“Pray.”

It was the only word he spoke. At first glance, the man standing before Daimon and Satana Hellstrom appeared to be the Punisher. But his eyes held an inhuman, crimson glow and the sigil on his forehead hummed with ethereal power. The guns he wielded appeared organic and shared the same glow as the sigil.

“Did Daddy dearest convince the world’s greatest psychopath to hunt us down?” asked Satana.

“No, that’s not Frank Castle,” said Hellstorm, rising to his feet. “Look at the sigil. It’s Enochian.”

Satana blinked. “What. The. Fuck. You mean we’re dealing with angel crap, too?”

The Punisher brought his guns forward and opened fire. Satana’s fingers curved and tensed, glowing sigils appearing around her hands and erecting a magical barrier around herself. Hellstorm stood his ground, deflecting the Punisher’s attacks with his trident.

The first volley came to an end and the Punisher tossed the two guns to the side, both vanishing before they even hit the ground. The pentagram on Hellstorm’s chest burned as he studied his opponent.

“Not Castle,” said Hellstorm. “But once, you were part of him. A weapon of Heaven. Until he rejected you.”

The Punisher didn’t give a response. He reached inside his coat and what he drew out this time was a flame-thrower. When Satana saw that, she couldn’t help but laugh.

“You think you’re gonna stop a pair of Hellspawns with fire? You really are a dumb son of a bitch.”

The Punisher just smirked and pulled the trigger. But what emerged from the end of the flame-thrower wasn’t typical fire. These flames were blue and as soon as they were released, they took on a life of their own, going straight for the unholy siblings.

“Holy fire!” screamed Hellstorm as the flames started burning at his flesh. He tried to keep them at bay, but the power of Heaven was too much for a single Hell Lord to combat.

Satana fared far worse. The Black Halo provided her brother with a greater degree of power, but Satana was a simple half-demon succubus. Although her training in the mystic arts was great, she wasn’t at her brother’s level of power. And as one who had walked the dark path more frequently than Daimon, Satana was far more vulnerable to the flames of Heaven.

The Punisher discarded the flame-thrower and walked towards Hellstorm. The Lord of Hell’s skin was lined with flames, burning away the flesh of his body and leaving something that looked like ground beef. The Punisher drew a revolver from his coat and pointed it at Hellstorm’s head.

Before the trigger could be pulled, a blade crashed down on the Punisher’s wrist. The severed hand dropped off and fell to the ground, burning away before it hit. The Punisher recoiled, looking at the stump on his hand. Instead of blood, it emitted a pure, bright light.

Standing between Hellstorm and the Punisher was Eric Payne, holding a broadsword in one hand, the shadow cloak flowing around his body with a sentience of its own.

“Daimon may be an asshole, but he’s our asshole,” said the Devil-Slayer. “So back the fuck off.”

The light coming from the Punisher’s stub took on form and solidified, giving him a new hand. Devil-Slayer charged him, swinging the sword. The Punisher reached both hands into his coat and pulled out a sword of his own to deflect the Devil-Slayer’s. Then, he drew a short-barreled shotgun and fired it into Devil-Slayer at point-blank range.

Payne flew across the room, landing on the bed and rolling over to the other side. The Punisher dropped the sword, replacing it with a grenade launcher. He raised it up and fired.

Devil-Slayer stood at that exact moment, his shadow cloak whipping up to his defense and knocking the grenade right back. It fell at the Punisher’s feet and he looked down at it with a look of surprise.

“Oh shit—” he said just as the grenade went off, engulfing him in holy fire. When it faded, there wasn’t a single trace of the Punisher’s remains, save for the sigil on his head burned into the floorboards.

Satana grunted and coughed, her body badly burned from the holy fire. She crawled over to the sigil and rubbed her finger on it, then sighed. “You have any idea how much it costs to get that shit repaired?”

Eric returned his weapons to the shadow cloak and checked on Hellstorm and Satana. “Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?” asked Hellstorm with a cough. “Holy fire…weakened us. Can’t heal.”

“There’s one way…” muttered Satana, looking up and trying to pull herself to a sitting position. “Your soul.”

“Mine? It’s not exactly in pristine condition,” said Eric.

“Let me drain a little from it, just enough to work a healing spell on Daimon and myself.”

Eric hesitated but then he nodded and pulled down the hood of his cloak. “Fine. But if you take too much…” He drew a ceremonial-looking dagger from the folds of the cape.

“Deal, now come here…”

Eric did as he was told and approached Satana, kneeling down beside her. She reached her hands out, gripping his neck and pulling him down. Satana pressed her charred and burned lips against his. At first, it felt strange and unnatural, but after a moment, Eric found he started to enjoy the kiss. He fell deeper into it. A connection was established between the two of them and then a euphoria came over him.

Hellstorm watched as a glow appeared within the Devil-Slayer, passing through into Satana. As the glow entered her body, it healed her wounds, restoring her flesh. But still, she held on.

“That’s enough, Satana!” barked Hellstorm.

Satana broke the kiss and Eric took a sudden breath, as if he’d been held underwater. Satana frowned at her brother. “You’re no fun.”

She got to her feet and walked over to her brother. Placing her hands on his charred flesh, she uttered a Latin under her breath and her hands started to glow. Hellstorm’s wounds healed in short order until he was restored to normal.

“So, that was…” Devil-Slayer couldn’t take his eyes off Satana. “Interesting.”

“Why was a Heavenly assassin coming after us?” asked Satana. “The fuck have you gotten me mixed up in, Daimon?”

“Not him, the Asura,” said the Devil-Slayer. “They’ve dispatched warriors after the champions of Hell.”

“Champions? I’m nobody’s champion, Slick,” said Satana.

“Hellspawns,” said Daimon. “Products of humans and demons.”

Payne nodded. “Strange says that if they succeed, Heaven will be able to conquer Hell. And that’s apparently apocalyptically bad.”

“Payne, go back to the Sanctum, tell Strange we are fine,” said Hellstorm.

“Uh-uh.” Devil-Slayer shook his head. “What if Heaven sends another of those Punisher things after you?”

“Where we’re headed, they won’t dare follow. I have a theory about what’s happening here,” said Hellstorm. “Just go.”

The Devil-Slayer studied Hellstorm with uncertainty, but finally nodded. “Okay, fine.” As the shadow cloak wrapped itself around his body, he gave one final, parting look at Satana. “Call me?”

The cloak engulfed him and transported the Devil-Slayer back to the Sanctum Sanctorum. Hellstorm picked up his trident and, dismayed at the appearance of his coat, generated a new one out of Hellfire.

“So where are we off to?” asked Satana.

“To kill Marduk Kurios.”

HELL’S ANGELS

Part III

By Dino Pollard

The Grand Canyon

The Hulk emerged from Doctor Strange’s portal to find himself looking into the vast gorge below. He turned his head upward and took a long sniff. Since discovering the supernatural aspects of his creation, the creature who was once Matt Talbot found he could smell magic when it was in the vicinity.

And there it was. A familiar scent. The Hulk turned and, perched on a ridge above him, was a demonic woman with red skin, a tail, horns protruding from her forehead, and was dressed in a flimsy white dress that hung loosely over her body.

“Hey there, stud,” said Mephista. “You don’t call, you don’t write, was beginnin’ to think you forgot about our torrid little love affair.”

The Hulk smirked and jumped, landing on the same ridge as her with a tremble of the earth. He offered his hand and Mephista graciously took it, rising up to her feet. The one-time lovers embraced and shared a deep kiss.

“We gotta get outta here,” said the Hulk once he finished the kiss. “Heaven’s sending warriors after Hell’s heroes, and Strange thinks you’re one of ’em.”

He turned, taking Mephista by the hand. But what the Hulk saw when he turned was a light bursting through the clouds. Descending from the heavens was a beautiful being with massive, white wings stretched out to the side. He was clad in celestial armor lined with glowing sigils and sheathed at his side was a sword with an ornate hilt.

“We are so fucked…” whispered Mephista.

“Leave this place now, Matthew Talbot,” he said. “Or suffer the consequences of disobedience.”

“And her?” asked the Hulk, gesturing in Mephista’s direction.

“Do not concern yourself with this whore of Babylon. Simply leave and you shall be spared.”

“I got a better idea,” said the Hulk, his yellow eyes flashing with the power contained within his crimson body. “How about I break off your wings an’ then find some hot sauce?”

“Insolent beast, you would dare challenge me?”

The Hulk folded his arms over his chest. “Well, we ain’t exactly been introduced yet, have we?”

“I am Zadkiel, an archangel of the Asura.”

“Hulk, please…” pleaded Mephista, tugging on his arm. “You do not wanna fight this guy.”

“Relax, babe.” The Hulk cracked his knuckles and smirked at Zadkiel. “The day I can’t take out some winged pansy is the day I—”

Zadkiel barreled into the Hulk, the force of impact unleashing a massive wave and throwing the crimson behemoth across the rocky terrain. The Hulk crashed right into a mountain and then silence fell over the area.

Zadkiel’s wings carried him over to the ridge, eyes glowing with crimson power. He saw a hole where the Hulk had struck, but no sign of the beast.

Then, the ground rumbled. Cracks stretched out across the rock and the top portion of the small mountain started to rise. Zadkiel could see the Hulk beneath it, raising the ridge above his head. The Hulk let out a war cry and hurled it at the angel.

There came a flash and Zadkiel’s sword was drawn, deflecting the stalactite and obliterating it into a shower of gravel. When the dust settled, the Hulk saw that Zadkiel’s sword had no blade, but a stream of blue fire.

“You wish to challenge the Angel of Vengeance? The Lord of the Black Host? I was a veteran of ancient wars when your species still huddled in caves!”

“Blah, blah, blah,” said Mephista, unleashing blasts of pure hellfire from her eyes.

Zadkiel turned, catching the hellfire on his flaming sword. His holy fire absorbed Mephista’s flames, quickly quenching them as if they were nothing. “Foolish child. A pathetic half-breed like you has no hope against one of the holy assassins.”

“How about me?”

Zadkiel looked up and saw the Hulk descending on him. The Hulk’s fist crashed into Zadkiel’s chest and threw him down into the canyon. Without another word, the Hulk bounded at him. He spotted Zadkiel down in the canyon and oriented his body in the direction of the angel, falling feet-first like a rocket.

The Hulk struck down, his feet burying Zadkiel beneath the ground and creating a massive earthquake that rippled across the canyon. With a massive, red hand, the Hulk grabbed Zadkiel by the neck and raised him up into the air.

“I think we’re done here,” said the Hulk, squeezing.

“Indeed…” Zadkiel rammed his flaming sword into the Hulk’s chest. “We are!”

The Hulk convulsed, his grip on Zadkiel slackening. Yellow blood spilled out from the wound, its radiaoctive properties causing it to sizzle like acid when it struck the rocks. Zadkiel drew the flaming sword out and the Hulk fell to his knees, slumped over.

“The product of magic and science, intended to be the final end of Bruce Banner,” said Zadkiel. “Sorry, ‘Hulk.’ But you failed your mission and now, I bring your purposeless existence to a merciful end.”

Zadkiel raised the flaming sword high and brought it crashing down on the Hulk’s neck. Mephista screamed as she watched Zadkiel decapitate her lover. The Hulk’s body exploded in a burst of yellow light, the magic that helped create him consuming his remains as it was released into the ether.

Sanctum Sanctorum

Doctor Strange screamed, his eyes pure white. The cry echoed throughout his home and it wasn’t long before the door burst open with Valkyrie and Gargoyle rushing in.

“Stephen!” shouted the Gargoyle, rushing to Strange’s side. The orange beast held the Sorcerer Supreme steady, allowing Strange to regain his balance.

“Isaac…” muttered Strange, giving the Gargoyle a weak smile. “Good to see you again, my friend.”

“Likewise, although I wish it were under better circumstances,” said Gargoyle.

“Tania has brought the Ghost Rider and Kyle has returned,” said Valkyrie. “But we have no word on Eric, Daimon, or the Hulk.”

“The Hulk is dead,” said Strange.

“What?” asked Valkyrie. “How?”

“Zadkiel, he has Mephista.” The Cloak of Levitation raised Doctor Strange off the ground and carried him out of the study. Valkyrie and Gargoyle followed the sorcerer down the large staircase and into the lounge.

An odd collection of individuals to be sure. The Ghost Rider stood in the corner, his arms folded across his chest. Starlight was on one of the couches and on the other, Nighthawk sat in his demonic form, knees clutched to his chest and batlike wings wrapped around his body.

“Kyle, John,” said Strange, looking to the new arrivals. “It’s good to see you both again.”

“Watch your familiarity, sorcerer. You address Zarathos, not John Blaze,” said the Ghost Rider.

“I wish I were here under better circumstances, Doc,” said Nighthawk. “Mephisto came to me. Wanted me to give you a message. He said you have to provide a meeting place and that ‘we’ will attend.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” asked Starlight.

Nighthawk shook his head. “I have no idea.”

“Zarathos, do you know anything of this?” asked Valkyrie.

The Ghost Rider turned, the flames practically dancing along his exposed skull. “What I know is an assassin of Heaven attacked me. Powerful. Ancient. Only unleashed in desperate times.”

“I fought her, too,” said Gargoyle. “Val killed her.”

“Did she?” asked the Ghost Rider. “Impressive.”

A tear in space and time appeared in the center of the room and the Devil-Slayer’s cloak unfurled to reveal him standing there. “Hellstorm and Satana are safe, but they said they had something else to deal with.”

“Were you attacked as well?” asked Starlight.

“Yup. By some kind of supernatural version of the Punisher. I blew him up with his own holy grenade.” Devil-Slayer looked around the room. “We’re missing someone, aren’t we?”

“The Hulk has fallen,” said Strange.

“What?” asked Starlight. “What could possibly be powerful enough to bring him down?”

“Zadkiel.”

The Ghost Rider flinched at Strange’s mention of that name. “Zadkiel? Lord of the Black Host?”

“You know him?” asked Nighthawk.

“During the war.”

“Never took you for a soldier,” said Devil-Slayer.

“I speak of the war in Heaven,” said Ghost Rider. “The rebellion led by Lucifer. Zadkiel was one of the Asura’s most accomplished assassins. If he is who we face…”

“There is more to it than that,” said Strange. “Something feels odd about this whole plot.”

“Myself, Christians, Mephista, the Hellstroms…” said the Ghost Rider. “The Asura are targeting those who would be the Knights of Hell?”

“They want to destroy Hell,” said Starlight.

“No, such a thing would never be permitted by the Council…” muttered the Ghost Rider.

“What is this Council you speak of?” asked Valkyrie.

“The Council of Thrones. They rule Heaven much like the Infernal Court rules Hell,” said Strange.

“I thought God was in charge?” asked Devil-Slayer.

“Before the Fall, none I knew had ever seen the face of the Presence,” said the Ghost Rider. “I doubt much has changed.”

“If the Council wouldn’t permit such an act…” muttered Starlight. “Then the Asura are acting alone?”

“Perhaps.” Strange rubbed his goatee. “I think I know what Mephisto’s message meant. He wants a meeting between the Council of Thrones and the Infernal Court. On neutral ground.”

A column of flames appeared and when it faded, Hellstorm and Satana stood there, a smoldering pentagram beneath their feet. What stood before them were the smashed gates leading to a boarding school. The flames had long-since died out, but the scent of burning flesh lingered in the air.

“What the hell is this place?” asked Satana. “Or was?”

“The Northridge School For Boys,” said Hellstorm. “LaVoisin sent the child here.”

They approached the front entrance. The doors had been broken and a simple touch caused them to collapse from the hinges. Hellstorm entered first with Satana by his side. All around them were charred bodies.

Satana knelt down by one of them, holding her hand over it and her eyes glowing. “Daimon, the souls are gone.”

“That tends to happen when a person is killed.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Satana stood and faced her brother. “Their souls were ripped from their bodies.”

The pentagram on Hellstorm’s chest flared to life. He could sense his father’s presence. Hellstorm continued through the halls with Satana following, neither of them paying any attention to the bodies they passed along the way.

Finally, they came to an office with HEADMASTER engraved on the plate. Hellstorm raised his trident and blasted the door in with hellfire. He stepped inside and sitting behind the massive desk was a young boy with features similar to Daimon’s and dressed in a suit with the Northridge crest over his brest. In his hand, he held a smoldering skull.

“This Headmaster, so out of touch,” said the boy, crushing the skull in his small hands. “He said I had ‘anger management issues.’ Can you believe that? All I did was encourage my roommate to give himself an appendectomy. That’s more curiosity than rage.”

“It’s him,” said Hellstorm, his eyes and pentagram flaring up. Satana moved to his side, her hands crackling with hellfire.

“Good to see you again, father,” said Marduk Kurios, staring at Hellstorm. “Or is it son?”

To be continued…