Things didn't just stay bad.
They got worse.
A couple of weeks after Alice's death, when Max thought things couldn't possibly sink any lower… they did.
A meteor struck the graveyard.
No warning. No explanation. Just a streak of fire tearing across the sky before slamming into the earth hard enough to leave a crater where rows of graves used to be.
Including hers.
They couldn't recover a body.
Not really.
Just fragments. Ash. Debris that might have been part of her remains… or maybe just the coffin. No one could tell for sure.
Max didn't care.
It was all he had left.
Her parents—whoever they even were at this point—didn't want anything to do with it. They didn't come forward. Didn't ask questions. Didn't claim what was left of their daughter.
So Max did.
Yeah… maybe it was a little creepy.
But he had known Alice since they were thirteen. Grew up with her. Laughed with her. Built a life around her.
She wasn't just someone he loved.
She was his person.
So he brought the ashes home.
Now, they sat on a small shelf in his apartment, right beside the stuffed fox he never got to give her.
Max stood there for a long moment, staring at them both.
"…Can't fucking believe it," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
His voice was dry. Tired. Hollow.
"Parker was declared dead yesterday… so that means it's starting. The other Spider-Men are here. Miles is here. Everything's about to go down…"
He let out a quiet, humorless chuckle.
"Man… I wish you were here to tell me I'm not losing my mind. Or at least explain why I know all this shit."
Silence answered him.
It always did.
Then—
A sharp sting hit the back of his neck.
"—Tch."
Max winced, reaching back to rub the spot. It felt like a bug bite. Nothing serious. Annoying, but not surprising given the state of his apartment.
Cheap place. Poor insulation. Probably had a dozen ways for insects to get in.
He barely thought about it.
Until—
Knock. Knock.
Max froze.
Nobody came here.
Slowly, he walked to the door and opened it.
An older man stood on the other side.
Well-dressed. Calm. Composed.
And completely wrong.
Max felt it instantly.
This wasn't just some guy.
There was something ancient behind those eyes. Something vast. Something that didn't belong in a human frame.
Max exhaled slowly.
"…Mephisto?" he said.
For the first time, the man looked genuinely surprised.
"…Well," Mephisto said after a pause, a faint smirk forming. "That's not a name most mortals greet me with so casually."
Max leaned against the doorframe, unimpressed.
"Relax. You've been around forever, making deals across history. Not exactly hard to recognize the vibe."
Mephisto studied him for a moment longer… then stepped inside without asking.
Max didn't stop him.
"I heard about your… tragedy," Mephisto said smoothly, glancing toward the shelf where the ashes rested. "Your beloved. Such an unfortunate chain of events."
Max's jaw tightened.
"Get to the point."
Mephisto smiled wider.
"I'll make you a deal."
Of course you will.
"I will bring your loved one back," he continued, voice low and enticing. "In the best way I can manage."
Max's heart stopped.
"…And in exchange?" he asked quietly.
Mephisto's eyes gleamed.
"You will become my soldier. The next Ghost Rider."
The room seemed to grow heavier.
"If you know me," Mephisto added, "then you know what that entails."
Max almost said yes.
Immediately.
Without thinking.
Without hesitation.
But then—
He stopped.
His grip on the door tightened slightly.
"…Wait," Max said.
Mephisto tilted his head.
"I have conditions."
A flicker of amusement passed through Mephisto's expression.
"Of course you do."
Max met his gaze directly.
"I don't want an alternate version of Alice," he said firmly. "I'm not dragging another version of her into this. That's not her."
Mephisto said nothing, but his eyes sharpened slightly.
"And I don't want some fake Ghost Rider either," Max continued. "No demon copy, no knockoff. I know you've made multiple Riders before. I want the real thing."
A pause.
"…And finally," Max said, his voice dropping, "nothing happens to her. Not by you. Not directly. Not indirectly. No loopholes."
Silence filled the room.
Then—
Mephisto laughed.
Slow. Low. Almost impressed.
"My, my… you do know me."
He took a step closer.
"Very well," he said. "I agree to your conditions."
A contract appeared in his hand, materializing from thin air—ancient parchment, covered in shifting, infernal script.
"I will do everything in my power to bring her back," Mephisto said. "And you… will become my Rider."
Max didn't hesitate this time.
He grabbed a knife from the counter, slicing his palm open without flinching. Blood welled instantly as he pressed his hand against the contract.
The moment it touched—
Something ignited beneath his skin.
Heat.
Not just heat—fire.
It spread through his veins, crawling up his arm, into his chest, wrapping around his spine like something alive.
But there was something else, too.
Something deeper.
Something watching.
"There we are," Mephisto said, satisfied.
Max looked up sharply—
"Wait—"
Mephisto's grin widened.
"Oh, and one more thing," he added casually.
Max's stomach dropped.
"The only real way to bring her back… was through an alternate version."
The words hit like a hammer.
"I did say I'd try," Mephisto continued lightly. "But unfortunately… I couldn't find her soul."
Max's eyes widened in fury.
"You—"
"Good luck, my little soldier."
And then—
He was gone.
Just like that.
The room fell silent again.
Max stood there, shaking, rage burning through him almost as hot as the fire under his skin.
"…He tricked me," he whispered.
Of course he did.
And worse—
He could feel it.
A presence.
A countdown.
Something inside him, getting closer… stronger…
He clenched his fists as the heat flared again.
"…One hour," he muttered.
That's all he had left.
Before the Ghost Rider took him.
And there was nothing—
Nothing at all—
He could do to stop it.