Chapter 833

"Eden’s serpent. Of course it isn’t an ordinary specimen."

Evenson’s voice was bitter, but confusion quickly followed the anger.

"How is this even possible? Even a demon lord like Nahash shouldn’t be able to withstand the consequences of breaking a contract. Unless..."

He reached into his bag and pulled out the demonic contract they had signed.

Evenson spread it across the table and read through every clause again, this time with painstaking care.

A few moments later, he snatched it up and slapped it back onto the table.

"Damn it. I really did screw up."

His eyes narrowed at the contract.

"There’s nothing here that says Nahash has to leave Coulson’s body."

That was the problem with dealing with demons. Even if you approached a contract with a dozen layers of caution, there was always a loophole they could exploit.

Evenson had once laughed at stories about humans outsmarting demons and walking away from supernatural bargains with absurdly favorable deals. He had always assumed those stories were fairy tales—or worse, deliberate misinformation spread by demons to make people think they could actually beat them at their own game.

Now he had somehow become the protagonist of one of those ridiculous stories.

Only this time, he was the idiot who had been outplayed.

He had been far too careless with Mephisto.

The first time Evenson had dealt with him, he’d exploited a loophole in their agreement and successfully taken the San Venganza Contract—a contract containing a thousand damned souls.

That victory had given him confidence.

Too much confidence.

He had convinced himself that Mephisto wasn’t all that frightening. If Evenson was careful, surely he could avoid losing anything important. Maybe he could even arrange a mutually beneficial deal.

Looking back, though, one question kept bothering him.

Had Mephisto ever cared that much about the San Venganza Contract?

The contract had been out in the world for more than a century. The man guarding it, Carter Slade, was a Ghost Rider who had broken his own pact and had barely enough power left to cling to existence. He had hidden himself away in an isolated cemetery without seeking protection from any organization.

If Mephisto had genuinely wanted the contract back, retrieving it would have been trivial.

Yet for more than a hundred years, he had done absolutely nothing.

Not until Blackheart came after it.

Did that mean the contract had never mattered to Mephisto as long as it didn’t fall into Blackheart’s hands?

No.

Evenson’s eyes sharpened.

As long as the contract remained unfulfilled—as long as those souls weren’t actually redeemed—Mephisto simply didn’t care.

And if Mephisto had been telling the truth about Hell being overcrowded, then he was probably the single person in existence who least wanted that contract activated.

There was something else.

The battle between Evenson and the Ghost Rider had nearly killed him. Anyone with Mephisto’s level of insight would have noticed exactly how valuable high-quality souls were to Evenson’s magical system.

So sending a warlock after a contract containing a thousand souls and expecting that warlock to return it out of sheer moral principle...

That was about as realistic as asking a husky not to destroy a couch.

Could Mephisto really have missed something that obvious?

Of course not.

Evenson clenched his teeth.

Mephisto had probably calculated the outcome from the beginning.

That explained why he had handed Evenson the task without putting up much resistance.

It also explained something else.

When Evenson had lied and claimed that he had handed the San Venganza Contract over to Asgard, Mephisto had only given him a token reprimand before dropping the matter entirely.

It wasn’t merely because Mephisto didn’t want a conflict with Asgard.

The contract itself had never been worth fighting over.

"So that’s it."

Evenson slowly exhaled.

"The whole thing was part of his calculation."

His false victory had made him arrogant. That arrogance had blinded him during their second deal.

The second time, Mephisto’s agent, the scribe Locke, had left a child of Mephisto behind on Earth and plotted a rebellion. Mephisto had used Phil Coulson’s soul as the bargaining chip, demanding that Evenson deal with the problem.

This time, Evenson had thought he’d prepared for everything.

Every clause had been written down.

Every condition had been negotiated.

He had been convinced the contract was airtight.

And the person who had negotiated those terms with him had been Nahash—the very demon currently possessing Coulson.

Evenson had assumed Nahash was simply Mephisto’s representative.

Once the deal was finished, the demon would naturally return to Hell.

Apparently, Hell was crowded enough that Nahash had decided it was worth finding somewhere else to live.

Like Coulson’s body.

"Demons really are a group you can’t afford to underestimate."

Nick Fury picked up the contract and examined it. Surprisingly, he didn’t react with any obvious alarm.

"I used to think the biggest problem was keeping our own secrets secure. I completely overlooked these nonhuman players."

He looked down at the document.

"Mephisto and Nahash probably know more about Coulson’s resurrection than anyone."

"So you think Mephisto sold Coulson’s secret to the Centipede organization?"

Evenson felt his stomach sink.

If that was true, S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t merely dealing with trouble from above anymore.

They were getting crushed from every direction.

Fury suddenly stood.

"I still don’t know why Nahash stayed inside Coulson for so long."

He turned his back to Evenson.

"But I do know that during that period, Coulson accessed several old files that had absolutely nothing to do with the cases he was officially investigating."

Fury paused.

"However..."

He glanced back over his shoulder, his single eye narrowing.

"This artifact-smuggling case was different."

"They were careless. Almost ridiculously so. They made no real effort to hide what they were doing."

Fury’s expression hardened.

"I escaped without much difficulty. Why?"

Evenson understood immediately.

"It means Coulson’s cover identity had outlived its usefulness."

Exactly.

Coulson was a senior S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

Nahash was the Serpent of Eden, supposedly the source of mankind’s deceit itself.

If they wanted to use Coulson’s credentials to investigate something without attracting attention, they could have done so almost effortlessly.

Instead, they had practically thrown their operation into the open.

Which meant they no longer needed Coulson.

"The asset has served its purpose," Fury said grimly. "Now they’re going to squeeze whatever value remains out of it."

He looked at Evenson.

"Selling Coulson off to the highest bidder. Sounds exactly like something a demon would do."

"Maybe."

Evenson rubbed his chin.

"But I don’t think it’s that simple."

"Demons usually don’t go looking for humans to make deals with. Humans go looking for them."

"Mostly because people don’t believe demons exist, and even when they do, they have no way of contacting them."

"But that’s not the real problem."

Evenson tapped the table.

"A deal has to benefit both sides. Without something the demon wants, there’s no deal."

"So what does the Centipede organization have that could possibly interest Mephisto?"

That was the part Evenson couldn’t figure out.

Centipede wasn’t exactly a major player. What could an obscure organization like that possibly possess that would make a being like Mephisto take notice?

And there was another problem.

Nahash remaining inside Coulson wasn’t technically a violation of their contract. Evenson could choose to let it go.

But if Mephisto had actively sold Coulson to someone else, that would be different.

That would mean Mephisto had deliberately crossed the line.

There would be no room for negotiation after that.

They’d be at war.

Mephisto might be extraordinarily powerful in Hell—I am Hell wasn’t an empty boast—but his ability to manifest that power on Earth was severely restricted.

And he knew exactly how strong Evenson was.

Even if Mephisto dismissed Evenson’s personal strength, he had already seen the Eredar Twins.

Could he really afford to ignore them?

More importantly, Earth had never been Mephisto’s playground.

Because of Kamar-Taj—

Evenson suddenly stopped.

Kamar-Taj’s supervision of Mephisto had always been rather lax.

And Mephisto had almost certainly already learned that the Ancient One was dead.

Did that mean he no longer had anything to fear?

Not necessarily.

Asgard watched Earth as well.

Would Mephisto really dare act this recklessly while Odin and the Asgardians were still paying attention?

Unless...

Unless Mephisto had somehow stopped fearing Asgard, too.

Evenson shook his head.

That seemed impossible.

"The Centipede organization may actually have something Mephisto wants," Fury said.

Evenson blinked.

"What?"

"Centipede is a bioweapons research organization."

Fury’s expression became unusually serious.

"So is it possible they’re closely connected to Umbrella?"

"What?!"

Evenson’s face went blank.

And somehow this is my problem now?

He’d heard some ridiculous theories in his life, but this one was impressive.

Biological research equals Umbrella?

By that logic, if someone develops a messaging app, they must be secretly owned by Amazon.

"No. Well..."

Evenson struggled to formulate an answer.

The problem was that he couldn’t outright deny Fury’s theory.

"Let’s say—hypothetically—that Centipede is connected to Umbrella."

He chose his words carefully.

"What exactly would Umbrella have that could interest Mephisto?"

"You told me Umbrella traces its origins back to Nazi Germany."

Fury sounded completely convinced.

"And everyone knows Hitler was obsessed with the occult."

"That isn’t just a rumor. After receiving the information you gave me, I conducted my own investigation."

Evenson’s expression shifted.

Oh.

Umbrella.

The Third Reich.

Right.

He’d almost forgotten about that particular mess.

"In 1943, with the Third Reich nearing collapse, the SS dispatched an elite unit on a classified operation."

Fury’s voice remained calm.

"Peggy Carter and the Howling Commandos eventually destroyed the unit with the assistance of a group of mysterious men who appeared wearing yellow robes."

Evenson’s brow furrowed.

That sounded familiar.

Very familiar.

"The investigation later determined that the SS unit had been ordered to conduct a black magic ritual."

"They intended to open a gateway to Hell and summon a demon into the mortal world."

Fury’s eye narrowed.

"According to the records, Hell had promised them that the war could be brought to an end."

Evenson stared at him.

"I now have sufficient reason to believe the entity they were trying to summon was Mephisto."

For once, Evenson had no immediate response.

So that was how it was.

Apparently, humanity had managed to miss an opportunity to end World War II by summoning Satan.

Imagine that.

If the SS really had summoned Mephisto, Evenson suspected the demon lord’s first words would have been something like:

No more war. Everybody stop fighting. If anyone starts shooting again, I’m personally beating the entire planet into submission.

What a spectacularly stupid missed opportunity.

"So..."

Fury’s expression darkened.

"Is it possible Umbrella retained a copy of that ritual?"

"And Centipede is attempting to recreate it?"

"That could explain why Mephisto is helping them."

Evenson stared at him.

He genuinely didn’t know what to say.

With an imagination like that, if you ever pointed it in the right direction, you might actually dismantle Hydra.

"It’s all speculation."

Evenson finally stood.

"I’ll head to Los Angeles myself and talk to the Lord of Hell."

His expression hardened.

"I’ll find out exactly what he wants."

"That’s why I called you here."

Fury nodded.

"But what if he really is responsible?"

"Then I’ll stop doing everything else and dedicate myself to beating the hell out of him."

Evenson’s answer came immediately.

"Even if I can’t invade Hell, I’ll make sure he can’t accomplish anything on Earth."

"Good."

Fury seemed satisfied.

"Then what about your partner? Should Melinda accompany you again?"

"No."

Evenson waved the suggestion away.

"If I’m going there prepared for a confrontation with Mephisto, Melinda won’t be much help."

"And she’d be putting herself in unnecessary danger."

Fury raised an eyebrow.

"You’re going alone?"

The look on his face seemed to say that Evenson should at least bring someone along to provide cover.

Or, failing that, someone to identify the body afterward.

"I already have someone in mind."

Evenson smiled.

"A friend from the magical community."

He paused.

"Sometimes you have to fight magic with magic."

Fury hesitated before nodding.

"All right."

He knew Evenson’s girlfriend, Clea, was a sorcerer from Kamar-Taj. Fury had once hoped to establish contact with the organization, but they had rejected S.H.I.E.L.D.’s overtures without hesitation.

"The Quinjet is ready. You can leave immediately."

Evenson’s expression fell.

"Do I really have to take that thing?"

"The Quinjet is our fastest available transport."

Fury shook his head.

"The airbus is still searching for Coulson. I can’t pull it away."

He paused.

"Unless you’d rather drive."

"No."

Evenson immediately reconsidered.

"The Quinjet is great."

Then he remembered his car.

Eight wheels.

Eight tires.

Eight opportunities for something expensive to go wrong.

"Yes. The Quinjet is wonderful."

On his way to the hangar, Evenson used the opportunity to send a magical message to the Eredar Twins.

Under the authority of the Black Chapter, he ordered them to assist S.H.I.E.L.D. in investigating Centipede.

He gave them one priority instruction above all others.

Find the man known as Clairvoyant.

The man’s ability to predict the future was troublesome enough.

The fact that he seemed to know far more than he should—and kept interfering with things he had no business knowing about—made Evenson increasingly suspicious.

What if Clairvoyant is like me?

What if he was another transmigrator?

Evenson’s expression darkened.

There was no room in this world for two people with that kind of advantage.

Better to find out now.

And, if necessary, eliminate him before he became a real problem.

Then Evenson remembered something else.

Oh, right.

If Gabriel happened to be free, he should tell her to meet him in Los Angeles.

He’d buy her a drink.

Los Angeles had some famous bars, after all.

That sounded like a perfectly reasonable use of company resources.