Marvel: The Awakened One

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It was true.

Revenge against Tony Stark.

That had been the driving force behind Wanda and Pietro joining Baron Strucker, the reason they had willingly subjected themselves to the experiments that awakened their powers.

If it hadn’t been for that Stark Industries missile, the Maximoff family wouldn’t have been shattered. They wouldn’t have been orphaned.

So, even now, safely settled in Westview, Wanda and Pietro’s ultimate goal hadn’t changed.

After all…

They were just living in Westview. They weren’t under house arrest.

If Wanda, Pietro, or even Amy wanted to leave, they could.

No permission required. No check-ins necessary.

They could come and go as they pleased.

And most importantly:

Hawk knew they wanted revenge on Tony Stark. And while he had no intention of helping them, he also had no intention of stopping them.

Wanda had asked him about it once.

Hawk had given her a simple answer.

Don’t preach forgiveness to those whose suffering you haven’t endured.

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

Hawk hadn’t let anyone talk him out of his revenge against the Hulk and the Abomination. He certainly wasn’t going to play the hypocrite and tell someone else to let go of theirs.

Wanda and Pietro had never let it go.

But, Saying it was one thing.

Hearing his sister say it, Pietro’s smile stiffened, and he fell silent.

Wanda went upstairs to change into something more comfortable for shopping.

When she came back down…

Pietro, sitting on a barstool, met her eyes.

”Let it go.”

”...What?”

Wanda blinked, staring at him in confusion.

Pietro looked at her—dressed in a cozy, knee-length puffer jacket, thick wool socks, and snow boots. It felt like just yesterday she was that terrified, ash-covered girl crawling out of the rubble, and now, she was this beautiful, powerful woman. He let out a soft laugh, as if a great weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders. ”Let it go, Wanda. You deserve a better life than that.”

Wanda frowned. She knew exactly what he meant.

Pietro smiled. ”If Mom and Dad were here, and they saw you now… saw Jean, and Billy, and Tommy… they’d be so happy.”

Wanda fell silent.

”Pietro…”

”Hey.”

Hearing the tremor in her voice, Pietro slapped his thigh and, with a whoosh, appeared right in front of her. He put his hands on her shoulders, a gentle smile on his face. ”You know, the first time I met Hawk, he said something that really put things in perspective for me. It made me realize that maybe… revenge isn’t the most important thing in the world.”

The corner of Pietro’s mouth turned up.

”When he found out I had a sister, he said that was nice. He said he had a sister, too. And he said that if he could, he would trade every ounce of his power, everything he had, just to have her back, safe and sound.”

”So…”

”Compared to him, I’m the lucky one.”

”As long as you’re doing well, as long as you’re happy and safe, that’s enough for me. But if revenge means sacrificing the happiness you have now? I’m out.”

”…Pietro.”

Wanda looked up, her eyes meeting his.

Just then.

Her phone rang.

Wanda pulled the phone from her large tote bag—packed with baby supplies for the outing. She glanced at the caller ID, then at her brother. She cleared her throat and answered.

”Wanda.”

”Hey, it’s Gwen.”

”Mr. Chloe hasn’t left the house. I’m keeping an eye on him.”

”It’s not about that.”

From the living room of 521A Palm Street, Gwen smiled. ”Is Pietro home?”

Wanda blinked, looking at her brother, who was standing right in front of her.

”He’s here. Why?”

”Perfect. Can you ask him to come by S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters in New York? He knows the place. There’s something we might need his help with.”

”…Okay.”

Wanda agreed, slightly confused but nodding anyway.

Gwen hung up the phone and walked toward the front door with Sharon.

”What are the odds that it’s a match?”

”Hard to say. Friday checked with Jarvis, and the probability is high, but we won’t know for sure until Pietro gets here to confirm.”

Sharon smiled, then glanced at a new message on her phone. ”The S.H.I.E.L.D. satellite feed is live. Let’s go.”

Gwen’s eyes lit up.

”Is Hawk there?”

”He just crossed the Red River. So, yes. He’s in Texas.”

For generations, Americans had known the vast, scorching land east of the Rio Grande, south of the Red River, bordered by the dense forests of Louisiana to the east and the Gulf of Mexico to the south, as Texas.

It was a land rich in minerals and resources.

But the thirty-mile radius surrounding the Flint Monastery was nothing but a desolate, barren wasteland.

Constructed entirely of massive stone blocks, the Flint Monastery stood alone in the scorching desert. Worn down by centuries of erosion, it was now little more than a crumbling, drafty ruin.

Thump!

Hawk landed gracefully, adjusting his cuffs as he took a step forward. In an instant, he bypassed the crumbling exterior and appeared directly inside the main hall of the long-abandoned monastery.

The roof of the hall had long since caved in. Sunlight poured through the gaping holes, a single beam illuminating a stone statue of Jesus.

But it was only half a statue.

Not a bust, but a statue that had been split vertically down the middle. The right half of the figure looked as if it had been sheared off by something distinctly non-human.

And it hadn’t been.

It was Mephisto’s doing. When Mephisto had first descended upon Earth, he had corrupted the ascetic monks of this monastery—just as he had done to the villagers of San Venganza—transforming them into his demonic vanguard. It was from here that he had launched his campaign to drive Yahweh from the mortal plane.

This was Mephisto’s starting point.

And so, logically.

If Heaven wanted to end Mephisto, they had to start here, too.

Hawk glanced at the bisected statue of Jesus. Then, he turned, crossed his legs, and settled into a meditative hover, floating in mid-air, facing the monastery’s entrance.

Go looking for them?

Not a chance.

He was just going to sit here and wait for those two winged freaks and their ’Angel of Death’ to come to him.

If Heaven wanted the Hell Dimension, they had to come through here.

And if they didn’t show up...

That was fine, too. They’d better pray they found a hole deeper than Strucker’s to hide in. Because if he found them...

One-shot.

Hawk closed his eyes. A faint, spectral image of a phoenix projected itself behind him.

Within the shimmering outline of the phoenix lay a vast, infinite cosmos. And within that cosmos, countless stars seemed to be moving at an accelerated pace.

Through the holes in the roof above, the sky over the monastery began to blur.

The sun raced across the sky.

Day turned to night, night turned to day, in a rapid, continuous cycle.

Also moving rapidly were Jack and Allen, the two Blood Angels, who had finally crossed into Texas and were now only three hundred miles from the Flint Monastery.

Soon.

They pulled into a roadside motel and met up with the second half of their team, who had arrived in Texas ahead of them: a dark-skinned priest named Moreau, an Italian woman named Nadya, and a young boy named Danny, who carried himself with a solemnity that belonged nowhere near a six-year-old.

But he wasn’t an ordinary six-year-old.

Ever since he had met Father Moreau, he had understood his true purpose.

Like Jesus, he had been sent into the world with a divine mission.

He was the Angel of Death. He was the key that would unlock the gates for the Lord’s return to Earth.

Father Moreau, his dark face practically glowing with religious ecstasy, greeted Jack and Allen.

As the five of them piled into a borrowed SUV and headed for the Flint Monastery, Moreau looked like a man who believed he was already standing at the gates of Heaven.

The moment Danny was born, Moreau had received a divine revelation.

Find the boy. Guide him. Awaken the Angel of Death. When the deed was done, the Lord would return, and Moreau would be welcomed into His embrace, elevated to an angel who would forever bask in His presence.

And now, the Flint Monastery was within reach.

How could he not be ecstatic?

But just as the sun began to set on the 11th, as the SUV crossed the thirty-mile threshold of the Flint Monastery, Jack—who had spent enough years on Earth to become a proficient driver—suddenly slammed on the brakes.

The SUV skidded to a halt on the gravel road.

In the passenger seat, Allen, a burly man with a thick chest and a mop of messy, fiery red hair, narrowed his eyes sharply.

In the backseat, Moreau braced himself to keep from flying forward. He protectively clutched Nadya—the woman destined to become the ’Mother of the Angel of Death’ once Danny awakened.

”What’s wrong?” Moreau asked.

”Someone’s here.”

”It’s him.”

Jack, whose silver-gray hair was slicked back, giving him the appearance of a classic London gentleman, stared out the windshield. His pupils contracted into feline slits, piercing the distance. He locked onto the figure thirty miles away, sitting cross-legged and hovering in the Flint Monastery, wearing a golden faceplate. He spat out the name like a curse.

”Hawk Phoenix!”

Allen’s expression hardened.

But the next second.

He laughed.

”He actually showed up.”

”What a pity...”

”The will of the Lord is not something he can withstand.”

As Allen spoke, figures began to emerge from the surrounding desert. They were Blood Angels, the thralls Jack and Allen had turned and slowly gathered here over the past twenty years, waiting in the shadows for this exact moment.

They were clad in black monastic robes, their faces hidden in the deep shadows of their cowls.

Hundreds of them. Then thousands.

A sea of black robes, stretching across the desert as far as the eye could see.

They had crossed timelines. They had waited in the dark for two decades, all to ensure the Lord’s return. They were prepared for anything.

Tonight, no one would stop the Lord’s descent.

Especially since...

They had brought a special weapon, a trump card designed specifically to deal with any powerful obstacles that might try to block the Lord’s path.

In a word:

Tonight, anyone who stood in their way would die!

So—

”Drive!”

”Let us deliver this heretic to his final judgment.”

”And then—”

”We welcome the Lord!”

VROOOOOM!!!

The SUV’s engine roared back to life, tires kicking up gravel as it tore down the road, speeding toward the Flint Monastery.

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