The Road was oddly quiet as they drove.

They didn’t need to go off-Road, so there were no scavvers to worry about. No Racers materialized to give them a challenge.

There was a Chase, but it was the weirdest one they’d ever seen. None of the following vehicles got within half a mile of them, content to stay way back, more like an escort than anything else.

“The Legends say that ‘The Highway to Hell shall remain always open’,” the Mick murmured into coms. “The Highway outta Hell, that’s gonna be a fight, boys and girls.”

“The Road’s getting darker, and the sky’s turning redder. You noticed we ain’t shifted a world at all?” Chopsaw called back as his Monster Truck rumbled along behind the Mick’s Mustang.

“Aye, slick and sweet going Down, a grinding climb coming out. All the tales say it’ll be the toughest Ride we’ve ever faced, and we might never leave if we can’t win a fair race against the Hell-riders.”

They were hardly the first group to try and make it out of Hell, but unless you could win the Ride Outta Hell, you kept looping around to try again until you could win. If you fell, you joined the Chase Outta Hell until you won and could go on to your reward, as long as you won a fair Race.

Their Rides were meant for fighting, so winning Races had never been their thing, except against teams that played dirty. A true Racing team could beat them, every time.

That wasn’t permissible for this run. They’d had to overhaul the vehicles a lot to undertake this run.

They had to beat the Chase, and they had to win the Race. That’s all there was to it.

Seven vehicles. Johnny Blaze and Wanda on the Ghost Rider cycle. Mick and Jennifer Kale in his Mustang. Gunn and Bunny in their Jeep Rover. Wheels and Shotski in the Charger. Chopsaw, Dealer, Spears, and Mr. Hill in the Monster Truck. Castle, Natalya, Microchip, and Blade in the Van. Marc Spector, Hannibal, Morbius, and Russel in the Moon Chariot, the all-white convertible that carried them to and from their own supernatural fights.

“Anything?” Chopsaw asked in a low voice, as Dealer fanned out her Cards.

“No. There’s a pattern to this stuff, a system Hell has fallen into. The tests are all set. We’ve got to rely on ourselves, but what we have to face is right in front of us. The Fight, The Chase, and the Race. Those are the elements of a Ride into Hell. We follow the Rules of the Road, and it’s all on us... and there’s likely never been a bunch of Road Warriors quite like us.

“We have this.”

Dealer’s grim confidence buoyed everyone. Ghostly hellfire leading the way, the six cars and trucks roared after Johnny Blaze and Wanda’s flaming tracks.

-----

The road underneath was slick and black, broken up only by the white of uncharred bones and exposed skeletons here and there, all from creatures that weren’t human. The air smelled of rotting eggs, fire, and ash, and incidentally was about 150 degrees Fahrenheit, too.

They were in Hell, but Hell didn’t know they were here as yet, and the Road had dropped them where they needed to be.

Olivier, the Grigori who had Cursed Frank Castle in the first place, had been having an interesting last few years. While Frank had certainly been about killing a lot of nasty folk, soulless creatures like vampires and demons did nothing for the Fallen Angel, and those whose souls had been claimed by other entities, like many cultists and werefolk, were also unable to be suborned by him.

The rampage through the criminal underworld that should have taken place, and would have been assisted by his Curse, had never really happened as it should have. Oh, the Punisher had taken action against Maggia and mortal criminals here and there as was opportune, but he had never made it a true War on Crime and delivered unto Olivier the souls he so keenly desired.

On top of that, Olivier’s rivals had all been warned about his machinations through the gossiping blabbermouth of Dr. Strange, that interfering Sorcerer Supreme, him. The debt such beings owed the Sorcerer Supreme was minor compared to the knowledge that allowed them to be prepared for the return of their fallen brother and his tactics, and what should have been a rampage through Hell gaining armies of his own had ended up in a frustrating stalemate with all the other powers in Hell not interested in being slain or subjugated by him.

Then the first explosions and screams sounded outside his fortress, and the war truly came to him.

--------

Frank Castle’s Ka-Bar had a skull mounted to its pommel, a shrunken thing that had once belonged to the Collector.

It was a Dreadskull against Immortals, and it was currently blazing as Frank cut across Olivier’s throat with it. That didn’t stop the Grigori from screaming as the infinitely long tentacles of Shuma-Gorath swirled out of the void and gathered him up, trying to reach further into Hell.

Dealer was having absolutely none of that shit. As Frank tore open the killing wound, laden with True Death to Immortals, Dealer drew and hurled a full deck of Cards out. Not at the incoming demon god, and not at the Portal. Nope, they all went at Olivier, and he could only gape up at them as they fell upon him.

He probably thought he could survive even if Shuma-Gorath took him, but the gleaming power of those Cards as they descended on him indicated otherwise. They all came down in a flying wedge of glowing papers carved with Holy Runes, the judgement of Heaven and the absolute disdain of Eternity upon them.

Olivier exploded in mind, body, and soul, his existence purified and wiped away as his energy crashed into the Portal he had opened into Hell. Vivic energy was alien and foreign to Hell, but the mad realms that the imprisoned demon god came from were even worse, and Hell defaulted to the first use of vivus: repairing rips in its Veil!

With a grinding roar of Hell’s truest fires erupting from every direction and converging on the Portal, the rupture into Hell was forced closed, the demon god blazing and burning from both the death of an angel and the Spite of Damnation. Its shrieking and cursing in mad tongues was abruptly shut off as with a roar of a furnace door closing, the Portal was consumed, and Hell stood inviolate once more.

Bereft of the fallen angel who had both empowered them and been empowered by them, the Damned shrieked as they lost much of their strength and cohesiveness. The wild attacks on the Punishers grew increasingly feeble as Blessed ammunition tore through them, the hellfires dimmed, and soon enough, all was pretty quiet.

Frank Castle came out of the conflagration with the gleaming crystalline skull of a Grigori in one hand, and a severed ten-foot slimy tentacle clutched in the other.

There was a relief in his eyes, a release from a hunger he hadn’t really known was there, something never satisfied. With the death of Olivier, his Curse was broken... but the power of the Grigori had burned about and was still with him, Forsaken or no.

“We’re done here.” His eyes turned to Gadriel, the former Armorer of Heaven, also Fallen, although not doomed to spend all his days in Hell. He’d been wounded by Olivier, but obviously was in no real danger, being what he was. “You need a ride out of here?”

The Fallen Angel stared at the mortal ready to give him a ride, of all things, and shook his head. “You are on the Road, and that is not a place for the likes of me. Go in Grace, Frank Castle. I will find my own way out.” There was a flash of light, and a shining Ingram settled into the hand of the former divine weaponsmith.

No, he wouldn’t have any problem finding a way out.

“We’re going! Let’s move!” the Mick shouted, leading the other mercenaries back towards the main hall, where the sounds of extremely violent combat had also faded. Mr. Hill and Johnny Blaze had been there, with Wanda supporting both as the main force of Olivier’s troops and monstrosities tried to reach their master.

The place was a total wreck, strewn with bodies falling into hellfire, shattered walls, tumbled ceilings, and the floor broken and holed.

Mr. Hill was blasted and scarred by infernal flames and claws, ignoring it all as he swung his spiked Flail lightly. Johnny Blaze was off to the side, his chest ripped open and the shattered bones spewing erratic, weak hellfire on full display as Wanda held onto him, eyes burning red and hissing spirals of chaos magic around her, waiting to be unleashed.

“Johnny, bite and burn!” An Ace of Hearts snapped into his mouth, catching between the naked bone of his jaws. He bit down, and released a wisp of hellfire.

Golden flames exploded over him in a brilliant, blinding inferno... and Wanda still didn’t let go of him. His gloved hand clutched hers, and he rose to his feet, shattered bones intact and his hellfire washed with Healing golden energy for a long moment.

“Let’s go!” he said, holding his wife’s hand, his hellfire shotgun in the other, and joined everyone else in racing for the doors out.

Mr. Hill led the way, smashing his way through the rubble so they wouldn’t have to go over or around it. The occasional screaming devil or Damned came leaping at them out of hidey-holes or side passages or behind the rubble, and ready guns burped and belched and disposed of them, not stopping in their progress. Mr. Hill caught up anything attacking from the front, held them up and off him, and their heads exploded from double-taps abruptly, hellfire reaching up to end them forever.

----

Their Rides were actually unharmed, although there were a number of devils and Damned lurking around them, trying to find a way through the holy Wards that protected them. Streaks of Cards shining with rainbows swooped through them, clearing off any diabolics that might get in the way with cheerful pyrotechnic explosions garishly out-of-place in Hell.

Without delay, the Punishment Team piled into their Rides and headed out of Hell. They passed by the fallen monstrosities with skulls caved in or holes blown right through them by Blessed H-E shells, exploded war machines and gun emplacements shattered by Sacred explosives, and the scattered remnants of infernal troops cut down by Sanctified autofire.

Olivier had optimized his people to fight against other infernals, not against mortals coming in with the fires of Heaven itself upon them!

Dealer had pitched out the Healing magic, and their physical wounds were mostly fine. Devils wielding Pandemic Silver against Russel, Blade, and Hannibal had been a pretty unwelcome sight, but that was what the supporting gunfire and Spears-as-Storms were for, and the three had simply swapped out to fight other Damned trying to close to melee range.

“Feels too quiet,” the Mick said over coms as they roared down the burning Road that had brought them there. “That hill ahead wasn’t there, either.”

“The topography of Hell is subject to change,” Dealer noted fatalistically, “especially under an active will.”

No one said anything as they pulled up to the top of the hill, where Johnny Blaze had slowly coasted to a stop, waiting for the others while saying nothing.

“Well, don’t that look all kinds of impressive,” Mr. Hill said gruffly, as the rest of the Punishment Team rolled to a stop.

Before them was a long plain, where had been their Road leading up to an On-ramp. Sitting directly on top of the Road, stretching from horizon to horizon, were the armies of Hell.

The Mick grinned cheekily. “Why, I see some sort of opportunist here, looking to make some sort of profit off mortal souls coming into Hell. Dealer, sweet thing, could you tell me if there’s actually someone important in charge of all that?”

“He’s right in the middle of the road up there looking all smug. The Red Rat Mephisto himself,” she replied without a shred of care.

“That flaming guy? Good enough. Hey, Castle, make sure you pull up on his other side with that slimy souvenir of yours.”

“You got it, Mick,” Castle replied, an odd calm in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

Without another word, The Mick took the lead, gunning it down the hill, Castle coming in behind him, and Blaze making sure to keep a car or more between him and Mephisto.