated completely.

Phoenix Illusion Demon Fist...

The Phoenix constellation's signature technique.

It wasn't a physical attack—it was a psychic assault. The user's Cosmo surged directly into the target's mind, forcibly dragging forth their deepest, most primal fears and trapping them in a nightmare of their own making.

Those struck by this technique had two choices: drown in their terror, or shatter the illusion through sheer will and emerge stronger than before.

Blackheart was clearly not the latter.

Hawk watched as the Demon's body locked up, a cold smile tugging at his lips. The Bronze Phoenix Armor that had just materialized around him dissolved, reforming into the shape of a phoenix before vanishing back into his Cosmo.

This armor was a backup—forged from the first batch of Vibranium, meteorites, and Gammanium he'd collected.

Backup, because it was functionally obsolete.

It looked like a Gold Cloth, all brilliant and golden, but that was just the natural color of Vibranium. Underneath the shine, it was still just a Bronze-tier Saint Armor.

To put it bluntly—

If he went all out and burned his Cosmo at full power, the armor would crack.

And he had no interest in making a Silver Cloth. He'd already decided his next step.

A true Gold Phoenix Cloth.

Better yet—

A Phoenix Surplice.

The Underworld Armor.

.....

In the Saint Seiya Universe, the Gold Cloths weren't the only high-tier armors. The Underworld Saints—servants of Hades—wore Surplices that rivaled the Gold Cloths in power.

And compared to the complex material requirements of a Gold Cloth, forging a Surplice required only one thing:

Underworld Gemstones.

That was why, when Gwen had asked him how he planned to deal with Mephisto, he'd answered so confidently: "Simple. I'll just build my own Underworld."

A Gold Cloth, even if he could forge one now, would be useless. He wasn't strong enough to wear it yet.

But a Phoenix Surplice? That was doable.

He had the Aether. He had the four foundational elements. And now, he had the laws of life and death.

Right here. Right in front of him.

.....

Hawk lowered his hand and looked at Blackheart, whose eyes were wide and unfocused, lost in the nightmare of his own terror. He shrugged.

"Sorry."

"A demon’s a demon."

"I can’t trust Mephisto, and I can’t trust you."

"So..."

"I'll do this myself."

The moment the words left his mouth, a wisp of Phoenix Fire ignited at Blackheart's feet. In an instant, it engulfed him completely.

Blackheart didn't scream. He didn't resist. His consciousness was still trapped within the Illusion Demon Fist, drowning in his deepest fears.

But the flames didn't care.

One breath.

Instant refinement.

Hawk extended his right hand. The Phoenix Fire coiled around his palm, and there, resting in his grasp, was a glowing fragment—a shard of the laws of life and death, freshly extracted from Blackheart's essence.

It was only a fragment.

Blackheart didn't truly possess the authority over life and death. He'd inherited it through bloodline, not through power. It was a birthright, not a conquest.

But for Hawk, it was enough.

With this fragment, he could construct his own Underworld ahead of schedule—before his Cosmo fully manifested into a parallel universe.

Incomplete laws? No problem.

Once his Cosmo materialized, he wouldn't just gain mastery over life and death. He'd claim every divine authority that existed within his universe.

Just like Odin, the All-Father of the World Tree.

Odin wasn't just the God of War. He was the God of Prophecy, the God of Kings, the God of Wisdom, the God of Healing, Magic, and Poetry.

That was why he was called the Father of the Gods. He was a god. And a god-king. The King of Gods. The Father of Heaven.

When Hawk's Cosmo manifested, he'd be the same.

Actually, he'd be stronger.

Because the World Tree wasn't created by Odin. But the universe Hawk would create? That would be his and his alone.

All power would flow from him. All authority would rest in his hands.

Was there anything wrong with that logic?

Nope.

Of course, that was all in the future.

For now...

Hawk watched as the fragment of the life-death laws merged with the core of his forming Underworld. He took a deep breath.

'First things first. Figure out how to borrow the Time Stone from the Sorcerer Supreme and speed up the construction process.'

He already had a plan forming in his mind.

Whether the Ancient One would agree to it... well, that remained to be seen.

.....

Half an hour later.

Hawk knocked on Carter Slade's door again.

The old Ghost Rider opened it cautiously, his eyes widening when he saw Hawk standing there, perfectly calm.

Hawk smiled. "Just wanted to let you know, in the spirit of a fair trade—Blackheart has been dealt with. You can rest easy."

Carter stared at him in disbelief.

"Already?"

"Was it supposed to take longer?" Hawk raised an eyebrow. "He's a demon. How long did you think it would take?"

His current power was on par with Thor's. And Blackheart? Sure, he was the son of Mephisto, Lord of Hell. But strip away the title, and what was left?

A dimensional demon with a fragment of the life-death laws.

That was it.

Hawk had caught him off guard with the Illusion Demon Fist. But even in a straight fight, Blackheart wouldn't have lasted more than fifty moves. Any longer than that, and it wouldn't be Blackheart getting stronger—it would be Hawk holding back.

And dragging out a fight like that would've been pointless. It wouldn't have been satisfying. It would've just felt like cheap filler.

Most importantly, It was only 8 PM.

If he hurried, he could still catch the last flight back to New York tonight.

He'd promised Mephisto he'd deal with Blackheart. And he had.

The old demon probably didn't expect him to move this fast. Afternoon landing in Texas, evening execution of his son.

Heh.

Mephisto's backup plan probably hadn't even been activated yet.

But that wasn't his problem.

That was Mephisto being too slow.

Hawk felt a small, vindictive satisfaction as he watched Carter Slade hurriedly mount his horse and ride off into the night, fleeing before anyone—or anything—else showed up.

Once the old Ghost Rider was out of sight, Hawk pulled out his phone and called Sharon.

"Hey."

"I'm done here. Heading back to New York."

"Wait, what??" Sharon's voice was incredulous. "You just got here this afternoon!"

Hawk chuckled. "Yeah, well. Everything I needed to do lined up perfectly. And it's Christmas break. I'm not leaving my fiancée alone in New York while I'm stuck in Texas."

Leaving Gwen by herself during the holidays, especially after they'd just gotten engaged?

That would be a disaster. And if a certain overprotective NYPD captain found out...

Hawk would never hear the end of it. This was their first Christmas together as an engaged couple. It mattered.

After hanging up with Sharon, Hawk looked up at the night sky. He didn't bother heading to the airport.

WHOOSH!

The spectral form of the Phoenix blazed to life behind him. The Bronze Armor snapped into place, and with a sound like thunder, he shot into the sky, his speed breaking Mach 500 as he streaked toward New York like a crimson comet.

He was curious what kind of surprise Mephisto had prepared for him in Texas. But right now he was homesick.

More importantly, what goes around, comes around.

Mephisto might've had a surprise waiting for him. But Hawk had just finished gathering the materials for his own little gift.

He just needed time to wrap it.

And so, he would go back, prepare his gift for Mephisto, and then…

Hawk was sure that while he might not be surprised by whatever Mephisto had planned, Mephisto would be very, very surprised by what he had in store for him.

<><><><><><><><>

Just as Hawk launched himself into the sky and streaked toward New York like a comet—

VROOM!

The sound of hellish laughter echoed across the Texas wasteland. A motorcycle roared to a stop exactly where Hawk had been standing moments before, its tires wreathed in ghostly flame.

The Ghost Rider.

His flaming skull turned, following the faint traces of Cosmo energy still lingering in the air. Slowly, his burning gaze lifted toward the distant horizon—toward New York City.

For a long moment, the flames in his empty eye sockets flickered.

Stuttered.

Almost like the visual equivalent of a system error.

His skull tilted slightly to one side.

Wait.

Where'd he go?

The twin points of hellfire in his sockets flared, dimmed, then flared again, as if his undead brain was struggling to process what had just happened.

Then—

VROOOOM!

The Ghost Rider twisted the throttle. Hard. The engine screamed, and with another burst of cackling laughter, he tore off down the road, leaving a blazing trail in his wake as he gunned it toward New York.

.....

By the time the Ghost Rider had barely covered fifty miles...

Hawk was already home.

THUD.

Gwen, who had been curled up on the couch in front of the fireplace, dressed in soft loungewear and quietly reading a book, looked up at the sound from the backyard.

The next second, a smile spread across her face. She set the book aside, barefoot, and ran to meet him.

She threw her arms around Hawk the moment he stepped through the door.

Her voice was bright, curious.

"You're back already? That was fast."

"Finished what I needed to do." Hawk wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she clung to him like a koala. He shut the sliding glass door behind them and walked back into the warmth of the living room. "And I missed you. Figured I'd come back early."

Gwen settled back onto the couch, blinking up at him as he sat beside her.

"Finished? Everything?"

"Yep."

"Did Mephisto try anything?"

"No idea."

Hawk smiled faintly, meeting her gaze. "Clearly, I was too fast and he was too slow. But I'm pretty sure the old bastard had something planned."

Blackheart's confession had confirmed one thing—

Mephisto didn't tell the truth. Ever.

The whole story about Hela and the threat from the Norse underworld? Complete bullshit.

Blackheart had acted out purely because he didn't want to be the eternal heir apparent. He'd teamed up with the Elemental Demons to stage his own coup and build a new Hell.

And Mephisto, in order to lure Hawk to Texas, had dragged Hela—the Goddess of Death from an entirely different universe—into his story.

Good God.

Wasn't he worried that when Hela eventually broke free, she'd hear about this slander and come for him first, before she even bothered with Asgard?

Hawk shook his head, bringing his focus back to the present. He looked at Gwen, who'd just elbowed him lightly, clearly waiting for him to continue.

He smiled and gave her the short version—how Mephisto had spun a tale involving Hela to trick him into going to Texas, and how he'd wrapped everything up so fast that Mephisto's trap hadn't even had time to spring.

When he finished, Gwen's expression was frozen somewhere between stunned and incredulous.

She genuinely didn't know whether to be impressed by Hawk's efficiency or feel sorry for Mephisto's terrible timing.

But one thing was clear.

"So Mephisto didn't manage to hurt you." Gwen's eyes dropped to his shirt. "But you're wearing another S.H.I.E.L.D. shirt."

There were already two of those shirts in the house.

One from Africa.

One from London.

And now, a third.

Gwen's lips quirked into a teasing smile. "At this rate, if you keep going on trips, I won't need to buy you any more clothes. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s got you covered."

She had to admit, though—the quality was solid. She'd even been thinking about asking Sharon if S.H.I.E.L.D. made women's shirts. If they did, she'd get one to match Hawk's—Couples' shirts.

Hawk glanced down at the shirt and chuckled.

"I ran into Sharon on the plane to Texas."

"Sharon?" Gwen blinked. "She was worried about you and followed you there?"

Hawk shook his head.

"No. She was on vacation. Said she wanted to see some motorcycle stunt show..."

"Johnny Blaze?"

Before Hawk could finish, Gwen had already filled in the blank.

Hawk raised an eyebrow.

Gwen grinned, grabbed her phone, and pulled up the group chat from Midtown High. "Look. People were just talking about it in the group. A bunch of our classmates went to Texas to see Johnny Blaze's show. But this afternoon, he suddenly cancelled. No one knows when it's getting rescheduled."

Cancelled this afternoon??

Hawk's brow lifted slightly.

So...

Mephisto's trap really was the Ghost Rider. But what the hell was the old demon thinking?

Sure, the Spirit of Vengeance was a terrifyingly powerful entity. And yeah, the Penance Stare was no joke—Hawk wasn't confident he could withstand it if he looked the Rider in the eyes.

But the solution was simple.

Just don't look at him.

Hell, he could shut off his sense of sight entirely if he had to. And without that, could the Ghost Rider even last ten moves against him?

Hawk seriously doubted it.

Still—

The pieces fit.

He now knew what Mephisto's "surprise" had been: the Ghost Rider, whose moves Hawk had already anticipated and planned around.

But his own gift for Mephisto?

That wasn't ready yet.

Hawk filed the thought away and refocused on Gwen, who was sitting cross-legged on the couch, leaning against his shoulder. He smiled.

"How about we go climb a mountain tomorrow?"

Gwen turned her head, curiosity written all over her face.

"A mountain?"

"Yeah."

"..."

Gwen shifted from leaning on his shoulder to sitting upright, facing him fully, her expression equal parts intrigued and confused. "Why the sudden urge to climb a mountain? We don't have that many days left in the break. And don't forget—once it's over, we need to go to City Hall and finalize your name change. Dad already talked to his friend there."

....

Hawk did have a surname:

St. Paul.

Both he and Anya were registered under that name in the city records. It had been given to them because they'd been found on the steps of St. Paul's Cathedral, and since there were no hospital records, the system had assigned them the church's name as their last name.

It was standard procedure for orphans with no family history.

In the U.S, having only a first name wasn't legally acceptable. You needed a surname. It was required.

But "St. Paul" wasn't an official surname. It was a placeholder. And because of that, Hawk had never used it. When people asked, he just said his name was Hawk.

He'd never thought much about it.

But now, things were different.

He was eighteen. Almost nineteen. And according to New York State law, once you turned eighteen, you could go to City Hall and either formalize your temporary surname or change it to something new.

Of course, if you were fine with the placeholder name, you could just sign a form and make it official.

Hawk had actually been fine with "St. Paul." It wasn't bad. And honestly, he hadn't wanted to deal with the hassle of going to City Hall.

But Gwen felt strongly about it.

She'd told him that "St. Paul" marked where he'd come from. But now, he needed a surname that would carry him forward—a name that was truly his own.

Hawk had thought about it and agreed.

So—

Gwen had asked her father for help. George had reached out to a friend at City Hall, who'd agreed to handle the paperwork on the first business day after the holiday break.

Then, Gwen and Hawk had spent an entire afternoon narrowing down five potential surnames to one final choice.

Gwen had insisted on being part of the decision. Her reasoning was sound.

Once they got married, she'd be taking his last name. So she had a vested interest in making sure it was a good one.

Compared to Hawk, who was pretty chill about the whole thing, Gwen had been extremely invested.

And after careful deliberation, one name had risen to the top.

Phoenix.

It was a direct reference to the mythological creature. And from a certain perspective, it was a perfect representation of the source of Hawk's power.

Hawk liked it.

It was simple. Clear. And it sounded good.

.....

Hearing Gwen bring up the name change now, Hawk smiled.

"Don't worry. We'll go to the mountain, come back, and still have time for City Hall."

The surname could wait.

Visiting the Sorcerer Supreme couldn't.

Because without the Ancient One's help, the surprise he was preparing for Mephisto would never be ready.

Most importantly, he now had the leverage he needed to negotiate with Mephisto.

The Contract of San Venganza.

Sealed within it were over a thousand corrupted souls—fallen saints whose power rivaled a hundred ordinary souls each. That contract would be his bargaining chip when the time came to reclaim Anya's soul.

But having a chip didn't mean he had a seat at the table.

Even Thor, if he went to Hell right now, could be trapped there forever if he wasn't careful. Mephisto's domain was no joke.

That was why Hawk wanted to awaken the Eighth Sense—to gain the ability to walk freely between life and death.

But the Underworld he was building offered him a shortcut. A way to sit at the table and negotiate on equal footing before he reached the Eighth Sense.

So...

This was way more urgent than a name change.

Gwen looked at him, saw the seriousness in his expression, and didn't press for details. She just thought for a moment.

"Okay. When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow."

"That soon? Which mountain?"

"The big one."

"The Himalayas?"

"Kamar-Taj!!!"

"..."