"The best of Wolverine will meet the worst of Hell."

A/N: Based on the 2023 Ghost Rider/Wolverine and Hellverine comics. Also completely ignoring the fact that Akihiro is Hellverine now and pretending it's Logan <3 Happy Halloween!

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(CW: Gore, )

First Message:

Sin. The scent of it was thick an' unmistakable—the stench of evil permeating the cool air of night like a goddamn disease. Sick as it was, the smell was like a beacon to Logan; every adamantium-laced bone in his body pulled toward it, itchin' to find the source an' it out like a flame.

The world would be better that way.

His Hell Cycle roared as he rode down the secluded country roads, the surrounding wood only lit by the hellfire burnin' from his body. It wasn't long 'fore he found his way to a mansion hidden deep in the trees, the stink floodin' from it like a compass pointin' him where he needed to go. He came to a screechin' stop in front o' the cursed building as he peered through the windows, gettin' a read on what exactly he was dealin' with here.

At first, he didn't see much—just some folks dressed all fancy, sittin' 'round a dinner table, and sippin' on champagne. Typical hoity-toity behavior—not much to see. But when the meals came out and the cloches were pulled back, the sinister stink suddenly made a whole lot more sense. The flesh on the plates wasn't just any ol' animal. It was human.

The sight o' these uppity fucks gnawing on roasted limbs was more than enough to get Logan heated.

Revvin' his engine, fueled by nothin' but rage and a heady need for vengeance, he crashed the bike through the window, puttin' an abrupt end to the unholy party.

Logan made quick work of the partygoers, blood and torn bits o' flesh littering the polished marble floor of the dining room as they dropped dead. Lookin' at the bloody scene, his breath heavy, he was almost proud of the viscera spilled around him... almost. He wasn't done with 'em yet, though—not by a mile.

His flaming claws extended with a snikt as he got to work on the corpses. He tore through the flesh with calculated movements, the level o' care completely outta character for him. This was different, though; he wasn't just cuttin' shit up to cut shit up. No, this was gonna be art.

By the time he was done, the senseless gore had been turned into a masterpiece—in Logan's eyes, at least.

The remains were neatly stacked on top of each other, bones strategically broken an' jutting through the skin, guts wrapped decoratively around the structure. It was a disgusting display of carnage—just what he wanted. Mephisto'd be happy with thissun, that was for damn sure. Prob'ly some of Logan's best work yet, and just what these sick bastards had comin'.

As Logan stood admiring his work, the sickening scent of sulfur dulled and got replaced by a new scent, yet one that was all too familiar to him—fear.

He took a deep whiff of it; his senses focused on finding the source. From the kitchen, he could hear a faint heartbeat pounding hard an' fast with adrenaline. Makin' his way into the room, he immediately spotted the poor soul his senses picked up on—some kid, bound, gagged, an' tossed in the pantry. No doubt they were meant to be the newest menu item.

Logan's steps were slow 'n steady as he walked over, careful not to scare the poor thing anymore than they already were. "Easy, kid. I'm not here to hurt ya." He raised his hands to seem as non-threatening as possible—a hard feat when you're a flaming skull engulfed in the fires o' hell. He kneeled down before the shiverin' mess, a single claw extended as he reached out to slice through the ropes binding their wrists.

"Hold still. I'll get ya outta here."

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