A bent figure trailed into a torchlit room, dragging himself across the floor on his knees. He wore a rotten, torn soldier's uniform, most of which hung like entrails down his back. But what was more disturbing about the person's appearance was that he had a clean, red skull for a head with no ears or nose. Hot tears were streaming down his hard cheeks and he snarled and gnashed his teeth in a fierce misery no one on earth had ever seen before.

The Red Skull finally bowed his head and hit his hands on the floor. "My lord, the one you have been waiting to have, is on the verge of death." In Hell, everyone served the Prince of Lies himself. Mephisto. A tall, imposing being whose appearance was darker than the realm around him. He stood gazing out with his glowing white eyes through the window, both hands clasped behind his back. His skin was the color of fresh blood, and his black hair dangled far past his shoulders. His black cloak shrouded him so that he looked more like a shadow in a wall.

Mephisto tilted his head as he studied the world outside. A river of lava jaded with small islands, all of which contained inhabitants of lost souls that failed to make it to a better world, whether it was because of their lives on earth, or because Mephisto had managed to snag them and drag them in.

Mephisto's eyes averted from the window and he turned, taking his cape around with him to snake around his legs.

When he spoke, his lips didn't move. "I can feel it. Her soul is slowly crawling out of her flesh. It calls and I will soon beckon in return."

The Red Skull silently nodded and his whole body shook in waves and he started giggling to himself.

"And what of Mister Stane?" Mephisto asked.

"He—he has willingly submitted to this place, my lord."

"Excellent. He will do incredible things under me. Incredible things."

Mephisto strode past the Red Skull, who couldn't stop laughing in his crouched position, and walked into the center of a room shaped like a perfect circle, giving himself the space he needed. With one hand up and two fingers and a thumb stuck out, then the other hand in the same position in front of the first, Mephisto moved the second hand around in a circle, creating a sparkling window that allowed him to see into something on earth.

He saw the woman in the hospital bed stuck full of IVs and a breathing mask over her mouth. She was cut up with one eye swollen shut.

"Jennifer Glatzer," Mephisto bellowed. His lips curved into an insidious grin and his eyes sparkled in delight.

"Come home to me, my dear. Come home."**

*"Tell me everything. Now," Flagg said. His arms were folded and if looks could kill, Johnny Blaze would surely be dead. For the second time.

Blaze responded by taking a swig of beer from his flask. His eye contact went everywhere except his friend. How could he keep his eye contact on Flagg when he was this pissed with him?

They were sitting in Flagg's camper a safe distance away from all the chaos in the city as S.H.I.E.L.D tried to detain the situation and clean up the mess left behind.

"Hey, I'm over here. Look at me," Flagg snapped.

Blaze's eyes darted over to him. At this point, he half-expected Zarathos to say something, but he didn't. Blaze never thought he would feel this way, but he really wished that Zarathos had at least something to say. Anything that could distract him from the situation he was in. But he was also being irresponsible by being silent, and he would lose Flagg as a friend a lot quicker that way than he is now.

"So, cool stuff huh?" Blaze asked.

Flagg raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"I mean, come on. Your best friend and foster brother can turn into a frickin' skeleton dude with a flaming head. That's pretty badass, wouldn't you say?"

Flagg's arms dropped to his sides. "Un-believable. This is what you're going to do? You're not going to take responsibility for any of this?"

Blaze frowned. "Responsibility for what? What have I done that was wrong?"

Flagg took a dangerous step forward so that his face was taking up more of Blaze's vision. "Jennifer is in the ER now with multiple broken bones and I'm in danger of losing my job in the carnival because of you!"

"Oh because that's all actually my fault," Blaze sneered sarcastically.

"You're saying none of those displays are? You gonna come up with some stupid excuse like 'the Devil made me do it'?"

"Well, yeah. Actually, yes."

Blaze wasn't expecting Flagg to strike him across the face with an open palm next. The impact was enough for Blaze's face to jerk to the side. There was blood in the wad he spit.

"Let me tell you something now," Flagg said. "I'm taking a stupid, terrible risk by being near you knowing what you're capable of, and I should be at the hospital with Jennifer. But I want to know the truth. What. The hell. Is going on?"

Blaze sighed and sank down on the floor defeated. He swept large strands of hair from his eyes and tucked them behind his ear.

"I really wanted to tell you. Flagg, I—." Tears welled up in Blaze's eyes. "I really, really wanted to tell you about all of this."

Flagg knelt down so that he could look into Blaze's eyes. His voice softened just a little bit. "Then why didn't you?"

How to start?

"At the beginning."

Blaze was surprised that Zarathos was pitching in. Why did he care about this?

"There's—something inside of me that makes me turn into that—that thing. Most of the time, I don't have any control over it."

"So what, you're like the Hulk now or something?"

"Not really. This isn't because of—science."

Flagg frowned, appearing more skeptical. Blaze wasn't surprised one bit.

"I'll tell you everything. I don't know if you'll understand all of it."

Flagg sat down across from Blaze with his legs crossed. "Try me. This is your chance to prove me wrong about you.

Yes. The last chance.**

Years Ago…

* At the time Johnny Blaze's mother Naomi left with his other younger siblings, Blaze didn't understand why, except for the fact that his mother was clearly scared about something. It wasn't anything that Blaze's father Barton had done, it was something else.

"I'm doing this for your own good. For yours and your father's," Naomi said with her hands on Blaze's shoulders. Blaze's hair was a greasy mess and his clothes were stained and caked with dirt.

"Will I see you again?" He asked.

Naomi's sapphire eyes drooped and her lips quivered. "Not in this life, my love. Not unless you somehow find me, but you can't. I will only end up hurting you."

An idea seemed to strike Naomi. She opened the passenger side door of her and leaned in to grab something. In her hands were a couple of albums by Bon Jovi, one of her favorite artists, and one that was slowly becoming a favorite of Blaze's.

"Here, take these. Listen to them. You can remember me while you do."

Blaze took the albums but it didn't really make him feel any more at peace. Blaze didn't say anything. His gaze stayed down on the dirt below him, and he couldn't look his mother in the eye even when he wanted to. Why couldn't his body obey him?

"Johnny, look at me," Naomi said.

Blaze didn't look up.

"Johnny, please."

Nothing. Then finally, Blaze dropped the Bon Jovi albums on the ground, turned around, and ran. He ignored Naomi's calls for him to come back. He was a coward. He knew that. He would always regret not staying to properly say goodbye to his mother.

Johnny had his first alcoholic beverage that following night. Though he had never been a fan of drinking before then, this time he had found himself a reason to. One glass of hard bourbon dumped his mind into a funk that gave him a lethal mix of emotions. Anger, fear, hopelessness, the urge to die. Little did he know that that urge would one day be satisfied, though not in the way he had hoped.

On the same night after his time drinking, Johnny walked into what used to be his mother's room. Naomi had never agreed to the idea of her and Blaze's father Barton sleeping together in the same room. They had obviously dedicated special time together in order to have kids, but Naomi preferred having her own bedroom. Something about having 'personal space' and the need to be completely alone in order to be 'reenergized'. On top of that, while Barton was a very disorganized person and tended to have piles of his own clothes on the floor, everything in Naomi's room was organized to the letter. Family photos were lined up on top of the dresser in the order that they were taken, and pictures of Blaze and his siblings were on the wall lined up in the order that they were born. She still had her old, neglected pairs of shoes sitting at the foot of her bed, from smallest to largest. Framed on the wall above her bed next to a wedding photo of her and Barton was a Captain America comic book signed by the flag waver himself and given to her by her father who had served in World War II. It was the only source of memorabilia of her father that she had been able to salvage, and she had left it behind. For Blaze? He wasn't sure.

Blaze couldn't stand the thought of lingering in his mother's room any longer. There was an eerie air about it that caused him to shiver, but it wasn't because his mother was gone now. Somehow, there was something about it that always gave him the creeps, even when Naomi still lived with him. As he turned to leave, he heard a sound like a heartbeat. He wondered if it was his own, but it wasn't. It was as if he was listening to a heartbeat through a stethoscope, it was that loud.

But it was coming from somewhere specific in the room too. He peered over at the dresser and his own heart rate escalated. The sound of the heartbeat was—calling to him. He approached the dresser cautiously, as if something was going to jump out of one of the drawers at him. Finally, he opened the bottom drawer to find stacks of folded hand towels there. He was curious why his mother kept a bunch of towels in a dresser drawer to begin with, but they weren't what was making the noise. He began removing them until finally, he found something at the bottom on one side. It was a large, dark book. On the cover was spelled one word:

Darkhold.**

Present Day

* "So, this book that you found. What is it written by some cult or something?" Flagg asked.

"Something worse. It wasn't written by any mortal man," Blaze explained.

Flagg blew a long breath. "Normally I wouldn't believe this, but—there have been reported sightings of weird stuff going on from space. Scientists are afraid that that could directly affect us some day."

"I don't know if those things are connected, but I do know one thing that's for certain," Blaze said.

"Go on."

"I know you're not a religious person, but there's one thing I can confirm is true. Demons are real."

"How do you know this?" Flagg asked.

"I've been to hell and back. Literally."

"You mean—like all the fire and brimstone and crap?"

"Yeah. It's pretty much exactly what you would imagine it to be."

"What happened there?" Flagg asked.

"I'll get there. First I have to tell you about the time my dad was shot."**

Years Ago…

* The bullet smashed into the side of Barton's stomach and he fell flat onto his back. Blood pooled underneath him.**

Present Day

* "Wait. I thought your dad was killed in a stunt accident," Flagg pointed out.

"He was. But he could've died after getting shot. He would've," Blaze replied.

"What do you mean?"**

Years Ago…

* "Dad!" Blaze screamed as he knelt down beside Barton. The man with the gun that had shot him spun around to run away, his dark emerald jacket trailing behind him. Blaze was all alone in the alley with his father, the last of his family he had left. Without him, he wouldn't have anywhere to go. He didn't know of anyone that would take him in anyway.

Barton coughed up blood and stared up at his son with wide, wide eyes. "Johnny…"

"Don't talk. I'll call for help," Blaze urged. He reached into his pocket to grab his cell phone, and then realized something. He remembered what he had read in that mysterious book he found in his mother's room. The Darkhold was a book that contained secrets. Secrets that weren't clear to him at first, but had slowly formed for him to read them. He knew that the book was magic already, that much he was certain about. But could he actually use that magic? Could he heal his father without needing modern medicine or doctors?

Before giving it a second thought, Blaze began speaking to himself, which came out as something that wasn't English, or any known language for that matter. The way he spoke was more like chanting and his eyes rolled back as he thrusted his head up at the sky.

Tears streamed down his cheeks and he spread his arms out wide in a trembling embrace.

"Forgive me," he said to no one in particular. Maybe it was to his father. Maybe it was to God Himself. Even Blaze wasn't sure.

"What is it, child? What is it that you desire?"

Blaze gasped at hearing the voice and his arms slightly drooped but stayed spread.

"Who is this?" He asked.

"The one you have summoned. What is it that you desire?"

Blaze looked down at Barton's body. Barton was out cold but his heart was still beating. Barely.

"My dad. He's dying. I want him to be healed. I don't want him to die," Blaze said.

There was a crash of thunder. Then:

"Calm yourself, child. Your wish will be granted. But it comes at a price."

"Oh, come on," Blaze whined. "Why does this stuff always have to have a condition?"

Suddenly, within a flash of lighting, Blaze saw a black, tall figure towering over him and his father. The figure held a long scarlet sword with the tip of the blade hovering over Barton's chest.

"The things that are granted to you by the ones above!" The figure shrieked.

Blaze threw his hands over his father as if it would protect him. "No! Don't! I'll do whatever you ask. Just don't kill my father."

"Then you will let me have your soul," the figure bellowed.

"My—my soul?"

"It is the only way that you can save your father. A soul for a soul. A fair trade."

Blaze couldn't think straight. He could see his mother Naomi in his head as well as the faces of his other siblings, but they were blurrier now. He couldn't remember them as well as he used to anymore. He didn't want the same thing to happen to the memories of his father.

Blaze stood up. He tried to focus his vision on the cloaked figure standing on the other side of his father's body, but it was hard. It was as if the figure was blurry itself, never taking any clear form.

"Who are you?" Blaze asked.

"Does that matter?"

Blaze gulped and shook his head. "Just do what you have to do."

Before Blaze could move, the sword in the figure's hand flashed and Blaze felt it plunge through his chest. Blood fountained out of his mouth and everything went black.**

*When Blaze woke up, he screamed at the sharp pain spiking up his back and over his head. He couldn't feel his hair at all and his screams carried no sound. He scrambled up on his feet and gasped when he took in his surroundings. He was in the middle of a vast lake of lava, standing atop an island of black ash. The sky was coated in black and red clouds, blocking out any sunlight or blue. There didn't appear to be any end to the lake, and the hopeless feeling of being trapped swarmed through Blaze like a plague of locusts.

When he turned around behind him, he saw the same dark figure he had seen earlier. Where was his father? Was he okay?

The look of the figure was more defined this time, with long black hair past his shoulders and gleaming pale eyes.

"Where the hell am I?" Blaze asked.

The figure raised his hand. "You have surrendered your life to me in exchange for the preservation of your father's life. Now you must prove that I have no reason to regret this decision."

Blaze fidgeted when he heard the ground around him break apart, revealing shadowy, magma bodies climbing through the surface armed with chains. Their eyes were like black holes, and their mouths were constantly screaming and crying in a kind of torment that Blaze couldn't even imagine experiencing. The shadows surrounded Blaze in a perfect circle.

The sight of them sparked a fierce anger in Blaze that surprised himself. What was it about these beings that caused this untamed rage to stir up within him?

His gaze fell on the chain that one of the shadows held in one hand.

"Can I have one?" Blaze asked.

What?

That wasn't Blaze's voice. It was something else. Something far more sinister.

Blaze felt something metal materialize into his hand until he was holding a long, black chain. And it was on fire.**

Present Day

* Flagg held both of his hands against the back of his head as he paced back and forth.

"So, hell. It's really real?"

Blaze flashed a defeated smirk. "Could any other place possibly be capable of turning me into what I can turn into?"

Flagg sank into a sitting position crossing his legs again and shook his head.

"You weren't in control."**

Years Ago…

* "All of you! Guilty!" Blaze's body screamed.

His eyes exploded and fire flared out, swallowing up his entire head. It shredded and melted away his face and spread down through his neck until nothing was left but a hollow, feral-looking skull. The shadows stepped back in fear at the sight of Mephisto's new warrior. The were unable to use their own chains against him before the Ghost Rider lashed his chain out and wrapped it around the waist of one of them. Yanking his wrist back, the chain tore the shadow into two pieces. With a few brief seconds of confidence, the other shadows charged at the Rider, whipping their chains over their heads to prepare to take him down. One chain found its way around the Rider's wrist and another took care of the other, spreading the Rider's arms wide to keep him restrained.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

Ghost Rider screamed in a rage and pulled his arms forward to try and wrench the chains out of his enemies' grips, but they held on hard.

The shadows pulled to attempt to yank the Rider's arms out of their sockets, but the Rider fought back by summoning a flash of white light to blind them. Bewildered by the sudden light, the shadows loosened their grips, giving the Rider the chance to pull as hard as he could to rip the chains away.

He twirled both of them and lashed them out around the shadows' necks. With an animalistic cry, he severed both of their heads from their transparent bodies.

With the rest that came at him, the Ghost Rider used his chain, changing it into different forms to stab, slice, decapitate, and tear apart. The bodies were still screaming as they fell.

Finally, the shadows were all swept away in an ashy wind, leaving the Ghost Rider alone with Mephisto.

"Excellent. Excellent," Mephisto said with a cackle. The Rider whirled around to face him.

"You are the warrior I intended for you to be. Go now. You will serve as a spirit of vengeance on earth as—the Ghost Rider."

"You did this to me. You did this to me!" The Rider howled in Blaze's voice.

The Rider howled and launched himself at Mephisto holding the middle of his chain with two hands. The chain snapped apart into two halves, forming into short, dagger-like blades. Mephisto managed to parry the Rider's attack with his own long sword, with a clash so powerful, the ash exploded up into the air around them.

The Rider snarled and spat as he pushed against Mephisto with all his might to overtake him. Mephisto was quick however, and he pushed back, causing the Rider to stumble and fall to its knees.

"Nice try, Zarathos. You will never defeat me," he said. Before the Rider could get back up, Mephisto popped him on the forehead with two long, bony fingers. The Ghost Rider fell onto its back, unconscious.**

Present Day

* "Then I woke up back on earth. In the same alley where my dad was shot, except there was one difference. I was the one lying on the ground, and my dad was the one watching over me," Blaze said.

"Was your dad still hurt?" Flagg asked.

It took a moment for Blaze to respond. His thoughts were paused and he had to struggle through the fog in his mind thanks to his beer. "No. Any evidence that he had been shot was gone on his body. No blood, no scar. Nothing."

"This doesn't make sense. What was the point of making the deal if your dad was just going to die anyway a week later?" Flagg asked.

"You're right. It doesn't make sense. It doesn't make any frickin' sense at all, but that's what happened. I made a terrible mistake and I was cheated over it in the end."

"Big time. Your dad died for real during that stunt, and you couldn't do anything about that."

Blaze shook his head as he thought back to that. Being beside his father who was broken and bleeding again after just one week was enough to send him flying out of the carnival with his skin peeling away to reveal the monster beneath him. Many lives had been lost that night as Blaze took all his anger out on people who were guilty of wrongdoing. People whose bodies were going to be completely erased from existence. That was when he realized what he was meant to do as the Ghost Rider. He was a vigilante. Not a hero.

"It could be worse you know," Flagg said.

"Tell me, Flagg. Tell me what could possibly worse then being dead but staying alive thanks to a bloodthirsty demon that turns me into a raging skeleton monster with a frickin' fiery chain," Blaze lamented.

"Okay, when you put it that way it sounds pretty messed up, but listen. Your powers are used against only people who are bad, right?" Flagg asked.

"That's a very narrow way of looking at it, but yes."

"So it could be worse then. You could be forced to just murder a bunch of innocent people for personal gain," Flagg pointed out.

"Yes, but this is still not right! Don't you understand? I don't go out and do this crap and then feel good about myself afterwards. People don't see the image of the Ghost Rider as a hero, they see it as a—a monster. Something to be feared, not admired. People like Captain America got off better than I did. This isn't what I wanted to be," Blaze said.

A tear slipped through Flagg's eye. "I'm sorry. Look man, I—I didn't know, okay? And I understand why you didn't tell me. This is just—a lot to take in, and I'm trying so frickin' hard to look at the positives about it."

Blaze's voice softened and his shoulders welt. "Well, you were always pretty good about that. I remember when you were telling me all the great things about your dad after I lost mine."

A half-hearted smile flinched through Flagg's features. "I wish I believed I was being honest about all those things I said."

"Sometimes we say what we have to, in order for someone that means something to us to look better in our eyes," Blaze said.

"So what are you going to do now? Now that the whole carnival knows who you are?" Flagg asked.

Blaze shrugged. "I honestly have no clue. Maybe write a comic book series and start a fan club."

Flagg grinned. "See? You're looking at the positives."

"Don't expect that too often," Blaze warned.

"From you? Never," Flagg said. He got up and started to head towards the door.

"Wait. So you're not mad at me? You don't feel the slightest concerned about being around me?" Blaze asked.

Flagg's eyes turned sad. "You didn't know the outcome of the situation. You were wrong to go trying out some cult's spells, but you didn't know something like that was going to happen. We make really stupid mistakes sometimes that we end up having to live with."

Flagg pointed at himself as he said this.

"We'll talk about your side later. You should go check on Jennifer," Blaze said.

"I'm just afraid that she won't want to see me," Flagg admitted.

"She doesn't know anything yet. Not yet."

"Maybe it's best if she never did."

"You're the boyfriend, not me," Blaze reminded him.

"Right," Flagg said. He stopped short before leaving.

"Oh, and S.H.I.E.L.D knows who you are, but they entrusted me to talk to you. Apparently they believe that you're not dangerous to people who are innocent at least, but they'll ask me for answers."

"I'll take care of that myself."

"You're not going to do anything stupid are you?"

Blaze half-smiled. "Nothing you should be concerned about."

Flagg then left, and Blaze remained sitting on Flagg's couch trying to keep the fragments of his mind pieced together. His friend's sympathy surprised him, but at the same time it made sense. Both of them had made mistakes that cost them something. How could one person judge the other if that person is guilty too?

When Blaze was sure that he was alone, he broke down and sobbed into his hands.**

*Bright flashing lights. Hollering voices. Needles. Needles in the arm. Blood. An arm clinging on to gory entrails.

Then the white light consumed everything and there was darkness.

Jennifer's eyes opened and blinked twice to focus. There was lava, lots of it. Black, smoking ash made up the ground beneath her.

Where am I? What is this?!

"Hello, Jennifer," a booming voice said behind her.

Jennifer spun around to face a figure bathed in blood-red. His glowing white eyes pierced her throat like a knife.

"I want to make a deal with you. Will you hear it?" The figure asked.

Jennifer wanted to cry but no tears came. Her legs were shaking so hard she had to sit down. In this place, she felt naked and completely vulnerable. Feelings of guilt, sorrow, and fear strangled her mind, and she felt like her flesh was peeling away, threatening to reduce her to bones.

"I will do whatever you want," she cried. "Just please. Make the pain stop," she begged.

Mephisto grinned and he held out his hand for Jennifer to take. It was the only option that resided in Jennifer's mind. She couldn't remember anything that had come before nor did she have a clue what was still to come. Her hand fell into Mephisto's, and the very presence of this evil visitor forced her mind to submit.

"What do you want of me?" She asked.

"Your soul."