"The Devil never cooperates. And we certainly don't trust the concept of allies. We deal in transactions. Only businessmen truly understand each other."
Mephisto smiled a hollow, salesman's smile and reached into his bespoke suit jacket. He pulled out a roll of parchment that smelled faintly of brimstone.
"Now! Sign here and become a loyal servant of... Ahem. Apologies. Old habits. I've lost considerable revenue since shutting down my Earth division. I need to diversify."
He awkwardly stuffed the old, soul-binding parchment back and fished around until he produced a fresh, less ominous-looking contract.
"Your cash flow must be terrible," Ethan Hunt commented dryly. He took the contract, scanned it, and then held it up for Luna to review. Just to be safe, he motioned for Coulson. "Coulson, snap a picture. Send it to Fury. Get the legal team, the psychologists, and the sorcerers on Kamar Taj on a conference call. I want every clause analyzed before the ink dries."
"You wound me," Mephisto placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. "I am a man of my word."
"Don't give me that," Ethan rolled his eyes. "You keep your word, sure, but you interpret the context however you damn well please. Everyone knows the Devil's contract is a monkey's paw."
"Only fools and children believe in a Devil's promise," Ghost Rider rasped from the side, his flames crackling.
Ethan didn't even look back. "Less talk, more brooding, Johnny."
"The contract states we get intel on Roarke, and in exchange, we banish or kill him," Luna said, looking up from the parchment. "But the compensation clause is blank."
"It's a win-win scenario. Why should I pay you to save your own world?" Mephisto argued.
Luna stared him down. The silence stretched.
Mephisto sighed. "Fine. You drive a hard bargain. The Darkhold. You keep it. I won't reclaim it."
"Like you could take it back in your condition," Luna scoffed. She knew he was weak—a wounded predator whose den was being raided by rivals. Still, she insisted on adding the clause. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, but a binding magical contract is the other tenth.
The negotiations dragged on for hours. With Luna supervising and a team of S.H.I.E.L.D. experts on the comms, they added dozens of sub-clauses, appendices, and definitions.
Finally, Ethan signed.
"This is the most tedious soul-binding I have ever conducted," Mephisto grumbled, pocketing the document. "I am tempted to blacklist you as a client."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Ethan grinned. "Now, spill. Why Earth? Roarke betrayed you, sure, but why run here? He knows you have eyes everywhere."
"Soul harvesting," Mephisto said, his tone shifting to arrogance. "To strengthen himself. Earth is... ripe right now. Confusion, fear, chaos. It's an all-you-can-eat buffet for a demon."
He gestured grandly at the horizon. "The Renaissance was chaotic, but this? Aliens falling from the sky, Metas rewriting the laws of physics, the very fabric of reality stretching thin. People are terrified. Their worldviews are shattering. And when people are lost, they are easily seduced."
Mephisto turned his gaze to Coulson, Melinda, and then lingered on Ethan. "Even those at the vanguard of this new age are vulnerable. Power breeds desire. The greater the capability, the deeper the hunger."
He leaned in close to Ethan, his voice dropping to a silken whisper, laced with subtle hypnotic power.
"You, the strongest Level 5 Meta on the planet... the architect of this new era. What keeps you awake at night? What is the one thing you truly crave?"
Ethan paused, his expression growing contemplative. The atmosphere grew heavy. Mephisto smirked, sensing a hook.
"Is there something I long for...?" Ethan murmured. Then, he looked Mephisto dead in the eye, his face the picture of solemn determination.
"I crave... a wife!"
Mephisto froze. "..."
The Lord of Hell blinked. Was this a joke? Was this human mocking him?
"You look disappointed," Ethan said, flashing a 'pure' smile. "Did I say something wrong?"
"I... expected more ambition," Mephisto hissed.
"Sorry, I'm a simple man," Ethan slammed his hand on the table, feigning righteous passion. "Don't talk to me about power or conquest! My desire is pure! Whether she's an A-cup or an F-cup, human or inhuman, elf, angel, or monster girl—I don't discriminate! A harem contract is the only one I'll sign!"
(╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻
Mephisto metaphorically flipped the table.
"You possess the soul of a clown," Mephisto sneered, dropping the hypnotic act completely. "I am removing you from my prospecting list permanently. You are exhausting."
Ethan shrugged. He knew exactly what Mephisto was doing. The Devil tried to hook him on ambition, but Ethan wasn't playing that game. He wasn't some naive hero or a tortured soul. He knew exactly what he wanted: survival. He wanted to terraform the social landscape so that Metas wouldn't be hunted to extinction.
Power and prestige were just tools. He wasn't going to let an old demon manipulate him with vague promises of 'more.'
"Let's get back to business," Luna interrupted, sensing the derailment. "Roarke. What's his next move?"
"Right," Mephisto smoothed his suit, conjuring a glass of wine to settle his nerves. "Hell creatures decay in your dimension. We need hosts. But normal humans burn out too quickly—like a lightbulb plugged into a nuclear reactor. Roarke needs a vessel that can handle his full power."
"The Darkhold-enhanced body was perfect, but you destroyed it," Mephisto added, almost sounding impressed.
"So where is he going?" Ethan asked sharply.
Mephisto placed a photograph on the table. It showed a thin boy, maybe ten years old, standing next to a young woman with heavy makeup.
"His name is Danny. He is Roarke's son—a cambion. Half-human, half-demon. He is the only vessel genetically compatible with Roarke's essence. If Roarke possesses him, he won't burn out." Mephisto flipped the photo. An address was scrawled on the back. "He is currently in a monastery in Eastern Europe. You'd best hurry. The monks won't hold out long."
Mephisto finished his wine in one gulp and stood up. He glanced at Ghost Rider one last time. "I look forward to the show."
With that, he stepped backward into the shadows and vanished.
"Eastern Europe," Ethan grabbed the photo. He looked at Coulson.
"Way ahead of you," Coulson tapped his earpiece. "Director Fury approved the requisition. We have a Quinjet on standby, fully fueled."
"Let's move," Ethan said.
---
Hours later, the Quinjet touched down in a remote valley in Eastern Europe. The ancient stone monastery loomed in the twilight, but the silence was wrong.
As Ethan led the team into the courtyard, he noted bullet holes pockmarking the centuries-old masonry. Dried blood stained the cobblestones.
The monks were huddled in the main hall, tending to the wounded. They looked shell-shocked. When they saw the team enter, they scrambled for makeshift weapons—candlesticks, gardening tools, anything heavy.
"Stand down!" Coulson held up his hands, flashing his S.H.I.E.L.D. badge. "We're the good guys. What happened here?"
He wasn't sure if these cloistered monks would recognize the eagle logo, but the aura of authority seemed to work. An elder monk with bandaged hands stepped forward.
"You are... government?"
"Something like that," Coulson nodded. "We're here for the boy. Danny."
"You know the child's nature," the monk said, his voice heavy with sorrow.
"We have specialists in the occult," Coulson gestured to Luna and Ghost Rider. "We know what he is."
"Then you are too late," the monk sighed, his shoulders slumping. "The boy is gone. Roarke's forces attacked an hour ago. We could not stop them."
"Is that so?" Luna frowned, scanning the room with her magical senses. "I don't detect any residual dark energy. No sulfur, no necrotic decay. Are you sure you fought demon worshipers?"
"We thought we were ready!" the old monk cried out, frustration breaking through his calm. "We sanctified the ground! We had holy water from the Vatican! We forged silver blades! We were prepared for a legion of hellspawn!"
The monk gestured helplessly at the bullet-riddled walls.
"But that treacherous devil... he didn't use magic. He didn't summon monsters."
The monk looked up, eyes wide with disbelief.
"He hired mercenaries! With guns!"