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Superior Ghost Rider. Chapter 10. Thunderheart
🕑 Added 2025-03-22 15:25:31 +0000 UTCMystical fact: The empty eye sockets of the Ghost Rider see far better than human eyes.
Regular vision is limited by physiology. Spiritual vision is not limited by anything.
Right now, John was standing on a rooftop in San Francisco, watching the main entrance of a city hospital a mile away. Trees, walls, and other obstructions didn’t matter. The only requirement was maintaining focus for long-range sight, which wasn’t difficult at all.
Near the entrance, doctors were bustling around a case containing a transplant heart. John’s lip-reading skills were enough to catch their concern: in another city, a patient desperately needed surgery—every minute counted—but the only compatible heart was here, and no conventional means could deliver it in time.
According to the dark elf, this situation was guaranteed to draw Thor’s attention.
[I'd rather not even think about how he arranged all this.]
From the sky, like a meteor, a hammer came crashing down. The doctors barely had time to jump back before it suddenly slowed and stopped right in front of them. A note was tied to the strap below: "Please secure the case to the strap."
[I see the legendary Mjolnir. I even see that famous worthiness inscription. Where’s Thor himself?]
John tilted his skull upward, straining to make out a human figure hidden within the clouds.
Damn, he's actually shy.
Meanwhile, the doctors secured the case to the hammer. The moment it was attached, Mjolnir shot back into its master’s hand. Thor, moving at speeds no aircraft could match, took off toward the other city.
John immediately jumped onto his motorcycle and sped after him. His engine roared like a pack of ravenous demons. Flames trailed behind his tires. To ordinary mortals, he was nothing more than a blurred black-and-orange streak.
[I can't let him get away.] John pushed his speed to the max.
But even that wasn’t enough to keep up with lightning. He only arrived in time to see Thor sending the hammer—with the case still attached—toward the waiting doctors at the hospital entrance.
[If I’d known this damn modest guy would be hiding in the clouds, I would’ve hijacked a fighter jet! I can’t even shout at him from the ground!]
The Rider watched as the doctors unfastened the case and rushed to the operating room. The hammer started to turn, preparing to fly back into the sky.
[I only have one shot at this.]
John yanked the weighted chain from his belt and, without letting up on the gas, swung it above his head like a hellish tornado.
[Time to prove there’s no Rider cooler than me!]
The chain latched onto Mjolnir’s strap. Yes!
The hammer took off, ripping John out of the saddle—his now-de-transformed sportbike crashed into a brick wall at insane speed. Explosion. Debris everywhere.
[Goodbye, gangster bike! Won’t miss you!]
John shot through the clouds, clinging tightly to the chain. If his ribcage contained a heart, lungs, or any other organic junk, he’d probably be suffering oxygen shock and a heart attack right now.
Mjolnir landed in a waiting hand.
“Well, now! People sometimes tie fruits or vegetables to my hammer as thanks, but this is the first time someone sent me a flaming skeleton.”
The voice was strict yet distinctly feminine.
Still gripping the chain, John looked up.
A belt-skirt with numerous pouches and rings—one clearly designed for securing Mjolnir.
Black leggings that fit very well in the back.
A steel breastplate with two prominent curves.
A metal helmet that didn’t conceal golden curls, long lashes, and full, lipstick-painted lips.
[Hips, bust, lips. Definitely a woman. And definitely much nicer to look at than a bearded drunk… Why are there two Thors?]
“I know you,” the goddess finally said. “A flaming skeleton in a biker jacket. You’re the Ghost Rider. A supervillain, a murderer, and an eco-terrorist.”
Lightning flickered in her eyes as she spoke. Definitely not flirting.
“I’m taking you to the Avengers right now!”
She shot off toward New York. John clung tightly to the links of his chain.
[Oh, god, why me? The one person who can help me turns out to be a law-abiding zealot to the bone.]
“Wait, dammit!” John shouted from below. “I just want to talk!”
She pressed her lips together and sped up.
[Hope that breastplate isn’t just for show.]
He pulled out his gun and fired a few shots. The bullets bounced harmlessly off her armor. Unfortunately, she didn’t realize he was just trying to get her attention.
“A cowardly strike to the back?!” She came to an abrupt stop, lightning crackling in her eyes. “You want a battle? You’ll get a battle!”
The goddess spun her hammer, summoning magical storms and lightning—one bolt struck the chain. The links flared and snapped apart with a deafening crack, stunning John.
He tried to grab onto the remaining links or the hammer’s strap, but the impact sent his hand flying off-course.
“Shit-shit-shit!” He flailed in midair, desperately trying to catch hold of something.
Then he just gave up and spread his limbs into a star position.
[Ah, screw it, it’s not like this will kill me.]
No fear, no panic over slamming into solid ground. Just pure frustration over a lost opportunity.
[Didn’t even get the chance to offer her the liquor I keep stashed in my ribs.]
“Wait!” the goddess called down, suddenly alarmed. “Don’t die!”
[Heh. That’s actually kinda funny. Guess she doesn’t know Ghost Riders aren’t killable by gravity. Another person mistaking me for a mutant?]
She dived down sharply and… caught him. One arm under his knees, the other supporting his back. Like a child.
Unlike Spider-Man, she actually knew how to properly catch a falling person without killing them. She landed smoothly and just as carefully set him down.
Around them stretched an empty, lifeless desert.
“What the hell was that?” he asked, still feeling a bit awkward. “Why’d you save me?”
“Even supervillains don’t deserve execution!” Her voice carried conviction as the wind tousled her hair. “Life is given only once! I believe everyone deserves a second chance! Prison will rehabilitate you!”
[More like I’ll rehabilitate the whole damn prison.]
“If I have to beat you down for that,” she shifted into a battle stance, spinning her hammer again, “then so be it! I won’t let a supervillain walk free!”
“And what makes you think I’m a supervillain?”
The question caught her off guard. The hammer’s rotation slowed. A sign to keep going.
“Considering this is our first meeting, you must’ve gotten your info on me from the internet, right?” John saw her nod cautiously. “You called me an eco-terrorist. Because I blew up that oil refinery.”
“Yes. You attacked Roxxon,” she said, slightly easing her stance.
[A good sign. I’m on the right track. Keep going.]
“Okay, I admit, I blew up Roxxon’s refinery. But is that really a crime? They break every environmental regulation just to save money. Their emissions destroy the ozone layer. It’s already way hotter today than it was a hundred years ago,” John easily repeated the same crap environmental activists spew every day. “If nothing is done, another hundred years from now, you won’t be able to step outside without an umbrella and radiation sunscreen. The government does nothing because Roxxon bribes them.”
“I do recognize Roxxon’s politics…” She stopped spinning Mjolnir, though her face remained tense. “But even if they lie… you did admit to burning their refinery.”
“Well, yeah.” Ghost Rider shrugged. “They were polluting the air. Or do you not consider poisoning the planet a crime?”
“I…” She averted her gaze for a moment. “Sometimes, justice does require decisive action.”
“There! I knew you’d understand that sometimes fists are necessary!” John nodded. The bait was taken—time to slowly reel her in. “You can’t rely on the law. Corrupt politicians write laws to benefit corporate owners. I had to act in my own way.”
“The news said you burned innocent workers alive along with the refinery.”
“That’s a lie. My fire—” a spark flared on his bony fingertip “—doesn’t harm the innocent.”
The spark jumped onto her skin. The goddess flinched at the threat, but it fizzled out instantly, leaving no mark. She nodded, accepting the point.
[Zarathos is as dumb as a stump, but living inside me has at least taught him who’s fair game and who isn’t. I’m something like a moral compass for an all-consuming fire.]
“Roxxon bought the journalists,” John continued. “It’s their tactic—turn the whole world against me. But you’re a hero.” He softened his voice slightly. “You don’t believe everything reporters say, do you?”
She hesitated, fingers tightening around her hammer.
“You doubt it,” John latched onto that immediately. “Which means, deep down, you already know I’m right.”
“…”
“You don’t want to be manipulated, do you?” He stepped closer. “You don’t want to be a puppet for news written by billionaires.”
For a second, she averted her gaze.
[Oh yeah, sweetheart, now you’re hesitating.]
“This does sound like Roxxon. I believe you. But!” The goddess leveled her hammer at him. “You’ve also been accused of killing bystanders!”
“They were murderers,” Ghost Rider declared. “My fire is meant for people like that.”
“And who made you judge, jury, and executioner? Who gave you the right to decide who lives and who dies?”
“And who gave judges the right to hand out death sentences? Corrupt politicians who serve corporations, not the people.”
Her grip tightened on Mjolnir. She wasn’t agreeing, but she wasn’t as confident in her accusations anymore.
“Everyone deserves a second chance!” she declared.
“Oh, really?” John tilted his skull mockingly. “Will humanity get a second chance when Roxxon destroys the ozone layer?”
She flinched. Just for a second. But it was enough.
“That’s… not the same thing.”
“Of course,” Ghost Rider nodded. “Corporations have money and connections. They get endless second chances. Totally fair.”
“What do you want from me?” she asked in one breath.
“Just to talk.” He raised his hands.
“About what?” she asked suspiciously, but finally lowered the hammer.
“Sharing experiences.” He extended Zarathos’ Cross toward her.
He held it by the chain so she could read it. Handing it over was pointless—Zarathos wouldn’t let an unworthy person touch it.
“You’re not a mutant!” She studied the artifact curiously. “You carry an Aspect of Infinity, just like me!”
“They’ve got me figured out, but what about you?” He tapped his bony fingers on his jaw, eyeing her. “You don’t exactly look like a bearded drunk. You’re not Thor, are you?”
“No!” Her voice boomed like thunder. “And don’t dare call me that!”
“Then what should I call you?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” She tossed Mjolnir up and caught it effortlessly. “Thunderheart!”
At that moment, a thunderclap echoed through the desert. Cool. She really liked that name.
“There’s nothing about you online. Everyone thinks it’s just Thor saving the world between drinking binges.” Ghost Rider folded his arms. “Maybe you should come down from the heavens more often.”
For a moment, her shoulders dropped.
“A true hero does not seek fame!” she declared, planting a foot on a rock. “I do good because I can!”
[Something’s off. Why are there two blonde hammer-wielders? One’s a drunk, the other’s a hero. And why do they go out of their way to avoid appearing together? I should figure out the truth… or not. Why get tangled in Asgardian intrigues? I don’t need that. I want to live. I want to stop my soul from decaying. And clearly, she has a cure for that. I need to get her talking. But as the Dark Elf said: no rushing. If I push too hard, she’ll fly off with her hammer, and I’ll never catch her again. I need to study the target, earn her trust, play it smarter…]
“You busy right now?” he asked. “How about saving the world?”
She hesitated for a second.
“Or are you afraid you were wrong about me?” John added with a laugh.
