The violent rolling of the sports car finally came to a shuddering stop. Metal groaned one final time as the vehicle settled into its new, unnatural orientation.
The airbags positioned on the sides of the doors and in the center of the steering wheel had inflated rapidly upon impact, expanding with explosive force to cushion the driver. Now they slowly deflated, making constant hissing sounds as compressed air escaped through torn seams. The deflation was oddly loud in the sudden silence following the crash.
Strange, suspended upside down in the driver's seat by his seatbelt like some grotesque marionette, seemed to make no sound at all. His body hung limp, head lolling forward, arms dangling toward the crushed roof below.
After a long moment during which the world remained still and quiet, he suddenly coughed violently. A large mouthful of thick, dark blood erupted from between his mouth and nose, spattering across the deployed airbag and dripping downward in long strings.
He gasped desperately, dragging air into lungs that felt compressed and burning. The breath was ragged, wet-sounding, possibly indicating internal injuries.
Only then did consciousness finally claw its way back from the darkness. He woke from his brief but total loss of awareness, pulled back to terrible reality by pain and the body's desperate need for oxygen.
At this moment, Strange, who found himself moaning subconsciously through clenched teeth, felt his entire brain seem to roar violently. The sound was internal, a pressure and ringing that suggested concussion or worse.
Every single inch of his body felt as though it had been soaked in formalin solution, that terrible preservative chemical that burned and stung. Endless pain continuously penetrated through muscle tissue, radiating outward in waves of burning agony that seemed to originate from everywhere at once.
His ribs screamed. His spine felt wrong. His shoulders were displaced. Everything hurt with an intensity he'd never experienced, not even during his most grueling surgical marathons.
Strange forcefully pried open his rapidly swelling eyelids, fighting against the natural response of his body trying to protect damaged eyes. He needed to see, needed to understand his situation despite the cost.
He looked at everything within his limited sight in a hazy, unfocused manner. The world swam with doubled images and strange halos around lights. Possible retinal damage. Definitely concussion.
He attempted to stretch out one palm to retrieve the phone that had fallen from the passenger seat, now resting near his head on the car's crushed ceiling. If he could just reach it, just call for help.
But he found that his hands couldn't summon any strength whatsoever. The fingers twitched uselessly, refusing to close into a grip. The tendons wouldn't respond to commands from his brain.
The realization crashed over him with devastating force.
"What's wrong with my hands? My hands..." Strange's voice broke, cracking on the words. Terror replaced pain as the dominant emotion. "My hands...ugh."
The surgeon began to cry like a child who had just lost his most beloved toy, tears mixing with blood on his face. But it was so much worse than any toy. His hands were his identity, his livelihood, his purpose. Without them, he was nothing.
Strange's thoughts became instantly confused and scattered, panic overwhelming reason. He couldn't even properly process the loss enough to continue crying. The grief was too large, too immediate, too catastrophic.
Outside the wreckage, something else was happening.
A heavy motorcycle with blazing flames wrapped entirely around its frame looked as though it was driving straight out of Hell itself, manifested from some infernal realm. The machine moved with purpose despite its rider's apparent internal struggle.
A burning skid mark was left scorched into the snow-white road surface, the heat intense enough to melt ice and char asphalt in a long, smoking line.
Immediately afterward, the rider dismounted with fluid grace. A man wearing punk-style leather jacket and pants that should have burned away in the flames but somehow remained intact. A large circle of heavy black chains was wrapped around his broad shoulders, the links clinking together with metallic sounds.
The terrifying figure's most distinctive feature was immediately apparent. Where a human head should be, there was instead a blazing skull wreathed in hellfire. Flames danced across bone, tongues of fire licking upward into the night air.
The flaming skull head turned with terrible purpose, staring directly at the wreckage of the sports car that had crashed and rolled to rest nearby. Empty eye sockets that should have been dark instead contained condensed firelight, burning points of hellish illumination that continuously expanded and contracted like breathing lungs.
"Judge... all sins!" The voice that emerged from the skull was inhuman, resonant with supernatural power.
But then it changed, shifting to something more human, more desperate.
"Everyone who hears these words, run! Get away from me! I can't control it anymore... Zarathos is taking over... I'm almost completely lost!"
The voice shifted again, becoming darker, more ancient, filled with terrible purpose.
"All men are born guilty! All carry the stain of original sin!"
"Run! Please, you have to run! Go and evacuate any people gathered nearby..." The human voice was back, pleading now, fighting for control.
"Launch eternal revenge upon all things in this world that betrayed the divine order!" The ancient voice roared with righteous fury.
"Zarathos! Wake up, damn you! This is not the war of the ancients! This is not your time! It's Mephisto's conspiracy, can't you see? We're being manipulated..."
At the same moment, synchronized with the expansion and contraction of the firelight burning in those empty eye sockets, two completely different voices repeatedly erupted from the depths of the terrifying figure's flaming skull. The sounds overlapped, competed, created a disturbing harmony of conflicting wills.
It seemed clear that two entirely separate entities were locked in constant battle for control of the terrifying figure's body and actions. One voice human, tortured, trying to warn others. The other inhuman, ancient, driven by purposes beyond mortal understanding.
At this moment, Strange, who was desperately trying to keep his swollen eyelids open despite the pain and difficulty, found he could barely draw breath. His chest felt tight, compressed, each inhalation a struggle.
He seemed to have temporarily forgotten the severe pain radiating throughout his entire body, terror overriding even that considerable discomfort. Adrenaline flooded his system, granting temporary clarity.
His only thought, the single impulse driving him, was to somehow untie the seatbelt binding his suspended body and escape from this impossible nightmare as quickly as humanly possible.
However, just as the panicked Strange attempted to use his trembling fingers that possessed virtually no remaining strength, trying desperately to locate and press the seatbelt release button through touch alone since his vision was too compromised to trust, everything changed again.
Accompanied by waves of absolutely terrifying flames rising into the sky like pillars of hellfire, fire that seemed to carry intent and malice, as though it was going to consume and burn everything in the surrounding area to ash, something catastrophic occurred.
An immensely powerful explosion suddenly erupted from inside the Ghost Rider's tall body. The blast originated from within, from the conflict between the two warring entities, expanding outward with devastating force.
The shockwave hit like a physical blow. The wreckage of the sports car that had already overturned on the ground not far away was violently flipped once again by the explosive force. Metal shrieked as it was torn further. Glass that had survived the initial crash finally shattered completely.
And this sudden rolling collision, this second traumatic impact following so soon after the first, proved too much for Strange's already battered body and mind.
The surgeon, who had been fighting desperately to remain conscious, who had no defenses left to mount against this new assault, fell completely into deep unconsciousness. His body went limp in the seatbelt, awareness simply ceasing as his brain protected itself the only way it could.
At this precise moment, before the Ghost Rider could advance toward the crashed vehicle or the flames could spread further, a portal erupted into existence. The circular gateway featured large numbers of golden sparks sputtering and crackling around its edges, defining the boundary between here and somewhere else entirely.
The portal opened rapidly on the desolate snowy landscape nearby, casting warm light across the white ground.
The very next second, a strong black man holding an impressive magical weapon and a long staff stepped through the portal first. His movements were confident, practiced, those of someone who had performed this action countless times.
His appearance was immediately commanding. Dark skin, shaved head, intense eyes that took in the entire scene in a sweeping glance. He wore the traditional robes of Kamar-Taj, the garments somehow managing to look both ancient and practical.
Then additional figures rushed out of the portal behind him in quick succession. Men and women of various ages and ethnicities, all holding different melee weapons in their ready hands. Mystical blades, enchanted staffs, weapons that glowed with barely contained power.
The strong black man with his resolute expression first directed his gaze toward the terrifying figure that continued erupting with heavy fire. Shock flickered briefly across his features, quickly suppressed beneath professional focus. Whatever he'd been expecting, this was worse.
Immediately, his eyes turned slightly, falling upon the wreckage of the nearly completely destroyed sports car. He took in the scene in an instant, made his tactical assessment with practiced speed.
His voice rang out with clear authority, cutting through the chaos.
"All official sorcerers, step forward immediately! Prepare the Mirror Dimension and attempt to form a suppression array around the Ghost Rider! We need to contain this before it spreads!"
He continued issuing commands without pause.
"Training sorcerers and apprentices are strictly prohibited from joining this battle. You are not ready for this level of threat. Your only task is to contact Kamar-Taj as quickly as possible and request that Master Ancient One dispatch additional high-level sorcerers for reinforcement!"
His gaze swept to the crashed vehicle.
"Someone check if that mortal survived the crash! If he's alive, save him immediately! Even if he has already died, preserve his body! We cannot leave evidence for the mundane authorities to discover!"
The black man raised his magical weapon high, the staff catching firelight and reflecting it in complex patterns.
"The sorcerer of the New York Sanctum... follow me into battle!"
Before his final words had even finished echoing across the desolate landscape, the long magical weapon held firmly in his palm suddenly began dancing with threads of red energy. The power coiled and writhed like living serpents, responding to his will.
In the blink of an eye, the magical bindings quickly entangled themselves around the Ghost Rider, who let out a terrifying roar of rage and defiance as he felt the mystical restraints taking hold.
Click, click, click!
The sound was distinctive, almost mechanical despite its supernatural origin. Layers of crackling Mirror Dimension space quickly began enveloping the surrounding desolate scene. Reality fractured like breaking glass, each shard reflecting a slightly different version of the landscape.
The mystical barrier virtually shielded the entire area from any potential disturbance or observation from the outside world. Anyone looking at this spot from a distance would see nothing unusual, reality seamlessly covering the supernatural conflict.
In just a few dozen seconds of coordinated action from the trained Kamar-Taj mages, working in perfect synchronization, there were no more visible fires or explosions shooting dramatically into the sky around the entire suburban road.
It was as if everything that had happened before, all the violence and impossibility, had completely ceased to exist in the normal world.
The battle continued, but now it raged in a pocket dimension where collateral damage was impossible.
Underground base.
The transition from supernatural chaos to mundane comfort was jarring, the shift in setting nearly whiplash-inducing.
Jessica, who was wearing nothing but a blue hospital gown that had been hastily thrown over her fully healed body, was currently positioned next to the familiar metal round table in the base's common area. She was absolutely devouring a plate of fragrant Glocks steak that had been prepared specially for her return.
Drops of rich oil and meat juice flowed down her slender fingers into her palm with each enthusiastic bite. But rather than wasting even a drop, the excess was immediately licked back into her bulging, food-filled mouth by a pink tongue that darted out with practiced efficiency.
"Mmm mmm... it smells so good! Tastes even better!" Jessica managed to say around her full mouth, words barely comprehensible. "When I was lying uselessly in that hospital bed for weeks, this is what I missed the most. Real food, not that bland hospital garbage..."
Jessica, who was chewing with dedicated enthusiasm, blinked her eyes that were almost curved into happy crescent moons. Pure contentment radiated from every line of her body.
She couldn't help but make vague sounds of praise between bites, practically humming with satisfaction.
"Well, eat up, enjoy it while you can," Nolan responded from across the table without even bothering to raise his head from the Imperial text he was currently studying. His tone was calm, almost amused, carrying the gentle mockery of a mentor who knew exactly what awaited his student.
"When you are completely drained of your last bit of physical strength by the absolutely brutal training regimen I have planned, when every muscle in your body is screaming and you can barely stand, you will find yourself nostalgically missing these peaceful days of lying in a comfortable hospital bed with nothing to do."
Nolan continued reading, utterly absorbed in the dense Imperial Gothic text.
"Hey, wait." At this moment, Nolan seemed to suddenly remember something important. He blinked, processing the thought, then looked up from his book to focus on Jessica's position across the table. "By the way, where is that good friend of yours? Trish, wasn't it? Didn't you previously say you wanted to recruit her, bring her into our organization?"
Hearing Nolan's question directed at her, Jessica quickly attempted to swallow the large mouthful of food she'd been working on. The chunk was perhaps too ambitious.
She rolled her eyes as the meat caught in her throat, clearly choking. Her face reddened slightly as she had to pound her own chest hard several times with a closed fist to dislodge the obstruction.
After finally managing to swallow and letting out a long, relieved breath that suggested she'd been closer to actual danger than she'd like, Jessica turned to Nolan with a helpless expression written across her features.
"Uh... sorry, boss. Trish's little heart just couldn't bear any more stimulation and stress. She's almost scared silly by everything she witnessed." Jessica's tone carried genuine regret mixed with understanding. "The poor girl is traumatized."
She continued explaining, wanting Nolan to understand the situation fully.
"If she had only encountered supernatural monsters like normal vampires, the kind of thing you see in movies, she probably wouldn't be quite so psychologically damaged. She could have processed that, eventually. But your subsequent extermination operations against the entire vampire nest, and then the continuous influence of news coverage and public opinion about what happened, the government investigations, all of it together... she no longer has any thoughts whatsoever of joining our team."
Jessica paused, then added quickly with emphasis, "But you can rest completely assured, boss. Trish basically doesn't know any truly sensitive operational information. She saw things, yes, but she doesn't understand what she saw. And more importantly, she definitely won't reveal anything to the outside world. I trust her completely on that."
Hearing Jessica's repeated assurances about her friend's discretion and reliability, Nolan's face showed absolutely no emotional changes. His expression remained perfectly neutral, unbothered.
"Even if she did tell everyone she encountered, described everything in perfect detail to authorities or media, it honestly wouldn't be that big of a problem." Nolan's tone was matter-of-fact, strategic rather than concerned. "The base is already preparing to relocate completely to the second facility. If the arrangements and timing are executed properly according to plan, the move will coincide perfectly with implementing our strategy of manufacturing a clean break, disappearing from current attention."
He set down his Imperial text, giving Jessica his full attention for this important topic.
"Besides, this is just practical reality: mortals who fundamentally cannot understand or accept your and my combat philosophy, who can't embrace what we do and why we do it, simply cannot become qualified soldiers even after enduring the most brutal training imaginable. The mindset has to be there first. Training builds on foundation, it doesn't create it from nothing."
Nolan continued, transitioning to new information.
"Moreover, we have Bucky and Old John training operatives now. Oh, you haven't actually met Old John yet, have you? You'll like him. He's not originally from Earth, but rather a berserker from the alien civilization Asgard, the realm eternal." Nolan's tone carried a note of pride. "The brutal training regimen you're about to endure starting tomorrow is based directly on their traditional methods for selecting and forging berserkers. It's proven effective over thousands of years."
He watched Jessica's expression carefully as that information registered.
"But let's get back to more important business matters," Nolan redirected, his tone becoming more serious. "According to the latest intelligence reports that Bucky and Old John transmitted back from their operations in Japan, the Yashida family has successfully collected more than ten thousand orphans from all over the world. The logistics alone were impressive."
Jessica's chewing slowed as she focused on this information, sensing its importance.
"The girls among those orphans will participate in the training program for the Adepta Sororitas, the Battle Sisters of our organization. Those who demonstrate sufficiently qualified willpower and physical capabilities will ultimately grow into real Adepta Sororitas, full members of the order. Those eliminated from the primary training track won't be discarded, however. They'll be incorporated into the reserve support teams to learn battlefield medical technology and logistics, becoming medical sisters and support personnel."
Nolan leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense and direct.
"So, Jessica, understand what I'm saying clearly: work hard. Push yourself beyond your limits. I'm counting on you to eventually become the leader of the Adepta Sororitas, the commander of our Battle Sisters. That's not a suggestion or a hope. That's your destiny if you're willing to seize it."
"I know! I understand completely! I will work harder than I've ever worked before!"
Nolan's words had barely finished leaving his mouth when Jessica responded with immediate intensity. Her relaxed, contented expression vanished in an instant, replaced by fierce determination.
She nodded heavily, the gesture almost violent in its enthusiasm and commitment. This was what she'd been waiting for, a real purpose, a real role in something larger than herself.
Then, with a firm, almost aggressive look blazing in her eyes, Jessica immediately turned her attention back to the remaining steak sitting before her on the plate. She attacked the food with renewed vigor, fueling her body for the trials ahead.
At this moment, Nolan stared at Jessica, who seemed to have entered a certain mental state, that focused determination he recognized from soldiers preparing for deployment. A fleeting smile of satisfaction appeared at the corner of his mouth before he returned his attention to his Imperial text.
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