Saints and Sinners (Ghost Rider/Worm AU)

[Tennybro]

I really liked this one-shot, but I don't really see it becoming more if Taylor doesn't gain a parahuman power, regular crime just isn't where the plot of worm focuses so there really wouldn't be much to write. Now I can see this becoming a series of side stories written as a sort of urban myth retelling. As for powers that could fit Taylor? Nothing big tbh, a shaker? Power to overwhelm senses and make capes lose control of their powers? An annihilator striker set with a low level brute rating plus some combat thinker/haki-type precog garnish? Something small and simple but useful so that she can level the playing field down enough so that she can beat all her opponents but not necessarily have an easy time of it. Thinking about it, setting it up so that Taylor gets caught and triggers from a torture session could be used to set up a Trigger event that just out right gives her Haki.

 

[TheStranger]

"But they wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength;
They shall mount up with wings as eagles;
They shall run, and not be weary;
And they shall walk, and not faint."​

Piggot was equal parts somber and livid. The latter part of her stemmed from several factors, most important of which were incompetence, insubordination, foolishness, and recklessness. The Wards should never have been allowed so much as a foot near that flaming monstrosity, and they pounded that fact into their pretty little heads since the day they signed up. The wrath of the Youth Guard and their parents was nothing compared to the Director's fury, and she was going to make this fact damn clear when those hyenas came demanding answers.

On the other hand, she saw no reason to chastise them or put them down. The looks on their faces said it all. Hannah's report had been forthcoming, as has the debrief. Despite her dislike for parahumans in general, Piggot could understand how the kids were feeling. Before Elisberg, she had been a bright-eyed soldier who believed in what the military stood for. She even briefly served in Iraq for a time, helping in relief efforts and fighting back against terrorists and oppressive regimes. Saving people was always her priority. It still was, but her job as Director of the Protectorate ENE made it so goddamn difficult nowadays.

Dennis and Carlos were the most affected by the ordeal. It had been their decision to call everyone to the bank. Had the situation been different, she would have slapped them on the wrist, lambast them, and bench them within seconds while docking their pay. If they managed to somehow bring in Tattletale and her new motley crew, she might have been willing to praise them, but that was unlikely. The PRT's track record in Brockton Bay left much to be desired, and a group of teens were unlikely to achieve as much as their older, more experienced counterparts.

Piggot's ire was mostly focused on Chris for his blatant disregard for protocol. Despite the results his "Alternator Cannon" achieved, it still did not change the fact that it wasn't approved for field usage, and based on what Colin showed her, there wasn't a damned chance in hell she'd ever allow it except during an Endbringer battle or if all hands were on deck. That wasn't even going into the fact that the Ghost Rider managed to get his grubby hands on it and modify it. Still, like the others at the moment, she was willing to let it slide just this once.

The kids, after all, already knew their screw-ups. More importantly, the weight of their failure was punishment enough.

"I still think you're being too lenient on them," Colin said after she excused the Wards after the debrief was over. "The Youth Guard is going to have a field day with this. Kid Win in particular should be under review for bringing an untested and unauthorized A-class tinkertech weapon with him."

"They've gone through enough," Hannah countered with a frown, one hand on her hip and the other balled into a fist. She was frustrated, both at herself and at Colin for his callousness. "They made the right call. Yes, we've told them repeatedly they were not allowed to engage or interact with the Ghost Rider under any circumstance, but they could have at least escorted Trainwreck to safety or isolate him and wait for our arrival."

"For once, I am in agreement with Miss Militia," Piggot sniffed. "In case you missed the look on your Wards, Armsmaster, their failure to defend Trainwreck is punishment enough."

She took a great amount of vicious pleasure when she saw the tiniest, remote signs of a wince on his face. His handling of the Wards left much to be desired, rarely interacting with them and leaving the matter to Hannah and the others despite being the official leader of the Protectorate team. Being the leader of the Protectorate capes meant he was the one stuck with looking after the Wards. It also hadn't escaped her notice that Colin had a tense relationship with Chris, though she chalked it up to the boy not meeting his standard's, ridiculously high as they were.

"In case you've forgotten, while being a hero affiliated with the PRT comes with a lot of red tape, it doesn't change the fact that heroes are tasked with protecting everyone. It's a little something called 'chronic hero syndrome'. It's why the public loves heroes, and it's the only thing that's allowing us to salvage this mess." The heavy-set woman huffed and threw the matter aside. She turned to Deputy Director Rennick, who looked like a chicken with its head cut off. "On that note, how goes the matter with the media?"

"We're running damage control, and so far, public reception seems to be mostly positive," Rennick reported sotto voce. "Honestly, Aegis made the correct decision in tasking Grue with helping escort the civilians out of the bank. It's not what we had in mind for his public debut, but it does help us somewhat. There's a fair amount of supporters for the others trying to defend Trainwreck from the Ghost Rider. Unfortunately, that's where things get a bit heated. Negative reception seems to be around 26% or so. Some people are saying the Wards should have let the Ghost Rider get their hands on Trainwreck."

Rory gritted his teeth. "Are they serious? Tell me they can't be serious. Do they not understand what this monster has been doing since it came to this city?!"

"The PRT exists for a reason," Carly said in complete agreement with Rory's anger and Piggot's own thoughts. "If we allowed capes like the Ghost Rider to run around and do as they please, there would be total chaos and anarchy. I don't remember what life was like during the Golden Age, but I've heard plenty of stories of what life was like before the Protectorate was founded."

"You're preaching to the choir, Battery," Sean said. Ever the intermediary, he stepped in to calm everyone's nerves. "For now, let's focus on what's in front of us. After what happened today, all eyes are gonna be on us. I wouldn't put it past Lung to start another gang war while we're dealing with this."

Piggot snorted. "I'd be surprised if he did. At any rate, my orders stand. Until further notice, the Wards are benched from further patrols until I say otherwise or if the city's on fire. In the meantime, we will be amping up patrols around the city. I will also authorize any cooperation with New Wave. On the subject of the Dallons and Pelhams, what's the word?"

Director Rennick grimaced. "Well…"



"What the hell were you thinking?!"

Amy winced. Vicky had a similar reaction, but hers was worse on account of the throbbing migraine and the damned burn that wouldn't heal no matter how much power Amy poured into it. Like all the others, her power either couldn't register the burn or the mark just didn't exist as far as her powers were concerned. Unlike previous cases where she would be fascinated and intrigued, the victim of the burn was her sister and anchor. Vicky's beautiful face was permanently scarred, and she couldn't fix it.

"Not so loud…" Vicky grimaced. "My head's still hurting… Aaames, can't you do something?"

The red-haired girl wished she could. It was within her power to do so, but her self-imposed rule forbid it. Her conscious forbid it. That, and she was in complete agreement with her adopted mother. "I don't do brains, and I agree with Carol. Seriously, what in the actual fuck were you thinking?"

"I was thinking on getting payback!"

"Payback?!" She loved her sister, more than she should, but damned if she didn't feel so irritated by Vicky's stubborn-headedness. "He knocked you out with a punch! Just one! What if he did something worse, like with Shadow Stalker?! She's got a scar that's ten times as worse as yours, and it covers almost the entire right half of her face!"

Vicky bit her lower lip in frustration. "I know that, okay?! But what was I supposed to do?! After what he did to Mom?!"

"Don't make this about me, Victoria," Carol warned.

The younger blonde looked up. "Why can't I?! Aren't you angry at that son of a bitch too?! It's because of him you can't see!"

At that, Amy couldn't repress the feelings of pain and shame. Everyone around her, from friends at school to her family, all told her what happened wasn't her fault. There was nothing she could have done, given the nature of the Ghost Rider's powers. Even so, every time she looked at Carol's face, she couldn't help but feel as though she failed to live up to her reputation as one of the world's greatest healers.

If she had, she would have been able to heal that disgusting scar or give Carol her sight back. Instead, she was forced to look at the ugly, burnt flesh surrounding milky gray eyes.

"You could have died," Carol hissed. Amy had seen her angry before, but this was something else. It scared her. "You've heard what that monster can do. What would you have done if he used that Master power of his on you? What if he had actually killed you?!"

There was nothing Vicky could say to that. Through her power, Amy could tell her sister's brain was going through rapid activity, a cocktail of clashing chemicals and neural activity. She wished she could do something, maybe tweak her brain a little so she'd calm down, but Amy stamped that thought down hard. That was a line she would never allow herself to cross, not ever. She'd sooner die than allow that to happen.

Light shimmered around Carol like a halo, a representation of her anger. It was the only way she could express her disappointment at Vicky. Perhaps sensing Vicky's beaten mood, the light flickered into non-existence. The woman sighed tiredly. "I know you're angry, but please, think about the people around you before you do something reckless. Try to think how Amy would be if you got yourself killed because of your stubbornness."

It was a low blow, but it was the nail in the coffin. Vicky's anger plummeted and drained to the very bottom. Now, all that was left was the rather adorable and cute sight of a pouting Glory Girl. "…sorry, Mom."

"Apologies don't mean a thing. Not until you promise not to pull another stunt like this." Carol's smile was contradictory to her chiding words. Her hand fumbled around in the air, but it hit the mark and she ruffled her daughter's hair. "Now get some rest. Unlike me, Amy's bedside manners leave much to be desired, and the last thing you want is to be her patient."

"Mom!" Amy yelled in mortification. She wasn't that bad when she tended to Carol's injuries.

Carol flashed a small smirk in her general direction before she pulled herself up off the floor, tapping her stick along the floor and moving back into the living room.

Almost as if waiting until she was gone, Vicky looked at Amy and whispered. "Please tell me the burn at least looks badass."

Amy rolled her eyes. The things she put up with…



The house was quiet this evening. Usually at this time, Ethan would be watching TV, either the news or playing a LaserDisc. The LDP was a family heirloom from the start of the 2000's, inherited from his uncle, and one of the few family possessions Ethan took great care of. He had many fond memories of watching old movies on the LDP, even though DVD had long since become mainstream and Blu Ray was on the rise.

This time, though, the former villain sat in silence. He lazily lounged about on the sofa, staring up at the blank ceiling with his hands behind his head and a foot on one of the arms of the sofa.

He had tried to watch some TV when he came home after a long day at work, but he either couldn't find anything decent to watch or the news was just god awful. Every station, bloodhounds and sharks that they were, were somehow already covering today's events at the bank. Images and footage of the Wards' attempt at fighting the Ghost Rider were thankfully withheld and not shown, but there was no denying the damage. Piggot told them this was going to be expected, but it left a bad taste in his mouth, not to mention anger at what people were saying.

They didn't understand what the Ghost Rider was like. Not like he did. He saw how vicious the son of a bitch could be. His bones still ached, he could feel his skin blistering and peeling away as that flaming bastard laughed and laughed, pounding and stomping and punching and crushing him until he was a broken husk. His powers didn't do a damn thing to protect him no matter how hard he tried, and it didn't matter how he tried to excuse himself. His words and pleas fell on deaf ears, as had the prisoners en route to the Birdcage when the Ghost Rider turned them all to ash.

"You have that look again."

The voice of his angel and savior brought him out of his memories. Ethan blinked, not realizing that the love of his life was looking at him, peering over the edge of the sofa with a concerned expression.

It was love at first sight, if he was being honest. She had been a Ward when they first met. It wouldn't be until the following year when she joined the Protectorate, and ever since, he enjoyed their encounters. He imagined it was like being in a Batman/Catwoman situation, only he was Catwoman and Carly was the caped crusader. She hated him with a passion and made her opinion very clear during their second outing. He loved riling her up, finding her very attractive when she was angry or flustered. Her mentors hadn't appreciated the gesture, unfortunately.

Their eighth meeting made Ethan's world change in a way he never thought possible. He thought Carly would leave him for dead, focus on saving her team when the Ghost Rider showed up and started raising hell. Instead, she dragged him to safety and stood by, keeping him company while waiting for paramedics to arrive. His sight had been fucked up then and could barely see out of his swollen eye, but he burned the sight of her worried and frantic face into his mind.

She was the one, he decided. She was the girl he had been waiting for.

He joined the Protectorate soon after. Battery offered to be his probationary guardian and proverbial leash despite her mentors' protests, and he did everything he could to prove himself. It was difficult, he would admit. He had no idea there would be so much red tape involved in heroics, but he would not deny how amazing it felt to be recognized, to actually save people. He was decried as a hypocrite by his former colleagues, for helping to put people away in the Birdcage, but by then he realized there had been people who deserved to be locked away in an inescapable prison.

At any rate, getting Carly to go on a date with him in the form of a public event meant to humiliate him was his first real step in being someone worthy in her eyes. After all, she never expected he would be so good with kids.

"…I was just thinking about how lucky those kids were," Ethan admitted after a while, forcing a smile on his face. He could normally find a reason to smile about anything, it was why he got along so well with Dennis. The incident at Central Bank robbed him of the will to do that. "Things could have been so much worse."

"They could have," Carly nodded. "But, it didn't. Honestly, I'm more worried about their mental health. Yamada agreed to host a join therapy session with them, but I wonder if that'll cut it."

"It probably won't. They blame themselves, even though they shouldn't." Ethan closed his eyes and sighed. "I wanna believe those kids will bounce back, but…"

Carly slid around the sofa, sitting atop the arm above his head and running her fingers through his locks. "I know, Ethan."

"Is this what parenthood is like, do you think?" Ethan asked, partly joking and partly genuinely curious. "Well, not us, I mean. Armsy and Miss Militia are the parents since taking care of the Wards is their job. We're just the aunts and uncles."

Carly smiled wryly. "If that's the case, then you're the uncle I don't want our kids anywhere near. You're a bad influence. Just look at poor Dennis."

"Lies and slander! That kid's humor was already just as bad as mine before I met him!"

It took him a minute to realize this had been Carly's plan from the start. She noticed the dark, swirling thoughts brewing in his head, and did what she did best. She cranked the womanly charm up to eleven. If it were possible, he'd fall in love with her all over again.

Still, this joking banter made him think. "…do you think I'd be a good dad?" Carly stared at him in bewilderment, no doubt wondering where that came from. He hadn't meant to say those words, merely ponder it in his head, but now that he said it, he might as well go with the flow. "I mean, you'd be a kickass supermom the kids would adore. Missy looks at you like you're the mom she wishes she had and I think you're the world's super wife. Me, though? I'd probably the world's worst."

"What makes you think that?"

"Just a hunch."

"Ethan…" Oh boy, he knew that tone.

Ethan waved his hands in defense. "Okay, okay… You know how things are with my family. I haven't talked with my dad in years, and if I have it my way, I'll never have to see him again, much less speak to him in any way. I hate him as much as he hates me for not being the son he always wanted, and I loved to rub it in his face every day just by existing. I know that the odds of us having a kid anytime soon isn't happening, not while we're heroes, but…"

"You're worried you'll be like your dad?"

"More like I'm terrified they'll take after me in all the wrong ways."

Silence fell over the house again. Carly just stared at him, her eyes never leaving his. Part of him felt scared. What if she agreed with him? It wouldn't be as if she was wrong if that was the case. He made one too many mistakes, both before his Trigger Event and after. A part of him knew he'd never live up to the life he had now thanks to his wife. Even so, he felt terrified to his core and waited on baited breath for her to give him an answer. Eventually, the silence became so deafening he almost begged her to say something.

When she did, it was with a beautiful smile and a warmth that reminded him of someone he hadn't thought of in years.

"Well, assuming we ever decide it's time to have kids…" she said as she leaned down and pressed her lips against his forehead. "You'd be a superdad, no ifs, ands, or buts."

Ethan smiled. All felt right in the world.



April 15, 2011



"…okay, I'll bite. What're you doing in front of my house, short stuff?"

Missy should have felt insulted, she really should have. She couldn't muster a rebuttal, too focused on the fact that she really was standing in front of Sophia's house and trying her hardest not to stare at the gauze and bandage plastered all across her fellow female Ward's cheek. From the looks of it, she just finished a work-out routine as she was wearing a tank-top a size too big and baggy and shorts, mocha-colored skin caked in sweat.

The younger girl sighed. She really had no idea what she was thinking coming here, but now that she made her bed, there was no other choice but to lay in it.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but can we hang out? Like, sleep over and shit? And before you ask, it isn't what you think. I just really don't want to be around my parents."

Sophia raised a questioning eyebrow, but didn't make any rejections or snide remarks. Instead, she pulled away from the doorway and retreated back into the entrance. "Shut and lock on your way in!" she called out over her shoulder.

Missy breathed a sigh of relief, stepping inside the Hess household. She closed the door shut and locked it before following Sophia into what she assumed was the kitchen. It was pretty barebones compared to hers, but then again, they had money to burn because of her. She thought giving them part of her salary would make things better. It did nothing.

"So, you got your choices of coffee, water, or soda."

"I'll take coffee. Just black, please."

From the look of it, Sophia had just brewed a fresh pot as it was still full and steaming. She grabbed two mugs and poured the steaming dark liquid into both until they were almost full to the brim, set the pitcher back in its place, and brought the mug over to the table. Missy took a seat across from Sophia, who handed her one of the mugs.

The youngest Ward took an experimental sip. The bitterness was to be expected, but the scalding heat bit at her tongue almost immediately. Sophia saw the wince on her face and sneered. "What, too bitter for you?"

"Hot," Missy snapped back. "Also, is this Blue Mountain?"

"Huh. You know your stuff. Yeah, I made it myself. One of the few things I actually spend my salary on," Sophia said, surprising Missy. She didn't know the former vigilante was a coffee lover. Then again, she supposed she really didn't know much about Sophia beyond the fact that she started off as a vigilante and was a total bitch. Sophia took a swift drink of her mug, which was still piping hot but gave no reaction at all beyond the narrowed, pained look in her eyes. "So, why come to my place? Last I checked, you and I aren't exactly friends."

"We definitely aren't. I hate your fucking guts and hope you drop dead in a ditch somewhere just so I won't have to listen your 'strong live, weak die' shit that I got sick and tired of hearing ages ago," Missy said bluntly.

Sophia snorted. "Wow. Fuck you too, midget."

"No thanks. Your not my type, and I'm interested in boys." She ignored Sophia's not-so-subtle whisper and rolled her eyes. "And like I said, I really don't want to be around my parents. I don't know where Tammi lives, and even if I did, I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to go there since she's still technically under probation. You were my last choice."

"Trouble in paradise, I'm guessing?"

Missy sighed. "Screaming matches all around. It's all they ever do now. Doesn't matter if I'm standing right next to them or if I'm in the house. All it takes is one little disagreement from either my mom or dad, and next thing I know, my home is ground zero of World War III."

"They goin' through a divorce?"

That would have been preferable if it were the case. Missy loved her parents despite their faults, but she despised how all they ever did was argue. If they were getting a divorce, she would at least be able to stay with one of her parents and get to see the other every now and again. That was how that stuff worked, right? Sadly, as much as she wished otherwise, they weren't getting a divorce. It was all screaming and arguing about what was best for her.

That was the worst part in her opinion. They just didn't understand, they didn't know that they were why she Triggered in the first place.

"No, they…" Missy grimaced and shook her head. It was starting to sink in her head that she was having a civil conversation with Shadow Stalker, the Ward no one liked. What had her life become? "They're just being so damn difficult and I don't want to see them. Why do they have to be so… So…"

"Fucking annoying?"

Missy snapped her fingers. "Yeah, that!" She paused and looked at Sophia curiously. "Are your parents like that?"

Sophia groaned as she shook her head. "Ever since my mother found out I was a cape, she's been walking on eggshells around me, like she's afraid I'll break or something. It's fucking annoying, and my brother would rather hole himself up in his room or play with his friends or something than deal with me."

"And the dad?"

"Don't got one. He killed himself three years ago."

…oh. Oh boy. She knew that look. Missy had that same look whenever someone brought up her Trigger Event. Asking someone about the day they got their powers was a quick way to piss them off, and this was coming from both personal experience and someone asking about her Trigger Event. Dean intervened before it could get ugly, and it was a good thing because the idiot wouldn't stop pestering her about it.

"…so!" Missy wisely changed the subject before it could get uncomfortable. "How's the burn?"

Sophia grunted. "Hurts like a motherfucker. Ice and the docs couldn't do shit, but it's hardly the worst I've felt. Honestly, I'm glad that guy hit my cheek and not my throat. He had it in a goddamn vice grip."

"Well, look on the bright side. You got to meet your longtime idol, didn't you?"

"Yeah, and he sucker punched me and fucked us over, and now we're more or less on house arrest." Sophia took another drink from her mug, her gulps louder and more barbaric. A trickle of coffee spilled from the corner of her mouth. "And now I have to sit and wait on my ass for some good news."

"You mean about your friend?"

She did not mean to listen in, having been on her way to the carpool where a PRT agent would escort her home. Sophia had called her handler and asked her to relay some information about a missing person, a friend from school. Her first thought was that her friend was maybe just skipping school or was in the middle of teenage rebellion, but those thoughts went out the window when Sophia reported occult items that neither herself or her friend's family knew about. A missing person's report was formally filed, and both the PRT and police department were on the ground searching. A missing girl in Brockton Bay was worrying by itself, but when it came to Satanic stuff? That shit screamed Hellfire Club, and no one had seen them in months.

There were plenty of horror stories and rumors on the web about the Hellfire club. They were regarded as being just as bad, if not worse than the Slaughterhouse Nine. That claim alone spoke volumes of their depravity, and the sights of their carnage gave credit to the stories. Missy had not seen any of the photos, but she did some light reading. She wished she hadn't.

It honestly surprised Missy to know that Sophia actually had friends, much less said friend being the daughter of a lawyer. Winslow was well-known for being a shithole of epic proportions, and both the ABB and the Empire used it as a recruitment center of sorts since the administration was barely within legal tolerance and regulations. The reason Sophia was allowed to go there instead of Arcadia like the older teenage members was because Armsmaster believed she could be used as a deterrent or informant and report signs of gang activity within the school.

Sophia's expression grew poor. She set the mug down on the table and stared at it. "…I met Emma a year ago. Barely a year after the PRT picked me up and told me to either get my act together and join the Wards or go to Juvenile Hall. Found her and her dad being harassed a bunch of ABB fucks who threatened to cut her hair, cut up her face and tear off her nose. She punched one of them in the face and broke his nose." A smile formed on her face. "It was like love at first sight."

"…wait, do you mean in the platonic sense or…?"

The older female Ward gave Missy a flat stare. "You do realize I take every opportunity to watch Trent work out when he's not in costume, right?"

"TMI, Sophia."

"Oh, like you haven't stared at Mr. White Knight when he's topless?" She sputtered, cheeks going red. Sophia smirked in the most annoying way and made her want to smack it off her face with a distortion-enhanced slap to boot. "Anyway, yes, it was romantic and if you give me shit, I'll ram my fucking crossbow bolts up your fucking ass."

"Wasn't judging. Trent's gay in case you forgot, and he's the only boy I can hang out it without feeling weird." She didn't have anything against the other boys. Dean just made her stomach flutter in the weirdest ways, Dennis could get a little annoying with his jokes, Chris wouldn't shut up about tinker stuff and Tammi, and Carlos was more concerned about living up to everyone's expectations as the Wards' leader. She hadn't had enough time to hang out with Brian, but it was likely going to be an awkward affair for both of them since a past meeting involved her shooting Carlos at him like a missile.

Sophia rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Anyway, we hit it off as friends, and we went to Winslow. She was one of the popular girls and had a modeling gig at the side. I joined the track team and was happy just hanging out with her before she decided to drag me to social events and shit. It was annoying, yeah, but it was fun." She paused for a moment, her face growing pensive. "She wasn't a childhood friend or something, but I thought I knew her well enough. That's why I don't get why she'd be interested in this occult shit."

"Parahuman stuff, maybe?" Missy offered. "Were there any clues? Ideas as to why she got into Satanist shit?"

"…actually, yeah, there might be one. I gave my handler Emma's notebook. Had a bunch of newspaper clippings and reports. There was stuff about the Ghost Rider and other occult shit, along with a missing persons. Some girl that went missing three years ago."

Missy frowned. "Is it possible they had something to do with Emma going missing?"

"Fuck if I know." Sophia glared up at the ceiling in frustration. "All I know is that Em's was obsessed with her or something. The weird thing is that the face and name were burned out, like someone wanted to make sure they didn't know who she was. The burns weren't old, either. They were still warm. Someone damaged the posters not long after Emma went missing."

"That's…concerning."

"You're telling me." The girl sighed deeply. "Fucking hell, Emma, where are you?"



It was finally time. There was no better opportunity than this. The PRT was scrambling and running damage control, and all eyes were on them at the moment. Lung gathered what little of the ABB was left, making some grandiose speech that she couldn't be bothered to listen to. Instead, she looked forward to the future.

Melissa Chang wasn't sure if this was divine providence or a cosmic coincidence, but this was an utter delightful turn of events. As terrified as she was of Lung, the big brute's growing obsession turned away his most ardent follower. She never would have dreamed that Oni Lee, the so-called Dragon of Kyushu's shadow, would want to stab his master in the back and seek her help, but who was she to refuse? She was no idiot, of course. Oni Lee had no aspirations to lead. He simply deemed Lung unfit and a hindrance. They would have to find a worthwhile successor.

As tempting as the prospect was, the last thing Melissa wanted was to be in the crosshairs of the boogeyman of capes. It was better to have a scapegoat and someone easily manipulative at the help. Oni Lee was the perfect choice in that regard, but there was a severe lack in capes and manpower. She would have to bide her time, build a powerbase, find prospective recruits.

"Bakuda," Oni Lee called out. The tinker looked up and found the bomber approaching. He was dressed for the occasion, clad all in black with a new demon mask and decked out with every grenade she ever built. "It's time."

Melissa smirked under her mask. She looked at the city of Brockton Bay and held up her detonator, thumb on top of a bright red button.

"Let's pop some fireworks, shall we? To get this party started."

She didn't care if it sounded cheesy. The sight of explosions ringing across the city and fire rising into the darkening sky was a picture-perfect scene and worthy of a musical.

The ABB's war had begun.



A/N: As you can see, this is 90% downtime and lead-up to next chapter. On that note, the next chapter will be the final installment of the "Fistful of Embers" arc, which will be longer than the current uploaded chapters in this story due to how there's an honest-to-god war going on.

Thankfully, the interlude detailing the Slaughterhouse Nine's fate is finished and is just waiting to drop. In other words, a double tap. It's going to be AWESOME.

Two things I want to discuss before ending this is the stuff with Carol and Ethan. Carol didn't get the Penance Stare for much the same reason Victoria didn't. Yes, Carol's issues are probably a hell of a lot worse than Victoria's due to her trust issues and what have you, and what happened during the confrontation with Marquis was plain shitty, but do consider that, for as pragmatic and affable as Marquis was, he was still a villain himself. She would qualify for the Penance Stare if she had actually severely harmed or killed Amy during the attack on Marquis, but Zarathos settled on the next best thing and seared her face with hellfire and rendered her permanently blind. "Justice is blind", or in this case, she had a serious case of tunnel vision.

So yes, Carol didn't receive the stare, but she got the next best thing. Now her "justice" really is blind. And no, that has no relation to my recently-posted oneshot.

As for the stuff with Ethan, I was very much against the idea of also having him be affected by the Ghost Rider. Yes, the Ghost Rider would likely hunt down every piece of crap regardless of who they are and how light their crimes are, and Ethan did come across as kind of creepy in Worm, but there really should come a point where there are enough characters who've been on the receiving end of the Penance Stare. Fortunately, I managed to reach a fair compromise after talking it over with a friend of mine.

Instead of being on the receiving end of a brutal beatdown and/or a Penance Stare from the Ghost Rider, Ethan got something arguably worse: Being turned into Vengeance's chewtoy.

Not going to lie, though, I was tempted to make a "deleted scene" making a more detailed account of Ethan's encounter with the knock-off, but I figure I could make do with a few throwaway lines and a small flashback scene so to speak.

As for the stuff between Sophia and Missy, I think this was my favorite scene to write. Most Worm fanfics I've read usually have Sophia be so hostile and antagonistic towards everyone that she really doesn't have much interaction with the rest of the Wards, and for good reason given how vile she is in Worm proper. In this instance, though, I want to try and focus on the more "human" aspects, namely in regards to her relationship with Missy. When you think about it, as much as Sophia might downplay or disregard the Wards, Missy is probably one of the few Wards she might genuinely respect. She's had the most combat experience in the Wards despite her young age, she's gotten into more than a few scraps with the villains. As abrasive as Sophia might be, she would probably acknowledge or at the very least respect Missy to some extent.

As shown here, they are hardly friends. Missy herself even says she hates Sophia because of her attitude, but she does trust her with her life. The Wards are a team, and more importantly, they are "motherfucking survivors".

Have I ever said how much I love her line, "We're motherfuckers, we're survivors"?

On a side note, I've decided to say "screw it" and return to writing Latrotoxin once I wrap up this arc. I figure I might as well try and wrap up all current ongoing arcs on all my Worm crossovers atm before moving back to more important matters. That way, while there will be cliffhangers, I can at least say I finished the first arc. Plus, this Marvel mood's got me motivated.

 

[TheStranger]

"I've walked through fire and brimstone as all creation burned
I've watched the fall of angels and not but one returned
I've come to know my demons, they know me twice as well
I rise to meet them, and see myself"
​

…sin.

Nothing but sin.

Thicker than the oceans, suffocating and consuming this entire city.

Innocents are dying at the hands of sinners, guided by the ambitions of one who refuses to bend, no matter how much I burn him.

He has escaped my eyes for too long.

I will end this.

He and all those who follow him will burn…

And after that? What happens after? Will you continue to rampage like a wild dog? Will you bear your fangs at everyone who stands between you and your sinners? Tell me, when will this god-forsaken nightmare end? When will your lust for punishment, flame, and vengeance finally be satiated?

When will you be free, you mean.

Do you not recall, o host?

You called and begged for help.

I answered.

This was our bargain.

I know. I did not care who answered. I do not regret what I did.

No, you will not.

Not after your eyes have been opened.

You've seen the evil that lurks within your fellow man's flesh, scarring and tainting their very souls…

Will you turn a blind eye, as your so-called "heroes" have?

…how can I, when this is to be my fate? Besides, I've come to accept this. I tried to stop you before, and instead, you broke me. You showed me too many things I never wanted to see. I can still hear that teacher's screams, you know? I can still see him when I close my eyes, watching him scream and beg as you made him look you in the eyes. The children he abused, the girls he defiled…

And he was hardly the first. The cop who beat a woman to death, raped her in an alley, then left her for the gangs to snatch up like yesterday's garbage. The preacher who listened to the begs of his victims as he tore out their intestines.

I want to stop, to just sit and rest…but you won't let me. You are driven by your crusade. You are eternal and unending. Uncompromising. You are both more righteous than any hero…and more vile than any villain.

And I loathe you for it…



April 15, 2011
7:39 P.M.



Barely an hour had passed since the carnage began, and in that time, Rory had never felt so tired as he did now. The police department and PRT ground troops were coordinated as best as possible, sergeants and corporals on both sides doing everything they could to mitigate the damage and save as many civilian lives as possible. The Protectorate, meanwhile, was put front and center. The Wards were called in as well despite previous orders, and for once Rory did not question it. They were going to need all the help they could get.

"Lung outdid himself this time…" Sean hissed beside him.

Both men knew the implications of such a large-scale assault after witnessing a third of Brockton Bay go up in flames. Lung finally decided enough was enough and wanted one final assault on the Ghost Rider. It was do-or-die for him, and he wouldn't retreat. He would not stop until one of them was dead.

Rory's bet was on the Ghost Rider, and while he would never say it out loud, he hoped the son of a bitch would put Lung down for good this time.

"Console, this is Triumph! Dauntless and I have arrived at Kingston Avenue! What's the situation?!"

"Triumph, this is Console. PRT forces are engaging and containing a group of ABB contingents, but they're being forced back. We've confirmed reports of tinkertech usage." Rory swore under his breath. "Be advised, the tinkertech in question are a series of bombs with varying effects, among which are reportedly similar to the Gray Boy bubbles."

"Son of a fucking bitch," Sean growled, his grip on his arc-lance a vicegrip. "How many people have been caught so far?"

"We're still counting. Be advised, there are unconfirmed reports of Empire capes taking to the field."

The two heroes rounded along the corner, Sean skidding to a halt as he and Rory suddenly stopped and glared at the sight in front of them. A group of ABB were lying on the street, some barely alive and others dead and torn apart. A man wearing only loose-fitting pants and a tiger mask held a Korean woman by the throat. Not far from him was a woman wielding a pair of bloodied kamas, the lower half of her face obscured by a mask.

"Make that confirmed," Rory said. "We found Stormtiger and Cricket." The former, taking notice of their presence, threw the woman aside and brandished a pair of wind-made claws around his knuckles. Cricket twirled her scythes and walked up next to him, leering at the two heroes. The lion-themed hero glanced at his friend. "Same dance partners as usual?"

Sean nodded, his arc-landed extended and sparking with power. "I'll leave Cricket to you."



7:58 P.M.



Carly glared at Alabaster, the latter grinning as he knocked her away. He lunged and went for a stab with his knife. She side-stepped and ducked under the swing, grabbing his arm and twisting it. The knife fell out of his hand and she kicked it away before giving a picture-perfect judo toss and throwing the Nazi over her shoulder and into the wall. Her husband, seemingly having broken away from Krieg, chose then to jump over her and ram a haymaker into Alabaster's chest and plough him through the wall.

The duo fell in, backs pressed and glaring at their new dance partners. Krieg pulled himself out of the small pile of burning rubble, casually patting the flames licking away at his armor and rolling his neck. Alabaster emerged from the hole, seemingly no worse for wear.

"Want to switch?" Ethan asked her with a grin.

She huffed, but did not disagree. "Don't get yourself killed."

With that, they parted and went back into the thick of things. Carly's power kicked in and gave her a boost of speed and a burst of strength. Krieg crossed his arms in front of him, blocking the attack and deflecting it. He went for a headbutt. She matched it with one of equal strength. The air shook beneath them and she found herself being forced back, vision flickering and a slight ringing in her ears. Krieg spun himself around to deliver a roundhouse kick that she nearly managed to avoid with a duck. Capitalizing on the movement, she bent down into a crouch and went for a low sweep.

The Gesellschaft cape fell sideways, but caught himself by slamming both hands on the ground and propelling himself upwards, landing back on his feet. Carly clicked her teeth and backflipped to avoid him bringing his fists down on the ground, somehow managing to crack the pavement.

How the hell is he able to—Othala, of course! She cursed herself for nearly forgetting the healer of the Empire, but did not dwell on it for long. Krieg's focus was entirely on her at the moment, she was going to make damn sure he remembered this night for a long time to come. The sparks along her arms started to fade, and she felt the swell of power starting to fade. No, not now!

Krieg grunted as he pulled his fists out from the ground, grabbing fistfuls of debris and concrete before throwing them toward her like bullets. Carly threw herself to the ground and avoided the projectiles, but could not stop Krieg from ramming his foot into her stomach and sending her into the car across the street. The car door buckled and caved, metal bending beneath her. Although her suit, personally designed by Armsmaster, was based off of Ethan's own ability to tank damage and absorb kinetic energy, it did nothing to numb the pain. She pulled herself off the car and managed to regain her senses just in time to see Krieg's fist coming toward her.

Carly moved out of the way, ducking her head and narrowly avoiding the fist. It smashed through the window. She seized the opportunity to build up a charge and put some distance between her and her opponent while also taking the opportunity to see how her husband was dealing with Alabaster. He seemed to be having an easier time, minus the split lip and bruised cheek, but from the looks of it even the Empire's damage-sponge was having trouble keeping up. His regenerative ability meant little if his opponent could wrack up kinetic energy and deliver a powerful hit that would deal more damage than you could heal.

While Ethan was better suited to fighting someone like Krieg, a fellow kinetic manipulator, Carly was a bad match-up with Alabaster. Besides, the purpose of the fight was to stall them and prevent them from causing too much damage, not defeat them.

"You would be wise to give up and let us do our work," Krieg said for the first time since they started fighting. "The ABB will fall tonight. One way or another."

"Maybe," Carly agreed. "But I'm not about to let you kill a bunch of people just because they made one too many bad decisions!"

Krieg huffed and shook his head. Just as the two were about to engage once more, something clinked and bounced near their feet. She took one look at the object and paled. Her charge exploded and she dove as far away as possible. She was a second too late as the grenade exploded, and in the next moment, all she knew was pain.

Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pai—

A slap to her face snapped her back to her senses. Her body still burned in agony, muscles and bone refusing to so much as twitch in fear of aching in pain. Ethan hovered above her, looking more scared than ever in his life. When he saw she was alive, he looked as though the world was all sunshine and rainbows. She almost found it cute were it not for the burning backdrop behind him.

"Oh, thank god!" Ethan sobbed. "I thought we lost you!"

"What…" Carly winced. Even her throat hurt to move. "What hit me…?"

"Some kind of tinker bomb. Pain Bomb I'm guessing. Oni Lee popped out of nowhere and dropped a dozen grenades on top of us. The whole fucking street looks like a scene straight from Iraq!"

Carly forced herself to sit up, leaning against Ethan for support. "W-what about Krieg and Alabaster?"

"Krieg was gone by the time I came around. As for Alabaster…" She followed his gaze and found a glass statue in the Nazi's likeness in the middle of the street, his expression half-anger and half-terror, somehow standing upright and firmly in place despite being in a runner's position. "I don't think you have to worry about him anymore…"



8:32 P.M.



Robin felt as though he were back in Iraq. He had been in urban warfare before, and it was like his past had come back to haunt him once again. He never wanted to hear the damn sounds of bombs going off, not ever again, and yet that was all he was hearing.

Hannah was engaging with Othala, the latter clad in tinkertech and wielding a shield. At her side was Menja, decked out in gold armor and already the size of a two-story house. Flames wrapped around her fists and burned hotter every time she threw a punch. It was obvious that Othala gave her an additional powerset and was sticking close to give her new ones or give her a refill, all the while protected by her tinkertech armor. The shield held up incredibly well to Hannah's barrage of bullets.

Meanwhile, Robin dealt with Victor, who was also decked out in tinkertech gear. By the look of it, it was definitely not cheaply-made, either. It was high-grade, clearly meant for combat purposes.

He knew he had to work fast, and he didn't bother wasting pleasantries or exchanging banter like Ethan did. He sped up and went to town on Victor as fast and as quickly as possible. The armor was well-made by the look of it, and in his breaker state, Robin's attacks may as well be little more than gusts of wind. Weak though they were, he could deliver ten thousand punches in the time it took to give out forty punches. He was like a demonic wind in that regard, and he had plenty of practice to slow down, just for a brief second, to sneak in some serious punches of his own.

Dealing with Victor was dangerous. His power was well-documented and flagged as a high-priority target by the PRT whenever he took to the field. His power drain was a serious threat, especially in a situation like this. The longer it went on, the more powerful he became. Robin couldn't allow that. He threw everything he had at Victor, ensuring he didn't give the man so much as a moment to breath.

It hadn't occurred to him, however, that Victor might have taken into account such a possibility. Robin realized his mistake when he realized his opponent was grinning, and the circuits beneath the gaps of his armor lit up. Sparks danced across his palm. Robin had no idea what he was planning, and he did not want to find out. He went to play dirty, try and go for a finger poke, only for the two round ornaments on his breastplate to light up like a Christmas tree.

Robin's world went white. He couldn't see anything. That was the opportunity Victor was waiting for as he drove his electrified fist into Robin's chest. The electrified fist exploded outward and sent the speedster flying. When he crashed into the ground, he found his body had gone totally stiff and unresponsive. He could feel his body twitching, but he couldn't force his arms or legs to move.

"Not bad, don't you think?" Victor's smug voice grated in his ears. "Toybox makes the most wonderful toys. Why don't you take a breather and rest, Velocity? Let us finish what we started."

"I couldn't agree more."

It was immensely satisfying to watch Victor's face morph into shock, and then see him get blasted off the ground and into Menja, sending the two into a pile of thrashing limbs and groans of confusing. A woman in a white-clad full bodysuit with a black visor and silver bracers and armored boots descended onto the ground, light pouring all across her body and into her hands.

Hannah took up position next to her while also defending Robin as he recovered. "Traitor…!" Othala hissed.

Kayden Russel sighed softly. "Perhaps," she said as she extended a hand, light swirling in her palm. "But at least I'm not dragging innocent people into the fire anymore."

"Stand down, all of you," Hannah gave them the ultimatum. Her weapons dissolved and were replaced by submachine guns, locked and loaded and ready for combat. "This doesn't have to get ugly."

Menja was the first to get back on his feet. The flames around her fists grew hotter. "Not a chance. One way or another, Lung and the ABB die. I'm not like my weakling of a sister. I won't fail Kaiser and our Empire. Turn and walk away, before we're forced to do something we are going to regret."

"Funny…" Robin wheezed. His motor functions returned and he rose to his feet, his body already vibrating. "I was just about to say the same thing."

Once more, heroes and villains clashed as Brockton Bay burned around them.



9:01 P.M.



Whereas the older veteran heroes were fighting villains, the Wards and New Wave were in the middle of rescue efforts. Console and high-ranking PRT agents directed them and had them coordinate with rescue workers, the police, and the fire department.

Sophia never imagined this was how the powder keg would lit itself. The city was a cesspit of danger and violence, a cocktail waiting to be lit. The fuse drastically shortened when the Ghost Rider came to town and started tearing the gangs apart. The ABB was self-destructing and it was only a matter of time before they exploded and destroyed themselves, a process the Empire was all too eager to exploit. And now, here they were. The ABB was out in full force, some clearly forced to being suicide bombers and the rest having no choice but to fight unless they wanted to deal with Lung.

For once, Sophia didn't begrudge or insult them. She actually pitied the poor bastards. As screwed up as she was, even Sophia at her worst knew the ABB's newest tinker, now identified as Bakuda, was a piece of work. She and the Wards got a good look at her handiwork, and the results were…anything but pleasing.

Carlos was puking his guts out, his helmet all but abandoned. There was no one around at the moment, and she wasn't in any mood to disparage or give him shit. Her stomach felt too disgusted for that.

"I can't believe what I just saw," Chris said numbly. "I didn't think the body could… Oh, god, how old was she?"

Sophia sucked in air through her teeth. "If I had to guess? Too fucking young."

"That bomber bitch is going to pay for this."

"Get in line, Glory Hole. I already called first dibs. I don't care if the PRT dumps me afterwards, that bitch is getting a bolt through the fucking skull."

The newest Ward and the guy she wanted to kill more than anyone else scoffed, though his tone made it clear he was no less affected by the shit that was happening tonight. "I don't think you'll have to worry about that. After everything that's happened up to this point, I think it's safe to say she's getting a kill order. No one in the PRT is gonna care if the Ghost Rider gets his hands on them."

"As pissed as I am about yesterday, I'd gladly point that scary ass skeleton in the right direction if it means we won't have to worry about her ever again," Dennis said humorlessly for once. Next to him, Chris nodded numbly in agreement.

Sophia wanted nothing more than to see such a sight herself. From a safe distance, of course. After what happened at the bank, she wanted to see the Ghost Rider's handiwork from afar rather than experience it like last time. The burn he left was still irritating and hadn't calmed at all, but she was willing to bear with it in light of what was going on. Honestly, this situation was stressing her the fuck out. The ABB picked the absolute worst time to go on a rampage. Emma was still missing, and there was no word about her whereabouts at all.

The worst part was that it had been two and a half hours since this shit started, and there was still no end in sight. The fighting was still going on, and the villains were in rare form seeing as how they were putting up a good fight. It became clear to her that, just as Oni Lee was relying on bombing runs and getting the hell out of dodge before he was discovered, the Empire was using guerilla warfare tactics, constantly on the move and hitting fast and hard before disappearing in the aftermath. The longer the fighting went on, the more worried Sophia was that she'd learn Emma was caught in the crossfire.

What infuriated her even more was how she and the rest of the kiddy squad was stuck on relief, search, and rescue instead of helping the heroes fight back! What did they think they were, amateurs?! Missy had a shit-ton of scars and walked away from a scrap with Hookwolf before the fucker got boiled alive inside his own metal prison, and she was the youngest out of all of them! She was a fucking kid, and she'd seen more action than the rest of them put together! That smoke fucker was just as good (and she'd be damned if she would ever admit it) seeing as how he and his motley crew of assholes escaped the PRT more times than they could count.

As soon as this shit is done, I don't care what happens. I'm looking for Emma. The PRT can suck my ass!

Just as Carlos finished his vomit session, their earpieces cracked to life. "Attention, all people on the ground. This is Console. We've got another bombing incident over by Wellerstate Street, twenty miles from Roderick Private Lane and six miles to the east. Estimated damage to the block is 12% and there are already fires spreading. One of the apartment complexes in the area is in serious danger. Anyone available and able should head there immediately."

"SHIT!" Something must have crawled up the smoke bastard's ass because as soon as the report came in, he was hauling ass.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Glory Hole shot after him. Part of Sophia hoped she would send him flying into a building somewhere. "The hell are you going?!"

"That's where my sister lives!"

All the Wards froze. The first to snap out of it and run after the smoke bastard was Chris, hopping on top of his hoverboard with his drones flying close by. "Hop on!" he shouted at the smoke bastard, who quickly jumped aboard the hoverboard. Dennis, the former Nazi bitch, and Gory Hole followed afterwards.

Carlos swore under his breath. "This night just keeps getting better and better…"



9:13 P.M.



Compared to the rest of Brockton Bay, which was covered in fire and smoke, the docks were consumed by an inferno. Cargo containers were melting and being torn apart, some being refashioned into spikes and blades, others caked in blood.

Two veriable juggernauts in their own right battled amid the flames. One was a man clad in steel, a tattered and burnt cape mantle dangling from his shoulders while a field of crudely-fashioned metal blades surrounded him. In one hand, he carried a misshapen lump of iron, vaguely resembling a zweihandler of some kind. Across from him was a horrifically burned and scarred man, scales and flames dangling from his body. The wounds recently inflicted upon him were in the process of healing, including the near-severed arm dangling from its stump.

"I always wondered what you looked like under that mask of yours," Max Anders mused as he stared at the unmasked face of his greatest adversary. "I despise that monstrosity with all my heart, but I have to admit, they've done some excellent work. I would never have guessed you were Chinese with nearly all your face burned off."

Lung snarled, barely capable of speech at this point. He was already at the point where he could match Menja in size, and flames were peeling off his burnt scales. Max filled with glee as he rubbed insult after insult, watching Lung grow steadily angrier and more unhinged. For all his bluster, for all his power, he was little more than a rabid dog. Were it only that, he would have killed Lung and be done with it, but the longer the fight went on, the more Lung ramped up and grew stronger. It was a battle of attrition, and he had no grand delusions that he would win. Previous battles with this chink told him that much.

Fortunately, they just happened to be near a large body of water, and there was so much steel waiting to be used.

"Koo 'oo!"

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Max sneered.

Lung roared with fury and spewed flame from his mouth. Max created a wall of iron, blocking the wave of fire and retaliating by extending his field of steel. He couldn't see what was happening beyond the wall, but he heard the familiar sound of metal cutting through flesh. Lung's roar shook the air and the ground trembled. He wisely jumped away right as the make-believe dragon broke through the wall and tore it to shreds, iron and steel poking out of his body. Another gulf of flame came bearing down upon him. Max conjured a pillar of steel beneath his feet and launched himself into the air, landing atop one of the towers of cargo shipping containers.

Come on, you stupid beast, Max thought. Take the bait.

The leader of the ABB glared and snarled at him, flames spewing from his mouth. He roared in defiance and leaped at Max. The man smirked and slammed his foot down on the containers. As incredible and potent as his power was on its own, it was exceedingly more effective when there was metal around. Right as Lung entered his range, Max swallowed the so-called dragon in steel. Dozens of spears and swords and blades of steel and iron pierced into Lung, stabbing and cutting into every part of him. One blade gouged through his eye. Max didn't stop for a second, pushing his power to the limit and wrapping Lung in layers of sharp and pointy objects like a ball of death and threw it straight into the bay.

The water splashed and the ball sank.

Max leaped off his perch and began walking along the newly-made bridge of steel until he stood right over the edge of the docks. He peered down at the dark waters, the surface rippling. He could not see what was happening down in the waters, but there wasn't a sign of Lung surfacing. He should have felt hopeful that this would be enough, that this might finally be the end of Lung. He didn't believe for a second that Lung was defeated and dead, however. If there was one thing he could respect about Lung, it was that the bastard was tenacious and refused to back down, even when he should have.

Seconds passed. He waited on baited breath. After a minute, nothing happened. The waters remained still.

Just as Max was about to move, a bubble popped.

In the next second, he twisted his bridge of steel into a veritable fortress, for as soon as he finished constructing his barrier had Lung tore himself from his would-be watery grave, now more monster than human. A flame-encroached claw tore apart the barrier, melting the steel with mere touch and fang. An arm reached out through the hole to grab Max and burn him alive. He responded by stabbing his crude sword through the arm and slicing it off.

He jumped off the bridge and landed back on the ground. Lung landed across from him, his arm already in the process of regrowing. The dragon roared with unbridled fury and rage as he charged at Max, claw raised. Max ducked under the swing and somersaulted forwards until his back was pressed against a cargo container. He grabbed onto the metal and tore it free, reshaping it into another sword. Lung charged again. This time, Max met him head-on and ducked under a second swing, slicing at his abdomen. Using his momentum, he spun around and slashed at Lung's exposed back. The dragon flicked his tail in an attempt to bat him away, but Max dodged the tail whip and stabbed the sword into the tail to keep it pinned.

Lung looked over his shoulder and spewed fire. Max barely dodged it, but winced in discomfort as he noticed his armor growing increasingly warm. Realizing he needed to finish this quickly, he stepped up the pace and stabbed Lung's leg right through the knee. The dragon was forced to kneel, and Max seized the chance to grab him by the corn and rammed his second sword through Lung's neck. Putting all his strength into it, he dragged the sword through the scaly neck and cut clean through it.

The head hanged by a few strands, barely attached. For a moment, Max though he had won. His hopes were dashed as the head slowly fixed itself back onto its neck, scales joining and flesh tied together.

"What does it take to kill you?!" Max demanded angrily.

Lung chuckled evilly, rolling his neck as if to rid himself any new kinks, then opened his maw, flames lapping at his tongue and teeth.



9:21 P.M.



"Oh, no. No no no! AISHA!"

Dennis pulled Brian away. He nearly underestimated how strong the former villain was, but that was all the more reason to keep a firm grip. It was pretty bad. The apartment had caught fire and was in the process of being burned to the ground. The fire department was nowhere in sight, and it wouldn't surprise him if they didn't arrive in time. They were stretched thin as it was.

"Let me go, Dennis!" Brian screamed as he thrashed in the time-stopper's grip.

"First off," he grunted. "It's Clockblocker at work! Secondly, calm down dammit! Win, your drones, can you look inside?!"

"On it!" Chris sent his drones scattering and scanning the complex. Some went through the windows and dove inside. "Come on, come on… The heat's playing mary hail on my sensors, but I got at least a dozen signatures inside! Some of the structure stability is compromised. We knock down a wall, the rest will go out too."

Dennis let go of Brian. "Grue, which apartment is your sister in?"

"219!"

Okay, so we gotta rescue twelve people, and the building's likely to crumble if it takes on too much damage. I can work with this. I can totally work with this.

Oh, who was he kidding? He wasn't Armsmaster or Miss Militia. He wasn't Carlos.

Even so, he was still a Ward. He was a hero. And a hero's job was to save lives, wasn't it?

"…okay, Vicky, start plowing through walls."

Victoria stared at him like he just grew a second head. "I'm sorry, what?! Did you not just hear what Win said?!"

"Just do it, alright?! I got a plan!"

"Clock, this isn't a joke!"

"Trust me!" She looked like she wanted to argue, but she shut her mouth and hissed. She settled for a warning glare that promised pain if this went south and floated up to the apartment complex. As she got into position, Dennis turned to Tammi. "Psy, go with Win and start getting people out. Grue, get your sister."

"What are you going to do?" Chris asked.

Victoria curled her hand into a fist. Dennis walked up to the nearest wall in the apartment. "I'm gonna do what I do best," he said, putting his palm against the wall. "Maybe put in some overtime."

OhdeargodinheavenpleaseltetthisworkIdon'twanttofuckthisup.

His fingers dug into the concrete wall in front of him. Victoria let her fist fly and smashed through the wall. The clocks on his armor started spinning and his HUD lit up like a Christmas tree. Time stopped around his fingertips.

The rescue mission was now a race against time, and Dennis wasn't so sure about the odds in his favor…



9:46 P.M.



Natasha Hoyt, nee Weber, whimpered and groaned as she felt her consciousness return to her. For a moment, she didn't recognize where she was. She saw burning buildings, some blown to bits, and concrete and rubble spilling out into the open streets. Her husband was lying not far from her, eyes rolled to the back of his head and lying on his side. After a moment, her head started to throb unbearably. The damn ringing in her ears wasn't stopping. As she collected her thoughts and attempted to sit up, she was able to recall what happened.

The fight with the Protectorate took a turn for the worst. Kayden, the damn traitor, had shown up at last and helped Miss Militia deal with Menja while Velocity resumed his battle with her husband. That said, Kayden was nothing if not a game-changer, as befitting her former position as one of Kaiser's lieutenants. She divided her attention between Menja and Victor, blasting the two with light and wasn't distracted in the least. The tide of battle changed, and Othala found herself struggling to support Menja while worrying about Victor.

Right when it seemed like they might have gotten the upper hand, when she gave Menja invincibility after her pyrokinisis sputtered out, Oni fucking Lee showed up and dropped a pile of grenades and they all went off. What happened next was a myriad of effects, ranging from agonizing pain to paralysis and vomiting blood. She felt as though her insides were burning up, melting inside of her and her bones were breaking apart. The pain became too great and she passed out.

Natasha hissed in pain as she pulled herself on her side. Her legs felt like jelly. Trying to move them was impossible. She glanced around the area and found the heroes easily enough. Miss Militia was lying atop a car, on arm dangling off the roof and her head lolled to the side, eyes glassy. Velocity was half-buried under some rubble, his mask partially cracked and exposing tufts of brown hair. She saw Kayden not far away, who was also in the process of coming around as she was cradling her head in her hand.

Wait, where's Nessa?

"Get the fuck off of me!"

She whipped around so fast she nearly suffered from whiplash. Her blood ran cold when she saw Menja, back to normal size, being hauled from the ground and held by the neck, thrashing and swinging her fists at a leather-clad figure with a flaming skull. It was him. The de teufel.

"Let go of me dammit!" Menja screamed. "Let go! Let go of me! LET GO!" The Ghost Rider grabbed her flailing fist and sneered. Orange-red flames swirled in his sockets. Menja's flailing increased, and then she started screaming. The screams rose in pitch and her thrashing increased tenfold. With callous disregard, he dropped Menja to the floor and walked away, leaving her to flail and screaming and clutch her head in agony. The fact that she had not crumbled into nothing was good news, but Natasha knew something was happening to her. The same thing that happened to Kayden and her sister.

Natasha's fear skyrocketed when she realized Victor was starting to stir and that the Ghost Rider was walking toward him. She fought and clawed at the ground, trying to pull at her feet. They refused to move. As the Ghost Rider drew closer, her heart began to batter against her chest. Worse still, the Ghost Rider conjured forth a wicked-looking gun, clearly tinker-tech with a long barrel.

"No!"

The scream came not from her, but from Kayden. The traitor rushed to stop him, to stop de teufel from killing Victor. She threw a light-enhanced punch. The Ghost Rider caught her fist easily, seemingly amused by her attempts to defend Victor, and headbutted her so hard a shockwave ran through the area, kicking up dust and debris. Kayden was thrown halfway across the street and landed in a vacated storefront, smashing through the window and lying amid the destroyed furniture.

With no one left to oppose him, the Ghost Rider reached Victor and flipped him onto his back before pinning him under his boot. Victor wheezed and groaned, weakly trying to pry the boot off his chest. The tinker gun stared him down, finger on the trigger.

"No, stop! Please! I beg of you!" Natasha screamed at the devil. The Ghost Rider gave her a passing glance before turning his attention back to Victor. "Please! Don't kill him!" The finger slowly squeezed. The gun began humming.

Natasha sobbed and her throat burned. "He's going to be a father!"

It was the first time anyone ever saw the Ghost Rider flinch. The finger receded. Ever so slightly, the flames seemed to dim, turning into a lighter shade of orange.

"We'll leave," she promised. "We'll leave Brockton Bay. We'll give up being capes. We'll quit. Just, please. Don't kill my husband. He's…" Tears spilled down her face. "He's all I have left…"

Empty sockets stared her in the eye. Slowly, the Ghost Rider looked back at Victor. The man coughed as the flaming skeleton removed his boot from her husband's chest, only to then rudely kick the man over to her. Natasha threw herself on top of Victor, pulling him into her arms as if to shield him from de teufel.

"…leave this city." Natasha froze. It was the first time she heard the Ghost Rider speak ever since they arrived in Brockton Bay. Was it just her imagination, or did it sound feminine? "And never come back."

The Ghost Rider whistled. A demonic-looking bike rolled up beside him and he hopped on top, speeding off to parts unknown.

By the time the heroes regained consciousness, Natasha had finally managed to work up the strength to stand and take Victor away. She did not care if the Gesellschaft or Max came looking for her and demanded answers. Despite the sheer brutality and uncompromising nature of the devil, the Ghost Rider spared them. It was a second chance. She would not waste it, because she knew that the next time she saw him, all that awaited her and her family was scorching fire.

This life just wasn't worth it…



10:00 P.M.



Lung breathed heavily as he laid on all fours, panting and gulping for air. For once, he ignored the agonizing pain of the scars and burns across his body. He ignored his defusing irritation and anger and focused on the fact that he finally managed to triumph over Kaiser. The bastard was slumped on the ground, his armor cracked and his helm broken, exposing his face. He wanted to laugh. He was the picture-perfect Aryan, but it was the owner of the face that made him amused.

Who would have ever expected the leader of the Empire Eighty-Eight to be the CEO of Medhall? Were it not for the fact that he planned on killing him for daring to get in his way, Lung would have used this information and blackmail the bastard.

Kaiser gave him one hell of a fight, one worthy of a battle between supposed equals. Lung hadn't realized that the Nazi could be so dangerous when he was surrounded by so much metal, but it hadn't helped him in the least. Not when Lung was reaching the point where he could give Leviathan a good run for its money. Not enough to rival the beast, but enough to give Kaiser the fight of his life.

Still, damned if it wasn't a trying fight. Kaiser was doing everything in his power to kill him, but he wouldn't allow it. He would not die. He refused to, not until the Ghost Rider was grounded into dust and powder beneath his feet.

Lung grunted, his muscles aching in a way he hadn't felt since Kyushu and rose unsteadily to his feet. He smelled smoke and ash before his right hand made himself known, landing softly on the ground. "Is it done?" Lung asked.

"It was not easy to lead and direct them," Oni Lee admitted. "But they will be here shortly. Stormtiger and Cricket are dead, killed by one of Bakuda's more powerful bombs. Alabaster is now glass. I know not of what has become of Othala, Victor, or Menja, however."

Lung huffed. "That's fine. It matters not. After this…" He sucked in a deep breath and stared at the night sky. "I will finally bring an end to this worthless play. IT has dragged on for long enough."

"Yes." Click. Ching. "It has."

Something clattered to his feet. Lung stared at the unpinned grenade, then at Oni Lee. His eyes went wide with shock and betrayal. "You—"

The last thing he saw as Oni Lee dissolved into ash was fire.



Colin sped through the streets, his destination quickly approaching. Reports and alerts on his HUD were slowly coming to a trickle, meaning the fighting was nearing its end. The damage was still immense, and there were still reports of gang members raising chaos. The suicide bombers of the ABB were a touchier case as it would require PRT intervention. He never would have imagined it was possible to create an artificial Singularity, but the ABB's newest tinker was able to do just that. Said bomb even managed to kill Stormtiger, right after Rory managed to subdue him.

The reports he paid attention to the most were the ones of the Ghost Rider's activities. They were flagged as high priority by his internal software, and by now, he had a clearer picture of their movements. Just to be on the safe side, and to get a second opinion, he had Dragon on a private secure line while exchanging information.

"Kaiser and Lung were reported by the docks, and Oni Lee was seen heading that way as well," the Canadian tinker recounted the information with a troubled expression. "Going by the info we have now, and Oni Lee's previous movements…"

"The bastard is leading the Ghost Rider to the Empire capes and having them wipe out the rest, one by one," Colin hissed. He never expected that the Empire's usual tactic of attacking the ABB in the middle of the confusion would be used against them. "How many are dead?"

"Victor, Othala, and Menja are unaccounted for, but Dauntless and Triumph reported seeing Cricket being impaled through the throat by one of her own kamas. By the time New Wave arrived with Panacea, she bled to death. There's also no sign of Krieg."

"Meaning the only one left is Kaiser, and there's been no word on Lung until now." Which meant Lung planned on not only wiping out the Empire, but get what he wanted. A rematch with the Ghost Rider. And judging by the explosions and reports of activity over by the docks over the past hour, he was willing to bet the two gang leaders were fighting to the death.

Colin never would have imagined something like this happening. He knew Brockton Bay had been a powder keg waiting to go off, for the balance of power to tip and the gangs to go all-out on each other. The city would be torn apart and people would die, but he hoped they would be prepared enough to fight back and engage both parties when it inevitably happened. Not only had his hope been dashed in the worst way possible, he knew that the public would still find away to blame them for what happened.

They just didn't understand. Colin knew that, and he knew people would lash out in grief, but he still felt bitter. It was a feeling that had grown increasingly familiar to him through the last few years. All the hard work and prestige he hoped to achieve, all taken by the Ghost Rider. Contrary to popular belief, Colin was able to feel emotions. He wasn't a robot. He understood feelings like anger and hate, but he never realized how he could hate someone as much as he did the Ghost Rider.

The vigilante was an affront to everything he believed in. They took the law and justice into their own hands, leaving carnage and destruction wherever they went. They didn't so much as spare a glance to those left in the aftermath or what happened afterwards, only that they enacted their brand of justice on whoever they deemed guilty. It didn't matter to them if they were a hero or a villain, or even a civilian. Anyone the Ghost Rider deemed guilty was unforgivable in their eyes, and so they were punished in the most brutal way possible.

Of course, such feelings were shared with various other heroes across the world, including Cinereal who had been humbled by the cape after a confrontation during her days as Ash Phoenix. Those feelings were only reinforced when the Ghost Rider defeated him with disgustingly quick ease and destroyed his armor, rendering it a melted puddle of circuits and metal. The bitterness increased over the years as the gangs were steadily destroyed and gradually lost influence. What cemented his hate for the Ghost Rider was when they subverted and gave the PRT three new capes, all former villains, who the Protectorate gleefully spun as redemption stories.

Perhaps he was just being petty, but it was hard for him not to feel this way. He knew he was getting on in age, and he could tell that he was being left in the dust. Sean's power was growing by the day, and while Chris had yet to find out what his tinker specialization was, he had the potential to surpass him.

Colin grimaced and sighed, feeling much older. This night was wearing on him, and the sooner the gangs were defeated and rounded up, the sooner he could actually rest. When was the last time he laid down in a soft, wonderful bed?

Another explosion rang out in the docks. A new plume of smoke began to rise through the air. "By the way, Colin, when you get back at the Rig, there's something I want to discuss about the Ghost Rider."

"What about?" Colin asked, appreciating the distraction.

"It's something myself and the Guild have been wondering about for a while now, as have the rest of the Think Tank. It's about what happened at the bank yesterday."

He raised an eyebrow, wondering what she was talking about, but shrugged and made a series of facial gestures for his software to recognize and file a reminder. He eventually arrived at the docks and disembarked from his bike, halberd in hand.

As soon as he stepped past the front gate, he knew Lung and Kaiser had really gone at it. Melted cargo containers and dozens of steel structures covered in blood and resembling blades littered the area. The ground was scorched and cut up. It was the most chaotic and vicious scene he'd seen in a while, and it worried him. If they were fighting this intensely, Lung must have sufficiently ramped up. He walked through the docks, each step measured and in a combat stance with his systems reorganized to notify him of any incoming threats. His HUD flagged a strong thermal signature up ahead. The temperature was similar to the heat emitted by the Ghost Rider, making him scowl.

Son of a bitch beat me here, he thought. The fact that there was only silence in the air meant the battle had probably ended as well, something that did nothing to ease his worries.

He eventually reached what looked to be the edge of the docks where boats would arrive and the cranes and crew would help disembark the cargo. He found Kaiser—was that Max Anders?!—slumped against a partially melted cargo container, blood trailing down the side of his face and unconscious. Not far away was the Ghost Rider, standing in front of an ugly fresh scorch mark.

"Colin…" Dragon said warningly, as if understanding what he was going to do.

The tinker did not attack outright, but he kept his distance. His halberd was at the ready, the blade coated in electricity. He had no idea if his current set-up was enough to give the vigilante a decent run for their money, but he would at the very least give them trouble. It looked like the Ghost Rider hadn't noticed him yet, merely looking at the scorch mark. He had a pretty good idea what it represented, given the human-looking shape of the mark and Lung's absence.

After a tense moment of waiting for something to happen, the Ghost Rider finally moved. Colin noticed how the flames around the skull had grown lighter, almost completely gone. They stared emptily at him, but did nothing.

"Are you gonna fight me?" Colin asked gruffly, his grip on his halberd in a vice.

The Ghost Rider fully faced him. To his surprise, the Ghost Rider spoke—the first time in three years, and in a feminine-sounding voice to boot. "…no," they said. "I'm…so tired…"

The flames sputtered and faded, reduced to embers, and then nothing. The fire was extinguished, and before Colin's eyes, he watched blood and flesh cover the bone. Within seconds, the infamous Ghost Rider, a force of nature unto himself, was gone. Replaced by…

The halberd nearly dropped his fingers. Colin could say nothing, too gobsmacked and shocked by what he saw.

Dragon summed up his thoughts perfectly. "Oh my god…"



"A bolt of fear went through him as they thundered through the sky
For he saw the riders coming hard and he heard their mournful cry
Yippie yi Ohhhhh, Yippie yi yaaaaay
Ghost Riders in the sky"



A/N: Yeeeaaah, so in case it wasn't clear, the dynamic between Zarathos and his current host is not a pleasant one. In most cases, Zarathos takes a backseat and is a power battery for the Ghost Rider to tap into while holding some degree of influence over his host. That is not the case here. Zarathos is always in the driver's seat, though thankfully his only real limitation is his human host as usual. Going all out will just burn out the host something quick, so he can't be raining fire and brimstone everywhere.

The bit at the start of the chapter is meant to showcase that three years as Zarathos' car has not been kind to the Ghost Rider whatsoever. They did struggle to keep control over him and fight him off, but after a few months, they've given up. They just don't have the energy to fight off Zarathos anymore, not after they've seen some of the absolute worst examples of humanity, the depths of their depravity, and some other horrible cocktails of ill-judgment and what have you. Fortunately for our MC, killing Victor and leaving the unborn child without a father did give them the spark needed to fight back and overpower Zarathos, if only for a moment.

The explanation for why Zarathos is in the driver seat will be explained in the next arc. With that said and done…ladies and gents, it's the moment you've all been waiting for. The fate of the Slaughterhouse Nine.

I hope it won't disappoint you.

As for the lack of fight with Lung and the Ghost Rider… Well, I realize it's kind of anti-climactic, but in a way, it's kind of cathartic and amazing in of itself from my point of view. Lung wanted one final fight, one last confrontation with the Ghost Rider. Right as he has it within his grasp, right as he's about to die trying, he's betrayed by someone he thought of as his only friend, and his "fight" is robbed of him. It's fitting to me that Lung, someone who became as feared as he is through battle and fire, was robbed of what would have been a blaze and glory and cement his place as the "unyielding dragon" and instead gets nothing but the huff and puff hellfire addition.

TO BE CONTINUED in
Arc II:
BRIMSTONE
​

"Do we have a deal?"

Click to shrink...

 

[TheStranger]

"Go tell that long tongue liar
Go and tell that midnight rider
Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down"
​

He stood there in front of the grave, uncaring of the rain pelting him from up on high. He wondered whether it was god weeping or it was just a shitty day in general.

It seemed so long ago. It seemed just like yesterday when he took his little brother out for a ride in his new car. He practically blew his whole allowance on it, and it was money well-spent. It was the first step in a long way from getting the hell out of Baltimore. No more cowering in fear, no more hearing 'firecrackers' every time he stepped outside. His brother had been so excited about it as well and practically begged him to sit in the passenger seat.

Had he known what would happen afterwards, he never would have let his brother set foot in his car.

It all happened so fast, he didn't know what was happening. One moment they were driving around the block to give the car a test run. The next, he heard 'firecrackers' going off right next to him. He heard the crazed laughter, the whoops and squealing of tires, and the sons of bitches driving off into the distance while he struggled to stay alive. Paramedics got there in time to save him, but his brother…

"I'm so sorry…"

Tears joined the streams of water pouring down his face. It had been his fault this happened. He shouldn't have taken the car out for a spin. He shouldn't have let his brother in. They should have waited a while longer, maybe save the ride for another day. He should have done something else, just anything else. Of all the people who had to suffer, why did it have to be him? Why his little brother? The kid who dreamed of becoming a hero like Tact?

His hands curled into tight balls, fingernails digging so hard into his skin he started to bleed. His body shook with rage, a fire burning in his chest. "I hate them," he said with a growl, every word seeping with anger. "I hate them so much. I'd give anything to kill them. To make them pay for what they did to you."

"Anything, now?"

He turned his head. A man was walking up to him, dressed in a black pinstrite suit with a button-up shirt, umbrella in one hand and briefcase in the other. He looked to be in his early to mid-thirties, copper-red hair neatly combed and pulled back into a thin ponytail and vermillion eyes that twinkled. As they looked each other in the eye, the man's eyes seemed to flicker, turning blood-red with narrow pupils.

"…who are you?" he asked slowly.

The Red-Eyed Man smiled wryly. "Well, I'm not God if that's what you're asking. Honestly speaking, if you ever tried making prayers in church, chances are he couldn't give a damn. Or maybe he would, but tell you to just give up and move on. Spare yourself some pain." He chuckled. "But you can't, can you? You had such high hopes and dreams, didn't you? A chance for a better life, to get away from all the chaos. The villains, the gang wars…" His smile widened by a fraction, showing off sharp, pearly white teeth. "The Fifth Street Locos."

A surge of rage surged through his veins.

"Such a shame poor little Gabriel died so young. Imagine the things he would have achieved, what he could have been. So much potential, now gone." The Red-Eyed Man looked at him curiously. "So, young man, what will you do now? Wallow in misery? Or take a shot at revenge?"

"…what are you offering?" he asked carefully. "If you know all this, what do you want in return?"

The Red-Eyed Man laughed. "You're quick to catch on! Good! I suppose I won't have to beat around the bush." He twirled the briefcase around his hand, flipping it unto his arm and snapping his fingers. It clicked open, revealing a piece of paper with words, all written in Latin. "I think you've read enough comics and books to know where this is going, Mr. Reyes. If you want revenge above all else, if you're willing to tell God to stick his 'forgiveness' where the sun doesn't shine, then all you have to do is sign on the dotted line. However, do keep one thing in mind. The moment you sign is the moment I own you. You will be in my service until I say otherwise. And when you die, I will be there to collect your damned soul. Heaven will not accept you. In short, I would suggest you think carefully about your next decision."

He looked at the devil, then at the paper. Without an ounce of hesitation, he grabbed the quill next to the parchment and signed his name on the dotted line.

It read: Robbie Reyes.

"My dear Robbie," the Red-Eyed Man said with a tooth-filled smile. "This is the start of a wonderful partnership."



January 20, 2005



Riley stared at the bodies. They were her parents, yet not. They were mangled and broken, torn apart and slaughtered until they were unrecognizable. Her hands were shaking, tears and mucus spilling down her face.

"What's the matter, Riley?" the monster next to her asked, his smile never leaving his face. "Aren't you going to save your parents?"

Riley hiccupped and sobbed. The monster tortured her and her family for god knows how long and for no reason except maybe sick enjoyment. He seemed extremely happy when she had a burst of inspiration, of schematics and blueprints forming in her hand, and presented her what was left of her parents. Somehow, the girl knew what happened to them. It made her want to throw up. Even in this disgusting state, they were somehow still alive and in so much pain. She could see the agony on what was left of their faces.

The worst part was that this wasn't the first time Riley saw them like this. This repeated at least five other times. When she fixed her parents, made them better, made them look how she remembered, the smiling monster tore them apart and made her fix them again.

Each time, she fixed them. Each time, he broke them. Slowly, Riley felt her memories starting to break apart. She couldn't remember whether her mother was blonde like her or a brunette. She didn't remember if her father had blue eyes or green ones. Maybe that was what the monster wanted. Maybe he wanted to break her, so completely and utterly, make her forget what her parents used to be.

She wouldn't forget. Riley was a good girl. Good girls knew their parents and loved them. She'd fix them as many times as she needed to. She wouldn't let the monster win. She wouldn't.

With trembling hands, Riley went to work. Her power guided her hands, told her where to cut and where to sew the torn flesh. Her power told her what flesh to discard and what to graft as a replacement. The blueprints never lied. She would make her parents better again like always so long as she stuck to the blueprints.

…but.

Riley hated that word. But. It was like a curse, an infection tearing away at her mind. How long would it be before the blueprints changed? How many times could she fix her parents before something changed? What if she screwed up and she couldn't fix them anymore? That seed of doubt made her hands unsteady and her mind raced. She took deep breaths, trying to calm her nerves and steady her hands, but they wouldn't stop shaking.

Out the corner of her eye, the smiling monster watched, carefully eyeing her every move.

Someone… Riley silently begged. Anyone…

As if answering her prayers, she heard it. The faint sound of a car engine.



"Is it just me, or is it getting warm in here?" Chuckles asked, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

Crimson was about to answer, but stopped when he heard something rumbling in the distance. It was a car engine, and a rather loud one at that. It was roaring on full-throttle and approaching the house. He walked over to the window, carefully peeking out the curtains to see if who was passing through. He caught sight of the car soon enough and frowned. Was it just his imagination, or was the hood of the car on fire?

"What's going on?" Crawler demanded.

The red-skinned moved away from the window and threw himself to the floor. "Get down!"

His warning came too late. The entire front half of the house shattered to pieces as the car, a Dodge Charger R/T wreathed in scorching flames, ploughed right through it and flew through the air, snatching Chuckles and dragging him along for the ride. The car hit the ground hard, tires squealing and burning as it tore itself out onto the other side of the house. It swiveled around and skidded to a stop, casually throwing Chuckles off the hood like a bug. The killer clown's body tumbled and rolled along the pavement before coming to a stop, the entire front half of his body charred and smoking.

"The fuck!" Winter shouted as she pulled herself off the floor. "Who the hell's that?!"

Spoiler: Musical Accompaniment

View: https://youtu.be/OGfhbCpW-eM

Crimson pulled himself off the floor and rose to his feet, glaring at the car before frowning. The Dodge Charger wasn't just covered in fire, it was pouring the stuff out from its hood and engine. Similarly, the wheels were covered in flame. The engine roared and revved, but made no move to continue another charge. Instead, the driver opened the door and stepped out into full view.

To his right, Shatterbird let out a horrified gasp. "Oh no…"

The car owner was on fire. Actually, it would be more accurate to say fire was their very being. It clung to their skeleton like skin, flowing from between the gaps in their jaw and through the hole at the front of their skull. Sockets of orange flame glared at them in pure hatred. A foreign emotion hit Crimson, and he did not like it. Nor did he like the way the flaming skeleton casually closed the car door and approached them, wielding nothing but a modified shotgun with skeletal hands wrapped around the barrel and a screaming skull over the muzzle.

"Who the fuck are you?!" Winter demanded.

The skeleton growled, voice deep and demonic. When they spoke, it was in a voice full of hate and brimstone. "Hell's waiting for you, Madeline. As it has for the rest of you."

"Eat shit!"

Whether incensed by them calling her by her real name or annoyed in general, Winter raised her machine guns and opened fire. Hatchet Face brandished an ax and began making his way toward the new arrival, intent on killing them where they stood. Crimson was certain they'd die once Hatchet got close enough. Powers didn't mean shit once they failed.

The bullets cut through their body and Hatchet Face got in close, bringing his ax down. To Crimson's shock, the skeleton grabbed the ax mid-swing, wrapping their gloved hand around his wrist and squeezed down tight. The ax fell from Hatchet Face's limp hand and resorted to punching the skeleton. He only made it past two punches before pulling his hand back. Crimson gaped at the sight; charred, mangled flesh, falling apart and crumbling away from the bone. After a minute, Winter stopped shooting and stared in horror.

"My turn," the skeleton said before opening their mouth and spitting flame, vomiting all over Hatchet Face. The flames rolled and ate away at the ground, asphalt concrete sizzling and melting at the infernal touch. When the flames died down, there was nothing left of the infamous killer. Only his crushed, dangling arm was left, and even that was breaking down into cinders. An ugly scorch mark seared into the earth.

When the skeleton turned their sights to the Slaughterhouse Nine, Shatterbird sung in a way Crimson had never heard. Piles of glass scattered around the neighborhood correlaced and swirled around her before shooting in a wild storm. The flaming skeleton gave her only a flat look before raising their gun and pulling the trigger. A spray of flame exploded from the gun's barrel, shooting no bullets except pure, raging fire. The glass shattered into tiny pieces and melted and evaporated.

"What…" Crawler gasped. "What the fuck…"

"Run." Crimson nearly snapped his neck from how hard he whipped his head around, staring at Shatterbird in shock. "We have to run. Grab Jack and leave the girl behind. She's not worth it!"

"The fuck're you saying?!" Winter shouted. "Shatter, what's wrong with you?!"

"You don't understand! It's him!"

The flaming skeleton took aim, pointing their twisted shotgun at Winter in this moment of distraction.

"IT'S THE GHOST RIDER!"

A fireball roared from the mouth of the gun. Winter threw her hand out, her power flaring in a feeble attempt to stop the oncoming flame. It did nothing and consumed her completely. She couldn't even scream as her body fell to the ground. The flames clung to her, not touching the carpet at all. A few seconds later, the flames ate away and turned her to nothing. There wasn't even ashes.

It only occurred to Crimson now that music was blaring from the car, loud enough to stir the dead.

The gates of hell embrace you, welcome home
Fall from grace, weary angel
Let your hatred swell with rage unquelled, unbroken
Spare your faith, shed your halo



Crawler had heard of the Ghost Rider before. A figure wrapped in death and judgment, uncompromising and unflinching. Hero, villain, it didn't matter who they were. No one was spared from its wrath. They said whoever was burned by their flames was marked forever. No one could heal the burns. Their infamy reached an apex when Behemoth reared his head and assaulted Cairo. They said the sands of Egypt turned to glass beneath the Ghost Rider's infernal flames. They alone stood against the Endbringer's might where all others faltered, lashing away at its stony flesh and unburdened.

He couldn't believe he didn't recognize them until now, but it was understandable why he hadn't. Photographs and hearsay was one thing, to see the devil in his blazing glory was another.

Crawler watched as the Ghost Rider killed Hatchet Face as if he were nothing. He watched as the Ghost Rider killed Winter as though she was an inconvenience. From where he stood, he felt the broiling, sweltering flames.

He couldn't take it anymore. With a smile full of teeth, he lunged forward and swung his claws at the Ghost Rider. The flaming skeleton grabbed his wrist and threw him aside like he was nothing, slamming him down on the concrete. He heard Shatterbird sing again, bringing forth another storm of glass shards. The Ghost Rider ignored them even as the shards buried themselves in his body. He ignored them in favor of Crawler. The mountain of flesh and muscle rose to his feet and went at him again, opening his maw to bite and tear at the flaming skeleton. Ghost Rider brought his foot down and slammed it down on top of his head, forcing him into the ground. Bones and flesh tore from the impact.

Crawler grinned even as the injuries started to heal. The Ghost Rider pulled his foot off his body, then kicked him aside like knocking away a pebble. The kick shattered his ribs and destroyed a portion of his stomach, even knocked him into the side of a building. Vaguely, he heard the sound of rattling chains. Shatterbird's song turned into a scream and flesh being torn apart. Rising to his feet, Crawler saw the Ghost Rider spinning a flame-encroached chain around his hand. Shatterbird laid on the ground over by the skeleton's feet, the stump of her neck burnt to a crisp.

Crimson was running away like a coward. It wasn't unexpected after watching them drop like flies, and the dumb fuck was useless if he hadn't been drinking blood. Considering the Ghost Rider was pure flame, he couldn't pull some of his usual tricks. It didn't matter to the Ghost Rider at all, though, as he cracked his chain and sent it toward Crimson, wrapping around his ankle and pulling him in. The poor bastard struggled and flailed around, trying to grab onto anything that might spare him for a few more seconds, but nothing worked. Eventually, the red-skinned man was hauled up to his feet and the Ghost Rider held him up to the neck.

"Look into my eyes."

It was not a request, but a demand. Crimson refused until he had no other choice. When he looked into those flame-filled sockets, he started screaming. His eyes burned, the skin around them cracking apart and blistering. His struggle intensified, thrashing and throwing punches while his eyes continued to burn. After a minute, his body went completely slack. The Ghost Rider dropped him like a sack of potatos. Crawler watched as Crimson's body fell apart at the seams, disintegrating into ashes. His expression was one full of horror and pain, the most delicious and exquisite look of all, before even that fell apart.

The others were dead. Mannequin and the Siberian were nowhere to be found. Crawler stood alone.

The thought filled him with glee.

"At last…" he whispered before throwing himself at the monster in front of him. "At last!" He swung his claws, bit at his body, spitting acid; everything he could to impede the Ghost Rider. The monster took it all without problem, returning each blow with one of his own. Each blow broke bones and tore apart flesh. Every strike left an imprint. Those wounds healed, but the fact that the Ghost Rider could hurt him was enough.

"More! More! Give me more!"

He bit down on the Ghost Rider's arm, tearing through the leather. Instantly, his mouth burned with pain previously unknown to him. He screamed and bit down harder. It was horrible. It was painful. It was wonderful! The Ghost Rider grabbed him by the mouth, pried his teeth off his arm, and slammed him on top the roof of his Dodge Charger. He fired his shotgun and the flames blew him off the car, sending him back onto the ground. His throat was sore from the burning, and he couldn't tell if he was screaming or laughing. He got up to his feet, looking at his arm. The flames were eating away at his flesh.

"They won't heal…" Crawler slurred. "My wounds won't heal… The burning won't stop. It burns. It burns! It burns! More! Give me more! Burn me more! Fuck Jack Slash! Fuck the Slaughterhouse Nine! GIVE ME MORE PAIN!!"

The Ghost Rider clicked his jaw and aimed his shotgun. "You'll die screaming."

"I DON'T CARE! BUUUUUUURN MEEEEEEEE!"



The roars of Crawler and the explosions of fire drew their attention. They had wandered off to pursue their own agendas, stave off their boredom, but when they returned, they were greeted with a sight they could not believe.

Crawler, lying on the ground, covered in horrific burns and scars and a dopey grin, eyes blurry and unfocused. The flaming skeleton put a boot on his chest, aimed his demonic-looking shotgun, and blew a hole in Crawler's chest. The rest of him burned away in an instant. The Ghost Rider pumped his shotgun and looked up, finding the metal remains of a once good man and the broken fixation of a fool.

"Alan Gramme, William Manton," the Ghost Rider hissed. "Hell's waiting for you."

Mannequin stilled. How long had it been since anyone called him that?

The Siberian, never one for talk and excited at the prospect of killing one of the most infamous capes in the world, took to the battlefield. She leaped off her perch with feline grace, claws extended and aiming directly for the skull. The blow connected, and the left half of the jaw disconnected. The skull recoiled from the blow, but the Siberian was far from done. She delivered another strike, this time to the front of the Ghost Rider's body and tearing apart the leather. She then kicked him against the flame-spewing Dodge Charger and proceeded to try and tear off his skull, only for the Ghost Rider to catch her arm mid-swing and headbutt her.

The striped woman stumbled back, cradling her head. Mannequin was stunned as it was the first time a blow actually managed to have any sort of effect on her. The Ghost Rider grabbed his dangling jaw and shoved the joint back into its socket, rolling the jaw before wrapping the chains around his hand, creating a thick, makeshift knuckle duster. The Siberian recovered, and in an uncharacteristic display of anger, went to impale the Ghost Rider with her arm. He side-stepped and swung his arm, the metal-clad fist connected and sending her flying. She went off like a rocket, smashing through the remains of a wall and into another house.

Mannequin chose then to intervene. He leaped down, setting his body into its auto functions while turning his attention to maintaining the non-primaries. Thin blades ejected from the center of his palms and began his assault. Despite having designed the blades to be able to cut through anything short of high-grade tinkertech, the metal chains wrapped around the Ghost Rider's fist proved to be resilient to the blades and held up rather well. His sensors indicated the flames permeating around his body were dangerous, reaching temperatures far surpassing any known pyrokinetic cape he was aware of.

Although confident in the defense of his mechanical body, Mannequin did not want to test just how hot the Ghost Rider's fire was and dodged out of the way of his punch. The Ghost Rider's momentum didn't fade as he rounded on his heel and aimed his shotgun at Mannequin's head. He batted the gun away right as it fired. His sensors went off and was now dead set on avoiding any of the flames. There was no way his body could survive such heat. He'd practically be boiled alive within his own body!

He stabbed the shotgun's barrel and wrapped his fingers around it, tearing the gun out of the Ghost Rider's hands and backhanding the skeleton and smashing the gun in his face. Just as he was about to counter, the Siberian reappeared and delivered a WWE-worthy dropkick that sent the Ghost Rider off his feet and onto the ground. With a snarl of utter fury, she pounced and leaped on top of him, swiping her claws and tearing away at his skull. She continued her assault regardless of the damage done to herself. Her arms were cracked and charred, seemingly falling apart, but still she kept swinging.

The Ghost Rider's skull was suffering damage, the front half of the cranium cracked open and the left socket caved in. Despite this, there was no definite reaction or reception to the pain. Instead, Mannequin saw a rise in temperature around the skull.

Right as the Siberian intended to go for the killing blow, the Ghost Rider opened his jaw and breathed a torrent of deep crimson flame, consuming the entire top half of the Siberian. When the jaw clicked shut, he threw the seemingly dead Siberian's corpse off him and rolled onto his back, then on his feet. The flames wreathing the skull intensified and centered around the damaged areas. Slowly, the missing pieces reformed, made anew by the flame. The orange-red flames gained a tinge of crimson, and the blistering heat rose significantly.

Mannequin knew why. The Ghost Rider was getting angry. Believing he had the advantage, he threw his arm forward and elongated it with the rotary chain. The Ghost Rider dodged it and grabbed the arm right as he was about to retract it. With a swift tug, Mannequin was pulled forward. The tinker used the momentum to twist its body around, ejecting a deployable ax with a plasma-edged blade and brought it down on the Ghost Rider. The blade cut into the shoulder, tearing through the leather and revealing bone wrapped in flame. It seemed his entire body was nothing more than a skeleton covered in flame.

It was a passing thought, but Mannequin was growing intrigued. He imagined their potential recruit might be as well if things went as planned.

Rather than keep close and risk melting his body, Mannequin pulled back and abandoned the ax, deploying customized rivet guns. They were meant to be used for maintenance, but like the rest of his tools, they were just as capable of killing a human being. The Ghost Rider stomped toward him, ignoring the flying projectiles piercing into his body and tore the ax out from his shoulder. Before Mannequin's eyes, he watched the ax somehow twist and reshape itself. The plasma edge sparked and fizzled before turning into wicked azure flames. The metal connecting the two blades twisted and expanded, developing a sneering skull.

Growing concerned and worried about what else the Ghost Rider could corrupt with his touch, Mannequin redoubled his efforts and brought out more combat-appropriate weaponry he developed with Winter's help. The rifles ejected from his back and fell into his hands. With a pull of the trigger, a burst of electricity tore through the barrels and slammed into the Ghost Rider, nearly knocking him flat on his ass and on his knees. The second shot blew apart his shoulder. The third shot destroyed the top half of his skull. Mannequin went for another shot, but before he could, several chains suddenly exploded from the Ghost Rider's body, lashing and wrapping around Mannequin's metal body and keeping him in place.

He attempted to fire an electric pulse that would short-circuit his systems for only a few seconds in exchange for destroying the chains, but found that he couldn't. No matter what signals he sent, the program would not execute. Fear began to grip him as he watched the Ghost Rider regenerate. He swore he saw the jaw curve, as if smiling.

Mannequin noticed movement occurring behind the Ghost Rider. The half-destroyed body of the Siberian rose up to its feet. It would seem his companion wasn't simply just "invincible" or powerful. The upper half of her body, which had been totally incinerated and destroyed, was building itself back together. The torso, the arms, the claws, the head, the eyes, the hair, everything. Her expression was a frightening visage of pure, unfiltered rage that bore down on the Ghost Rider and demanding revenge. She approached from behind, reach for his skull…

…only for the Ghost Rider to whirl around and bury his new ax in hers, nearly splitting her head in half and kicking her to the ground. He turned back around and pulled on his chains, pulling Mannequin forward and grabbing his head. The tinker at this moment was glad he had given up his relies, relying solely on the synaps integrated into his mechanical body to see. The horror stories of the Ghost Rider's ability to inflict pain and suffering through eye contact was well-known to him. He was safe from that at least.

Almost as if reading his thoughts, the Ghost Rider chuckled darkly. "Not having eyes won't help you, Gramme… You can still see, can't you?"

There was confusion at first. And then it happened.

Alan Gramme screamed a voiceless scream.



The noises stopped. Dead silence fell over the atmosphere, and for once, Jack was grateful for it. The sounds of battle, the gunshots, even the mangled and twisted screams of whatever was happening out there would have been a sight to behold, but he was certain the Slaughterhouse Nine was now officially dead. Most of them, he hoped. He wanted to have some fun with Manton before they inevitably met their end. He glanced back at Riley, the prospect and potential recruit having bravely managed to work under pressure. Her parents were back and whole, blissfully unaware and unconscious. A little smile wormed its way onto his face when he noticed some of their features didn't match up. The husband's nose was smaller, and his hair seemed lighter, more thin. The wife had dark brown hair instead of blonde.

There was progress to be made yet.

"Stay here, kiddo. I'll be back shortly," Jack promised. Riley flinched, but nodded and obeyed. Jack walked up the stairs leading out of the basement and opened the door. When he entered the house, he couldn't help but whistle when he saw the current state of the house. It was demolished, smashed, and burned to hell and back. There was very little of it left. Better yet, he found scorched marks seared into the floorboards and walls.

Evidently, he arrived at the tail end of it. He found what was probably the living embodiment of a heavy metal album cover holding the Siberian up by the head, hand firmly wrapped around her mouth and dangling in the air. To his surprise, her expression as one of absolute, pure fear and her eyes were burning. She cracked apart, falling to pieces and breaking down until there was nothing left. Not even ashes.

It was a surreal sight, and he had no idea whether that meant Manton was dead or his Projection was gone for a spell. Either way, it was quite the show.

He couldn't help himself. Jack began to applaud the unknown. "That's a very neat trick." He turned his head and found an even more intriguing sight. Mannequin was on his knees, his metal head partially scorched and burned. The metal had partially melted, trailing down the head's surface as if mimicking tears. "Judging by the mess you've made, I'll take a gander and say you got rid of my whole crew?"

The flaming skeleton craned his head, swirling sockets staring at him in disdain and hate.

"So, what happens now? Sing a song or two? Maybe play a game of Uno?" Jack smiled to himself, wondering how he was going to get—

"Jacob Marlowe…" Jack stopped in his tracks and his eyes widened. The judge of the damned pointed an accusing finger at him. "Hell's waiting for you."



Riley stood in front of her parent's unconscious forms protectively, gripping the bloody scalpel in her hands tightly. She was shaking, staring at the door in fear. She didn't dare hope the smiling monster died. She had hope before, and whenever she did, he and the others crushed it time and time again. She had no idea how much more she could take.

Seconds, minutes, hours passed before she finally heard movement. The floorboard were creaking, stopping just short of the door. Riley swallowed a lump of saliva, the scalpel growing unsteady in her hand due to the sweat. The door opened, and from it came pouring light.

The scalpel dropped from her hand and fell to her knees sobbing.

A dark-skinned man with a goatee and black-and-white hair wearing a tattered leather jacket walked down the stairs, winded and looking as though he'd been through a wringer. When he reached Riley, he smiled and got on a knee, pulling her close to his chest and rubbing her head.

"It's okay, kiddo. It's all okay. The scary man can't hurt you anymore…"

For the longest time, the only sound in the basement was Riley's sobs of joy and relief. At long last, this nightmare was over…



"Jacob Marlowe."

Jack stirred awake, feeling as though he'd just woken up from a very long nap. Blinking and wiping the blur and sand from his eyes, he found himself in someplace that he definitely did not remember being in. It looked like it belonged in a ten-star luxury apartment suite, maybe even a penthouse or a fancy mansion owned by some rich shmuck. A beautifully-crafted white fireplace was lit, wood logs consumed in an interesting green flame. The walls were decorated in black-and-red checkered wallpaper, classic paintings depicting angels and demons hanging from the walls. The stuffed head of a goat sat above the fireplace mantle, its dead eyes seemingly staring back at him.

A man with red hair and eyes sat across from him in a velvet-leather couch, a leg crossed over his face and hands folded over his lap.

"Actually, would you prefer Jack Slash?" the Red-Eyed Man asked.

Jack raised a brow. "Whichever you prefer, man. No offense, but where in the hell am I?"

The Red-Eyed Man smiled as if he just heard a funny joke. "Only the most luxurious place befitting some of our more 'esteemed' guests are welcomed into. We've been expecting you for quite some time, Mr. Marlowe. I must admit, I'm something of a fan of yours. You've led a most interesting life since you walked out of that bunker."

A cold shiver ran through Jack's being. "How the fuck do you—"

"Come now, Mr. Marlowe, I make it a point to know everything about my guests." The man licked his lips. "Especially those as…exquisite as yourself."

Jack was no stranger to disturbing situations. He had seen a whole lot of stuff, even having had a hand in the majority of it himself. This, however, disturbed him. Something was wrong, and he didn't like it. "Look, this is pretty nice of you, er…"

"Mephistopheles," the man introduced himself properly. "Mephisto if you're fancy."

"Mephisto, right. As much fun as this is, how the hell did I get here? My memory's a little fuzzy on the details."

"That usually happens to new arrivals. It's nothing new, I assure you. Just be glad you didn't wake up with a serious case of roadrash. Mr. Reyes was quite…creative when he brought you here." Mephisto laughed. "Dragged through the ground while hauled around by a car, burning by hellfire all the while."

Jack frowned, about to ask who this Reyes guy was…until he suddenly remembered what happened. The motherfucking Ghost Rider clocked him clean, wrapped him in chains and hooked them up the back of his car. The last thing he heard was the car engine roaring before…

"YOU STUPID BOY! WE TOLD YOU NOT TO GO OUTSIDE!"

Jack leaped to his feet, nearly falling over and tripping on his own two feet. His heart dropped when he found his surroundings changed considerably. Dull, steel walls surrounding him on all sides. Walls covered in scratch marks and writings and drawings. A caphonany of voices snarled and screeched from beyond the walls, someone or something banging on the walls. The door leading outside shuddered and shook with each blow, as if threatening to pop off the hinges.

"No…" Jack went pale. "No, no, no, no."

"THERE'S A WAR GOING ON OUT THERE, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!"

"T-this isn't real. This is, you're just fucking with my head!"

"JAAAAAAACOOOOOOOB!"

His father. His mother. King.

Memories long forgotten started to come to the surface, overtaking his mind and tearing it to shreds. The banging and the voices grew louder, threatening to invade his head. He clamped his hands over his ears in a futile attempt to block them out. They grew in intensity. He whimpered and fell to his knees.

"JAAAAACOOOOOOB! COME OOOOOOOOUT!"

"JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACOOOOOOOOOB!"

"JACOB! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE SO I CAN GIVE YOU THE BEATING YOU DESERVE, YOU USELESS LITTLE SHIT!"

"Pl-please, stop…"

Four-year-old Jacob Marlowe sobbed and screamed. They were all drowned by the screams of the damned calling for his blood.



"Stop it! Shut up! Please, just shut up! Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!"

The radio cracked, sobs and pitiful screams unbefitting of one of the world's greatest killers rumbling from the speaker. Mephisto hummed with a cheery smile on his face as he bit into his chicken roast.

"My compliments, Mr. Reyes," the devil purred, eyes blood red. "I've never had more wondrous dinner music…"

 

[Zedman7054]

Viscious, but wholly deserved. I will say I don't think hatchetface was a member of the Nine in 2005. I read somewhere he was a more recent addition at the time of Worm, but I won't complain.

It's also nice to see that Riley was saved from becoming Bonesaw. Ghost Rider seems to have talent of rescuing young parahumans girls from harrowing fates.

 

[SensibleMalarkey]

*squints*

Can Zarathos be judged? Or is the will of the host deemed… unimportant for the greater 'good'?

 

[zScruffy]

This has been a good week, 3 new chapters of this story and the 1st issue of the new Ghost Rider comic came out. Very interested to see the deal Taylor made. Was it for her mother, or for her father after her mother died? Or have I misread the clues completely? Can't wait to find out.

 

[TheStranger]

"If you want to find out what a man is to the bottom, give him power. Any man can stand adversity — only a great man can stand prosperity."
—Robert G. Ingersoll​

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♦ Topic: Brockton Bay On Fire
In: Boards ► News ► Events ►America ►Brockton Bay
Brocktonite03 (Original Poster) (Veteran Member)
Posted On Apr 15th 2011:
I've lived in Brockton Bay since back when the Slaughterhouse Nine and the Teeth were still here. I've got a granddaughter who goes to high school now, and she's graduating next month. I thought that, in my long years, I've seen the worst the city has had to go through.

I wish I was wrong, because as I'm looking out my window, I see fire and smoke across the whole damn city. Explosions keep popping off, and I feel the ground shaking under my feet.

For fuck's sake, forget the PRT and police, somebody call the goddamn army!

(Showing page 1 of 24)
►Aloha
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
I've been up for, maybe, six or seven hours since the bombing started. Been working as a volunteer and relief worker, clearing out the rubble and dragging people to safety and grabbing supplies and shit.

If you told me this city just got hit by an Endbringer, I'd believe you. A third of the city is blown to shit, some of the buildings are still on fire, and there's a fucking black hole over by Berkley Street that's defying logic just by existing. I get the phrase power bullshit is a thing, but what in the actual fuck man.

►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
I saw some ABB guys barge into an apartment complex from across the street, dragging people out and holding them at gunpoint. They were shooting glances at my house and I swear to God I thought they were gonna come after my folks when the PRT showed up.

►FlippinMad
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
Wow, Void not spouting conspiracy theories for once?

►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
Fuck off! I don't always spout nonsense! This is serious! I thought I was gonna fucking die when those assholes showed up and starting blowing up my neighborhood!

Tin_Mother: While your grief is understandable, please be more respectful and try not to blow up at everyone. You get one warning this time, Void.

►Bagrat (The Guy in the Know) (Veteran Member)
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
There's damage control happening all across the Bay at the moment, but if it makes anyone feel any better, the Empire is pretty much done fore. Sources are still unverified at this time, but some confirmed deaths among the Empire Eighty-Eight are Stormtiger, Cricket, and Alabaster. Menja, Krieg, Othala, and Victor are MIA and Kaiser is supposedly in Protectorate custody.

There are also over at least two hundred Azn Bad Boy gang members in police custody. Supposedly the commissioner is looking into a prisoner transfer since they're running out of room, though I've also heard there's been some kind of complication going on. I don't know what kind of complication, but assuming what I've heard is true and the commissioner contacted the PRT, it can't be anything good.

►Brocktonite03 (Original Poster) (Veteran Member)
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
Probably has to do with what I saw. This one kid, fuck he couldn't have been any older than my granddaughter, he was waving a gun around in the middle of the street, screaming about something when he blew up. Next thing I know, red spikes suddenly go flying everywhere. Killed a few folks and damn near skewered my eye out.

I didn't see any grenades on him, but I do recall hearing about how the ABB picked up a tinker.

►Next in Line
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
Well, look on the bright side. At least you got one less gang to worry about.

On the other hand, there's still Lung and whatever's left of his band of crazies and Faultline.

►Winged_One
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
Lung is a maybe, but Faultline is a mercenary. I wouldn't be surprised of Lung hired her after this, though. They're pretty much done by this point, tinker or no.

►Lo A Quest
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
So, if we're done talking about depressing shit, let's move on to some brighter stuff.

Check this out. Link.

►Kid Win (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE)
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
That girl is tough as nails, let me tell you. Didn't cry once and punched Clock in the gut for saying she was scared. Pretty much insisted she took a photo with all of us once the crazy stuff was over.

►Sumbastich
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
I smell shipping in the distance. Do you not see how close she and Grue are?

Also, congrats on the guy for joining the Wards and actually bringing some goddamn style. Seriously, y'all need to invest some leather!

►WhedonRipperFan
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
Not everything needs to be about leather, no matter how cool a leather jacket looks on a guy. Especially one that looks as built as Grue.

Actually, what kind of workout does that guy do? I can't be the only one who sees the rocking six-pack under that muscle shirt!

►Vista (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE)
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
Eh, Browbeat's got the better muscle.

Also, Clock, I swear to GOD if you make one joke about me and Brow, I will go Yeetus Deletus on your ass.

►Vee
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
Out of all the Wards to be a fan of MyNameIsBeef, Vista is the last person I'd expect.

►Laser Augment
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
Back to the stuff with Brockton Bay, what's the word on the casualty list?

I mean, after what just happened, there's no way the PRT can just ignore BB anymore, right?

►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
The PRT, fire department, disaster workers, and police force are working diligently at search and rescue efforts. So far, the total casualty list stands at
82 wounded
137 critically injured
39 comatose
and fuck knows how many dead. We're still confirming, but at this rate, well...

As a side note, while I can't say anything definitive, there are talks going on between the ENE and Atlanta branches.

►Deadman
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
Oh hell no. Don't tell me we're getting Cinereal. If that chick is coming here, I'm out.

►FlippinMad
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
First off, I don't think she'll be transferring or temporarily helping the Protectorate ENE. She's the leader of the Atlanta Protectorate, and last I checked they're still pretty understaffed on the Protectorate side of things. It'd make more sense for them to send some Wards their way.

Secondly, what's wrong with Cinereal? I get she's a hardass based on what I've heard online, but the fact that she's got the lowest amount of villains in her city compared to the rest of the US kinda speaks for itself.

►Mac's Dual Rocket Propelled Grenades
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
It's probably because of the vast amounts of property damage and being like Shadow Stalker. She's pretty brutal when dealing with villains. Now that I think about it, she really hasn't changed that much since her days as Ash Phoenix.

Didn't she start off a vigilante before she joined the Wards?

►Valkyr (Wiki Warrior)
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
I think so, but don't quote me on it. Anyways, I hope ENE gets some help soon. I sure as hell don't want to be like the rest of the people over there, looking over my shoulder to see if some ABB punk is gonna nab me. Still can't believe Lung went as far as using his own people as SUICIDE BOMBERS.

►AllSeeingEye (Veteran Member)
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
He REALLY hates the Ghost Rider. Speaking of, anyone know if they showed up? Considering all that happened, they're the last person I expect to miss that shitshow.

►GstringGirl
Replied On Apr 16th 2011:
I think I read somewhere the Ghost Rider did show up and dealt with Menja, but I'm not sure. I'd have to go and double-check.

►AverageAlexandros (Cape Husband)
Replied On Apr 17th 2011:
Holy shit, the PRT just made an update! The Ghost Rider is in Protectorate ENE custody! I repeat, the motherfucking boogeyman is in Protectorate ENE custody!

EDIT: HOLY SHIT THERE'S MORE THAN ONE?!

►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Apr 17th 2011:
*sees news video*

IS THAT FUCKING PANTHER?! AS IN, ONE OF THE ORIGINAL WARDS PANTHER?! I THOUGHT HE WAS DEAD!

End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 22, 23, 24


April 17, 2011



Emily glared at her monitor as if in some sort of vain attempt to set the damn thing ablaze. On screen was her latest headache and supposedly the worst thing to ever happen in her city. She didn't believe it at first and still couldn't, even with all the evidence piling up at her feet. Barely a day after she's had a chance to breath, and already she found herself going back to the hell that was politics and beurocracy. Part of her wondered why in the hell she stuck to this fucking job and didn't retire. It would have made her life easier.

Perhaps it was her stubbornness, or perhaps it was her refusal to allow parahumans to run around unchecked. In any case, a literal goldmine and landmine rolled in one package was on her lap, and she had to figure out how she was going to defuse the damn thing before it blew up in her face.

"I trust everything's been put into place?" Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown asked from the screen hanging on the wall. She and various other Directors were on a joint conference call discussing recent events, up to and including this latest development. "Has there been any problems?"

Emily breathed through her nose, schooling her features and putting on her best work face. "So far, she's been exceedingly cooperative," she reported. "There hasn't been any complications so far, and I've got at least six dozen troopers regularly rotating and every containment foam turret set to fire the moment she does something funny. The Cell's been integrated into the main computer, so if anything happens, like some kind of electronic interference of some kind, we'll know immediately. I'm not taking any chances with this one."

"Isn't this a bit much?" Director Armstrong asked. Like her, he was incredibly skeptical about what they learned. "Are we even sure she's the Ghost Rider?"

Tagg snorted. "You've seen the footage, haven't you? While I have some choice words about how she handles her branch, Piggot isn't entirely incompetent." The woman grinded her teeth, doing everything she could to keep herself from saying something or lashing out at the man. He didn't understand her situation, seemingly stuck to handle things on her own while trying to keep her city from falling apart at the seams. She knew she wasn't perfect, but she at least wasn't trying to turn Brockton Bay into a warzone like he would have. "That, and I sincerely doubt that Armsmaster would doctor his own helmet cam footage so he could bring in some random girl."

"Which brings us back to the point of this meeting," Director Caroline huffed. "Namely, this."

The footage on the other screen in the conference room was something that was the talk of everyone around the world. Panther, one of the first Wards alongside Miss Militia, stood tall and proud atop what looked like the metal skeleton of a tiger or actual panther, clad in his original costume, albeit with the mask altered enough to vaguely resemble a skull. Flames lapped around his body, mostly concentrated around his head, but not enough for it to look like a torch.

"Yesterday at 5:38 P.M., a news crew happened upon an ongoing battle between capes. The capes in question were Moord Nag and an individual dressed in attire similar to that of Panther." Another image came up on screen. On it was Panther, albeit lacking in flames and missing a skull-shaped mask. He was also unmasked, revealing a dark-skinned African-American man with dark hair and goatee, laser-focused eyes and a smile that reminded Emily of a certain gold-themed tinker from when things didn't look so bleak. "Panther, real name T'Challa, was one of the original members of the first Ward team alongside Miss Militia and Mouse Protector. He was believed to have been killed two years ago during a confrontation with the African Warlords when, against Protectorate doctrine and advise from close colleagues and friends, he went off to face them following the Cairo Massacre."

Emily's face scrunched into something ugly, fingers curling and threatening to break the skin of her palms. Memories of Ellisburg flashed through her mind, some memories faded but others still vivid, more gnarled and disgusting than she remembered.

"What's the current theory?" Armstrong asked. "Is Panther back from the dead, or is the Ghost Rider simply using his technology? As I recall, Panther's suit was designed by Hero, wasn't it?"

Chief-Director Costa-Brown nodded. "One of the last pieces of his tinker-tech still in use. If I recall, it was a personal gift. The Protectorate deployed a small covert team to retrieve Panther's body in the hopes of recovering the suit before any of the Warlords could get their hands on it, but there was no sign of his corpse. There were also no reports of the Warlords using the suit or technology remotely similar to that. This is the first recorded sighting of the tech since his death."

"And now it's in the hands of one of the most dangerous capes in the world," Tagg sneered, his eyes once more falling on Emily. "Now that I think about it, didn't the Ghost Rider steal one of your Wards' own tech?"

How did he—oh that son of a bitch, Emily thought with a hidden snarl. He still hadn't given up wanting her position? "That is correct," she said grudgingly. "Kid Win is going through numerous reviews, and following that fiasco at the bank, all the Wards are benched for the forseeable future unless there's another incident like the one from two days ago."

"That's enough," the Atlanta Director hissed. "Save your insults some other time, Tagg. Besides, we should get straight into the heart of the matter." Caroline turned her eyes to Emily. "How certain are you that girl is the Ghost Rider?"

"Following M/S protocols, we've gone through the footage extensively and submitted it to WEDGDG for any signs of parahuman tampering. The footage is legitimate." Emily sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Which, of course, makes this all the more difficult to believe and raises an unsettling implication."

"Implication nothing," Heartthrow grimaced. "While your Ghost Rider was in custody, another Ghost Rider showed up and defeated Moord Nag. Two of them. Two Ghost Riders! How is this possible?!"

And here was the part she definitely wasn't going to like. "About that…" Emily pressed one of the keys on the keyboard, opening a new channel onto the conference call. "Dragon, are you there?"

"Present, Director Piggot." The Canadian tinker appeared on screen, hiding away near the corner in a tiny window compared to the Directors'. "Chief-Director, if I may?" The leader of the PRT nodded and gave the tinker full control. From there, various photographs and news articles began to bombard the numerous screens within the conference room. Some of the photos looked to be quite old, a few of subpar and questionable quality, and the news articles varied from publisher to publisher. Some Emily recognized as tabloids willing to do anything to get a scoop, even if they had to embellish or spin a story to their own narrative. "I asked Colin for details about the Ghost Rider's appearance in Brockton Bay since 2008 and cross-referenced every known sighting of the cape since their first appearance at the end of the Golden Age. In addition to that, WEDGDG and myself looked over every supposed sighting and report of a person spewing fire or having a flaming skull for a head prior to Scion's appearance in 1978. Please look at this article."

One of the articles blew up, showing it to be a newspaper from all the way in California. Someplace called "Hollister," wherever that was. It was a tabloid, and the picture was of questionable quality, but the blurry image was good enough for Emily to recognize a flaming skull riding what looked like a truck. "This is from the Hollister Post, a small-time newspaper company that mostly covers community events. The photograph in question was taken during a high-speed chase between a group of armed robbers and a truck driver, who was suspected to be a parahuman capable of augmenting vehicles as the truck was somehow able to keep up with the robbers' car, a 1967 Chevy Camero."

Caroline whistled. "At least they had nice taste. Were the robbers caught?"

"No, they were not. When the police arrived and found the robbers' car, it was completely scorched and the robbers' bodies were inside, cooked to a crisp." Dragon shrank the article and blew up another one on-screen. This one made Emily blink when she saw the "Washington Post" at the top of the newspaper. "This one details an incident in Washington D.C., where the Washington Protectorate was engaging known villain mercenary Hot Shot. Twenty minutes into the battle, a civilian recording the event happened to catch this on his phone."

The footage played out. The street was in total chaos, capes duking it out, though the main attraction was two tinkers slamming each other into the ground, one in power armor and the other looking more like a fortified tank than a human in an armored suit. At the twenty second mark, Emily was grateful Ethan wasn't here, otherwise she would have heard him snickering and laughing at the sight of a flaming dinosaur skeleton snatching the power armor-wearing villain in its jaws.

"…what." Emily allowed herself to smile, basking in the rare and awe-inspiring sight of a genuinely dumbfounded Tagg. "No, really. What the fuck?"

"This was taken on October 21, 2010; a few months ago. Take a close look at the individual sitting atop the nape of the skeleton's neck." The image was enhanced, and sure enough, Emily saw it. The Ghost Rider, but dressed more like a cowboy than some leathered-up edgy motherfucker she saw on heavy metal albums. "The Ghost Rider's appearance matches the description of a man who saved Dinah Alcott from a kidnapping attempt on the same day the bank heist occurred. Furthermore, the individual in question appeared at the same time the Ghost Rider was battling Trainwreck and the Wards at Central Bank."

The realization was starting to seep in. Tagg, who looked ready to go to war, suddenly paled. Caroline slumped in her seat. Armstrong's jaw was about to kiss his desk. Heartthrow looked like he was going to have a heart attack. The only one with any decent composure was Costa-Brown, but she looked more irritated by this development than anything.

"The Ghost Rider's abilities and origins have always been a mystery to the PRT and to cape society at large," she said slowly. "Despite having gathered so much information about them in the decades they've been active, we still know nothing about their motivations, their actions, their identity. And this? This throws what we do know into question. If Dragon's investigation is any implication, then we may not simply be dealing with a normal parahuman. We may, in fact, be dealing with the very first superhuman in existence, predating even Scion and Vikare."

The Chief-Director turned her attention back to Emily. "PIggot, you've had this woman in your custody for 24 hours. Have you managed to come up with anything? Have you questioned here?"

"We have, but…"



Hours ago…



I sat in the confines of a cell, surrounded by nothing but white and gray. It was tight, barely big enough to fit three or four people. The walls were thick, built from some kind of smooth metal. It was obviously tinker-tech, but it was leagues better than what I saw of Squealer's shitty contraptions before the other guy melted it all. There were also turrets fixed to the corners of the cell. The turrets outside the cell were primed and aiming at the door as well, just in case I made a break for it.

I was terrified at first, but the other guy was content. I didn't feel anything vile or wretched anywhere nearby. I could actually find a moment to relax, for a given of relaxing anyway since I was in the PRT's custody.

It surprised me, honestly. After the first six months of fighting and struggling, of being exposed to the absolute worst humanity had to offer, I had all but given up. I saw too much, couldn't believe the heroes or the police would just allow these bastards to walk and do as they pleased. I hated to admit it, I hated that I accepted it, but I knew they deserved it. The hellfire, the sins tearing at their very soul and body… They deserved it and more.

The other guy had Victor under his boot, Kid Win's tinker gun primed and ready to kill him. He decided the Nazi didn't need to have his sins tear him apart and instead wanted him to feel his body and soul burned beyond repair, to die screaming in agony and pain. I was going to let him, sitting back and doing nothing, just waiting for the carnage to end.

And then Othala told us she was pregnant.

The Ghost Rider was going to kill her too. Look her in the eyes, made her feel every sin, every pain, every person she ever killed. I don't know if she would have died from it, and I wouldn't have cared if she hadn't said that. I couldn't let him go through with it. A scar or a burn would have been enough, but killing her, robbing her child of a life without parents?

I couldn't do that. I couldn't. For the first time in three years, I fought back. I struggled to get out of the trunk, to pry for control of the steering wheel. He didn't make it easy for me, but I managed to pull him away from the two. If they kept their promise, I wouldn't have to worry about them. If they didn't, I wasn't sure I could keep the other guy in check like last time.

"So, what's your name?"

Assault sat across from me. The cape geek in me would have squealed with joy, but she died a long time ago. There was a faint stench of sin, but there was brimstone on him. It wasn't the same as the one the other guy inflicted, but the fact that he hadn't come out and grabbed the hero meant he probably already paid his dues. The same couldn't be said about Armsmaster, who hanged in the back with his halberd in full view. Even with the helmet obscuring most of his face, I could feel the glare behind it. The bitterness, the hate.

"How old are you?" Assault asked again.

They didn't interact with me at first. In fact, I didn't get any visitors until today. Since my arrival two days ago, I had been under constant watch with several guards surrounding my cell. They were ordered to subdue and/or kill me if I tried to make an escape. It was only this morning that the heroes came by, with Miss Militia telling me that I was going to be asked some questions. She wasn't smiling, but she seemed to pity me. Maybe it was because she somehow knew or I just looked broken to her.

"Do you have any family?"

My family… Fuck, I missed them. I want to see them again, but how? How can I when I have this fucking thing, this monster raging inside me? My meeting with Miss Militia made me think about the day I met the devil, how I was clutching the heroine's autograph like it was made of glass.

My silence should have made a point to Assault that I wasn't going to answer. I wanted to answer him, but I didn't see the point. What use was it? I said nothing and kept my eyes focused at the floor.

I heard Armsmaster make some kind of noise and mutter under his breath. "This isn't working, Assault."

"Gimme a sec, will ya? I'm getting close."

"She hasn't said a word this whole time."

The red-clad hero sighed and shook his head. "…okay, look kiddo, here's the thing. I'm a nice guy, you see. I'll make jokes to lighten the mood, maybe try to coax a confession out of you if I'm playing the good cop. Ol' halbeard over here? He's bad cop, in every way. Like, his social skills are complete garbage, and I'm willing to bet so are his bedside manners. And if you won't talk to me, you'll have to talk to him, and he won't be as nice as me you know. Seriously, he won't. So come on, work with me here. Just give us something to work with?"

"Why are we wasting time with this?"

"Armsmaster…"

The tinker ignored him and walked around the table. I felt him looming over me like some dominating shadow. I felt my body tighten up, the other guy starting to stir. Armsmaster was full of himself. Full of pride and greed. A gloryhound who wanted validation, no matter how he got it. He didn't smell of sin, but his attitude alone was enough to make the other gut on edge. He was ready to come out and play, to grab Armsmaster and beat him to within an inch of his life, maybe make this lesson a little more appropriate than the one from three years ago.

"Do you even realize the situation you're in?" Armsmaster asked. "If not for the fact that we're aware of how your powers work, we'd send you off to the Birdcage."

Hehehehe…

I hissed through my teeth. The idea of being sent to that place terrified me, but not because I'd be stuck in an inescapable prison. I was scared of being locked inside a prison full of sinners, and smelling nothing but fire and brimstone for months. I could tell the other guy was salivating at the prospect.

"How many careers have you ended, hero and villain alike? How many people have you killed? Innocent civilians? Criminals? Do you think you're above the law?"

I didn't respond to any of his provocations. He wanted me to lash out and fight. He wanted me to do something. When I didn't, he decided to get a little more creative and slammed his halberd into the ground, electricity sparking around the blade.

"You don't get to decide who lives or dies!" Armsmaster growled.

Assault lunged to his feet. "Armsmaster, the hell are are you—"

"—Hahahahahahahahaha…!"

I couldn't help myself. I laughed at the sheer absurdity, the stupidity of that question. It took both men off guard, and they grew disturbed when I looked back at them and smiled sadly. "I'm not the one who decides. Tell me something, have you ever wondered what's it like to be dropped to the bottom of the ocean? Like at the very bottom, so dark and deep down you can't see? Because that's what life's been like for me these last three years. When the other guy decides he wants to be in the driver seat, I don't get the passenger side or the backseat. I get stuffed and locked inside the trunk. I can do nothing but watch as he shows me every disgusting thing humanity has to offer."

I tilted my head and looked at them in curiosity. "Do you know the teacher at Clarendon Middle School? Mr. Hardy? He hates kids, you know. He hates his wife even more. He nearly beat her to death and made her miscarry. One time, he even broke his son's arm. The police couldn't do anything because Mr. Hardy paid them to look the other way and pretend nothing was wrong. No one noticed a thing. Everyone thought he was an upstanding guy."

"What are…"

"I saw everything he did. I felt what he did to his wife and son on a daily basis. And the other guy made him feel all of that and more." I shook my head. "Do you know what was even worse than a teacher? Officer Duncan. He was on the Empire's payroll, gave its gang members the VIP treatment while they were in lock-up, slipped them evidence to blackmail other people. He beat a girl to near death because he caught her shoplifting, violated her in an alley, then left her to whoever else wanted a crack at her. I can still hear him screaming as the other guy burned him to a crisp."

I stared the heroes in the eye, daring them to say something. Anything. "You're right. I don't get to decide, because I'm not the one who gets to choose. It's the other guy. To him, it doesn't matter if you're a civilian, a hero, or a villain; if you've sinned, if you hurt somebody in any way or did something horrible, he'll come for you and make you experience what you did to others. And I can't do a fucking thing about it."

"We can help you," Assault blurted out. "We can—"

I smiled bitterly. "You can't."



"…that's more or less the gist of the recording," Emily said after pausing the video. "Honestly, I'm not sure what to believe, but assuming she's telling the truth…"

She looked at the monitor showing the expressions of her fellow Directors and the Chief-Director. They all looked horrified and disturbed to varying degrees. "Oh Christ on a pontiff," Caroline whispered. "It's Teacher. We're dealing with a fucking Teacher."

"Now, hold on—"

"It makes sense," Tagg interrupted Armstrong. "Think about it. No two capes have the same powers. Similar powers, yes, but not identical. Not even multi-trigger events or clusters can give people powers with the same limitations and properties. So far, all these Ghost Riders have the exact same skillset."

"Which begs the question of where this girl could have gotten her powers," Costa-Brown said. "Piggot, has she said anything else?"

"None. She's been as quiet as a bird, and not even threatening her with life imprisonment will work." Not that she was that stupid. Emily knew that sending someone like the Ghost Rider to a security facility full of thieves, murderers, rapists, and everything in-between was a recipe for disaster. "I do have an idea I want to test out, but there are risks involved."

"I don't care how you do it, we need to figure out how this girl got her powers."

The woman sighed and nodded. "Yes, Chief-Director."

The conference continued from there, discussing other matters involving the situation in Brockton Bay as well as how they would deal with the remains of the ABB and its new leadership. As Emily listened, she wondered if this was going to be a disaster in the making. She could feel it in her bones. The wound in her body was aching in a way she hadn't felt since Elisburg.

There was a storm coming, and she had a feeling she'd be bringing it here herself…



In the city of Brockton Bay, somewhere in one of the more undisturbed and peaceful parts of a rural suburb near the Boardwalk district, a woman hummed pleasantly to herself as she chopped away at a pack of vegetables on her cutting board. She heard the phone on the wall start to ring. She paused her work, setting her knife down next to the board and picked up the phone.

"Hello, Hebert residence."

A minute later, the sound of glass shattering echoed through the house. Danny Hebert leaped from his sofa and dashed into the kitchen. The vase filled with water and flowers was shattered to pieces, scattered across the tiled kitchen floor. The woman was on her knees, a hand at her mouth and tears cascading down her cheeks.

"Annie, what's wrong?!"

Annette stared at her husband with relieved, terrified eyes. "Danny…" she said slowly and said the words they hoped and dreaded of hearing for the last three years.

"They found Taylor."



A/N: And here we are, with the start of the second arc. This might be one of the shorter arcs I have planned, but that all depends on how I plan on making this go since, as far as the drafts go, it's pretty short as it consists of Taylor explaining how she got her powers, someone going to hell, Taylor busting out, and setting up a cliffhanger for Arc 3.

I mean, come on, let's face it. There's no way Ghost Rider is just gonna let Taylor wallow and sit there all day. There are sinners to burn.

Anyway, I've finally pulled back the curtain a bit. As many of you have speculated, Zarathos' latest meat suit is poor ol' Taylor Hebert, and Annette is alive. The circumstances behind her survival will, in fact, be revealed next chapter as I reveal the Brockton Bay Ghost Rider's origins.

Which just leaves us with one final question: what happened to Emma? That, too, will be answered next chapter as well.

 

[YuffieK]

The circumstances behind her survival will, in fact, be revealed next chapter as I reveal the Brockton Bay Ghost Rider's origins.

Which just leaves us with one final question: what happened to Emma? That, too, will be answered next chapter as well.

Click to shrink...

Now I'm anxious. Usually, a Rider Host makes their Deal with the Devil only to have Mephistopheles twist the knife while sticking to the letter of the contract:

"Good news Taylor, your mom's terminal cancer went into spontaneous remission. Pity about that semi t-boning her car on the way home from the hospital though."

 

[Hazard]

The police couldn't do anything because Mr. Hardy paid them to look the other way and pretend nothing was wrong.

Click to shrink...

Actually, the police could do plenty.

It's just that they chose to be part in a bribery scheme and enable his domestic abuse.

 

[GamingPizza1998]

Usually, a Rider Host makes their Deal with the Devil only to have Mephistopheles twist the knife while sticking to the letter of the contract:

"Good news Taylor, your mom's terminal cancer went into spontaneous remission. Pity about that semi t-boning her car on the way home from the hospital though

Click to shrink...

Maybe he's finally realized that's how you get disloyal servants that will actively try to sabotage him.

 

[Dalriaden]

Personally I've always found Taylor's stance on heroes weird. I'm not sure how much fanon has enlarged it but for someone as well read as Taylor is generally implied/shown to be, she should know long before there were comics heroes were killers.

 

[SensibleMalarkey]

Squeeeee! More!

as it consists of Taylor explaining how she got her powers

Click to shrink...

And from the explanation she will be viewed as a completely sane and stable individual. Yes sir.

 

[Proman]

Personally I've always found Taylor's stance on heroes weird. I'm not sure how much fanon has enlarged it but for someone as well read as Taylor is generally implied/shown to be, she should know long before there were comics heroes were killers.

Click to shrink...

LEARNING? How dare you.

The only thing the Big M learned was that he should target younger and younger people. He started with Spider-Man, who's at least young at spirit. Then Kid Loki... and then Miles Morales... who admittedly is older than the child who only existed for about two years in universe.

But still.

 

[Ardenzian]

Just found this piece of awesomeness and I'd just like to say more please

 

[TheStranger]

"Did you try to live on your own
When you burned down the house and home?
Did you stand too close to the fire?
Like a liar looking for forgiveness from a stone"

​

April 17, 2011



Somewhere over in Greenfield, California, a family of three lived in a surprisingly modest house. It was early morning, the sun slowly climbing into the sky. At this time, Riley's parents were still asleep and in bed, which was perfect because she could sneak out of the house.

Well, not sneak out as much as she was going to the basement. It was more or less regulated to being a makeshift storage place for things they didn't need, which made it great because the boxes made it easy to hide the teleporter. She didn't like using it, the process of going from her house to the Greenhouse always felt so darn weird, but it was easier than spending four or five hours by bicycle. The teleporter was small and portable, and it always came with her after the jump so she could hide it again later when she jumped back to the basement.

Now, if only she could convince her uncle to make the jumping process to be less "icky"!

Riley activated the teleporter, and felt her surroundings warp and twist. Her body shuddered, shrank, pulled out and in on itself in ways that were just uncomfortable before fading back to normal. In a few seconds, her surroundings settled down. Instead of being in her basement, she was instead surrounded by a zoo of fauna. Trees and flowers of every kind, all teeming and brimming with life while encaged inside a giant dome.

She didn't need to find her uncle as he was barely a few feet in front of her, riding atop a hovering platform with a clipboard in his hand and a drone next to him. "Hi, Uncle Alan!"

"I'm not your uncle, you know," Alan Gramme chided without looking from the clipboard.

As usual, Riley was feeling good about herself whenever she saw him looking like a proper man and not some misshapen egg lump. The blueprints never lied, and their instructions gave her the means to make her uncle better. There was still room for improvement, noticing how stiff his movements were or how his fingers or arms twitched in irregular intervals, usually within seconds or minutes of each other.

The memory of how she made her uncle better were the memories she wanted to let fade away, though Riley knew that wasn't possible. The memories always came back, even in her nightmares. The smiling man with the knife, the stripey woman, the red man. She tried so hard to forget them, but they always showed up, one way or another.

"Isn't it a little early for you to be here?"

Riley smirked and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'll have you know I'm an early riser. And besides, I don't have school today." A drone flew up to Alan, making a series of beeps. Her uncle proceeded to scribble something on his clipboard. "What are you working on?"

"Updates about Sites 21 and 6," he replied. "Radiation poisoning is going down by 8%, and there's no change in the temperatures or signs of decline. Seems like the plants are doing their job."

Riley perked up. "So, I've been a good girl?"

"Considering you helped make the plants, I'd certainly say so. Speaking of, can you check out the plants here? I noticed a few of them are suffering from a slight discoloration, but I'm not sure if it's because of a biological reaction or decline."

"Sure!"



Alan watched Riley all but skip away as she went about her task. Once she was out of view, he allowed himself to relax and fall in on himself.

Why does she keep trying with me? Doesn't she remember what we did?

Six years ago, he was Mannequin; the twisted, gnarled remains of a once good man driven on destroying those trying to follow in his footsteps. Six years ago, he and the Slaughterhouse Nine wanted to recruit a new member. It was part of Jack's brilliant idea to try something new, make a recruit themselves. Riley was picked on a whim, and her recruitment was carefully calculated so they could trigger her in the appropriate manner.

Jack's plan came crashing down when the Ghost Rider showed up. Alan had no idea the boogeyman of capes the world over knew where they were, and at the end of the day, it didn't matter. In less than an hour, the Slaughterhouse Nine was wiped out. All of them died at the Ghost Rider's hands, burned to a crisp and left as nothing, not even as ashes or scorch marks on the ground.

All except for him. The sole survivor.

The Ghost Rider, a Latino man with a goatee and black-and-white hair, asked Riley to fix him despite all the terrible things he and the Nine did to her and her family. He just didn't understand why such a terrifying, ruthless cape would allow him a second chance, nor could he understand why the girl he tortured went along with the man's request. They had torn him out of his ruined body, exposing him to the cold world outside where everything was just darkness and silence. He felt himself dying then. Then he felt something he hadn't in a long time: warmth.

"You get a second chance, Gramme," the Ghost Rider warned him. It took Alan a few seconds to realize he somehow had functioning ears again. "Don't waste it."

He didn't.

As far as the police was concerned, Alan Gramme was just some poor soul wrapped up in the Nine's rampage. Riley didn't tell them anything, calling him her uncle. She still looked at him fearfully then, but as the years progressed, the word 'uncle' was spoken with love and affection. It reminded him of his family, the people who should be alive instead of him. Part of him envied the Mason family for having a good life, but he knew the problems they were suffering from to this day was still because of him. The family underwent regular therapy sessions on a bi-monthly basis, and unless he was mistaken, there was also some ongoing marriage counseling, but Riley hadn't said anything.

He doubted there was any actual marriage trouble; Martha and Damien were the picture-perfect happy couple, albeit one that went through quite the traumatic experience. One by his own hand no less. They had no idea he played a part in the hell they went through, or what he had done to Riley. They only saw a man who seemingly saved their daughter from a nightmare.

And wasn't that just a laugh? Saved her? He didn't do anything. It had all been the work of that boogeyman, the devil driving in a Dodge Charger of all things.

Alan contemplated his life since that unholy meeting. Why the Ghost Rider spared him and only him, he did not know. Did he feel pity, perhaps? Ridiculous. The idea that the Ghost Rider was capable of pity was as believable as Scion being an alien. He was uncompromising as he was ruthless, punishing anyone he deemed a monster. It didn't matter who they were; civilian, villain, hero¸ everyone was fair game. It didn't matter what was thrown his way either. It was one thing to bulldoze through countless capes of all kinds, but it was another thing entirely to beat down Eidolon and scar a goddamn Endbringer.

Much of Cairo was still reportedly glass.

Alan tried to understand what was going on through the Ghost Rider's head, and yet no matter how hard he tried to think of an idea or plausible excuse, he was met with only more questions. He dared not touch the fact that he now knew what the Ghost Rider's face looked like when he was not all bone and flame, but even then the former villain doubted whether that was the Ghost Rider's true face.

In the end, Alan turned his mind elsewhere. He thought to his life as it was now. Although the Ghost Rider allowed him to live, his continued existence was nothing more than a cruel mercy. He could hear it sometimes, the whispers and damning cries of the people who he destroyed. He saw the faces of men and women who followed in his footsteps, of trying to make the world a better place. In truth, he did not know why he chose to retake the mantle of Sphere, nor why he allowed Riley to help him with his work when she discovered it by happenstance. Maybe it was some form of repentance? A chance to make things right? To find atonement?

Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.

Alan broke from his thoughts and contemplations when the console next to him started beeping. Someone was contacting him. He did not give out his contact information freely, much less his cape phone number. Only two people knew of it, and one was tending to the plants.

He sighed, pulling himself together and schooling his features. He walked over to the console and answered the call. The screen lit up with a new window, showing a Canadian woman in some kind of high-tech lair.

"Hello, Sphere," Dragon greeted amiably. "It's been a while."

Alan nodded. "Dragon."

The tinker contacted him not long after he made his return, releasing some of his more ambitious projects and plans that never saw fruition onto the worldwide web. He meant it as a sort of challenge, a means to see whether there was anyone willing to continue in following his footsteps. He was neither irritated nor pleased to see there were those who took up the challenge. He didn't know what to feel, save for some surprise when one of the challengers contacted him directly despite having released the plans anonymously.

Then again, what else did he expect from one of the world's greatest tinkers?

Dragon and Alan shared a platonic and mutually beneficial rapport, the former having convinced him to sign-on as a Protectorate-affiliated and sponsored tinker. His only condition was that his partner remained anonymous to the public and unaffiliated with the PRT in any way. Dragon had asked, but he did not give her an answer. It was too risky, not to mention dangerous. He couldn't risk the possibility that she would be locked away or put under heavy scrutiny because of her status as a bio-tinker.

Regardless of whatever suspicion may have been casted on Riley, or rather "Botany" as she took to calling herself on PHO, his requirements and stipulations were met and the paperwork was all signed. Alan, Dragon, and Armsmaster from the Brockton Bay Protectorate collaborated and deliberated on numerous plans and subjects, among which were revitalization zones i.e. the sites of Endbringer attacks. The most frequent argument was how likely the Endbringers were to attack the zones and ruin any progress they would make, as well as who would handle what matters involved.

The revitalization zones were still in the process of being finalized, but there were signs and hopes that it would be approved and instated for deployment by the Chief-Director by the end of the year. It made sense, after all; a project of such ambitious scope was likely to be one hell of a money-sink, and that was not going into the tinker-grade equipment that would be used. Even if the best tinker equipment could be made from mere garbage, it was agreed that only the ultimate tinkertech was made possible by high-grade materials and parts. That, and given the purpose of the project, they could not afford to cut corners on this.

"I assume this isn't a social call?" Alan asked curiously. "You would normally send a message over on My Space or something if you wanted to talk."

Dragon smiled wryly. "It isn't about the revitalization project, but I was hoping I could get your input on something. Actually, it's something Armsmaster and I have been going over for the past few years."

"Oh?"

Dragon transmitted the topic of their conversation to his console. It was schematics, and familiar ones at that. Detailed plans on a failed project, albeit one that was a hair's width away from being realized. The only reason it failed was because of that fucking day.

"Lunar base plans?"

"You know about them?"

"I do. It was fairly ambitious, and the closest humanity would ever get to space travel," Alan shrugged. "The idea was that the lunar base would terraform a portion of the moon's surface, creating fields for oxygen and carbon dioxide generation, power plants and generators for electricity distribution, facilities for manufacturing and production; every need for daily life and civilization. There were some setbacks, of course, such as the problems that might arise in regards to any sustained or critical damage to the dome and the costs, not to mention the upkeep of tinkertech. Then, of course, there came the problem with the Endbringers. Ziz, specifically."

While all the Endbringers were troublesome and brought catastrophic results wherever they went, the Simurgh was probably one of the worst. When it appeared, space travel all but crawled to a halt. No one dared progress the space race or launch probes, not while the Simurgh sat comfortably within the confines of space with no one able to reach or touch her.

Although the plan failed, that wasn't to say Alan hadn't made a proof of concept. He lived in a small-scale moon base, big enough to house some equipment and personal effects. He hadn't been there in years, not since that fucking day. By now, it had most likely fallen apart and was in desperate need of repairs.

"…you know more than I was expecting," Dragon said after a moment, her expression contemplative and twisted in a frown. "I hope this doesn't come across wrong, but if you don't mind me asking, how do you know so much? Most tinkers who follow Sphere's work could barely make heads or tails out of these plans."

Alan paused to think, wondering what he should say. After a moment, he relented and sighed. "Why wouldn't I? I was the one who made these plans."

The only sound he heard in the midst of silence was Riley's melodic humming. Dragon's stare was vastly uncomfortable.

"Granted, they're several years out of date and likely no longer feasible."

"…shit."

Alan blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh, n-not you, sorry. I'm just realizing what Armsmaster said when I shouldn't bet on something with Assault."

Bet? What on earth was she—no, he didn't want to know nor did he need to know. It was likely safer that way. "You seem hardly surprised by this."

"Well, Armsmaster and I had our suspicions. The plans and theories you submitted were eerily close to what Sphere proposed several years ago, and the outlines were fairly similar as well. It wasn't until you told about the revitalization plan that we started to belief you were the original." The Canadian tinker tilted her head. "If you don't mind me asking, why did you decide to come back to the cape scene? Everyone thought you died when the Simurgh attacked Louisiana in 2004."

In the back of his mind, an angelic voice akin to nails on a chalkboard rang in his ears. Alan smiled bitterly. "I didn't," he said. "But I was there when it happened. I lost my family that day. My wife and our children. I buried them with my own hands. That wasn't the worst part, though." His hands trembled, feeling as if something was burning away at the skin. He recalled the faces and expressions of his victims. "The worst part was how I felt like everything I did no longer had any meaning. That it didn't matter anymore."

Alan closed his eyes. "And then everything went downhill after I met Jack fucking Slash."

He heard Dragon inhale sharply. "…you were Mannequin?"

"I should have died, you know? I wish the bastard killed me six years ago. I still don't understand why he let me live, or why he asked Botany to help me." Alan dragged a hand down his face, feeling as if he aged by several decades. "Whatever stories you might have heard about the Ghost Rider's Master effect? They don't do it justice. Imagine, if you would, reliving everything you've ever done to everyone you've wronged. Hurt. Killed. Imagine feeling the pain and suffering, the death, and imagine all of that times a hundred. I thought I knew what pain was. I thought nothing could hurt me worse than what happened to my family. The Ghost Rider thought differently."

"…what happened to Jack Slash?" Dragon asked quietly. She appeared calm, her eyes giving away nothing. "When the PRT arrived, we weren't able to find his body or any trace of him."

"Dragged off in chains with a severe case of roadrash by the Ghost Rider," Alan spat. "And with any luck, that son of a bitch is burning in hell." The silence resumed. Neither said anything. Alan sighed again. "…to tell you the truth, Dragon, I don't know why the Ghost Rider spared me. I don't know why I decided to do this again."

"Perhaps they thought you deserved redemption?"

That got a laugh out of him. "You're kidding, right? What in god's green earth makes you think I want or deserve redemption?"

"You'd be surprised."

"…you're surprisingly calm about this," Alan observed. "Most would've started throwing curses or informed the PRT. Should I expect a phone call in the next few minutes?"

"It isn't my place to say," Dragon replied with a small smile. "That, and I'm of the opinion everyone deserves a chance for redemption in some way or another. It seems to me like you're on your way to doing just that."

Alan stared at the Canadian tinker in surprise, blinking a few times and wondering whether he heard her correctly. He then slowly smiled.

Armsmaster is one lucky son of a bitch, he thought to himself.

"Speaking of the Ghost Rider, and I apologize if this might come off as rude, but what can you tell me about them?"

"Nothing the public or PRT doesn't already know."

"I mean physical characteristics. Please, humor me."

Alan shrugged. "Well, they're a man, I can tell you that much. Latino, actually. Drove a Dodge Charger that was spewing fire from the engine." He paused. "If you don't mind me asking, what's with the curiosity?"

"…truth be told, you'll likely hear about this soon, but the Brockton Bay PRT has the Ghost Rider in custody. Or rather one of the Ghost Riders. A teenage girl by the name of Taylor Hebert."

...oh. Well, there was only one thing he could say to that. "Shit."

"SWEAR!"

Dragon blinked. Alan groaned. Riley glared at him, cheeks puffed and fists on her hip with the most adorable look on her face.



A/N: The first of three interludes that will make up this arc, and probably one of the most interesting things I've written. Also, can I just say how annoyed I am that some people figured out that Alan took back his mantle as Sphere before I revealed it proper? There was hardly any foreshadowing for god's sake, and you people still figured it out. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy you guys did, but it still annoys me since it dampens the surprise.

Honestly, I meant this to be the second interlude, but I took into consideration the timeline of events and how much impact each interlude would have after subsequent chapters, so this ended up being the first interlude. Honestly, this was pretty fun to write since this is focused on a former S9 member post-Penance Stare. I do wish I could've gone more into Riley, but this chapter was primarily focused on Alan specifically. Eh, maybe I can cover her in a future interlude.

On a side note, I'm…honestly a little annoyed with myself. For all I had planned for this set-up, I also completely forgot that Alan Gramme didn't become Mannequin until 2006, roughly five years before the start of Worm proper. Meaning he joined the Slaughterhouse Nine a year after Riley became Bonesaw. I know I fudged the timeline a bit, made it so it happened two years earlier, but I'm still really annoyed by this oversight.

In other news unrelated to this fanfic, I recently finished Dragon Age II and started Inquisition. Despite what I've heard about II, it ended up being my favorite entry so far, though that might change depending on how much I'll enjoy Inquisition. Then again, that probably has to do with the combat system and Hawke. Especially snark Hawke.

Next updates will be wrapping up Latrotoxin's first arc, and after that, back to this fanfic for a time. Expect at least four or five more updates for this arc, depending on how long I want to drag out the festivities. Next chapter will be a proper update and how Taylor became the Ghost Rider.

 

[zaiaku]

"…truth be told, you'll likely hear about this soon, but the Brockton Bay PRT has the Ghost Rider in custody. Or rather one of the Ghost Riders. A teenage girl by the name of Taylor Hebert."

Click to shrink...

Man I can't wait till that shoe drops. Publicly I mean.

 

[Ardenzian]

Man I can't wait till that shoe drops. Publicly I mean.

Click to shrink...

Agreed, although I'm just wondering if it's widely known that there's multiple Ghost Riders

 

[zaiaku]

Agreed, although I'm just wondering if it's widely known that there's multiple Ghost Riders

Click to shrink...

Considering Alan's reaction to the news, not likely.

 

[Ardenzian]

Considering Alan's reaction to the news, not likely.

Click to shrink...

So when that becomes known, a whole freaking lotta jackasses are gonna be wishing they wore their brown pants

 

[zaiaku]

Yep.

 

[TheStranger]

"Hell is empty, and all the devils are here."
—William Shakespeare
​

Three years ago, Danny Hebert experienced something no parent wanted to go through.

He was working from home that day. There had been a sudden influx of potential hires, which he considered a good thing. More help meant more jobs, and more jobs meant more people able to support themselves and their families. The problem came from figuring out whether the hires were plants. If they were working for the gangs, he wanted to give them the benefit of a doubt. Some joined only because they didn't have a choice, or they could protect their families. If they joined the Dockworkers Union solely because they wanted to feed information and use what little cargo ships passing through the city for their own benefit, there was no place for them.

He got a call from Annette late in the night. She took Emma and Taylor to a PRT-sponsored event over by Boardwalk after she got off work. Their little girl was as happy as can be, as he could hear her practically bouncing off the walls of his wife's care after she got Miss Militia's autograph. Emma seemed just as excited to have gotten to meet a superhero up close.

And then he got another phone-call, right as he was about to turn in to bed. It wasn't from Annette. It was from the police. His wife, daughter, and her best friend were caught in a car crash. Some drunk asshole slammed right into the driver-side of the car and all but slammed it into a wall. He feared for the worst, thinking he just lost his family. In a way, he had.

His wife was fine. Somehow. She had a couple of scrapes and bruises along with a minor head wound, but she was fine. Emma was on the passenger side, and came out mostly unscathed.

Taylor, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found.

He contacted everyone he knew. Alan, Kurt, Lacy, his boss, his old co-workers, anyone who could give him an idea or help. The police promised to do their best, but he knew better. They were swamped with enough work as it was, dealing with superpowered criminals and gangs tearing apart the city. They couldn't be bothered with missing persons. Maybe he was being cynical, and he knew there had to be at least a few dozen honest cops in the force, but he wasn't going to hold his breath.

The days went on, turning into weeks with nothing. Weeks turned into months. Months eventually became years. Annette never stopped looking, devoting almost every moment of her time looking for their daughter and putting up missing persons posters. The Barnes helped her every step of the way. Danny used some of his connections, hoping someone would know something. By the third year, hope started to dwindle. He thought he would never see her again.

And then Annette got a phone call about Taylor.

From the Parahuman Response Team.

The first thought he had was, Oh, god, please, no. Don't let this be true. Please don't tell me she's dead. It was a reasonable thing to think when the heroes were calling about their daughter. Lord knows how many people died during cape battles, either unlucky to be caught in the crossfire or because someone pissed off a cape from a gang. His fears were unfounded, thankfully. His daughter was very much alive.

And she was sitting in a fucking jail cell.

"You better have a damn good explanation for this," Danny growled, all but marching up to the nearest cape in his peripheral vision. Were it not for Annette, he would have grabbed them by the collar and pinned them to a wall. He was seeing red, his heart hammering in his ears. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now!"

"Danny, please!"

"S-sir, please, calm down."

It was a testament as to how angry Danny was if he managed to intimidate a cape. Armsmaster stepped in, gently pushing the furious father away from Assault, the latter shooting him a look of relief. "Mr. and Mrs. Hebert. Thank you for coming."

"What's going on?" In contrast to her husband, Annette was more confused than anything. Like her husband, she was furious, but she was better at reigning it in. The sight of her daughter, alive and well, brought no small amount of relief, even if she was in a cell of some kind. "Why is our daughter locked up?"

"You can confirm that is Taylor Hebert?"

Danny snarled. "Why the fuck wouldn't we recognize our daughter?"

"W-where has she been? Is she okay? Is she in any trouble?"

Assault swallowed. "She's fine! Really, she is. Although, it's kind of complicated."

"It would appear your daughter has been living on the streets for the past three years," Armsmaster answered evenly. "She's been remarkably tight lipped about her experiences, but she was able to tell us that much."

"And her being treated like some kind of caged animal?!"

"For her safety, as much as others." Before Danny could throw a punch, the tinker continued. "Mr. Hebert, do you know how parahumans gain their powers?"

The question threw them for a loop. The married couple looked at each other in confusion. The subject was hotly discussed and debated, with various theories being thrown around. The PRT never gave a concrete or clear answer, sometimes avoiding the subject or dancing around it.

"We refer to the moments in which a parahuman obtains powers as Trigger Events," the hero continued when neither one answered or responded with hostility as Danny attempted to earlier. "Trigger Events vary in how they occur or how they come to be, but they are achieved through one manner. Experiencing the worst day of your life. In other words, a traumatic event. It can be something as simple as the death of a loved one, a betrayal of a trusted friend, or something extreme as about to be killed by a deranged madman or having a gun waved in your face."

The implications settled in, as had the horrifying realization. Danny's anger fell away, replaced by horror and fear. He looked at Taylor, this time he really looked at her. His daughter was vibrant girl, so full of life who could chat away for hours about things she enjoyed. He could still remember how she spent an entire dinner party talking his ear off about her favorite cape and what they accomplished. She was his sun as much as Annette was, a constant brightness that kept him grounded.

When he saw his daughter in that cell, he saw none of that. Her face was deprived of joy, lips flat and cold, eyes staring blankly at her lap. Her beautiful hair, inherited from Annette and her grandmother, was longer than he remembered, but unkempt, greasy, and messy as if it hadn't been washed in weeks. Her clothes were rough and too well-worn, sporting various blotches and stains. Some of those stains had a reddish tint to them.

"Taylor is a parahuman," Assault said. The words were spoken normally, but the sheer weight behind them nearly brought Danny to his knees. Tears spilled down his wife's face. "We believe she either Triggered three years ago, or she received her powers from someone capable of granting them. At the very least, she's admitted that she can't control her powers at all."

Three years ago…

The phone call. His wife and Emma's unconscious forms in the hospital. Taylor nowhere to be found. The pieces fell into place.

Danny never hated himself as much as he did now.

"Typically, trying to talk to a cape about their Trigger Event is like stepping on a landmine waiting to go off," Assault said grimly. "After all, no one wants to talk about what happened on the worst day of their life or when their world turned upside-down. In this case, though, we need you to get her to open up. If Taylor got her powers from someone, we need to know who, and whether they can fix this."

Annette looked numbly at the red-clad hero. "That's why you called us…"

"The decision is up to you. Honestly speaking, ma'am?" He looked at Taylor, gaze softening. "…I think she needs you. More than anything right now."



Director Piggot watched the proceedings from her monitor, fingers drumming along the surface of her desk. Velocity stood next to her, looking as concerned as Dauntless was.

"Are we sure this is a good idea?" he asked nervously. "I mean, I understand why we brought the Heberts here, but this girl's a time bomb waiting to go off. What if her power decides to go apeshit and they get caught in the crossfire?"

Piggot was aware of that potentiality. It was entirely possible the Hebert couple would die if the Ghost Rider decided it had enough time being locked in a cell, but for once she was betting on the parahuman to keep her temper under control. If there was anything Piggot came to understand about parahumans, it was that, for all their struggles, they found some way to adapt or work around the limitations of their powers. Taylor Hebert spent three years being controlled by hers, yet she gave herself up. She allowed herself to be captured.

It was hard to imagine the Ghost Rider would willingly allow itself to be caged and locked away, meaning the decision was entirely the girl's. Taylor Hebert either exaggerated things, which capes were often to do, or she severely underestimated her own control.

She never considered herself a betting woman, but just this once, Piggot betted on the girl over the devil.

She just hoped it wouldn't blow up in her face.



It had been quiet.

It was equal parts concerning and a much relief. I couldn't remember the last time it didn't stir or growl. There were the faintest hints of sin, small little whispers and scents, but they were minor things. Not enough to rouse it. It didn't care for petty little things. It didn't smell the scent of blood of innocent on them. Small mercies I suppose.

It seemed like my choice was the correct one after all. I'm still surprised it allowed me to turn myself over to the Protectorate when all was said and done. It was too…generous, for lack of better word. There was something wrong here, but I couldn't tell what. Did it have some sort of plan? No, couldn't be. It wasn't that smart…at least, I didn't think it was. It could restrain itself when it wanted to, but when it let loose, it was no different than a wild dog. It wouldn't stop, not until it had a sinner in its jaws and tore it to shreds like a rag doll.

I sighed and stared up at the ceiling, wondering what was going to happen to me now. Brockton Bay was practically rid of villains, with only the ABB left as the sole dominant power. I never doubted that others would try to fill the power vacuum, or that the ABB still had capes to its name, but I wanted to believe in the heroes that they could deal with the rest.

It was…strange, to be honest. It felt like I was finally at the end of the road. Like I was finally done. I wanted to believe it was. I knew better. So long as it was in my head, this wasn't over. This was a brief rest. Sooner or later, it would want out. To continue the hunt.

How long is this going to go on…?

The door to my cell hissed open. I sighed again, this time feeling annoyed. "I already told you, I don't…"

My voice died in my throat. It wasn't the heroes who entered my cell, but a man and woman. People I knew.

People I wanted to see more than anything in the world.

People I was scared shitless to face after everything.

People I didn't want involved in my life after the fucking devil got in my head.

Why…?

Why are you here…?!

I wanted to scream. I wanted to shout, yell, tell them to get out. I couldn't bear to see them. My heart felt as if it was being ripped into pieces. It was so hard to breathe. My eyes were stinging. Something wet was falling from my face.

…oh.

These were tears.

"…mom? Dad?"

Something in my breaks when the words fall from my mouth, seemingly on their own. I can only sob and cry as my parents, without so much as a word, embrace me and don't let go for what felt like an eternity.

Just this once.

Please.

Let me have this.

Just this once.

Just this once…



In one timeline, Thomas Calvert prepared to go to work, confident in his survival and ability to handle the situation in the event things went south. There was paperwork to be done, coffee to consume, and seeing what he could do to turn recent events to his fortune.

In another timeline, Coil watched as the Ghost Rider—or rather, Taylor Hebert embraced her parents. It was hard to reconcile the terrifying visage of the Ghost Rider with the sniveling crybaby on his screen. Then again, it served as further proof to some startling complications. Namely that there were Ghost Riders. More than one of these forces of nature existed, seemingly granted powers by an unknown individual. The prospect was interesting as it was horrifying.

Still, things had gone in a direction he couldn't have forseen. The ABB was on its last legs. Lung was dead, and the bulk of their forces were whittled down to the point they were about as threatening as the Merchants, short-lived their career in the Bay had been. Oni Lee and Bakuda were the only active capes left in the organization, and his moles reported small things. There was no word on who would lead the organization going forward, but it looked as if Bakuda wanted to take control from the shadows and install Oni Lee as a puppet. He would have done the same in her shoes.

The Empire was…well, it pleased him to no end to hear that the Empire was all but gone. Its remaining capes were done for. Krieg was conspicuously missing in the reports, but if his suspicions were correct, he was running with his tail between his legs to tell his actual superiors in the Gesellschaft what happened to their sister organization. Victor and Othalla left the city with new identities, gone with the wind. For the sake of covering his bases, he tasked a few agents with keeping an eye on them in case they came back. Menja joined with her sister in Boston, now having turned to vigilantism with Night and Fog. The Boston Protectorate was keeping a close eye on them, playing the waiting game like they had Night and Fog, though he supposed it was a matter of time before some hothead jumped the gun.

As for Kaiser…

Coil couldn't stop himself from grinning. The revelation was as surprising as it was worthwhile. He knew there was a connection between the Empire Eighty-Eight and Medhall, but to learn that the leader of the Empire was Medhall's very own C.E.O! Were it not for the fact that the Empire was already dust in the wind, he would have leaked the man's identity to the world, ensuring his downfall and inability to reclaim any sort of political power he had. He was tempted to do it anyway, just make it clear who held the real power. He kept the card close to his chest, finding other potential uses for it. Maybe Max Anders would surprise him and he could make him into a tool or handyman. The man wasn't a Nazi like his father was. He simply used the ideals to take control of the Empire and rally others to his side.

In any event, the power bloc of Brockton Bay was upended magnificently. It would take weeks, if not months for the Azn Bad Boys to regain enough power to be considered a "threat" to the Protectorate, capes or no. All other major players beside himself were off wiped off the board.

Coil stood alone as the victor, and he did not have to do a thing.

All that remained was to assert dominance and establish control, lay the groundwork for his eventual hostile takeover of the Protectorate ENE, and obtain his "other half". Dinah Alcott was too valuable to let go of, not when her power could be put to such good use. He would have to wiat until the Brockton Bay Ghost Rider was dealt with, of course. He couldn't risk another setback, or worse. Especially since he now knew there were two of those bastards here. There were plans to move Taylor Hebert offsite somewhere. Details were tight-lipped and no one was talking. He had a good idea who was responsible for the order, and he knew better than to step on their toes.

In both timelines, Thomas Calvert/Coil smiled to himself and leaned back in his office chair/seat. He need only be patient now.



It was the best day in Taylor's world.

"She was so much cooler in person!" Emma gushed, starry-eyed and bouncing in the confines of her seat. Taylor was much the same, except she was hugging the poster possessively and refusing to let anyone, much less her mother or best friend, touch it. "I wish she could have shown off one of her guns. We could have taken a picture together."

"What do you think she would have made?" Taylor asked curiously. "Handgun or bazooka?"

"Uh, sniper rifle, duh!"

"What! Why a sniper rifle?!"

Annette smiled, looking at her daughter and Emma through the rear-view mirror.

The fair was chaotic as always, perhaps more than usual. The fact that it was being sponsored by the PRT probably didn't help all that much. In truth, she had reservations about taking Taylor and Emma there. It wasn't so much the capes as it was the trouble they attracted. It wouldn't be the first time the gangs attacked an event like this, not caring about who got caught in the crossfire.

She refused at first, told Taylor she couldn't make the time. There was some truth; she was so busy she half-expected to be working late into the night and most likely wouldn't go home until well after midnight. When Taylor started crying, her defense broke down in no time at all, not helped in the least by the Barnes' assurances. She still wasn't sure she could actually take the girls to the fare until a co-worker of hers caught the conversation and offered to cover her.

The trip to the fare and the festivities afterwards went off without a hitch. Save for the obnoxious crowds and haughty parents that really made Annette want to punch, nothing bad happened. Taylor was like a kid in a candy store, more so when she managed to get an autograph she won at one of the stands signed by Miss Militia, who looked more than happy to hear Annette's daughter gush about her.

The only downside to any of this was that Taylor would be too excited to go to bed at a reasonable time, and she had school tomorrow. Same went for Emma.

Well, at least they had fun, Annette thought to herself.

The intersection came up ahead, light flashing yellow as she approached. The car rolled to a halt when it turned red.

"What, no way! Armsmaster could kick Velocity's butt! He has plans for everything!"

Emma giggled. "Not if Velocity takes everything that's not nailed to the floor before he can get to them!"

"Not if he boobytraps the whole place!"

Annette rolled her eyes. What was it with kids and superheroes? She couldn't understand the craze very well, not when she used to roll with a cape back in her younger years. It was a shame what happened to Lustrum. The woman honestly meant well, but she never expected things to go so far when one of her own went and castrated some poor bastard. He deserved it in her opinion, having learned what warranted such violent action, but people thought it was a sign that Lustrum was taking things too far. They thought the actions of one subordinate reflected on how the leader controlled the group.

Idly, she wondered how the Bay might have changed were Lustrum still operating. The light turned green, and she got the car moving again. Something bright came speeding up on her side.

"MOM!"

Annette took a deep breath, desperately trying to keep her emotions calm. She didn't want to remember that horrible night. She didn't want to break down in front of Taylor.

Poor, sweet Taylor… When Annette looked at her, she couldn't help but want to hold her baby girl, tell her everything was going to be okay, argue and punch and scream at the heroes to let her go, and take her back home. She had no idea what sort of troubles she went through since she got her powers, but it was blatantly clear they were not kind to her in the least. She looked so thin, so harrowed and tired…

The worst part was how much Taylor avoided looking them in the eyes or flinching when they touched her. Every time she did, it broke Annette's heart more and more. The memory kept playing out in her head, again and again, somehow growing worse with each retelling. What if she told Taylor they couldn't go? What if her co-worker hadn't stepped in for her? Would things have played out the same? Would they be different?

Danny spoke the most between them, trying to coax Taylor or comfort her whenever he saw her expression grow dour. They wanted to know what happened to her, how this all happened, but they didn't want to push her buttons. Make her lash out. Make her reject them.

Annette squeezed her hand, holding it as if she was going to disappear any second now. "Little owl, please. What happened to you?"

For the first time, Taylor finally looked her in the eyes. They were watery, as if she was about to cry again any second. More importantly, there was shame. Regret.

"…do you remember what happened that night?" Her voice was so quiet, she could barely hear her.

Annette nodded numbly. "I remember, yes. We were on our way home from the fare. You were so excited you could barely sit in your seat. You wouldn't let me or Emma touch the poster Miss Militia autographed for you."



Outside the Cell, Hannah stiffened. "Oh, god…"

"You met her?" Rory asked, just as surprised she was.

The noctis cape recounted her memories. Three years ago, fare, autograph. The memory came back to her quickly. "I did. She was twelve, maybe thirteen. She was with a friend, a red-hair. She told me I was her favorite hero."

The girl inside the Cell was the Brockton Bay Ghost Rider. The girl inside the cell was the same girl who told her she was her favorite. The same girl whose poster she signed. It was so outlandish that it was almost funny. Her stomach thought otherwise. Why hadn't she noticed it before?

"One hell of a coincidence," her friend murmured, looking at the Hebert family sadly. "And she's still just a kid… If there is a god, he's got one fucked up sense of humor."

She couldn't agree more.



"When the truck hit me, I blacked out," Annette continued somberly, wishing she could forget the night altogether. "When I started coming to, I saw the truck dug into the driver side. I couldn't see you or Emma. I could barely move my neck. I could barely keep my eyes open, like I was going to pass out any minute." She took a deep breath. "Then, I remember hearing a car coming up to us. I saw the truck being pulled away like it was nothing."

"A good Samaritan," Danny concurred. "Saved your guys' life from what the cops and doctors told me."

She smiled thinly. "They must have saved been a cape. I never saw their face. I remembered how they tore open the car doors as if they were nothing and pulled us out of there. I was fading in and out. The last thing I saw before I passed out was a car. A Dodge Charger R/T."

Taylor chuckled. It sounded…wrong. Her smile was worn and tired. "I suppose that's one way of seeing it," she mused. Her smile faded and her face turned regretful. "Do you know what I remember most about that night? Feeling like I fucked up in the worst way."

Danny gaped, looking at his daughter incredulously before rapidly shaking his head. "Honey, what are you saying? What happened that night wasn't your fault!"

"I threw a tantrum, badgered mom to take me and Emma to the fare," Taylor retorted. "I should have just told you guys it was fine. That we didn't need to go. If we hadn't…" She took a shaky breath, as if trying to calm herself down. "Then that car crash wouldn't have happened."

"But we're okay," Annette stressed. "You, me, Emma. That person saved us."

"…not all of us, mom."



"When that truck smashed at us, I begged to god. I begged to the universe. I begged to anyone that you and Emma would be spared."

I couldn't breathe. It was so cold. It hurt. I couldn't move an inch.

My vision flickered, in and out. Everything was so blurry. I could barely see mom, limp and slouched forward, face buried in the white bag that popped out from the steering wheel. I saw Emma with her head lulled, blood leaking down the side of her face. The light was so harsh I could barely see anything else. The honking noises, the screaming whines, it was so loud.

Something warm spilled down the side of my neck, soaking into my sweater. I felt something sharp digging into my neck. I couldn't see what it was.

Everything was turning dark. So, so dark.

I thought to myself, this was it. This was how I was going to die.

It wasn't fair. I didn't want to die. I didn't want mom to die. I didn't want Emma to die. I didn't want any of us to die.

"S-someone…" Sticky red saliva spilled from my mouth. "P-please… Help…"

"I swore I'd give anything to save you. My life, my soul…"

A rumbling. Heat. Something tickled the back of my head.

I…can't…

"…and then I died. There was nothing. Just darkness. Then I heard a voice asking me if I wanted a second chance. If I was willing to sacrifice everything, even my own soul. I said yes. I said yes and everything more. Then I was alive again. And you were right. There was someone there. But it wasn't a good Samaritan. It was the fucking devil."

The first thing that came flaring back was pain. Utter, agonizing pain. My eyes flew open, bulging as if ready to pop out. I coughed, wheezed, gasping, gulping for air like it was the best drink in the world. I couldn't feel my body at all. Everything hurt so badly, I wanted it to stop.

I was looking up at the night sky. Bright and starry. It looked beautiful.

And then, I saw him. A bleached-white skull, orange-red swirls of flame mimicking eyes inside the sockets, wearing a black leather jacket with white lines forming a rectangle.

I stiffened, gasping, but unable to move. He looked at me, staring into my eyes. He knelt down, and pressed his palm against my cheek.

"And whatever was inside him… He passed it into me."

First came the rage. Pure, unadulterated rage. Unholy anger. Roaring and snarling and howling like a wild animal freed from its cage. Then came the pain. Not the one plaguing my body, but the pain ripping my brain apart. I felt it all. Stabs, gunshots, fists striking flesh, crowbar coming down upon my head, my chest torn open, heart ripped from my chest, every cell in my body evaporized, water rushing through my lungs, an angelic song clawing at my consciousness.

Then came the heat. It was blistering, unbearable. It was hot, too hot. I screamed as the heat grew stronger until I felt my skin burning away. I smelled cooked flesh, smoke, and burnt hair.

An unearthly scream came from my mouth as there was nothing left of me. It was not me who screamed, as I felt every iota of control and feeling suddenly grow mute. I watched the world through my eyes, but not my eyes, tinged with violence and red.

I understood it then what was happening, and screamed as the devil roared to the heavens, announcing its presence and intentions to the world.



Piggot felt her blood run cold.

"…oh my god," Velocity whispered.

Dauntless shared a similar reaction, his fear palpable and shared by the Director after what they just heard. "Butchers… Forget dealing with someone like Teacher, they're all fucking Butchers!"

This was bad. This was worse than anything Piggot imagined. It was one thing to learn that there was a second Teacher running around, giving powers to people who used it to their own ends, but it was another thing entirely to listen what Taylor Hebert just said. She was not lying. Her expression and eyes gave it all away. She was sincere and meant every word. For once, the Director sorely wished she was lying.

The Chief-Director had to know about this.



My parents were horrified, as I expected they would be. They knew the truth now. The PRT didn't tell them the full story, of how I was the Ghost Rider.

For a brief moment, I thought I saw a glimpse of the future. I saw them screaming and denouncing me. I saw them shunning me. I saw them looking in fear. They didn't see their daughter anymore. All they saw was a monster wearing her skin and acting like it was her.

Some days I wondered if they were right.

I looked away. I didn't want to see their expressions as the facts set in, when they connected the dots. "When I got these powers, I thought I could control them. I thought I could be a hero… But then I realized the thing in me had other ideas. It didn't want to be a hero. It wanted to hurt people who hurt others. It showed me a school teacher who beat his son and wife, hit his students when no one was looking. It wanted to make him pay and more. It made him experience everything he did to the people he hurt. I wanted him die. I wanted to throw up, make him stop. Heroes aren't supposed to kill people, right? I tried so hard to get him to listen…but he wouldn't For six months, he showed me the absolute worst people. The kinds of people the heroes ignored or didn't notice until it was too late. So many horrible things, so many sins…"

I bit my lower lip. My fingers dug deep into my jacket. "I just couldn't find it in me to make him stop anymore. Do you get that? I'm a monster. I'm not better than—"

Arms wrapped around me, pulling me into a warm embrace I felt only a few minutes ago. "Don't say that." Mom's voice was cracking. Something wet dripped down atop my head. "Don't you ever say that, do you hear me? You are my daughter."

"We'll find a way to fix this," Dad said in a shaky voice. "I swear to god, we'll fix this. No matter how long it takes. I'm not sitting by while some thing makes our daughter its plaything."

The future I saw was a lie, no more than my own fears and lies. I wished this moment could last forever. I missed this, this warmth. I yearned for it for so long.

…but all goods come to an end, eventually.

…he's finally here.

It came, then. An unbearable heat.

"No!" I shoved mom and dad away, throwing myself against the wall. "No, please! Just this once! Just—!" My pleas fell on deaf ears and the heat grew stronger. I felt my skin breaking apart, flame pouring and eating away at my body.

Not in front of them! Not them! Stop! Stop!

No.

I could only scream as the devil reared its foul head. The last I saw before I was dragged kicking and screaming back into the trunk was the horrified looks on my parents, my mother reaching out for me while being dragged away by Armsmaster, and the turrets installed into my cell blasting me in yellowish-white goops.



"Get them out of here, now!"

"N-no, wait! Stop! Taylor! TAYLOR!"

The troopers escorted the Heberts out as fast as possible. No sooner had Colin left the cell did it slid and hiss shut behind him. His halberd extended, sparking with electricity. Ethan stood ready to engage, albeit with anxiety as he stared at the foam-piled lump in the corner of the cell. "That's not gonna hold her, is it?"

As if answering his question, the containment foam liquefied. It trickled down, turned into a mere steaming puddle on the floor. Taylor Hebert was gone, the last remnants of her flesh burned away to reveal bleached-white bone and wicked flames, jaw curved in a way that resembled a twisted smile. Worst of all, it was laughing. It was the first time he heard the Ghost Rider doing such a thing. It ignored the continued streams of foam and went straight to the Cell door, slamming its fists into it. The door shook with each blow.

"That'll hold her, right?" Ethan squeaked.

Colin grimaced. "The Cell was stress-tested with every possible parahuman category taken into account. It took Alexandria an hour to bust down the door. That should give us enough—"

The door crumpled, bent and sent flying. The Ghost Rider exited the Cell.

Assault screamed in frustration. "You have got to be fucking kidding me!"





A/N: Oh my god, it's finally done. After at least three or four rewrites. Jesus Christ.

As you can see, a lot of Taylor's backstory and the events of this chapter are heavily inspired by Robbie Reyes from Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the episode "The Good Samaritan", in which Robbie recounts how he became the Ghost Rider. Of course, the major difference here is that the one who passed off Zarathos to Taylor was Robbie himself, not Johnny Blaze. There's also the inclusion of Emma, who I've been making subtle hints to about her inclusion in this whole ordeal. I'm sure you can connect the dots before you read the interlude.

Anyway, we have one more chapter to go. After that, this arc will be done. Yeah, three chapters and three interludes is not impressive, but I genuinely didn't see any other reason to drag this arc out, given the time of events and the reveals and what have you.

All that's left for me to do is wrap up Latrotoxin's arc, and after that, I am taking a small, well-needed break. I really, really need to get back to my other stories. Worm is too fucking addictive, man. It doesn't help that I've been wanting to do a Walking Dead and Worm crossover ever since I replayed the Telltale game a while back. Stupid plot bunnies and stupid fluff.

(For anyone who may demand or ask me to one day follow up on writing that, I will refuse on the spot. My heart can't handle that shit, man. Worm is dim enough. The Walking Dead just makes it so much damn worse…even if there is some genuine good fluff somewhere in there.)

Anyway, what did you guys think? Bad? Good?

[SPOILER="A Plug Because SkyRig Asked Me To]
Lastly, I wish to take the time to advertise something. My friend SkyRig has recently published his first book, titled "Chase Ryder and the City of Lost Memories – Part 1: War". It can be found primarily on Amazon and is available for kindle, hardcover, and paperback. It also recently got a Goodreads listing, despite being out for a week or two. Hilariously, there's also another book series with the name Chase Ryder in it, which involves dogs. Strange coincidence, and as a dog lover, it makes me want to read them.
[/SPOILER]

 

[TheStranger]

"Whoever is unjust, let him be unjust still
Whoever is righteous, let him be righteous still
Whoever is filthy, let him be filthy still
Listen to the words long written down"
​

"Lincoln!"

It happened so fast, Carter could barely remember what happened. One moment, he and his brother had the Reverend cornered, and in the next, the ceiling came down on top of them. By the time Carter realized what happened, his brother was lying under a pile of rubble. The lower half of his body was hidden beneath the crumbled rocks, the sleeve of his left arm torn and cuffed and ripped, revealing bruises and cuts. His forehead was split open, causing blood to trickle down the side of his face.

Carter paled beneath his mask and moved to pry the rocks off him. He succeeded in moving a few rocks, but others were too stubborn, too wedged in to move. Part of him feared more rocks would come tumbling down and crush Lincoln further if he tried his luck too much. Even so, he still tried.

"Just-just hold on, Lincoln," Carter grunted as he pulled out pieces of debris and rock from the pile. "I'll get you out of there in—ngh—no time!"

"I'm afraid that's no longer possible, Mr. Slade."

Carter stopped dead and felt every hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It felt as though someone had just walked over his grave. He turned around, finding someone who shouldn't be here. A man wearing black dress slacks, a velvet-and-gray vest over a pinstripe shirt, cherry-red hair slicked back with a goatee and crimson red eyes. He wore leather gloves in his hand, carrying a jet-black cane with a golden goat head adorned on top of it.

For a moment, Carter wondered who this man was, or even what he was for that matter. Something told him that, despite his looks, he was anything but human. And then he realized the Red-Eyed Man called him by name.

"Who the devil are you?" he asked, a hand reaching for his pistol.

The Red-Eyed Man smiled in a way that made his skin crawl. "I'm no one terribly important, if that's what your asking. Also, I wouldn't be too worried about me. Shouldn't you be more worried about your brother at the moment, Mr. Slade?"

Carter looked back at Lincoln. His breathing was growing weaker, his skin growing steadily pale. It was only now he noticed there was a growing puddle of red extending out from under the pile or rocks.

"No…"

"One of the rocks has pierced his lung," the Red-Eyed Man said nonchalantly. "He'll bleed out in a few, short moments I wager."

Carter flared his nostrils. "I won't let that happen!" He threw himself back into the pile of rocks, pulling and tugging at the debris crushing his brother. "Not to him!"

"Surely you realize how futile this is. Do you think you can pull out enough of these rocks, pull him out, and run for the clinic before he bleeds out?"

"What do you expect me to do then?!"

"I expect you to save his life, no matter the cost."

His hands stilled. Ever so slowly, Carter turned around. He noticed it then, the Red-Eyed Man's shadow flickering from the swaying lanterns hanging above. A deceitful shape resembling a man, horns atop his head. He understood then why this man repulsed him so.

"The devil…"

The Red-Eyed Man chuckled. "I'm a devil, but I'm not the boss. I work for him, you see. Mephistopheles, at your service. Please, call me Mephisto."

"I ain't sellin' my soul," Carter spat. "Not to you."

"Even if it means you can save your brother?" At this, Carter paused. He glanced back at Lincoln's body and heard his pained, shallow breathing. "He'll die, surely you know this. You can't save him unless your willing to make a deal. Do keep in mind that this is a one-time offer."

"…and how do I know you'll keep your word?" Carter asked. "How do I know if you'll save my brother, and he still be alive after the fact? How do I know you won't be poking holes in whatever contract you got cooked up?"

Mephisto seemed almost offended by the question, but regained his composure rather quickly. "Mr. Slade, I am not my boss. I am of the opinion that it is better to honor the deal given and proposed and ensure it is followed to the letter. I prefer happy, willing customers, not ones I make a potential enemy of." His smile grew ever so slightly, exposing flawless, sharp white teeth. "However, I must inform you that, if you accept the deal, you will be under my service until such a time when I deem otherwise. In short, I will own you, body and soul. And when you die, I will come to collect it. After all, God won't be welcoming a damned soul into his pearly gates. So, what will it be, Mr. Slade? Will you let your brother die and live with the regret? Or save his life and sell your soul to a devil?"

Carter knew he should have said no. He should have rebuked and rejected the devil in front of him. His resolve crumbled to pieces as he looked back at his brother and his dying form. He would regret this, he knew, but at this moment, what other choice was there? Would god answer his prayers?

He didn't know, and he didn't care. For Lincoln, for family, Carter would give everything and more.

Mephisto seemed to understand what was going through his head and smiled a crooked smile, extending a hand almost invitingly. Carter hesitantly accepted, wrapping his gloved hand around the devil's before the handshake turned to a vice-grip. Mephisto squeezed and pressed down, but it wasn't painful or crushing. No, the pain came to his entire body for no sooner had Carter grasped Mephisto's hand did he fall to his knees, screaming as his skin started to fray and peel like paper.

"A word of warning, if you would," Mephisto said as if in afterthought. "The Spirit of Vengeance doesn't like to play nice, so do your best to keep the reigns on him, hm? Consider our contract sealed, Carter Slade. I do believe this is the start of a wonderful partnership."

Carter continued to scream. The cloak and guise of the Phantom Rider, the gift he received from Flaming Star, burned in unholy flame. The cloth mask hiding his face burned away, revealing naught but bleached-white bone, sockets filled with swirling orange-red flames and fire wrapping around the skull. Pristine snow-white turned ashen gray and tattered.

In the years that followed, the legend of the Phantom Rider faded in favor of a more chilling tale. Outlaws and criminals of all kinds spoke of horror stories, of a man set ablaze riding atop a decayed, flaming horse and dragging "sinners" off into the horizon to await judgment. It was the beginning of a chilling, gruesome old western tale that would one day resurface into the modern era.



April 16, 2011



Carter sat in a booth in the far back of the café, reading the funny pages of this morning's newspaper while he waited for his employer to show up. He was aware of the stares he was getting, no doubt due to his get-up, but no one wanted to make trouble with him. They didn't notice the pistols, thankfully. He had gotten into a smidge of trouble at first with local law enforcement when he escorted the little miss back to her folks, but they backed off when the miss' father showed up and spoke on his behalf. It was an amazing coincidence that the miss' father just happened to be related to the city mayor, but one he was grateful for nonetheless.

The mayor offered him a reward, but he refused. He wasn't here for good deeds, he wanted to see what the new kid was up to. News of a fresh Rider was heard on the grapevine pretty quickly, but something was off. The city stank of sin to hell and back, but the Ghost Rider was acting like a wild animal. It was almost as if they were giving Zarathos free reign, but that didn't make sense. If that were the case, the city would be ashes by now. He originally planned on getting some answers after he saved the little girl, but he got an unexpected call from his employer.

Speaking of sin, Carter had to wonder what in God's name these superheroes were doing. He knew of Brockton Bay based on hearsay and newspapers, but from what he understood, the villains were more or less the ones running the show and the heroes were playing catch-up. Whatever major victory they cooked up lasted for a few days at best before the villains were up to no good again. Of particular note was New Wave losing one of their own.

A shame, really. He understood why some heroes would want to reveal their public identities, but there was always a cost to this sort of thing. They weren't gods or invincible. He certainly wasn't, not even with his powers.

After browsing through the funny pages, the cowboy picked up the faint smell of brimstone. He peered over the top of the papers and frowned. A young girl, a pretty little thing with red hair and eyes. She looked young enough to be in high school, wearing a pink shirt with a curious looking doodle resembling a duck of some kind with a plain blue jacket with a hood and dress pants.

The problem, however, was the blood splatter painted across the jacket and shirt, as well as the smidges of blood on the lower left corner of her face.

No one commented on the blood and ignored her, save for the waitress. "Welcome to Henry's! What can I get you?"

"I'll take a mocha with whipped cream, if you don't mind. I'm here to talk with a friend," the girl said with a sweet voice, eyes mystifying. The waitress nodded and jotted down her order before waltzing off to the back of the café. The girl proceeded to walk over to his booth and slid into the seat across from him. "Hello, Carter. How have you been?"

"Let go of the girl, and I won't have to drag you across the highway," Carter said sotto voce, eyes glowing the color of embers. "It ain't no threat, Mephisto."

"Oh, don't get your panties in a twist. The girl invited me into her body willingly," Mephisto huffed, amused by Carter's threat. "Apparently, she's a close friend to my new hire. Our deal was simple. I use her body to help her friend, and she gets her friend back. Simple as that."

"And the blood?"

Mephisto's face flattened. "Oh, right, that. I was taking in the scenery and exploring the city when I bumped into this rude hooligan and made him spill his food and drink all over the street. He got mad and pulled me into an alleyway, and I had no interest in dealing with his tomfoolery." The devil sighed. "And just as this jacket was starting to grow on me…"

Carter knew better than to take Mephisto at his word, but there wasn't anything he could do. He could fight the devil as he was, maybe drag him kicking and screaming out of the girl, but whether she would come out of the experience alive and sane was another question.

"…hold on," he said after realizing what Mephisto said. "What do you mean by helping her friend?"

"And there's the rub," Mephisto sighed. "My new hire isn't technically my new hire. Someone got the bright idea to pass Zarathos off to someone else, someone willing."

Carter felt his blood run cold. Now he understood why the new Ghost Rider was acting so wild. "You tellin' me she ain't got no leash?"

"Nope. Fortunately, the hire herself is on the weak side of things, so Zarathos can't go all-out." The waitress arrived, all smiles and saying nothing of the bloodstains as she set down the coffee cup on the table. Mephisto smiled prettily at her, handing her a wad of dollar bills before taking the cup. "Still, I have to admit, this is something. Normally someone without a leash usually lasts a few months before they're burned out and reduced to a charred husk. This girl's lasted three years, and she's the same age as this one too. If I didn't know any better, I would say she was Johnny boy."

The old cowboy felt fire pump through his aching bones. "Don't even joke about that," Carter growled, embers seeping from the corners of his mouth. "The last thing this world needs is another Johnny Blaze."

"I'm just comparing her in terms of compatibility, no need to get so riled up! If she were like Johnny, the boss would have her head on a platter by now." Carter didn't seem convinced. Mephisto rolled his eyes as he drank from the coffee cup. "Lighten up, will you? I didn't just call you here to talk about the new hire. I need your assistance."

"And that would be…?"

"First off, I need you to bring the new hire to me. It goes without saying, but I can't have a Ghost Rider running around without a collar. Knowing Zarathos, it's only a matter of time before he burns out his host, no matter the compatibility. Secondly, there's a certain…someone I need you to 'collect'. As a matter of fact, this relates to the little girl you saved the other day."

Carter raised an eyebrow. He shouldn't have been surprised the devil knew about the little miss, but what did she have to do with this?

"The man who wanted her abilities happens to be on a list. He's something of a low priority, you see. A Ghost Rider would have been sent after him at some point, but considering the situation involving the new hire, I feel it's better to nip him in the bud sooner rather than later."

"Which list is he on?"

"The blacklist."

The cowboy whistled. The blacklist was for special individuals, 90% of which comprised of parahumans with peculiarities. Carter had gone after some of the names on that list, most of which had been them Case-53 folks. Their origins intrigued him, especially their lack of memories, but a job was a job. As it turned out, even if you didn't remember who you were or what you did, your soul did. That was enough for the Spirits of Vengeance to decide whether you were guilty or not.

"This guy got a name?"

"Thomas Calvert. He goes by the name 'Coil' in these parts." Mephisto finished the last remains of his coffee and smiled. "Mm, this is good stuff. I should come back here again properly. Anyway, I trust you to handle the tasks I've given you?"

"Not like I have much of a choice."

"Smart man."

Mephisto smiled as stood up, sauntering out of the café in his skin suit. The charm faded, and soon enough, people started to realize something was off. The waitress, now noticing the blood splatters on the girl's body, gasped and paled and reached for the phone attached to the wall, quickly dialing 9-1-1. Many of the other customers were calling the number as well. Odds were that, by the end of the day, there was going to be a report about that poor girl on the news.

Typical Mephisto, but what else did Carter expect from the devil he made a deal with?

Carter slid out of the café without much notice, everyone too worked up by the charm wearing off and seeing the girl's appearance. He dug his hands into his pockets and decided to take a walk around the city. Mephisto didn't say he had to go out and find the girl right this very second, and this Coil character wasn't going anywhere. Now that he knew the man's name, the Spirit of Vengeance would hunt him down to the ends of the earth. Nothing would keep him from his sinner.



The slums near the outer edge of the city were the poorest parts, as he noted by how dirty and dank the streets were. Gang signs and graffiti marred most of the buildings, wooden boards blocking off the entrances to some. Were it not for the fact that he could feel the souls around him, Carter would think this place abandoned. There were sinners here, but their stench was miniscule and barely a whiff. Some were already in the process of turning over a new leaf. One sinner in particular smelled of brimstone; clearly marked by the Brockton Bay Ghost Rider.

He found the sinner in question huddled around a group of homeless folks gathered near a burning barrel. She was surrounded by a bunch of dogs, a three-legged corgi snuggled in her lap. The Spirit of Vengeance hardly stirred, clearly aware the girl paid her dues. One of the dogs near her saw him. Their eyes met, and he stared it down. It gave a small whimper and cowed in submission, making Carter smile dimly.

What was it with animals being scared of him? Oh, sure, it was probably the fault of the little hellion in him, but he didn't look that scary, did he?

"Hey there, stranger!" One of the homeless folks, a woman with dirty hair and a glassy eye with a soul that shined like a star, waved him over. "Don't suppose you got a drink for us?"

"Got none to my name, miss," Carter apologized. "I don't drink anyway. Swore it off years ago."

"Damn shame. I'd give anything to taste vodka again."

"That's a load of bull," one of the men next to her snorted in laughter. "I know for a damn fact I saw you with some vodka the other day."

"What can I say, I'm a lush."

"Too much of that stuff will kill you, ya know."

"Darlin', if I die with a bottle of booze in my hand, I will die a happy woman."

The girl with the dogs snorted. "Don't blame us if you fuck over your liver."

"Rachel's got a point, Mel. Too much will kill ya."

Carter watched the group a while longer, his gaze lingering on the girl with the dogs before he hummed to himself and walked away. He just made it halfway across the street when he heard Rachel call out to him from behind. "Hey, you. Old man." He looked over his shoulder. The girl was staring at him oddly. "You smell weird. Have we met before?"

"…can't say we have," Carter replied after a moment of thinking. "Unless you ran into another cowboy." Rachel frowned and glared. He paid it no mind and waved his hand in dismissal, going back on his way. "Take care of yourself, young'in. You got a second chance. Go make the most of it."



Bitch watched the strange old codger walk away, whistling a strange tune under his breath. She could still smell the faint scent of smoke and fire coming off him. It smelled familiar, but at the same time, it wasn't. His words were just as strange. What did he mean by second chance?

"What a weirdo," she huffed before looking back at Angelica. "Let's go back, girl." Angelica barked at her and followed her as she returned to her pa—friends. That was a strange word. It didn't feel right on her tongue.

…still. She liked how it sounded. Weirdly, she thought back to the Undersiders. Did they count as friends too? Now that she thought about it, how were they doing anyhow? Lisa (or was it Sarah?) was still probably under the boss' thumb, she had no idea what the fuck Alec was doing, and Grue recently made his debut as a reformed hero.

…maybe I'll pay Lisa a visit, Rachel thought. At the very least, she could ask her about a good place for the dogs.



A/N: The second of three interludes that will make up half of this arc, and focusing on one of the best Ghost Riders on TV besides Robbie in Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. His backstory isn't all that different from his portrayal in his comic series as the Phantom Rider, but the divergent point is the confrontation with Reverend Reaper. Instead of dying in the cave-in the Reverend caused, it was his brother Lincoln that was caught, and in true fashion, Mephisto saw an opportunity.

I should also mention that, since this is strictly a Ghost Rider crossover, there are no other Marvel characters besides T'Challa, who is a technicality by way of the Infinity Wars comics. Which, of course, means no Mockingbird. Lincoln also never took up his brother's role as the Phantom Rider since the mantle still technically belongs to Carter.

Sooo, yeah, now you guys know what's happened between Emma and Taylor. The car crash that should have Annette's life also involved Emma and Taylor, with the former bearing witness to Robbie passing Zarathos onto Taylor. Emma's spent three years researching the occult, looking for a way to help her friend, and of course, Mephisto happened to take notice.

As you might imagine, Emma's not going to be in a good spot after this arc, considering Mephisto murdered some poor bastard while taking her body for a joyride. On the plus side, I can say with certainty that Coil is about to get screwed six ways from Sunday.

After all, the Ghost Rider always gets his man.

The bit with Rachel was something of a last minute decision. I didn't want to write out the Undersiders completely since it'll be a long while before we see any of them again, and I'm still working on Alec's sidestories, so I figure why not show off Rachel in her new environment some?

So, what did you guys think? Bad? Good?

 

[the DragonBard]

Only problem is Mephisto claims to be the Devil himself. Not a servant. At least to my knowledge.

 

[TheStranger]

Only problem is Mephisto claims to be the Devil himself. Not a servant. At least to my knowledge.

Click to shrink...

Mephisto is not the OG devil. That title goes to Satan or Lucifer, not sure who's who yet. I'd have to re-read the comics and shit. The comics also flipfop between who Johnny made a deal with, Satan or Mephisto.