Richard had not seen Ghost Rider in person.
What he had seen were several short, grainy videos circulating online. The footage was shaky, the resolution poor, and the flames distorted by overexposure, but it was enough. A skeletal figure wreathed in hellfire rode through the night on a blazing motorcycle, leaving scorched asphalt and terrified witnesses behind.
That was no hoax.
The only uncertainty was which incarnation had appeared in New York.
The rider in the footage used a flaming motorcycle, but that alone proved nothing. The first three generations of Ghost Rider all rode hellfire-infused bikes. Only the fourth rode a retro muscle car, and the prehistoric Ghost Rider was known for a mammoth mount. Without clearer visuals, identification was impossible.
Still, Richard was not concerned.
A few months ago, he might have exercised caution. The Spirit of Vengeance granted its host near-immortality. Conventional destruction meant nothing to it.
Now, things were different.
Not only was he unafraid of confrontation—he was interested in it.
The reason was simple.
He wanted the Spirit of Vengeance.
After Plunder evolved to Omega level, its function had fundamentally changed.
[Plunder – Omega-level superpower: The extraordinary ability to plunder the supernatural power of any life personally slain.]
The system's description was as brief and clinical as ever, but the implications were enormous. Previously, Plunder could only extract X-gene abilities from mutants he killed. Now, the restriction was gone.
Mutants. Inhumans. Enhanced humans. Mystical entities.
If it possessed supernatural power and he killed it, he could take it.
That included the Spirit of Vengeance.
Before his transmigration, Richard had read enough Ghost Rider comics to know that the Spirit of Vengeance was said to be created by God and could only be destroyed by its creator. But he did not accept that as absolute truth.
This was not the DC Universe.
The God of Marvel, based on available canon, did not operate on the same omnipotent scale as DC's Presence. Marvel's cosmology placed such beings at high but not transcendent tiers—arguably comparable to entities like Odin.
More importantly, the original generation of Spirits of Vengeance had perished sealing the demon lord Zatanos. The second generation, known as Living Spirit Weapons, had the capacity to devour their own kind to grow stronger.
That fact alone invalidated the claim that only God could destroy them.
If one Spirit could consume another, destruction was possible.
Richard did not yet know the method, but one principle was certain.
The Spirit's energy was not infinite.
If its power were exhausted completely, its destruction should be achievable.
…
At Silver Manor, he trained.
Eight Swords Flash and Dimensional Slash had both reached Level 4, but advancement to Level 5 would require sustained refinement. He practiced relentlessly, honing precision, timing, and control.
Progress was incremental, but steady.
By the time dusk approached, he dismissed the Yamato into system space and returned to the manor. After a prolonged bath—during which Emma provided a level of assistance that left her thoroughly exhausted—he informed her of his evening plans.
"I'll be attending a charity dinner," he said. "Sleep without waiting."
"Alone?" she asked.
"Yes."
He selected a tailored suit from his wardrobe and dressed with practiced efficiency. Wealth no longer required effort; it simply accumulated as a byproduct of influence. Money had become irrelevant.
In the garage, he considered his collection of luxury vehicles before choosing something older.
A 1957 Aston Martin DB Mark III.
Its performance lagged behind modern supercars, but he had purchased it for aesthetic reasons. Bruce Wayne had driven the same model in Batman v Superman, arriving at Lex Luthor's gala in style.
Tonight's event had a similar host.
Wilson Fisk.
Kingpin.
Officially, the organizer was listed as Wilson Grant Fisk. Publicly, he was a philanthropist. Privately, he was the undisputed underworld emperor of New York.
Richard had initially declined the invitation.
Then Ghost Rider appeared in the city.
Now he wanted to observe something.
If both he and Kingpin were present at the same venue, whom would the Spirit of Vengeance find more compelling?
From a government perspective, Richard posed the greater threat. Kingpin destabilized neighborhoods; Richard destabilized power structures.
But Ghost Rider did not answer to the government.
It judged sin.
…
Manhattan.
Outside a luxury hotel, cameras flashed relentlessly as celebrities and social elites arrived. Limousines lined the entrance.
A silver Mercedes limited-edition sports car stopped beneath the canopy. The gullwing door lifted, and Johnny Storm emerged with his latest companion, supermodel Fina Lyle.
Reporters surged forward.
Johnny smiled, arm wrapped confidently around Fina's waist. Any red carpet was a stage, and he performed effortlessly.
Then a black vintage Aston Martin rolled to a stop.
The door opened.
Richard stepped out.
The atmosphere shifted.
Cameras redirected instantly, shutters firing at a frantic pace. The "King of Mutants" generated more traffic than the Human Torch ever could.
Johnny noticed.
His expression darkened.
Richard ignored both the reporters and Johnny, walking toward the entrance.
Johnny stepped into his path.
"Came alone?" he asked with forced ease. "Couldn't find a date?"
Richard stopped, regarding him calmly.
"Is this your new girlfriend?"
Before Johnny could answer, Fina slipped from his arm.
"No," she said quickly. "We're not a couple. I'm just accompanying him."
Johnny stared at her, stunned.
Fina's attention was no longer on him. She looked at Richard with unmistakable interest.
"Do you know each other?" Johnny demanded.
"Not only do we know each other," Richard replied evenly, "we had an in-depth conversation in the presidential suite here. By the way, did she mention her sister? Fashion designer. Equally impressive."
The implication was clear.
Johnny's jaw tightened.
Richard continued, "You reminded me. Attending alone does seem dull."
He glanced at Fina.
She immediately crossed the distance, took his hand, and pressed herself against him without hesitation.
Johnny's face went rigid.
Around them, reporters sensed drama. They could not hear the exchange, but the optics were obvious.
Fina Lyle had just abandoned the Human Torch for Richard Wesley.
In seconds, tomorrow's headlines wrote themselves.
"Human Torch Ditched at Charity Gala."
"Supermodel Chooses King of Mutants."
Richard did not spare Johnny another look. With Fina on his arm, he walked calmly toward the entrance, cameras flashing wildly behind him.
.....
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