The wind seemed to still in response to his call, as if even nature dared not disturb the conversation about to unfold.
From the depths of the shadows, a ripple of darkness spread, and then, with a crackle of energy, Blackout emerged, stepping forward like a shadow incarnate. His presence darkened the already oppressive atmosphere, his eyes glowing with a fiery intensity that contrasted with the coldness of the graveyard.
"I'm here, Mephistopheles," Blackout's voice was low, filled with an unsettling calmness that echoed through the empty cemetery.
Mephistopheles didn't flinch at Blackout's arrival. His gaze was fixed on the young man before him, studying the figure he had helped mold into something far beyond mortal comprehension.
"You're playing a dangerous game," Mephistopheles began, his voice soft yet commanding. "The Rider—he will come for you, Blackout. He is the one you should fear, not me. His power is unlike anything you've ever faced."
Blackout let out a soft, mocking laugh. "The Rider?" His smirk was almost invisible in the shadows, but it was clear in the way he spoke—he wasn't afraid. "I've dealt with worse."
Mephistopheles's eyes narrowed, the flicker of a dark smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You underestimate the power of the Rider. He is a force of retribution. His curse is eternal, his vengeance unstoppable. You cannot simply wish him away."
But Blackout's resolve was unshaken. He took a step closer, his form shifting slightly, as if the darkness around him responded to his will. "I'm not here to listen to warnings. I'm here to get what I want."
Mephistopheles sighed, the sound carrying the weight of centuries. "Very well," he said, as if resigned to the inevitable. "You want to open the gate to San Vanganza. You wish to resurrect Lilith, and in doing so, you would reshape this world. But there's a cost, Blackout."
Blackout's eyes burned brighter, the shadows swirling around him in anticipation. "What is it you want from me?"
Mephistopheles stepped closer, the air thickening with his presence. "There is an ancient incantation, a shlok that must be recited to open the gates of San Vanganza. It is guarded by forces that even I cannot control. The gate is sealed for a reason. You will need more than mere power to break it."
A sly smile crept across Blackout's face. "I have my ways."
Mephistopheles shook his head, the dark tendrils of his aura swirling ominously. "It's not just the gate you must unlock. Once it is opened, once the earth is connected to Hell—" he paused, his voice taking on a darker tone, "Lilith's grave will be revealed. And when that happens, Blackout, the world will be torn asunder. The veil between Hell and Earth will weaken. And when that happens, there will be no going back."
Blackout's expression remained unreadable, but the flicker of desire in his eyes betrayed his intent. He was willing to sacrifice everything for his mother. The power, the destruction—it was all part of the plan.
"I don't care," Blackout said coldly. "Let the world burn. Let Hell rise."
Mephistopheles smiled, an eerie, knowing smile that sent chills down the spine. "You are like your mother, after all," he murmured. "Driven by the same hunger. But you will learn, in time, the cost of your ambition."
Blackout's face darkened as he stepped back, his shadow extending like a wave crashing over the graveyard. "I'll get the shlok," he said, his voice dripping with finality. "And I'll open the gates. And when I do, the world will bow before me."
Mephistopheles raised a hand, a flicker of dark power crackling at his fingertips. "Do not underestimate the forces you are dealing with. Even the greatest demons have their limits."
"I have no limits," Blackout shot back, his voice full of venom.
As Blackout turned away, the shadows around him began to gather and grow, devouring the light from the graveyard. The air grew colder, and the ground seemed to tremble beneath their feet.
"Then may you succeed," Mephistopheles whispered to the darkness, his voice barely audible. "But remember, Blackout, the price of opening Hell's gates is not one you can escape."
With those final words, Blackout disappeared into the shadows, leaving Mephistopheles standing alone, the cold winds of the graveyard swirling around him.
The game had begun.
***
The church was silent except for the soft murmurs of the
faithful. The Father stood at the altar, his voice a steady cadence as he spoke words of peace, a calm presence in the midst of the congregation. "And let us pray for our forgiveness, for salvation, for the peace for our souls, May our Lord protect us from the forces of darkness that lurk in the shadows..". But as he spoke, a strange unease settled over the room.
"Devil…"
Suddenly, a chill swept through the air. The candles flickered once more—then extinguished all at once, plunging the church into complete darkness. A low, guttural laugh rumbled from nowhere and everywhere at once, the sound clawing into the ears of the frightened congregation.
"Fear the devil, for he is closer than you think," the priest declared, his voice trembling as he tried to remain steadfast.
The congregation began whispering nervously, the tension thickening as footsteps echoed across the church floor—slow, deliberate, and menacing.
Then he emerged from the shadows: Blackout. His pale face gleamed faintly in the residual light of the altar. His unnaturally black eyes scanned the crowd, a smirk curling his lips. He spoke softly, yet his voice carried like thunder, dripping with venom.
"You speak of demons, Father," Blackout said. "Let me show you what true darkness feels like."
The priest raised his trembling hand, clutching a small crucifix. "This is hallowed ground. Leave, creature!"
Blackout chuckled, the sound a mix of mockery and menace. "Hallowed? Not anymore."
With a snap of his fingers, the very air in the room seemed to compress. A cold, unnatural wind swept through, extinguishing even the dim altar lights. The stained-glass windows fractured with a deafening crash, shards of colored glass raining down like frozen tears.
The congregation erupted into panicked screams, stumbling and clawing at each other to escape. Blackout moved toward the altar, his steps slow and deliberate, as if savoring the chaos. He stopped in front of the priest, tilting his head.
"You hold secrets, old man. Secrets I need," Blackout growled.
The priest's voice quivered as he muttered a desperate prayer. "God... deliver us from evil."
Blackout's expression darkened, his smirk replaced by a sneer. He reached out, his cold hand grasping the priest's shoulder, and the man gasped as a searing pain spread through his body.
"Where is the shlok?" Blackout demanded, his voice a low growl. "You know what I seek."
"I will never tell you," the priest said, though his voice cracked with fear.
Blackout leaned closer, his black eyes boring into the priest's soul. "Then your prayers will be your only company in the void."
The priest crumpled to his knees, his breaths shallow and labored. Blackout released him, letting him fall limp to the ground, his body intact but his spirit utterly broken. The room fell silent, save for Blackout's chilling laugh, which reverberated through the empty church.
With a final glance at the shattered congregation, Blackout muttered to himself, "One step closer." He turned and disappeared into the night, leaving the ruined church behind—a grim reminder of his wrath and his resolve.
As Blackout stepped outside the shattered remains of the church, the night seemed unnaturally still. A cold, howling wind swirled around him, carrying whispers that were not of this world. He stopped in his tracks, sensing a presence—or rather, multiple presences.
Suddenly, the ground beneath him trembled, small cracks forming and spreading outward. The faint glow of blue and red light seeped through the cracks, illuminating the area in an otherworldly hue. Blackout turned slowly, a sly grin forming on his pale face.
"So, you've finally decided to crawl out of your graves," he murmured.
From the cracked earth emerged three distinct figures, each cloaked in darkness yet radiating a terrifying aura of power. These were no ordinary entities—they were the elemental fallen angels: Abigor, Wallow, and Gressil. Thrown out of heaven for their rebellion, they had been trapped in limbo since Blackheart's failed attempt to unleash hell on Earth.
Abigor, the master of the wind, stepped forward first. His form seemed to ripple with every movement, as though he were made of smoke and air. His voice was a rasping whisper that carried the weight of a storm.
"Blackout... we heard your call through the void. What is it that you seek?"
Blackout's grin widened. "I seek power. But more importantly, I seek vengeance. And you... well, you can help me get both."
Wallow, the embodiment of water, moved forward next, his body dripping and reforming constantly, as if he were a living tide. His voice was deep and echoing, like waves crashing on a distant shore.
"Why should we help you, pale one? The last fool who sought to unleash hell failed miserably. We paid the price for his arrogance."
Blackout narrowed his eyes, his tone sharp and commanding. "Because this time, it's different. I'm not some puppet like Blackheart. I have a plan. And if you join me, you'll have your revenge—not just on heaven, but on the Rider himself."
At the mention of the Ghost Rider, Gressil, the embodiment of earth, let out a low, rumbling growl. His massive, hulking form seemed to absorb the light around him, his deep-set eyes glowing faintly like molten lava.
"The Rider... he is a thorn in all our sides," Gressil rumbled. "If you can lead us to him, we will fight. But know this, Blackout—we bow to no one."
Blackout smirked, his confidence unshaken. "I don't need you to bow. I need you to destroy. Together, we'll make the Rider kneel—and then, we'll open the gates of San Venganza. Hell on Earth will be ours to rule."
The three fallen angels exchanged glances, their ethereal forms shifting and pulsating. They were creatures of pure malice, driven by hatred for the heavens and the mortal world alike. With a shared nod, they turned back to Blackout.
"Very well," Abigor hissed. "But if you fail, Blackout, your soul will be ours."
Blackout laughed, a dark and chilling sound. "Deal. Now let's remind this world what real fear looks like."
As the four figures vanished into the night, the ground sealed behind them, leaving no trace of their gathering. But their unholy alliance marked the beginning of a new wave of destruction—one that would push Steven Henderson and the Ghost Rider to his very limits….