Marvel: The Awakened One

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The site where the Flint Monastery once stood was now nothing but a smooth expanse of glass and sand.

But its destruction meant nothing to the awakening of the Angel of Death.

The monastery had merely been a marker, a physical landmark denoting the exact coordinates where the Hell Dimension had first anchored itself to Earth.

The building was gone, but the coordinates remained.

As long as the Angel of Death was at these coordinates at the appointed time, the awakening would proceed, monastery or no monastery.

There was just one problem…

The Angel of Death, currently occupying the body of a seemingly six or seven-year-old boy, had arrived at the coordinates. The appointed time was fast approaching.

But he was putting up a fight.

He thrashed violently against his invisible restraints, desperately trying to break free from the telekinetic prison Hawk had placed him in.

Hawk found this resistance a bit puzzling.

He looked at the struggling boy, his voice perfectly calm.

”You came here to awaken. I’m letting you awaken. So, what’s the problem? Having second thoughts?”

”Heretic!”

The Angel of Death glared at Hawk with pure, unadulterated hatred. ”I will never let your evil scheme succeed!”

He did want to awaken.

But not like this.

His awakening was supposed to be glorious. He was supposed to awaken surrounded by his army of skeletal Blood Angels. He was supposed to act as the beacon, guiding the Lord’s descent. And then, he was supposed to lead the charge into Hell, reclaiming the Lord’s dominion over Earth.

But now?

This heretic wanted him to awaken, yes. But only to use him as a homing beacon to lure the Lord into a trap, a preemptive strike against the Heaven Dimension.

So—

”I would rather die than submit!”

The Angel of Death roared. He raised his small hands, grabbing his own head, preparing to violently snap his own neck.

The next second.

He froze.

Every muscle, every joint, was locked in place by an overwhelming telekinetic force.

Hawk scoffed.

”Die?”

”Don’t worry.”

”You’re going to.”

Using his telekinesis, Hawk manipulated the boy’s rigid limbs, forcing him into a cross-legged, meditative posture, like a marionette being posed by a master. He met the boy’s eyes, which were now wide with a mixture of shock and sheer terror, and spoke in a chilling, conversational tone.

”As soon as you awaken and summon that old bastard Yahweh and his little clubhouse down here... you’re going to die. I guarantee it.”

Completely immobilized, able to move only his lips, the Angel of Death’s voice was hoarse and desperate.

”You’re dreaming, Heretic. I will never allow my Lord to walk into your trap.”

”Heh. That’s not up to you.”

Hawk stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking down at the defiant little angel. ”The awakening is automatic. Your signal to Yahweh is automatic. So, you are going to be my beacon. You are going to be the guide that leads the Heaven Dimension to its destruction. You don’t get a vote.”

Hawk never went into battle unprepared.

Back at the tavern in Hell, he had grilled Mephisto for every detail regarding the Angel of Death.

The awakening process was hardwired. As long as the Angel was at the correct coordinates at the correct time, the awakening would trigger automatically. No one could stop it.

Furthermore.

To ensure immediate reinforcement, Yahweh had hardwired the distress signal as well.

The exact moment the Angel of Death awakened, the resulting burst of energy would instantly alert the Heaven Dimension. Using that energy signature as a tether, Heaven could expend a massive amount of its own power to instantaneously transport itself across time and space, appearing directly above the planet where the Angel had awakened.

So!

All Hawk had to do was clear the board before the appointed time, secure the Angel of Death, and wait.

”We’re close.”

”One hour left.”

”You could do me a favor. Awaken right now. Summon that old bastard Yahweh early. Do that, and I’ll give you a quick, painless death.”

Hawk smiled pleasantly at the frozen boy. ”Or, we can wait an hour. You’ll awaken automatically anyway. It’s a built-in mechanism, you can’t stop it. But if you make me sit out here for an hour... I promise you, you’ll die exactly like those two winged freaks. And when you do, your soul will belong to me, and I will ensure your punishment is eternal.”

Looking at Hawk’s genial smile, the Angel of Death felt a spike of pure, primal ice shoot up his spine, straight to his brain.

But…

While fear is a biological instinct, faith is the anthem of the angels!

The Angel of Death swallowed his terror, glaring at Hawk, his voice dripping with venom.

”In. Your. Dreams.”

”Fine.”

Hawk nodded, chuckling softly. He didn’t even give the boy a second glance. He turned, and as he did, his form seemed to melt into the air itself, vanishing without a trace.

The Angel of Death remained frozen in his forced meditative pose.

Under the silent night sky, amidst the desolate desert, the solitary boy rolled his eyes frantically, searching the darkness for any sign of Hawk.

But Hawk was gone.

In reality—

Hawk was sitting cross-legged just a short distance away.

If the kid didn’t want to cooperate, whatever. His fate was sealed either way. Why waste the breath?

Hawk shifted his consciousness inward, opening his inner eyes to gaze upon his own timeline.

If his previous manipulation had felt like reeling in a line, this felt like holding a perfectly smooth, flawless sphere of time, entirely within his grasp.

With Jack and Allen dead, the mental blockage had vanished. His mind was clear, his thoughts perfectly aligned. Even without testing it, Hawk knew with absolute certainty that his speed could now shatter the light barrier.

But…

As he observed his timeline with this newfound clarity, a sensation washed over him from the ’future’ section of the line. It was an incredibly potent, almost hypnotic temptation.

It was far stronger than anything he had felt before.

Amidst the shimmering brilliance of his future timeline, a profound, indescribable feeling welled up within him—a feeling that if he didn’t look, if he didn’t peek into the future right now, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

It was an overwhelming urge to just shift his gaze.

Hawk almost gave in. His eyes began to drift toward the shimmering future.

But at the absolute last microsecond, the Mind Stone—acting as the Eye of the Phoenix—pulsed, and his own deeply ingrained sense of caution flared. He slammed his inner eyes shut.

The next moment.

Without hesitation, Hawk buried his timeline deep within the spectral core of his Phoenix Universe, transforming it back into a faint, glittering river of stars that spanned his inner cosmos.

He opened his inner eyes again, looking at the concealed timeline. The past was fixed and solid, but the future... the future was shimmering, almost as if it were alive. His brow furrowed, his eyes flashing with a deep, newfound wariness of Time itself.

There was only one explanation.

In that moment, Hawk had felt an undeniable, palpable malice radiating from Time.

Yes.

Malice.

The temptation had been sweet, but at the very end, beneath the allure, Hawk had sensed a cold, calculating intent.

It felt as if Time needed him to look. As if it were trying to force his hand.

If it hadn’t been for the Mind Stone, and his own ironclad self-control, he probably would have fallen for it. And in doing so, he would have locked himself into whatever future Time had arranged for him, turning a possibility into an inescapable certainty.

Hiss.

Come to think of it…

When Odin and the Ancient One peered into the future… maybe they didn’t do it because they wanted to. Maybe they fell for this exact same trap, seduced by an overwhelming, indescribable temptation.

But why? What does Time want?

Hawk opened his physical eyes, his mind racing as he pondered the origins of Time’s sudden hostility.

Whatever.

The Ancient One hadn’t retired yet. He’d go ask her once he was done here.

Operating on the principle of ’use your resources while you have them,’ Hawk pushed the cosmic dilemma aside. He elevated his wariness of Time to the absolute maximum, then refocused his attention on the present.

He looked at the Angel of Death, still frozen in place, whose expression was beginning to contort in agony.

Because—

The time of awakening had arrived.

The Angel of Death could feel it. Deep within, his heart was beginning to beat faster, a steady, rhythmic thrumting that signaled his impending ascension. He was fighting it with everything he had, desperately trying to delay the inevitable.

If he could just hold out past the designated window, the awakening would fail. He would be rendered useless, but his Lord, Yahweh, would be spared from walking blindly into this heretic’s trap.

And so—

”AAAAAH—!!!”

The frozen boy threw his head back, his face twisted in a mask of agony and rage, and screamed, ”Heretic! Show yourself! I will never let you win! The glory of the Lord will judge you!”

Hawk’s figure—

No.

It was the Gemini Gold Cloth, manifested once again by the Reality Stone, that appeared silently before the boy.

Listening to the Angel’s desperate roar, Hawk extended his right index finger. He tapped the space directly between the boy’s eyes. His voice, cold and devoid of all mercy, echoed in the Angel’s ears.

”I offered you the easy way. You said no.”

”Fine.”

”I’ll do it myself.”

”Demon Emperor Fist!”

With Hawk’s chilling pronouncement, a brilliant light erupted from the tip of his finger, piercing the Angel’s forehead.

The next moment.

The Angel of Death convulsed as if struck by lightning. With a sharp bzzt, his rigid limbs suddenly went slack. The furious, desperate defiance in his eyes melted away, replaced by a dull, empty stare.

If the Phoenix’s Illusionary Demonic Fist trapped a victim in a nightmare of their own making until their mind shattered and they died…

Then—

The Gemini Saint’s Demon Emperor Fist was the ultimate upgrade.

It was known as the legendary, forbidden demonic strike. It didn’t just attack the victim’s nervous system; it completely overwrote their free will. It placed them under a hypnotic, absolute control, turning them into a puppet that would obey the user’s every command, down to the last detail.

Hawk released the telekinetic hold on the Angel. Through his meditation, he controlled the Gemini Cloth, and through the Gemini Cloth’s Demon Emperor Fist, he controlled the Angel of Death.

The next second.

The Angel of Death, his expression vacant, his eyes hollow, slowly stood up from the ground like a puppet on invisible strings.

Hawk looked up at the clear, starry night sky. His voice was a low, dangerous whisper.

”Yahweh…”

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM—!!!

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