Vetrax
patreon
Ghost Rider. Chapter 38. The Midnight Suns
🕑 Added 2025-04-28 14:58:25 +0000 UTC4200 words
/////
Daimon Hellstrom was lounging on a wide bed, surrounded by ten naked beauties. Empty bottles were scattered across the floor, and the heavy air reeked of sweat and lust.
In the middle of the room, a hellish star suddenly flared — sparks showered onto the bed, and the air quivered. Hot air hissed like a wounded snake, making the silk sheets twitch.
The girls shrieked and stumbled over each other as they bolted for the door. The sharp scent of sulfur slashed through the room.
"While I'm busting my ass in Hell, you're lounging around up here!" a demonic roar bellowed from the open portal.
Daimon's face turned pale; sweat glistened on his temples.
"I can explain," he mumbled miserably.
"You'll do your explaining in a cauldron full of demons!" the voice from the portal snarled. "Your screams will echo through every circle of Hell!"
"Don't do this, sister..."
"Man, you are so whipped," said a male voice.
A man stepped out of the portal, wearing an open shirt and a skull mask. A red tie hung loosely around his neck, and his eyes glowed with amusement behind the mask.
"John?" Daimon went through three emotional stages in a flash — despair, gratitude, and fury. "You asshole! What kind of sick joke is this?! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"
"It's not too late to turn the joke into reality," Ghost Rider said seriously. "I could call your sister right now..."
Daimon hurled an empty bottle at him.
He lazily swayed aside like a leaf in the wind, and the bottle crashed against the wall, sticky champagne dripping down.
"You're awfully twitchy, Daimon. Guess they didn’t relax you enough," Ghost Rider said as he circled the bed and dropped into an armchair. "By the way, why did you hire ten hookers? What were you doing, playing soccer?"
"My sex life is none of your business!" Daimon snapped, folding his arms. "Anyway, what the hell do you want?"
"Just came by to remind you that you owe me," John smirked under the mask. "Did you really think I wouldn’t find out how you used my name to peddle your junk to the mutants?"
"Fuck off! You were the one who summoned me to the X-School! I just took advantage of the opportunity."
"And for that opportunity, you owe me," John said, pointing a lazy finger in the air, silencing Daimon instantly. "At first, I just planned to stop by and smack you around a bit... but on the way, I stumbled upon an interesting business proposal."
Daimon grimaced, but his demonic curiosity was already piqued.
"What kind of business?"
"First, put some clothes on," John grimaced. "Your hairy nipples are disgusting."
Daimon muttered something unintelligible but still threw on pants and a shirt.
"Well?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Emma Frost invited me to her office. We had a very..." John looked away, "heated conversation."
Daimon leaned forward, his eyes gleaming.
"Emma Frost? The White Queen?!" His voice wavered between awe and jealousy. "Did you have sex with her?"
"Yeah," Ghost Rider said, looking at him in mild confusion. "Didn't you?"
"Are you kidding? She's the White Queen! Untouchable! You can't just buy her — and God, I wanted to..." he whispered breathlessly. "How the hell did you get her to take her panties off? I've hit on Emma several times and got shot down hard every single time."
"Not surprising. Compare us: I'm a presentable man. You're a hairy-nippled loser."
"Go to hell! My nipples are perfectly fine!"
"Fine... if you're a monkey," John laughed. "Now stop distracting me. We're talking business. Try to act serious for once."
"You sound just like my sister," the half-demon rolled his eyes.
The mischievous spirit of the room seemed to vanish, like a breeze had blown it out. John leaned on the armrest, and his voice grew heavy, leaving no room for jokes.
"Cut the clowning," Ghost Rider frowned. "Behind Emma’s pretty face is a sharp mind — she knows the real future isn’t with the mutants or, God help us, with clowns in red tights. It’s with the sorcerers. Emma asked me to help attract witches and warlocks into the Clubs, to create an alluring atmosphere, to organize the first magical market on Earth... and that's when I remembered my old pal Daimon — a hellish merchant and a man in debt."
"Forget it," the half-demon snapped. "Plenty of sorcerers have tried to set up something like that, and they all failed. You need proper logistics, a portal system — without that, it’s pointless. And you know damn well the Sorcerer Supreme slapped a ton of restrictions on interdimensional travel across Earth."
"Screw that tightwad!" John raised his voice. "Maybe Strange doesn't like magicians using Earth's energy and hopping around through portals like rabbits, but there are plenty of other energy sources for travel..."
"They're all expensive," Daimon interrupted. "Every portal I open, I have to pay the lower demons for it."
"And what if I told you I have access to an infinite source? What if I could give every magician on the planet a drop of energy for teleportation?" — John's voice dropped into a conspiratorial tone. "Didn’t you notice that gorgeous portal I used to pop into this room?"
"That’s the energy of the Three Hundred Ninety-Seventh Circle of Hell," the half-demon identified instantly. "Glad you're back from your little adventure. How’d you get access to that? Signed a contract with Belasco?"
John lifted his mask just enough to show a smug grin.
"No way!" Daimon leapt to his feet, knocking a blanket and an empty bottle off the bed, the bottle rolling across the floor with a hollow clunk. "You're shitting me!"
"Is that how you address your king, peasant?" Ghost Rider lifted his head regally, as if forgetting he was still wearing a skull mask and an unbuttoned shirt.
"I need a drink!" Daimon poured himself a glass of cognac to the brim, raised it to his lips with a trembling hand, and downed it like water in the desert. "How the hell did you pull it off?"
"You know I'm a born winner," Ghost Rider smirked.
Daimon snorted and poured himself another.
[My answer is crap, but I'm sure as hell not telling him about my meeting with Lucifer.]
"You're a mortal sitting on a Hell throne... Do you realize how many opportunities that gives you?" the half-demon said, tossing back another drink. His nose was turning a comical shade of red. "By the way, how are you in two places at once? Holding an astral copy on the throne?"
"Pff! That’s second-rate wizard crap. I'm better than that!" — his voice turned triumphant. "I placed the Cross of Zarathos on the throne — no one can move it except me. Through it, I can tap into Hell’s energy without limits."
"I hate you, you know that?"
John laughed.
[Technically, there's a huge limitation to this method. The Cross won’t stay there forever — in exactly one hundred fifty-three minutes and ten seconds, it'll automatically fly back to me. The timer on my watch will warn me five minutes before it happens.]
"By using the hell dimension as a conduit, I can teleport anywhere I've been before," Ghost Rider continued. "Pretty convenient, huh?"
"Wait," Daimon glanced around the debauched room. "You’ve been here before?"
"I don't buy love," John grumbled. "I scoped the room through the door crack and marked it a yard ahead. But anyway, back to business."
The half-demon gave him a wary look but sat back down on the bed.
Ghost Rider leaned forward. The mocking gleam in his masked eyes was gone — only cold calculation remained.
"The plan’s still rough — I threw it together half an hour ago — but you’ll appreciate the scale," John said, steepling his fingers. "We’re going to turn the entire Club network into elite havens for magicians. Emma will handle administration — drinks, food, interior design, all that crap. I'll handle logistics. Every Club member will get the ability to teleport through Hell. No Doctor Voodoo is gonna say no to that. Steady clientele, guaranteed. You’ll handle the trade — bring in the best hellish goods to sell. You, me, and Emma. If we play this right, the Hellfire Club will finally live up to its name."
"Sounds solid, but," Daimon chewed his lip thoughtfully, "I don’t have the kind of merchandise right now that would attract archmages."
"You will," John clapped him on the shoulder. "Along with Belasco's throne, I snagged his treasure vault. A million artifacts gathered over millennia of intrigue, deals, and betrayal."
Daimon gulped loudly at the prospects laid before him. The future smelled like magic and money.
"I’m willing to appoint you as my Minister of Trade," John said, locking eyes with him. "This is your chance to rise up — stop licking Strange’s boots and selling trinkets to schoolkids. In return, I ask only one thing: loyalty."
"I’m in," the half-demon said, extending his hand.
"What’s that supposed to be? I’m not hiring you to flip burgers," Ghost Rider’s voice hardened into steel. "A handshake’s not enough. You’ll swear a full oath of loyalty in Hell, sealed in blood."
Daimon withdrew his hand.
"Knew it," he muttered. "When something sounds too good to be true, somewhere there’s already a pitchfork sharpening." The half-demon grimaced. "As King of Hell, you’ve got greater contract power. You can tear up the deal and betray me anytime. What guarantees do I have you won’t screw me over?"
"Remember the girl with the hammer at Xavier’s?"
"With Mjolnir," Daimon corrected slowly. "And?"
"She’ll be the guarantor of the deal. You know only the embodiment of justice and mercy can lift Mjolnir. We couldn’t find a more honest guarantee. That’s my final offer."
[Maybe I’m being too generous with Daimon? But who cares — the profit will be a hundred times greater anyway. Half-demons are insanely rare, only two of them on our planet. They can freely travel through Hell and strike deals with other devils. When the Hellstrom twins agree to open a branch on my land, it’ll unlock endless trade routes. Business is business.]
"I need to discuss this with my sister."
"Of course you do. She’s always been the smarter one between you two," John barked a laugh at Daimon’s flash of irritation. "But at least you’re smart enough to ask her opinion."
"If Elvira agrees, she’ll want in on the business too."
"That’s exactly what I’m counting on," John winked. "You didn’t think I’d trust the entire Hell economy to a blockhead like you, did you?"
"Go to hell!"
"Heh. When you’ve got an answer, you know where to find me," Ghost Rider said, opening a portal to the Three Hundred Ninety-Seventh Circle of Hell.
///
John returned to his kingdom.
Nothing had changed in his absence.
All the roads, towers, and castles were built from hellbrick — red as blood. It was the only building material here, capable of taking any shape by the will of its king.
A stone scooter quickly formed under Ghost Rider’s feet. Folding his arms across his chest, he sped across the square toward his castle. The hellbrick squealed under the wheels, cracking with every turn.
The absolute silence was oppressive. Every demon in this Circle had been wiped out. Only far beyond the kingdom's borders, tens of thousands of miles away, could the mindless goblins still be heard scurrying through the wastelands.
The architecture resembled the grim days of the late Middle Ages.
Not too surprising, given that the previous ruler — Belasco — had once hailed from Earth.
John found the design fitting — grim, as Hell ought to be.
What he didn’t like was the overwhelming red everywhere, enough to make his vision blur. The bloody monotony gnawed harder at the mind than Hell’s heat. Only inside the closed houses could you find non-red items — scavenged from other dimensions or looted off the corpses of unlucky travelers.
[Soon caravans will come — bringing gray stone, black granite, and orange tiles. Time to make something decent out of this place.]
Was it reckless to think about construction and business when he had only a few months left to live?
Not if he believed Mary would gain full control of her powers and heal their souls.
Using Hell’s resources, every member of their team was pushing their artifact’s strength to the limit.
Without even rising from his throne, Ghost Rider burned thousands of sinful souls with a mere thought, instantly sending them for reincarnation. Zarathos was pleased.
[I didn’t burn every soul — only the useless thugs. Mages and craftsmen from across the universe were spared for future projects.]
John also gained control over the local creatures through his command of hellbrick.
A million goblins swarmed toward the gates, screeching like cursed seagulls of the damned.
Thunderheart obliterated them with a storm of lightning, Mjolnir shrieking with joy as bolts split the air.
He created a hellish mountain the size of Everest. Juggernaut struck it three times, and the mountain crumbled to dust like a house of cards. Cyttorak purred with satisfaction.
Lady Phoenix tore through Hell like a storm of light, stitching up the torn wounds of the land. Her inner beast was well-fed.
John rode through the open gates into the castle. The red bricks inside were now broken up by numerous wooden tables, golden candelabras, and paintings by unknown artists. Bare walls yawned where Belasco’s portraits used to hang — now all burned along with their former owner.
He steered toward the throne room, framed by towering columns. On the throne lay the Cross of Zarathos, perfectly still.
"Rest up, warrior," John said, reaching out. The Cross instantly flew into his hand. "Time for my ass to get back to work."
[Still need to study the astral projection spell. It’s not as reliable as an artifact, but at least I could leave this depressing place for a longer stretch.]
With the crown on his head, Ghost Rider could feel the entire Circle of Hell.
Every soul imprisoned here.
Every demon.
Every unwelcome guest.
Back when he first arrived, he had already sent a message to his team — burning the words into the ground right at their feet: Come back.
Jane, dragging the others by the scruff of their necks, was flying toward the castle like a bolt of lightning.
Brought back memories of the little chopper.
"Finally!" Jane shot through the window like a living thunderbolt. "John, where the hell have you been?"
John tilted his head, as if pondering which dumb excuse to use.
"Have we already skipped through all the stages of a relationship and you’re my jealous wife now?"
Mary giggled — then immediately cut herself off under Jane’s heavy, stormcloud-like stare.
"You said you'd be gone five minutes — just return Illyana to her brother and come right back," Thunderheart said sternly, crossing her arms. "And you were gone for almost three hours!"
"Eh, ran into an old friend... and made a new one," Ghost Rider said, recalling Emma’s naked body and thanking the mask for hiding his face. "Daimon and his sister will be dropping by soon."
"Daimon? That half-demon buddy of yours?" Mary bounced excitedly. "Awesome! I've been wanting to meet him forever!"
"Forget the fancy-boy. How’s the girl?" Cain asked. "Illyana happy to be back home?"
"Absolutely. Though something tells me we’ll be seeing her again soon."
[She’s connected to this place on a genetic level. At the very least, Illyana’s an honored guest here. Maybe even more... if she accepts my offer of apprenticeship.]
"It’s still irresponsible!" Jane raised her voice, snapping everyone’s attention back to her. "You were gone way too long, John. I was starting to get worried..."
"...that you couldn’t get out of here without me?" John offered.
"That you were dead!" Thunderheart pointed an accusing finger at him. "I thought Thor, Mammon, or something worse had gotten to you!"
Her hands were shaking, though she tried to hide it behind a stern gaze.
[Tss. I didn’t think she cared that much about me.]
"Don’t work yourself up," Ghost Rider said casually, hopping off the throne. "Better tell me how Mary’s doing."
Jane let out a heavy sigh, radiating disapproval at his recklessness. Luckily, no one else seemed upset.
"Our little girl’s ready to kick some serious ass!" Cain gave a thumbs-up.
"Tremble before justice, villains!" Mary stood tall, posing like a superhero cover model. "Lady Phoenix stands guard over the innocent!"
She clenched the M’Kraan Crystal, flooding every cell of her body with infinite energy.
Her sporty shorts and white tank top stretched to their limit as she began to grow — only a few inches taller, but the tight clothes barely contained the surge of muscle and all the curves that always drew male attention.
If Mary had once looked like a top model, now she was turning into a full-on sex symbol.
With her transformation came new clothes: tall golden boots, matching high gloves, a slim belt, and two phoenix-shaped hair clips.
"Well? How do I look?" Mary struck a playful pose, swaying her hips.
[Reminder to self: she’s still a kid. Also, I’m into blondes anyway.]
"My tank is ready for battle!" Cain was devouring Mary with a lustful gaze. "I'm about to fire in all directions!"
"Ew, you perv," Mary said, covering herself with her arms in disgust. "I'm only ever wearing a spacesuit around you from now on!"
"That’s more like it," Cain instantly put on a pompous expression and wagged his finger at her. "No indecency, young lady."
Such a statement coming from Cain caught everyone off guard.
"If I get hard, I gotta screw somebody. That's the law," Cain continued. "And as you can see, there ain't no brothels around here. So don't provoke me — or I'll pin you in a corner and ride you till you pass out!"
Now everything made sense.
[Cain was obviously lying. If he’d actually committed a sin like that, Zarathos would have been howling inside my skull already. But I kept my mouth shut — it worked. Mary wasn't pushing her chest out anymore.]
At first, Jane looked outraged by Cain's last comment — but then caught onto the act. After that, she gently nodded to Cain, realizing Mary definitely wouldn't be strutting around in a swimsuit anymore.
"You two are in on this?!" Mary squealed when she saw the nod — and bolted into John's arms so fast her golden hairpins jingled like little bells. "Save me, Daddy!"
It was unexpected, but nice.
"Daddy's not gonna save you," Jane said sternly, prying them apart like an icebreaker. She gave John a strict look. "Daddy's grounded."
"What for?" Ghost Rider looked bewildered.
"For running off who knows where!" she shot back, looking like a scolding wife.
"Great. Not even married yet and I’m already sleeping on the couch!"
John’s words hit like thunder: first silence, then an explosion of laughter.
"We really do feel like a family," Mary said between bursts of giggles. "John — the brooding dad. Jane — the caring mom. Cain — the crazy uncle. And me — the adorable daughter!"
"All we're missing is a dog," John smiled. "To chew up the newspapers."
"What the hell do we need a flea-ridden mutt for?" Cain said. "I'm crazy enough to chew 'em myself!"
The room erupted in laughter, the castle walls themselves seeming to tremble with their joy.
"Jokes aside," Jane said, shooting a stern look at the schoolgirl, "rules are rules. Mary, go change into a jumpsuit."
Outside the castle stood Richards' car, fully restored by Lady Phoenix.
Inside it, some clothes had been restored too.
"A jumpsuit?!" Mary threw up her hands as if they'd told her to wear a potato sack, not a fashionable outfit. "With my golden accessories, it'll be a disaster! I need a boutique — now!"
"You bet," John winked at her. "My princess has to be the most beautiful one around."
"I’m the Phoenix Princess!" Mary squealed in delight. "A childhood dream come true! Let’s hit the stores! I need to check out the dresses section!"
She grabbed John and Jane by the hands and dashed toward the exit.
Her "parents" didn’t move.
"We’ll definitely go shopping," John said, looking into her bright emerald eyes. "But later. Right now, I want you to change into the jumpsuit... and then try restoring our souls."
The last words rang out like a funeral bell — heavy silence fell.
Everyone understood the stakes: there was a chance the Phoenix's fire wouldn't be able to heal them.
[Screw fear. Better to find out now and move forward than waste precious time trembling.]
They all stepped out into the scorched stone courtyard, where charred stakes jutted out of the ground like black needles.
Under the hood of Richards’ restored car, cooling metal ticked softly.
Mary made a tragic face, as if she'd been sentenced to the fashion disaster of the century — but obeyed and changed clothes.
"I just ran a hundred yards and not even out of breath!" the schoolgirl said, pressing a hand to her chest to listen to her powerful heart. "This is so awesome!"
"Yeah, yeah, plenty of time to test out all the perks of the upgraded body later," Ghost Rider grumbled. "We’re here for something else."
The mood thickened instantly, like a black thundercloud forming overhead.
"I know," Phoenix Princess sighed. "Alright! Let’s do this!"
She folded her hands in a prayer gesture. A golden light burst from between them, transforming into four small fiery birds, each carrying the scent of heat, spring, and a brewing storm all at once. Each one flew toward its target.
The Phoenix dove into John's ribs, rushing deeper — to his soul. A pleasant warmth spread through his bones.
"Not exactly what I was hoping for," John said after scanning his soul, "but still amazing!"
The Phoenix fire had rewound the decay timer on his soul back to the moment he first picked up the cursed artifact. Everyone understood what that meant.
"We’re not dying anymore!" Cain roared, sweeping his friends into a huge hug and spinning them around. "We won!"
"Not exactly," John grunted, sandwiched between Jane and Mary. "We can use the fire to keep resetting the timer, but it’s not a full cure."
Juggernaut gently set everyone back on their feet.
"You're still planning to attack Thor?" Thunderheart asked, looking him in the eye.
"Exactly," Ghost Rider nodded. "I’ve never been one to settle for second place."
"’Bout damn time someone kicked that blond hobo’s ass," Juggernaut cracked his knuckles. "I don’t forget old debts."
"First we conquer a kingdom, now we’re challenging a prince!" Phoenix Princess clenched her fists. "We’re the coolest team ever!"
"So I take it there's no point trying to talk you out of it?" Jane sighed, seeing their bloodthirsty grins. "When do we move out?"
"Not today," John raised his fist to keep her from interrupting. "All of Asgard expects you to die in three months. We’re going to use that. For once, we’ve got time — no running, no chasing. But we’re not wasting it lying on a beach either. We’re going to spend the next three months in Hell, grinding muscle and forging spirit under the screams of the damned. Cain, you’ll turn us into a goddamn wrecking machine. Boxing, military hand-to-hand, shooting, and every dirty trick the streets ever taught you."
"I'll show you a few real nasty ones," Juggernaut grinned.
"Jane, you'll sharpen our skills with artifacts. Every spell Loki stole for you from Asgard’s vaults — all of them. They were meant for Mjolnir, but I’m sure we’ll find a use for them too."
"I won't let you down," Thunderheart said firmly.
"I'll work on team strategies and overall battle tactics," Ghost Rider added. "We can’t forget Heimdall the all-seeing. One wrong move, and they'll snatch Thor back to Asgard right before we win."
Everyone listened intently.
They were beginning to grasp the gravity of what lay ahead — it wouldn’t just be a brawl.
"What about me?!" Phoenix Princess was practically bouncing from impatience. "What do I do?"
"You follow every instruction to the letter," John looked her straight in the eyes. "The outcome of the battle depends on you. Don't fail us."
"Sir, yes, sir!" she pulled a serious face and snapped a salute.
"Wait a sec! Now that I have superpowers, we’re a full-fledged superhero team! We need a name — and I’ve already got one!"
"Let’s hear it," John waved a hand, not expecting much.
Mary straightened up like she was on parade and raised her fist proudly:
"The Midnight Suns!"
Nobody said a word. They all looked away thoughtfully, as if tasting the name on their tongues.
"Well?!" Mary was practically vibrating with excitement. "What do you think?"
"Honestly... not bad," John said. "I was expecting something dumb like 'The Mystic Four.'"
"I don't get it," Cain frowned. "What suns? And why midnight? I’ve got a better idea — 'The Asskickers'!"
"Only punks walk around with a name like that," Mary wrinkled her nose. "Midnight Suns sounds beautiful!"
"I like it," Jane finally said, giving a warm smile. "It sounds mysterious and poetic."
Everyone turned to John — their leader — waiting for his final word.
He looked at his friends — his family — and said:
"Follow me, Midnight Suns."
