The tires of John Blaze’s motorcycle burst into flames and its shape twisted into chrome, bone-like shapes. Fire surrounded his head, the skin melting until there was only a flaming skull, with glowing embers inside the sockets. He held out his hand and hellfire surged from his open palm, stretching out and forming into a long chain that he took hold of.

The woman before him was dressed in gold armor, fiery red hair and ribbons flowing behind her body. She held a broad sword in one hand, an axe in the other, and her face was adorned with strange red markings.

“Hellspawn,” said the woman called Angela, pointing her sword at the Ghost Rider. “I have killed many of your kind. You too shall suffer beneath my blade!”

“We’ll see about that.” The Ghost Rider revved his motorcycle and it rocketed off towards her, the flaming wheels leaving scorched marks on the road in their wake. He recoiled his arm and threw it forward, snapping the chain like a whip.

Angela ran at him, her sword and axe deflecting the whips. She apparently had no concern for the flaming bike she ran towards. She jumped, planting a foot on the fender and springing forward. She cartwheeled in the air, delivering a two-footed kick that was strong enough to knock the Ghost Rider off his vehicle.

The Spirit of Vengeance flew threw the air and landed hard on the ground, sliding along it. His bike toppled and skidded before coming to a stop on its side. Angela landed gracefully on her feet.

The Ghost Rider rose to his feet and reached behind his back. He drew a double-barreled shotgun from the holster and took aim at the warrior. When he pulled the trigger, both barrels fired bursts of hellfire.

Angela deflected them with her weapons, still walking towards him. The Ghost Rider fired again, but saw the same result. Angela now broke into a run. The Ghost Rider tried to fire a third time but she leapt over the hellfire.

Her ribbons flew at him, snaking around his body and binding his arms and legs. They raised him up into the air and the Ghost Rider struggled against the bonds. Even though they were simply cloth, they seemed strong as adamantium.

Angela slid the axe into the harness on her back and gripped the sword’s hilt with both hands. She pounced at the Ghost Rider, the ribbons also pulling him towards her rapidly. She prepared to thrust the sword through his chest when a bright, blinding light suddenly appeared. Angela was hit by a powerful burst of energy and she was thrown to the ground. With the ribbons no longer binding him, the Ghost Rider fell as well. He looked up to see what had intervened.

A woman dressed in a red and white costume with a giant white star emblazoned over her torso hovered in the night. Her hair was like the flames that surrounded the Ghost Rider’s skull. He stood as the woman lowered to the ground.

“Starlight?” he asked. “What the hell’s going on?”

“Explanations will have to wait, Rider,” said Starlight.

“Sure, right after I take care of her.” The Ghost Rider approached the fallen warrior, who was beginning to rise from the ground. He grabbed her by her hair and pulled her head back. “Let’s see how she feels about my Penance Stare!”

The Penance Stare was one of the most powerful weapons in the Ghost Rider’s arsenal. With it, he could force the guilty to experience all the pain they’ve inflicted on others in one, fell swoop. But when he tried to use it on Angela, she was able to resist it.

She swung her sword, slicing across the Ghost Rider’s chest. He screamed as hellfire poured from the wound. Starlight flew at them, firing a powerful burst of radiation from her palms to separate Angela from them.

“Stephen, we need to get out of here now!” said Starlight, praying that Doctor Strange’s astral form was monitoring the battle.

Sure enough, a portal opened before Starlight. She allowed Ghost Rider to lean on her and the two of them entered the tear in time and space. Angela charged at the portal, but just before she could jump inside it, the Sorcerer Supreme closed it to her.

Angela knelt down on the ground and set her sword down in front of her. She clasped her hands together and closed her eyes in prayer, summoning forth her master. The clouds parted and a bright, beam of light shone down on the Potentate.

An angel descended from the clouds, clad in Heavenly armor and wielding a flaming sword. “Rise, my warrior,” he said.

Angela did as she was told, still keeping her head bowed. “My Lord Zadkiel, the Spirit of Vengeance has escaped. He appears invisible to my sight.”

“And mine as well, which means we have an interloper,” said Zadkiel. “But there is another. In the home of Daimon Hellstrom, the one named Isaac Christians.”

HELL’S ANGELS

Part II

By Dino Pollard

The man who was once Kyle Richmond stood atop Richmond Enterprises. Giant, leathery bat-like wings protruded from his back and his fingers had been transformed into talons. His flesh was red and he had an elongated snout and fang-lined jaw. He still wore the remnants of his blue and yellow costume, but it was mostly in tatters due to his transformed state.

“Ahh Kyle, now this is what I call a Nighthawk.”

The voice was deep and scratchy. Nighthawk knew who was there even before he turned around—even before the voice spoke. He just knew. And there he was—Mephisto, the Lord of Lies, a sickly grin spread across his crimson face, his eyes burning like bright, yellow orbs.

Nighthawk sprung at Mephisto with a demonic screech, his claws stretched out towards his prey. Mephisto simply vanished in a burst of smoke. Nighthawk slashed through the smoke, the scent of sulphur burning his nostrils.

And then he heard Mephisto’s cackle echo all around him. Nighthawk turned round several times, but saw no sight of the powerful demon.

“You did this!” he screamed. “Why?”

“I should think it’s obvious by now.”

Mephisto rematerialized, perched on the edge of the roof.

“Your resurrection, the eyes you were given. Did you think that was the extent of your gift?”

“No, but…I was cured.”

“My gifts are not so easily rescinded, Kyle Richmond. What has happened to you is your evolution. Now you are my Nighthawk, my champion.”

“Champion?” asked Nighthawk. “What the hell makes you think I’ll ever do anything for you?”

“There is a war coming, and I will need the defenders of Hell to take their place at my side. This is the time to accept your destiny.”

“And what if I say no?”

Mephisto chuckled. “Oh, you believe you have a choice. Very cute. You humans and your rebellious nature. I do find it oh so charming. But some things cannot be changed. And besides, all I have is a simple request for you at this time—return to Stephen Strange’s side.”

“You want me to go to the one man who can possibly reverse what you did to me?” asked Nighthawk. “Why? There’s a catch here.”

Mephisto held up his hands. “No catch. Just a simple request. Go to Strange, tell him to provide a meeting place. We shall be in attendance.”

Nighthawk had no idea what the demon was talking about. But before he could press the matter further, Mephisto vanished once more in a burst of flames. Nighthawk’s new wings rose him above Richmond Enterprises and he flew off in the direction of Greenwich Village.

Fire Lake

The Valkyrie stepped through the portal provided by Doctor Strange. She stood in front of a large mansion owned by Daimon Hellstrom, the rain pouring down from the dark clouds in a torrent. As she approached the front door, she heard the sounds of a struggle inside. The Asgardian warrior stepped back and kicked the door, her powerful foot reducing the wood to splinters.

She reached for Dragonfang, the sword that she kept sheathed at her side. Brunnhilde followed the sounds of battle. But then suddenly, the wall burst down, an orange-skinned demon dressed in an odd, purple garmet landing on the ground beside her.

“Isaac!” Valkyrie knelt down by the side of Isaac Christians, the old man who had been transformed into the demonic Gargoyle.

“Brunnhilde?” asked Gargoyle, looking up at the blond-haired goddess. “Oh my. It’s certainly nice to see you, but I’m afraid you’ve come under some unfortunate circumstances.”

“The Potentate?” asked Valkyrie. “It is here?”

“If that is what you call her, then yes, I would say so.”

Valkyrie approached the destroyed wall Gargoyle had come through. Something struck her with enough force to throw her into the staircase. The Gargoyle looked at the source and witnessed Angela stepping into the room.

“For Asgard!” screamed the Valkyrie, jumping right back into the fight. She brought Dragonfang barreling down, but Angela deflected it with her own sword.

The two warrior women stood against each other. Angela struck first, moving with furious vigor. The Valkyrie was able to deflect her sword strikes, thrusting with her own blade whenever she saw the opportunity. Both women were evenly matched in terms of both skill and strength, but Angela had the edge. With the power of Heaven flowing through her, there was little that could stand up to the Potentate.

Her speed increased with each blow, while Valkyrie struggled more and more to keep up. Angela willed her ribbons into the fight as well, and Valkyrie had to retreat to avoid their grasp. She tried to cut into the ribbons with Dragonfang, but found that though they moved like the lightest cloth, they were strong enough to resist the hardest blow.

The Gargoyle joined the fight as well, rising into the air thanks to mystic levitation and maneuvering himself closer. While Angela was distracted by the Valkyrie, the Gargoyle moved behind her and held out his hands. He channeled his bio-mystical energy into his hands, unleashing a powerful force blast that blew Angela directly into the path of the Valkyrie.

Brunnhilde welcomed the approach and she slashed upward with her sword. The blow should have cleaved Angela in two, but instead it only sent her rocketing through the roof of the Fire Lake mansion.

“After her!” shouted Valkyrie.

Gargoyle took hold of Valkyrie’s blue cape and with his mystical levitation, raised the two of them up through the roof. He was cautious as he moved, fearful that Angela would strike at any moment. They emerged onto the roof, their bodies instantly becoming drenched in the downpour.

“I don’t see her,” said Gargoyle. “Did you kill her?”

Valkyrie narrowed her eyes. “Nay. Our foe remains, of this I am certain.”

A thunderclap occurred at the same moment as Angela burst through the roof behind Valkyrie. She raised her axe high above her head and brought it crashing down.

“Brunnhilde!” screamed the Gargoyle.

The Valkyrie jumped to the side to avoid the strike, but she found the shingles on the roof too slick. She struggled to keep her balance, a weakness that Angela took advantage of by coming at her again.

“No!” screamed the Gargoyle, summoning up the limits of his bio-mystical energy. He knew it would weaken him immensely, perhaps even kill him, but he couldn’t stand here and watch as his friend was killed protecting him. He opened his mouth wide and mystic flames shot out, completely engulfing the Potentate.

Even with the power of Heaven at her command, Angela felt the pain caused by the Gargoyle’s attack. Her ribbons quickly wrapped around her, trying to snuff out the mystic fire. When they finally retreated away, her skin was badly burnt all over, with her hair having been reduced to ash. She had trouble standing, but her eyes still pulsated with Heaven’s power. She held the axe, breathing heavily and ready to use it on Isaac.

The Valkyrie wrapped her arm around Angela’s neck and ran Dragonfang right through her back until it emerged from her chest. Lighting flashed and the thunder cried out. The Valkyrie drew her blade from the body and Angela fell to her knees.

The Potentate tried to pull herself up, just enough so she could spit in Valkyrie’s direction. “Your end is near. All who stand with the forces of Hell shall be destroyed in a holy cleansing, the likes of which the universe has never seen!”

The Valkyrie raised Dragonfang and brought it down with one, swift swipe. Angela’s body collapsed, her head rolling off until it fell to the ground below. But only for a moment. After that, the body transformed into energy and flowed right back up to the sky.

“Is she dead?” asked Gargoyle.

Valkyrie shook her head. “I know not, friend Isaac. All I know is that for now, her threat is ended. Which means Heaven will only send another.”

“I-I’m a little nervous…I’ve never done anything like this before…”

The man was in his early twenties. His heart pounded harder as he watched the lithe redhead gyrate on the motel room bed, dressed in a skintight, revealing leather outfit. She reached a hand towards him, long, manicured nails dragging up the outside of his pants. She gripped him by the belt and pulled him towards the bed.

She moved her hands up and down his body, her fingers dancing up his chest and she kissed him fiercely, biting at his lips. Her hands gripped his shirt tightly and she pulled him onto the bed, climbing on top of him and straddling his waist.

“Don’t worry, baby. Just lay back and enjoy the ride.”

The lights in the room flickered before shutting off completely, plunging the motel into total darkness.

The room was lit up as a flaming, inverted pentagram appeared on the floor. A wall of fire rose rapidly from the pentagram and a figure could be seen within the flames. They dissipated, and standing there was a man with a dark-red, leather trench coat with gold trim. The coat was open and his bare chest bore the same inverted pentagram as appeared on the ground. His ears were pointed and his head bald, save for the red goatee. In his hand he held a gold trident.

“Something tells me you won’t enjoy this particular ride,” he said.

“Wh-who the hell are you?” the man asked.

“Hellstorm, the Son of Satan. And I suggest you run while you have the chance.”

“Don’t listen to him, baby. He won’t hurt yo—”

The woman couldn’t finish her sentence. Her prey had already pushed her off him and made a beeline straight for the door. The lights in the motel came back on and the woman sighed, sitting up against the headboard. She gave a few slow, sarcastic claps.

“Bravo, Daimon. Wonderful performance. You just cost me a meal.”

“Satana,” said Hellstorm. “I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important. Our father is back.”

Satana gave a shrug. “So?”

“So I need your help. I can’t face him alone.”

“Seemed to do all right for yourself last time you killed him,” said Satana. “And back then, you weren’t even a Lord of Hell. You’ve got the Black Halo now, what are you so afraid of?”

“He’s grown even more powerful—too powerful, I fear. And it’s all my fault.”

Satana raised her eyebrow and Daimon explained the story to his sister. How he had gone to the witch LaVoisin to procure their father’s true name. And how the price for it was his seed. Which LaVoisin used to give birth to Marduk Kurios.

Once the tale was complete, Satana laughed. “Oh my, Daimon. How operatic. The soap variety, that is. And how deliciously ironic. In order to kill our father, you gave him the means to become far more powerful than ever before.”

“I’m well aware of my failings, I don’t need you to remind me of them!” barked Hellstorm, his eyes burning as he glared at the succubus. “What I need is your help. Now will you join me or not?”

Satana climbed off the bed and approached Hellstorm. She gently caressed his cheek and flashed him a smile. “Oh, my dear, sweet brother. Of course I won’t.” She slapped him hard and approached the door, opening it. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to find someone to eat.”

“You stupid bitch,” said Hellstorm. “He’ll kill you next.”

Satana stopped and shut the door. She turned to her brother. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Kurios knows the danger we both pose to him. Once he’s done with me, he’ll come after you. Alone, we’d be slaughtered. But together, we just mght stand a chance.”

Satana sighed. “You know I fucking despise you, right?”

“Likewise.”

“At least we finally agree on something,” she said. “Okay, Daimon. Patricide sounds like it could be fun. Count me in—”

The door was suddenly blown open, throwing Satana across the room where she struck the wall. Hellstorm went to her side to help her to her feet. The succubus rubbed her head, trying to shake free the cobwebs.

“What the—?”

She gasped as she saw the figure who stepped into the doorway. Ostensibly, he appeared to look like the vigilante called the Punisher, right down to the giant skull on his shirt and even the same facial features. But the guns he held looked strangely organic and glowed with an otherworldly. The same energy burned in his eyes, and in the strange brand on his forehead.

He spoke only one word: “Pray.”

To be continued…