San Venganza, Texas
The United States is a vast country, holding countless secrets in its forgotten corners. In the arid, sun-baked expanse of Texas, the small town of San Venganza was one such secret. It was incredibly remote, completely off the map, and almost no one ever visited.
One sweltering afternoon, a handsome young man suddenly arrived on the outskirts of town.
He wore a sharply tailored suit that looked entirely discordant with the dusty environment, carrying a heavy, old-fashioned tactical pack over his shoulder.
This was Ernst.
As he walked down the dirt main street, he observed the locals coming and going.
Everyone's face was utterly lifeless, their eyes hollow, as if they were merely going through the motions of a play they had forgotten the lines to.
Through his spiritual induction, Ernst could see the grim reality. Everyone here was already dead.
The entire population existed in a state of eternal, trapped souls. The town was shrouded by a powerful, localized dimensional anchor, forcing these spirits to manifest physically.
This phenomenon was nothing new to Ernst. When he was studying advanced magical theory in China and Europe, he had learned that souls could manifest semi-physically in environments supersaturated with magical elements, similar to the ghosts roaming the halls of Hogwarts, though far more malevolent.
Ernst could feel the thick, suffocating hostility radiating from the townsfolk. It was evident that, when alive, they had been exceptionally wicked individuals.
This wasn't surprising. As one of the Seven Monarchs of Hell, Mephisto had a refined palate; corrupted, evil souls were his absolute favorite delicacy.
The living dead of San Venganza followed a predetermined, purgatorial trajectory every day, endlessly repeating their half-dead routines.
They could never leave the town limits until the Devil arrived to collect them, either transforming them into demons for his army or consuming them raw.
However, historically, things had taken a turn for the worse for the Devil's investment.
Mephisto had sent his personal bounty hunter, the Ghost Rider, to collect the debt.
But the Rider, possessing a stubborn, rebellious streak, had refused to hand over the Contract of San Venganza, causing the souls to linger in this ghost town for over a century.
Ernst strolled casually past the rotting storefronts, checking his surroundings.
Soon, he found his target sitting alone in a dilapidated saloon: a middle-aged man dressed in weathered, 19th-century Western cowboy attire.
"Pour me a drink. I want your strongest," Ernst said, walking into the pub and taking the stool directly beside the cowboy.
The man trembled. He suddenly stood up from his seat, kicking his chair back, and looked at Ernst with absolute, terrifying alertness.
"Living man," the cowboy growled, his voice like grinding stones.
"You shouldn't be here. Leave now before I take action, or you will regret it for eternity."
Ernst remained seated. He calmly reached over the bar, took a dusty glass, poured himself a shot of whatever was in the nearest bottle, and took a sip. He didn't even flinch at the taste.
"Regret?" Ernst smiled faintly.
"I rarely regret anything, Mr. Carter Slade. I think we can sit down and talk calmly."
"You know my name!" Carter, the first-generation Ghost Rider, stepped back.
His face twisted in rage. His flesh began to smolder, his eyes lighting up with unnatural, hellish flames as he prepared to transform into the burning skeleton.
"The Hellfire?" Ernst noted, utterly unimpressed.
"The eyes that judge all sins, the flames that burn the wicked soul. It is indeed the Spirit of Vengeance. If you could exert that ability to its absolute limit, you could theoretically defeat anyone. However, meeting a truly strong opponent leaves you no chance to even ignite. For example... me."
As Ernst's last word fell, he casually waved his hand.
His magical power surged. Hundreds of invisible, sword-shaped kinetic projectiles materialized out of thin air, shooting at Carter like a volley of armor-piercing arrows.
Shhhhhh!
Carter was instantly peppered by the barrage. Large, gaping holes appeared in his torso and limbs.
Although the Hellfire within him immediately surged to repair the damage, Ernst's localized kinetic attacks were relentless.
The moment one hole was repaired, a second, third, and fourth were blown open.
Carter roared, trying to summon the Rider, but the continuous, overwhelming physical trauma disrupted his concentration.
Each time he tried to regenerate, the Hellfire flickered and dimmed, spending all its energy just trying to keep the host body intact.
Finally, unable to withstand the barrage, the last ember of Hellfire extinguished.
Having barely recovered from the final kinetic strike, Carter's eyes rolled back in his head. He slumped against the bar and fainted, returning entirely to his human form.
Ernst chuckled lightly. He picked up his half-full glass of cheap whiskey, tossed it directly into Carter's face, and sat back in his chair to wait.
A few seconds later, Carter sputtered and opened his eyes. He leaned heavily against the wooden bar, his body feeling incredibly weak from the massive expenditure of demonic energy.
"Who the hell are you?" Carter gasped, clutching his chest.
"What is your purpose here?"
"You don't need to know my name," Ernst replied smoothly.
"As for my purpose, it's very simple. I'm here for the souls of this town. They are of exceptionally high quality, and I want them."
Carter's expression suddenly changed from anger to horror.
"You... you are a demon too..."
"Do I look like I have horns?" Ernst scoffed.
"You sold your soul and signed a contract with the Devil for freedom, yet you ended up a slave hiding in a ghost town. Tell me, Carter, was it worth it?"
Carter flushed with shame, staring at the floorboards. He didn't know how to respond. Ernst was right; he had been foolish, fascinated by power, and made a terrible deal.
"Since you're not a demon," Carter said, looking back up, "what could you possibly want with these souls? They have been branded by Mephisto himself. If you steal from him, he will never let you go. He will hunt you to the ends of the Earth."
Ernst sneered. "Let him hunt. I came here fully prepared to fight him for the Contract. But the old man's true body is still locked in Hell. He can't cross over into the mortal realm directly; at most, he can project an avatar or a clone. I'm not afraid of a fraction of his power. In fact, let him know I'm taking them. I'd love to see the legendary Monarch of Hell in person."
"This..." Carter hesitated.
To be honest, although Carter was forced to serve Mephisto, he didn't want to see an arrogant human get dragged to Hell for eternity.
"Come on, Carter, don't waste my time," Ernst said, his voice dropping an octave. "
I don't have that much patience. If you don't call your boss over, I'll just rip the Contract from your mind and take the souls myself."
"Fine!" Carter growled, standing up.
"You are courting your own death! Don't blame me for what happens next."
Having no other choice, Carter closed his eyes and tapped into the dark tether of the soul contract, transmitting a distress signal directly to his master.
In an instant, the clear, blistering Texas sky above San Venganza darkened.
Thick, unnatural black clouds rolled in, formed by a suffocating aura of dark magic. Strange, silent red lightning flashed within the clouds.
A figure suddenly materialized on the outskirts of the town. It moved with blinding, supernatural speed, appearing and disappearing as it crossed the distance to the saloon.
The saloon doors blew open.
Ernst felt the oppressive presence the moment the entity arrived.
He turned his head and saw an older man standing in the doorway, dressed in a sharp, immaculate black suit and leaning on an elegant silver cane.
The old man had a polite smile.
But to Ernst's heightened senses, the smile dripped with insidious malice and absolute contempt, the kind of patronizing charity a butcher shows a pig.
Ernst didn't dare be careless. The moment the old man appeared, Ernst felt a gloomy, incredibly rich, and shudder-inducing dark aura flood the room.
The person who had come was Mephisto.
Mephisto's aura was slightly different from what Ernst had anticipated; it felt constrained, filtered through the mortal vessel, but Ernst didn't dwell on it. He stood up and approached the Devil directly.
"Mr. Mephisto, it is a genuine pleasure to meet you," Ernst said, offering a slight, mocking bow.
"It's an honor to communicate directly with one of the famous Seven Monarchs of Hell."
"Are you offering your loyalty to me, boy?" Mephisto asked aloofly, leaning on his cane.
"Then dedicate your soul to me now. I am in a good mood today. I can grant you eternal life."
"Allegiance? No, no, no," Ernst laughed softly.
"I just wanted to express my gratitude. I intend to take the thousand souls trapped in this town, and it seemed only polite to thank the current owner before I repossess them."
Ernst said this as matter-of-factly as if he were discussing the weather, seemingly unaware that he was profoundly insulting a cosmic entity.
Mephisto's smile tightened.
"You want these souls? To be honest, they are nothing to me. A light snack at best. But your soul... your soul is very special."
Mephisto's dark eyes narrowed, trying to pierce Ernst's psychic defenses.
"Even I cannot see through you," the Devil admitted, genuinely intrigued.
"This is the first time I've met a mortal like you. You've caught my interest. So, how about a fair deal? Exchange your unique soul for the souls of this entire town."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you," Ernst smiled.
"I don't plan on selling my soul today."
Mephisto looked slightly disappointed, but he didn't immediately drop his gentlemanly facade.
"Is that so? A pity. Then tell me, mortal, what have you prepared to exchange for the souls of my town? If it doesn't pique my interest, you will not leave this bar alive."
"Well, the actual situation is that I didn't prepare anything for a trade," Ernst said sincerely.
"I plan to just grab them directly."
Mephisto paused. He tilted his head.
"Are you joking? It's the very first time I've met a human who dares to speak to me like that."
The Devil was actually amused. He genuinely doubted whether the handsome young man in front of him had a brain injury.
"I can tell you with absolute certainty that I am not joking," Ernst replied, his stance shifting into a combat-ready posture.
"There's a first time for everything, Mephisto. Please, enjoy the thrill of being robbed."
"Ant," Mephisto growled, finally losing his temper.
"You are dead!"
His voice dropped an octave, becoming rough, demonic, and fierce as he prepared to cast a spell.
But Ernst had never planned on a peaceful resolution. He was already moving.
Faster than the Devil could blink, Ernst drew his wand from his sleeve.
"Sectumsempra!"
Instead of a single, invisible blade, Ernst's immense magical power multiplied the curse, shooting out a dense barrage of lethal, spatial-rending magical arrows.
Mephisto didn't expect the human's cast speed to be so fast.
Although he instinctively summoned a barrier of dark fog to block the attack, he couldn't fully manifest his power in his human avatar quickly enough.
Several of the magical arrows pierced right through the dark defense, slicing deeply into the old man's physical vessel. Black blood sprayed across the saloon floor.
"ROAR!"
Although Mephisto had been completely dismissive of Ernst seconds ago, he hadn't expected to actually suffer damage from a mortal spell.
The humiliation shattered his composure.
With a deafening roar, hellfire erupted from his body, instantly turning his expensive black suit to white ash.
The human flesh tore away. A huge, terrifying figure broke free from the shackles of the mortal vessel. It stood ten feet tall, its body covered in dark, obsidian scales.
A pair of massive, curled horns erupted from the top of its head, its legs snapped backward into cloven hooves, and a thick, spiked tail whipped behind it, shattering the wooden bar.
The Lord of Hell had descended.
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