The first werewolf leapt, his two pack mates blocked the entrance to the building, barring the Ghost Rider’s escape.
The demonic hero stood upon his hover-disk, flames encircling his metallic skull. He leaned forward slightly, his shoulders hunched as he surveyed his predicament. His blue leather long coat fluttered in the breeze generated by the venting gasses of the chemical plant.
His entire ensemble was done in blue and grey; his coat, chainmail shirt, skintight pants, ankle-boots and gloves were all dark blue.
His chain belt, as well as the chains that criss-crossed his chest, and his metal skull and any hint of the limbs and body beneath glinted metallically in the moonlight that filtered in through the ceiling dome.
He raised a hand and flames came from his fingertips, further illuminating the cavernous building and his three savage assailants.
They were massive creatures, each standing over six feet tall, their workmen’s clothes, torn in the effort of containing their muscled, bestial forms.
Ghost Rider swooped and dodged the first werewolf, grabbing a handful of coarse fur at the back of its neck. He then shot up to the ceiling.
Holding the werewolf by the scruff of the neck, he shook it and then pulled it in closer to its flaming visage.
“Whose dog are you?” Ghost Rider asked with a steely growl, sounding half robot half angry demon.
“The Dark Pack is no one’s dog!” The werewolf snapped, enraged enough not to question the judgment of trying to bite a foes’ face off, when the face in question was on fire.
“Save your bravado for someone who cares,” Ghost Rider said, giving his captive a shake. “The pack and I have never been friends, but we at least had the respect to stay out of each others way. Your little sextant…well, trio by this point, was deliberately hunting me.”
He brought up his free hand and a ball of fire appeared in his palm.
“So, someone enticed you,” He said, in a quiet, dangerous tone. “The Brethren? Stark Tech? Don’t make me list all the individuals who’d want me dead. I doubt either of us that much time. Feel free to answer me or the Gray Pack becomes a duo.”
“You are an abomination!” The Werewolf growled. “It will be a pleasure to step over your broken body and spit on your…”
The Ghost Rider’s arm shot forward, jamming the fireball into the creature’s open mouth, and then clamped down, forcing the werewolf’s snout shut.
The beast’s eyes grew wide in a mix of anger and panic. It writhed in the Ghost Rider’s grip, as its tongue was roasted inside its mouth and he could feel the skin of its throat scorch and peel away from the tendon and bone. Its chest heaved and its limbs flailed desperately.
Ghost Rider tightened his grip, holding the werewolf securely as it roasted from the inside. Boiling fat trickled from the monster’s nostrils and tear ducts and its body went limp.
Ghost Rider dropped the corpse to the concrete floor forty feet below, at the feet of its stunned packmates.
His hover disk floated downwards, and Ghost Rider came to a halt in front of the werewolf duo. He swept his arm, creating a wall of flame at the exit door.
The creatures looked about anxiously, realizing that they were now trapped with the demonic creature rather than the other way around and were not at all confident in this change of ranking.
Ghost Rider hovered several feet above the body of the pack leader. He knelt down a bit to be eye to eye with the other two.
“Now, I have a few questions…” Ghost Rider said, his voice a menacing, metallic purr.
# # # # # # # # # #
The Ghost Rider was soon zooming away from the chemical plant and down one of the myriad roadways that criss-crossed the city.
The city was an extensive metropolis; large as the state it was once a part of. Towers of steel, glass and plastic brushed the sky, while the, always occupied, streets, monorail tracks, bridges and buildings stretched to the horizon.
The lower levels existed in almost perpetual shadow. The hum of ever-running machinery, viecles and people were the constant soundtrack of the city.
The streets were a constant parade of transports, ranging from tiny personal cars to massive trucks, each longer than a city block.
The macabre figure on the hover board zoomed along, zigzagging through traffic, going speedily between, above and occasionally underneath various viecles.
Turning abruptly, he cruised quickly down a narrow alley.
Feeling a vibration, he brought up his arm and pushed back his coat sleeve, exposing the shiny arm beneath. On a band encircling his wrist a red light was blinking. Slowing down at the mouth of the alley, he glanced both ways, before shooting across the sixteen-lane highway, heading directly for a steel wall.
Seconds before impact, Ghost Rider swiveled his hips, and the hover board shifted and he flew up the wall, over the top, across the roof and down the other side, landing on the roof of a hulking brown transport truck.
It more resembled three train cars hooked together and was hovering five feet above the road.
A portal in the roof of the truck irised open and Ghost Rider stepped off his hover board, tucked it under one arm and dropped down into the truck’s interior.
He landed in a narrow metal room with a plain metal bench wielded to one wall. A door slid open and a young woman, a head shorter than him, entered.
Her skin was milky white, her blonde hair was done up in a ponytail. She wore a yellow bodysuit with pouches down the legs.
She took a pencil-thin metal wand and waved it in front of Ghost Rider.
“We’re getting a lot of system warnings,” She said, absently, more intent on the display on her wristband. “You need to give the system time to process when you shift from using the tech to…”
“You can say it, Blaze,” Ghost Rider said, patiently, while she scanned him. “It’s not a dirty word. When I switch from using your machines to demon fire. It taxes this metal shell.”
“Don’t go blaming the workmanship,” She chided. “When your original body was destroyed the only way to save you was for that ‘sorcerer supreme’ character to salvage your…soul…demon essence…whatever you want to call it…was to transfer it into the robotic shell. You can’t treat it like a mode of transportation or just a weapon. It is your body now, you need to think of it that way.”
Ghost Rider nodded and flexed his arms, peering at his metal limbs thoughtfully.
Blaze, her exam complete, also nodded to herself, turned and exited the way she came in. Ghost Rider followed.
Down a narrow corridor, the duo came out into a crowded control room, the front wall taken up by a bank of screens. The sidewalls were lined with equipment panels and controls. There were two long banks of machinery. Sandwiched between them was a bulky metal throne, trailing wires.
Floating slowly about the room was a basketball-sized sphere-bot. It resembled an enormous eyeball.
It turned at the duo’s entrance and floated over to Ghost Rider.
“There were several stress warnings as well as energy surges…” It said, in a tinny, formal tone.
“Yes, I’ve already been given the lecture, Orb.” Ghost Rider said, waving away the eyeball. He went over to the metal chair, shrugged out of his overcoat, and then sat down.
Blaze came over, knelt down and began plugging the loose wires into ports in Ghost Rider’s arms and torso. He pulled off his gloves and placed his steel fingers in imprints in the arm. Lights and screens on the computer bank in front of him lit up.
“How many casualties?” The sphere-bot inquired.
“Eight…I think,” Ghost Rider muttered, then paused. “Or perhaps…no more than ten.”
“Did you learn anything about who is hunting you…us?” The young woman asked as she worked.
“There were not hunting me on their own imitative,” He replied, leaning back, as his body recharged and internal systems ran diagnostics. “They were in the employ of the Brethren.”
“So, not only do we have the Brethren, Stark Tech and whatever of your fellow demons are remaining in the city hunting us,” Blaze said, standing up. “But, all three have started acquiring agents to do their hunting for them.”
“Yes, yes, I have enemies,” Ghost Rider muttered, resting his head against the back of the chair and closing his eyes. “And they wish me dead. I’m a demon. These are tedious day-to-day occurrences for me. Is there some new information I should know about?”
“You seem awfully nonchalant for someone who has had been exiled from his home and stranded in a hostile environment where everyone wants your head,” the young scientist mused, as she adjusted controls.
“Obviously you’ve never been to the neither realms,” Ghost Rider said, lifting his head and opening his eyes. “And yes, I ruled over a small plot of land, but acquiring a kingdom and running one are two different things. I’ve always been more about the game than the prize. Which is perhaps while I’m so good at it and so irksome to my brother demons.”
“It’s about the having, not the getting.” Blaze said.
“Yes, good. I like that. I’ll have to remember it.” Ghost Rider nodded. “ It is trickier when I have to consider the safety of allies, as I do not have a great deal of experience in such matters, but that just makes it a bit more interesting. So, what now?”
“I have been tracking information,” The Orb said. “I believe I have began to track where Stark Tech is funneling the resources in their hunt to retrieve myself and your body. I have been recording the various newsfeeds, if you wish to view them while we see to your robotic form. Perhaps you might spot some supernatural activity we have missed.”
“Ah, yes, keeping my supernatural compatriots in line…my new vocation!” Ghost Rider nodded. “If I cannot have my old realm back, I can carve a new one amongst the shadowy pockets of beings that exist within your shining cities.”
He waved a hand in an imperious gesture.
“Show me your images.”
Blaze rolled her eyes and sighed, as though dealing with an impetutious child, reached over and touched a control.
A square of four screens in the middle of the wall lit up, running newsfeeds from numerous channels. Ghost Rider fixed his gaze upon them; internal computer systems within his metal skull worked with his demonic brain to process and analyze all the images streaming past his eyes.
He was at first surprised at this ability his robotic form granted him, and then took to it, like a child with a new toy.
“The attacks on the businesses on level seven are merely gang warfare,” He said, absently listing the facts he sifted out. “The ones on the trucks transporting goods between cities we should investigate, at least two of them hint at vampire activity, and a third show signs of …something more bestial.”
Both his allies were, in their own way, making lists of their own for potential future investigation.
“This Black Widow,” Ghost Rider continued. “Something about the deaths she’s left in her wake…? Stop that image in the top corner!”
Blaze and Orb both turned to look at him, questioningly.
“What is that? That crime scene.” Ghost Rider asked.
“Beswell Tower block,” The Orb replied, matter of factly. “The family of a mid-level Parker Industries executive. The family’s youngest child was kidnapped and the apartment suite was vandalized.”
“Those symbols scrawled on the wall…?” Ghost Rider asked, pointing at the screen.
“Graffiti,” Blaze suggested. “Believed to be gang signs. We’ve been running them through police records…”
“No. They are arcane symbols…part of some ritual…there is more going on here then some ransom scheme.” Ghost Rider said, unplugging himself from the diagnostic chair. “I need to see those markings.”
“Rerouting,” Orb said. It floated across to one of the control panels and settled into a bowl-shaped indentation that allowed him to plug directly into the mammoth truck that was the team’s home and base of operations and take control over the automotive systems that kept them rolling through the labyrinth of roads.
“Estimated arrival time seventeen minutes.”
“You recognize the symbols?” Blaze asked, getting up to help Ghost Rider disengage without damaging the equipment. “Is this the Brethren? They’ve been fairly quiet since they attempted to resurrect Baron Brimstone.”
“This is something…else,” Ghost Rider muttered, standing up and putting his overcoat back on. “Most of the symbols are fairly common, but a few…I know I’ve seen them, but can’t remember more than they are significant.”
He pulled on his gloves and then reached one hand out.
“To me my board!”
The hover disk, propped against the wall by the door, floated up several feet and then shot across the room to its owner.
“You don’t have to do that every time,” Blaze chided, not looking up from her keyboard. “Your body sends a silent control signal to the disk.”
Ghost Rider merely, and smugly, took hold of the board and tucked it under his arm.
# # # # # # # # # #
For all its size, the Ghost Rider’s mobile head quarters, was nondescript. One of many such transports that seemed to be a perpetual parade moving supplies through the city and out into the lands beyond.
As it passed within a block of the Beswell Tower, the circle hatch in the roof opened and Ghost Rider shot out, swerving between the surrounding buildings, floating ever upwards.
His internal systems mapped his progress, guiding him toward his destination, the seventy-forth floor. It was still dark, the family having relocated while the police investigation was in progress.
“Be careful entering,” Blaze’s voice sounded in his earpiece. “This is still an active police case. There may be a monitor drone stationed in the apartment.”
Ghost Rider nodded, as he studied the large plate window, before realizing she couldn’t see him and then tapped at his earpiece.
“There’s no sign of movement,” He said. “And I’m still not adept at inteterperting some of these signals, but can see no sign of unusual energy signatures.”
“My monitors confirm your view,” Orb added. “I am also detecting that the apartment’s security system has been set in passive monitoring.”
“So, be careful,” Blaze commented. “If the security system isn’t active, then either the police are expecting to return soon or…”
“It’s a trap,” Ghost Rider said. “Understood. Give me a moment. We’ll talk again when I’m inside.”
He pulled off a glove and pointed a finger at the edge of the window. A tongue of hellfire flared from the finger and he used it to trace around the edge of the window, plastic dribbled and melted, wires and circuitry were severed.
Pressing with his fingertips, Ghost Rider eased the large pane of plasti-glass and slid it aside, so he could squeeze through into the darkened apartment. He left his hover disk floating outside.
The room was a living room, large and tasteful, white walls with beige furnishings. Several pieces had been moved and then put back. Ghost Rider moved through the apartment, alert for any sign that the police or corporate security were still monitoring the crime scene, while studying the disarray caused by the kidnapping.
He found the missing boy’s room, the furniture left where it had been knocked over and the various symbols scrawled on the wall.
He scrapped at one with a metal fingertip.
“Doesn’t appear to be blood.” Orb intoned.
“It isn’t,” Ghost Rider said, quietly. He ran a gloved hand along the wall.
“Something about a payment…of the chosen time…this one in the middle has something to do with night…or a specific date.”
“The symbols are the ransom note?” Blaze asked. “Why demand payment, but put the note in, what’s basically, code?’ Inefficient way to get your money…?”
“Perhaps they did so as a message to specific individuals?’ The Orb commented.
“The kidnappers did this to get the attention of someone with enough arcane knowledge to be able to decipher the ransom note?” Blaze said. “That’s suspicious.”
“It’s not a ransom note,” Ghost Rider said, grimly. “They aren’t trying to get money in exchange for the boy. They have no intention of ever returning the child. This is a part of an incantation…a statement of intent. The boy is not a hostage, he is to be payment in some ritual…I haven’t deciphered it all…missing a few details. If I knew why this boy was chosen, that would give me the hint of what…whoever ‘they’ are hope to accomplish…?”
“We can get you information on the family,” Blaze said. “What else?”
“I have some ideas where I might find…” Ghost Rider started and then stopped, glancing over his shoulder at a muffled sound.
“Find what?”
Ghost Rider tapped his communicator off and turned to face the room. Nothing had changed; he saw the same disarrayed child’s room.
The noise came again, muffled, so most likely in another room. Footsteps, like a drunkard attempting to be stealthy.
Ghost Rider crept over to the door and leaned out, scanning the corridor, straining all his technologically enhanced demonic senses.
He stalked across the room, to investigate the other door, when it burst open and two zombies, in the uniforms of the buildings corporate security guards lunged out at him.
He tried to scramble back out of their reach, but grasping hands grabbed hold of his coat, keeping him from getting away. He swung and backhanded one, causing its head to turn completely around, while jabbing stiffened fingers into the throat of the other. His fingers sunk into the desiccated flesh. He yanked his hand free and then brought it down in a vicious chop across the zombies’ nose.
Cartilage and bone cracked and a thick, syrupy liquid leaked from its nostrils and eyes.
None of this stopped their progress and the two zombies tackled Ghost Rider, driving him to the floor, their bodies pinning his arms. The zombie with the broken nose snarled and sank its teeth into Ghost Rider’s neck.
Or attempted to, as its teeth shattered against his metal neck.
Ghost Rider lay still, assessing his attackers.
After several seconds of analysis, he opted with merely head butting the zombies. He then flung them away, sprung to his feet and summoned a handful of hellfire. He thrust it into the chest of the nearest zombie and kicked it away from him.
He leapt at the zombie with the twisted head, grabbed it and further twisted until the head tore loose from the body. Tucking the head under his arm, like a football, he shoulder blocked past the now headless zombie and jogged down the hallway and back to the living room, the undead security guards lumbering in erratic pursuit.
He tapped his earpiece with his free hand as he ran.
“I’ve encountered a complication,” He said, reaching the living room. He slacked his pace and just as the zombies were reaching for the back of his jacket, Ghost Rider leapt. He kicked at the window, knocking it loose from the casing, as he landed on his hover disk.
The large rectangle of plasti-glass and the two zombies then fell the seventy-four floors to the highway below.
“Do I want to know what that noise is?” Blaze sighed.
“I’m getting multiple alarms from the area,” Orb added.
“Never mind,” Blaze muttered.
“I need to put some distance between myself and the apartment,” Ghost Rider said, glancing about as he zipped between massive apartment towers. “The security drones have arrived and I think it’d be best if I avoid them.”
“What have you done and have you made matters better or worse?” Blaze asked.
“I’ve learned a few things,” Ghost Rider explained. “But things are worse than we thought.”
He clasped his arms to his sides and plummeted downwards, dangerously fast. Coming to n abrupt halt several feet above street level, he glided along, as his inner workings guided him to the truck’s location. Using the truck’s enormous body to block him from view of the other traffic, Ghost Rider activated a side door and flew inside.
The severed head was soon placed on a monitor plate and the three investigators were clustered around it.
“That is repulsive,” Blaze breathed.
“It explains why the security at the crime scene seemed so lax,” Ghost Rider commented. “They’d left security guards, but some one…or thing returned and converted them and then used them as a trap, perhaps, for anyone investigating the symbols they’d left behind.”
“But, why?” Blaze asked. “That doesn’t make sense. Why leave a ransom note almost no one can read and then leave…”
She gestured at the grey, sickly head on her console.
“ And have it attack whoever shows up to read the note, unless it was a trap for you?”
“It’s not a ransom note,” Ghost Rider snapped. “And it wasn’t a trap. It’s more a…um…statement of intent.”
He straightened up and moved from the console, pacing in the narrow aisle on the other side, as he talked.
“The boy hasn’t been kidnapped, there will be no ransom payment, as his abductors have no intention of returning him. They have taken him as payment in whatever ritual they are enacting.”
“What?” Blaze asked, concerned.
“Certain magics, whether dark or light, require a payment, either life force, soul energy or blood. I don’t know all the details, but judging from the zombies, I would guess we are dealing with dark magic.”
“But, why leave the message, basically, announcing what they are up to?” Blaze asked, her natural curiosity overriding her discomfort at the nearby severed head, as well as her skepticism concerning the supernatural.
“Magic is built around ritual,” Ghost Rider explained, his posture indicating a particularly bizarre college lecturer. “The symbols are not the kidnappers announcing their intentions, but a piece of the larger process. As they progress there will be other makers and scrawled incantations.”
“That will give us something else to track,” The Orb suggested. “We can tap into the public safety monitoring net and scan for more of those symbols.”
“Good,” Blaze nodded. “What else?”
“I have some ideas,” Ghost Rider said, raising his hand. “To me, my board!”
# # # # # # # # # #
As peaceful and productive as the city was, how it kept its vast population safe and secure, its towers touching the sky meant that the lower levels existed in almost perpetual shadow.
If you went down far enough, you would encounter a melting pot of flotsam and jetsome of the utopian society: the malcontents, both human and mutant, the drudges, the dysfunctional and the monsters.
For a vampire it was a land of opportunity, vast stretches of never-ending night, a million dark corners to stalk your prey from, and a vast parade of potential food sources that would cause no notice if they were to vanish.
Walimer Church huddled in the corner formed by the bases of two herculean skyscrapers. The ledge on the second floor was a perfect perch to watch, while remaining unseen. He was short, and broad in build, more stocky, with blunt fingered hands and dark, unkempt hair.
He had marked the red head from the food station as the one to nudge from the ‘herd’ and feed upon. He focused his senses until he could hear the pounding of her heart from this distance. He licked his lips and smiled, revealing over-sized canines.
He shifted his stance, preparing to descend when a hand grabbed hold of the collar of his jacket and yanked him up into the air, striking the wall on the way up.
“Good evening, Wally,” Ghost Rider said, as they flew up several levels. “Sorry to interrupt you at dinner, but I need to have a word.”
“Do not call me that!” the vampire grumbled, before hitting a roof edge and scraping against the wall above it. “If you want a favor, you could try harder not to kill me!”
He was unceremoniously dumped on the gravel and debris strewn roof of a storage facility. He rolled onto his back, spitting out gravel and then glaring up at Ghost Rider.
“I hate you.” He declared.
“Yes, I know,” Ghost Rider nodded. He hovered above the vampire, squatting down so his elbows rested upon his bent knees. “A child was taken from the Parker Industries apartment tower. He is to be used as payment in some ritual or spell. Who has taken him and where can I find them?”
“Ah, abuse and then ask a favor,” Walimer nodded, as he climbed to his feet, brushing off his jacket. “I suppose I can’t expect better manners from a half-breed, but if…”
The blast of hellfire passed within an inch of the vampire’s nose. He flinched back; bring his hands up to protect his nose and the Ghost Rider’s metal hand clamped onto his throat.
“I have neither the time or patience for our usual verbal jousting,” He growled, his burning skull inches away from Walimer’s face. “So, I’ll be brief: if you mention my lineage again they will find your head on a stake atop the nearest waste recycling plant. You will tell me what I need to know or you and I will fly upwards and watch the sunrise together from the top of the Lieber memorial. Do you understand me?”
Walimer tried, uselessly to pry the fingers out of the flesh of his neck, while nodding vigorously.
“Good. Who took the child?”
“If I tell you…” Walimer started, before Ghost Rider tightening his grip cut off his voice.
“No bargaining, stalling, or clever remarks,” Ghost Rider told him. “Answer or suffer are your only options. Who took the child?”
“If she finds out I said anything, my life is…oh damn…!” Walimer mumbled.
“She…?” Ghost Rider breathed. “A ‘she’ that scares you as much as I do and an elaborate ritual…the Coven of Kalumai…!”
“I didn’t say it!” Walimer protested, nervously. “If anyone asks, I didn’t tell you anything!”
“What else can you ‘not’ tell me?” He asked, giving the vampire a shake.
“I never mentioned that they also robbed the museum on level sixty four. Okay…? Okay, no need to be torturing me…”
Ghost Rider let go of the stocky vampire’s throat, and absently dusted off his jacket.
“Now, Wally, you know I like you,” He muttered. “You’ll be one of the last monsters I kill.”
He straightened up and with a rush of wind flew off.
Walimer stood for a moment, stunned to find himself not horribly murdered, and then looked around at the rooftop.
“Wait! I gotta climb down on my own…? You jerk!”
# # # # # # # # # #
Ghost Rider raced through the city, the bits of information his reluctant informant gave him, enough to let him form a plan of action.
His earpiece buzzed.
“We’ve found something about the boy,” Blaze said.
“What?”
“On his mother’s side we can trace the bloodline to the Droom Family.”
“Droom…?” He muttered as he flew. “Why do I know that name?”
“The Droom’s have a history as occult scholars and investigators. The most notable member was the 20th century mystic, Doctor Anthony Droom…also know as…”
“Dr. Druid,” Ghost Rider finished for her.
“You know him?” She asked.
“I tend to remember most people that I’ve killed.” The monster hunter replied. “I’ve encountered a few other family members. They tend to still bear a grudge. The boy comes from a bloodline of mystics. Can you find out about a museum robbery on level sixty-four?”
“Where are you going?” Blaze asked. “Tracking shows you moving away from us.”
“I need to check on a few things,” He replied, swooping under a bridge and zigzagging between monorail trains.
# # # # # # # # # #
Despite his casual statement, the next few hours were taken up with making inquires among the supernatural community. There was another encounter with werewolves, he crashed a small cult gathering, battled with a water elemental at the fountain in a shopping mall and finished his quest off with a stop at a demon run book store where he was friends with the owner, but several of the customers attempted to kill him.
Flying sluggishly above a canal, his long coat now missing a sleeve, his right hand missing two robotic fingers and his shirt and pants spattered with blood and various other bodily fluids.
“Now that the sounds of death and dismemberment have ceased,” Blaze said in his earpiece. “Do you want to tell me what you’ve accomplished?”
“I know where the coven is meeting and translated the rest of the symbols,” He muttered in reply, both his robotic body and demonic mind were feeling the effects of nonstop hours of battle and racing about the vast city. “They are attempting a summoning.”
“Summoning who or should I say what?” Blaze asked.
“Kalumai was an ancient demonic entity,” Ghost Rider explained, in a listless voice. “He most often appeared on this plane of existence in the form of a goat-headed man and is responsible for numerous legends concerning witchcraft and the devil. He was banished from the earth after a battle with one of the Fear Lords and could only return using specially rendered portals…usually done with a blend of potions and some representation of his image…paintings were the most common object used…”
“Paintings…?” Blaze interrupted. “That robbery you asked me about, at the museum, along with some jewelry, several ancient paintings were stolen, including one entitled ‘Sheppard’s watch’, a landscape with several goats…”
“This night gets better by the minute,” Ghost Rider said, grating his steel teeth until it caused sparks.
“Your readings are dipping into the yellow,” Blaze informed him. “Perhaps you should come in, recharge and run a diagnostic…”
“No, if we don’t end this tonight, the Coven will go to ground and we won’t be able to stop them until it’s too late and the boy is dead and Kalumai is loose!”
“They are really going to try and summon this…devil god thing…?” Blaze asked, concerned and a little anxious.
“Yes,” Ghost Rider replied, leaning to avoid a pair of delivery drones, swooping around the corner of an office block and nearly colliding with a pair of sleek green armored figures.
“Guardsmen…!” Ghost Rider muttered, sliding to a halt. “Why did it have to be Guardsmen…?”
Both figures raised a gauntleted hand.
“Halt!” They intoned in unison. “You are in unlawful possession of Stark Technologies property…”
The rest of their statement was drowned out by Blaze’s voice in his earpiece.
“Guardsmen?” She exclaimed. “Damnit! I was so caught up in figuring out this craziness and wasn’t monitoring the Stark network…!”
“I’ll give you a stern talking to later,” Ghost Rider interrupted, cupping his hands and forming a ball of hellfire. It caused his damaged fingers to spark and the stubs to melt.”
“Stop! What are you doing?” Blaze demanded. “Don’t fight them. Run!”
“What?” Ghost Rider snapped.
“You know where the Coven is,” Blaze said. “We can deal with Stark Tech later. Now, go!”
Startled by his friend’s sudden burst of emotion, as well as the Guardsmen ending their threatening speech and beginning firing repulser blasts at him, Ghost Rider allowed the fireball to fade. Both shots missed him, but the Guardsmen used them as cover, while they moved to corner him.
Ghost Rider plummeted several stories to one of the multi-lane highways, and shot off, swerving through the traffic at blurring speeds.
“I’m on my way!” Ghost Rider announced, shouting to be heard over the rush of wind his passage. “You have a plan?”
“I always have a plan, you just never follow them.” Blaze countered.
“Now you decide to develop a sense of humor,” Ghost Rider muttered, ducking as a replusor beam blasted off one of the shoulder pads of his overcoat.
“Doesn’t this complicate matters, rather than fix things?”
“The priority is stopping the coven and saving the child,” Blaze explained. “Guardsmen operate from a security protocol A.I. If you let them follow you, I’m hoping that their hierarchal programming will decide that dealing with stolen goods and a kidnapped child will take precedent over hunting you for long enough to free you up to keep the devil from getting loose into the city.”
“I can’t really argue with that,” Ghost Rider shrugged and then flinched as several more replusor bolts flew past him.
The chase went on for several minutes, the trio racing between buildings, under and over bridges and through long strings of traffic.
Feeling the weight of his evenings efforts, as well as some rather bizarre multi-tasking, Ghost Rider took a turn too sharply and bounced off a wall, was nearly sandwiched between too massive trucks, drawing sparks, and then ricocheted off a delivery drone.
By the time the bland block of concrete that was the hoped for destination was in sight, Ghost Rider’s coat was in tatters, one arm hung limply at his side, the joints sparking, the flame around his metal skull was a weak flicker, rather than a roaring nimbus. And he was feeling a bit fed up and ready to let humanity fend for itself.
While dodging his pursuers, Ghost Rider spotted a boarded over skylight or maintenance hatch. A replusor blast struck him in the small of the back, nearly toppling him off his hover disk.
Realizing he didn’t have the time, energy or even patience to finesse a plan, Ghost Rider cranked his speed up and flew, full power at the, hopefully flimsier than it looked, covering.
He crashed through, lodging a jagged shard of plastic in his collar bone, while the rest of the debris rained down upon a very startled half dozen figures, all clad in grey, floor-length hooded robes.
He swooped though the crowd, knocking most of them off their feet and raced towards the makeshift alter. The stolen painting was propped against it, its picturesque scene rendered macabre by having been traced over in blood.
Looking around frantically, knowing he had seconds before the Guardsmen caught up to him, he spotted a boy, barely in his teens, alive but pale, shivering and still bleeding from a dozen cuts that decorated his chest.
Ghost Rider flew down, scooping him up with his one good arm.
“I’m going to take you home,” He said, in a surprisingly tender voice. “But, for the moment, stay where I put you and you might want to shut your eyes and cover your ears.”
The boy, nodded weakly, dazed and frightened, as they came down behind some dusty crates and tarp-covered objects.
“Good boy.” Ghost Rider nodded. “Now, I’m going to go hurt some people.”
He arced up over the crates, ready to join the fray.
Several of the Coven were struggling to complete the ritual, while the other three tried to deal with the frightening intruder that had snatched up their chosen sacrifice.
Being only minor mystics the magical bolts they hurled at the Ghost Rider didn’t accomplish much more then to spark off his metal body, cause a brief flicker of pain, and really annoy him.
He swooped down grabbing handfuls of grey cloth and then tossing the trio up towards the shattered skylight.
“Catch!” He called, as the cultists collided with the Guardsmen. Spells and replusor beams crossed and all five crashed to the concrete floor in an unruly heap.
Feeling satisfied with the results, Ghost Rider flew in a wide curve, avoiding the fallen combatants and rushed for the trio gathered at the painting.
The three grey-clad figures continued to chant, and the surface of the painting began to alter.
The paint dripped and ran, but instead of dripping downward it swirled, as though being drawn down some otherworldly drain. All the colors ran together, forming a nauseating red-black swirl that ran faster and faster.
Soon within the heavy gilded frame was a strange rippling grey hole in reality. Flickers of harsh light and the smell of sulfur drifted out.
Ghost Rider swooped down, leapt off his hover-disk and grabbed the nearest Coven member, twisting his head till his neck bones cracked audible.
He was reaching for the next one when a gust of wind, hot and harsh like a typhoon had struck a landfill blasted out from the painting and a pair of hands, large, leathery and the same shade of purple as a rotted plum reached out, grasping the picture frame to pull whatever foul creature was on the other side out.
Muscular arms followed and then a head leaned out, taking in the scene with eyes that burned like hot coals. A thin layer of purple skin had been stretched directly over the skull; the nose was merely two rude slits below the hateful eyes. A lantern jaw bristled with razor sharp, nicotine-colored teeth, most prominently a pair of dagger-sized tusks.
The creature was up it its waist in the picture frame and held out its large, taloned hands to the Coven members, who obediently reached out to help pull it into this reality.
Instead of accepted the offered hands, the creature grabbed hold of both there heads and with a faint grunt of effort, crashed their skulls like they were merely eggs.
It stepped out of the frame, wiped its hands on the grey robes and stood, glaring down at the Ghost Rider.
“Hello, Dad,” He said.
“Stephen,” The purple demon nodded in reply, its voice like a thousand nails scraping down a chalkboard.
“Please don’t call me that,” Ghost Rider muttered.
“You are my son, and we both are the union of man and demon,” His Father said, sitting down on the stone alter. “The house of Ketch stands strong and despite your ‘exile’ you are a valued member and will someday sit upon the obsidian throne and rule our little corner of the infernal kingdom.”
“We can talk about this another time,” Ghost Rider said, glancing over his shoulder and the quickly recovering Guardsmen and then back at his monstrous father. “You are not who I was expecting to meet tonight.”
“No, I figured Kalumai’s idiot followers were trying to summon him. Dolt’s were unaware the House of Ketch allied with the Fear Lords and their deity has spent the past century chained in a pit of filth in what used to be his own dungeons. Personally, I’ve had enough of the earthly plane and have no interest in subjugating it.”
“Good to hear,” Ghost Rider nodded.
“Though, I’d keep an eye out,” His Father advised, getting to his cloven-hoofed feet. “If the Coven was able to open a portal then the barriers between the realms are growing thin. Your next visitor might not view you with the same affection I do. I’ll seal the portal, be sure and destroy the painting after me.”
“I will.”
“Say hello to your mother for me,” The demon said, lowering himself, feet first, into the picture frame.
“Not talking much since she tried to kill me,” Ghost Rider shrugged.
“She’s always been spirited,” His father explained. “Farewell, my son.”
“Good-bye, father.”
The demon sunk into the rippling surface of the painting and was gone. The portal faded, returning to smeared canvas.
“What the hell was that all about?” Blaze exclaimed through his remaining earpiece.
Ghost Rider didn’t answer, but instead stepped up to the frame and gripped both sides. His hands blazed with hellfire and as the painting was being consumed with flame, Ghost Rider spun, striking the remaining functioning Guardsman with it. Frame and robot head both shattered into charred shards of varnished wood and plastic.
Ghost Rider dropped the remains of the picture frame and reached down into the neck hole of the Guardsman, yanking out a handful of circuit fibers.
The headless armored body collapsed to the floor.
“Um…Stephen…?” Blaze said. “You might want to get out of there. I’m getting an energy spike. You may have ruptured the power core. Guardsmen have a tendency to explode when too heavily battle damaged.”
“I don’t want to hear that name again,” Ghost Rider growled at her, Running and leaping onto his disk. He streaked across the warehouse, threw aside the tarp, scooped up the Droom boy and soared up and out the hole in the ceiling, seconds before the Guardsman blew up.
Despite the damage to his robotic body and the weariness he felt after the nights activity, the Ghost Rider looked down at the huddled form he held and thought it was all worth it.
Then the chunk of flying concrete struck him right between the shoulder blades, while a second one creased his metal skull and he blacked out before he and his young passenger hit the ground, seven stories down…
# # # # # # # # # #
He awoke to the hum of machinery and the wonder that he wasn’t dead or a twisted hunk of burnt machinery. A moment of concentration and effort and he was able to slowly sit up.
He was stripped to the waist and had numerous wires and probes attached to his torso. He blinked and held up his injured hand, pleased to discover he now had all five fingers back.
“Good morning,” Blaze said, walking into his field of vision. A clipboard hovered in front of her and she ticked off several things with a finger, before looking up at Ghost Rider.
“What happened?” He asked.
“Well, we have been able to completely re-assess the structural stress points of your body.” She nodded, the corner going up in the briefest of smiles.
“The Droom boy…?” He asked, tentatively, while bracing himself for the worst possible news.
“Alive and well,” She replied. “Though, in need of both a bit of physical and emotional therapy. We got him to a med center.”
“We? What happened? I fully expected to find myself back in my father’s realm…”
“Yes, we really need to talk about that at a later date,” Blaze said, looking with concern at the demonic cyborg. “But, no, you were in rough shape. If your friend hadn’t arrived when he did…”
“My friend…?” Ghost Rider muttered, looking around the room.
“Aye, that would be me,” A man said, stepping up to the diagnostic bench.
He was well over six feet tall, with broad, muscular shoulders, chest and arms and legs like tree-trunks.
He was clad in a short leather, green and orange kilt with a chest strap. His hair and beard were streaked with grey, but he still had a face full of boyish enthusiasm and love for life.
“Greetings, demon,” Hercules, the prince of power said. “I am glad I could aid you and now hope you will return the favor.”
To be continued…?
Author’s note: So, along with all the set up and world building, you get to find out what happened to that demon baby from Barry Reese’s run and hint at Champions M3K!
Yes, there were lots annoying ‘Oh, I’m a clever writer!’ hints to other stories that may or may not ever get mentioned again.
I didn’t want this to be just a one shot, but instead wanted it to feel like you’d just found a random issue of Ghost Ride M3K in a back issue box and decided to give it a try.
It was fun and challenging to create a new Ghost Rider and a little corner of the world for him to play in.
And yes, I do have a line up and a story idea for the M3K Champions that I would like to inflict on you guys someday.
The demonic hero stood upon his hover-disk, flames encircling his metallic skull. He leaned forward slightly, his shoulders hunched as he surveyed his predicament. His blue leather long coat fluttered in the breeze generated by the venting gasses of the chemical plant.
His entire ensemble was done in blue and grey; his coat, chainmail shirt, skintight pants, ankle-boots and gloves were all dark blue.
His chain belt, as well as the chains that criss-crossed his chest, and his metal skull and any hint of the limbs and body beneath glinted metallically in the moonlight that filtered in through the ceiling dome.
He raised a hand and flames came from his fingertips, further illuminating the cavernous building and his three savage assailants.
They were massive creatures, each standing over six feet tall, their workmen’s clothes, torn in the effort of containing their muscled, bestial forms.
Ghost Rider swooped and dodged the first werewolf, grabbing a handful of coarse fur at the back of its neck. He then shot up to the ceiling.
Holding the werewolf by the scruff of the neck, he shook it and then pulled it in closer to its flaming visage.
“Whose dog are you?” Ghost Rider asked with a steely growl, sounding half robot half angry demon.
“The Dark Pack is no one’s dog!” The werewolf snapped, enraged enough not to question the judgment of trying to bite a foes’ face off, when the face in question was on fire.
“Save your bravado for someone who cares,” Ghost Rider said, giving his captive a shake. “The pack and I have never been friends, but we at least had the respect to stay out of each others way. Your little sextant…well, trio by this point, was deliberately hunting me.”
He brought up his free hand and a ball of fire appeared in his palm.
“So, someone enticed you,” He said, in a quiet, dangerous tone. “The Brethren? Stark Tech? Don’t make me list all the individuals who’d want me dead. I doubt either of us that much time. Feel free to answer me or the Gray Pack becomes a duo.”
“You are an abomination!” The Werewolf growled. “It will be a pleasure to step over your broken body and spit on your…”
The Ghost Rider’s arm shot forward, jamming the fireball into the creature’s open mouth, and then clamped down, forcing the werewolf’s snout shut.
The beast’s eyes grew wide in a mix of anger and panic. It writhed in the Ghost Rider’s grip, as its tongue was roasted inside its mouth and he could feel the skin of its throat scorch and peel away from the tendon and bone. Its chest heaved and its limbs flailed desperately.
Ghost Rider tightened his grip, holding the werewolf securely as it roasted from the inside. Boiling fat trickled from the monster’s nostrils and tear ducts and its body went limp.
Ghost Rider dropped the corpse to the concrete floor forty feet below, at the feet of its stunned packmates.
His hover disk floated downwards, and Ghost Rider came to a halt in front of the werewolf duo. He swept his arm, creating a wall of flame at the exit door.
The creatures looked about anxiously, realizing that they were now trapped with the demonic creature rather than the other way around and were not at all confident in this change of ranking.
Ghost Rider hovered several feet above the body of the pack leader. He knelt down a bit to be eye to eye with the other two.
“Now, I have a few questions…” Ghost Rider said, his voice a menacing, metallic purr.
# # # # # # # # # #
The Ghost Rider was soon zooming away from the chemical plant and down one of the myriad roadways that criss-crossed the city.
The city was an extensive metropolis; large as the state it was once a part of. Towers of steel, glass and plastic brushed the sky, while the, always occupied, streets, monorail tracks, bridges and buildings stretched to the horizon.
The lower levels existed in almost perpetual shadow. The hum of ever-running machinery, viecles and people were the constant soundtrack of the city.
The streets were a constant parade of transports, ranging from tiny personal cars to massive trucks, each longer than a city block.
The macabre figure on the hover board zoomed along, zigzagging through traffic, going speedily between, above and occasionally underneath various viecles.
Turning abruptly, he cruised quickly down a narrow alley.
Feeling a vibration, he brought up his arm and pushed back his coat sleeve, exposing the shiny arm beneath. On a band encircling his wrist a red light was blinking. Slowing down at the mouth of the alley, he glanced both ways, before shooting across the sixteen-lane highway, heading directly for a steel wall.
Seconds before impact, Ghost Rider swiveled his hips, and the hover board shifted and he flew up the wall, over the top, across the roof and down the other side, landing on the roof of a hulking brown transport truck.
It more resembled three train cars hooked together and was hovering five feet above the road.
A portal in the roof of the truck irised open and Ghost Rider stepped off his hover board, tucked it under one arm and dropped down into the truck’s interior.
He landed in a narrow metal room with a plain metal bench wielded to one wall. A door slid open and a young woman, a head shorter than him, entered.
Her skin was milky white, her blonde hair was done up in a ponytail. She wore a yellow bodysuit with pouches down the legs.
She took a pencil-thin metal wand and waved it in front of Ghost Rider.
“We’re getting a lot of system warnings,” She said, absently, more intent on the display on her wristband. “You need to give the system time to process when you shift from using the tech to…”
“You can say it, Blaze,” Ghost Rider said, patiently, while she scanned him. “It’s not a dirty word. When I switch from using your machines to demon fire. It taxes this metal shell.”
“Don’t go blaming the workmanship,” She chided. “When your original body was destroyed the only way to save you was for that ‘sorcerer supreme’ character to salvage your…soul…demon essence…whatever you want to call it…was to transfer it into the robotic shell. You can’t treat it like a mode of transportation or just a weapon. It is your body now, you need to think of it that way.”
Ghost Rider nodded and flexed his arms, peering at his metal limbs thoughtfully.
Blaze, her exam complete, also nodded to herself, turned and exited the way she came in. Ghost Rider followed.
Down a narrow corridor, the duo came out into a crowded control room, the front wall taken up by a bank of screens. The sidewalls were lined with equipment panels and controls. There were two long banks of machinery. Sandwiched between them was a bulky metal throne, trailing wires.
Floating slowly about the room was a basketball-sized sphere-bot. It resembled an enormous eyeball.
It turned at the duo’s entrance and floated over to Ghost Rider.
“There were several stress warnings as well as energy surges…” It said, in a tinny, formal tone.
“Yes, I’ve already been given the lecture, Orb.” Ghost Rider said, waving away the eyeball. He went over to the metal chair, shrugged out of his overcoat, and then sat down.
Blaze came over, knelt down and began plugging the loose wires into ports in Ghost Rider’s arms and torso. He pulled off his gloves and placed his steel fingers in imprints in the arm. Lights and screens on the computer bank in front of him lit up.
“How many casualties?” The sphere-bot inquired.
“Eight…I think,” Ghost Rider muttered, then paused. “Or perhaps…no more than ten.”
“Did you learn anything about who is hunting you…us?” The young woman asked as she worked.
“There were not hunting me on their own imitative,” He replied, leaning back, as his body recharged and internal systems ran diagnostics. “They were in the employ of the Brethren.”
“So, not only do we have the Brethren, Stark Tech and whatever of your fellow demons are remaining in the city hunting us,” Blaze said, standing up. “But, all three have started acquiring agents to do their hunting for them.”
“Yes, yes, I have enemies,” Ghost Rider muttered, resting his head against the back of the chair and closing his eyes. “And they wish me dead. I’m a demon. These are tedious day-to-day occurrences for me. Is there some new information I should know about?”
“You seem awfully nonchalant for someone who has had been exiled from his home and stranded in a hostile environment where everyone wants your head,” the young scientist mused, as she adjusted controls.
“Obviously you’ve never been to the neither realms,” Ghost Rider said, lifting his head and opening his eyes. “And yes, I ruled over a small plot of land, but acquiring a kingdom and running one are two different things. I’ve always been more about the game than the prize. Which is perhaps while I’m so good at it and so irksome to my brother demons.”
“It’s about the having, not the getting.” Blaze said.
“Yes, good. I like that. I’ll have to remember it.” Ghost Rider nodded. “ It is trickier when I have to consider the safety of allies, as I do not have a great deal of experience in such matters, but that just makes it a bit more interesting. So, what now?”
“I have been tracking information,” The Orb said. “I believe I have began to track where Stark Tech is funneling the resources in their hunt to retrieve myself and your body. I have been recording the various newsfeeds, if you wish to view them while we see to your robotic form. Perhaps you might spot some supernatural activity we have missed.”
“Ah, yes, keeping my supernatural compatriots in line…my new vocation!” Ghost Rider nodded. “If I cannot have my old realm back, I can carve a new one amongst the shadowy pockets of beings that exist within your shining cities.”
He waved a hand in an imperious gesture.
“Show me your images.”
Blaze rolled her eyes and sighed, as though dealing with an impetutious child, reached over and touched a control.
A square of four screens in the middle of the wall lit up, running newsfeeds from numerous channels. Ghost Rider fixed his gaze upon them; internal computer systems within his metal skull worked with his demonic brain to process and analyze all the images streaming past his eyes.
He was at first surprised at this ability his robotic form granted him, and then took to it, like a child with a new toy.
“The attacks on the businesses on level seven are merely gang warfare,” He said, absently listing the facts he sifted out. “The ones on the trucks transporting goods between cities we should investigate, at least two of them hint at vampire activity, and a third show signs of …something more bestial.”
Both his allies were, in their own way, making lists of their own for potential future investigation.
“This Black Widow,” Ghost Rider continued. “Something about the deaths she’s left in her wake…? Stop that image in the top corner!”
Blaze and Orb both turned to look at him, questioningly.
“What is that? That crime scene.” Ghost Rider asked.
“Beswell Tower block,” The Orb replied, matter of factly. “The family of a mid-level Parker Industries executive. The family’s youngest child was kidnapped and the apartment suite was vandalized.”
“Those symbols scrawled on the wall…?” Ghost Rider asked, pointing at the screen.
“Graffiti,” Blaze suggested. “Believed to be gang signs. We’ve been running them through police records…”
“No. They are arcane symbols…part of some ritual…there is more going on here then some ransom scheme.” Ghost Rider said, unplugging himself from the diagnostic chair. “I need to see those markings.”
“Rerouting,” Orb said. It floated across to one of the control panels and settled into a bowl-shaped indentation that allowed him to plug directly into the mammoth truck that was the team’s home and base of operations and take control over the automotive systems that kept them rolling through the labyrinth of roads.
“Estimated arrival time seventeen minutes.”
“You recognize the symbols?” Blaze asked, getting up to help Ghost Rider disengage without damaging the equipment. “Is this the Brethren? They’ve been fairly quiet since they attempted to resurrect Baron Brimstone.”
“This is something…else,” Ghost Rider muttered, standing up and putting his overcoat back on. “Most of the symbols are fairly common, but a few…I know I’ve seen them, but can’t remember more than they are significant.”
He pulled on his gloves and then reached one hand out.
“To me my board!”
The hover disk, propped against the wall by the door, floated up several feet and then shot across the room to its owner.
“You don’t have to do that every time,” Blaze chided, not looking up from her keyboard. “Your body sends a silent control signal to the disk.”
Ghost Rider merely, and smugly, took hold of the board and tucked it under his arm.
# # # # # # # # # #
For all its size, the Ghost Rider’s mobile head quarters, was nondescript. One of many such transports that seemed to be a perpetual parade moving supplies through the city and out into the lands beyond.
As it passed within a block of the Beswell Tower, the circle hatch in the roof opened and Ghost Rider shot out, swerving between the surrounding buildings, floating ever upwards.
His internal systems mapped his progress, guiding him toward his destination, the seventy-forth floor. It was still dark, the family having relocated while the police investigation was in progress.
“Be careful entering,” Blaze’s voice sounded in his earpiece. “This is still an active police case. There may be a monitor drone stationed in the apartment.”
Ghost Rider nodded, as he studied the large plate window, before realizing she couldn’t see him and then tapped at his earpiece.
“There’s no sign of movement,” He said. “And I’m still not adept at inteterperting some of these signals, but can see no sign of unusual energy signatures.”
“My monitors confirm your view,” Orb added. “I am also detecting that the apartment’s security system has been set in passive monitoring.”
“So, be careful,” Blaze commented. “If the security system isn’t active, then either the police are expecting to return soon or…”
“It’s a trap,” Ghost Rider said. “Understood. Give me a moment. We’ll talk again when I’m inside.”
He pulled off a glove and pointed a finger at the edge of the window. A tongue of hellfire flared from the finger and he used it to trace around the edge of the window, plastic dribbled and melted, wires and circuitry were severed.
Pressing with his fingertips, Ghost Rider eased the large pane of plasti-glass and slid it aside, so he could squeeze through into the darkened apartment. He left his hover disk floating outside.
The room was a living room, large and tasteful, white walls with beige furnishings. Several pieces had been moved and then put back. Ghost Rider moved through the apartment, alert for any sign that the police or corporate security were still monitoring the crime scene, while studying the disarray caused by the kidnapping.
He found the missing boy’s room, the furniture left where it had been knocked over and the various symbols scrawled on the wall.
He scrapped at one with a metal fingertip.
“Doesn’t appear to be blood.” Orb intoned.
“It isn’t,” Ghost Rider said, quietly. He ran a gloved hand along the wall.
“Something about a payment…of the chosen time…this one in the middle has something to do with night…or a specific date.”
“The symbols are the ransom note?” Blaze asked. “Why demand payment, but put the note in, what’s basically, code?’ Inefficient way to get your money…?”
“Perhaps they did so as a message to specific individuals?’ The Orb commented.
“The kidnappers did this to get the attention of someone with enough arcane knowledge to be able to decipher the ransom note?” Blaze said. “That’s suspicious.”
“It’s not a ransom note,” Ghost Rider said, grimly. “They aren’t trying to get money in exchange for the boy. They have no intention of ever returning the child. This is a part of an incantation…a statement of intent. The boy is not a hostage, he is to be payment in some ritual…I haven’t deciphered it all…missing a few details. If I knew why this boy was chosen, that would give me the hint of what…whoever ‘they’ are hope to accomplish…?”
“We can get you information on the family,” Blaze said. “What else?”
“I have some ideas where I might find…” Ghost Rider started and then stopped, glancing over his shoulder at a muffled sound.
“Find what?”
Ghost Rider tapped his communicator off and turned to face the room. Nothing had changed; he saw the same disarrayed child’s room.
The noise came again, muffled, so most likely in another room. Footsteps, like a drunkard attempting to be stealthy.
Ghost Rider crept over to the door and leaned out, scanning the corridor, straining all his technologically enhanced demonic senses.
He stalked across the room, to investigate the other door, when it burst open and two zombies, in the uniforms of the buildings corporate security guards lunged out at him.
He tried to scramble back out of their reach, but grasping hands grabbed hold of his coat, keeping him from getting away. He swung and backhanded one, causing its head to turn completely around, while jabbing stiffened fingers into the throat of the other. His fingers sunk into the desiccated flesh. He yanked his hand free and then brought it down in a vicious chop across the zombies’ nose.
Cartilage and bone cracked and a thick, syrupy liquid leaked from its nostrils and eyes.
None of this stopped their progress and the two zombies tackled Ghost Rider, driving him to the floor, their bodies pinning his arms. The zombie with the broken nose snarled and sank its teeth into Ghost Rider’s neck.
Or attempted to, as its teeth shattered against his metal neck.
Ghost Rider lay still, assessing his attackers.
After several seconds of analysis, he opted with merely head butting the zombies. He then flung them away, sprung to his feet and summoned a handful of hellfire. He thrust it into the chest of the nearest zombie and kicked it away from him.
He leapt at the zombie with the twisted head, grabbed it and further twisted until the head tore loose from the body. Tucking the head under his arm, like a football, he shoulder blocked past the now headless zombie and jogged down the hallway and back to the living room, the undead security guards lumbering in erratic pursuit.
He tapped his earpiece with his free hand as he ran.
“I’ve encountered a complication,” He said, reaching the living room. He slacked his pace and just as the zombies were reaching for the back of his jacket, Ghost Rider leapt. He kicked at the window, knocking it loose from the casing, as he landed on his hover disk.
The large rectangle of plasti-glass and the two zombies then fell the seventy-four floors to the highway below.
“Do I want to know what that noise is?” Blaze sighed.
“I’m getting multiple alarms from the area,” Orb added.
“Never mind,” Blaze muttered.
“I need to put some distance between myself and the apartment,” Ghost Rider said, glancing about as he zipped between massive apartment towers. “The security drones have arrived and I think it’d be best if I avoid them.”
“What have you done and have you made matters better or worse?” Blaze asked.
“I’ve learned a few things,” Ghost Rider explained. “But things are worse than we thought.”
He clasped his arms to his sides and plummeted downwards, dangerously fast. Coming to n abrupt halt several feet above street level, he glided along, as his inner workings guided him to the truck’s location. Using the truck’s enormous body to block him from view of the other traffic, Ghost Rider activated a side door and flew inside.
The severed head was soon placed on a monitor plate and the three investigators were clustered around it.
“That is repulsive,” Blaze breathed.
“It explains why the security at the crime scene seemed so lax,” Ghost Rider commented. “They’d left security guards, but some one…or thing returned and converted them and then used them as a trap, perhaps, for anyone investigating the symbols they’d left behind.”
“But, why?” Blaze asked. “That doesn’t make sense. Why leave a ransom note almost no one can read and then leave…”
She gestured at the grey, sickly head on her console.
“ And have it attack whoever shows up to read the note, unless it was a trap for you?”
“It’s not a ransom note,” Ghost Rider snapped. “And it wasn’t a trap. It’s more a…um…statement of intent.”
He straightened up and moved from the console, pacing in the narrow aisle on the other side, as he talked.
“The boy hasn’t been kidnapped, there will be no ransom payment, as his abductors have no intention of returning him. They have taken him as payment in whatever ritual they are enacting.”
“What?” Blaze asked, concerned.
“Certain magics, whether dark or light, require a payment, either life force, soul energy or blood. I don’t know all the details, but judging from the zombies, I would guess we are dealing with dark magic.”
“But, why leave the message, basically, announcing what they are up to?” Blaze asked, her natural curiosity overriding her discomfort at the nearby severed head, as well as her skepticism concerning the supernatural.
“Magic is built around ritual,” Ghost Rider explained, his posture indicating a particularly bizarre college lecturer. “The symbols are not the kidnappers announcing their intentions, but a piece of the larger process. As they progress there will be other makers and scrawled incantations.”
“That will give us something else to track,” The Orb suggested. “We can tap into the public safety monitoring net and scan for more of those symbols.”
“Good,” Blaze nodded. “What else?”
“I have some ideas,” Ghost Rider said, raising his hand. “To me, my board!”
# # # # # # # # # #
As peaceful and productive as the city was, how it kept its vast population safe and secure, its towers touching the sky meant that the lower levels existed in almost perpetual shadow.
If you went down far enough, you would encounter a melting pot of flotsam and jetsome of the utopian society: the malcontents, both human and mutant, the drudges, the dysfunctional and the monsters.
For a vampire it was a land of opportunity, vast stretches of never-ending night, a million dark corners to stalk your prey from, and a vast parade of potential food sources that would cause no notice if they were to vanish.
Walimer Church huddled in the corner formed by the bases of two herculean skyscrapers. The ledge on the second floor was a perfect perch to watch, while remaining unseen. He was short, and broad in build, more stocky, with blunt fingered hands and dark, unkempt hair.
He had marked the red head from the food station as the one to nudge from the ‘herd’ and feed upon. He focused his senses until he could hear the pounding of her heart from this distance. He licked his lips and smiled, revealing over-sized canines.
He shifted his stance, preparing to descend when a hand grabbed hold of the collar of his jacket and yanked him up into the air, striking the wall on the way up.
“Good evening, Wally,” Ghost Rider said, as they flew up several levels. “Sorry to interrupt you at dinner, but I need to have a word.”
“Do not call me that!” the vampire grumbled, before hitting a roof edge and scraping against the wall above it. “If you want a favor, you could try harder not to kill me!”
He was unceremoniously dumped on the gravel and debris strewn roof of a storage facility. He rolled onto his back, spitting out gravel and then glaring up at Ghost Rider.
“I hate you.” He declared.
“Yes, I know,” Ghost Rider nodded. He hovered above the vampire, squatting down so his elbows rested upon his bent knees. “A child was taken from the Parker Industries apartment tower. He is to be used as payment in some ritual or spell. Who has taken him and where can I find them?”
“Ah, abuse and then ask a favor,” Walimer nodded, as he climbed to his feet, brushing off his jacket. “I suppose I can’t expect better manners from a half-breed, but if…”
The blast of hellfire passed within an inch of the vampire’s nose. He flinched back; bring his hands up to protect his nose and the Ghost Rider’s metal hand clamped onto his throat.
“I have neither the time or patience for our usual verbal jousting,” He growled, his burning skull inches away from Walimer’s face. “So, I’ll be brief: if you mention my lineage again they will find your head on a stake atop the nearest waste recycling plant. You will tell me what I need to know or you and I will fly upwards and watch the sunrise together from the top of the Lieber memorial. Do you understand me?”
Walimer tried, uselessly to pry the fingers out of the flesh of his neck, while nodding vigorously.
“Good. Who took the child?”
“If I tell you…” Walimer started, before Ghost Rider tightening his grip cut off his voice.
“No bargaining, stalling, or clever remarks,” Ghost Rider told him. “Answer or suffer are your only options. Who took the child?”
“If she finds out I said anything, my life is…oh damn…!” Walimer mumbled.
“She…?” Ghost Rider breathed. “A ‘she’ that scares you as much as I do and an elaborate ritual…the Coven of Kalumai…!”
“I didn’t say it!” Walimer protested, nervously. “If anyone asks, I didn’t tell you anything!”
“What else can you ‘not’ tell me?” He asked, giving the vampire a shake.
“I never mentioned that they also robbed the museum on level sixty four. Okay…? Okay, no need to be torturing me…”
Ghost Rider let go of the stocky vampire’s throat, and absently dusted off his jacket.
“Now, Wally, you know I like you,” He muttered. “You’ll be one of the last monsters I kill.”
He straightened up and with a rush of wind flew off.
Walimer stood for a moment, stunned to find himself not horribly murdered, and then looked around at the rooftop.
“Wait! I gotta climb down on my own…? You jerk!”
# # # # # # # # # #
Ghost Rider raced through the city, the bits of information his reluctant informant gave him, enough to let him form a plan of action.
His earpiece buzzed.
“We’ve found something about the boy,” Blaze said.
“What?”
“On his mother’s side we can trace the bloodline to the Droom Family.”
“Droom…?” He muttered as he flew. “Why do I know that name?”
“The Droom’s have a history as occult scholars and investigators. The most notable member was the 20th century mystic, Doctor Anthony Droom…also know as…”
“Dr. Druid,” Ghost Rider finished for her.
“You know him?” She asked.
“I tend to remember most people that I’ve killed.” The monster hunter replied. “I’ve encountered a few other family members. They tend to still bear a grudge. The boy comes from a bloodline of mystics. Can you find out about a museum robbery on level sixty-four?”
“Where are you going?” Blaze asked. “Tracking shows you moving away from us.”
“I need to check on a few things,” He replied, swooping under a bridge and zigzagging between monorail trains.
# # # # # # # # # #
Despite his casual statement, the next few hours were taken up with making inquires among the supernatural community. There was another encounter with werewolves, he crashed a small cult gathering, battled with a water elemental at the fountain in a shopping mall and finished his quest off with a stop at a demon run book store where he was friends with the owner, but several of the customers attempted to kill him.
Flying sluggishly above a canal, his long coat now missing a sleeve, his right hand missing two robotic fingers and his shirt and pants spattered with blood and various other bodily fluids.
“Now that the sounds of death and dismemberment have ceased,” Blaze said in his earpiece. “Do you want to tell me what you’ve accomplished?”
“I know where the coven is meeting and translated the rest of the symbols,” He muttered in reply, both his robotic body and demonic mind were feeling the effects of nonstop hours of battle and racing about the vast city. “They are attempting a summoning.”
“Summoning who or should I say what?” Blaze asked.
“Kalumai was an ancient demonic entity,” Ghost Rider explained, in a listless voice. “He most often appeared on this plane of existence in the form of a goat-headed man and is responsible for numerous legends concerning witchcraft and the devil. He was banished from the earth after a battle with one of the Fear Lords and could only return using specially rendered portals…usually done with a blend of potions and some representation of his image…paintings were the most common object used…”
“Paintings…?” Blaze interrupted. “That robbery you asked me about, at the museum, along with some jewelry, several ancient paintings were stolen, including one entitled ‘Sheppard’s watch’, a landscape with several goats…”
“This night gets better by the minute,” Ghost Rider said, grating his steel teeth until it caused sparks.
“Your readings are dipping into the yellow,” Blaze informed him. “Perhaps you should come in, recharge and run a diagnostic…”
“No, if we don’t end this tonight, the Coven will go to ground and we won’t be able to stop them until it’s too late and the boy is dead and Kalumai is loose!”
“They are really going to try and summon this…devil god thing…?” Blaze asked, concerned and a little anxious.
“Yes,” Ghost Rider replied, leaning to avoid a pair of delivery drones, swooping around the corner of an office block and nearly colliding with a pair of sleek green armored figures.
“Guardsmen…!” Ghost Rider muttered, sliding to a halt. “Why did it have to be Guardsmen…?”
Both figures raised a gauntleted hand.
“Halt!” They intoned in unison. “You are in unlawful possession of Stark Technologies property…”
The rest of their statement was drowned out by Blaze’s voice in his earpiece.
“Guardsmen?” She exclaimed. “Damnit! I was so caught up in figuring out this craziness and wasn’t monitoring the Stark network…!”
“I’ll give you a stern talking to later,” Ghost Rider interrupted, cupping his hands and forming a ball of hellfire. It caused his damaged fingers to spark and the stubs to melt.”
“Stop! What are you doing?” Blaze demanded. “Don’t fight them. Run!”
“What?” Ghost Rider snapped.
“You know where the Coven is,” Blaze said. “We can deal with Stark Tech later. Now, go!”
Startled by his friend’s sudden burst of emotion, as well as the Guardsmen ending their threatening speech and beginning firing repulser blasts at him, Ghost Rider allowed the fireball to fade. Both shots missed him, but the Guardsmen used them as cover, while they moved to corner him.
Ghost Rider plummeted several stories to one of the multi-lane highways, and shot off, swerving through the traffic at blurring speeds.
“I’m on my way!” Ghost Rider announced, shouting to be heard over the rush of wind his passage. “You have a plan?”
“I always have a plan, you just never follow them.” Blaze countered.
“Now you decide to develop a sense of humor,” Ghost Rider muttered, ducking as a replusor beam blasted off one of the shoulder pads of his overcoat.
“Doesn’t this complicate matters, rather than fix things?”
“The priority is stopping the coven and saving the child,” Blaze explained. “Guardsmen operate from a security protocol A.I. If you let them follow you, I’m hoping that their hierarchal programming will decide that dealing with stolen goods and a kidnapped child will take precedent over hunting you for long enough to free you up to keep the devil from getting loose into the city.”
“I can’t really argue with that,” Ghost Rider shrugged and then flinched as several more replusor bolts flew past him.
The chase went on for several minutes, the trio racing between buildings, under and over bridges and through long strings of traffic.
Feeling the weight of his evenings efforts, as well as some rather bizarre multi-tasking, Ghost Rider took a turn too sharply and bounced off a wall, was nearly sandwiched between too massive trucks, drawing sparks, and then ricocheted off a delivery drone.
By the time the bland block of concrete that was the hoped for destination was in sight, Ghost Rider’s coat was in tatters, one arm hung limply at his side, the joints sparking, the flame around his metal skull was a weak flicker, rather than a roaring nimbus. And he was feeling a bit fed up and ready to let humanity fend for itself.
While dodging his pursuers, Ghost Rider spotted a boarded over skylight or maintenance hatch. A replusor blast struck him in the small of the back, nearly toppling him off his hover disk.
Realizing he didn’t have the time, energy or even patience to finesse a plan, Ghost Rider cranked his speed up and flew, full power at the, hopefully flimsier than it looked, covering.
He crashed through, lodging a jagged shard of plastic in his collar bone, while the rest of the debris rained down upon a very startled half dozen figures, all clad in grey, floor-length hooded robes.
He swooped though the crowd, knocking most of them off their feet and raced towards the makeshift alter. The stolen painting was propped against it, its picturesque scene rendered macabre by having been traced over in blood.
Looking around frantically, knowing he had seconds before the Guardsmen caught up to him, he spotted a boy, barely in his teens, alive but pale, shivering and still bleeding from a dozen cuts that decorated his chest.
Ghost Rider flew down, scooping him up with his one good arm.
“I’m going to take you home,” He said, in a surprisingly tender voice. “But, for the moment, stay where I put you and you might want to shut your eyes and cover your ears.”
The boy, nodded weakly, dazed and frightened, as they came down behind some dusty crates and tarp-covered objects.
“Good boy.” Ghost Rider nodded. “Now, I’m going to go hurt some people.”
He arced up over the crates, ready to join the fray.
Several of the Coven were struggling to complete the ritual, while the other three tried to deal with the frightening intruder that had snatched up their chosen sacrifice.
Being only minor mystics the magical bolts they hurled at the Ghost Rider didn’t accomplish much more then to spark off his metal body, cause a brief flicker of pain, and really annoy him.
He swooped down grabbing handfuls of grey cloth and then tossing the trio up towards the shattered skylight.
“Catch!” He called, as the cultists collided with the Guardsmen. Spells and replusor beams crossed and all five crashed to the concrete floor in an unruly heap.
Feeling satisfied with the results, Ghost Rider flew in a wide curve, avoiding the fallen combatants and rushed for the trio gathered at the painting.
The three grey-clad figures continued to chant, and the surface of the painting began to alter.
The paint dripped and ran, but instead of dripping downward it swirled, as though being drawn down some otherworldly drain. All the colors ran together, forming a nauseating red-black swirl that ran faster and faster.
Soon within the heavy gilded frame was a strange rippling grey hole in reality. Flickers of harsh light and the smell of sulfur drifted out.
Ghost Rider swooped down, leapt off his hover-disk and grabbed the nearest Coven member, twisting his head till his neck bones cracked audible.
He was reaching for the next one when a gust of wind, hot and harsh like a typhoon had struck a landfill blasted out from the painting and a pair of hands, large, leathery and the same shade of purple as a rotted plum reached out, grasping the picture frame to pull whatever foul creature was on the other side out.
Muscular arms followed and then a head leaned out, taking in the scene with eyes that burned like hot coals. A thin layer of purple skin had been stretched directly over the skull; the nose was merely two rude slits below the hateful eyes. A lantern jaw bristled with razor sharp, nicotine-colored teeth, most prominently a pair of dagger-sized tusks.
The creature was up it its waist in the picture frame and held out its large, taloned hands to the Coven members, who obediently reached out to help pull it into this reality.
Instead of accepted the offered hands, the creature grabbed hold of both there heads and with a faint grunt of effort, crashed their skulls like they were merely eggs.
It stepped out of the frame, wiped its hands on the grey robes and stood, glaring down at the Ghost Rider.
“Hello, Dad,” He said.
“Stephen,” The purple demon nodded in reply, its voice like a thousand nails scraping down a chalkboard.
“Please don’t call me that,” Ghost Rider muttered.
“You are my son, and we both are the union of man and demon,” His Father said, sitting down on the stone alter. “The house of Ketch stands strong and despite your ‘exile’ you are a valued member and will someday sit upon the obsidian throne and rule our little corner of the infernal kingdom.”
“We can talk about this another time,” Ghost Rider said, glancing over his shoulder and the quickly recovering Guardsmen and then back at his monstrous father. “You are not who I was expecting to meet tonight.”
“No, I figured Kalumai’s idiot followers were trying to summon him. Dolt’s were unaware the House of Ketch allied with the Fear Lords and their deity has spent the past century chained in a pit of filth in what used to be his own dungeons. Personally, I’ve had enough of the earthly plane and have no interest in subjugating it.”
“Good to hear,” Ghost Rider nodded.
“Though, I’d keep an eye out,” His Father advised, getting to his cloven-hoofed feet. “If the Coven was able to open a portal then the barriers between the realms are growing thin. Your next visitor might not view you with the same affection I do. I’ll seal the portal, be sure and destroy the painting after me.”
“I will.”
“Say hello to your mother for me,” The demon said, lowering himself, feet first, into the picture frame.
“Not talking much since she tried to kill me,” Ghost Rider shrugged.
“She’s always been spirited,” His father explained. “Farewell, my son.”
“Good-bye, father.”
The demon sunk into the rippling surface of the painting and was gone. The portal faded, returning to smeared canvas.
“What the hell was that all about?” Blaze exclaimed through his remaining earpiece.
Ghost Rider didn’t answer, but instead stepped up to the frame and gripped both sides. His hands blazed with hellfire and as the painting was being consumed with flame, Ghost Rider spun, striking the remaining functioning Guardsman with it. Frame and robot head both shattered into charred shards of varnished wood and plastic.
Ghost Rider dropped the remains of the picture frame and reached down into the neck hole of the Guardsman, yanking out a handful of circuit fibers.
The headless armored body collapsed to the floor.
“Um…Stephen…?” Blaze said. “You might want to get out of there. I’m getting an energy spike. You may have ruptured the power core. Guardsmen have a tendency to explode when too heavily battle damaged.”
“I don’t want to hear that name again,” Ghost Rider growled at her, Running and leaping onto his disk. He streaked across the warehouse, threw aside the tarp, scooped up the Droom boy and soared up and out the hole in the ceiling, seconds before the Guardsman blew up.
Despite the damage to his robotic body and the weariness he felt after the nights activity, the Ghost Rider looked down at the huddled form he held and thought it was all worth it.
Then the chunk of flying concrete struck him right between the shoulder blades, while a second one creased his metal skull and he blacked out before he and his young passenger hit the ground, seven stories down…
# # # # # # # # # #
He awoke to the hum of machinery and the wonder that he wasn’t dead or a twisted hunk of burnt machinery. A moment of concentration and effort and he was able to slowly sit up.
He was stripped to the waist and had numerous wires and probes attached to his torso. He blinked and held up his injured hand, pleased to discover he now had all five fingers back.
“Good morning,” Blaze said, walking into his field of vision. A clipboard hovered in front of her and she ticked off several things with a finger, before looking up at Ghost Rider.
“What happened?” He asked.
“Well, we have been able to completely re-assess the structural stress points of your body.” She nodded, the corner going up in the briefest of smiles.
“The Droom boy…?” He asked, tentatively, while bracing himself for the worst possible news.
“Alive and well,” She replied. “Though, in need of both a bit of physical and emotional therapy. We got him to a med center.”
“We? What happened? I fully expected to find myself back in my father’s realm…”
“Yes, we really need to talk about that at a later date,” Blaze said, looking with concern at the demonic cyborg. “But, no, you were in rough shape. If your friend hadn’t arrived when he did…”
“My friend…?” Ghost Rider muttered, looking around the room.
“Aye, that would be me,” A man said, stepping up to the diagnostic bench.
He was well over six feet tall, with broad, muscular shoulders, chest and arms and legs like tree-trunks.
He was clad in a short leather, green and orange kilt with a chest strap. His hair and beard were streaked with grey, but he still had a face full of boyish enthusiasm and love for life.
“Greetings, demon,” Hercules, the prince of power said. “I am glad I could aid you and now hope you will return the favor.”
To be continued…?
Author’s note: So, along with all the set up and world building, you get to find out what happened to that demon baby from Barry Reese’s run and hint at Champions M3K!
Yes, there were lots annoying ‘Oh, I’m a clever writer!’ hints to other stories that may or may not ever get mentioned again.
I didn’t want this to be just a one shot, but instead wanted it to feel like you’d just found a random issue of Ghost Ride M3K in a back issue box and decided to give it a try.
It was fun and challenging to create a new Ghost Rider and a little corner of the world for him to play in.
And yes, I do have a line up and a story idea for the M3K Champions that I would like to inflict on you guys someday.