[Congratulations on winning the reward: Spirit of Vengeance, the system has been updated and can be viewed.]
Locke stared at the notification floating in front of him, then scratched his head slowly, like he was trying to process something that didn't quite make sense yet. His lips curled into a grin as realization hit. So… he'd just ripped another piece of power straight out of the Ghost Rider's arsenal.
"Damn," he muttered under his breath, eyes lighting up. "That's actually sick."
He dove into the system interface immediately, scanning through the newly unlocked abilities. The Ultimate Evolution Module didn't just copy—it optimized, refined, and weaponized. The Spirit of Vengeance wasn't just an add-on. It was a full-on upgrade.
Three core abilities stood out.
The Eye of Judgment.
Hellfire.
Immortality.
The Eye of Judgment was exactly what it sounded like—a brutal, no-nonsense verdict mechanism. Any sinner caught in its gaze would be forced to confront their guilt, their crimes burning back at them with amplified intensity. No lies, no escape. Just raw judgment.
Hellfire was the real engine. Pure infernal energy, destructive and adaptive. It didn't just burn flesh—it targeted the soul, scaling its damage based on the target's sins. The more twisted you were, the worse it got.
And then there was immortality.
Locke tilted his head slightly as he reviewed that one more carefully. Right now, it wasn't full passive immortality. It only kicked in during transformation, meaning as long as he shifted into his Spirit of Vengeance state, he couldn't truly die.
But that was enough.
"Not bad," he murmured, flexing his fingers as if testing the idea of it. "I'll just stay transformed more often."
More importantly, this version of immortality came with resistance. Magic, curses, supernatural interference—things that used to be a problem now barely registered. His defenses against mystical threats had just gone from nonexistent to extremely hard to crack.
A Diamond-tier reward. And it showed.
He flicked through the system again and noticed the next evolution tier.
[King]
Locke let out a low whistle. That name carried weight. He couldn't help but smirk as a certain political figure came to mind. "Wonder if the Commander-in-Chief could ever hit that level," he muttered casually.
As for whether that guy counted as a sinner?
Locke didn't even hesitate.
"If he doesn't," he said quietly, "then he's doing a terrible job."
He rolled his shoulders, feeling the energy humming beneath his skin. The upgrade wasn't just theoretical—it was real, tangible, explosive. But something still felt off. Something was missing.
Then it hit him.
"A mount."
He snapped his fingers, eyes lighting up again. "Hell yeah, I need a mount."
Ghost Rider without a ride was like a gun without bullets. Historically, the options were ridiculous in the best way possible—hellfire mammoths, flaming horses, infernal motorcycles. Every single one of them screamed intimidation.
So what should he go for?
Locke started mentally listing possibilities. An old church pickup truck? Too lame. A Ferrari? Stylish, but not quite insane enough. Steal a fighter jet? Now that had potential.
Then another thought hit him.
"The X-Men have that stealth jet…" he muttered, eyes narrowing slightly.
Still, something about it didn't sit right. It wasn't personal enough. It didn't feel like his.
He frowned, digging through his memory. "Wait… S.H.I.E.L.D. had something bigger, didn't they? That massive flying thing…"
He snapped his fingers again. "Helicarrier."
Locke let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Nick Fury, you greedy bastard. You've got everything."
While Locke was happily exploring his new power set, things were going very differently elsewhere.
Professor Charles Xavier sat restrained, not physically tortured, but mentally trapped in a relentless war. His opponent wasn't using brute force. Instead, it was something far worse.
Illusion.
Jason Stryker—an Omega-level illusionist—was dragging Charles through layers of fabricated reality, over and over again. Each time, the professor fought his way back using sheer willpower, breaking through the deception like a man clawing his way out of a nightmare.
But there was a problem.
A suppressor helmet rested firmly on his head, dampening his telepathic abilities. Without full access to his power, every escape became harder than the last.
And Jason knew it.
Stryker's words echoed like poison.
"You're more afraid of him than I am."
Years ago, Charles had struggled against Jason. Now, with his abilities restricted, resistance was slipping through his fingers.
…
Elsewhere, Jean and Storm finally returned to the academy after tracking down the supposed presidential assassin—Nightcrawler, Kurt.
What they found stopped them cold.
The school was gone.
Where the mansion once stood was nothing but rubble, smoke, and debris. Military personnel swarmed the ruins, moving with methodical precision as they secured the site and erased evidence.
The two women exchanged a look midair, tension tightening between them. Neither of them dared to land.
Instead, they climbed higher into the sky, circling from a distance while trying to make sense of what they were seeing. Minutes passed, then more. Finally, one name came to mind.
Locke.
They contacted him immediately.
Not long after, a sleek, high-speed aircraft descended toward Locke's base, cutting through the air like something straight out of science fiction. Once everyone regrouped, it didn't take long to connect the dots.
Stryker.
With Locke's input, Jean helped Kurt recover suppressed memories, pulling crucial information from his mind. The location of Stryker's base surfaced.
Alkali Lake Dam.
No hesitation.
They moved out.
Wolverine, Jean, Storm, Colossus, Nightcrawler—along with Blade and Frank under Locke's command—all headed straight for the target.
…
The dam's spillway served as the main entrance to Stryker's base, and it wasn't just a doorway—it was a kill zone. With a single command, the gates could be opened, unleashing a torrent of high-pressure water capable of wiping out anything in its path.
Getting in wouldn't be easy.
Inside the massive passageway, only one man walked forward.
Wolverine.
He approached the thick alloy door and looked up at the surveillance camera mounted above it. His voice was steady, deliberate.
"Stryker! I'm here!"
Then he waited.
Seconds stretched into silence before two smaller doors slid open behind him. Armed soldiers rushed out, surrounding him in seconds. Specialized restraints snapped around his wrists, locking him down.
The massive door ahead began to open.
Stryker stepped into view.
He only needed one glance.
Recognition was instant.
"Hey, wolf cub," Stryker said with a cold smile. "Welcome home."
Wolverine smirked right back at him, unfazed. "I didn't come alone this time."
That was when Stryker noticed something off in the distance.
A section of the spillway wall seemed to peel away and drop to the ground. It wasn't a wall—it was camouflage. Two figures emerged from behind it.
His expression changed immediately.
One was unmistakable.
Nightcrawler.
The other made his stomach sink.
Locke.
Cloaked, calculated, and already smiling.
Locke glanced at the open entrance, then turned slightly toward Kurt. "Think you can get me behind that door?"
Kurt nodded without hesitation. "Of course, Mr. Locke."
The moment Stryker saw them, he knew the defense line had already failed.
He backed away instantly, shouting, "Open fire! Kill them all!"
Gunfire erupted.
A burst of blue smoke flashed beside Wolverine as Kurt teleported in, then vanished just as quickly.
That left Locke and Wolverine standing in the open.
Bullets rained down.
Metal clanged against Locke's body, rounds flattening or ricocheting off like they'd hit reinforced steel. Sparks flew, shells dropped, and not a single shot penetrated.
Wolverine, on the other hand…
It was a massacre.
Rounds tore through him relentlessly, punching holes across his body. Blood sprayed outward, some of it splattering across Locke's clothes. The sheer force of the barrage made Wolverine stagger violently, his body jerking with every impact.
Still, he didn't fall.
Not yet.
Locke flicked his hand casually.
Lightning erupted.
Arcs of electricity surged outward, tearing through the soldiers like a storm unleashed. Bodies convulsed, armor crackled, and within seconds, every visible enemy collapsed.
Only then did Wolverine finally drop to one knee, blood pouring from his mouth.
"Next time…" he rasped, voice rough. "Don't… call me for this kind of job…"
Locke glanced down at the blood smeared across himself, clearly unimpressed. "If there is a next time," he shot back dryly, "I'm not standing this close to you."
Ahead, another massive iron door began to close.
Locke moved instantly.
He flashed forward and slammed both hands against it, stopping the heavy alloy gate mid-shutdown. The motors strained against him, but it didn't budge another inch.
Inside the control room, soldiers froze in shock.
That door weighed tons. It was powered by industrial-grade machinery.
And he was holding it open with his bare hands.
Panic hit fast.
They drew their weapons and unloaded everything they had into him.
Locke didn't even flinch.
He exhaled slowly, then let something darker rise.
Hellfire surged.
His strength spiked instantly, muscles tightening as power flooded through him. With a single push, the massive door was forced open completely.
The resistance snapped.
He stepped inside.
The fight lasted seconds.
Bodies hit the ground before most of them even understood what was happening.
Locke glanced up at the monitors, scanning quickly. Reinforcements were already moving. Stryker wasn't hesitating—he was accelerating whatever plan he had.
Which meant time was running out.
Moments later, Jean, Storm, Frank, Blade, and the rest arrived at the entrance.
They stopped cold when they saw Wolverine.
His body was riddled with holes, bullets scattered all around him as his healing factor struggled to keep up. It looked brutal. It looked insane.
Frank stared for a moment, then slowly raised a thumb.
"You are… really something," he said.
....
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