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Superior Ghost Rider. Chapter 13. Jane
🕑 Added 2025-03-23 16:29:58 +0000 UTCJohn lay in an inflatable boat in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, with Dario Agger asleep beside him. After such stress on his body, it would be a miracle if he ever came out of his coma… only to immediately find out he had become a feeble old man, all his accounts were frozen, and prison awaited him. Killing him would be more merciful, but the goddess of justice thinks otherwise.
He turned his skull, empty sockets scanning dozens of identical inflatable boats and escape pods. The evacuation of all Roxxon employees had been a success. Rescue helicopters were expected to arrive within the hour.
Far in the sky, a green flash flickered. That was Thunderheart destroying the gamma reactor in space.
"It's done," the pleased goddess descended smoothly from the sky.
"Yeah," John kept scrolling on his smartphone.
"You're browsing the internet at a time like this?" She landed in the boat. "I'm amazed there's even a signal in the middle of the ocean."
"Only limited-edition Starkphones for premium clients," he ran a bony finger over the red-and-gold casing. "How convenient that our pal Dario happens to be one of them."
"You stole from a sleeping man," she shook her head disapprovingly.
"I didn't steal; I borrowed. Carrying around a device that can be tracked by GPS anywhere on the planet? No thanks," Ghost Rider scoffed. "Anyway, I skimmed through Dario’s emails…"
"You're reading other people's messages too?"
"Oh, shut up, goddess of nagging! We need to get out of here ASAP! Dario managed to send Tony a message about two supervillains attacking his property. Even included a video of us taking down the guards. Bastard!" John crushed the smartphone. "Long story short, the Avengers are already on their way, and not to thank us for a job well done."
"We'll leave. Their Quinjets can't keep up with me," the weather-wielder swung her hammer. "Actually, this is good. I was going to drop Agger off at their office, but now I won’t have to—they’ll pick him up themselves."
"We're not handing Mammon's avatar over to a bunch of clowns."
"I already told you," she tightened her grip on the hammer. "I won't let you kill him."
"If I wanted to, I would've burned the sinner while you were off in space," John casually folded his arms behind his head. "Let me explain why giving Dario to the Avengers is a bad idea. First, we have no solid proof of his crimes."
"I couldn't let that gamma reactor keep poisoning the water!" Lightning danced in her eyes.
"That was the best decision of the day," he gestured for her to sit. "Otherwise, the radiation would’ve continued contaminating the ocean. Do you really think the senators didn’t know about Dario’s schemes? You can't build something like that in secret. He’s already paid bribes. He’ll pay more to get out."
Thunderheart crossed her arms grimly but didn't argue. Good.
"And second, Mammon severed his link to the avatar, but he can just as easily restore it. This body might last only a minute," he glanced at the frail old Dario. "But even one minute is enough for the King of Hell to start Armageddon."
"So what do you suggest?"
"We hand Dario over to the specialist authorized to deal with this—the top magical cop."
"You know the Sorcerer Supreme?!" she stepped closer.
"You could say we're best friends," John snorted.
He got comfortable in the boat and stretched out his legs.
"Now be a good helicopter and get us to New York."
"If you think I’m gonna play propeller while you relax, you're dead wrong."
She tied Mjolnir’s strap to the boat’s bow. The hammer yanked them forward faster than a jet engine. The goddess calmly lay back, folded her arms behind her head, and dozed off.
[Another option…]
///
"Open up, you bastard!" John pounded on the door of the Sanctum Sanctorum with all his strength. "I know you never leave your house unattended!"
"Umm…" Thunderheart, standing behind him, held Dario and glanced around the nighttime streets awkwardly. "Are you sure this is the right way to address the Sorcerer Supreme?"
"Of course!" Ghost Rider turned and started kicking the door with his heels. "Doc never answers any other way!"
For a long thirty minutes, John pounded on the magically reinforced door. If the house had neighbors, they would’ve called the police by now.
"Looks like no one's home," she interjected between the blows. "I think we should leave."
"That’s what he wants us to think. You should join in! Knock with your hammer—show some persistence! Oh, and by the way, Doc! My bones don’t get tired! I can keep this up all night!"
The door opened. Doctor Strange stood on the threshold, semi-transparent. An astral projection. His face was angry.
"You have a real gift for making a terrible first impression," Stephen shot an irritated glance at Ghost Rider. "What do you need this time?"
"Oh, just a little something." John grabbed Dario and dropped him at the sorcerer's feet. "I did your damn job again!"
Thunderheart remained still, as if she weren’t even there.
"What is this?" Stephen raised a brow, eyeing the sleeping old man.
"Mammon’s avatar," John watched with satisfaction as a concerned Strange performed divination spells. "Relax, the devil's not coming for your soul. I already severed the contract."
"You?" Stephen asked skeptically.
"Don't underestimate me," the fire on John's bones flared brighter. "Anyway, I handled the hard part. Now it just needs cleaning up. The contract’s broken, but the threads are still there… you know how that works."
The Sorcerer Supreme nodded slowly.
"You’ll clean up the mess so Mammon doesn’t return," John continued. "And figure out what to do with Roxxon’s CEO. He can't go back to the streets."
"Now you want me to illegally detain a man?" Stephen dispelled his magic and shook his head. "You were useful today, but that doesn’t make me your babysitter. Why should I help you?"
"Because it's your damn job!" Ghost Rider yelled. "While you were throwing parties and screwing witches, this scumbag Dario and his sugar daddy Mammon were killing the planet! I saved the world! Now you owe me even more!"
"You never change. I’m surprised you found a girlfriend," the sorcerer cast a skeptical glance at Thunderheart. "Ah, the thief. A perfect match for a conman."
John whipped around to look at the blushing girl.
Strange lifted Dario with magic and shut the door.
"God, I hate that bastard!" Ghost Rider threw up his hands in frustration.
"When you said you and the Sorcerer Supreme were best friends, you may have… just a little," she pinched her fingers together, "exaggerated."
"You know a nice, secluded place?" he asked abruptly.
"Um, yeah."
"Let’s go get drunk."
He patted his ribs, where a bottle of liquor was still stashed.
///
"Where are we?"
John stood atop a lighthouse. A rocky island surrounded them, waves crashing violently against the shore. The air was thick with salt.
"My home," Thunderheart opened the lighthouse door.
It didn’t look like the chambers of an Asgardian princess.
A small bed. A bookshelf filled with legends and reference books. A generator connected to a fridge, a phone charger, and a dim lightbulb.
"We're in Irish territory right now," she set Mjolnir on the generator, instantly recharging it. "This lighthouse was abandoned, but I liked it, so I decided to make it my nest."
"And you accused me of criminal behavior," he shook his head. "You’re the one squatting on government property."
"That’s different!" she took off her helmet, golden locks cascading down.
[With hair like that, she should be in a shampoo commercial.]
"I happen to have a bottle of Asgardian wine," she opened the fridge, releasing the scent of apple pie. "Here!"
"Keep it," John waved her off. "Alcohol’s on me. You just get the glasses."
Ghost Rider unzipped his jacket and pulled a black box from beneath his ribs—a protective case crafted by dark elves.
He pulled the violet ribbon, the protective runes flared up, and the black box dissolved into smoke. A gently glowing blue bottle stood on the table.
"Wow!" She watched in delight as he poured the luminous liquid into their glasses. "Looks magical! What is it?"
"Liquor from the Tenth Realm," John smirked. "Last bottle. You won’t find this anywhere else."
"Sounds tempting… Wait," she narrowed her eyes at him. "You’re not trying to seduce me, are you?"
"I'm just trying to get to know my colleague better," he swung the Cross of Zarathos. "Don’t you think two Infinity Avatars should stick together?"
"Maybe you're right," her gaze softened. "Then the first drink is to new acquaintances."
"Wait! I want to keep things fair."
An orange flash! Fire from his bones sank into the Cross of Zarathos. Flesh and skin stretched over the skeleton. John collapsed to his knees as nerve endings regenerated.
[I hate this! Feels like self-immolation! Every damn time!]
"So that’s what you really look like. I pictured you differently," she studied the real John thoughtfully. "Why do you keep switching between your base and full form? Partial release is much more practical!"
"The hell are you talking about?" John frowned. "I can either be a regular mortal or a flaming skeleton. No in-between."
"That’s because you’re pulling all of Zarathos' power into yourself," her tone turned almost instructive. "You need to leave the core in the Cross. Take just enough energy to fuel your body. It’s not that hard."
After half an hour of explanations, John finally managed it. He felt Zarathos' energy distribute through his body, filling every cell, sending a pleasant shiver through him.
His muscles tensed, his skin thickened, his hair grew fuller—he even got a few centimeters taller.
[Feels like I just took the Super Soldier Serum!]
Protective gear formed over his clothes, tactical-looking, styled like bones. Gloves, knee pads, elbow guards, a chest plate.
He looked at his reflection in the window. A white skull-like mask covered his face.
"Holy shit…" he whispered, then immediately pulled it off, just as she had removed her helmet earlier.
"You don’t even need to eat anymore," Thunderheart continued. "Zarathos’ energy will sustain your body. But I wouldn’t completely give up food—you don’t want to lose the joy of life. As for bathroom trips, though, forget about them—your metabolism converts everything into useful elements."
"So that’s why you don’t have a bathroom here," John chuckled. "Thanks."
"Don’t mention it!" she waved it off. "It’s nothing!"
[I’d have charged for this information.]
"This energy pushes our bodies to peak human condition. No sweat, no excess hair!" She ran her hands over her smooth, flawless skin. "So convenient!"
John looked at her. She was without her helmet, her hair a bit messy, but her face was calm. For the first time, he saw her without the storm in her eyes.
Outside, the Irish Sea roared. The waves shimmered in the sunset, crashing against the cliffs as if urging him to act.
"You know, I rarely drink," she admitted. "Even that bottle of wine was a gift from years ago, and it’s still sitting in the fridge."
"That’s because you never had a good drinking buddy," he smirked, pouring the liquor. "Let’s get to know each other." He raised his glass. "John Blaze."
She smiled and saluted him with hers.
"Jane Foster."
