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Ghost Rider. Chapter 45. Midnight Suns forever
🕑 Added 2025-05-15 17:32:48 +0000 UTC3600 words.
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Between the ninety-fifth circle of Heaven and the shining gates of Asgard, like the axis of the world, stood Heimdall — unmoving as an ancient idol, with the sword-key in hand.
In his pupils pulsed billions of lives — every moment, every cry, every step across the Nine Realms was reflected in those abyssal eyes. But right now, he was watching only three. Noble warriors of Asgard who needed supervision.
The moment Heimdall saw the hammer of justice descending on their heads, he turned the sword-key. The Rainbow Bridge ignited and crashed down to Earth like a divine whip, dragging the chosen ones back into the heavens.
With a flash of rainbow light, three warriors lay before Heimdall. Their garments were scorched, their skin blackened with soot, and the air still reeked of ozone and ash.
“We almost had it,” the blond muttered, clutching his side and rising with a groan, wiping soot from his brow. “Just a bit more, and I would’ve taken Mjolnir back from that thief!”
The dark-haired one said nothing. Unlike his loudmouthed companions, he had actually managed to grip Mjolnir's handle. His hands were covered in horrific burns and blisters.
“Oh, if not for my rule about not hitting women…” the redhead took off his helmet, which had a dent from a hammer strike. “I would've dealt with that thief in seconds.”
“She hit you at the very beginning,” the dark-haired one gave him a skeptical look. “And you were unconscious for the rest of the fight.”
“She didn’t knock me out! I just decided to take a quick nap!”
Heimdall gave them his enchanted gaze — the one that could see through Loki’s illusions. Slowly, he nodded and opened the gates before the best friends of his prince, Thor.
“Giving advice is not in my duties,” Heimdall said to them. “But I suggest you choose a different adventure. This is the third time you've attacked the Midnight Suns with the same result.”
“You keep pulling us off the battlefield too early,” the blond accused. “We were pretending to lose so we could strike with full force at the last moment.”
Heimdall said nothing. He had seen how the million-volt strike had briefly stopped the Asgardian’s heart. For the guardian of the Rainbow Bridge, that was reason enough to intervene.
Asgard sang to welcome its warriors. The legendary city in the sky looked like a bedtime story — towers of gold, a palace gleaming under the sun like a polished spear, and taverns echoing with songs and clashing mugs.
The city was inhabited by magical beings — half-angels. They looked human, but the magic flowing through their veins made wonders real. Women in rune-glowing garments adorned with swords could lift cows with one hand as if they were children — without breaking a sweat. Children ran through the streets dueling with wooden swords — any bruise or scrape healed in minutes. Through iron bars in the enclosures, one could spot magical beasts: giant wolves, unicorns, griffins.
Among the shining palaces and mythic beasts, a burly old man pushed a cart of ale barrels, grumbling about Odin’s taxes.
The three warriors, still in their scorched clothes, headed to the one tavern that mattered. The sacred place of Asgard, where mugs were never empty, stories were always being told, and fistfights broke out like clockwork. Every Asgardian spent a large part of their life there — except the lady sorceresses and Loki, who was always odd, never fond of drinking or brawling.
Amid the scent of smoke and before their wounds had fully healed, the three warriors told anyone who would listen how they had nearly defeated the Thunderheart. Victory was within reach — but an overly nervous Heimdall had pulled them off the battlefield a moment too soon.
“I swear I would’ve beheaded the thief who took our Mjolnir,” the redhead roared, sloshing ale from his mug. “But I can’t hit women. Still, I’ll take down any man! I’m the noble lion of Asgard! None can match me in a fistfight!”
“We’ll just see about that,” came a groaning voice — from his own stomach.
The redhead’s face turned green, and his mouth stretched like rubber. As if from an open portal, two thousand Juggernauts burst forth—each with the signature grin, each ready to brawl here and now.
The tavern was instantly reduced to splinters.
“We're under attack!” screamed an Asgardian from beneath the debris.
The clang of the golden bell rang out—a call to defend Asgard. Without changing expression, the women swapped kitchenware for swords. Children stood armed with daggers, as if born with them. Asgard knew only one game: war.
From the arcane tower, lady sorceresses levitated into the sky with battle staves in hand.
The city of legends plunged into chaos—war had begun.
Asgardian warriors were flung aside like leaves in the wind. Their physical strength paled in comparison to the Juggernauts’. Spectral swords proved useless against soulless clones.
From the heavens, spells rained down like fire—flaming arrows, spears of lightning, incantation chants merging into a battle chorus. All of it was absorbed by the Juggernauts' skin, just like any other form of energy, making them stronger.
The sorceresses quickly flipped their grimoires to the containment spells section. Sticky bindings and emerald prisons closed in around the enemies.
Then came the second unpleasant surprise—the Juggernauts were all mutants. Teleporting, liquefying, or speeding across the battlefield, they slipped past the sealing spells and, laughing, pounced on the flying witches.
The chaos spread like wildfire—and nothing hinted at a swift resolution.
In the madness engulfing the streets, no one noticed four tiny shadows flying out of the redhead’s mouth—the Midnight Suns, shrunken by Pym Particles and cloaked in invisibility.
Phase one: infiltrate Asgard — complete.
Phase two: distract all warriors and sorceresses — complete.
John smirked, watching Frigga fly from the golden palace to aid the witches. The Juggernauts immediately coordinated and, sacrificing ten clones, brought Frigga down. One less person capable of waking Odin.
[I was counting on Thor joining the fight too, but plans don’t always go the way you want.]
The Midnight Suns slipped into the palace with ease. The gates were wide open, and the guards—true berserkers—had all rushed out to fight and slash.
[If things go well, the clones will buy us fifteen minutes. Like Ocean said—five minutes is all you need to rob a bank.]
The Midnight Suns flew through the palace halls like missiles. Knowing the layout perfectly, they didn’t waste a single second.
In the dining hall, the reason for Thor’s absence became clear. He was passed out drunk, face buried in a salad. Mighty Gungnir lay across the table in a puddle of beer, glimmering with disapproval.
The Troll King snored beneath a bench he had pulled over himself like a blanket. The demon Surtur slept with his head in the fireplace—the flames served as his pillow. The King of the Frost Giants was snoring while leaning heavily against the basement door, behind which lay the treasure vault they needed.
Try to shrink even more and slip under the door? Or attack? There was no question.
“Midnight Suns!” John commanded, returning to full size. “To battle!”
[Those drunkards have the finest artifacts in Asgard. They’ll look better on my team.]
Even in sleep, warriors' hands remembered how to wield weapons—and the drunken titans instinctively grabbed their artifacts, striking out at the nearest enemy.
But they had already lost their tactical advantage.
The Troll King’s stone spear was instantly shattered by Jane’s lightning. Without pausing the motion of her hammer, she pierced his stone armor like paper and knocked him out cold. Her knightly code had no quarrel with that outcome—for the king of a race of thieves.
John first froze Surtur’s flaming sword, then his brain, using a combination of the Penance Stare and telepathy. The crown of eternal flame rolled across the hall. Another demon down—no one would mourn him.
Cain shattered the ice prison and, with a single leap, soared straight toward Laufey’s massive head. The frost giant’s teeth scattered across the floor. Maybe he’d grow them back if he ate some snow.
Gungnir’s lightning was absorbed by Mary’s armor. Thor didn’t get a second strike—the weapon slipped from his sweaty fingers thanks to a stroke of bad luck. A blast from Mary’s fire star pierced all his shields and roasted him to a crisp.
“He’ll live,” diagnosed Dr. Foster. “But he’s not getting up for at least a week.”
“Let’s just hope he doesn’t crawl to daddy right now,” said John, encasing Thor in ice. “Grab the trophies, fast.”
John strapped the Casket of Ancient Winters to his belt. Just one touch of the artifact, and he could feel his ice magic swelling to planetary levels.
Cain yanked the Earth Elemental Ring off the troll and stuffed it in his pocket.
Jane lifted Gungnir and rinsed it with water from a pitcher, washing off the beer. The weapon’s glow softened, as if thanking its new owner.
“Check out my new look!” Mary twirled, wearing the Crown of Eternal Flame. “I look like a real princess now!”
“Show off later,” said John, checking his watch. “We’ve been in Asgard six minutes. Move.”
Cain dragged unconscious Laufey aside and smashed the basement door—no time to hunt for keys between empty mugs and plates.
The Midnight Suns weren’t flying anymore. Just quick but careful steps—no one wanted to end up between someone’s teeth.
They kicked down another door—and were met by a growl.
From the stone floor rose Mangog. His yellow mane trembled with rage, and his eyes burned like twin suns. His mouth opened slightly, revealing protruding fangs. A long tail tipped with a spike swayed back and forth. He was no taller than a pony, but every muscle in his body burned with hatred. Mangog looked like a living volcano, ready to erupt.
He lunged. Bounced off a wall, anchored himself to the ceiling with his claws, zipped forward a dozen yards—and dove down at John, claws aimed at his eyes.
Jane pressed a hand to her chest—a vortex of emptiness spiraled out of her palm. Mangog didn’t even manage a snarl—gravity yanked him into the abyss. Space closed. Silence returned.
The mightiest beast of the Nine Realms. Immortal embodiment of rage. The one who could tear through every living being in Asgard with his claws… sealed away like nothing.
As much as John hated to admit it, Mammon had been right. A sorcerer with a hundred spells will always outmatch a warrior who focused only on the physical.
“He was kinda cute,” Mary said simply.
The Midnight Suns rushed deeper into the basement—until they saw it. The vault door, made of pure Uru. No handle, no lock. Only runes floating across its surface in shifting colors. Only Odin knew the password.
“Step aside,” said John, standing before the door and opening the Eye of Agamotto.
The world changed for him. His mind, hyper-charged with intuition, saw things he never noticed before. He felt like Sherlock Holmes, able to deduce a man’s life story from a hat.
But this task was harder. From the look of the door, he had to figure out what password Odin might’ve chosen.
Mary placed her hands on his shoulders—luck flowed into him like warm light.
Cain and Jane took positions on either side, guarding against surprises. So far, everything was going like clockwork. Almost.
“Dude, problem outside,” Cain growled. “My clones are nearly wiped out. Only ten heavyweights with reality-warping mutations left. We’ve got maybe one more minute.”
“I’m almost there,” John whispered.
Sweat glued his hair to his forehead. His head throbbed from the information overload. No one could process this much at once.
[Focus! You only need Odin and the password. Cut out the noise. Don’t look at microfractures. You don’t need to know the builder’s lifestyle.]
When the mosaic finally came together, John felt like shouting, “Eureka!” It was so obvious! Why would Odin choose such an easy password?
But the moment John closed the Eye of Agamotto, it stopped feeling so easy. He had to input over a hundred symbols in rapid sequence.
The runes aligned. A panel flashed, and the door began to open slowly. This wasn’t a cluttered treasure room like Belasco’s. This was a full-scale armory that stretched for miles. An entire wall was lined with enchanted shields. Racks filled with charmed axes, hammers, and swords. Even cabinets of glowing grimoires lined the sides.
“Damn,” Cain whistled, spinning on the spot. “If I’d seen a room like this at age five, I wouldn’t’ve left it till I was thirty.”
“Don’t get comfy,” John said quietly. “In two minutes, all of Asgard’s gonna be here—right down to the cook with a carving knife.”
“I found them!” Jane flew over to a pedestal holding a basket of golden apples. “We can leave!”
“Not so fast, little thief,” came a silken voice from the doorway.
Mist gathered into the shape of a man. On his lips—an uneven smirk. In his eyes—that lazy, dangerous gleam that made even gods instinctively back away.
“Loki,” John hissed through clenched teeth.
“Oh great,” Mary groaned theatrically. “Knew there’d be a hidden boss on this level.”
The Midnight Suns froze, waiting for their leader’s signal. John knew Loki wouldn’t act until the very end. If he was showing up now, it meant they’d won. Almost.
“Greetings, Jonathan,” Loki said, eyes fixed only on him. “At last we meet in person.”
“Can’t say I’m thrilled,” John replied coldly. “Why are you here? Trying to stall?”
“I outgrew stalling tactics in my youth,” Loki said, examining his nails. “I just came to say—this isn’t fair.”
“Excuse me?” John raised an eyebrow.
“You’re a second-rate trickster!” Loki’s voice rose. “I can accept that your little puppets are fighting the fools upstairs. I can accept your shiny new powers. I can even accept how you wiped that mutt off the board with a wave of your hand. But you ambushed Thor while he was sleeping—with friends! You turned a deathmatch into a sandbox scuffle! That’s not fair!”
“There’s no honor in war,” John said, folding his arms. “And if anyone should know that, it’s the god of lies.”
“No, no, no,” Loki shook his head. “I spent weeks weaving this web just to get Surtur and Laufey in the same room…”
John had already tuned out the tantrum. His mind was racing through possibilities. Sin Scanner couldn’t detect Loki. Neither could telepathy. Yet he stood here, leaning casually against the doorframe. Some advanced form of astral projection. In short, the Midnight Suns couldn’t hurt Loki—but he could hurt them.
“…and so,” Loki went on, “since you’ve ruined one of my trials, I thought I’d add a new one.”
“You’re going to wake Odin,” John guessed.
“Am I really getting that predictable?” Loki whispered a magical word, and a green feather shot off into the bedroom.
The entire palace shook like it had been hit by a thunderclap. Odin rose from his bed. Heavy footsteps stormed toward the vault.
[One look and we’re done for…]
Loki stood at the exit like a cat that had cornered a mouse.
“LOKI!” Odin’s voice cracked like mountains splitting beneath the heavens. “What have you done this time, Loki?!”
“What?” Loki nearly stumbled in shock.
Meanwhile, John gave Jane the signal. She raised her hand to her chest. Her heart beat—and gravity shifted. A massive black hole tore open in the ceiling, sucking in gold, relics, and even the air into another dimension. The Midnight Suns rose with it, watching the final act unfold.
Odin had already reached the room. From the open door, only his legs and massive torso were visible.
“Dad, I…” Loki stammered, pale as snow.
But Odin wasn’t listening. Odin had always been quick-tempered. When he wanted to strike, his absolute wisdom only made him better at it.
He sent a bolt of lightning into the wall and pulled the real Loki out of a magical rift. With his free hand, Odin cast a flawless combination of spells, stripping Loki of every magical shield—then grabbed him by the ear like a child.
“HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU—”
Loki shrieked and writhed in his grip.
John really wanted to stay. To say it was he who’d left Loki’s letter on Odin’s bed—with the handwritten note on the back: “You wouldn’t have this problem if Loki didn’t feel like playing games.”
He wanted to look Loki in the eyes and tell him he wouldn’t be getting his ear ripped off right now if he’d just let the Midnight Suns go.
But John had to choke down his ego. Only a few inches of doorframe stood between him and Odin’s gaze.
The black hole—with the Midnight Suns and the entire contents of the vault—snapped shut.
/EPILOGUE/
The Midnight Vessel—a black shadow cloaked in stealth—drifted through the frozen vacuum of Kree star-territory, evading eyes and gods alike.
Returning to Hell was no longer safe.
When Odin’s fury finally subsided and he pieced together what had really happened, his gaze turned toward John.
In astral form, Odin personally came knocking at the gates of the Hellcastle—but was met by the Hellstrom twins and Illyana, acting ruler.
As John had predicted, their way of life didn’t fit permanent residence. Only the endless road suited them now.
John had to give up the infernal crown, losing all its perks. The research center was no longer haunted by a thousand ghosts. He promised himself he’d fill the void with captured supervillain scientists—plenty of those in space.
In just a few days, they had already sunk thirteen pirate skiffs.
Now John and Jane waited in the kitchen, while Cain prepared golden apples for the team using a recipe from Asgard’s culinary archives.
The wait was tense. What if the apples didn’t work? What if it had all been for nothing?
Only Mary wasn’t worried. She sat on the floor, playing with the newest member of the family—Mangog.
John read his thoughts—and it felt like diving into filth. For a thousand years, Odin had shocked him into madness, turning him into a rabid beast.
At a family council, they had made a hard decision: to wipe Mangog’s memory.
Now, the monster who had once slaughtered everything in his path was nuzzling Mary’s hand with a goofy grin, as if all he had ever known was kindness.
“We really have a dog now,” John smiled as Mangog tried to lick Mary’s face. “Like a real family.”
“And I like that,” Jane said, taking his hand.
Cain walked out like a proud culinary master—wearing a ridiculous chef's hat dusted with golden powder. On the tray: glistening apple slices sprinkled with cinnamon, like snow on the peaks of Jotunheim.
“Dinner is served,” Cain dropped the tray onto the table. “Sit your asses down and eat, please.”
“Did you save the seeds?” John asked. “I want my own Yggdrasil.”
“I’m a chef, ain’t I?” Cain poured the golden seeds into his palm. “I keep track of every ingredient.”
They all stared at the apple slices. No one knew who should go first.
“Let’s do it together,” Jane suggested.
The Midnight Suns all took a bite at the same time. The taste—like sunlight. Like a childhood memory. Warmth flooded their chests, as if their hearts had been washed clean from the inside. The ticking death timer was gone. Only infinite, vibrant life remained.
“We did it,” John grinned.
“Mangog!” Mary yelped as the dog climbed onto the table and devoured a couple of slices. “Spit that out right now!”
“Let him be,” Cain patted Mangog. “The cookbook says it only works once. No bonus rounds.”
They laughed and joked until the last slice was gone. Then came the inevitable question:
“So… what now?”
Everyone looked at John. Even Mangog recognized him as their leader.
“There’s something I need to tell you…”
John spoke of his meeting with Lucifer—how he’d promised to cleanse Hell of demons and bring the angels back.
“We could just forget it. Lucifer’s not coming for us,” John clenched his fists. “But I want to do it. No reward at the end. Just because someone has to. I’m not asking you to follow me, but I’d be glad for the company.”
“I’m with you,” Jane said first. “This is our first truly sacred mission. And besides, how could I ever leave my husband?”
“Thank you, love,” John kissed her gently.
“Are we gonna visit all the circles of Hell?” Mary twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “I was planning to do that anyway. I’m in. But, Dad! At the end, you have to show me Lucifer!”
“Of course, my little traveler,” John winked.
All eyes turned to Cain, who was scratching his cheek.
“You seriously doubting me?” Cain flexed his muscles. “I didn’t get this jacked just to sit on the couch.”
John reached out his hand. One by one, they each placed theirs on top. Last was Mangog—his massive paw landing softly, carefully, as if afraid to break the moment.
He was no longer a weapon.
He was part of the team.
“Midnight Suns forever!”
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Writer notes:
And that’s it — the story has reached its end.
Every idea I wanted to explore has been fully realized. It took just a month and a half to write, and I’m genuinely proud of the result. In terms of length, it’s a full-fledged novel — and unlike many web stories padded with 300 chapters of filler, this one sticks to the old-school style: fast-paced plot, real momentum, and an actual ending, not a teaser for the next arc.
I had a blast writing this story. The characters turned out real and alive — none of that cringy anime nonsense like “I'll kill everyone and collect a harem.” John got angry, failed, got back up, and earned his victory. Just as it should be.
Thanks for walking this path with me.
And don’t go too far — I’ve already started working on a new fanfic: Batman reincarnated in Konoha. Yeah, it’s going to be wild. And with your support, it just might be even better than Midnight Suns.
See you soon!
