Chapter 14
The End: Part One
CRASH!
A large panel of the chapel ceiling came crashing to the floor, along with Dean in a cloud of dust. He coughed and tossed away the debris, making his way to his feet.
Malphas, appearing from behind, grabbed Dean by the shoulder, sinking his nails into a bloody wound created from the fall. The demon towed him down the aisle, Dean kicking and cringing in pain the whole way. Malphas threw him down before the pulpit and stepped back to observe his prey.
"At last. We can be alone," Malphas sighed, relieved.
"That's what you wanted? Man, I would've set you straight from the beginning; that's not my kinda thing." Dean teased with a feigned smirk.
Malphas smiled cruelly. He raised a hand toward Dean, his eyes now black as night. Dean reeled in pain as buried images forcibly rose to the surface.
Mary, donning an angelic white nightgown, pinned to the ceiling, her blonde waves spread out around her; a most picturesque display. Flames suddenly engulfed her and the nursery was enveloped in red heat.
John, Dean, and baby Sam in his daddy's arms looked up at their childhood home consumed by demonic flames. As firefighters rushed to their aid, the three knew there was nothing that could be done. Their mother was dead; their house destroyed.
Sam, much older now, painfully stared up at another ceiling; Jessica burning in his mother's place. Dean tried to pull Sam out of the flame-encompassed room. The devastation was evident on his face: another death; another demon-related tragedy.
Dean entered another room, a hospital room, with Sam by his side. Both were badly beaten with cuts on their faces. On the hospital bed, surrounded by doctors and nurses frantically performing CPR, was John, lifeless. All of the machines hooked up to him beeped incessantly. Sam looked to John, unable to remove his gaze; the same look of devastation on his face. Suddenly, all went quiet. The doctor called it, "Time of death: 10:41 am." John lay dead before them. The knowledge sunk in that they were now orphans.
"So much pain, Dean. So much loss," Malphas taunted.
"Stop it. Please," Dean mumbled through the pain of the memories.
"Not having fun? That's too bad, 'cause we're just getting started." Malphas smiled grimly before raising his hand once more to put Dean back under his spell. Visions and memories flooded Dean's mind.
Sam and Johnny shot rapid fire at the oncoming horde of zombie creatures, hitting but a rare few. Realizing they were heavily outnumbered, they raced back to the Impala and took refuge inside it. Sam quickly reloaded, trying to catch his breath in the meantime. Thankfully, the zombies were slow, still getting their bearings after just rising from the grave. Slowly, they made their way to the Impala. Johnny, meanwhile, struggled to remain human.
"This is useless! Headshots take too long to get right, and the bullets will only slow them down a bit more. And we're running out of ammo. Please tell me you have a plan," Sam pleaded.
"I have a plan. But I have to make sure you understand something first. I suppose a bit of a confession is in order. I've been holding the Rider back," Johnny explained breathlessly.
"Well... don't."
"It's not that simple. It's possession, Sam. The Ghost Rider possesses me at night in the presence of evil. I'm still awake in there, though. I can see and feel everything he does, and I can talk to him. Sometimes talk him out of things, too. But my doing so limits him. My humanity limits him. I've only let him out fully once or twice, and I swore I'd never do it again. Not unless I had to."
Sam looked out the front windshield. Rotting corpses surrounding them battered against the car again and again, confused by the inconvenient obstacle, but hungry for the fresh meat inside.
"Well I think now you have to!"
"You don't understand. Letting the Rider out is like setting a Hellhound off its leash. He's f-ing scary! And now with Carter gone he's gonna be ten-fold. If I give him the reigns, he will finish this. He has near unlimited abilities without me involved, but I won't be able to control him. I won't be able to protect you. Or Dean," Johnny explained.
"But I'm not evil."
"The Rider protects the innocent. You're a good guy, Sam, but in this line of work, I know you ain't no innocent. You need to get out of here."
Sam set his hand on the door handle, readying himself.
"I'll go look for Dean. I think they're in the chapel. Malphas can't get past the gates and I don't see anywhere else they could go we wouldn't see them."
Johnny just nodded, readying himself at the door as well. They looked at each other, silently counting down...
Three... Sam swallowed hard, knowing, and fearing, that this could very well be the end for any one of them...
Two... Johnny's eyes began to glow and smoke billowed from his shirt sleeves. Alright now. You play nice, he whispered through thought to the Rider taking possession of him...
One.
Glass exploded from the car like fireworks; all the windows shattered by an invisible force. The blast threw back the onslaught of fleshy creatures, and flung Sam from the car through the busted-open doors. He hit the stone wall of the chapel with a THUD, and, with barely time to recover, turned to shoot a trio of zombies in the head. Once relatively safe, Sam looked back to the Impala thinking, Dean's gonna kill him. And with that, Sam fled the scene, headed for the chapel, leaving the horde of zombies and their masters in the hands of the Rider.
A bony hand grabbed the hood of the Impala. A weathered motorcycle boot stomped out onto the gravel. A flaming skeletal head emerged from the vehicle. The Rider scanned its surroundings like surveying a battlefield, searching for the best fight. He grinned as ever a toothy skull could grin.
"Play time, children!" he growled.
The zombies slowly started collecting themselves off the ground and headed toward their new target. The demons stayed in the distance, watching to see how it would all unfold.
The Rider placed a forceful hand on the hood of the Impala and breathed in deeply. He exhaled with a quiver as a mighty power was released along with his breath. The Impala suddenly began to alter.
The remaining shards of glass attached to the window frames grew to cover the panes completely with bulletproof – and tinted – glass. The bolts on the tire plates elongated to eye-gouging spikes. A sleek coat of paint appeared on the car's body, leaving it looking glossy and new. Then the entire vehicle ignited with flames that loomed over it without effect, much like the Rider himself.
The Impala's engine roared to life and revved in anticipation. The Rider removed his hand and drew a red silk scarf from his jacket interior. Like a flagman at a racetrack, the Rider waved the scarf up into the air, held it for a moment, and then dropped it. Just as the scarf left his bony fingers, the Impala sped into action. It flew across the cemetery, circling the chapel several times, mowing down every zombie corpse in its path. They splattered like squished pumpkins as the tires overtook them.
The demons watched in awe... and fear.
The Impala finally came to a halt, its task completed, at the Rider's side. The Rider tapped the Impala on the hood – job well done – before sauntering off toward his next plaything.
A lone zombie remained, just a head being dragged around by lanky arms attached to weak shoulders. It crawled up to the Impala and reached for the handle. SMACK! The passenger side door whacked the zombie flat in the face, killing it instantly. The Impala's engine roared and its headlights flickered momentarily as if it was laughing at its own wit and a good kill.
The Rider, nearing the remaining demons, unsheathed his chain from around his torso. Shezma and Osiris slowly retreated, never removing their gazes from their predator.
The Rider lassoed a tombstone with his chain and whipped it fiercely, uprooting it from the dirt, at an unmoving Murmur, pummelling him into the ground.
Seeing their fallen comrade, the other two began to run toward the other end of the cemetery, barely realizing there was nowhere for them to go beyond the gates.
The Rider whistled loudly. His motorcycle, flames and all, leapt over the gates and, like a dog, came running to its master. The Rider mounted the bike and sped toward his prey. The demons, upon seeing their pursuer getting closer, split up. The Rider chose his next victim and veered left.
Osiris zigzagged through the tombstones, trying not to look back. Nearing the gate, he doubled back and circled around to the centre marked by the angel statue. The Rider saw where he was headed and zoomed ahead. As Osiris reached his mark, he was stopped by the Rider, doing donuts around the statue, with him in it. The Rider's circles got tighter and tighter, faster and faster, enclosing the demon in a claustrophobic ring of fire. The flames sucked all oxygen from the ring and Osiris gasped for air. Gradually, the demon dissipated into thin air, leaving nothing behind but several wristwatches. The Rider stopped and looked down at the remains, satisfied.
"Looks like your time's up, bub."
With that, the Rider sprang back into action to pursue his final victim.
The cowardly Shezma was hiding in the caretaker's shed, and the Rider sensed this. He dismounted his bike and strode into the small cabin.
It was quiet. The demon was nowhere in sight. The Rider strut across the room toward a tall cabinet with double doors, knowing full well there was nowhere else the demon could be hiding. He reached for the handle to reveal the sniveling coward when a sudden feeling came over him that halted him at once. A ripple coursed through his body shifting his appearance between that of the Ghost Rider and that of Johnny Blaze. Curious, and a little unnerved, the Rider opened the cabinet doors. There stood Shezma whispering a repetitive incantation into an amulet clutched to his chest; no doubt one he stole from his dead shaman friend. Another ripple sent the Rider stumbling back, this time lingering longer in Johnny's form. This angered the Rider greatly.
Before another wave could hit him, the Rider leapt forward and seized the amulet, hurling it to the floor and smashing it with his boot. Shezma looked up at him in utter terror. The Rider screamed; a sound so deafening and so ghastly that it is believed you could hear all of Hell's monsters crying out at once through it. Shezma fell to his knees, grasping at his ears with all his might to drown out any decibel of the noise. The small cabin burst into flames at the sound of the scream; the Rider's anger now realized. He snatched Shezma by his collar and pinned him against the cabinet.
"You are the Demon of Blood; the Demon of Execution; the Demon of Slaughter. Millions of innocent souls taken by your hand over thousands of years," the Rider hissed.
Shezma shook his head, refusing to take blame, knowing what was to come.
"Your soul is stained by their blood, demon. Now, you must feel their pain."
Unwillingly, Shezma looked into the Rider's deep black chasms and began screaming in pain. All of the souls he was responsible for, reliving their death through his body. Within moments, Shezma stopped and fell limp on the floor; a dried up sponge.
The flames died out, leaving the cabin charred and standing only by sheer luck. The Rider turned to leave.
"Try to send me away, will you..."
He stopped in his tracks, catching a glimpse of something on Shezma's person. He reached down and grabbed a shiny silver flask from the demon's vest pocket.
"Then I'm taking your wine," the Rider stated in defiance.
He took a swig from the flask and exhaled a satisfied sigh before walking out the door. As the door swung closed, the structure collapsed into a heap of debris.