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Superior Ghost Rider. Chapter 18. Cake
🕑 Added 2025-03-31 13:46:48 +0000 UTCThe Jane Foster Helicopter, ignoring all border laws, landed in an open field near the capital of Peru.
Doctor Strange had shared classified intel—this was where Juggernaut, the avatar of Cyttorak, the force of destruction, was hiding.
Now Jane was pushing John in a wheelchair through the muddy streets, where chickens and kids ran around. There was no asphalt, and small rocks kept bouncing off the wheels. Getting back to civilization was going to be a long and miserable trip.
Landing in the city center would have been more convenient, but drawing immediate attention from local superheroes (if they even had any) wasn’t ideal. And regular cops weren’t to be ignored either.
Dirty-footed children stopped chasing chickens, women paused their laundry, men put down their cards. Everyone was staring at the second-rate cosplayers. In an era where every other person dreamed of becoming a superhero, ordinary folks weren’t too surprised to see people in capes and masks.
“We need to change,” John rasped through his skull-shaped mask.
“Why?” Jane adjusted the helmet on her head. “We find our target and leave right away.”
“Jane, forget your ‘save and leave’ days. We need to talk to people, build relationships. We can’t look like soldiers fresh out of a shootout.” He sighed, glancing at his rain-speckled biker jacket. “No one’s going to take us seriously. No one will even talk to us.”
“You’re overreacting.” She kept pushing the wheelchair, ignoring the stares. “Captain America is always in uniform, and everyone respects him.”
“First of all, we’re not in the army. We have more freedom—both in decisions and in fashion choices. Second, soldiers only impress teenage fangirls. Stop!”
Jane abruptly stopped near a taxi, and John knocked on its hood with his good hand.
The driver was having lunch and had no interest in giving a ride to two gringos. But the moment John rustled a handful of banknotes, the man suddenly found himself highly motivated to work.
The wheelchair was tossed into the trunk, and the two gringos made themselves comfortable in the back seat.
“Que paso, amigo?” The driver started the engine.
Of course, a village driver wasn’t going to speak English.
“Centro,” John waved his hand.
[That’s about the extent of my Spanish.]
Luckily, that was enough, and the car headed toward the city center.
“Why are we going downtown?” Jane whispered, as if the driver might eavesdrop on them.
“First, we need a currency exchange.” John glanced at his wallet, stuffed to the brim with dirty money. “I have a feeling I just overpaid forty bucks for this ride.”
“Considering how easily you make money, you could be less stingy.” The charity enthusiast rolled her eyes.
“I’m not stingy. You know how generous my tips are.” He tucked the wallet away. “What pisses me off is getting ripped off! If I had local cash instead of dollars, this ride would’ve been cheaper.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. ‘It’s okay when I scam people, but not the other way around.’ What’s the second reason?”
“Downtown will have high-end boutiques. We’re getting new outfits.”
“Maybe you need a change.” She eyed his biker getup. “But I like my look. I put effort into this style, you know.”
“And what exactly did you add?” He gave her transformation-set skirt, breastplate, and helmet a critical once-over. “Leggings?”
“And red lipstick!” She crossed her arms.
“Jane, to be brutally honest, you look like Thor’s sister.” He tapped his eyepatch. “And that’s not a compliment.”
Jane turned to the window, watching the palm trees blur past.
[No arguing. That’s already a good sign.]
After five minutes, without turning to him, she asked:
“What do you suggest?”
“The easiest change? Dye your hair.”
Jane flushed with outrage.
“My hair is gorgeous! I’m not changing my natural color because of one asshole!”
“Then we’ll add some uniqueness.” John smirked. “Style is everything.”
///
As cliché as it sounded, the capital was nothing like a village.
In an upscale clothing store, they quickly found someone who spoke English.
John was easy to dress—he simply ordered a black suit with a red tie, just like in New York. A tried-and-true classic, now upgraded with bone inserts.
Changing, however, proved tricky—his body still bore traces of the Sorcerer Supreme’s magic. The store assistants helped button his shirt, awkwardly avoiding looking at the rune-covered bandages, which made him look like he was being prepped for mummification.
Jane was much more of a challenge. She rejected anything even remotely suggestive.
“No stockings or plunging necklines!” she declared, her slight blush hidden behind an impassioned speech. “This body wasn’t given to me for vanity! My destiny is to do good deeds!”
“Shame. Beauty is an advantage—you should use it.” John, lounging in a chair, casually examined her toned thighs, flat stomach, and firm chest.
“Stop staring!” she flared up, turning toward the racks of pants.
“Alright. Show me what you like.”
“With my setup, it’s not that simple.” Jane held her helmet in one hand while browsing pants with the other. “Maybe these?”
“Black trousers? Seriously?” John facepalmed. “That clashes with your breastplate. Now you’ll look even more like Thor.”
Jane opened her mouth, but John silenced her with a raised palm.
“You have no sense of style.” He shook his head. “Then again, I’m not exactly an expert in women’s fashion. But we have professionals!”
He nodded at the store assistants, explaining that Jane needed something stylish but not revealing—something that would complement her signature accessories.
One saleswoman raised an eyebrow.
“You want the lady to stay a lady… with a hammer?”
“Yes,” John said coolly.
That ended the discussion. The customer was always right.
While Jane was led through countless aisles, John sipped gin with pineapple tonic and scrolled through the news on a tablet the manager had provided.
[Being rich is nice.] He left a generous tip.
“What do you think?” Jane emerged from the fitting room.
Horned helmet. A sky-blue t-shirt with a yellow lightning bolt—bold, yet discreetly covering the steel breastplate. A waist-skirt over short shorts. Steel reinforcements on her arms and legs, hinting at a combat-ready style. The hammer hanging at her hip completed the look.
City Valkyrie, ready for battle.
“Well?” Jane twirled in place. “Better now?”
“I’ll be honest—if you start an Instagram account, you’ll have more followers than Thor.” John hid his smirk behind a sip of gin.
///
They left the store and bought ice cream. Enjoying the sweet chill, they roamed the central square, taking in the surroundings.
The locals, of course, stared at the odd pair—but now their looks were curious and even respectful, not like when they first arrived.
“How do we find Juggernaut?” Jane tossed her ice cream sticks into a trash bin. “I could fly over the whole country and scan from the air, but I have a feeling you have a better plan, Ghost Professor.”
“Mocking the disabled?” John turned in his wheelchair, giving her a disapproving look. “And here I thought you were the good girl.”
“Look at my t-shirt.” She tapped her chest. “Do you see a big letter A or a white star? I’m not Captain America—I don’t have to be a role model all the time.”
“I see you’re enjoying the wardrobe upgrade.” John smirked. “No ‘thank you,’ Ex-Sister of Thor?”
Jane briefly slowed near a store window. Thinking John wouldn’t notice, she took in her reflection—and smiled.
“It wasn’t a bad idea.” She nodded, keeping her tone neutral, and kept walking. “So, what now? Should I start flying around the city? Like the good old days—you scan for bad guys while I do aerial recon. Teamwork!”
“I have a better idea.” John smirked and pointed the way. “Just push me.”
"Where to?" Jane obediently pushed the wheelchair forward.
"What do we know about Juggernaut?" John steepled his fingers.
"Well, Doctor Strange said his real name is Cain Marko. He found the Crimson Gem of Cyttorak during a war—it works the same way as our artifacts, but its Infinity aspect fuels an insatiable thirst for destruction."
The bustling city streets gradually gave way to slums as Jane kept up her brisk pace.
"Cain is a supervillain," she continued. "A few years ago, he attacked Xavier’s School, trying to kill his stepbrother, Charles Xavier. It took the combined efforts of the X-Men, Avengers, Fantastic Four, and the Sorcerer Supreme to drive him away."
[An entire army against one man. A soldier like that would be a valuable addition to my team.]
"Juggernaut never returned to the U.S. after that," Jane added, wrinkling her nose as she sidestepped a man urinating in the corner. "Cain is constantly on the move, but he follows a pattern: arrives in a new city, finds the top crime boss, kills him and his entire gang, takes over the mansion, throws a week-long party while smashing everything in sight, then burns the place down and moves on. In two years, Juggernaut has rampaged through Africa, Asia, and now he’s reached Latin America."
"He has to keep feeding Cyttorak," John nodded. "Just like I do with Zarathos, and you with Mjolnir."
"He’s still a supervillain," Jane tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I don’t like the idea of working with him."
"We don’t have a choice," John reminded her, raising a hand. "Stop here."
"Why?" She skeptically eyed the graffiti-covered apartment complex. "What’s here?"
"The highest concentration of criminals in the city," the Rider said, pulling on his skull mask. "If someone murders a crime lord and throws massive parties in his house, every low-life rat in town will know about it. We just need to ask."
"You’re going to kill people." She crossed her arms. "Every living being has a right to life."
"Spare me your dumb moral lectures!" he snapped. "I need to punish, and you know it! Not everyone was lucky enough to pick up an artifact that forces them to be a damn princess!"
Without waiting for a response, John charged his wheelchair with hellfire and rolled into the drug den on flaming wheels.
Jane frowned and stayed outside to wait.
///
Fifteen minutes later, John emerged from the burning building.
"Let’s go before the firefighters arrive." He gestured forward.
"How did it go?" Jane quickly pushed the wheelchair. "I heard gunshots."
"I’m not easy to kill," John remarked flatly. "And if you’re worried about the suit, it’s fine too."
"That’s not what I meant." Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Was that really necessary?"
John hit the brakes.
"Jane! Those gangsters kidnapped tourists, cut off their fingers, and mailed them to their families with ransom demands! What was I supposed to do?! Slap their wrists and ask them to be better people?! You think that would be enough?!"
"You could have used the Penance Stare on them," she countered firmly, standing by her principles of justice and mercy. "I’m sure that would have satisfied Zarathos. It’s a harder path, but it’s the right one."
"Okay. I waste my time carefully roasting their brains. Then what? Leave them in the house and hope they reform? Can you guarantee they won’t go back to their old ways the moment I leave Peru?"
"We could call the police," Jane suggested, though her voice lacked conviction.
"You know that’s useless," John turned away. "If the cops did their job, people like me wouldn’t be necessary. Let’s go."
Jane pushed the wheelchair forward, her expression unwavering.
[I can already tell she’s going to keep trying to pull me to the light side. How annoying.]
"What did you find out?" Jane asked as a fire truck with flashing lights sped past them.
"Juggernaut took out Don Pedro four days ago and has been staying in his mansion, three hundred miles from here."
"Then let’s fly!" Jane dropped a hand to the hammer at her belt. "The sooner we talk to him, the sooner we can get out of here!"
"Bad idea," John shook his head and motioned to turn right. "Juggernaut is hot-headed. The moment we step through his door, he’ll start a fight."
"I’m ready for that!" she declared fiercely. "Or are you scared?"
"My informant said Juggernaut is currently hosting a party with three hundred guests. Not the best place for a brawl," John signaled another turn. "Unlike you, I think about collateral damage."
"Hey! If I’d known there were innocent people there, I obviously would’ve suggested a different plan!" she protested. "Where are we going?"
"We’re already here," John pointed to a stop in front of a pastry shop. "My informant mentioned this place too."
"Didn’t know you had a sweet tooth."
"The important thing is whether Juggernaut does."
They entered the shop, where, after a brief moment of confusion, an English-speaking pastry chef emerged from the kitchen.
"Good morning," the chef said, trying not to stare at the strange duo. "How can I help you?"
"You deliver cakes, right?" John received a nod. "How fast?"
"Depends on the distance. We have a personal courier who can work overtime for an extra fee."
"Perfect," the Rider pulled out some cash. "I’ll take your most expensive cake with delivery."
"One moment," the chef walked to the fridge.
"What are you doing?" Jane whispered.
"Relax and watch," John whispered back.
Soon, the chef returned with a three-tier superhero-themed cake.
"Perfect," John smirked. "Can you write something on it?"
"Of course," the chef grabbed an icing tube. "What should it say?"
"‘We’re gonna kick your ass’ Three exclamation marks. And a skull and hammer drawing underneath."
The chef hesitated but, seeing the money, relaxed and got to work.
"Send it to this address," John named Don Pedro’s mansion. "And put my letter in the box, please."
A handshake sealed the deal, and the package was set to arrive within eight hours.
Outside, Jane frowned. "What the hell was that?"
"Isn’t it obvious? I just scheduled a fight with Juggernaut," John shrugged. "Tomorrow, 6 AM, on the beach. No witnesses."
"You really think he’ll show?" Thunderheart asked doubtfully. "Cain might just run."
"He won’t turn down free food," the Rider grinned. "Breaking bones is part of Cyttorak’s diet."
"And what if Cain doesn’t believe it?" she shook her head. "He might think it’s a prank or fake."
"First of all, my fight with Thor has twenty million views on YouTube. Cain won’t be surprised that Ghost Rider and Thor hang out."
"I’m not Thor!" Jane flared up. "I’m Thunderheart!"
"Then tomorrow, you’ll get a chance to prove it," John smirked. "Second, in my letter, I mentioned that as proof, from midnight to exactly 1:30 AM, there will be heavy rain and thunderstorms. That’s where you come in."
Jane slowly nodded, processing the plan.
"Alright, this might work. But one thing I don’t get—why the cake?! You could’ve just sent a letter!"
"A letter can be forgotten," he grinned. "But nobody ignores cake."
