"Second generation?" Johnny's raspy voice cracked, his eyes darting between the two agents. "What do you mean, second generation?"
Because of this cursed power given to him by Mephisto, Johnny Blaze had always lived in a state of isolated terror. He always believed that his father's tragic death—Barton Blaze dying in a stunt accident the very next day—was directly caused by the twisted deal he made with the demon. Johnny wanted to get rid of the Spirit of Vengeance every single waking moment.
And now, these two government agents were telling him that there was a predecessor before him?
"Yes, you are the second generation in recent recorded history," Natasha confirmed smoothly. "The first Ghost Rider was him."
Saying that, Natasha pulled out another aged, sepia-toned photograph from the files and handed it to him. Unlike Johnny Blaze, who rode a customized chopper, the first-generation Ghost Rider's mount was a tall, powerful steed. Just like Johnny, the skeletal rider and the horse were both completely enveloped in searing Hellfire.
"You know a lot about this power?" Johnny leaned forward, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the photograph. "How can I get rid of it? Tell me!"
With just one look at the photo, Johnny knew in his bones that the other person was just like him—a cursed host. At this moment, a genuine spark of hope finally ignited in Johnny's heavy heart.
"No, we don't understand it completely," Clint answered honestly from the driver's seat. "We came to find you because we want you to explain the source of this power to us. This power—and this specific Rider—is related to something very important."
Putting away all the classified files, Natasha glanced at Johnny. She didn't quite understand why he was so visibly excited, or why he was so desperately eager to get rid of such a terrifying, god-like force.
Johnny Blaze hesitated for only a fraction of a second before recounting his tragic past. He detailed his father's death, the drop of blood on the parchment, and the exact details of the soul-binding deal he made with Mephisto. He had investigated for so many years on his own and found absolutely nothing. If he could now use the vast resources of these two people to finally escape Mephisto's control, it would be the absolute best help he could ever get.
Natasha and Clint listened to Johnny's story with deeply solemn expressions. Among all the occult details, the name Mephisto surprised them the most. The Ghost Rider was actually a demonic bounty hunter empowered by the Lord of Hell himself.
'Something isn't right,' Natasha analyzed internally, her spy instincts kicking in.
Based on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s historical research and Constantine's intelligence, the highest tactical probability was that the Contract of San Venganza was still in the hands of the first Ghost Rider, Carter Slade.
The Ghost Rider was technically a subordinate of Mephisto. Yet, the contract hadn't fallen into the Devil's hands; instead, Mephisto had to take advantage of the Sanctum Sanctorum's weakened barrier to send a large number of lesser demons to Earth just to reclaim it.
Natasha and Clint exchanged a quick, knowing look in the rearview mirror, both seeing the strategic relief in each other's eyes. It seemed the first Ghost Rider was exactly like Johnny Blaze; he wasn't loyal to Mephisto either. He had rebelled and hidden the prize.
"Our next move," Natasha stated firmly, "is to find the first Ghost Rider, Carter Slade. How about it, Johnny? Want to come with us?"
Once they figured things out, they directly extended an official invitation to the stuntman. With the hope of salvation placed right in front of him, how could Johnny possibly refuse?
After getting out of the black SUV, Johnny walked quickly up to Roxanne, who was waiting by his motorcycle.
"Sorry, I'm going to have to break our date tonight, Roxanne," Johnny said, his eyes filled with apology. "This matter... it's very important to me. It could fix everything."
Standing in front of Johnny, Roxanne didn't say a single word to blame him. She saw the desperate hope in his eyes. She simply stepped forward, wrapped her arms tightly around Johnny's neck, and gave him a deep, affectionate kiss.
She watched silently, her heart heavy, as Johnny mounted his Hellcycle and drove away into the night, trailing right behind the black S.H.I.E.L.D. sedan.
"Looks like I have to go home alone again today," Roxanne gave a helpless, fond smile, shaking her head as she turned to head down the street.
But as soon as she turned around, her breath caught in her throat.
Four pale, imposing figures were standing in a perfect row directly behind her, completely blocking the alleyway path.
"Who are you?" Roxanne asked, a bit panicked. She took a step back, her hand tightly clutching the strap of the bag slung over her shoulder.
"Wow," the man standing in the center spoke. "The dark knight has abandoned our beautiful princess. What a profound pity."
Among the four, the palest-faced one—Blackheart, the Prince of Hell—teased Roxanne, his voice echoing with a cold, hollow resonance. He slowly paced toward her, an evil, predatory grin appearing on his flawless face.
Suddenly, his handsome features violently shifted. The human illusion faded, turning into a terrifying, demonic visage with a deathly blue-green pallor and soulless, pitch-black eyes.
This horrifying scene caused Roxanne's entire body to freeze in place, her scream dying in her throat.
"Boring," Blackheart sneered, his face reverting to its human disguise as she failed to entertain him. "Take her away."
Seeing the look of absolute terror paralyzed on Roxanne's face, Blackheart stopped his malicious fun. He casually gave the order to the elemental demons—the Hidden—standing behind him.
"Blackheart!"
A sharp, sophisticated voice cut through the alley's shadows.
"Go back to Hell. You have absolutely no right to participate in this hunt."
Just as Blackheart was about to leave with the unconscious Roxanne, he was called out. He slowly turned around to look at the entrance of the alley.
A familiar figure stood leaning on a silver-tipped cane.
"Hahahahaha." Blackheart couldn't help but burst into a wild, mocking laugh. "Father."
"This is my best opportunity, isn't it?" Blackheart sneered, spreading his arms. "My rights don't need to be granted by anyone. Let alone you."
Looking at the elegant, aging figure before him—his father, the Lord of Hell, Mephisto—Blackheart felt a surge of absolute contempt. This was the opportunity he had waited countless millennia for. The opportunity to permanently replace his father on the throne.
"You know you cannot stop me here," Blackheart taunted, stepping closer to the old man. "You are merely a projected avatar, while I have descended to this plane in my true, physical form."
Mephisto's face was incredibly grim. Just as Blackheart said, the recent, catastrophic magical battle between the Lords of Hell and the Sorcerer Supreme had caused significant damage to their true bodies. At this exact moment, the magical power possessed by this remote avatar was indeed entirely insufficient to confront his own son in a direct fight.
However...
"I still have my Rider," Mephisto warned, his voice dropping to a demonic rumble.
"Ghost Rider?" Blackheart laughed out loud, the sound grating like grinding stones. "You mean the Ghost Riders where you wasted two perfectly good Spirits of Vengeance, yet both of them betrayed you? Hahahahaha!"
At this point, Blackheart's laughter became even more arrogant. He glanced back at the kidnapped Roxanne, knowing exactly what kind of leverage he now held over the current host.
"Come then!" Blackheart roared, his eyes flashing pitch-black. "Send your pathetic Rider! I'll gladly help you bury him!"
After spitting those words, Blackheart looked at his father with fierce, ambitious eyes. He had come to Earth with the intention of completely burning his bridges. As long as he could obtain the Contract of San Venganza—and the thousands of corrupted souls trapped within it—he could not only gain power far beyond his weakened father's, but even potentially tear off a fragment of Hell and ascend to the absolute status of a Lord.
Thinking of the secret news that a certain contact had whispered to him, he finally understood exactly why Mephisto was so utterly obsessed with reclaiming the lost contract.
Seeing Blackheart's arrogant, unyielding smile, Mephisto knew he couldn't persuade him with mere words.
After giving his foolish, rebellious son a sinister, promises-of-torture glare, the old man's avatar slowly dissolved into the shadows, vanishing from the alley.
Blackheart gritted his teeth, watching Mephisto's dissipating figure.
He knew he had no way back. Has there ever been a crown prince who waited happily for a thousand years? He was exactly that! To wait patiently for Mephisto to voluntarily pass the position of Lord of Hell to him—that hope was no different from waiting for the destruction of Hell itself.
The Lord of Hell was inherently a truly immortal being. As long as that fiery realm existed, Mephisto would never die of old age. And he, this Prince of Hell, would never naturally have the chance to reach the top of the hierarchy.
It was for this exact reason that he decided to take a massive, all-or-nothing gamble and come to Earth. The Contract of San Venganza was his only hope for absolute sovereignty.
"Let's go!" Blackheart snapped, turning his back on the alley entrance. "The Ghost Rider is not a real concern. Right now, we need to find that Cemetery."
Blackheart gave the command, and his body, along with the Hidden demons and Roxanne, vanished simultaneously into a swirl of dark mist.
At the end of the alley, the dive bar remained as noisy and oblivious as ever.
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Give me powerstones.
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