AN: Finally back to with a brand new fanfic series! As a note, this one takes place in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, which will become increasingly apparent over time. To anyone obsessed with timelines, this takes place during and after the first Iron Man movie. Let me know what you guys think of the first chapter!
*"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us—forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those that trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."
Yeah. Right. Deliver us from evil.
Jonathan Blaze was sitting on a bench right outside an old, abandoned chapel. It was the dead of night, and while Blaze wished that the streets were quieter and less cars passed by, it served as fair solitude from the thing he hated bearing.
In both his hands he held a small pocket Bible, which was open to the book of Matthew, with the Lord's Prayer highlighted in dark blood-red ink. The prayer's words felt like a fresh drink of water from the cleanest spring the world had. Citing the words lightened his Burden, and on top of that, no evil spirits had any control as long as he was right by the chapel.
It was said that St. Joseph himself built the church, and because of his role, God's presence was particularly strong within its walls, making it a safe haven for Burdened people like Blaze. Unfortunately, it didn't make the fight any easier. He could feel the spirit of vengeance inside him pushing and kicking to take control of him and unleash its powers. His head felt like dozens of needles were being violently shoved through his skin, and small wisps of smoke trailed from his fingers, threatening to burn the holy words he held.
Well fancy that. You're basically fighting your own 'super powers'.
Relief washed over Blaze when his best friend Flagg Simpson came in his car and laid his hand on the horn. Without waiting even for a second for Blaze to get up, Flagg rolled down his window. He was a tall man with black hair that looked as though he had just rolled out of bed, and shiny, blue eyes.
"Hey, you done memorizing your Sunday school scripture verses or should I come back later?"
"Screw you," Blaze replied, but he was smiling. The smoke stopped wafting off his hands and the intense heat he had felt just seconds ago switched off as if he was a heater that someone could turn on and off at will. He headed for Flagg's car and got into the passenger seat.
"Since when did you start attending church?" Flagg asked.
"When I realized I needed time away from you," Blaze teased.
"Fair enough."**
*Susie's Diner was a place that was never updated since its construction in 1946. Going in was like walking through a time portal that took Blaze and Flagg into the past. The music playing over the intercom was 40s heartthrob music and one wall had pictures of World War II heroes lined up.
"Usual round?" The waitress from the counter asked.
"That's right," Flagg called back. One side of Blaze's mouth pulled up in a smirk. He was watching Flagg's gaze. His friend could barely look the waitress in the eye. That was because he liked her, as in like liked her. It would've been funnier had Blaze not had to be with him to feel embarrassed for his best friend.
Once the two of them sat down, Blaze started in. "I remember simpler times when you were able to look me in the eye the whole time while we sit here."
"I wish it was simpler, but—," Flagg stole another glance at the waitress, "she can't help the fact that she looks the way she looks."
"Her name is Jennifer. You better learn to get that right, or you won't get anywhere with this."
"What's that?" Jennifer asked as she approached the table. In one hand she held a pot of steaming black coffee. It wasn't hard at all for Blaze to see what Flagg saw. She was indeed a beautiful woman with the same shade of blue in her eyes that Flagg had. Her blond hair was long and curly and she wore a pure white long shirt and purple leggings.
Blaze smiled weakly and Flagg sank his face in his hands. "Nothing," Blaze said, "it's just that Flagg wanted to talk to you."
"Oh?" Jennifer asked as she poured coffee into Flagg's mug. She handed Blaze his own usual. A glass of ice cold water.
"I—It's nothing important. Just wanted to know how things are going with you and your sister," Flagg said.
"I don't have a sister, I have a brother," Jennifer pointed out.
Blaze saw whatever confidence his friend had left in his eyes instantly flicker and die out.
"Oh. Right. How is he?"
"Doing time in a cell."
Flagg's jaw dropped halfway. His eyes were pleading to Blaze for help but he nodded to urge him to keep going.
"I'm sorry, I had no idea."
"It's alright. We saw it coming for a while now."
"Oh?"
"My brother always never seemed to get things straightened out. Always meeting out late with friends of his, and they always had something irresistible for him to chew on."
"Yo Jennifer, bring some of that black coffee over here for me," another customer yelled several booths away.
Jennifer moved on without saying anything else. Blaze sipped from his glass.
"That was the most entertaining conversation I've ever watched," he commented.
"Screw you, dude. You didn't do anything to help."
"You're the one with the teenage crush, I'm just watching. It's like a train wreck that you can't look away from."
"No thanks to you," Flagg said with a sigh. "I'm just praying I don't screw this up. Do you ever do that? Pray, I mean?"
Blaze smirked. "Last time I bothered praying for something, I got swindled out of my soul."
"Wow. How very dramatic. So I take it the results weren't good, then?"
"Nope. Just fire and despair."
Flagg laughed and raised his mug of coffee. "Well at least we get to go through fire and despair together."
Blaze took up his glass of water. "You have no idea."
"Here's to being the biggest screw-ups and proud," Flagg said. The two of them clinked cups. Blaze was smiling, but inside he could hear the voice chanting.
It's time, it's time, it's time.
When Flagg got up and left for the night, Jennifer passed on a handwritten note on to Blaze. As soon as Jennifer went back around the counter, Blaze unfolded the note and read it.
Does Flagg like me?
Blaze smiled, crumpled up the note, and put it back in his pocket.
Kids.
The voice continued in his head.
It's time, it's time, it's time.**
*Blaze lived in a carnival. He wasn't afraid to admit it anymore. As the son of a motorcycle stuntman, he had no problem with continuing his late father's line of work, which gave him a successful career, even if he felt like he wanted to do something more.
But he did have something more. Something that was forced on him, and he couldn't share it with anyone else.
He stood in a private garage of his own isolated from the rest of Quentin's Carnival, where his own motorcycle sat waiting. On the wall above the tool desk was a large poster of his father, Barton Blaze. He looked so happy in the poster, unlike how Blaze really knew him. With a wide grin, a thumbs-up to the beholder, and his motorcycle helmet underneath one arm, Barton stood tall and proud.
Besides the poster, nothing truly stuck out in the garage or really reflected who Blaze was with the exception of the small fridge filled with beer set next to the desk.
It's time. Go.
"What is it time for? Where am I supposed to go? You can't control me, remember?" Blaze said.
A deal was struck.
"The one I looked to to make a deal screwed me over. I owe him nothing."
But I am a part of you now and there's nothing you can do about that.
"I owe him nothing!" Blaze snapped. His hand threw down the beer bottle he was holding, and it shattered into pieces on the floor, splashing alcohol in the process.
It's not about what you owe him. It's about what you and I both want.
"You and I don't want the same thing."
Vengeance.
"No."
You know you want it.
"I do…"
Well then?
"Not like that. I won't seek vengeance like that, not as that—the other guy."
You can't fight that power much longer, Blaze.
"Its been a little over a month now, and we've gone through this same crap almost every night."
You hunger for vengeance more than you know.
"What makes you think that?" Blaze asked.
Because I'm still here, which means your work is not yet finished.
Blaze looked over at his motorcycle, Hellcycle. A 'black beauty' as he liked to call it around people who would be more sensitive to its real name. He could hear the roar of the engine before he started it up, and he could feel the spirit of vengeance inside him growing hot as he backed out of his garage and into the dead of night in Santa Fe.**
*Even at night, the godforsaken heat in Santa Fe was still not very restrained. By the time Blaze found his targets, his throat felt bone-dry and he had to spit dust and sand out of his mouth.
While he had not allowed the one inside him to come out, he still used some of the heightened senses got along with the spirit of vengeance. He could sense the guilty spirits inside the run-down apartment building. It put a foul taste in his mouth and set his stomach ablaze. His vision darkened once he entered the building and when he walked up a flight of stairs and made it to the apartment door, he could see the shadows of the guilty on the other side waving their arms and laughing as if the whole world was one big, fat joke.
The door was locked, but when Blaze turned the doorknob, the lock immediately caved and snapped, allowing him inside.
"Whoa, dude! What the hell?" Someone inside shouted. Several men leaped to their feet from the couch. One of the other guys was still sitting on the couch, too high to focus or catch on.
"What are you doing here?" The same man asked.
"I got bored," Blaze replied.
"You've come to the right place then."
One of the men ran at Blaze to tackle him down, but Blaze easily grabbed him by the throat and tossed him up off his feet into the ceiling. The man came back down unconscious.
When the next thug lunged at him, Blaze jolted his head back to avoid the thug's sideways swing. He grabbed his wrist, pulled him around, and let him go with enough force for him to fly through the door, knocking it straight off its hinges.
The last alert man wrapped his arm around Blaze's neck in a chokehold, but Blaze was ready for it. He pushed back, driving the man back with him and slammed him against the refrigerator. The man let loose a groan but still held on as tightly as he could.
Just for one second. You just have to do it for a second.
The man screamed and immediately let go when a brief burst of fire shot through Blaze's body, burning the man's arm. Blaze whirled around and struck the man across the face. The man staggered to the side, removed a hidden knife from his belt and slashed it across Blaze's cheek. A deep cut formed there, drawing blood fast.
"You shouldn't have done that," Blaze said.
The thug looked on in disbelief as the broken skin pieced itself back together, healing the wound and making it look as though it was never there.
Blaze delivered one last punch, and the thug flew across the room like a rag doll and collided against a hutch with a glass door, shattering the glass instantly and knocking the man out cold.
As if he was holding up cards in a gambling game, Blaze picked up the little bags of meth from the coffee counter. He looked over at the drugged up man on the couch, who was staring up at him laughing with an insane edge.
"Who gave you these?" Blaze asked.
Somehow, the question made the addict laugh even more, as if it was the funniest thing in the world. Deciding he wasn't going to get anywhere with him, he threw the bags aside and left, carefully stepping over the fallen door as he did so. Behind him, the man's laughter grew even louder and more out of control.
When Blaze made it outside, he sank on one knee and pressed his hand against his forehead. As soon as it touched, the skin of his forehead coughed up a puff of smoke.**
*Black coat on, zipper up, crowds cheering, bright lights blinding, Flagg.
The same routine every time and Blaze still got an adrenaline rush just as strong as the very first time he had ever done a motorcycle stunt.
Unfortunately, he still remembered the men he fought in the apartment the other night. He still remembered the laughter from the last man when he left.
"Blaze? Blaze, dude, wake up!" Flagg said, gently slapping Blaze on the cheek. Blaze's focus violently shifted and his gaze fell on Flagg again.
"Hey! He is risen! Go on man, they're waiting on you!" Flagg urged.
Blaze shook himself out of his thoughts and held out his hand for his helmet, which Flagg gave to him.
"How many more?" Blaze asked.
"What?"
"How many more times do I have to do this?"
"You're here. You're all dressed up. You obviously don't mind," Flagg pointed out.
He's right. I hate to admit it but he's right.
Blaze slid his helmet on, hiding all but his eyes from everyone else.
"That's my man," Flagg said.
Blaze got onto his motorcycle, stole one last glance at Flagg, and revved it up. From the court he could hear the owner of the carnival, Ralph Quentin himself.
"Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for our greatest motorcycle stuntman in this carnival! The one, the only, Jonathan Blaze!"
Blaze's motorcycle tore through the dirt and sand and bolted up the sharp ramp. Below him were the helicopters with their rotor blades spinning.
For yet another time, Blaze was up in the air. Everyone was looking on, wondering if he would die.
"The fools. They don't know that you can't die."
True, but I can fail.
In the air it was as if time had slowed. Blaze didn't have to make a sideways glance to know that Craig Simpson, Flagg's father, was watching him with skeptical eyes and his arms folded.
My father died here. I won't.
Even after ten years, Blaze still told himself the same thing every time he flew up a ramp. It was what helped him stay focused and keep himself from falling off. He had to have faith in his momentum, which was the only thing keeping him from falling into the spinning blades.
Finally, mercifully, Hellcycle landed on the other side and flawlessly flew down the second ramp. He stomped his foot into the dirt and spun the motorcycle around in a one-eighty. Sparks flew and his ride stopped. Amongst his heavy breathing and his sweat-soaked skin, the crowd went wild.
"That was fantastic! Wouldn't you agree? Wouldn't you agree?" Quentin shouted in his microphone. His words caused the crowd to get louder and wilder, which even overwhelmed Blaze. Flagg ran by his side to help him out of his helmet.
"That was awesome, man! You won Santa Fe's heart over!"
Blaze didn't reply. He stared up at the crowds as if they were about to riot and burn the place down.
"Hey man, are you alright?" Flagg asked.
"I need a beer," Blaze replied.**
*The stunts were not Blaze's favorite part of the day. It was always the drinking at Maria's afterwards. Maria's was a bar in Santa Fe, known specially for its margaritas. Blaze and Flagg also sat in the same seats in front of the counter, sipping away and exchanging glances once in a while. It was a quiet time, a time meant to reflect on the event of Blaze's latest stunt and on the whole day in general.
"I don't know why we have to move again later," Flagg said.
Blaze sighed. "I thought we don't talk for at least ten minutes."
"I know, I know, but—aren't you just getting tired of moving around?"
"If I was tired of it, I would've left the carnival without an announcement, like someone else I know did one time," Blaze said.
Flagg frowned and put his glass down. "You're really going to bring that up?"
Blaze squeezed his eyes when he realized his mistake. "Sorry."
"No, tell me. Tell me you're still mad at me."
"I'm not mad, it's just a fact that it happened."
"You welcomed me back with open arms though. Both you and dad. I thought we had already put that behind us," Flagg said.
Blaze sighed again. "We did."
There was an awkward moment of silence. Blaze could feel Flagg's gaze burrowing into him as if to find something inside that would give him answers.
Blaze reverted his gaze somewhere else, locking on to the tall man sitting two stools away from him. His heartbeat quickened and his arms turned wet from an unexpected heat rush. For a split second, he thought he saw bloodstains all over the man's face and shirt and arms. Blood dripped from his ears.
After blinking however, all of it was gone, but Blaze knew what he had just seen.
"Guilty."
No, not here. Not here!
The man had a crooked grin on his face and his gaze was fixed on a young woman behind the counter whose back was to him now. The man's eyes hopped up and down as they admired her.
It wasn't just the spirit of vengeance inside Blaze that was egging him on. He himself hated what he saw with a passion.
"Hey," Flagg said.
When Blaze snapped back to reality, he realized that most of the other sounds in the bar were blurred while he was watching the pervert sitting next to him. Flagg was holding up his glass.
"To your success," he said with a hopeful smile.
Blaze let slip a half-smile and picked up his own glass.
"To our success."
The two clinked glasses and took another sip simultaneously.
"Hey, I have a question," Flagg said when they were done. "Why do we toast to everything?"**
*Flagg soon left, claiming he wanted to go to bed early, which was fine with Blaze considering the growing circumstances. He wasn't finished with his margarita. He had just enough for one more swig which he was saving for the right moment. A second man, shorter and bigger than the other as well as Asian had sat down next to Tall Pervert and was giving the bartender the same distasteful stare.
After scrubbing the last glass, the young woman turned to the older woman that managed the counter.
"Am I good to go, Ms. Sarah?"
"Yeah, go on sweetie. I'll close up shop."
Blaze's fingers tapped the handle of his margarita glass as he watched the woman, whose name tag said Lara, leave the counter to go home. The two men next to him stood up as subtly as they could and slowly followed her.
Now time.
Blaze took the last swig from his margarita, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and followed the men in turn. In the dark, the heat was yet again a problem for Blaze as the heat in the air and the heat inside him collided together to create an overwhelming force. He blinked tears out of his eyes and tried to keep his gaze set on the thugs that were following Lara.
Smoke and sweat rolled off of Blaze like a tangent that wouldn't stop and he breathed through his nose as hard as he could. One hand strayed towards his pocket to feel the end of something he had inside.
Please don't be planning what I think you're planning, Blaze thought about the thugs.
Once Lara reached the front door of her house, Tall Pervert grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around so that she was staring right up at him.
"Let us inside with you," he ordered.
Lara dug into her purse to snatch something up, possibly a pepper spray, but Tall Pervert wrenched the purse out of her hands and tossed it aside. A pocket knife flashed in his hand.
"Last warning," he bellowed.
Everyone's attention was so fixated on the moment, that they didn't notice a long-haired man with a black jacket on his knees on the sidewalk trying to keep himself from turning. More and more smoke trailed off of him and tiny fires began to lick his face.
No! No!
"Or maybe you'd prefer for us to do it out here," Shorter suggested. He reached out to grab Lara's arm and pin it to the door.
"No! Stop!" Lara screamed.
It was Lara's words that finally caused Johnny Blaze to snap.
The skin on his face melted away, revealing a clean, white skull underneath with blue fire dancing in its eye sockets. An upside-down cone of fire exploded from the skull's head but didn't burn it. With a bony, skeletal hand, the thing that had taken Blaze's place reached into its pocket and pulled out a long black chain that had also burst into flames.
The thing looked up at the sky and screamed one word. "FREEEEEEEEEEE!"
Tall Pervert and Shorter had just succeeded in knocking Lara out cold, but they forgot everything about her when they turned around and saw the monster from hell before them.
"Oh my—oh my go—aaah!"
The thing whipped its chain forward, which seemed to magically extend itself as it flew, and the end wrapped itself around Tall Pervert's leg. The thing pulled the chain back, tossing Tall Pervert towards it. It grabbed him by the neck and lifted him in the air.
"Who are you?" Tall Pervert cried.
The thing's neck popped as it looked up to gaze into Pervert's eyes. "You will suffer, as the innocent had suffered, for I am the Ghost Rider," it said. Its voice was low and scratchy. It wasn't human. It was Zarathos, the spirit of vengeance contained within the body of Johnny Blaze, granting him the power to deal out justice to people who deserved it.
After a few more seconds of Ghost Rider staring into Pervert's eyes, Zarathos was inside Pervert's mind, tearing it apart to find anything and everything that made him guilty of sin.
Inside Ghost Rider's head, Blaze's conscience remained silent. He too believed that Tall Pervert deserved justice upon him.
Inside Pervert's mind was blood. Lots of blood. The blood of whole families, including children, was splattered everywhere in a long, shadowy hallway. Blaze could smell the metal stench of blood so strongly he could taste it in his mouth. There were screams, screams of the dying and ones that had made it out alive, but one thing was for sure. Pervert hadn't just killed, he had terrorized others by killing some and leaving others behind to grieve.
Blaze saw a woman with some of her hair torn out, revealing a bloody, bald spot on her head and she was crying so hard that she was coughing. At her feet was a pool of blood that was coming from a dead man with a slit neck. Blaze realized that that had been her husband.
Other visions showed children in peril, but Blaze didn't have the heart to focus on the details. Even while Ghost Rider was in control, he could control what he himself saw.
Tall Pervert screamed as his skin began to peel away and burn, and his head turned to ashes. What Ghost Rider was doing to him was the penance stare, a powerful ability that caused his victims to suffer through everything the innocent people he had harmed suffered through. Eventually, Tall Pervert's entire body crumbled to ashes and blew away in the wind, his soul destined to relive the horrifying experiences for eternity.
The other man, Shorter, had been so terror-stricken by what had happened that he hadn't even thought to run. His legs shook so hard he was in danger of falling down the porch stairs. Ghost Rider wanted to waste no time with him. He walked up to Shorter with his chain trailing behind him. In a desperate move, Shorter took out his own knife and slashed it across Ghost Rider's face. Several teeth popped off.
"Ouch," Ghost Rider said, but the move didn't seem to have harmed him at all.
He picked up Shorter and tossed him against the porch fence. The fence snapped and fell with him into the bushes below.
"Wait!" Shorter yelled. He came back up with a line of blood dribbling off his chin.
The Asian man's whole demeanor changed. His fear changed into something else. His eyes widened further and his lips curled up into a hideous grin that revealed a missing tooth with a bloody gap where it used to be. He started laughing maniacally.
Blaze's conscience forced Ghost Rider to stop.
Just like the guy from the other night.
"You're—you're done for."
Ghost Rider took a step forward to intimidate him, but Shorter kept laughing.
"There is someone more powerful than you. More powerful than any of us. And he's coming. He's coming for you," Shorter mocked.
What does he mean? Zarathos, what does he mean?
Before Ghost Rider could take another step, Shorter brought his knife up to his neck and slit a straight path through the skin. He was dead before Ghost Rider could grab him.
Ghost Rider was left behind vulnerable, allowing Blaze to take his form back and take control of his body again. Lara was lying still unconscious behind him, much to Blaze's luck.
What did the man mean? Who's coming for me?
"An excellent question. We need to find out. Together," Zarathos replied.
"But how? How do we know he's even in the city?"
"If he is, we'll find him soon enough."
Blaze looked back down at the body of the Asian. "We need to get rid of the body," he said aloud.**
*In Flagg's bedroom, no lights were on except his laptop light brightening up Flagg's glum face. A trembling finger stayed just inches away from the left mouse button as he contemplated whether or not what he was about to do was really worth it.
Quentin said that his dad was getting worse. Any time now, Flagg could lose his father, and one more opportunity to make him proud and best Blaze in front of him. If there was any time for action, it was now.
What he was about to do was illegal, but that was mostly how his father had risen to fame. He had only learned to be a stuntman fair and square once he ran out of the resources to get ahead of the game quicker than most people.
Flagg would be meeting with black market dealers that would be willing to trade with him. If Flagg cooperated, he would get energy capsules that could fuel his motorcycle and make it faster and more mobile. These capsules contained blue energy gas created by the late Howard Stark himself by converting a crude version of a superhuman serum into a gas. It was useful to Stark then, and now it was going to be useful to Flagg.
Flagg thought about how Blaze brought up in the bar the fact that he had left the carnival and the family at one point, leaving Flagg to believe that Blaze was still angry at him. The memory motivated Flagg for the last time.
He pushed the button to order the capsules.