Sorcerer in the Marvel Universe

"Can I say no?"

People who willingly bargained with the Devil usually fell into one of four categories.

The first had already lost everything. With nothing left but a ruined life, they had nothing left to fear.

The second were completely consumed by desire. Their ambitions blinded them to every warning sign.

The third believed themselves too clever to be deceived. They were convinced that even the Devil could be outwitted. They almost always met the worst endings.

And the last... the most pitiful of all... never understood what they were agreeing to in the first place. Johnny Blaze had probably belonged to that group when he’d signed his contract.

Evenson Richter fit none of those descriptions.

Which was exactly why he had no intention of making a deal with Mephisto.

If anything, being complimented by one of the oldest Devils in existence only made him more determined to refuse. Being praised by Mephisto was the sort of thing that came with invisible hooks.

"Of course you can."

Mephisto smiled pleasantly, as though rejection meant nothing to him.

"Why wouldn’t you? I won’t send my riders after you forever. I won’t make someone else’s contract contingent on your death. I like to think I’m a very reasonable businessman."

Then his expression shifted into one of exaggerated disappointment.

"But opportunities like this don’t come around often. Most people go their entire lives without being offered a bargain by me. Are you really going to throw it away without giving it proper thought?"

Evenson sighed.

"...Fine. I’ll think about it."

As if I have a choice now.

Once a Devil took an interest in you, life rarely remained peaceful.

Mephisto couldn’t freely enter Earth in his true form, and his projections carried only a fraction of his real power. But Devils rarely dirtied their own hands anyway.

Instead, you might find yourself fighting an immortal Ghost Rider every other night.

Or being hunted by fanatics who had unknowingly sold themselves through some dusty contract signed generations ago.

That was how Devils worked.

"I’ll make this easier." Mephisto twirled the crystal skull atop his cane as he strolled closer. "Tell me what you want. I can grant your wish first."

That was the unsettling thing about Devil contracts.

They always paid first.

Not because they were generous, but because they never worried about collecting later. Every bargain was an investment, and Devils had an eternity to recover both principal and interest.

"Very charitable of you," Evenson said dryly, rubbing his temples.

"I’ve always been generous."

Mephisto gestured toward Johnny.

"You seemed interested in his power."

He had clearly noticed Evenson draining the Ghost Rider’s Hellfire while transformed.

"Would you like that power for yourself? I can give it to you."

"In exchange for my soul?" Evenson answered without hesitation. "No."

He couldn’t deny the appeal.

The Ghost Rider’s Hellfire resonated remarkably well with his magic, especially his destructive spells. Studying it would be invaluable.

But becoming another Ghost Rider?

Absolutely not.

Power meant very little if your soul belonged to someone else.

No matter how mighty the puppet, it was still attached to strings.

Besides...

If Evenson truly wanted to obtain power through questionable bargains, there were patrons far more compatible with a Warlock than Mephisto.

"What about authority?"

Power and dominion had tempted humanity since civilization began.

"I can’t make you king of a nation anymore," Mephisto admitted, "but I can still place you above almost everyone else."

"No."

Evenson rejected him just as quickly.

Power granted by a Devil was never truly yours.

You merely managed someone else’s empire.

"Love, then?"

Mephisto smiled.

"I can make any woman fall hopelessly in love with you."

His gaze shifted toward Melinda.

"Is she your companion? I could make her love you this very instant."

Melinda’s eye twitched.

If Evenson hadn’t warned her beforehand... and if the being before her weren’t literally Mephisto... she’d already have introduced his smug face to her fist.

Before she could vent her irritation, Evenson blurted out in near panic,

"No!"

He sounded genuinely horrified.

"That would be completely insane."

He and Melinda got along well enough.

Friends.

Maybe close friends someday.

If circumstances somehow led to a one-night stand, he wouldn’t necessarily object.

But love?

That sounded terrifyingly complicated.

Melinda slowly clenched her fists until her knuckles cracked.

She had no romantic interest in Evenson either.

That wasn’t the point.

The fact that he reacted as though the suggestion were some unspeakable nightmare was deeply offensive.

Seriously? Am I that awful?

Mephisto tried again.

"...Money?"

If power, authority, and romance failed, wealth remained.

"Hell’s vaults contain more gold than humanity could spend in a thousand lifetimes. Name your price."

Melinda stole a glance at Evenson.

Now that was dangerous.

The man was perpetually broke.

If any temptation could crack his resolve...

"...Actually..."

Evenson hesitated.

Then he shook his head.

"No. Wasting this opportunity on money would be a terrible bargain."

Years ago, somewhere deep within the Twisting Nether, there had been a certain Warlock who cheerfully traded priceless Soul Crystals for piles of gold.

The watching demons had collectively lamented the decline of modern Warlocks.

Once, they had pursued forbidden knowledge and ultimate power.

Now they were apparently motivated by financial planning.

"Oh, honestly..."

Mephisto frowned.

"You’re remarkably difficult to please."

He tapped his cane against the ground.

"Forget my suggestions."

"You tell me what you want."

Finally.

Evenson rolled his eyes internally.

Should’ve started with that.

And seriously... power, wealth, women? Those temptations were practically prehistoric. Even Devils needed to update their sales pitch once in a while.

Still...

What should he ask for?

Anything too valuable would demand an equally catastrophic price.

Devils never accepted bad investments.

Evenson glanced around the ruined church before slowly closing his eyes.

His senses spread through the lingering magical currents.

When he opened them again, he asked quietly,

"Have you ever heard of the Sorcerers’ Conclave?"

Mephisto frowned.

"The Sorcerers’... Conclave?"

He searched his memory.

The organization clearly went by a different name in Hell.

After a long pause, understanding dawned.

"If you’re referring to that group of human sorcerers..."

"...the one whose leader is actually troublesome..."

"Yes."

"I’ve heard of them."

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