ã€ŠReborn as a Ghost Riderã€‹


 Prologue

    Six years old. For an ordinary child, it''s an age of play, first friends, and an endless sense of safety under the wings of family. For Johnny Blaze, the son of circus performers, it could have been a time of carefree childhood¡ªif not for one exception.

    Reincarnation. Memories of a past life. A chance to get everything right on a second try.

    Once, there lived an ordinary man in a completely different reality. His past was utterly mundane, with nothing remarkable about it. He worked, enjoyed comic books, and immersed himself in fantasies about the Marvel Universe. His passion was Ghost Rider comics. He knew every version of the character¡ªJohnny Blaze, Danny Ketch, Alejandra Jones, and even the rare heroes who bore the Rider''s curse only temporarily.

    For decades, he read about Ghost Rider, admired the character¡¯s tragic yet majestic image. Ghost Rider¡¯s powers¡ªfiery chains, hellfire, a magical bike, and, of course, the Penance Stare¡ªinstilled fear and awe. But any true fan of Ghost Rider knew not just about his power but also the curse that came with it. The devastating influence of Zarathos, the Spirit of Vengeance, brought pain and suffering to every Rider.

    Now, that man with an unremarkable life had awakened as Johnny Blaze. Six-year-old Johnny Blaze.

    The faint glow of a kerosene lamp illuminated the room. Drapes, an old carpet on the floor, a few toys in the corner. A creaky crib under his back. The distant smell of horses. This was the look and feel of a circus tent. Home, sweet home.

    The harsh reality of this new life had sunk in a few days ago. During that time, he had already tackled the two most critical tasks for any reincarnator.

    First, using whatever tools he could find, he confirmed that this was indeed the Marvel Universe. He wasn¡¯t just a namesake of the famous character. Mutants and sorcerers genuinely existed here. That was good¡ªthings would definitely not be boring.

    Second, he resolved his self-identity crisis. He had inherited the body, emotions, and memories of six-year-old Johnny. Although there weren¡¯t many memories, they were vivid. He decided firmly to consider himself Johnny, who had simply recalled a past life.

    "His parents are my parents. His friends are my friends," he thought and made a decision. "And that''s right.¡±

    Now he lay in his crib, pondering the future. In the next tent, his father slept like the dead after a grueling motorcycle training session. His mother twitched in her sleep, plagued by nightmares of a flaming skull, but his father¡¯s hand calmed her. Nearby, in a cradle, his younger brother and sister snored peacefully.

    Tears welled up in Johnny''s eyes. He knew what fate awaited this family. He knew it all too well.

    Mephisto, the infernal trickster and archdemon, was a master manipulator. He didn¡¯t need to kill or destroy with his own hands. He always operated through lies, distortions, and schemes. Naomi Kale, his mother, was his first victim in this story.

    This story needed to be told from the beginning.

    Naomi wasn¡¯t just his mother¡ªshe was the heiress of a magical bloodline. Everyone with cursed blood bore the mark of Zarathos, the Spirit of Vengeance. Anyone from this cursed lineage could become Ghost Rider against their will.

    Right now, that burden lay with Naomi. When she thought everyone was fast asleep, she would go out on her nighttime hunts: her skin igniting in hellfire, her bike¡¯s flaming wheels tearing through the roads, sinners praying one last time.

    In the comics, Mephisto learned about the power of the cursed bloodline and sought a personal Ghost Rider. He would disguise himself as a prophet and give Naomi a false prophecy, convincing her that her family would perish if she stayed with them. To save them, she would leave her husband and children. That decision would become the catalyst for all the Blaze family¡¯s misfortunes.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    It only got worse from there:

    Barton Blaze, Johnny¡¯s father, would die six months later while attempting a dangerous stunt. He would take that risk to fill the void left by his wife¡¯s departure. Mephisto would sabotage his motorcycle¡¯s parts.

    Barbara, Johnny¡¯s younger sister, would be killed in a gang shootout before finishing school. Mephisto would lure her into the crossfire through deceit.

    Danny, his younger brother, would become a Ghost Rider against his will and later die from a drug addiction. Mephisto would pave the way to his tragic end.

    And Johnny¡­ would first end up in foster care, then sell his soul, becoming Ghost Rider and Mephisto¡¯s pawn.

    But the worst fate was Naomi¡¯s. She would literally tear her soul apart trying to save her family, only for it to be in vain.

    This was wrong. Too cruel. Too unjust.

    It all needed to be fixed. Everyone needed to be saved.

    A six-year-old boy couldn¡¯t fight an archdemon, but he had the power of knowledge.

    Could he use his comic knowledge to call for help? Unfortunately, no. Johnny Blaze belonged to the first wave of superheroes. The Avengers and the Fantastic Four didn¡¯t exist yet. Doctor Strange hadn¡¯t even begun studying magic. Johnny would have to handle this himself.

    The first step was assessing the enemy.

    He knew Mephisto wasn¡¯t the true Satan. He wasn¡¯t an all-powerful devil but a mere speck on the grand tapestry of the universe, pretending to be more than he was. His magic was strong but not absolute. Earth¡¯s heroes had opposed and defeated him multiple times. Even the Red Leader, a man without magic, had outsmarted him.

    The true Satan hid beyond the farthest reaches of the nine hundred and ninety-ninth circle of Hell. Thankfully, he had little influence on Ghost Rider¡¯s story.

    Still, even though Mephisto wasn¡¯t an omnipotent king of Hell, just the ruler of one circle, he was a formidable sorcerer. Like Voldemort, killing him completely was extremely difficult.

    Out of all available resources, Naomi was the only one who could stand up to him. She was a Ghost Rider, her power a genuine legacy of the magical bloodline. Her spirit was made to fight darkness.

    In the comics, Alejandra Jones, another Rider, had literally torn out Mephisto¡¯s heart.

    Naomi could do the same. If she realized her true strength and Mephisto¡¯s weaknesses, she could pull the Blaze family out of their cycle of suffering.

    But how could Johnny convince her? How could he explain everything without revealing his past life knowledge?

    From reading fanfiction, the reincarnator knew that revealing this secret was a terrible idea¡ªit would make life unbearable. Still, if nothing else worked, he would have to lay his cards on the table. The alternative¡ªbecoming Mephisto¡¯s pawn¡ªwas far worse. No, losing his family was even worse than that.

    Naomi was his mother. He remembered how she bought him his first toys, her smile warmer than the sun. Barton was his father. He remembered how his dad taught him to ride a bike¡ªno bruises or scrapes that day because his father¡¯s strong hands were always ready to catch him. Barbara and Danny were his siblings. He remembered the tenderness of holding them for the first time, eagerly awaiting the day they¡¯d call him for help as their older brother.

    Johnny¡¯s heart ached at the thought of losing them.

    He closed his eyes and recalled how, in his past life, he was captivated by the same heroes who now surrounded him. He knew the entire Ghost Rider chronology: from his first encounter with Mephisto to his battle with the archangel Zadkiel, who tried to seize Heaven. He knew about his rivalry with Lilith, about Robbie Reyes and his complicated relationship with his uncle. He knew how Alejandra Jones fought for freedom.

    But above all, he knew the weaknesses of demons. Even an archdemon like Mephisto was bound by the laws of magic. Contracts and obligations tied him more than he admitted. Played correctly, it was possible not only to outwit him but to utterly destroy his plans.

    Johnny opened his eyes. He understood that his mission wasn¡¯t just to survive. He had to break this cursed script. He had to save them all.

    Naomi wouldn¡¯t abandon her family. Johnny would tell her the truth, presenting it as a prophetic dream. Barton wouldn¡¯t die because Johnny would convince him to change careers. Barbara wouldn¡¯t perish because Johnny would protect her. Danny wouldn¡¯t become an addict because he¡¯d always have his older brother¡¯s support.

    And Mephisto... That trickster demon, that infernal fraud, that archdemon with an inflated ego¡­ he would meet his end. Or, at the very least, lose everything he held dear.

    Johnny sat up in his bed, clenching his tiny fists. His eyes sparkled with determination.

    "You don¡¯t know who you¡¯re messing with, Mephisto," the boy whispered. "But you¡¯ll find out soon enough."

    Johnny smiled. A long battle lay ahead, but everything depended on him now. He swore to himself that, for the first time, Ghost Rider¡¯s story would have a happy ending.

 Prologue 2 of 3

    The night in the circus town was silent, as if nature itself had held its breath. Distant animal sounds and the occasional footsteps of guards melted into the heavy stillness that blanketed the tents. Naomi awoke suddenly, her family medallion burning against her chest like a hot coal. The hellfire within demanded vengeance.

    Carefully, she slipped out of her husband''s embrace, trying not to wake him. Bart was exhausted¡ªevery day, he worked himself to the bone to provide for their family.

    She gave a faint smile, tucked the blanket around him, and kissed his cheek lightly. Throwing a woolen shawl over her shoulders, she walked over to Barb and Danny¡¯s cradle. Her little angels were sleeping peacefully. Danny was quietly sucking his thumb, while Barb¡­ as always, seemed to sense eyes watching her or her brother. The baby stirred awake, her big eyes curiously gazing at her mother.

    ¡°My little protector,¡± Naomi thought, weaving a quick spell with her fingers. Sparks of green light enveloped Barb, lulling her back to sleep. The girl drifted off, but a pang of unease gripped Naomi¡¯s heart: she knew Barb would always fight for her family.

    Her unease deepened when she peeked into Johnny¡¯s room. The moonlight illuminated an empty bed. A mother¡¯s heart clenched.

    ¡°Johnny?¡± she called, glancing around.

    A low, raspy voice came from a dark corner of the tent:

    ¡°Johnny is no more.¡±

    Naomi spun around sharply. Her son stepped out of the shadows, but something was wrong. There was no trace of innocence or childish softness¡ªonly a predatory grin and eyes filled with dark cynicism.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± Her voice trembled as her fingers ignited with hellfire. ¡°What have you done to my son?¡±

    The figure in Johnny¡¯s body only smirked.

    ¡°Me? I¡¯ve taken what¡¯s rightfully mine. All with cursed blood are my vessels. Your son is no exception.¡±

    The fire on her fingers flickered out. Naomi froze, fear creeping into her heart.

    ¡°You¡­ Zarathos.¡±

    The creature clapped mockingly.

    ¡°At last, you understand. You¡¯ve only borne my curse for a few months, yet you¡¯ve started digging into your family¡¯s history. Impressive. But it¡¯s inevitable, Naomi. Your bloodline has always belonged to me.¡±

    The boy¡¯s words sent a chill down Naomi¡¯s spine.

    ¡°No, no, this can¡¯t be,¡± she muttered. ¡°You can¡¯t make my son a Ghost Rider! Let him grow up, make friends, finish school. You can¡¯t curse him now!¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    ¡°I can do anything,¡± Zarathos said, slowly walking over and sitting on the bed with a predatory smile. ¡°Even punish foolish mothers like you.¡±

    Naomi took a step back.

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°Your brilliant idea to abandon your family to save them from my curse. You thought it would free them from the Rider¡¯s fate? How touching! And how foolish.¡±

    ¡°How?¡± she asked, a chill running down her spine. ¡°How do you know?¡±

    ¡°My energy flows through every descendant of the cursed line. I know everything that happens to each of my vessels,¡± he said with a sneer. ¡°Did you really believe running away would magically drain their cursed blood?¡±

    ¡°But the prophet, he said¡­¡±

    ¡°The prophet?¡± Zarathos interrupted with laughter. ¡°That so-called prophet is nothing but Mephisto¡¯s pathetic puppet. And you believed his lies.¡±

    Naomi felt a tightness in her chest. Mephisto¡¯s name was a whisper from her worst nightmares. It wasn¡¯t unfamiliar¡ªit had appeared in the first grimoire she ever read. A warning of a cruel, deceitful demon who knew no kindness.

    ¡°Mephisto is an old foe of mine,¡± Zarathos continued coldly. ¡°He¡¯s craved my power for a long time, but there¡¯s no official way for him to become a Ghost Rider. He¡¯s looking for a slave.¡±

    ¡°My son,¡± she whispered. ¡°My Johnny.¡±

    She stepped closer, her eyes blazing with fire.

    ¡°If you¡¯re so powerful, Zarathos, why don¡¯t you stop him yourself?¡±

    ¡°I am Zarathos. I serve neither mortals nor your hell nor your heavenly God. But my fate is tied to this boy, and through him, to you. If your family falls, if you fail to oppose Mephisto, I will end up in his chains. That, I will not allow.¡±

    Naomi stared into Johnny¡ªor Zarathos¡¯¡ªeyes and felt each word pierce her soul.

    ¡°How can I stand against Mephisto? He¡¯s the almighty Satan.¡±

    ¡°Strength doesn¡¯t lie in those who lie about their power. Mephisto is not God, nor Satan, as he claims. He is a pathetic worm, a liar who feeds on fear and pain. You carry a power far greater than his. The Rider¡¯s power. It belongs to your bloodline, your heritage.¡±

    Johnny paused, his voice slowing, almost hypnotic.

    ¡°Summon him, mortal. Strike a deal. Deceive the deceiver¡ªthat¡¯s his weakness. Write a contract and hide your trap within it. Strike him at his core. When he believes he¡¯s won, take everything from him. Then cast him into servitude. You can do this, for the Rider¡¯s power is your legacy.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ impossible,¡± Naomi whispered, her mind racing to grasp Zarathos¡¯ words.

    ¡°You can. You¡¯re stronger than you think, Naomi. You are a Rider, and he is just a demon. He fears you but will pretend otherwise. Make him believe he¡¯s winning. Use his pride. Only then can you truly save your family.¡±

    ¡°And my son? Will you spare him from becoming a Ghost Rider?¡±

    ¡°Time¡¯s up. I¡¯ve said all you need to know. Now you must act. If you waste time, you¡¯ll lose everything.¡±

    Johnny fell silent, his small body going limp as though his strength had left him. He slumped against Naomi¡¯s shoulder, quietly sobbing.

    ¡°Mom, I¡­ I don¡¯t know what I said¡­ I¡­ I¡¯m scared¡­¡±

    Zarathos was gone. Only a frightened boy remained.

    Naomi held her son tightly, feeling his small shoulders shake with muffled sobs. But the conversation wasn¡¯t forgotten; the words echoed in her mind. The curse. Mephisto. The contract.

    She couldn¡¯t ignore it. She knew the power burning in her soul. And now, she knew her enemy had already begun his game.

    But Naomi Blaze was ready to fight. Her family was at stake, and she wasn¡¯t going to surrender.

    ---

    When his mother left the room, Johnny drank a glass of water. His throat burned terribly. He¡¯d had to summon every ounce of his theatrical skills from his past life to fake Zarathos¡¯ possession.

    He could only hope it worked, and that Naomi could handle it, because there were no other ideas left.

 Prologue 3 of 3

    The wind howled through the shattered windows of the old, abandoned cathedral on the outskirts of the city. The floor beneath Naomi Blaze¡¯s feet was littered with shards of glass, dust, and debris, but standing in the center, she paid no attention to the destruction. Moonlight barely seeped through the filthy stained glass, casting dark, almost otherworldly shadows. On the stone floor, amidst old bloodstains and remnants of long-forgotten rituals, fresh lines of white salt and charcoal gleamed¡ªa meticulously drawn pentagram, ancient as darkness itself.

    On the altar, illuminated only by the faint glow of candles, lay a sacrificial goat. Its eyes, dark and vacant, stared into the void. The air reeked of incense, mingled with the metallic tang of blood. In Naomi¡¯s hands was an ancient book, its leather binding looking as though it had endured millennia. It was her trophy, seized from a devil-worshiping cult destroyed by the Rider.

    She knew there was no turning back. This ritual was her last chance to rid her family of the approaching evil once and for all. She thought of her children¡¯s faces, Barton¡¯s smile, and the warm light of their home. These images were her shield against fear.

    ¡°You wanted this, Mephisto,¡± Naomi murmured. ¡°Now let¡¯s see how you like it.¡±

    Setting the book aside, she checked the pentagram¡¯s symbols and lit the final candle. The words of the incantation left her lips in an ancient tongue, as though even the wind agreed with her invocation.

    ¡°Oh, great prince of the underworld, lord of all souls and eternal fire, appear before me!¡±

    The ground trembled as though something immense was clawing its way from the depths. The flames of the candles flickered violently, then turned a vivid crimson. Cracks formed at the pentagram¡¯s center, and thick smoke began to rise, carrying with it the stench of sulfur.

    ¡°You dare disturb me, mortal?!¡± The voice echoed through the cathedral, filling every corner of the space.

    A towering, twisted figure of an archdemon stood before Naomi. His skin glowed a fiery red, and massive horns spiraled upward. His form shifted¡ªone moment a monstrous beast with dagger-like teeth, the next, a refined and almost divine human shape.

    ¡°I am the one foolish mortals call Satan! Worship or die!¡±

    Standing outside the pentagram, Naomi gazed at him calmly. Her eyes betrayed no fear, only determination.

    ¡°Save the theatrics for teenagers trying to resurrect their cats. I¡¯m no novice in demonology,¡± she said, boldly meeting his gaze. ¡°If you weren¡¯t interested in a conversation, you wouldn¡¯t have come.¡±

    His growl reverberated off the walls.

    ¡°You¡¯re a brazen mortal! Why shouldn¡¯t I tear you apart right now?¡±

    ¡°Because you can¡¯t.¡± Naomi¡¯s voice was cold as she gestured around the cathedral. ¡°This is holy ground, imbued with heavenly power. You can¡¯t harm me here. Either listen to me or leave!¡±

    The demon fell silent. For a moment, an intrigued glint flickered in his eyes.

    ¡°Speak, mortal.¡±

    ¡°I want to make a deal with you.¡±

    He laughed, a booming sound like the underworld itself.

    ¡°A deal? One soul isn¡¯t worth my time! You don¡¯t understand who you¡¯re dealing with, mortal.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I understand,¡± Naomi replied, her voice unwavering. ¡°I offer my soul to the strongest in Hell for the protection of my family.¡±

    He leaned closer, his eyes blazing like burning coals.

    ¡°You love these people so much you¡¯d sell yourself to me? Amusing. But one soul isn¡¯t enough. I make deals for generations, not individuals.¡±

    ¡°I am no ordinary mortal.¡± Naomi¡¯s hand ignited with hellfire. ¡°And you know it. Come on! Don¡¯t you want a Ghost Rider leading your army of darkness?¡±The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Her confidence gave him pause. Then he nodded, attempting to hide his eagerness.

    ¡°I can find use for your talents, Rider. But the deal must be in writing. I want to ensure you understand the terms.¡±

    ¡°I expected nothing less.¡±

    Naomi pulled a prepared sheet of paper, ink, and a quill from her bag, handing them to the demon.

    The devil began writing, detailing every aspect of how he would claim her soul and make her his eternal servant. Out of spite, he granted her one more month of freedom to spend with her family, ensuring she¡¯d fully grasp what she was about to lose.

    Naomi signed her name.

    The contract¡¯s power, the essence of Hell itself, surged through the signature. There was no turning back. Not even the gods could break the magic of the pact.

    ¡°Naomi, Naomi,¡± the demon smirked, tucking the contract into his sleeve. ¡°I don¡¯t know how you uncovered my little scheme, but it changes nothing. You probably think you¡¯ve outsmarted Satan himself. That now I can¡¯t touch your precious Johnny, Barbara, or Danny. You¡¯re mistaken.¡±

    He grinned wickedly, his form shifting back to one with horns and a tail.

    ¡°You¡¯re no genius, Naomi. You¡¯re just a pathetic mother who¡¯ll do anything to protect her offspring! There¡¯s nothing more pitiful,¡± he hissed. ¡°Your soul is already mine. I¡¯ll tear it apart slowly and with care. And your children will watch.¡±

    He let out a devilish laugh.

    ¡°They¡¯ll soon join you! I¡¯ll shred their souls to pieces so you¡¯ll hear their screams forever. Believe me, I keep my word. I¡¯ll find a loophole to break the contract. I have eternity, and you have no time left, foolish mortal!¡±

    Naomi¡¯s gaze was icy.

    ¡°I hope you enjoyed your little display of demonic pride,¡± she said coldly. ¡°Savor your false triumph¡ªit¡¯s the last you¡¯ll ever have.¡±

    ¡°False triumph?¡± he echoed, confusion flickering across his face. ¡°What have you done, mortal?!¡±

    Naomi¡¯s hand ignited with hellfire as she grabbed the demon¡¯s face and tore it away like a mask.

    ¡°You dared?!¡± he shrieked, writhing on the floor, clutching at the remnants of his face. ¡°I am Satan!¡±

    Naomi laughed.

    ¡°You¡¯re not Satan,¡± she said, pressing her heel onto his stomach. ¡°You¡¯re Mephisto, a pathetic imp dreaming of being something greater. You¡¯ve spent your life pretending to be Satan, but now you face the Rider. And I¡¯ll remind you what true terror is.¡±

    Mephisto tried to flee. She, reading his thoughts, smirked and held up her copy of the contract. There was no escape. Their souls were now bound; she could find him anywhere in Hell.

    With ease, Naomi plunged her hand into his chest, pulling out his heart¡ªa black organ bound by tight cords of hatred.

    ¡°You¡¯ll return this¡­¡± Mephisto rasped, his voice growing weaker.

    ¡°Too bad this won¡¯t kill you completely,¡± Naomi remarked, examining her prize. ¡°Then again, with the magic of the contract, I can track you across dimensions. Let¡¯s see what runs out first¡ªmy month of freedom or your vessels.¡±

    Panic flickered in his eyes¡ªa primal fear of true annihilation.

    ¡°Please, Naomi,¡± Mephisto whispered, black blood dripping from his lips. ¡°Have mercy. I¡¯ll give you an artifact, free your soul, swear never to harm your family¡ªI¡¯ll annul the contract¡­¡±

    ¡°Of course, you will. You need to rid yourself of my mark,¡± she said, tightening her grip on his heart. ¡°But your lies have no power.¡±

    ¡°The power of an oath won¡¯t let me break the agreement!¡± Mephisto protested desperately.

    ¡°Just as the contract requires you to protect my children,¡± she retorted, fire blazing in her eyes. ¡°Yet a moment ago, you swore to find a loophole to destroy their souls. Your demonic nature won¡¯t let you forget this slight. You¡¯ll brood over revenge for centuries. I can¡¯t allow you to return to Hell.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll kill me?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t deserve death. You don¡¯t deserve mercy.¡±

    Naomi returned his heart to his chest. Mephisto¡¯s body convulsed as it began to beat again.

    ¡°What are you planning, mortal?¡± he croaked, coughing. ¡°What game are you playing?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you get it yet?¡± She removed her foot from his stomach and turned her back on him deliberately. ¡°You¡¯re entirely under my control now.¡±

    Mephisto bolted for the cathedral¡¯s exit.

    ¡°Sit!¡± Naomi barked.

    Like a trained dog, Mephisto sat on the pentagram, unable to stand.

    ¡°What have you done to me?!¡± he roared, unable to rise. ¡°Confess, witch!¡±

    ¡°Nothing special¡ªjust fulfilling my part of the contract,¡± she said with a smirk. ¡°If you read carefully, you¡¯ll notice a clause about liability. A minor formality, really, about penalties for failing to meet the terms. You see, Mephisto, I signed the contract for the protection of my children from immediate threats. You were so eager to claim my soul, to have a tame Rider at your disposal, that you didn¡¯t stop to think. Who is the greatest danger to a Rider¡¯s children? Demons? They¡¯re far away in Hell. Vampires? They attack only at night. The greatest threat to my kids is their mother¡ªme, when I lose control. And you just proved your incompetence! You¡¯ve violated the contract, and for that, you¡¯re entirely mine!¡±

    ¡°I am the embodiment of evil!¡± Mephisto snarled, grinding his teeth. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t dare stand against me!¡±

    ¡°I already have,¡± she replied with an icy grin. ¡°Now, shut up until I permit you to speak.¡±

    A glowing red collar appeared around Mephisto¡¯s neck, its magical leash tethered to Naomi¡¯s soul, binding them forever.

    ¡°You¡¯re my servant now,¡± she said, leaning down to him. ¡°You will serve me, and every day of your existence, I¡¯ll shred your pride into pieces. Welcome to Hell.¡±

    Mephisto couldn¡¯t reply¡ªhis face contorted in terror. He knew, without a doubt, that he truly belonged to her now.

 Family Blaze 1 of 2

    Johnny opened his eyes as the alarm clock on his nightstand blared louder than a circus clown during the most intense part of the show. His hand instinctively found the "off" button, and silence once again enveloped the room. From somewhere in the radio, the last chords of AC/DC''s "Back in Black" still lingered. A perfect way to start the morning.

    His gaze settled on the wall, where detailed plans for training both body and mind were pinned. This was his domain, his personal world, a reflection of everything he had achieved over the past ten years.

    The room felt cozy, yet every detail screamed that its owner wasn¡¯t an ordinary teenager. On the wall opposite the bed hung a massive board with photographs from competitions: Johnny beaming as he held a gold medal in judo, another with him in a fighting stance wearing a black karate belt, and yet another clutching a junior boxing championship trophy. Nearby, under glass, were certificates and diplomas from shooting tournaments, and just below that, a shelf neatly displayed trophies from CrossFit and paintball competitions.

    On the desk stood ammo scales and a blank notebook filled with training notes for the coming week. Amid this organized chaos, his Eagle Scout badge stood out¡ªa symbol of completing years of scouting work. On the other side of the desk lay textbooks on military strategy and the history of weaponry, alongside an open anatomy textbook¡ªfoundations for his future career, which would help him heal or, if necessary, incapacitate with precision.

    Johnny sat up on his bed and glanced at the corner of the room where his JROTC uniform and a pair of leadership medals hung. Nearby stood a rack with his training gear: weighted running belts, swimming plugs, and an old but reliable training knife. On the wall behind him was a poster with a bold slogan: "You¡¯re stronger than you think."

    On the floor by his bed lay a sports backpack, neatly packed for the day: a water bottle, protein bars, and a training diary. He sighed, looking around his room. To someone else, this might seem like just a collection of items, but to him, it was a reflection of his work, determination, and dreams.

    For ten long years, he had been preparing himself for the endless war against the darkness of this world. And today was the day. On the blanket lay a dark silver cross with a menacing skull in its center. Even touching the cold metal sent small shocks through his fingers. The time had come to accept his legacy and become the Ghost Rider.

    Johnny smiled as he clasped the Cross of Vengeance around his neck.

    He stood, took a few deep breaths, and headed to the bathroom to put himself in perfect order. His gaze swept over his reflection in the mirror¡ªa figure of a fit yet ordinary sixteen-year-old boy. His lips curled into a slight smile. Better for enemies to see a regular high school student until he got close enough to strike a knife.

    Johnny dressed in accordance with his school¡¯s strict rules. But teenage rebellion demanded expression: pants were swapped for black jeans, and his jacket sleeves were rolled up.

    Before leaving the room, he glanced once more at the badges and trophies on the walls behind him. It was as if a war machine lived here. And that wasn¡¯t far from the truth: Johnny trained to exhaustion daily to forge himself into a deadly weapon. But strength wasn¡¯t just about hitting a target from 500 meters or knowing how to take someone down with a single blow. Under the weight of training, one could lose oneself and turn into a mad beast. Strength was in balance¡ªin training every day to achieve a goal but also cherishing the little things to retain one¡¯s humanity.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    For Johnny, his rays of light were his family. Only with them did Johnny smile. Only with them could he allow himself to be a regular teenager.

    As he exited the room, he nearly bumped into the most important woman in his life¡ªNaomi Blaze. Playful, kind, with a glint of mischief and genuine care. The best mom in the world. Today, she looked particularly homely: a soft T-shirt with a funny print and dark leggings that emphasized her energy.

    ¡°Have you packed your things for school?¡± Her eyes scanned him from head to toe. ¡°I don¡¯t want to end up bringing your notes again like last time.¡±

    ¡°Mom, that was one time¡­ in elementary school! You should let it go already.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t help it,¡± she sighed, adjusting her shirt. ¡°You¡¯re so forgetful! And what¡¯s this?¡±

    Pushing her son aside, she stepped into the room and headed straight for the windowsill.

    ¡°Your plants are dying again!¡± She picked up a cactus pot that looked like a dried-up mummy. ¡°Are you watering them three times a week, like I said?¡±

    ¡°Of course, mom. Would I forget?¡± he replied, avoiding eye contact since he definitely had. ¡°But, mom, why do I even need plants? I¡¯m no botanist.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not about the plants, it¡¯s about the energy!¡± she countered, her bracelets with tiny totems jingling melodically. These were the kind of bracelets usually worn by teenage girls obsessed with witchcraft and vampire shows. ¡°Nature¡¯s power drives out all the negative energy from the room! Tomorrow I¡¯ll bring you new plants, and don¡¯t argue. And you¡¯ll water them three times a week. And also¡­ play music for them.¡±

    ¡°Music? For plants?¡±

    ¡°Of course!¡± she winked with a smile, brushing her bangs from her eyes. ¡°Everyone knows plants can listen! I read it in a magazine.¡±

    ¡°The same magazine that says senators are controlled by vampires?¡± Johnny snorted.

    ¡°If the vampires haven¡¯t been caught yet, it means they¡¯re good at hiding,¡± she ended the conversation with a victorious grin.

    ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll play music for them. Let them develop taste. I¡¯ll blast some Chopin.¡±

    ¡°Now that¡¯s too much!¡± she laughed, waving her hands as if shooing away the idea of classical music.

    In the Blaze family, everyone listens to rock. There¡¯s no other way. Hell¡¯s biker gang has no other options.

    ¡°There¡¯s too much negative energy in your room. It¡¯s like something evil has appeared here,¡± she said, closing her eyes momentarily as if tuning into something otherworldly. ¡°It¡¯s high time to feng shui this place. Like moving your desk¡ªit¡¯s in a bad spot. And, by the way, do you still need that guitar?¡±

    Johnny looked at the cobweb-covered guitar under his bed. His mom had given it to him on his thirteenth birthday to distract him from endless training, but Johnny quickly lost interest in music.

    ¡°No, I don¡¯t need the guitar,¡± he said calmly. ¡°I realized music isn¡¯t my thing.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll post an ad to sell it today.¡± She gently patted his shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, sweetie. You¡¯ll find your calling!¡±

    ¡°A calling? That sounds a bit dramatic. I¡¯m just looking for what I enjoy.¡±

    ¡°Every person is born with a talent,¡± mom said, giving him the warmest smile. ¡°And it¡¯s my job to help you uncover it.¡±

    The touching moment was interrupted by a kitchen timer.

    ¡°The eggs are done! Get ready; breakfast is in five minutes!¡±

    Mom dashed down the hallway, performing a cartwheel on the way and sliding down the banister to the first floor.

    ¡°No need to dust anymore!¡± her cheerful voice called from below.

    Playful, kind, and flexible. Johnny fully understood why dad fell for her.

    In the hallway, his eyes fell on a laminated poster. A young girl with a daring grin was riding a motorcycle through a dozen fiery rings. The caption read: ¡°Daring and charming Naomi Kale! Sixteen years old, defying death! Don¡¯t miss the circus!¡±

    The date on the poster indicated it was twenty years old.

    Mom had left her career right after Danny was born. Now, she lived for her family¡ªand seemed not to regret it one bit.

 Family Blaze 2 of 2

    In the hallway, Johnny saw his younger brother and sister. Barb was carrying a soccer ball as if it were her most prized trophy, while Danny had a professional camera slung around his neck, guarding it like his most precious treasure. They were arguing with the intensity of two authors drafting memoirs about their endless debates.

    ¡°All superheroes are idiots,¡± Barb declared, adjusting the strap of her school backpack with the seriousness of an adult. ¡°They wear masks like they¡¯re hiding from the tax office and leave chaos in their wake.¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯m telling you superheroes make the world better!¡± Danny retorted indignantly, trailing behind her while showing her something on his smartphone. His camera bounced slightly with each step. ¡°Look at this! The Torch put out a fire in Brooklyn yesterday! There¡¯s even a photo. That¡¯s way cooler than boring firefighters!¡±

    ¡°Ha! Your Torch is just a show-off,¡± Barb scoffed, shaking her head. Her pigtails swayed in sync. ¡°He came to pose for the journalists. They¡¯re all the same. Real heroes work in the police force, like our dad.¡±

    ¡°Johnny!¡± Danny rushed over to him, as if reaching out to a lifeline, his eyes pleading. ¡°Explain to her that superheroes are awesome!¡±

    Johnny nearly burst out laughing at their serious faces. In moments like this, he felt like a mix of an older brother, a judge, and a peacekeeper.

    ¡°Sorry, kid, but I¡¯m siding with Barb,¡± he said, patting Danny on the shoulder. ¡°There¡¯s no one cooler than our dad. And superheroes¡­ well, maybe they just pretend to be cool, but we¡¯ve got our real heroes.¡±

    Barb grinned triumphantly and started juggling the soccer ball on one foot, skillfully balancing, proving her title as the captain of the school soccer team.

    ¡°Now that¡¯s an argument!¡± she said, continuing her impromptu practice session in the middle of the dining area. ¡°Johnny knows what he¡¯s talking about. All superheroes are dumb!¡±

    ¡°How dare you say that?!¡± Danny gasped, frowning as he shook his fist at her in mock anger. It was more funny than intimidating.

    Danny sighed dramatically but didn¡¯t give up. He raised his camera, focused on Barb, and snapped a photo.

    ¡°Perfect. You¡¯ll have a chance to defend your opinion when this photo hits the school paper,¡± he smirked. ¡°I¡¯ll caption it: ¡®Barbara Blaze Challenges the Hulk.¡¯¡±

    Barb froze for a second, squinted, and playfully threatened him with the soccer ball.

    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t dare!¡±

    Johnny chuckled and shook his head. They were always like this¡ªloud and lively, like two uncontainable sparks. But as the older brother, it was his duty to try.

    ¡°Danny, you need to learn to stand up for your interests without dragging others into it.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡± Danny sighed and deleted the photo.

    ¡°And Barb, don¡¯t mock your brother for his passions,¡± Johnny said, draping an arm around her shoulders. She looked up at him like a guilty kitten. ¡°First of all, you¡¯re older and should be wiser.¡±

    ¡°By a whole year,¡± she rolled her eyes. ¡°Wow, so much wisdom.¡±

    ¡°And second, you want to work in the police force?¡±

    ¡°Of course! I¡¯ll be a cop, just like Dad!¡± she declared, raising a fist in the air. Her expression was serious, like she was leading a demonstration.

    ¡°Well, if you want to work with people, you¡¯ll have to accept them as they are.¡±

    ¡°Even if they¡¯re dorks who dream about wearing underwear on their heads?¡±

    ¡°Hey!¡± Danny protested. ¡°I¡¯m going to be a superhero, and my costume will be the coolest!¡±

    ¡°So, underwear will go over your pants, not on your head?¡± Barb snickered into hand.

    ¡°What were we just talking about?¡± Johnny tried to give her a stern look, but it was hard. She was too cute when she made faces like that.

    ¡°Fine, I get it,¡± she said, raising her hands in surrender. ¡°I won¡¯t look down on people for their interests anymore.¡±

    ¡°Did you come up with that on your own, or did someone help?¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­ I read it on a poster at school,¡± she admitted honestly, blushing slightly.

    Taking a deep breath, Barb looked at Danny and said:

    ¡°Alright, alright, your superheroes aren¡¯t total idiots,¡± she said in a conciliatory tone, trying to appear serious and wise. ¡°I just prefer real heroes. Our dad is way cooler than Hawkeye.¡±

    At that moment, mom appeared, having overheard Barb and Danny¡¯s argument. Of course, she couldn¡¯t resist adding fuel to the fire with a sly smile.

    ¡°Just don¡¯t argue too loudly, or the superheroes might crash through the window to put your minds at ease.¡±

    The kids laughed. Mom always knew how to tease them with humor.

    ¡°Alright, shake pinkies and make up,¡± Johnny said, looking at the pair of mischief-makers.

    They rolled their eyes but, grumbling, followed their respected brother¡¯s instructions. The kids promised not to argue¡­ at least until the next debate.

    With his duty as the elder sibling fulfilled, Johnny felt like a true hero. He couldn¡¯t imagine his life without these little oddballs.

    At the family table, he glanced at his younger siblings again and couldn¡¯t help but smile.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Danny¡ªtwelve years old, always energetic, obsessed with anyone wearing a mask and saving the world, and never missing a chance to tell everyone about it. Mischievous like mom but a spitting image of their dad. Always joking, lifting spirits, and dreaming big.

    Barb¡ªthirteen, a complete opposite. Serious, brave, and determined, her courage and resolve made it clear that she would one day become the cop she always dreamed of being. Diligent and responsible, like a little detective from a movie. Her sarcasm felt like a natural extension of the family style.

    Despite their differences, they were like two sides of the same coin. Johnny was grateful to be their older brother and to have them by his side.

    The father came down to the dining room. Tall and strong, he never skipped his daily gym sessions. His warm smile lit up his face, instantly making the morning better.

    "Good morning!" he said, giving Johnny a friendly pat on the shoulder before kissing his wife on the cheek.

    The father removed his police captain''s jacket and carefully hung it on a chair. The embroidered insignias and shining medals glinted in the light. On the wall hung a framed newspaper article with the headline: "Motorcycle Cop Saves UN Chairman!" Below it was his photo in uniform. It served as a trophy, reminding everyone that each member of the Blaze family was capable of greatness.

    Johnny''s heart swelled with pride, knowing his father had fulfilled his dream of becoming famous in New York¡ªnot through circus stunts, but still by riding a motorcycle.

    "How¡¯s our police hero doing this morning?" asked his mother as she took her seat at the table.

    "Fantastic, but this hero is starving," the father joked with a wink. "And he¡¯s still glad he decided to leave the circus ten years ago. Less risk, more time with you all."

    His mother smiled warmly. Johnny could see how proud she was of him. They all were. Leaving a dangerous career in the circus to join the police was a bold move.

    It all happened naturally. Ten years ago, Naomi told her husband that their kids needed a healthy, living father, so he had to end his stuntman career.

    Barton agreed but decided to end his career with a bang¡ªjumping a motorcycle over 15 burning school buses. The stunt earned him a Guinness World Record and a spot on TV, where the New York Police Commissioner saw him.

    The commissioner offered Barton a place in the motorcycle unit, hoping his fame would boost the police force''s image. After the UN incident, Barton was promoted to captain and put in charge of the motorcycle squad.

    "When¡¯s be breakfast ready?" complained Barb, holding up her empty plate. "Am I supposed to starve to death?"

    "If I intended to kill you, young lady, I would choose a quicker, more effective method¡ªlike poison," came a prim, feminine voice from the kitchen.

    That voice belonged to another member of the Blaze household, young girl Melissa. A distant relative who had lost everything after moving to the U.S., she had been taken in by the Blazes. In gratitude, she had taken on the role of housekeeper, a role she performed excellently¡ªthough her manners left something to be desired.

    The clock struck precisely 6:30. Breakfast time.

    Melissa entered the dining room with her usual impeccable timing, carrying a large tray of aromatic, exquisitely plated dishes. She wore a maid¡¯s uniform¡ªa black dress with a white apron¡ªand a thin leather choker around her neck. Two red hair clips, resembling horns, adorned her chestnut locks, while her amber eyes sparkled with mild amusement.

    "Breakfast is served, esteemed Blazes," she announced, placing the dishes on the table with the ceremony of presenting a royal feast. "Please don¡¯t mind that a delicate young girl like myself is once again working like a mule."

    "Melissa, did anyone ever tell you that your whining is part of our morning entertainment?" asked mom with a raised brow.

    "I strive for perfection," Melissa countered, gracefully adjusting her apron. "Besides, who else but I would ensure that Captain Barton doesn¡¯t choke on a croissant? Your police hero may catch criminals, but he¡¯s clearly losing the battle against dietary norms."

    "If this croissant was made by you, I¡¯m more likely to enjoy it than be harmed," the father quipped, pouring himself coffee.

    "At least someone recognizes my talent. Thank you, Captain," Melissa said with a smirk before turning to Johnny. "As for Mr. Jonathan, I¡¯m still waiting for acknowledgment. Is my lamb pie inferior to your garage experiments?"

    "If your the pie start my engines first try, I¡¯ll consider it," Johnny replied, taking a sip of his freshly brewed coffee.

    "That will cost extra," she shot back with a sarcastic grin.

    "By the way, Melissa, there¡¯s another task for you," Mom said, pouring herself some orange juice. "Water the plants in Johnny¡¯s room; he¡¯ll forget again otherwise."

    "As you wish, Mistress Naomi," Melissa replied with mock seriousness, heading back to the kitchen with a proud gait. "That will only steal three more minutes of my life. I just nothing else to do between polishing the silverware and dusting the wine bottles."

    Melissa¡¯s disincentive humor was something the family had grown accustomed to.

    "Why do you need our camera, Danny?" Barton asked, raising an eyebrow. "Isn¡¯t your smartphone enough?"

    "Come on, Dad!" Danny groaned, as if explaining the obvious. "Smartphones are for hipsters taking selfies and grandmas snapping grocery prices. Real art needs a professional camera."

    "And what are you planning to photograph?" father asked, genuinely curious.

    "Perverts who wear underwear on their heads," Barb teased, trying to stifle her laughter.

    "Hey, don¡¯t laugh!" Danny protested, crossing his arms. "Superheroes are cool. The Daily Bugle pays big money for good shots. One day, my photo will be on the front page."

    Mom clapped her hands as if Danny had just invented a cure for all diseases.

    "How wonderful! Maybe we¡¯ll have a famous photographer in the family?"

    "That¡¯s a great goal," the father said approvingly, his eyes gleaming with pride again. "Just be careful with that camera at school. Kids can get jealous."

    "Then they¡¯ll have to deal with me!" Barb declared, rolling a soccer ball under the table with her feet. "I can hit a target from a hundred meters away!"

    "Now, that¡¯s something I¡¯ll support," Barton said seriously, then added with a smile, "but let¡¯s stick to scoring goals into the gates, not the heads of classmates."

    "That depends on them," she replied with a sly grin. "No one messes with my family."

    The adults nodded in approval, and Johnny gave her a pat on the shoulder. He¡¯d fight for his family too. So would everyone at that table¡ªwell, maybe except Melissa.

    "You¡¯re both amazing," Naomi said to the younger ones. "Whatever path life takes you on¡ªfootball, the police, or photography¡ªyou¡¯ll succeed as long as you stick together."

    "And me?" Melissa asked slyly, approaching the table with a cup of tea. "Where¡¯s my acknowledgment for feeding these prodigies?"

    "You¡¯re amazing for putting up with us," Naomi replied playfully, handing her a plate with a slice of strawberry cake. "Now sit and join us. Breakfast isn¡¯t the same without you."

    "Where would you all be without me?" Melissa replied sarcastically but still sat down, carefully smoothing her apron. "You can¡¯t even have breakfast without me."

    Melissa¡¯s haughty, sarcastic demeanor had become a family staple. Without her, the Blaze household just didn¡¯t feel complete.

    Something brushed against Johnny¡¯s leg. Ah yes, the Blazes had one more member¡ªa black cat named Coal with bright eyes. Naomi often joked that Coal wasn¡¯t a house cat but a witch¡¯s familiar.

    Coal nudged Johnny¡¯s leg, reminding him that breakfast hadn¡¯t been quite enough.

    "Hungry?" Johnny broke off a piece of meat and offered it to the cat.

    Coal purred contentedly.

    "Don¡¯t overfeed him," Naomi warned. "Fat cats make easy prey for witches!"

    Everyone at the table burst into laughter, even the usually prim Melissa hiding her smile behind a coffee cup.

    After breakfast, Johnny climbed onto his motorcycle. Pausing at the driveway, he glanced back at the house. Big, white, two-story, with a spacious garage and a neatly trimmed lawn where an American flag proudly waved. This wasn¡¯t just a house. It was a dream home¡ªthe embodiment of stability and happiness, a rarity in life.

    His younger siblings, without whom he couldn¡¯t imagine life, waved goodbye, wishing him luck. Melissa, holding the cat, silently joined them. He saw his parents: his mom¡¯s gentle smile as she told him to have a good day at school, and his father adding that good grades wouldn¡¯t hurt.

    The Cross of Vengeance on Johnny¡¯s chest burned with hellfire, a reminder that the carefree times were over. He was the Ghost Rider now.

 Ghost student 1 of 3

    8 days before obtaining the Cross of Vengeance.

    The roar of the engine pierced the morning silence of the schoolyard. Johnny Blaze''s jet-black bike gleamed in the sunlight, like a challenge to the world itself. Students turned their heads instinctively, some in admiration, others with caution, stepping aside for the guy who always seemed a step ahead of everyone else.

    Johnny smirked slightly, just at the corner of his lips. He was used to it. The constant admiring looks, the loud comments, and the aura of perfection people desperately tried to impose on him. To them, he was the epitome of success: the son of a police captain, captain of the school boxing team, an excellent student with a promising career as a military doctor. But Johnny knew the truth. He hadn¡¯t trained for a decade to become a role model. He was preparing for a different life, a war none of these people could even imagine.

    He chuckled inwardly:

    ¡°If only you knew who I really am, would you still smile at me or keep your distance?¡±

    Johnny parked his bike, instantly drawing a small crowd of peers. Some stared at the motorcycle in awe, while others commented on his riding style. Among them, as always, was Roxy.

    Roxanne was the daughter of Craig Simpson¡ªa family friend, motorcycle instructor to Naomi and Bart, circus stuntman, and the poor soul destined to die from cancer.

    At eight years old, Johnny had armed himself with an oncology textbook and insisted Uncle Craig undergo a medical examination that saved his life. Johnny had tried to act like a worried child overwhelmed by medical horrors, but after that incident, everyone close to him decided his destiny was to become a doctor. And Roxy, grateful for her father''s rescue, convinced herself she had to be his best friend.

    ¡°Hey, Johnny,¡± her bright voice effortlessly cut through the crowd¡¯s noise.

    She approached, playfully raising her eyebrows, tugging at her perfectly ironed sweater that emphasized her slim waist. Her golden hair shimmered in the morning sun, and her eyes sparkled with mischief.

    ¡°How about saving me from total failure?¡± she asked, tilting her head slightly with a teasing smile.

    ¡°With what exactly?¡± Johnny already knew the answer but asked anyway.

    ¡°Biology, ¡± Roxy said, stepping closer. ¡°Or at least spare me a few minutes of your time? We could study after class, or I¡¯m definitely failing the test.¡±

    She paused, looking at him as if he were her last hope. Johnny couldn¡¯t help but admire her effort. She was always like that¡ªbright, sincere, a little naive. And that made her completely unsuitable for him. Her world was too simple, too bright.

    ¡°I¡¯ll just lend you a book,¡± he replied, softening his rejection. ¡°There¡¯s a good one that explains everything clearly. I¡¯ll bring it tomorrow.¡±

    For a moment, Roxy squinted, as if trying to figure out why he kept avoiding her attempts to get closer. But within seconds, her usual smile returned.

    ¡°Alright, savior. I won¡¯t forget your contribution when I win a Nobel Prize in Biology!¡± she said with mock indignation, though her voice still held a hint of hope.

    Johnny nodded briefly, trying to end the conversation before guilt over his coldness could set in.

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t understand,¡± he thought, watching her return to her group of cheerleaders. ¡°Roxy is too... normal. Her world isn¡¯t for me.¡±

    ---

    After the second period, Johnny was in the gym. Boxing practice was where he felt, if not at ease, then at least on familiar ground. Here, he could channel his instincts while maintaining an appearance of control.

    He stood in the ring¡¯s corner, lazily putting on his gloves. The coach, as usual, assigned pairs, giving newcomers a chance to learn from the more experienced. When Johnny¡¯s turn came, he gave a curt nod.

    ¡°Today your opponent is the new guy¡ªdon¡¯t disappoint me,¡± the coach said with a note of pride in his voice.

    Johnny glanced at the boy across from him. Skinny, with an awkward stance, he looked like he¡¯d been dragged here against his will.

    ¡°I could knock him out in the first round,¡± Johnny thought as he took his stance. ¡°But then the coach won¡¯t want to train with me. Guess I¡¯ll have to hold back.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t kill you,¡± Johnny said flatly, dodging the boy¡¯s clumsy punches.

    Johnny moved mechanically, practicing dodges and blocks. His punches were precise but restrained¡ªjust enough for the boy to feel his weak spots.

    ¡°Keep your elbows up,¡± Johnny muttered, landing a light jab in the boy¡¯s exposed defense. ¡°And cover your head.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    The newcomer mumbled something but tried to follow instructions. Johnny continued the match on autopilot, his thoughts already far beyond the gym.

    ¡°I should be sparring with the coach by now. I need experience in real fights, not babysitting,¡± he thought irritably, dodging another awkward attack.

    After three rounds, the coach finally rang the bell.

    ¡°That¡¯s enough for the newbie¡¯s first day,¡± the coach said with a satisfied smile, approaching Johnny¡¯s corner. ¡°Kid, you¡¯re a natural fighter. Think I don¡¯t know you could¡¯ve won anytime?¡±

    ¡°Then why¡¯d you pair me with him?¡± Johnny asked calmly. ¡°There are plenty of other fighters in the gym.¡±

    ¡°Blaze, you¡¯re my best student. But what I value most isn¡¯t just your medals¡ªit¡¯s this.¡± The coach tapped his finger against Johnny¡¯s temple. ¡°All your peers are full of testosterone, but you have remarkable self-control. It¡¯s like you¡¯re forty, not sixteen. You know when to use your strength. That¡¯s why you¡¯re the captain.¡±

    Johnny gave a slight nod, removing his gloves. He saw no value in the captaincy; it was just another title handed to him for his achievements. He had a different goal. Sports, school¡ªall these accolades were mere stepping stones toward something greater.

    The gym¡¯s noise abruptly turned to shouting. One of the boys had dropped a barbell on his foot, his face contorted in pain. Without hesitation, Johnny vaulted over the ring ropes and rushed to the injured student.

    ¡°Don¡¯t move!¡± he ordered, shoving aside the gawkers who were only getting in the way.

    The coach fussed nearby, glaring at the empty nurse¡¯s office. ¡°Where is she, for crying out loud?¡±

    Johnny calmly opened a first-aid kit someone had brought over.

    ¡°We can¡¯t wait for the nurse,¡± he said coolly, quickly examining the injury.

    His movements were confident, almost mechanical. He numbed the pain, wrapped the wound, and stabilized the foot¡ªall in under two minutes.

    ¡°Were you a Boy Scout or something?¡± the coach asked, astonished.

    Johnny smirked faintly. ¡°Something like that.¡±

    The attention annoyed him, but he didn¡¯t show it.

    ¡°You need to go to the hospital,¡± he told the injured boy before standing up and wiping his hands.

    ¡°Blaze, I used to think those rumors about you becoming a doctor were absurd, but now...¡± The coach trailed off as if reaching a decision. ¡°Your fists aren¡¯t just for the ring; they¡¯re for helping people. Maybe you should consider volunteering at a hospital. I know someone who could help. It¡¯d look great on your med school application. You¡¯ll be Dr. Blaze.¡±

    Johnny didn¡¯t respond. Internally, he scoffed:

    ¡°Dr. Blaze¡ªthat sounds ridiculous. I learned first aid to patch myself up after fights.¡±

    ---

    After practice and half a day of classes, Johnny strode quickly through the school corridors. Luckily, Roxy wasn¡¯t around¡ªshe was busy with cheerleading practice. She was a good, kind girl, but her constant presence was starting to wear on him. Especially now, when he was tired of playing the role of the good guy. The darkness inside demanded to be unleashed, and in school, there was only one place to do that.

    The tension in the disciplinary committee office thickened as Johnny entered. His cold, piercing gaze froze everyone in place, like soldiers awaiting orders from a general.

    The corners of Johnny¡¯s lips lifted slightly. He remembered how it all started. When he transferred to high school, he himself requested that the principal establish a disciplinary committee. At first, he was the only member, and that suited him just fine. Naturally, his dark soul wasn¡¯t satisfied with the mundane duties of patrolling hallways. From the first day he wore the badge, Johnny headed straight to the lairs of the school¡¯s bullies.

    There, he indulged his darker passions fully: beating up thugs daily and bringing order to chaos were the highlights of his high school life.

    Sometimes it hurt, and he had to lie to his parents, claiming fresh bruises were from boxing practice. But the victories far outweighed the defeat¡ªdaily training and military strategies ensured the success of his missions.

    Within six months, Johnny had won the school war against bullies. No one dared sell contraband in the parking lot anymore; everyone was polite in the hallways, and the bathrooms were used solely for their intended purposes.

    Defeated bullies wiped their bloody noses and left school to make a living on the streets. Those who had nowhere else to go ended up following Johnny. They joined the disciplinary committee, patrolling the hallways, and spent their free time boxing under his guidance. If they could follow him home, they probably would.

    Now, as Johnny looked at his former foes, he felt an unpleasant pang of responsibility, like stray puppies clinging to him on the street. He hadn¡¯t invited them, and their company annoyed him, but kicking them aside wouldn¡¯t feel right either.

    ¡°I just wanted to let out my darkness and knock a few teeth out of some thugs,¡± Johnny mentally grumbled. ¡°Stop seeing me as some spotless knight of justice!¡±

    ¡°All clear, boss!¡± reported the self-proclaimed deputy, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. ¡°It¡¯s Sam¡¯s turn to patrol the sixth sector, but I can join him to boost efficiency!¡±

    Johnny glanced at the deputy¡¯s eager face and then at the wall with the school map, divided into perfectly organized sectors. Below each sector were the names of the responsible patrols, all of whom dutifully performed their roles.

    ¡°How?¡± Johnny inwardly groaned. ¡°How did a simple desire to beat up some bad guys without getting expelled turn into a system of perfect order?¡±

    ¡°Any incidents?¡± he asked, lacing his fingers together.

    The deputy¡¯s smile widened to an almost obscene degree, his eyes gleaming with happiness, like a child showing off a perfect report card to their dad. Damn it.

    ¡°Twenty days without incidents!¡± the deputy exclaimed proudly. ¡°Under the committee¡¯s watch, the school¡¯s discipline is flawless!¡±

    ¡°Nothing at all?¡± Johnny¡¯s voice carried a hint of despair. ¡°Not even a single swear word scribbled in the bathroom?¡±

    ¡°After you broke Steve¡¯s fingers, no one dares bring a marker into the bathroom anymore.¡±

    Johnny mentally cursed when he saw Steve¡¯s name listed under bathroom patrol. Now Steve was a committee member, diligently guarding against rogue artists.

    ¡°Well,¡± the deputy began hesitantly, noticing the faint disappointment in Johnny¡¯s eyes, ¡°there was one thing this morning.¡±

    ¡°Go on.¡± Johnny¡¯s tone perked up slightly.

    ¡°Some punks showed up in the parking lot. Blared music, drank beer, harassed the cheerleaders.¡±

    ¡°Who were they? Where can I find them?¡±

    ¡°They weren¡¯t from our school,¡± the deputy shrugged. ¡°They came to see one of our students¡ªsome scrawny kid with glasses. Talked to him for a bit and then left.¡±

    ¡°Even so, they¡¯re criminals who trespassed on school grounds. Looks like our committee needs to expand its jurisdiction.¡± Johnny¡¯s voice was cold, but inside, he felt the darkness within him begin to stir. ¡°Find that student and bring him to me.¡±

 Ghost student 2 of 3

    The hallway outside the disciplinary committee office was quiet. Only the occasional footsteps of students echoed, but no one dared linger nearby. Johnny Blaze¡¯s office, the committee leader, inspired both respect and fear. Nobody wanted to accidentally run into him or his subordinates.

    Timanath Promrat, or just Tim, stood across from the door, nervously fidgeting with the fabric of his shirt. His breathing quickened, and his palms were clammy. He didn¡¯t know why he¡¯d been summoned, but he had a hunch.

    The rumors about Johnny had spread through the school long ago. To most, he was a savior who had restored order. To his enemies, he was a shadow of terror hidden beneath the mask of the perfect student.

    "The Demon," Tim recalled the whispers in the hallways. That was what they called Johnny¡ªthose who had glimpsed his true nature.

    Once, the disciplinary committee was just a pipe dream for losers. Then Blaze came along and swiftly imposed his rules. Most of the committee members now looked like a gang of bouncers: neatly pressed school uniforms paired with scarred faces, broken noses, tattoos, and piercings. The rumor was that Johnny hadn¡¯t reformed the bullies but had forcibly recruited them into his own gang.

    Tim flinched when he spotted one of them standing by the door. The guy lazily toyed with a pocketknife, but his eyes never left Tim.

    "He¡¯s going to eat me alive," Tim thought, swallowing hard.

    ¡°You Promrat?¡± the bouncer growled, looking up from the knife.

    Tim nodded silently.

    ¡°The boss is waiting for you,¡± he said, jerking his head toward the door. ¡°But to you, he¡¯s Mr. Blaze. Show him some respect.¡±

    The bouncer ran a hand over the scar above his eyebrow¡ªa silent warning about what happened to those who didn¡¯t.

    Summoning all his courage, Tim pushed the door open and stepped inside.

    The office was spacious and immaculate. A large wooden desk occupied the center of the room. On it were neatly arranged papers, a few books, and Johnny¡¯s badge: ¡°Disciplinary Committee Leader.¡± Johnny himself sat in a chair, leaning back casually. His piercing gaze immediately locked onto Tim, making him shrink even further.

    ¡°Sit,¡± Johnny said curtly, gesturing to the chair in front of the desk.

    Tim hurried to sit, terrified of further angering the person they called The Demon. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Roxy, the cheerleading captain, standing beside Johnny. She didn¡¯t seem to acknowledge Tim¡¯s presence, focused instead on her own request.

    ¡°Johnny, please!¡± she pleaded, her voice slightly playful. ¡°Just once! Give me a ride on your motorcycle. I promise I won¡¯t ask again.¡±

    Johnny smirked faintly. His tone remained cold but carried a hint of irony.

    ¡°Roxy, it¡¯s not as simple as you think. I¡¯ve got things to do.¡±

    ¡°What things?¡± she pouted slightly. ¡°You¡¯re not going to say no to your best friend, are you?¡±

    ¡°Tell you what,¡± Johnny said, running a hand thoughtfully over the desk. ¡°I¡¯ll finish here, and if I have time, I¡¯ll take you.¡±

    Her radiant smile was answer enough.

    ¡°Thanks! I knew you were the best!¡± she said before dashing out of the office, leaving Tim alone with Johnny.

    Tim watched her leave, imagining what he¡¯d do if a girl like that asked him for a favor.

    "I¡¯d drive her to Alaska if she wanted," he thought. "But girls like her don¡¯t even notice guys like me."

    Blaze¡¯s cold voice snapped him back to reality:

    ¡°You¡¯re missing a button,¡± Johnny remarked, eyeing Tim¡¯s shirt. ¡°Not a good look.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Mr. Blaze,¡± Tim stammered. ¡°It got snagged accidentally.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t lie,¡± Johnny¡¯s voice grew firmer but not louder. ¡°We know there was a scuffle in the parking lot. That kind of behavior is unacceptable.¡±

    The atmosphere in the office grew heavy. Johnny slowly stood, his tall figure towering over Tim. The boy¡¯s heart raced, certain a punishment was imminent.

    But Johnny didn¡¯t rush. He walked to the window, gazing out at the schoolyard. His voice turned calm, almost reflective:If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°Do you know why I¡¯m here? Because I¡¯ve taken on the responsibility of protecting this school. And people like you. But to do that, I need the truth.¡±

    Tim swallowed nervously, a slight tremor running through him.

    ¡°If you lie to me, I¡¯ll write a report labeling you as a problem student, and the principal will expel you,¡± Johnny said, not even glancing his way. ¡°You know Lopez, the guy selling towels outside school? He used to study here¡ªuntil he pissed me off.¡±

    Those words shattered Tim¡¯s defenses. Unable to hold it in, he spilled everything:

    ¡°They¡¯re... they¡¯re my cousins. Immigrants from Thailand, like me. They want me to... start selling drugs at school. I refused, but today they came to pressure me. I didn¡¯t do anything, I swear!¡±

    Tim poured out his story¡ªhow his mom brought him to the U.S. through a lottery program, working three jobs to pay for their lousy apartment and his education. How he stayed up late studying to make her sacrifices worthwhile. How things got worse when his cousins got involved. How he tried telling his mom, but she insisted conflicts should be resolved with words. How he tried, but they tore his clothes. How he was now too scared to walk the streets alone, afraid they¡¯d grab him.

    He couldn¡¯t explain why he was telling all this to someone he¡¯d just met. Blaze didn¡¯t even look at him. But something about him¡ªthe terrifying aura and a sense of reliability¡ªmade Tim believe he could do what no one else could.

    Johnny listened silently, his gaze fixed on the schoolyard. When Tim finally finished, the silence in the room became unbearable.

    ¡°Am I going to be expelled?¡± Tim asked timidly.

    ¡°No,¡± Blaze replied, finally turning from the window. ¡°I¡¯ve seen your grades. You¡¯re a decent student. People like you don¡¯t get expelled. But tomorrow, you¡¯ll bring your cousins here after school.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± Tim asked, confused.

    Johnny turned, a grim smile spreading across his face:

    ¡°Because this school belongs to me. If they want to ¡®do business,¡¯ they¡¯ll have to deal with me.¡±

    ---

    Timanat barely forced himself to return to the office the next day. Behind him, two guys with distinctive features, clearly indicating their Thai origins, walked loudly, laughing and chatting. They clearly felt in control. One of them, stocky and tattooed, glanced disdainfully at the empty school corridors.

    ¡°What kind of boss hangs out in a school?¡± he sneered, giving Tim a kick. ¡°Why the hell are you listening to some school nerd? We¡¯re your family, got it? You should listen to us!¡±

    Tim blushed and hurried to open the door, eager for them to settle their business and leave him alone. Johnny, sitting behind his desk, didn¡¯t even look up.

    ¡°Sit,¡± he said shortly. His voice was calm but cold as a blade.

    The cousins exchanged glances and sat on the chairs opposite him. Tim stayed by the door, feeling his knees tremble.

    ¡°You can leave,¡± Johnny said, still not looking at Tim. ¡°The adults will talk now.¡±

    One of the cousins chuckled. Tim hesitated but eventually left, closing the door behind him.

    ---

    When the door shut, one of the cousins, the taller and leaner one, squinted at Johnny with disdain.

    ¡°Listen, kid, we came here out of courtesy. Now, tell us, why the hell are we here? Who do you even think you are?¡±

    Johnny slowly lifted his head. His gaze was icy, devoid of anger or irritation¡ªjust absolute confidence in his authority.

    ¡°They call me Mr. Blaze here,¡± he began calmly. ¡°I run this school. And I¡¯ve had to break plenty of guys like you to get here.¡±

    He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a few items: a heavy hammer, brass knuckles, a hunting knife, a broken katana, and¡­ a hockey mask. The objects landed on the desk with dull thuds. The cousins froze.

    ¡°These are my trophies,¡± Johnny continued. ¡°Each of them has a story. Take this brass knuckle, for example. Bonecrusher tried using it against my fists. Now the knuckle¡¯s mine, and he¡¯ll never have kids again.¡±

    He picked up the knife, examining it like a cherished relic.

    ¡°This knife belonged to Pretty Boy. He tried to stab me at a school dance. Let¡¯s just say he now prefers to keep his distance from people.¡±

    Johnny ran his hand over the hockey mask, hesitated for a moment, and shook his head, as if deciding the story wasn¡¯t worth sharing. Then, he picked up the broken katana.

    ¡°And this¡­¡± His voice turned soft, almost nostalgic. ¡°This katana belonged to a real yakuza. Maybe you¡¯ve heard of him¡ªSamurai. He was a fan of the old ways.¡± Johnny gazed at the blade, covered in scratches, with its tip broken off. ¡°The other half of this blade is still inside Samurai.¡±

    He raised his eyes, staring directly at the cousins.

    ¡°You know what they all have in common?¡± His voice turned glacial. ¡°Each of them thought they were tough and me was just some school nerd. And where are they now?¡±

    The cousins stiffened. They knew every name. Bonecrusher¡ªan underground fighter who lured fresh meat into the ring. Pretty Boy¡ªa pimp who scouted for young recruits. Samurai¡ªa dealer in high-quality drugs, responsible for distribution in schools.

    Those men were big league. Compared to them, the cousins were petty bike thieves.

    Mr. Blaze stared at them, waiting for their response.

    The cousins exchanged glances. One of them swallowed hard but tried to maintain composure.

    ¡°All right, all right, Mr. Blaze,¡± the stocky one muttered. ¡°We get it. You¡¯re in charge here. We¡¯re not trying to step on your toes. We just wanted to make a little money.¡±

    ¡°Nothing happens in this school without my permission. Got it? No ¡®little money.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Of course, Mr. Blaze. We didn¡¯t know how things worked here. Tim didn¡¯t tell us anything. Look, maybe we can make a deal? We provide the goods. Tim can sell in the hallways. If anything goes wrong, we¡¯ll make sure that loser takes all the blame and doesn¡¯t mention our names.¡± He smirked and cracked his knuckles. ¡°Fifty percent of the profit for you. Fair deal?¡±

    Johnny leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk.

    ¡°You¡¯ll leave and never come back. If I see you near any students, even outside the school, I¡¯ll throw you out this window. Clear?¡±

    The cousins hesitated. The stocky one looked ready to argue, but the other placed a hand on his shoulder and muttered that they should leave.

    They headed for the door and pulled the handle, but it wouldn¡¯t budge. They were locked in.

    ¡°What the hell is this?¡± one of them panicked. ¡°We don¡¯t want to do any business here!¡±

    ¡°Smart choice,¡± Johnny said darkly, smirking. ¡°But you still need to pay for your past sins.¡±

    ¡°Mr. Blaze¡­ we can work something out¡­¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no Mr. Blaze here anymore.¡± He donned the hockey mask. ¡°It¡¯s just two scumbags and the Demon.¡±

    He lunged at them, hammer in hand.

 Ghost student 3 of 3

    The next day, Johnny lounged comfortably in his office. He was in high spirits. He smiled as he admired the spotless cleanliness, the faint smell of bleach the only reminder of the blood, teeth, and two groaning bodies that had occupied the room yesterday. Where his deputy had dumped them near a hospital was no longer his concern.

    ¡°Having subordinates isn¡¯t so bad,¡± he thought, eyeing the cleaning supplies his team had used all evening.

    Finding positives was good, but he needed to be realistic. The urge to punish was growing stronger every day. It first appeared in grade school, a maddening swarm of hellish bees demanding to sting every scumbag nearby. Back then, one fight with bullies could sate it for a year. Now, a single act of vengeance barely lasted a week. The curse was closing in. Any day now, he¡¯d become the Ghost Rider. And then school bullies wouldn¡¯t be enough to quench his thirst.

    A knock at the door broke his grim thoughts.

    ¡°Come in,¡± Johnny said, donning his usual icy mask.

    To his surprise, Tim walked into the disciplinary committee¡¯s office. Johnny had been certain that after seeing his barely breathing cousins and scrubbing their blood off the walls, Tim would avoid this place like the plague.

    ¡°Did you need something?¡± Johnny asked indifferently.

    ¡°Mr. Blaze, thank you,¡± Tim said, bowing. ¡°After your¡­ uh¡­ talk, my cousins promised never to bother me or my mom again.¡±

    Johnny simply nodded, returning to his thoughts, but Tim didn¡¯t leave. His eyes were filled with tiresome gratitude.

    ¡°You literally saved my life,¡± Tim continued, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. ¡°I want to be useful. Sign me up for the disciplinary committee. I know I¡¯m not strong, but I¡¯m ready to improve! Enroll me in the boxing club!¡±

    Johnny barely resisted rolling his eyes.

    ¡°I just wanted to unleash my darkness,¡± he thought. ¡°Why does everyone think I fight for them?¡±

    ---

    The Cross of Vengeance rested on the neck of its rightful heir.

    A week had passed since the conversation with¡­ what were their names again? In any case, their time of reckoning had passed, and a new sacrifice was required for the flames of vengeance. Johnny sat in his office, bored out of his mind. The fire in his chest burned with unbearable intensity, but no opportunities for retribution had arisen all week. He felt like a caged beast.

    The only thing distracting him was Roxy. She sat across from him with a biology textbook, chattering cheerfully about how she would pass her dreaded test and then become a famous actress. Johnny found himself willing to listen to anything to drown out the burning inside.

    A month ago, spending time with loved ones helped him maintain his humanity, but now the fire in his heart screamed for action¡ªterrible, brutal actions against the guilty.

    "If this keeps up, I''ll start attacking people indiscriminately, like a rabid dog," Johnny thought with a wry smile, though it carried no joy.

    Roxy, mistaking his smile as a response to her joke, beamed with happiness. She had no idea what turmoil was raging inside Johnny, and he had no intention of explaining it.

    The office door opened, and Tim walked in, sporting a black eye and a nervous expression. Johnny looked up, focusing on the signs of violence. In that moment, a spark of life lit within him. He immediately closed the textbook and stood, giving his full attention to his subordinate.

    "Where are you going?" Roxy asked, irritated, glaring at Tim for ruining the moment. "We¡¯re not done yet!"

    "The students'' safety is more important than your biology grade," Johnny replied as politely as he could, motioning for Tim to sit. "I¡¯m responsible for every student in this school."

    Roxy flushed, mumbling, "Sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to be selfish¡­ I¡¯ll come over this weekend, and we can finish studying, okay?"

    Before leaving, she stood on her toes and kissed Johnny on the cheek. He didn¡¯t flinch, his mind consumed with the effort to restrain the fire of vengeance a little longer.

    She pulled back and smiled, but his face remained emotionless.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Tim watched the scene in awe. Once Roxy left, he said, "Leader, what you do¡­ " His face twisted as though he might cry. "You put the problems of a subordinate above spending time with your girl. I don¡¯t deserve your respect!"

    Johnny remained silent. He didn¡¯t consider himself a good boss, let alone a good person. He never saved kittens from trees¡ªhe just beat up the people who threw them there. Tim didn¡¯t understand that Johnny was driven not by care but by something much darker¡ªa black passion for punishment.

    "Talk," Johnny ordered curtly, sitting back at his desk.

    Tim nodded and began. "It¡¯s my cousins¡­"

    "They now get out of the hospital?" Johnny asked, mildly surprised. He¡¯d hit them hard enough that they should have been bedridden for six more months.

    "They can¡¯t even clench their fists," Tim said quickly, shaking his head. "It¡¯s their father¡ªmy uncle. He got out of prison yesterday. When he found out what happened, he lost it. When I got home, he barged in, hit me, and told me to tell you¡­ " Tim hesitated before blurting out, "He said you¡¯d better meet him after school today, or he¡¯ll burn down the school."

    Johnny listened calmly, his face betraying no emotion. He simply asked, "Address?"

    Tim shook his head vehemently. "Leader, you can¡¯t give in to threats! I don¡¯t deserve your protection! Let¡¯s call the police¡­"

    "You have to take responsibility for your actions," said the policeman¡¯s son firmly. "I created this problem. I¡¯ll solve it myself."

    "I¡¯m ashamed," Tim¡¯s voice quivered. "I only cause trouble¡­"

    "Tim, you¡¯re no longer just a student at my school. You¡¯re part of my committee," Johnny said decisively, his eyes cold as ice. "I don¡¯t care how many times I have to step in for you. But this account will be settled today, once and for all."

    His voice was so firm that Tim didn¡¯t dare argue. He wanted to express his gratitude, but Johnny ordered him to go home and not worry. Tim left, and Johnny remained in the office, a grim smile forming on his face. A house full of thugs who wanted to kill him¡ªthere was no better way to unleash his darker side.

    ---

    When school ended, Johnny changed out of his uniform into jeans, heavy boots, and his father¡¯s old biker jacket. The jacket was worn, smelling of oil and smoke, and felt like a part of him¡ªa symbol of readiness for battle.

    The fire inside him burned hotter. He walked down the street like a soldier, his thoughts roaring so loudly they nearly drowned everything else out:

    "Today, I won¡¯t just deal with a problem. Today, I¡¯ll end it. Threats to the school are a new line I won¡¯t let them cross. There won¡¯t be a fight today. There will be a war."

    He arrived at the address Tim had given him: a rundown house with peeling paint and broken shutters. Johnny circled the property, assessing the territory.

    In the backyard was a chained dog. The guard dog growled, but Johnny swiftly grabbed its neck and subdued it without killing it.

    "Animals don¡¯t deserve punishment," he thought. "Even if they serve scum."

    Peeking through a window, Johnny saw a typical drug den. A blaring TV, the stench of weed, someone snoring loudly in the corner. A man sat by the front door with a pistol ready.

    Johnny scoffed to himself.

    "Amateurs. They really think I¡¯ll come through the front door?"

    Johnny took three homemade grenades out of his bag. They were gas bombs that he made himself using a recipe from a book about Nazi weapons. The chemistry inside was so concentrated that one grenade was enough to permanently blind a person. He threw three at once.

    The grenades burst with muffled thuds, filling the room with dense, suffocating gas. The gangsters screamed:

    "My eyes! They¡¯re melting!"

    "Someone brought a damn bazooka!"

    Their cries turned to choking and sobbing as they slowly died.

    Johnny climbed through a window wearing a gas mask, gripping an iron police baton. He moved with precision, incapacitating his enemies mercilessly. One swing shattered a kneecap; another disarmed a hand. Each strike was deliberate, as if taken from a textbook on anatomy.

    Grabbing one thug by the hair, Johnny coldly asked, "Where¡¯s your boss?"

    "In the kitchen! The kitchen!" the man croaked, writhing in pain. "I didn¡¯t sign up for this! They said we¡¯d just kill up a stupid schoolkid!"

    Johnny silenced him with a blow to the teeth and moved on. In the kitchen, he found Tim¡¯s uncle blindly groping for a weapon. Johnny stomped on his fingers.

    "You¡­ you¡¯re Blaze, right?" the man rasped. "My school had a disciplinary committee too, but you¡¯re nothing like a leader. What you did to my boys¡­ you¡¯re a monster."

    Johnny leaned in close, his voice icy.

    "You¡¯re right. I don¡¯t just patrol hallways or ask kids not to run. I hit, I punish, I exact vengeance. First, your sons. Now, you."

    "And what then? You won¡¯t kill me. I¡¯ll be back, kid. I¡¯ll burn your school and your damn committee of punisher''s!"

    Johnny¡¯s grim smile widened.

    "You¡¯re right again. Time to change the rules. Beatings are for schoolkids. Scum like you don¡¯t deserve a second chance. You¡¯re going to hell, and I¡¯ll be your guide."

    At the same moment, the Cross of Vengeance flashed on his chest. The heat became unbearable, and the air in the room vibrated. The Spirit of Vengeance has finally found its long-awaited freedom. A huge fiery skull pierced the roof of the house. At first there was a fever. Unbearable, as if the earth itself had begun to melt. Then the explosion was not just thunder, but a roar that mixed the pain and rage of all the offended. The sky above the house split, and from this rift a fiery tornado in the form of a demon fell to the ground and possessed Johnny.

    He fell and shrank to a small black spot, and when the flames died down, Johnny stood where he was, but now his eyes were burning with fire, and his skin was gone, revealing a charred skull. He became a Ghost Rider.

    "What¡­ what is this?" Tim¡¯s uncle stammered, squinting. "Why¡¯s it so damn hot?"

    The Rider lifted him by the throat effortlessly, his voice like thunder.

    "Get used to it. It¡¯s always hot in hell."

    ---

    Writer notes:

    Thank you for reading this arc to the end! Your attention and support mean the world to me.

    If you enjoyed the story, please leave a comment or share your thoughts¡ªit not only helps me improve but also inspires me to keep going.

    Your feedback and support are the best motivation for creating new chapters. See you in the next parts, and thank you for being here!

 Hell maid 1 of 2

    At the first rays of sunlight, which fortunately couldn''t penetrate her tiny cupboard under the stairs, Melissa Blaze opened her eyes. The place could hardly be called a room: the bed was narrow, the ceiling low, and there were no windows. A corner for rags, not for the majestic being she once was.

    "Ah, luxury," she muttered, swinging her feet onto the cold floor. "I used to dwell in a palace made of stolen souls, and now I''ve been relegated to a corner next to the mop. What''s next? Only scraps for food?"

    She got up, stretched lazily, and walked over to a small mirror on the wall. Amber eyes, chestnut hair. Her lips curled into a wry smile.

    "So this is what mediocrity looks like," she said, leaning closer to her reflection. "Once my skin radiated ruby light, and my hair flowed like liquid fire. Now? A girl no demon would even glance at."

    After critically inspecting her modest appearance, Melissa sighed quietly and began her morning ritual¡ªputting on her maid uniform. A black dress with white lace, stockings, neat heels. She slipped into this sorry excuse for an outfit, adjusted her apron, and, looking at herself in the mirror, smirked.

    "Not a uniform, but a constant reminder of my slave status. Well, if they want a show, they''ll get one." She clipped two red hairpins to her hair, resembling horns.

    Melissa headed to the kitchen, where pots, pans, and ingredients were already waiting. Preparing breakfast for the Blaze family was an art in itself. She approached it with the grace of someone peeling potatoes.

    "Oh, the magnificent world of human cuisine," she muttered sarcastically, rolling out dough. "Once, with a snap of my fingers, I could create a feast of fiery apples and ambrosia, and now I''m here, like a slave, warming croissants in the oven."

    And it would have been fine, but just as she thought about spitting into the dough, the collar around her neck flared with a fiery red light, reminding her of the contract.

    "Ah, yes, free will," she moaned, hissing in pain. "Blessed invention."

    Half an hour later, exquisite dishes graced the table: omelets with herbs, freshly baked croissants, fruit salad, and even hot chocolate. The family had gathered.

    "Wonderful salad, Melissa," Naomi praised, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

    "Thank you, my mistress," Melissa replied with a bow. "But this pathetic salad pales in comparison to your masterful plan to steal my freedom."

    "You¡¯re too gloomy in the morning," Naomi countered, winking.

    "I''m just trying to maintain what''s left of my dignity," Melissa replied, pouring coffee.

    After breakfast, the garden awaited her. Oh, that cursed place! Flowers, pollen, butterflies¡ªeverything she hated, all in one place. But there was one plus: she was allowed to change into work overalls for the garden.

    Click. Click. Click.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    Melissa smiled lightly as she crushed bugs with her gloved fingers.

    "At least here I can still enjoy killing."

    Neighbors passed by and, seeing her, praised the beautiful garden. Melissa blushed with humiliation.

    "Of course, thank you. Next time, come help," she muttered through clenched teeth as the neighbors walked away.

    But the most humiliating task was yet to come: cleaning Barton''s motorcycle. She put on gloves, grabbed a cloth, and started scrubbing. Oil, dust, and dirt covered her uniform, but the motorcycle gleamed like new.

    "Once, I could destroy a kingdom with a flick of my hand," she grumbled, wiping the headlights. "Now I¡¯m wiping a headlight because magic is powerless here. What degradation."

    But despite all her complaints and sarcastic remarks, Melissa kept working. A contract was a contract, and the Blaze family had become her gods.

    After polishing Barton¡¯s motorcycle to a dazzling shine, Melissa finally allowed herself a sigh. Today¡¯s nightmare with oil and rags was over. But the rest was short-lived¡ªshe still had to groom the family pet, a black cat named Coal.

    "Cat," Melissa muttered as she climbed the stairs to the living room. "The only creature in this house that doesn''t look at me like free labor. Though, who knows, maybe he''s still a familiar."

    Melissa found Coal, comfortably settled on the windowsill, basking in the sunlight. Taking a brush, she carefully sat the cat on her lap and began grooming his thick, shiny fur. Coal purred so loudly it was as if an old engine had started in the house.

    "You''re the only one who understands me," Melissa whispered, feeling her lips stretch into an involuntary smile. "You don¡¯t judge, you don¡¯t complain, you just purr. If only everyone were like that..."

    Coal looked at her with his large blue eyes, and for a moment, the former demoness'' heart fluttered.

    But the idyll didn¡¯t last long: Naomi entered the room, and Melissa immediately returned to her usual sarcastic demeanor.

    "Ah, my mistress," she said, nodding slightly, but then irritably pushed the brush away. "As always, you find the most inconvenient moment to appear."

    "Enjoy the moment, Melissa," Naomi smirked before disappearing into the hallway.

    But Melissa didn¡¯t get much time to ponder. The doorbell rang, and Naomi, winking, told her to open it.

    At the door stood the very same sympathetic neighbors who had seen Melissa in the garden that morning. Grandmothers, armed with warm smiles and containers of homemade cookies, entered the house with admiring exclamations.

    "What a wonderful girl," one of them exclaimed as she sat at the table. "So hardworking, so caring for the home!"

    Melissa could already feel her cheeks turning red. The grandmothers praised her garden, her work, her "modesty," and it all sounded to the demoness like the most exquisite form of torture.

    "Ah, thank you for your kind words," she said with stiff politeness, bowing slightly. "Although, of course, I¡¯m just doing my job."

    But the grandmothers weren¡¯t satisfied, and one of them added:

    "Not just a job! It¡¯s clear you put your soul into it. So polite, so responsible!"

    Melissa felt her inner fire starting to burn.

    "Soul?!," she snorted mentally. "Another phrase like that, and I¡¯ll show them what a real soul looks like on a platter."

    But the worst part was that Naomi clearly decided to stoke the fire.

    "Oh, Melissa it''s our poor relative," Naomi said theatrically, with feigned sadness. "Her homeland is so hot, a real furnace. The poor thing was suffering from boredom and the heat, so we took her in. Now she¡¯s happy, working in the fresh air, and learning honest labor."

    "My goodness, how noble!" one of the grandmothers exclaimed.

    Melissa sat there, her hands clenched so she wouldn''t lose it. Her face was burning, as if flames were bursting from inside.

    "I¡¯m not poor! That¡¯s a lie!" Melissa raged mentally. "I was the queen of Hell! And stop looking at me with pity, you old hags!"

    "You¡¯re just an angel, dear," another grandmother added. "We¡¯ll definitely gather something for you: clothes, food, maybe some vitamins."

    When the grandmothers finally left, Melissa closed the door behind them and, slowly turning to Naomi, said:

    "Before people sacrificed a hundred virgins to me. Now they plan to bring me old socks. Progress, my mistress, is evident."

    Naomi just laughed, leaving her alone with her own frustration.

 Hell maid 2 of 2

    After the neighbors left, the house finally fell silent. Melissa was ready to savor this rare moment of peace and gather her nerves after the humiliation she endured. But the door slammed again, and the silence vanished like smoke.

    ¡°They¡¯re back,¡± Melissa sighed quietly, hearing the stomping of feet and cheerful chatter.

    It was Danny and his friends, the eternal noisemakers Melissa privately referred to as ¡°young mortals without brakes.¡± She stood in the corner of the living room, methodically watering the flowers, when she overheard their conversation.

    ¡°We need one more player!¡± one of the boys exclaimed.

    ¡°Yeah, or the boss will crush us all like cockroaches!¡± another voice chimed in.

    Melissa perked up, catching a glimpse of the kids huddled around a table with some cards, dice, and a pile of handmade props. Danny was wearing a wizard¡¯s robe, the neighbor boy with an innocent smile¡ªand a clear knack for trouble¡ªwore a red mask resembling a fantasy rogue, while their friend in a bard¡¯s costume barely kept up with her frantic note-taking on parchment.

    ¡°Let¡¯s invite someone!¡± Danny suggested, glancing around thoughtfully.

    Sensing danger, Melissa tried to slip away quietly. But, of course, her heels betrayed her: the clack of her shoes on the parquet floor sounded like a fanfare.

    ¡°Melissa!¡± Danny shouted joyfully, immediately running up to her. ¡°Play with us!¡±

    ¡°Oh, how touching,¡± she said sarcastically, turning to face him. ¡°I¡¯ve always dreamed of spending my evening on children¡¯s games.¡±

    ¡°Please!¡± Danny grabbed her hand, his puppy-dog eyes pleading with her. ¡°We really need another player!¡±

    Melissa cursed internally, not just like a demoness but like a very exhausted demoness:

    ¡°Heels¡ªan invention of the most cunning devil. But kids with their puppy eyes? That¡¯s torture of the heavenly kind. Damnation.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± she finally said, raising her chin high. ¡°But only because I¡¯m bored.¡±

    The children seated her at the gaming table. Around her stood makeshift decorations; the boys had a hand-drawn map of dungeons, and the girl held a notebook filled with detailed enemy descriptions.

    ¡°You¡¯ll be the warrior of light!¡± Danny announced enthusiastically.

    Melissa froze.

    ¡°Excuse me, what?¡±

    ¡°A warrior of light,¡± Danny repeated, draping something like a white cloak with paper wings over her shoulders. ¡°You help the weak, never lie, and fight demons!¡±

    That was too much. Melissa wanted to protest but looked at Danny and his friends. They were all waiting for her answer with such excitement that refusing was impossible.

    She glanced at her new ¡°costume¡±¡ªa white robe with crookedly attached wings.

    ¡°If my brother Dormammu saw me right now, he¡¯d laugh until the Second Coming,¡± she muttered under her breath.

    ¡°What did you say?¡± Danny asked.

    ¡°I said I¡¯m thrilled to join your team,¡± she replied sweetly, injecting as much sarcasm as she could muster. But the kids still took it as enthusiasm.

    ¡°Great!¡± they shouted in unison.

    The game began. Melissa, as expected, couldn¡¯t help but comment.

    ¡°So, my character is supposed to rescue this hapless villager?¡± she asked, looking at a token on the map. ¡°And turn down the reward? Oh, what a life.¡±

    ¡°But it¡¯s important for the mission!¡± the ¡°rogue¡± explained.

    ¡°Of course, how could it not be,¡± she replied, spinning a cardboard sword in her hand. ¡°Helping the weak and helpless. Demons in hell must be rolling with laughter right now.¡±

    The children didn¡¯t notice her sarcasm and continued playing. To her surprise, Melissa started to enjoy herself. She even liked rolling the dice, though playing for the ¡°good¡± side still felt insulting.

    ¡°All right,¡± she said at some point. ¡°But if I¡¯m not allowed to summon a fire dragon in the next round, I¡¯m out.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t have dragons,¡± Danny explained.

    ¡°What a shame,¡± she sighed. ¡°Real magic is gone, leaving us with nothing but games.¡±

    Yet, deep down, she almost enjoyed it. Almost.

    At exactly 4:00 PM, as if by an internal clock, Melissa rose elegantly from the table, nodded curtly at the children, and walked out of the living room with grandeur. Her mission was complete: she had played several rounds and even saved a few poor villagers.

    ¡°If anyone asks what I¡¯ve been doing,¡± she muttered to herself, ¡°I¡¯ll deny everything.¡±

    Next on her agenda: picking up Barbara from soccer practice.

    ---

    At the soccer field.

    Melissa took a seat in the stands, folding her hands neatly on her lap and gazing into the distance. The green field, the children¡¯s shouts, the sound of the ball¡ªit all reminded her of hell, only more organized.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Barbara, in her sports uniform, waved energetically as she said goodbye to her friends.

    ¡°What a heartwarming scene,¡± Melissa muttered. ¡°Everyone¡¯s happy. Except me.¡±

    Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden whizz¡ªa soccer ball was flying straight for her head.

    Without flinching, Melissa raised her hand and caught the ball with perfect precision at the last second.

    ¡°At least my reflexes haven¡¯t failed me,¡± she smirked, twirling the ball in her hand. ¡°There¡¯s at least one professional on this field.¡±

    The coach immediately ran over¡ªa young, athletic man with a dazzling smile that irritated her almost instantly.

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m so sorry! That was an accident!¡± he blurted out, breathless from running.

    Melissa gave him a measured look, raised an eyebrow slightly, and replied, ¡°No problem. It happens.¡±

    She stood, adjusted her skirt, and with a light swing of her leg, sent the ball flying back across the field. It soared in a perfect arc and landed squarely in the goal.

    The coach froze, staring at her with his mouth agape.

    ¡°Wow, that was incredible!¡± he finally said, regaining his composure. ¡°You¡¯ve got an amazing kick! Have you played soccer before?¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say it was part of my past,¡± Melissa replied with a hint of sarcasm. ¡°Though yes, I am quite skilled with my feet.¡±

    The coach, clearly impressed, didn¡¯t give up.

    ¡°We¡¯re short a player on the team! Would you like to join?¡±

    ¡°Thank you for the offer,¡± Melissa folded her arms, ¡°but my life is fully devoted to serving family Blaze.¡±

    ¡°Maybe just¡ª¡± he began, trying to flirt.

    ¡°No,¡± she interrupted, smiling in a way that made it clear he had no chance.

    Internally, she cursed:

    ¡°Uniforms. An eternal magnet for humiliation. As if heels and a skirt weren¡¯t torture enough, they¡¯re also an invitation to conversation.¡±

    Barbara ran up to her, beaming.

    ¡°That was an amazing goal!¡± The coach still stared after her in awe as they walked away.

    Melissa said nothing.

    The maid and the young mistress headed home together.

    ¡°So, ¡®great soccer star,¡¯¡± Barbara teased, glancing at her, ¡°did you just seduce our coach?¡±

    ¡°I did no such thing,¡± Melissa retorted.

    ¡°Then why¡¯d you score a goal straight into his heart?¡±

    ¡°I simply returned the ball,¡± Melissa said coldly. ¡°The coach just doesn¡¯t handle professionalism well.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Barbara continued to tease, ¡°too bad you didn¡¯t join the team. You in your maid uniform on the field would¡¯ve been a sight!¡±

    Melissa fell silent, taking a deep breath.

    ¡°You know, young lady,¡± she said finally, with icy calm, ¡°in hell, they deal with cheeky children¡­ very strictly.¡±

    ¡°But we¡¯re not in hell, are we?¡± Barbara replied cheerfully.

    Melissa clenched her fists but said nothing. This day definitely needed to end as soon as possible.

    When evening came, Johnny returned home wearing his father¡¯s old jacket. He looked as usual, but a searing aura radiated from him. Melissa instantly realized what had happened. She had witnessed hundreds of Ghost Riders being born, and she would never forget that feeling.

    ¡°The news showed an explosion in a residential building,¡± Melissa said evenly, though a flicker of mockery danced in her amber eyes. ¡°Witnesses claimed the fire formed into a giant skull. Firefighters think it was caused by reckless use of fireworks. Mr. Jonathan, you wouldn¡¯t happen to have passed by there, would you?¡±

    Johnny stopped and looked at her. For a moment, a murderous glint flickered in his eyes, but it was soon replaced by his usual weary expression.

    ¡°You watch too much TV, Melissa,¡± he said before heading to his room.

    The corners of the demoness¡¯s lips curled into a faint smile. Finally, something interesting was happening in this picture-perfect family¡¯s house.

    Before bed, Melissa closed Naomi¡¯s bedroom door with visible irritation, silently cursing the fate that had turned the Queen of Hell into¡­ this. She adjusted the collar around her neck, which burned slightly against her skin, a constant reminder of the contract, and approached the armchair where Naomi was stretched out, enjoying stretch oneself like a cat after a long day.

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing better than a good massage,¡± Naomi said with a smile.

    Melissa silently approached, gracefully dropped to her knees in front of the chair, and took Naomi¡¯s feet in her hands.

    ¡°Of course,¡± she began sarcastically. ¡°What a pleasure it is to turn the Queen of Hell into a human and make her massage feet.¡±

    Naomi smirked.

    ¡°Oh, not just into a human, dear, but into a member of the Blaze family. You even have official documents to prove it. Being related to the police captain sped up the process considerably.¡±

    Melissa gritted her teeth.

    ¡°Are you serious? Official documents? And the Blaze name¡ªthe name of my captors? This is the pinnacle of humiliation!¡±

    Naomi smiled sweetly.

    ¡°Did you know that my husband¡¯s colleagues teared up when they heard the touching story of how a poor girl escaped her dangerous, hot homeland and found refuge in our home?¡±

    Melissa scowled but remained silent, her fingers continuing to expertly knead Naomi¡¯s feet.

    ¡°You¡¯re such a sadist,¡± Melissa hissed, forcing the words through clenched teeth. ¡°Who even makes someone wear these¡­ dresses and heels every day?¡±

    Naomi chuckled.

    ¡°Billions of women around the world wear them to work. It¡¯s nothing unusual.¡±

    ¡°I am not a woman,¡± Melissa shot back.

    ¡°No doctor would agree with you,¡± Naomi replied calmly. ¡°And you look adorable in the maid outfit. The kids love it.¡±

    Melissa, the former Princess of Nightmares, clenched her teeth so hard she almost heard them crack under the strain of her unbearable ¡°cuteness.¡±

    ¡°You know, those massage courses were a brilliant idea.¡± Naomi sighed softly in pleasure as Melissa reached her heel. ¡°You¡¯re getting better.¡±

    ¡°Incredible observation,¡± Melissa retorted dryly. ¡°There¡¯s no room left in my room for diplomas. Massage, gardening, cooking, brewing tea¡­ And for what hellish sorceress need with these human trivialities?¡±

    ¡°Labor turned apes into humans,¡± Naomi quipped with a teasing smirk.

    Melissa flared up.

    ¡°I am not an ape! I am a demoness!¡±

    ¡°Which is even worse,¡± Naomi noted calmly, offering her other foot.

    Melissa continued the massage in silence, mentally crafting a barrage of sharp remarks.

    ¡°Your son became a Ghost Rider today,¡± she finally spat out.

    ¡°I know,¡± Naomi said, her expression darkening slightly. ¡°That concentrated burst of vengeance energy was felt across the magical world.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t want this fate for him, but it happened,¡± the maid gloated. ¡°What will you do now?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s you like being a woman?¡± Naomi suddenly asked.

    ¡°I am above such primitive gender distinctions,¡± Melissa declared proudly. ¡°I was born long before God created humans for their rudimentary reproduction.¡±

    Naomi chuckled.

    ¡°Such a sarcastic answer fit who looks like a twenty-year-old girl.¡±

    Melissa snorted but didn¡¯t respond.

    ¡°Tell me, Mistress Naomi, how much longer will this punishment last?¡± the demoness asked, struggling to keep her emotions in check. ¡°You¡¯ve taken my name, my appearance, my power, and my purpose. Surely you¡¯ve driven the dagger deep enough into my pride?¡±

    Naomi stopped smiling. Her voice grew cold.

    ¡°And how many souls have you destroyed in your demonic lifetime?¡±

    Melissa tensed.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ irrelevant.¡±

    The collar flared with fire, making her flinch. She sighed heavily and quietly gave a number.

    ¡°More than the population of the United States,¡± Naomi observed without breaking eye contact. ¡°That¡¯s why your punishment won¡¯t end until you¡¯ve atoned for all you¡¯ve done.¡±

    Melissa seethed with fury. Her amber eyes flared with magic.

    ¡°My brothers will find me!¡± she finally snapped. ¡°And they¡¯ll save me.¡±

    Naomi smirked.

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure your brothers are just as powerful as you. Just as cruel, just as incapable of love and compassion. Melissa, are you sure they won¡¯t tear you apart along with us when they see you so weak and helpless?¡±

    The demoness opened her mouth but found no words. Her pride wouldn¡¯t let her back down, but Naomi¡¯s logic was merciless.

    ¡°Go to bed, Melissa Blaze,¡± Naomi said at last, rising from her chair. ¡°Tomorrow will be another hard day.¡±

    Melissa remained on the floor, burning with humiliation.

 Bloodline 1 of 3

    Sunlight filtered through the semi-transparent curtains, filling the Blaze family¡¯s kitchen with a soft morning glow. The table was already laden with food: fresh croissants, omelets, fruit salad, and coffee. Everything looked so perfect it could have been a scene from a commercial.

    Johnny sat at the table, silently watching as his younger siblings exchanged lively jokes. He tried his best to appear fully engaged in the carefree family moment, but inside, a storm raged.

    Last night had left its mark. He knew it would. He had prepared for it. Years of training, strategies, and mental fortitude¡ªten years of preparation for one purpose. And yet, the hellfire had been more destructive than he anticipated. The explosions and fiery flashes drew far too much attention. He was lucky to escape unnoticed before the superheroes arrived, but these fireworks needed to be addressed; they weren¡¯t meant for ordinary criminals.

    ¡°I almost got a picture of a superhero!¡± Danny suddenly exclaimed, proudly showing something on his camera.

    Johnny glanced at the screen. It was a blurry photo with a scrap of a red cape visible in the corner.

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t count,¡± Barb scoffed, smiling as she moved her teacup aside. ¡°It¡¯s just a piece of fabric.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not just fabric! It¡¯s a cape!¡± Danny insisted.

    ¡°Sure, and I played soccer with Captain America yesterday,¡± Barb added sarcastically.

    ¡°Danny, if you want to be a photographer, maybe you should start with something simpler?¡± mom suggested with a gentle smile. ¡°Nature, animals. Our cat Coal is very photogenic.¡±

    Hearing his name, the cat looked up from his bowl and twitched his ear amusingly.

    ¡°No!¡± Danny declared confidently, clenching his fist. ¡°I¡¯ll photograph a real superhero! And The Daily Bugle will pay me for it.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit!¡± dad approved. ¡°If you¡¯re going to do something, go all out. You know, my Guinness World Record still stands.¡±

    ¡°Maybe because no one wants to risk their life for a line in a book,¡± Melissa commented with a faint smirk. ¡°Still, I won¡¯t discourage a death-defying venture.¡±

    Johnny listened quietly. On the outside, he remained as composed as always, but inside, he felt the burning flame of vengeance slowly filling every fiber of his being. Tonight, he would deliver justice again.

    Suddenly, Melissa turned on the TV.

    Footage of a burning building appeared on the screen. The anchor reported on a fire that had destroyed a Bronx building, where weapons and stolen goods were found. Six people had died.

    Johnny felt nothing but a slight satisfaction from doing the right thing.

    ¡°Melissa, change the channel, please,¡± Naomi suddenly requested. ¡°I don¡¯t want to watch such news in the morning.¡±

    ¡°I second that,¡± Bart added, finishing his tea. ¡°I get enough crime at work.¡±

    With a light sigh, Melissa switched the channel.

    ¡°This family doesn¡¯t appreciate my contributions to the atmosphere,¡± she remarked sarcastically.

    On the new channel, a talk show was airing. A man in a pristine white suit sat on screen. His smile was kind, his eyes radiating genuine compassion. Even Johnny¡¯s usually grim mind was drawn to his presence.

    ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± Barb asked with interest.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Zachariah Lightman,¡± dad replied. ¡°One of New York¡¯s most renowned philanthropists. I¡¯ve crossed paths with him at City Hall.¡±

    Zachariah was talking about opening an orphanage. Melissa abruptly changed the channel again, as if burned. Johnny noticed her hold her breath for a second before her usual sarcastic smirk returned.

    ¡°Too much light for my dark vision,¡± she muttered, adjusting her apron.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Naomi asked with a slight smile.

    ¡°Just that a white suit is too over-the-top,¡± Melissa replied, quickly returning to her croissant.

    Johnny remained silent, observing Melissa¡¯s reaction to Lightman. He made a mental note.

    ¡°Johnny, do you have the day off?¡± Barb suddenly asked.

    ¡°Yes,¡± he answered after careful thought. ¡°I¡¯ve decided to scale back training for now and focus on other things.¡±

    ¡°Then train me!¡± she asked with a beaming smile. ¡°Show me a cool martial arts move.¡±

    ¡°And teach me to shoot a rifle!¡± Danny chimed in.

    ¡°You couldn¡¯t even jump to the pull-up bar,¡± Barb teased.

    ¡°At least I didn¡¯t fall off it like you,¡± Danny retorted. ¡°Besides, training with me is better¡ªyou don¡¯t even have the patience to load a rifle!¡±

    Johnny suppressed a smile, watching his younger siblings continue their banter. Their constant fight for his attention always reminded him that, despite the training and the curse, he had to stay human¡ªbe their older brother.

    ¡°All right, kids, argument¡¯s over,¡± Naomi intervened. ¡°Johnny¡¯s coming to the store with me.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Barb and Danny exclaimed in unison.

    ¡°Give your brother a break,¡± mom said, finishing her tea. ¡°And he can help me in the bookstore.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not fair!¡± Danny protested.

    ¡°Life isn¡¯t fair, son,¡± Naomi replied philosophically. ¡°You want to photograph a superhero, but you don¡¯t notice one right here.¡±

    ¡°Mistress Naomi, your hint is so subtle it could slice cheese,¡± Melissa commented with a smile, glancing at Johnny.

    ¡°And you¡¯re coming with us,¡± Naomi countered. ¡°You could use a break from house chores.¡±

    Melissa fell silent, then slowly nodded.

    ¡°Oh, of course. I¡¯m sure it will be¡­ unforgettable.¡±

    On that note, breakfast came to an end.

    ---

    When the black family SUV stopped in front of the bookstore, Johnny paused for a moment, his gaze lingering on the sign. The metallic letters "Blood and Ink" looked as if they had been forged in the depths of hell, and beneath them was an intricate drawing of a serpent coiled around a quill.

    "Pretty grim," he commented in his usual cold tone.

    "It''s meant to be," Naomi replied proudly, stepping out of the car. "I designed it myself."

    "No one doubted that," Melissa added as she climbed out after her. Her tone was perfectly even, but Johnny caught a hint of sarcasm. "I¡¯ve always known you were a witch, mistress Naomi."

    "Thank you for the compliment," Naomi smirked, opening the shop door.

    Johnny stepped inside and nearly froze in place. Shelves of black wood towered up to the ceiling, creating the impression of a labyrinth. Each section had a sign: Vampires, Werewolves, Demons. People milled about, and every corner of the store seemed alive. Quiet whispers and the rustling of pages echoed throughout. The air smelled of sandalwood, candles, and something reminiscent of aged paper.

    "Is Stephen King releasing a new book?" Johnny nodded toward the crowd of customers.

    "This is normal for us," Naomi shrugged. "The store attracts anyone interested in the mystical and the macabre."

    Johnny said nothing, his eyes scanning the room. Behind the counter stood a woman in a long moss-green dress, a crown of dried leaves resting on her head. She smiled warmly at each customer, ringing up purchases with professional precision. A girl with black wings and a tail moved gracefully between the shelves.

    "Is that Jen and Sarah?" Johnny squinted, barely recognizing his mother¡¯s friends.

    "Who else would it be?" Naomi grinned. "We¡¯re all about creating an atmosphere here, and they¡¯re professionals at it. By the way, I¡¯ve got my own vampire queen costume in the closet."

    "Makes sense," Johnny said simply.

    "With this crew, you might as well rename the shop The Witches'' Trio," Melissa commented, adjusting her apron.

    "With your talent for injecting venom into every remark, you¡¯d fit right in," Naomi retorted.

    "Then I demand a cut of the profits," Melissa replied, unfazed.

    Naomi chuckled but didn¡¯t continue the banter. Instead, she waved at Jen and Sarah in greeting. Jen, in her witch costume, nodded cheerfully, while Sarah, her wings flaring slightly, continued explaining something to a customer.

    "Girls, hold down the fort a bit longer," Naomi said. "I¡¯ve got some family business."

    She turned to Johnny and Melissa.

    "Follow me."

    Naomi led them through the store to a back door, which opened to a storage room. Boxes of books were stacked neatly but tightly, forming small walls. Naomi walked to a far corner, moved one of the shelves aside, and pulled out a dusty cardboard box covered in cobwebs.

    "You keep it in a box?" Melissa raised an eyebrow. "The grimoire that sorcerers would kill each other for is stashed away like a yard sale trinket?"

    "It does less harm here than in the hands of those who used it before," Naomi replied calmly, wiping the cobwebs from the box.

    "What are you talking about?" Johnny asked, narrowing his eyes.

    Naomi smirked.

    "We¡¯re in a bookstore, son. Of course, I¡¯m talking about a book."

 Bloodline 2 of 3

    She opened the box and carefully pulled out the grimoire. The book was sinister in appearance. Its white leather cover gleamed faintly, and the clasp, shaped like a skull, seemed to glare directly at Johnny.

    "And what is this?" he asked evenly, though he felt the searing heat of the Spirit of Vengeance stirring within him.

    Melissa crossed her arms, her lips curling into a devilish smile.

    "The magnum opus of my life," she replied with relish. "The true history of the Ghost Riders."

    Johnny reached for the clasp, but Naomi placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

    "Don¡¯t."

    "Why not?" Johnny narrowed his eyes.

    Melissa smirked.

    "Try to unlock it, and you¡¯ll be torn apart by a biblical golem. A small precaution to keep strangers from pawing my property." She ran her fingers over the cover. "The leather from the scapegoat. Pure biblical symbolism. Perfect for a treatise on vengeance." She tapped the skull-shaped clasp with pride. "Made from the jawbone of Samson. You¡¯d be surprised how much symbolism can fit into one book."

    "Maybe had enough bragging?" Naomi asked, crossing her arms.

    "My mistress," Melissa replied calmly. "Surely I¡¯m entitled to some self-expression. When else will I have the chance to enlighten Master Jonathan about the history of his lineage?"

    ¡°Johnny,¡± Naomi said softly, drawing his attention. ¡°Do you remember the biblical story of Cain?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± he nodded. ¡°Cain killed Abel because he was jealous that God accepted his brother¡¯s offering but rejected his. After that, God cursed him to wander the earth.¡±

    Naomi shook her head.

    ¡°That¡¯s the distorted version. The story has been twisted over time, as it always is. The truth is different.¡±

    Johnny raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°And what¡¯s the truth?¡±

    ¡°Cain didn¡¯t kill Abel out of jealousy,¡± she said, her voice lowering and taking on an unusual depth. ¡°He did it to avenger at God. He attacked where it hurt most¡ªHis favorite. It wasn¡¯t just murder; it was defiance. Cain became the first avenger on Earth.¡±

    ¡°And that attracted¡­¡± Johnny began, but his mother cut him off.

    ¡°The Spirit of Vengeance. Cain was cursed, but that curse made him the perfect vessel. They became the ideal pair. Thus, the first Ghost Rider was born.¡±

    For a moment, silence filled the room.

    ¡°We¡¯re Cain¡¯s descendants?¡± Johnny asked, his tone steady as always.

    Naomi lowered her gaze for a moment, then nodded quietly.

    ¡°His curse runs in our blood.¡±Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be so dramatic, my mistress,¡± Melissa¡¯s voice suddenly interjected. She was sitting on a stack of boxes, a faint smile on her lips. ¡°Cursed blood gives its bearers incredible advantages.¡±

    ¡°Like what?¡± Johnny asked.

    ¡°Unnatural endurance, exceptional willpower, an increased tolerance for pain, and an innate drive for vengeance,¡± Melissa began listing, looking at him as though observing a successful experiment. ¡°It¡¯s no surprise most of Cain¡¯s descendants end up in law enforcement.¡±

    ¡°That explains my role on the disciplinary committee,¡± he said aloud, then turned to his mother. ¡°What about you? Do you have these traits?¡±

    Naomi opened her mouth to respond, but Melissa interrupted with a loud scoff.

    ¡°Mistress Naomi is merely a half-blood. You, on the other hand, young master, are the embodiment of the purest lineage.¡±

    Melissa stepped closer and held out a mirror, her amber eyes gleaming.

    ¡°There¡¯s one way to prove it.¡±

    ¡°And what am I supposed to see?¡± he asked, holding the mirror.

    Melissa took out a candle, lit it, and brought it near his face.

    Johnny looked into the mirror, and in his pupils, a fiery skull blazed¡ªthe Spirit locked in its human cage.

    ¡°Unmasked,¡± he said firmly, like a soldier. ¡°I¡¯ll have to avoid candles.¡±

    ¡°Smart boy,¡± Melissa approved.

    Johnny set the mirror aside, his expression thoughtful as he asked, ¡°Cain lived millions of years ago. How did his blood end up in me?¡±

    Melissa smiled, adjusting the lace on her dress.

    ¡°You can thank me for that, darling. Only through my painstaking efforts was this precious bloodline preserved.¡±

    ¡°I know how biology works, how selective breeding operates,¡± Johnny frowned, looking at Naomi. ¡°Does that mean my father¡­ is your blood relative?¡±

    ¡°A very distant relative!¡± she snapped, shooting a sharp look at Melissa. ¡°It¡¯s not exactly pleasant to realize I met my future husband because of some vile manipulations.¡±

    ¡°Manipulations?¡± Melissa repeated with feigned surprise. ¡°Mistress Naomi, you got a loving husband, wonderful children, and a cozy shop. And yet, I¡¯m still the villain? Where¡¯s the fairness in that?¡±

    Naomi seemed ready to retort, but Johnny wasn¡¯t interested in witnessing their debate.

    ¡°Who are you, really?¡± he asked, locking eyes with Melissa¡¯s amber gaze.

    Melissa turned to him, raising an eyebrow slightly.

    ¡°Do I have to answer?¡± she asked, glancing at Naomi.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Naomi said, activating the magical collar on Melissa¡¯s neck. A vengeful smile spread across Naomi¡¯s face. ¡°Or you¡¯ll spend the weekend volunteering at a shelter full of screaming, smelly children.¡±

    ¡°Punishing a helpless maid? My mistress, you are definitely a descendant of Cain,¡± Melissa quipped. She turned back to Johnny and said, ¡°I am the Serpent of Temptation. The very one from the Garden of Eden.¡±

    Johnny nodded, showing no surprise.

    ¡°And how did you end up like this?¡±

    ¡°After Adam and Eve were exiled, the Garden got boring,¡± Melissa began, her voice lazy but with a fiery gleam in her eyes. ¡°They were so¡­ pathetic. I slithered out beyond the garden and saw the world. Humans were foolish but full of passion. They sold their souls for the most trivial pleasures. It was delightful. I quickly realized that souls were currency. The more you had, the higher your status.¡± She smiled, adjusting the lace on her dress. ¡°Over millennia, I climbed so high that my throne of bones shone brighter than the stars. I was a queen of one of Hell¡¯s circles, though it came at a price.¡± She carelessly adjusted a curl of her hair. ¡°Among demons, a feminine form isn¡¯t taken seriously enough. So, I decided that ¡®Mephisto, the great King of Hell,¡¯ sounded far more convincing. Demons are fools but easily swayed by appearances. Alas, now I must settle for a less fearsome image. But it¡¯s closer to my original nature.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re such an optimist, Melissa!¡± Naomi said with a grin.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have become a queen of Hell if I didn¡¯t use every advantage,¡± the maid replied proudly.

    "Tell me about the Spirit of Vengeance," Johnny demanded, striving to keep his tone calm.

    Melissa picked up the grimoire, her movements unusually graceful, as if she were handling something sacred rather than a mere book. Her hellish fingers slid over the skull-shaped clasp, which opened with a soft click.

    "Only in your hands, huh?" Johnny muttered, watching the process.

    "Naturally," Melissa replied with a hint of superiority. "This is my work, my story, and only I can unveil it."

    Melissa opened the grimoire with a crackle, like the sound of burning wood. The parchment beneath her fingers shimmered with a strange light, almost as if it were alive. As she turned the page, a fiery skull illuminated the room, glowing so brightly it seemed to light up the entire warehouse.

 Bloodline 3 of 3

    Johnny froze, feeling something stir deep within his chest. The image was painfully familiar. He¡¯d seen it just yesterday, when he had released that creature from the Cross of Vengeance, only to watch it fly into his throat, scorching his guts and soul alike.

    ¡°It¡¯s an endless fire,¡± Melissa began, tracing her finger over the flaming skull. ¡°Do you know emotions hold power? Joy, fear, anger... but the thirst for vengeance? That is the most burning desire of all. It creates a fire that cannot be extinguished. Millions of thoughts of revenge, hatred, and justice gave birth to something greater. They gave birth to him.¡±

    ¡°Him?¡± Johnny clarified.

    ¡°Humans called him Zarathos,¡± Melissa replied. ¡°But that¡¯s just a name given by the ancients. In essence, he is the embodiment of an emotion¡ªthe most ferocious and destructive one.¡±

    Johnny frowned.

    ¡°Does he have a consciousness?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Naomi interjected firmly. ¡°He has no reason, no logic. Zarathos is fire. He burns as long as there¡¯s fuel. He doesn¡¯t care who he consumes. He may push you to act, but he cannot speak or think. He doesn¡¯t deliberate¡ªhe just punishes, thoughtlessly and relentlessly.¡±

    She fell silent, then suddenly looked at Johnny intently.

    ¡°Do you, by any chance, remember what you used to say in your sleep ten years ago?¡±

    Johnny met her gaze with a stone-cold expression.

    ¡°No,¡± he answered curtly.

    ¡°What a pity,¡± Melissa added sarcastically, a sly smile playing on her lips. ¡°Witches are always so curious about children¡¯s prophecies.¡±

    Johnny ignored the comment, focusing instead on the grimoire. Flipping through the pages, he stopped at an illustration of a flaming skeleton holding a stone in one hand.

    ¡°Is this Cain?¡± he guessed, pointing at the drawing.

    ¡°Yes, the first Ghost Rider,¡± Melissa nodded. ¡°And in his hand is the stone he used to kill his brother¡ªthe symbol of humanity¡¯s first murder.¡± Her lips curved into a pleased smile. ¡°The artifact makes a fine addition to my collection.¡±

    ¡°Tell me about Cain,¡± Johnny said flatly.

    ¡°Cain and Zarathos were the greatest force, a symbiosis that even demons feared. Hell itself trembled before his flame. He was a warrior who burned away all that was unholy. But one day¡­¡± she paused, glancing at Johnny, ¡°¡­one day, the Spirit left him.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± Johnny asked.

    ¡°Because the Spirit of Vengeance doesn¡¯t act based on logic¡ªit follows its nature,¡± Naomi explained. ¡°It¡¯s drawn to vengeance. Zarathos felt a powerful emotion elsewhere and went to it.¡±

    ¡°When the Spirit of Vengeance left Cain, he felt an emptiness consume him,¡± Melissa added, as though she had been there. ¡°It wasn¡¯t just the loss of power¡ªit was betrayal. The Spirit, which had been a part of him, left without even saying goodbye. For Cain, it was worse than eternal damnation. And he sought revenge. Because revenge was all he knew.¡±

    Johnny felt a mix of awe and kinship. It was comforting to know his ancestor had been capable of defying gods.

    ¡°And what did he do?¡± Johnny asked.

    ¡°Do you know the story of Judas Iscariot?¡± Naomi interrupted.

    ¡°Of course,¡± he sighed. ¡°Judas was one of Jesus¡¯ disciples. He betrayed Him and then hanged himself out of guilt.¡±

    ¡°Cain was there,¡± Melissa said. ¡°He found Judas¡¯ body hanging from a tree, and beneath it, the thirty pieces of silver. When Cain touched them, he felt an incredible power. The cursed metal was imbued with the very essence of betrayal. It was a dark force capable of killing gods.¡±

    Johnny said nothing, silently processing the revelation.

    "Do you know what¡¯s most interesting?" Melissa continued with a devilish grin. "In this whole story, Judas thought he was the one who had been betrayed. He believed he was following the Messiah, the Son of God, an unstoppable force who would overthrow the tyrants in power. But in reality, Jesus turned out to be nothing more than a weakling and a pathetic martyr."The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    "That¡¯s blasphemy," Naomi said, her voice trembling with restrained anger.

    "Those are facts," Melissa retorted with a smile. "I was there, remember? Or do you prefer fairy tales over the truth?"

    "And what happened next?" Johnny interrupted.

    "Judas betrayed Jesus because he felt deceived. His vengeance combined with his betrayal, becoming two sides of the same coin. That¡¯s why the thirty pieces of silver became so valuable," the maid explained, her amber eyes gleaming. "Cain forged the cursed metal of the God-killer into a perfect cage for Zarathos. And now, it¡¯s here."

    Melissa leaned closer to Johnny, pointing a finger at his chest, brushing against his shirt and what lay beneath.

    "The Cross of Vengeance," she whispered.

    "So anyone who wears the Cross can become a Ghost Rider?" he asked.

    Melissa shook her head.

    "The Cross is drawn to those with the strongest blood of Cain. Cain himself has long been dead, but his curse lives on in his descendants. The Cross is a living key to the indestructible cage created by the first avenger. You were chosen because you are the purest descendant of Cain," her voice oozed with self-satisfaction. "The blood of Cain runs stronger in you than anyone else, and your willpower is extraordinary. My greatest creation."

    "Well, thanks, I guess," he replied nonchalantly.

    "For a teenager, you¡¯ve adjusted to this new reality far too easily," Melissa noted, her eyes sparkling with sly amusement. "It¡¯s almost suspicious. Who knows? Maybe you¡¯ve been carrying this thought for ten years already."

    Johnny held the demoness¡¯s gaze, his face remaining impassive. He understood she was waiting for a reaction, but a decade of training had taught him to conceal his emotions. That was his armor, and it held strong now.

    "I trust my mom," he said calmly. "She wouldn¡¯t lie. And these biblical stories¡­ they logically explain what¡¯s happening to me."

    "I¡¯ve been a Rider, and I know how you feel," Naomi said, shifting her gaze to Melissa. "Can you extract Zarathos from him and seal him back into the Cross, like you did for me?"

    "Alas, mistress, I am no longer the queen of Hell but merely a humble maid," Melissa replied, shaking her head skeptically as she adjusted the lace on her dress. "My magic is not what it once was."

    "So, if I had left you in Hell," Naomi¡¯s voice wavered, "the seal wouldn¡¯t have broken, and my son wouldn¡¯t have known this curse."

    "I¡¯m sure, mistress," the demoness replied with her usual venom, "you regret enslaving me now."

    Naomi didn¡¯t answer, but the slump of her shoulders spoke volumes.

    "If I¡¯ve understood the nature of this creature correctly," Johnny said slowly, looking at Melissa, "then ridding the world of Mephisto was your most righteous act, Mom."

    "Sometimes you seem far too serious," Naomi said, her face breaking into a smile. "But I know I can always rely on you. Thank you."

    "I¡¯ll continue before this turns into a scene," the maid interrupted, displeased. "The curse of the Rider can only be lifted by death. But I wouldn¡¯t recommend rushing to the graveyard, young master. If you want a happy future for Barb and Danny, you¡¯re better off staying alive."

    "You¡¯re threatening my children!" Naomi flared, her voice shaking with anger.

    "Threats?" Melissa repeated with feigned surprise. "Mistress, these aren¡¯t threats. These are facts. If you don¡¯t like science, blame biology, not me. Your marriage to Bart was my project. The goal was to create the purest blood of Cain. Johnny is a magnificent result, but blood doesn¡¯t stop with one generation."

    "So, if I die¡­" Johnny began, but Melissa cut him off with a cynical smirk.

    "The curse will pass to Barb, then to Danny. It¡¯s simple."

    Naomi turned pale, her lips trembling.

    ¡°No. I won¡¯t let that happen.¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t up for discussion, mistress. It¡¯s the blood of Cain. It flows through your children¡¯s veins.¡±

    Naomi tensed, her hand rising to the magical collar around Melissa¡¯s neck.

    ¡°Tell me how to save them!¡± she demanded.

    Melissa cried out as the collar¡¯s magic activated. Pain twisted her face, but her smile quickly returned.

    ¡°Mistress, I¡¯ve never lied to you,¡± she hissed with apparent satisfaction. ¡°And I won¡¯t start now. The only way to protect them is to create new offspring with even stronger blood.¡± She turned to Johnny, her eyes narrowing in a sly grin. ¡°And you don¡¯t need to look far for a bride. You already know who would be perfect.¡±

    ¡°Roxanne,¡± he said. ¡°She has Cain¡¯s blood too.¡±

    Melissa nodded, like a pleased professor evaluating her star pupil.

    ¡°When did you start matchmaking me with Roxanne?¡± Johnny shot her a hard look.

    ¡°Oh, since the moment you were conceived,¡± Melissa replied casually, as though discussing the weather. ¡°But my centuries-long plans were slightly disrupted.¡± She cast a disdainful glance at Naomi. ¡°However, fate has brought you together again. Funny how life works, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°And what¡¯s so good about that?¡± Johnny asked grimly, his voice flat. ¡°Now all my children will be potential bearers of this curse. A wonderful legacy, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Johnny,¡± Naomi said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. ¡°I never wanted this. I hoped the seal would last longer, that you could live a normal life. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s done is done.¡± Johnny tilted his head slightly, meeting his mother¡¯s gaze. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to regret.¡±

    ¡°What now?¡± Naomi asked, her voice filled with worry.

    Johnny stood, his gaze turning cold as steel.

    ¡°So, I have two options: marry Roxanne under false pretenses and doom my child to the curse, or do nothing and wait for the curse to pass to Danny and Barb. Neither works for me.¡±

    ¡°And what are you going to do?¡± Melissa asked with a smirk. ¡°More experienced sorcerers have tried to cleanse Cain¡¯s blood of the curse and hit a dead end.¡±

    Johnnydidn¡¯t respond. He didn¡¯t know the answer, but he swore he¡¯d find one.

 Princess of mutants 1 of 3

    On a dark oak table, draped with black velvet fabric, ancient cards gleamed ominously. They looked as though their design wasn¡¯t merely crafted but infused with primordial evil. Each of Chthon¡¯s cards, arranged in a circle, emitted a faint glow, as if the symbols within were struggling to break free. The room was steeped in dim light, illuminated only by the flickering flame of a lone candle, casting intricate shadows on the walls.

    Wanda ran her hand over the cards. Her chestnut hair shimmered in the candlelight, and her emerald eyes intently followed the motion of her fingers. A tiara, delicately framing her face, glinted crimson as she drew the next card.

    ¡°Damnation,¡± she murmured, glancing at the image of a serpent coiling around a black dagger. Her voice was calm, with a faint hint of irritation, as if the result hadn¡¯t surprised her.

    She pulled a second card. It depicted a knot of black chains, each link exuding smoke as though freshly forged in flames.

    ¡°Doom,¡± Wanda shook her head. ¡°Of course.¡±

    Only one card remained. Her hand paused for a moment, as if fate itself sought to stop her from making this choice. But the witch only smirked, resolutely flipping the card. It revealed a skull encased in the fire of endless war.

    ¡°A cursed soul who refuses to die,¡± Wanda bit her lip slowly. ¡°I already like this guy.¡±

    The young witch rose abruptly, her simple yet elegant black dress flowing softly through the air, like a dense shadow.

    Wanda moved to the corner of the room, where her broom stood. Slender yet sturdy, it seemed like something born of legend: dark wood adorned with crimson patterns that pulsed with light, responding to her presence.

    Clutching the smooth handle of her vehicle, she stepped through the window into the night wind. For a moment, the moon illuminated her shadow before she soared into the starry sky, leaving sparks and faint laughter.

    ---

    The bustling streets of Manhattan shimmered with neon lights, the hum of traffic, and the murmur of countless voices. Crowds of people swarmed back and forth like marionettes hurrying to their next act. Wanda stood at the intersection, clutching a bag in her hands. Her hair lifted slightly in the gentle breeze, and her eyes, as always, gazed into the distance, lost in thought. Next to her, arms crossed, stood Pietro¡ªher restless twin brother.

    His silvery hair, reminiscent of a lightning flash, was its usual mess, and his T-shirt bore the words: "I''m faster than the Internet." Paired with ripped jeans and scuffed sneakers, he looked like a typical teenager who valued comfort over style.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°So, how exactly are we supposed to find your dark prince in this concrete jungle?¡± he drawled, glancing around the crowd with mild disdain.

    ¡°Don¡¯t call him that,¡± Wanda snapped, frowning slightly. ¡°And if you had half a brain, you¡¯d realize the first step is to stop whining.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not whining,¡± he retorted, though without much conviction. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ this is New York. Millions of people, and all we¡¯ve got are your cryptic clues.¡±

    ¡°Which is why I¡¯m in charge of the strategy,¡± Wanda shot back, pulling a sheet of paper and a pencil from her bag.

    She crouched down, smoothing the paper on her knees, and closed her eyes. Pietro watched her with mild confusion, tilting his head.

    ¡°You¡¯re not gonna¡­ you know, do that thing again, are you?¡± he muttered.

    Wanda didn¡¯t answer. Her eyes slowly rolled back, revealing the whites, and her hand began to move on its own, guided by an unseen force. At first, the lines on the paper seemed chaotic and random, but they gradually formed a coherent image. Pietro leaned in closer, watching the process, shivering slightly when Wanda suddenly exhaled and her gaze cleared.

    On the paper was the silhouette of a seemingly ordinary school. One of the towers bore graffiti¡ªa white skull.

    ¡°What was that?¡± he asked, frowning.

    ¡°Magic,¡± Wanda said calmly, folding the paper. ¡°It¡¯s a form of unconscious writing. The drawing is the key to our search.¡±

    Pietro smirked.

    ¡°Looks more like you were just scribbling randomly. Or did you pick up some new tricks with your mutation?¡±

    ¡°Magic only works for those who believe in it,¡± she retorted, stuffing the paper back into her bag.

    She turned to leave, but Pietro stepped in front of her, grinning.

    ¡°Wait. So, we¡¯re supposed to find a school from your little sketch?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Pietro. Now, instead of all of New York, we only have to search through just a thousand schools,¡± she replied sarcastically.

    Her words were drowned out by a sudden gust of wind. Wanda¡¯s dress billowed, and her curls fell across her face. When she brushed the hair from her eyes, Pietro was standing before her, holding a box of hot dogs.

    ¡°Brooklyn,¡± he said between bites.

    Wanda frowned.

    ¡°What Brooklyn?¡±

    ¡°Your school, sis. It¡¯s in Brooklyn.¡±

    ¡°Wait. Are you telling me you just ran through all of New York?¡± she asked, staring at him incredulously.

    Pietro shrugged, taking another big bite.

    ¡°Yep. I checked all the buildings with towers and matched them to your drawing. Took me one second. The second second I spent finding the best hot dogs.¡± He spoke and chewed simultaneously. ¡°Can you believe the vendor didn¡¯t have mayonnaise? So, no tip for him. Had to spend a third second buying mayo elsewhere. How can anyone eat hot dogs without mayo? I can¡¯t imagine.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re always thinking about food,¡± Wanda said, rolling her eyes.

    ¡°Super speed comes with a price,¡± he replied, swallowing the last bite. ¡°Now that I¡¯m refueled, I can zip us over to the school.¡±

    ¡°No, thanks,¡± she said with a shiver. ¡°I¡¯d rather not introduce the pavement to my lunch.¡±

    Wanda vividly remembered the time Pietro had ¡°rescued¡± her from their father¡¯s wrath over a broken vase. He¡¯d run so fast with her in his arms, she¡¯d thought her head would pop off.

    ¡°We¡¯ll get there the old-fashioned way,¡± Wanda said, pressing a key fob. A rented car beeped nearby in response.

 Princess of mutants 2 of 3

    Wanda and Pietro sat in their rented car across from a high school in Brooklyn. Students bustled back and forth, engrossed in their daily routines. Pietro, with his superhuman speed and impatient nature, was visibly bored. He leaned back in his seat, drumming his fingers against the window, and finally couldn¡¯t hold it in:

    ¡°What are we waiting for, Wanda?¡± he asked, glancing at his sister.

    ¡°Look here,¡± she said, pointing to the glove compartment, where a papier-mach¨¦ cross with a skull inside rested. ¡°It will lead us to the right person.¡±

    Pietro raised an eyebrow, his blue eyes glinting with skepticism.

    ¡°And how exactly is this lifeless piece of paper supposed to lead us anywhere?¡±

    Wanda smirked slightly, her gaze remaining focused.

    ¡°Symbols hold immense power. The cross and skull represent faith and death¡ªthey constantly surround him. That¡¯s the symbol of the person we¡¯re looking for.¡± Her voice grew inspired. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen him yet, but I¡¯m sure he¡¯s the perfect match for a mutant witch.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re planning to marry this dark prince just because some piece of paper says so?¡± Pietro arched a doubtful brow.

    ¡°I¡¯m not planning to get married today. I just want to see him.¡± Wanda rolled her eyes. ¡°And it¡¯s not the paper pointing the way¡ªit¡¯s the thread of fate. This person is the closest to me in spirit in the entire universe.¡±

    ¡°I thought I was the closest to you,¡± Pietro muttered, sounding hurt.

    Wanda recalled her room filled with books and Pietro¡¯s room packed with anime DVDs and video games. She said nothing in response.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to die of boredom if I don¡¯t eat something right now,¡± Pietro sighed, his impatience growing. ¡°Want me to grab you something? I can have it in a second.¡±

    Knowing her brother¡¯s love for fast food, Wanda thought for a moment and named a European dish:

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind an almond croissant.¡±

    Pietro smirked, his cocky grin lighting up his face.

    ¡°This is New York. They¡¯ve got everything here.¡±

    In an instant, he disappeared, leaving behind only a faint gust of wind, and returned just as quickly. The car was now stuffed with boxes of fast food, and Wanda held a neatly packaged croissant in her hand.

    ¡°Don¡¯t even think about touching my fries,¡± Pietro said matter-of-factly, tossing a handful into his mouth. ¡°I¡¯m on a strict diet.¡±

    ¡°Now the car is going to reek of fast food,¡± Wanda said with a frown, her delicate brows drawing together. ¡°The rental company won¡¯t take it back like this.¡±

    Pietro shrugged, his carefree attitude almost palpable.

    ¡°That¡¯s the price of having me as your partner.¡±

    Wanda took a slow bite of her croissant, savoring its flavor, and retorted:

    ¡°I didn¡¯t invite you to come with me.¡±

    Pietro waved her off, his silvery hair slightly tousled.

    ¡°I¡¯m your older brother. It¡¯s my duty to look after my little sister.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re older by all of 12 seconds,¡± Wanda said, rolling her eyes, her patience wearing thin. ¡°You don¡¯t even believe in magic. Why did you really tag along?¡±

    Pietro hesitated but then admitted:

    ¡°Sitting in this car is still more fun than classes at Xavier¡¯s school. Dad will give me grief for skipping, but if I skip with you, the punishment will be lighter.¡±

    Wanda shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    ¡°Sometimes I think I¡¯m the older sibling between the two of us.¡±

    ¡°Hey! I won that race Mom set up for us fair and square!¡±

    ¡°You started running before you were even born,¡± she teased, smiling.

    Wanda often struggled to connect with her peers, finding their carefree attitudes tiresome. But her brother was the one exception. His humor more often brought a smile than annoyance.

    Some time passed, and the origami cross began to move. Wanda perked up, her eyes alight with interest. She grabbed her binoculars and directed them toward the school.

    In her view appeared a sturdy, athletic guy with a confident posture. Walking beside him was an attractive blonde cheerleader, her smile as radiant as sunlight. The guy looked like the perfect high school king straight out of a teen movie¡ªsmart, athletic, charismatic, seemingly untouchable.

    Wanda froze, her heartbeat quickening.

    ¡°It can¡¯t be¡­¡± she whispered.

    Pietro, noticing her reaction, grabbed the binoculars and focused on the guy. His uniform bore JROTC insignias.

    ¡°You¡¯ve always had a thing for military types,¡± he teased. ¡°The kind that looks like they stepped off a recruitment poster.¡±

    Wanda ignored the jab. Her heartbeat drowned out all other sounds as she continued to study ¡°Mr. Perfect,¡± feeling a strange sense of wrongness.

    ¡°Something¡¯s not right here. This guy is supposed to be my soulmate, love at first sight¡ªnot this¡­¡±

    ¡°Remember when you used to write love letters to Captain America and send them to the address on the cereal box?¡± Pietro grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. ¡°If Jean finds out about that, the school gossip mill will explode!¡±

    The burning shame snapped Wanda back to reality, her face flushing bright red. She glared at him and threatened:

    ¡°Shut up, or I¡¯ll turn you into a toad, and you¡¯ll spend the rest of your days eating swamp flies!¡±

    Pietro clasped his hands in mock pleading.

    ¡°Oh, spare me, wicked and powerful sister! I¡¯ll be good!¡± he exclaimed theatrically before switching to a more serious tone. ¡°Fine, fine, let¡¯s dig into your guy a bit more. They say appearances can be deceiving.¡±

    Wanda snatched the binoculars back and resumed watching her target. Hours passed. Pietro made several trips scouting around, even digging into the school archives. Her dream guy only became more unbearable: he was an honor student, training to become a military doctor, captain of the school boxing team, mentoring rookies during practice, awarded medals for JROTC leadership, chairman of the disciplinary committee, adored by teachers, and a proud graduate of the scouts with flying colors.

    ¡°Good grief, what a bore,¡± Wanda muttered, her irritation evident.

    ¡°Yeah, dull as a rock,¡± Pietro agreed, munching on another burger.

    ¡°There¡¯s been a mistake,¡± Wanda said in frustration, glancing at the paper cross, which stubbornly pointed to the golden boy.

    The sun began to set, painting the sky in warm hues as the shadows grew longer. Wanda continued watching her target even as darkness crept in. She felt compelled to stay, to give him a chance. The guy finally emerged from the school.

    ¡°Come on, no one¡¯s watching. At least toss a wrapper outside the trash can,¡± she said wistfully, adjusting the binoculars.

    Pietro, lazily chewing on a fry, quipped, ¡°I bet he¡¯s heading off to feed kittens at a shelter.¡±

    Wanda didn¡¯t respond, only furrowing her brows. The boy walked down the darkened street, seemingly unbothered by the city¡¯s dangers. Then, he turned into an alley where a group of school bullies was beating up another kid.

    ¡°Oh, here we go,¡± Wanda muttered hopelessly. ¡°He¡¯s going to lecture them and threaten to call their parents.¡±

    The guy approached the bullies, his voice calm but cold:

    "The rules of the disciplinary committee apply outside school too."

    The bullies turned pale, as if they knew something, and then started apologizing, promising never to do it again. The guy smiled, but it was far from friendly.

    "Good. I forgive you," he said, pulling on a hockey mask. "But sins must be punished."

    He pulled firecracker out of his sports bag and threw them directly into the bullies¡¯ faces. They screamed but didn¡¯t have time to run¡ªthe guy was already holding a metal chain and began beating them mercilessly.

    "Wow¡­" Wanda exhaled, watching through the binoculars. Her heart raced. "That¡¯s magnificent."

    The sound of breaking bones echoed through the dark streets. Drops of blood splattered the dirty walls.

    "This guy is a psychopath, Wanda," Pietro said, turning away, his face twisted in disgust. "He¡¯s beating them¡­ I don¡¯t even know why! This isn¡¯t justice¡ªit¡¯s cruelty!"

    "I knew the golden boy was just a mask imposed by everyone around him," she said, breathlessly. "And beneath the mask is thorny darkness. Just like me."

    "You¡¯re nothing like that, Wanda!" Pietro raised his voice. "You¡¯ve got quirks and a complicated personality, sure, but you¡¯re not evil! And him¡­" He glanced back at the beating but quickly looked away. "I take it back. He¡¯s not a dark prince; he¡¯s a black berserker."

    Wanda didn¡¯t respond. Pietro, her father, and everyone else around her didn¡¯t understand that she was the witch of horrors and the queen of madness¡ªher enemies saw that side of her. For her loved ones, Wanda showed only fragments of her humanity.

    "Pietro, what do you think," she asked, her gaze fixed on the binoculars as she bit her lip, "has he ever¡­ you know¡­"

    "What?! Why the hell are you asking me that?"

    "Well, it would be romantic and even fair if we gave each other our virginity," she said with a slight blush.

    "You can¡¯t!" Pietro protested, nearly choking on his fries. "You shouldn¡¯t give yourself to the first guy you meet!"

    "He¡¯s not just anyone," Wanda looked him straight in the eye, her gaze serious and intense. "I want to experience it with someone who¡¯s connected to me deeper than anyone else."

    "You need to find someone normal!"

    "Normal for me is darkness."

    "That¡¯s not right!" Pietro nervously scratched his head. "Using cards and a cauldron to find a boyfriend is insane!"

    "If you¡¯re about to lecture me, get out of the car," Wanda said, turning back to her binoculars. "I thought you were on my side."

 Princess of mutants 3 of 3

    Pietro opened his mouth to argue but closed it, seeing the unwavering determination in his sister¡¯s eyes. He disappeared for a moment, then returned, holding a driver¡¯s license.

    "Here," he tossed it onto Wanda¡¯s lap. "I swiped it at super speed."

    Wanda held the license up to her eyes, reading the name aloud:

    "Jonathan Blaze," she said with delight. "The name reeks of ancient magic."

    She glanced at the date of birth and grinned widely.

    "He was born on the same day as me. See? It¡¯s fate!"

    Pietro crossed his arms, looking at her with concern.

    "I ran to his house while you were sitting here. That guy is like a pretty chest filled with demons. You know what I found in his room? At the bottom of a box full of scout medals, there¡¯s a brass knuckle. And among his biology and chemistry textbooks, there¡¯s a history book on Nazi weaponry with a bookmark on the flamethrower section."

    Wanda giggled, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

    "Now I like him even more."

    Pietro said nothing. He knew arguing was pointless. Wanda was enchanted by a psychopath.

    "By the way, did you see a cat there?" she asked thoughtfully.

    Pietro blinked in surprise at the question.

    "Uh, yeah, I think I did. A black cat was sitting on the couch."

    Wanda perked up.

    "Catch it for me."

    "What are you up to now?" Pietro groaned. "Why do you need a cat?"

    "A true witch can learn everything about a family from cat," she explained matter-of-factly. "I want to uncover all of Johnny¡¯s secrets."

    "I¡¯m so done with your witchy nonsense." He shook his head. "Catch the cat yourself if you want it so bad."

    "Fine, I¡¯ll handle it," she replied calmly, shifting her gaze back to Johnny.

    He was just putting the mask and chain back into his sports bag. A streetlight illuminated his face, and Wanda noticed droplets of blood on it.

    "He¡¯s magnificent," she whispered in awe.

    The car pulled away, leaving behind the dark city and a new twist of fate.

    ---

    On the horizon, the island of Genosha came into view. Massive and seemingly torn from the past, a gray stone castle towered majestically over the cliffs. Surrounded by lush greenery, it stood as a symbol of Magneto''s unyielding power. Wanda and Pietro walked along the cobblestone path leading to the entrance. Neither met the other''s gaze, but the tension in the air was palpable.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    At the door, they were greeted by a worried maid. Her skin was a deep blue, and her glowing yellow eyes reflected unease. Bowing slightly, she quickly spoke:

    "Miss Wanda, Master Pietro. Your father¡­ he already knows. He¡¯s waiting for you in his study."

    Wanda squinted but said nothing. She knew that arguing with her father was like playing chess¡ªevery mistake led to defeat.

    Inside, the castle was just as grand as its exterior. Majestic halls with stained glass windows, portraits of renowned mutants lining the walls, chandeliers casting a warm golden glow. Wanda had always seen this place as both a home and a prison.

    When they reached the study, the door was slightly ajar. Magneto sat at a chessboard, his expression focused. He was contemplating his next move in a correspondence game with Charles Xavier. Wanda knew this match had been ongoing for years.

    "Come in," he said without looking up from the pieces.

    The siblings entered, Pietro hesitating slightly, staying closer to his sister. Magneto finally lifted his gaze. His gray eyes carried the weight of the world.

    "Charles informed me that you weren¡¯t at school today," he began, clasping his fingers together. "I¡¯m curious¡ªwhat could possibly be important enough to skip your studies?"

    Wanda stepped forward, squaring her shoulders.

    "All my exams are done. I¡¯ll get the missed notes from Jean. My absence was due to personal matters that don¡¯t concern you, Father."

    Magneto studied his daughter carefully, as if trying to peer into her soul. Their eyes locked, and the air seemed to freeze. Then he exhaled slowly, and his expression softened.

    "You¡¯re an adult, Wanda, and you must manage your own time," he said with deliberate seriousness. "If you¡¯ve decided you can afford to skip, that¡¯s your choice."

    He paused before adding:

    "But are you planning to take a holiday for these¡­ matters?"

    "I¡¯ve handled most of it already. In a couple of days, I¡¯ll need to return to New York, but it won¡¯t interfere with school," she replied calmly.

    "You can copy notes, Wanda, but you cannot rewrite time. And time is power. Learn to manage it while you¡¯re young," Magneto said in his philosophical tone, one that often preceded his speeches about mutant nations. "You may go."

    He stood and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

    "My little princess," he said warmly.

    Wanda felt her face tighten. She hated that nickname but stayed silent to avoid shattering the moment. Instead, she simply nodded and left the study.

    Pietro was about to slip away, but Magneto stopped him.

    "And where do you think you¡¯re going?"

    "What? If Wanda¡¯s not in trouble, then neither am I!" Pietro protested, stepping back defensively.

    Magneto¡¯s gray brows furrowed, and the strictness of old returned to his face.

    "You, Pietro, could learn a thing or two from your sister. Her missed days lead to future triumphs. Yours lead to video games. Therefore, you¡¯re grounded from gaming for a month."

    "That¡¯s not fair!" Pietro exclaimed but immediately fell silent under his father¡¯s warning gaze.

    When he left the study, Wanda was waiting for him by the stairs, arms crossed.

    "Another month without games," he groaned. "Why is it that when you break the rules, you¡¯re a princess, but when I do, I¡¯m a delinquent?"

    "Didn¡¯t you claim seniority earlier today?" she smirked, referring to his twelve-second age advantage. "Get used to the younger ones being more loved."

    "You¡­ witch!" he snapped, though there was no anger in his voice.

    "Thanks for the compliment," she replied, heading upstairs.

    Her room was a curious mix: lace pillows harmonized with books on dark magic, and the walls were adorned with star-shaped decorations and crimson symbols. It reflected her inner world¡ªgirlish yet enigmatic.

    Kicking off her shoes, she collapsed onto the bed, trying to process the events of the day. The image of Johnny surfaced in her mind. She barely noticed herself smile. But her eyes accidentally fell on the magical calendar on her desk.

    Several dates were circled in red marker, marking significant events in her life:

    ¡°The day the skies darken, and fire cleanses the world.¡±

    ¡°The day the Four Horsemen lead the new order.¡±

    Her gaze lingered on the final date, circled in red. It was her seventeenth birthday. Beneath it was a chilling note:

    ¡°The day I die.¡±

    Her smile faded. Wanda turned away, burying her face in the pillow, and quietly began to cry.

 Walpurgis night 1 of 3

    Johnny sat silently at the table, mechanically chewing yet another culinary masterpiece crafted by Melissa. He was planning how, come nightfall, he would cast sinful souls into the fire of vengeance. The family chatter around him sounded distant, yet he still listened in.

    "Mom, look at Coal," Barbara said, frowning. "He¡¯s acting strange. Not eating, just staring out the window."

    The black cat sat on the windowsill, his ears pressed back in alertness. His blue eyes remained fixed on the street, as if searching for something invisible to the rest.

    "Coal only acts this way for one reason," Naomi said with a faint smile, picking up the cat and placing him on her lap. "It means there¡¯s a witch in town."

    "A witch?" Danny repeated, laughing. "Mom, you can¡¯t be serious."

    "What surprises you, Master Daniel?" Melissa asked primly, adjusting maid¡¯s uniform. "You call one witch your mother."

    She cast a brief glance at Naomi, who smirked in a way that promised nothing good.

    "If only you¡¯d seen Mistress Naomi with her friends at the bookstore," Melissa added cryptically. "A true Witch¡¯s Trio!"

    "Witches don¡¯t exist," Danny declared confidently, leaning back in his chair.

    Barbara squinted at him and countered, "Superheroes exist, but witches don¡¯t? Fascinating logic you¡¯ve got there."

    "That¡¯s completely different!" Danny protested, folding his arms behind his head. "Superheroes are science, mutations, experiments..."

    "Maybe she¡¯s a scientific witch," Barbara teased. "A witch born from a military experiment."

    Father, seated at the end of the table, chuckled. "If New York adjusting to superheroes, it¡¯ll adjust to witches too."

    "Are you seriously discussing the existence of witches?!" Danny exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "They¡¯re not real, right?"

    "Who knows, son," Naomi replied mysteriously, stroking Coal. "Who knows."

    Johnny stared grimly into his coffee mug. They were talking about witches as if they were fairytales, while he had to battle monsters straight out of those same stories. And yet, he cherished these family conversations. Though he rarely joined in, he always listened with interest.

    "Perhaps Mistress Naomi is right," Melissa interjected, scanning the room. "Last night, I saw a strange girl. Something about her was¡­ off. I can¡¯t quite tell if it was her gaze or the way she moved."

    Everyone turned to her.

    "She was on our lawn. Coal was sunbathing at the time. The girl bent down to pet him, but he dodged and ran into the house."

    Naomi glanced at the cat again, stroking his back.

    "Good boy. Coal¡¯s not just handsome but clever too. I¡¯ve been watching his diet for a reason."

    "He might have a different opinion on that," Melissa noted. She cut off a small piece of meat and tossed it to the cat. Coal caught it mid-air and swallowed it with a contented purr.

    Johnny smirked. Coal was a fighter, just like him. Even if a cat thief was lurking around, Coal could take care of himself.

    ---

    The school cafeteria buzzed like a hive. The hum of voices, the clatter of plates, and the smell of overcooked pizza blended into a chaos that Johnny Blaze had long grown tired of. He sat at his usual table, slightly detached, observing the people around him. Students laughed, shared news, and excitedly discussed evening plans. It all felt foreign to him.

    Johnny slowly scanned the room. He was bored here. School had always been something of a training camp for him. He studied history not for tests but to understand tactics and military experience. Chemistry and physics were tools for crafting weapons. Biology and anatomy held the keys to enemies'' weaknesses. All of this made him better, faster, stronger. Every hour at his desk brought him closer to becoming a machine of vengeance. But now, school felt like an empty shell. He had already learned everything he needed.

    "Why am I even here?" he thought, realizing he was far more invested in his plans for the night mission than in the chatter of his peers.

    "Johnny?" a voice called out.

    It took him a moment to realize someone was speaking to him. Looking up, he met Roxy¡¯s eyes. Her face showed mild annoyance.

    "Are you even listening to me?" she asked, pouting and crossing her arms.

    "Sorry, say that again," Johnny replied calmly, putting down his fork.

    "You never listen to me!" Roxy said, though her irritation quickly faded. She smiled slightly and leaned closer. "I was asking if you¡¯d like to go to a party with me tonight."

    Johnny hesitated. He had never been to a party. They always seemed like a waste of time.

    Seeing his silence, Roxy frowned.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    "Of course. You¡¯ll probably be busy with your training. And I guess alcohol doesn¡¯t fit into your fitness routine."

    "I¡¯ll go," Johnny said suddenly.

    Roxy froze, clearly not expecting that answer.

    "What? What did you say?"

    "I said I¡¯ll go," he repeated, meeting her gaze directly.

    For a moment, Roxy was speechless, then she squealed with excitement and hugged him so tightly he almost knocked over his water glass.

    "You¡¯re serious?! Johnny Blaze, you¡¯re going to a party! I don¡¯t believe it!"

    Johnny reluctantly raised a hand to pat her back, trying to calm her down. The entire cafeteria was now staring at them, but Roxy didn¡¯t seem to care.

    As Roxy talked about the party, Johnny suddenly realized that these moments of simple happiness were something he had deprived himself of for too long. Maybe going to the party was his way of feeling like a part of their world, if only for a little while.

    "This is a victory!" she chirped, letting him go. "First the party, then I¡¯ll drag you to prom. And guess what? We¡¯ll be king and queen!"

    He let Roxy¡¯s excitement carry him, watching her bright eyes and infectious joy. Deep down, Johnny knew this would be his first and last party. He wanted to feel normal, just once, before closing this chapter forever.

    ---

    Johnny slowed his motorcycle in front of a house glowing with the colorful lights of a party. Roxy, sitting behind him, excitedly tapped his shoulder before hopping off. She quickly smoothed the hem of her blue dress, which matched her sparkling eyes perfectly.

    "How do I look? Fabulous, right?" she asked with a playful smile, twirling in front of him.

    "Stunning," he replied, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

    Roxy nodded in satisfaction, chattering about how much the dress had cost her and how she had no regrets. Johnny half-listened, instinctively assessing the scene. A typical teenage party: flashing lights, loud teenagers, the smell of cheap beer and weed, discarded bottles everywhere. A few drunk teenagers were already sprawled on the lawn. It was all so chaotic, so far removed from his usual sense of order.

    "Whose party is this?" he asked, cutting through her chatter.

    "How should I know? Some guy from school. His parents are out of town, and he decided to throw the party of the century," she said with a shrug.

    Johnny snorted and followed her inside. As soon as they crossed the threshold, the lively atmosphere came to a sudden halt. Those who weren¡¯t too drunk recognized him. The older students paled, assuming the head of the disciplinary committee had come to shut things down.

    "I¡¯m just here to relax, same as you," Johnny said, noticing their stares.

    However, his words did little to help; people continued to stare warily. Johnny leaned over and whispered to Roxy:

    "I think I should leave."

    "Not a chance!" she objected, grabbing his hand. "They just don¡¯t know you like I do. Come on, it¡¯ll be fine."

    She confidently pulled him into the main room, where music blasted and a crowd of teenagers danced mindlessly. One of them, swaying slightly, held out two cans of beer.

    "Here, enjoy!"

    Johnny glanced at the drunken boy¡¯s face, briefly considering that he didn¡¯t want to end up like that. Before he could respond, Roxy grabbed the cans, opened one for herself, and handed the other to him.

    "Come on, relax. Tonight, you¡¯re just a teenager."

    Johnny sighed and cracked open the can. The bitter taste of the drink made him grimace.

    "How do they drink this stuff?" he wondered, watching a guy chug two cans at once.

    "Wait here for a minute!" Roxy said, spotting her friends. She waved cheerfully before leaving Johnny alone.

    Johnny sat down on a couch next to a drunk senior who was already nodding off. He scanned the crowd. It all felt pointless. This was even more boring than sitting in class. He would¡¯ve been better off spending his time at the gym or preparing for his night mission.

    When the Cross of Vengeance on his chest began to burn, Johnny immediately straightened up. The burning grew stronger, guiding him. He stood and, following the sensation, walked into the hallway. Climbing the stairs, he stopped in front of a door. The handle wouldn¡¯t budge, so he kicked it open with a single, powerful blow. The sound of the stereo downstairs masked the act of vandalism.

    Inside, two guys with smug grins were trying to strip a drunk girl who was barely moving, mumbling incoherently.

    Johnny didn¡¯t ask questions¡ªhe didn¡¯t need to. With anticipation of a good fight, he stepped into the room. The larger of the two stood up and swung at him, but Johnny struck his throat with the edge of his hand, then grabbed his ears and slammed his knee into the guy¡¯s face. The attacker collapsed, choking and writhing in pain.

    "Didn¡¯t mean to! It was his idea!" stammered the second guy, backing toward the wall.

    "Good thing he doesn¡¯t hold you back anymore, right?" Johnny said, landing a solid punch to the ribs. The crunch of bones made the second guy wince.

    "Can I leave now?" he asked hopefully.

    "Did you ask her if she wanted to leave?" Johnny said coldly, nodding toward the drunken girl.

    The guy swallowed nervously. Johnny closed the door to avoid unwanted witnesses.

    For the first time all day, Johnny felt truly content. He was breaking bones, drawing blood, and unleashing the fire of vengeance upon the wicked.

    Johnny exited the room, carrying the girl in his arms. He kicked the door shut behind him, ensuring that no curious teenagers would see the two rapist''s would-be assailants lying among shards of glass and the shattered remains of a television.

    "Johnny!" Roxy called out from the main room, approaching him with her friends. "You¡¯ve got Tracy! We¡¯ve been looking for her for half an hour! Where did you find her?"

    "She was asleep in the hallway," he lied quickly, laying the girl down on a couch. "I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll be more comfortable here."

    "Always on guard, aren¡¯t you?" Roxy purred, leaning against his bicep. "Take a break from being the disciplinary committee tonight. I mean it."

    "She¡¯s completely wasted!" one of Roxy¡¯s friends, a petite brunette, examined the drunken girl¡¯s face with concern. "Mike said he¡¯d look after her!"

    "Who¡¯s Mike?" Johnny asked.

    "The host of the party. Haven¡¯t you seen him?"

    She described the same guy whose head Johnny had recently smashed into a television. He had to use all his composure to keep a straight face and claim he didn''t see Mike.

    "Mike said he¡¯d take care of her. Instead, he gets her drunk and leaves her in the hallway! What if some scumbag had taken advantage of her?" the brunette fumed. "What a jerk! If I see him, I¡¯ll rip his balls off!"

    Johnny could¡¯ve told her that she¡¯d only find Mike in a hospital for the next month, but he decided to let it be a surprise.

    "I should go," he said, meeting Roxy¡¯s gaze. "Will someone be able to take you home?"

    "You¡¯re not enjoying yourself?" she asked, blinking as if he was leaving paradise. "The fun¡¯s just getting started!"

    "I¡¯ve had enough," he replied, glancing discreetly at the few drops of blood on his jacket.

    "You¡¯re always like this. You don¡¯t know how to have fun," Roxy sighed but quickly regained her usual cheerful smile. "Go on, athlete. I¡¯ll take a cab. I know you don¡¯t like parties, but I had to try."

    Roxy stood on her tiptoes and softly kissed his cheek. Johnny gave her a slight smile. Despite their differences, he would always value her friendship.

    ---

    Johnny stepped out of the stifling house, where the music mingled with the smells of sweat, alcohol, and cheap perfume. The cool night air greeted him, and faint sirens could be heard in the distance.

    "Probably someone already complained about the noise," he thought.

    His motorcycle stood by the curb, gleaming under the dim streetlights. Johnny headed toward it but was stopped by a female voice.

    "Feeling bored too?"

    He turned. Sitting on the edge of the roof, as if unafraid of falling, was a girl in a black dress and a scarlet jacket. She dangled her legs over the edge, swinging them like a teenager watching the world from above.

 Walpurgis night 2 of 3

    There was nothing unusual about her appearance: long chestnut hair, minimal makeup, modest clothes. Yet something about her immediately caught Johnny''s attention.

    "What do you want?" he asked coldly.

    "Do you always look this grumpy?" she replied, tilting her head. "You seem like the kind of person who never smiles. People probably feel uneasy around you, thinking you might kill them any second."

    Johnny smirked involuntarily but quickly regained his composure.

    "So what? Maybe I just don¡¯t like anything in life."

    "No," she said calmly. "You¡¯re capable of being happy. Just not around these people. Not among the normal ones."

    Johnny frowned but didn¡¯t leave. Her words had struck a chord.

    "And you? Sitting up there means you¡¯re not a fan of these parties either."

    "I¡¯m just another loser who came here to feel normal," she shrugged. "Didn¡¯t last long, though. The roof¡¯s better¡ªgreat view, fresh air, no smell of sweaty bodies. Want to join me?"

    "How¡¯d you get up there?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

    "Flew up on a broomstick," she said with a smirk, winking as she mimed holding something in the air. "Though it only works for witches."

    Johnny walked toward the house wall. With a single jump, he grabbed the edge of the roof, pulled himself up, and sat beside her.

    "Don¡¯t see any broomsticks here," he said, brushing off his hands.

    "You''re not the only one whose gym coach makes them practice pull-ups," she said, pulling something from her bag. "Since we¡¯re stuck at this dumb party, might as well have a symbolic drink."

    She held out a can of beer to him. Johnny eyed it skeptically, remembering the awful taste of the one he¡¯d left by the couch downstairs. Even plain water was better.

    "I don¡¯t drink beer. Don¡¯t like the taste."

    "Already tried the local poison, huh? First party, then," she noted with a grin. "The pros always bring their own drinks."

    Still, he took the can, opened it, and took a sip. To his surprise, the beer was pleasant¡ªalmost like nectar.

    "Not like the garbage downstairs, is it?" she said, taking a sip and gesturing dramatically toward a drunk guy throwing up on the lawn. "I didn¡¯t get how people could drink alcohol either, until I stole my dad¡¯s stash."

    "Is this from his stash too?" Johnny asked, inspecting the can with German labels. "Never seen this in stores."

    "I was born and spent half my life in Europe," she said with a shrug. "Got used to quality."

    Johnny looked at her. Her calm demeanor and the ease with which she spoke intrigued him for some reason.

    "I¡¯m Johnny," he said, extending his hand.

    "Wanda," she replied, shaking it. "Did your friends drag you to this party too?"

    Wanda talked about her acquaintances, whose names meant nothing to Johnny. All he gathered was that she wasn¡¯t from his school or even his city. That made her more intriguing. With strangers, you didn¡¯t have to drag out your buried humanity. You didn¡¯t have to suppress your darkness. You could simply be yourself.

    They sat in silence for a while, watching the distant lights and neon signs of New York.

    "You said you don¡¯t like places like this," Johnny finally broke the silence. "So why¡¯d you come?"

    Wanda took another sip of beer and thought for a moment.

    "I wanted to feel normal," she said. "Sometimes you just want to forget that you¡¯re¡­ different."

    Johnny frowned.

    "Different?"

    "I¡¯ve always seen strange things," she continued, staring at the sky. "When I was little, it even scared me."

    "You mean prophecies and other mystical stuff?"Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    "Exactly."

    Johnny also gazed at the sky. Some might scoff at talk of prophecies, but it was hard to deny the supernatural when your mom was a witch, your maid was Satan, and you were an immortal skeleton.

    "Tell me more about your prophecies," Johnny asked. "I¡¯m no expert, but I read fantasy, and I know it¡¯s a rare gift."

    "It first happened when I was eight," Wanda said, taking a long sip as if bracing herself. "In art class, my teacher spent ages trying to figure out what I¡¯d drawn. All I could tell her was that it belonged to her." She wrapped her arms around herself, as if suddenly cold. "A few days later, she called me a witch in front of the whole class and grabbed my arm. It took every adult nearby to pull her off me after I started screaming. She was crying. My skin was stuck under her nails. In her other hand, she held an X-ray and my drawing. Both showed a tumor in her abdomen."

    "And she thought you cursed her, didn¡¯t she?"

    "You have no idea what kind of hysteria broke out at the orphanage. ¡®Plague Witch¡¯ was the kindest nickname I got," Wanda said with a bitter smile. "But there was a silver lining. That incident is how my father found me and my brother and took us out of that place."

    "And what happened to the teacher?"

    "Thanks to my prophecy, she got a medical checkup in time and had a successful operation," Wanda said distantly. "She¡¯s alive and well. Probably still working at that orphanage."

    "And I bet she never thanked you. Probably didn¡¯t even apologize," Johnny said, taking a sip. "Ever thought about sending her a bunch of homemade postcards?"

    "Heh, that¡¯d make a great Halloween prank," Wanda said, smirking darkly for a moment. "You¡¯re the third person to say she deserves punishment. Third, after my dad and brother."

    "Sounds like they understand justice," Johnny shrugged.

    "Johnny, you seem oddly okay with me being a witch," she said, tilting her head. "Aren¡¯t you scared to be around me?"

    "I recently studied my family tree," he said, meeting her gaze fearlessly. "One of my ancestors was a real inquisitor."

    "How many witches did he burn?"

    "None. But he did burn three hundred corrupt priests and got excommunicated for it."

    Wanda burst out laughing.

    "What a dark irony!" she said, catching her breath. "Johnny, I hope you similar after your ancestor."

    "More than you think," Johnny thought, remembering Noble Kale, the Ghost Inquisitor.

    "Is that your motorcycle?" Wanda pointed at the bike. "Let¡¯s get out of here."

    "Leave this roof?" Johnny set down the empty beer can. "I¡¯m not against it, but where to?"

    "I know we¡¯ve only known each other for 15 minutes, but I have a favor to ask," she said, locking eyes with him. "If you¡¯re not busy, could you give me a ride home?"

    "Sure," Johnny agreed easily.

    He usually turned down girls asking for rides. It was his way of keeping others at a distance, protecting them from his curse. But something about Wanda, this brooding witch, drew his dark soul toward her.

    They climbed onto his motorcycle and vanished into the night.

    ---

    Johnny pulled his motorcycle up to the grand entrance of a luxurious hotel in the heart of New York City. The golden sign gleamed under the streetlights, and glittering chandeliers were visible through the glass doors. He removed his helmet and glanced at Wanda, still sitting behind him.

    "You live here?" he asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

    Wanda hopped off the bike, smoothed her skirt, and shot him a look from beneath thickly lined lashes.

    "Temporarily," she replied. "I¡¯d prefer a small apartment, but my father insists that even outside the family castle, I have to live in a mansion."

    Johnny snorted.

    "You have a castle? What are you, a princess?"

    Wanda squinted, her eyes flashing.

    "Call me that again, and I¡¯ll turn you into a toad."

    He smiled but said nothing. As she adjusted her black nail polish, Johnny studied her. The gothic style suited her perfectly. Her dark beauty, like Wanda herself, was mysterious¡ªsomething that kept him on edge.

    When he revved his motorcycle, Wanda stopped him.

    "Where do you think you¡¯re going? You promised to help."

    "I thought you just needed a ride," Johnny said, turning off the engine.

    "Wrong. I need help in my room."

    She turned and headed toward the hotel entrance without waiting for a response. Johnny sighed in frustration but followed her inside anyway.

    The hotel¡¯s interior was even more luxurious than its exterior. Johnny followed Wanda, taking in the surroundings: marble floors, gilded railings, mirrors in antique frames. This world felt alien, as if it didn¡¯t belong to ordinary people.

    They were silent in the elevator. Wanda stared at her reflection in the doors, nervously fidgeting with a ring, while Johnny tried to figure out what kind of help she might need from him.

    "Definitely not to fix a leaky faucet," he thought. "Maybe it¡¯s a trap? Am I walking into something like black-market surgeons or worse? Fine by me. The cross on my neck demands punishment for sinners, and taking out a couple of thugs earlier was just a warm-up."

    When the elevator doors opened, Wanda nodded at him and walked down the hallway. She opened the door to her suite, and as Johnny stepped inside, his gaze was swallowed by the overwhelming luxury.

    "You live here alone?" he muttered.

    "Yes, but I don¡¯t use half the space," Wanda replied, sitting down on the massive canopy bed. She gestured to a chair across from her. "Sit. I need to talk to you."

    Johnny sat, tense, waiting to see where this was going.

    "Johnny, listen to me carefully. Will you intercourse with me?"

    He froze. That was unexpected. His heart, long unfamiliar with surprises, suddenly started pounding wildly. He tried to stay calm, but his voice wavered.

    "Why?"

    Wanda looked away, then turned back, her expression serious.

    "It¡¯s simple. In a year to kill me, and I don¡¯t want to die a virgin."

    "In a year? Is this a prophecy? Who¡¯s going to kill you?"

    "None of your business," she snapped. "Now, will you help me or not?"

    Johnny studied her, trying to make sense of it all.

    "Why me?" he asked.

    "I found you through magic. You¡¯re the one I need. And no, escorts won¡¯t do. I want someone who¡¯s close to me in spirit, not a paid service. So, you agree?"

    Johnny considered. He already realized pressing her about this mysterious killer was pointless. It was a simple yes or no.

    He looked at the girl he¡¯d met just 30 minutes ago. A girl with demons the size of horses in her head. The only girl in New York who¡¯d invite guy in room over before a first meeting.

    Wanda fit seamlessly into his chaotic life.

    "Alright, I¡¯m in," Johnny said, taking off his jacket.

 Walpurgis night 3 of 3

    "Clean yourself up first!" Wanda pointed to the bathroom.

    Johnny obeyed without argument. Inside, everything was neat, with shelves lined with disposable shampoos, gels, and toothpaste tubes. Each had little notes: ¡°Yours. Use it, or I¡¯ll curse you!¡± and ¡°Mine. Don¡¯t touch!¡±

    Johnny smirked, picking up a mint-scented gel.

    "She prepare herself. Everything has to be perfect," he thought, turning on the water.

    After the shower, he put on the black boxerbriefs she had thoughtfully left for him. When he emerged, Wanda darted into the bathroom, clearly embarrassed.

    He lay down on the bed and turned on the TV. His spa routine had taken 20 minutes, but Wanda spent an hour in the bathroom. Finally, she stepped out, wearing black lace lingerie. She avoided his intense gaze.

    Johnny felt a rush of heat rising within him. He¡¯d seen models in lingerie on magazine covers before, but Wanda was the first to evoke such a reaction.

    It was stunning but fleeting. Wanda quickly slipped into bed, pulling the blanket up to her shoulders.

    "Are you ready now?" Johnny asked, turning off the TV.

    "We need to close the window first," Wanda replied, pulling the blanket higher. "What if some perverts are watching us?"

    That made sense. Johnny, as a professional sniper, knew the capabilities of optics all too well. He drew the curtains and returned to bed, only to get up again to prove to Wanda that he had left no gaps for prying eyes.

    "Ready now?"

    "Did you find... everything you need?"

    "If you mean the condoms in the top drawer, then yes," he replied, holding up a full box.

    She was clearly prepared for any surprises.

    "And you know how to use them?"

    "Of course."

    "Are you sure? Let¡¯s watch a tutorial to be safe."

    Johnny had already read the instructions on the box while she was in the bathroom, but he decided not to argue. Wanda deliberately found the longest video online. For 30 minutes, they listened to a boring explanation from an elderly man in India. The act itself would be faster than the lesson¡­

    "Are you sure you understand everything?" Wanda asked. "Let¡¯s go over it again. The video said to check the expiration date first. Did you check it?"

    "Multiple times. I can recite the serial number by heart," Johnny replied wearily.

    They lay in silence, each lost in thought.

    "Did you check under the bed?"

    "What could be under the bed?" Johnny frowned.

    "What if there¡¯s a pervert hiding with a camera? You need a flashlight to inspect every corner!"

    "Wanda, what are you afraid of?"

    "I''m not afraid of anything!" she exclaimed. "Everyone else is afraid of me!"The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    "You''re stalling."

    "And why are you so calm?!" she snapped. "Are you a robot?!"

    He suddenly moved, pinning her down, her hands trapped between his. Wanda blushed to the tips of her ears, forgetting how to breathe. He gently ran his fingers along her forearm, brushing over small scars. She flinched and looked away.

    "I''m scared too," he whispered, placing her hand on his chest. "Can you feel it? My heart pounding against my ribs. That¡¯s my fear. This is my first time too. I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ll mess up. Afraid you won¡¯t like it."

    She froze, then suddenly reached for him and kissed him.

    "Thank you for being honest. It¡¯s important to me to know you feel the same as I do."

    Not wanting to waste time on words, he pressed his lips to hers. Wanda made a surprised sound and parted her lips just enough for Johnny to taste raspberries on her tongue.

    With lips, teeth, and tongue, Johnny worked his way from her mouth to her chin, down her neck, and slowly to the sensitive spot where he could feel her pulse quickening under his touch.

    ¡°Wait,¡± Wanda murmured as his kisses moved down to her breasts. ¡°Let me take off my bra.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it the guy¡¯s job to undress the girl?¡± he whispered, slightly hoarse. ¡°It has to be done right.¡±

    Wanda nodded and arched her back slightly, giving him the best possible access to her breasts. Johnny hesitated for a moment, then kissed and caressed the soft swell and soft hollows with his lips after he had clumsily but successfully unhooked her bra. Wanda''s breathing quickened as he slid the straps down her shoulders, leaving her naked before him.

    He was at a loss for words. So he let his actions speak for themselves, peppering her breasts with kisses, licking and lightly nibbling, enjoying the way her nipples tightened under his eager palms and lips. The longer Johnny explored her, the more Wanda pressed herself against him, stroking his hair and back.

    His hand moved lower, slipping under the thin fabric of her panties and massaging a sensitive spot.

    She moaned, pressing him tighter to her breasts:

    ¡°Soo good¡­¡±

    His penis twitched, precum soaking the fabric of his boxerbriefs.

    Johnny pulled away from her swollen nipples and whispered:

    ¡°Now I''ll put on protection and we''ll continue.¡±

    ¡°Not so fast.¡± Wanda grabbed his hair and tugged lightly, causing him to groan. ¡°You touched me down there, I want to too.¡±

    To his surprise, Wanda pushed Johnny down onto the bed and took a position on top. The gentle touch of her teeth and tongue on his skin sent shivers down his spine and into every cell of his body.

    His erection stretched the tight boxerbriefs to the limit. Wanda took advantage of this with a smile. Her hand slipped under the fabric, grabbed his penis and began smooth movements.

    ¡°So hard and wet.¡± she whispered, increasing the pace.

    A moan of bliss escaped Johnny''s throat. Wanda muffled it with a kiss, penetrating her tongue deep.

    ¡°Now that''s enough,¡± Johnny said, breathing heavily, and reluctantly stopped her hand. ¡° If you continue, our night will be over.¡±

    Johnny quickly got rid of his wet boxerbriefs and put on a condom.

    ¡°I can''t wait any longer either,¡± she murmured blissfully and took off her panties. ¡° Let''s do it.¡±

    Wanda writhed impatiently beneath him, his erect penis sliding up and down her crazy wet folds. She moved her hips and rubbed her clit against his glans, emitting incoherent moans.

    It was an amazing sensation, an intoxicatingly pleasant friction. Johnny was ready to give in to the passion, and yet he felt the need to fight the overwhelming urge to plunge inside her. He had to be sure.

    ¡°Wanda,¡± Johnny managed between gasping breaths as she continued to rock her hips. Breathing deeply, he touched his forehead to hers and summoned all the strength within him to open his eyes. ¡°Are you sure you want to?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s so sweet of you to ask.¡± She looked into his eyes. ¡°That¡¯s why I chose you.¡±

    Wanda grabbed his buttocks and pulled him toward her. Then she moved her hips so that the dripping tip of his penis finally slid between her labia, and they both gasped at the new sensation.

    His hip movements were fast and sharp, but Johnny tried to prolong the moment of pleasure. Wanda moaned, groaned, and sighed erratically. With one hand on the back of his head and the other caressing his as, Wanda pressed her lips to his, and as if she had lit a short fuse, he cum from this kiss, his whole body shaking, and she trembled in his arms from her own orgasm.

    ---

    "Thank you, you really helped me," Wanda said calmly, fastening her bra.

    "This won¡¯t cause any problems for you?" Johnny glanced at the drops of blood on the sheets.

    "Don¡¯t worry about it. It¡¯s a disposable sheet."

    "What happens now?"

    "I go back to my life, and you go back to yours," she said, fastening her earrings. "Don¡¯t build castles in the air, alright?"

    Johnny silently watched her dress and helped her zip up her dress. This was exactly the ending he had expected from the whole adventure, but now he didn''t want to let her go.

    "Done," Wanda said at the door. "This room is paid for until noon. You can stay the night or leave. I don¡¯t care."

    He lay staring at the ceiling and realized that it was all too ridiculous, too confusing to seem real. And it certainly wasn''t how he imagined his first time. But that''s probably how Wanda needed him.

 Round one 1 of 3

    The school hallway was alive with energy¡ªstudents strolled to class, discussing the latest superheroes. No one pushed or name-called. Sunlight streaming through spotless windows lit up the shiny lockers, free of marker scribbles and old gum.

    Johnny Blaze walked toward the disciplinary committee¡¯s office, nodding politely to greetings from students and teachers. He enjoyed taking these occasional strolls, observing the perfect order found nowhere else but here. It was proof his work was meaningful.

    Johnny stopped at the office door. His eyes caught a strange figure¡ªa big guy in a tracksuit leaning against the wall. His appearance made it hard to pinpoint his age. He could pass for either a senior student or a college kid. Upon noticing Johnny, the figure straightened up abruptly, like he¡¯d been stung.

    "Are you Blaze?!" the guy snapped challengingly.

    Johnny¡¯s gaze swept over the stranger calmly. Tall, broad-shouldered, but slouching like someone who spent more time with a beer than in the gym. He barely qualified as a threat but was loud enough to annoy.

    "I am," Johnny replied curtly.

    "You sent human to the hospital and still walk around school like nothing happened. Are you insane?!"

    "What are you talking about?" Johnny didn¡¯t even try to sound interested.

    "My brother Kevin, you stupid psycho! He told me everything!" The guy clearly expected a different reaction.

    Johnny tilted his head thoughtfully. He sent someone to the hospital every other day. The name ¡°Kevin¡± rang no bells.

    "I still have no idea who you are or what you want from me."

    "Don¡¯t play dumb! I¡¯m home from college for break, and my brother¡¯s in the hospital! He told me how you attacked him after school a month ago! Even gave me your description! Don¡¯t you dare deny it!"

    A month ago, outside school¡­

    "So, you¡¯re the brother of the idiot who tried selling weed in my school?" Johnny smirked slightly. "Why didn¡¯t you just say that?"

    The athlete¡¯s face turned red with fury.

    "No one messes with my brother, you hear me, punk?! I¡¯m a wrestler, and you¡¯re done! Let¡¯s step outside¡ªI¡¯ll wreck you, and you¡¯ll learn to respect me!"

    "Why am I even listening to this clown?" Johnny thought, then spun and delivered a heel kick to the guy¡¯s eye.

    The athlete crumpled to the floor, groaning faintly.

    "Why is there an outsider in my school?" Johnny asked his subordinates sharply as they rushed out of the office at the noise. "Get this trash out of here."

    Two students hoisted the groaning guy and carried him toward the exit.

    Johnny settled into the boss¡¯s chair by the window. Through the glass, he watched the athlete get dumped into a trash bin. A faint smile flickered across his lips.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    A good start to the workday.

    Tim walked into the office. He was wearing the disciplinary committee uniform, with fresh marks from boxing practice visible on his knuckles. Tim had changed since they first met, for the better¡ªmore confident, stronger. He¡¯d matured.

    "Good morning, Leader!" Tim exclaimed. "I finished my shift yesterday, but I¡¯m ready to take on even more!"

    But his puppy-like loyalty remained unchanged...

    Roxy burst into the room, completely ignoring Tim¡¯s presence. She approached Johnny¡¯s chair and leaned on the armrests, trapping him between her arms.

    "So, who is she?" Roxy asked challengingly.

    "What are you talking about?" Johnny replied calmly.

    "Don¡¯t play dumb! I saw you leave the party with a girl last night! Who is she?"

    Johnny sighed internally. Five minutes ago, he¡¯d dealt with a man demanding answers in a single move. He couldn¡¯t do the same with Roxy. Friendship was so complicated.

    "Her name is Wanda. She asked me to drive her home. I doubt I¡¯ll see her again."

    Roxy squinted, evaluating his words, then stepped back.

    "Is that so? I thought you¡¯d found yourself a girlfriend and didn¡¯t tell me." She smiled. "Well, I won¡¯t distract you from work."

    She left the office with a satisfied smile, leaving behind nothing but the scent of strawberry gum. Johnny watched her go. She was light, bright, cheerful. Roxy was good¡ªgreat, even¡ªbut around her, he felt like a black-and-white smear in a colorful picture.

    Wanda was different. She didn¡¯t have that lightness. Wanda was like a dark, thorny rose, and that¡¯s what drew him in.

    Damn it! Thinking about Wanda again!

    "Any orders, Leader?" Tim politely reminded him.

    "Yeah, I initially wanted you to figure out how an outsider got onto school grounds, but that can wait." Johnny sighed. He couldn¡¯t believe he was about to say this. "Right now, I need someone to listen."

    "Of course!" Tim quickly took a seat across from him, eager to hear. "I¡¯m great at keeping secrets!"

    "Good," Johnny nodded slowly. "I didn¡¯t just drive Wanda home; I visited her place."

    "Wow!" Tim exclaimed but quickly composed himself. "I mean, thanks for trusting me, Leader! But why didn¡¯t you tell Roxy? She seems ready to listen."

    "Roxy¡¯s my childhood friend. I value our relationship." Johnny shifted his gaze to Tim. "What will you think of me after this¡ªI don¡¯t care."

    "That¡¯s¡­ straightforward, Leader," Tim slumped slightly but straightened up again. "I¡¯ll hear the whole story!"

    Johnny kept it brief. He told Tim about the mysterious Wanda, their strange and passionate night, her request for him to forget her, and how he couldn¡¯t bring himself to do so.

    "I mean, my dating experience is limited to visual novels," Tim said, scratching his head, "but even they don¡¯t have stories this short! No offense, Leader, but your relationship with Wanda is¡­ wrong. The beginning¡¯s too rushed, the middle¡¯s bizarre, and there¡¯s no ending at all."

    "I knew from the start that we¡¯d never see each other again, and I thought I was ready for that. But time has passed, and I¡¯m still thinking about her." Johnny¡¯s voice carried an uncharacteristic melancholy. "She¡¯s¡­ strange. Her words, her scars. She¡¯s like a puzzle I never got to solve."

    "And she¡¯s beautiful, right?"

    "That¡¯s not what drew me to her, but yes."

    Tim grinned.

    "Leader, you¡¯re lucky! A beautiful girl inviting you in she room? Guys like me can only dream of that. But everything else¡­ those strange prophecies and scars¡­ At first, I thought she¡¯d escaped from a psych ward, but the luxury hotel suite ruled that out. My guess? Wanda¡¯s a spoiled aristocrat. They¡¯re always eccentric¡ªI saw it in movies."

    Tim poured himself a glass of water and continued:

    "If you want my opinion, I¡¯d say just appreciate the pleasant memory and move on. Like finding ten bucks on the street. You¡¯re like, ¡®Wow! Lucky me!¡¯ You buy a burger, enjoy the moment, and get back to everyday life."

    Johnny pondered this, nodded briefly, and said:

    "Thanks. That¡¯s solid advice."

    "What? Really?" Tim was so surprised he almost dropped his glass.

    "Of course," Johnny said softly. "Your words helped me decide how to feel about it. Now I can focus on work."

    Tim beamed.

    "I helped? Maybe I should become a psychologist! Mom would be so happy!"

    "If you decide to, let me know," Johnny replied calmly. "I¡¯ll write you a recommendation for university."

    "No kidding?!" Tim looked at him as if he¡¯d promised to pull a star from the sky.

    "Of course," Johnny nodded, smiling slightly. "But first, find out how that outsider got onto school grounds."

    Johnny placed his hand on the desk drawer containing the hockey mask. He really didn¡¯t have time to dwell on Wanda.

    He must punish sinners.

 Round one 2 of 3

    Johnny¡¯s room was quiet, as if frozen in time. He tossed a tennis ball into the air, watching the clock¡¯s hands. This wasn¡¯t idle waiting or deep contemplation. He simply waited, like someone whose night schedule had long been fixed.

    He knew the house would fall silent by 10:00 PM¡ªthanks to his mother¡¯s magic. The idea of the curse that burdened him no longer filled him with doubt or pity. He had been preparing for it his whole life. Fights, training, understanding what evil was¡ªall of it had shaped him long before the Cross of Vengeance hung around his neck.

    9:50 PM. He caught the ball, set it on the nightstand, and started dressing. When the clock struck 10:00, Johnny was ready¡ªcomposed, calm, determined.

    Everything was as it had been for the past ten years of his life, except for the mystical fire flowing through his veins.

    He quietly opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The house was steeped in nighttime silence, with only the faint green glow downstairs hinting that not everyone was asleep.

    At the front door, they were already waiting for him. Naomi stood there, watching her son with concern, while Melissa, impeccably dressed in her maid uniform, stood beside her.

    "Every time you leave, I feel guilty," she said, looking at her son.

    "Mom, this doesn¡¯t weigh on me," Johnny replied calmly. "You gave me this power, and I know how to use it."

    "I still worry," green sparks flickered on her fingers. "Putting the whole house to sleep so you can leave quietly¡­ I should be doing more."

    "Mistress Naomi, you¡¯re already capable of more than the circus magician job listed on your r¨¦sum¨¦," Melissa interjected snidely, her trademark smirk on display. "By the way, I¡¯m still waiting for some gratitude for all the magic lessons."

    "You¡¯ll get it when you thank me for the housekeeping courses I paid for," Naomi shot back with a squint.

    Johnny sighed. Left unchecked, they could volley remarks at each other all night.

    "I¡¯m leaving," he said curtly. "I¡¯ll be back late as usual. Don¡¯t wait up."

    Naomi looked at him with barely concealed desperation.

    "Are you sure tonight will go smoothly? What if there¡¯s someone stronger than you out there?"

    "The young master could use a guardian devil," Melissa said innocently, adjusting her white lace trim. "If only the wise mistress would grant her maid access to the old powers¡­"

    "Not a chance, Snake," Naomi retorted. "No Grimoires. You can take care of my son with a mop and a ladle."

    Johnny prepared to leave. He never needed help.

    "Are you sure you¡¯re okay living with this curse?" Naomi asked.

    "My skills are enough to keep me out of trouble," Johnny replied coldly.

    "It¡¯s like you¡¯ve been preparing for this your whole life," she whispered, her eyes lingering on his gear. "Zarathos hasn¡¯t been whispering in your sleep?"

    His fingers unconsciously touched the Cross of Vengeance. The metal was icy, though the skin on his neck had long grown accustomed to its weight. He knew it was only a matter of moments before the cross ignited with fire¡ªjust as he would. It was the only time he truly felt alive.

    "Not so sure anymore," he muttered and stepped out the door.

    "And don¡¯t forget to punish every sinner in New York!" Melissa¡¯s cheerful voice followed him.

    "You say that to him every night," Naomi noted reproachfully, nudging her in the side. "Is that your way of pretending to have authority over the Ghost Rider?"

    "Yes, I miss the days when I could send the Rider to burn entire kingdoms with a snap of my fingers. Now, about the only thing I can command to Coal to swat a pesky fly in the kitchen. How dull."The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Johnny shook his head, leaving the bickering women behind.

    The city called.

    Night wrapped New York in a dense blanket. Streetlights reflected in puddles, and distant cars roared. Johnny inhaled the cold air, feeling his heart start to race. This was his time. The time when the city became his arena and he, its judge.

    ---

    Johnny walked down Brooklyn¡¯s dark streets, his hood pulled low, hands buried in his pockets. For him, this was routine. The hunt. A job he did every night, not because he wanted to, but because he had to.

    He passed a bar, its bright neon sign flickering above. A group of men stood by the entrance, but Johnny ignored them. His target was in the parking lot. Several motorcycles were lined up neatly, like soldiers on parade.

    "First, secure transport," he muttered to himself.

    A mystical fact: even without transforming, the Ghost Rider could sense the sins of those around him, especially through touch.

    A brief contact with the first handlebar. Images flashed: petty crimes, refusal to pay child support. Nothing serious. The second bike¡ªsame story. The third¡ªdrunk-driving his boss¡¯s car into a ditch. Closer, but not enough. Finally, the last one: a man robbing a gas station store a week ago.

    Johnny froze, feeling the spark of anger ignite within him.

    This one would do.

    He climbed onto the motorcycle, gripping the handlebars. Of course, there were no keys, but that didn¡¯t matter. Johnny tightened his grip on the Cross of Vengeance hanging around his neck. The metal instantly heated up, and a wave of hellish energy surged through his body.

    The fire ignited in an instant, engulfing Johnny from head to toe, consuming his flesh, skin, and hair. His jacket and jeans charred, then transformed into a fearsome new form: chains wrapped around his chest, boots gleamed with a metallic sheen, and his hood fell back, revealing a skull wreathed in hellfire. Even the motorcycle changed¡ªits wheels became flaming circles, and its metallic body glowed with a sinister light.

    Johnny was now the Ghost Rider.

    He hit the gas, and the bike roared forward, leaving a fiery trail in its wake.

    The city blurred past Johnny''s hollow eye sockets. Night owls turned to look, but only for a fleeting moment. Too fast. Too unreal. Traffic cameras, phones in the hands of passersby¡ªnone could capture his true form.

    The first step was complete. Transportation secured. Now, the hunt.

    Johnny wasn¡¯t interested in chasing petty thieves or rescuing damsels in distress. That would be a waste of time. He recalled scrolling through his father¡¯s police chats, reading about criminals everyone knew about but lacked the evidence to arrest. The Francesco crime family. Tonight¡¯s target¡ªtheir accountant.

    He pulled up in front of a Bronx apartment building. The fire on his bike extinguished, leaving it an ordinary vehicle once again.

    Mystical fact: Hellfire transformations only last as long as the Rider maintains contact with an object.

    Johnny quickly surveyed the building. Four floors, guards on each one. The sin radars within him vibrated like the strings of a taut guitar. Everyone here was scum. No need to worry about collateral damage.

    He approached the door and kicked it open in one swift motion. The crash echoed through the building, followed immediately by the sound of hurried footsteps.

    ¡°Who¡¯s there?!¡± shouted one of the guards.

    Johnny stepped inside, his flaming skull illuminating the dark hallway.

    ¡°What the hell is that?!¡± one of them screamed. ¡°It¡¯s a mutant!¡±

    ¡°Mutant or not, take him down!¡±

    Johnny felt a faint sense of satisfaction. They weren¡¯t trying to run¡ªthat made the job easier.

    Bullets flew, whistling past him, only to ricochet off his bones or burn up in the fire, leaving no mark. Johnny advanced, neither speeding up nor slowing down. With a broad swing of his arm, one guard erupted into flames, disintegrating in seconds. Another he hurled into a wall, cracking it. The rest he dispatched with their own gun, emptying the clip with frightening precision. Within a minute, twelve armed men were reduced to ash.

    ¡°Too easy,¡± Johnny muttered to himself. ¡°With powers, there¡¯s no challenge. Against ordinary thugs, it used to take strategy. Now, I can just plow through them like a tank.¡±

    He ascended the stairs. On the top floor, in an office, a man in a suit trembled. His eyes widened as he saw Johnny.

    ¡°Don¡¯t kill me!¡± he cried, collapsing to his knees. ¡°I¡¯m just an accountant! I¡¯m not like them! I¡¯ve never held a gun in my life, I just crunch numbers! I¡¯ve done nothing wrong!¡±

    Johnny leaned closer, his empty sockets blazing brighter.

    ¡°Let¡¯s see.¡±

    He activated the Penance Stare. The accountant¡¯s sins flashed before his eyes: money laundering, fraud, aiding in kidnappings, organizing human trafficking. In a single second, he felt all the pain and evil he had inflicted on others. The man no longer screamed; his will was utterly broken.

    ¡°Where are the weapons? The drugs?¡± Johnny¡¯s voice rumbled like thunder.

    ¡°In¡­ the basement¡­¡± the accountant stammered, drool dripping from his mouth, his gaze vacant.

    Johnny left the man crumpled on the floor like a sack of garbage. There was no need to worry about him escaping; his mind was shattered under the weight of his sins.

    Johnny gathered all the contraband, piling it in the center of the room, and set it ablaze, watching as it turned to ash. It wouldn¡¯t return to the streets, where Danny and Barb played.

    The safe door was torn off with ease. The cash inside was neatly packed into a suitcase and strapped to the bike.

    Payment for cleansing the city of its filth.

    He returned to the drooling, broken accountant on the floor.

    ¡°The Francesco family. Where are they?¡±

    ¡°They¡­ they¡¯re at Don¡¯s birthday¡­,¡± the man mumbled. ¡°The address¡­ is in my phone¡­¡±

    If Johnny could smile, he would have.

    ¡°Perfect.¡±

    With a flick of his finger, he sent the man into flames and walked out of the building, leaving smoke and smoldering fire in his wake.

 Round one 3 of 3

    A noisy house on the city¡¯s outskirts glowed in the night, lit by the beams of a stereo system. Loud voices, clinking glasses, and bursts of laughter spilled out. Johnny Blaze sat on his bike in the shadows, watching the building with a calmness born of years of routine.

    ¡°A private party,¡± he thought, eyeing the procession of cars at the entrance. ¡°Don Francesco gathered his friends. Just the way he likes it. And just the way I like it. I¡¯ll swat them all out at once.¡±

    Johnny''s gaze fell on the bazooka he had taken from the accountant¡¯s house. He picked it up, feeling the weight of the weapon, and then ran his bony fingers along the barrel, charging it with hellfire. The metal blackened like coal, and a faint smoke began to stream from the muzzle.

    "One shot," he thought.

    He raised the bazooka, aimed at the building, and pulled the trigger. The deafening explosion roared through the surroundings. Flames surged outward, consuming walls and roofs. The Francesco villa became a fiery inferno.

    Tossing the bazooka aside¡ªit instantly turned to ash¡ªJohnny returned to his bike. But a strange sound caught his attention, like a stampede of rhinos heading straight for him.

    He spun around just as a crimson blur burst from the burning building, hurtling toward him. Before the impact, a raspy voice rang out:

    ¡°Hi, Hothead!¡±

    The blow sent him flying ten meters into a brick wall. His bones cracked, and part of his spine shattered into fragments.

    "That punch could take out a tank," Johnny thought, slowly rising from the rubble.

    Before him stood a true giant, at least five times his size. Massive muscles stretched under thin armor, and his head was concealed by a heavy helmet. Through its slits, a smug grin was visible.

    "Well, look at this! A flaming skeleton!" The man laughed. "I thought my pals were roasted by that fire clown from the Fantastic Four, but you¡¯re not him. You¡¯re the Ghost Rider, right? I read about you in the Temple of Cyttorak. Name¡¯s Juggernaut. Hope you¡¯re tough!"

    Before Johnny could respond, Juggernaut struck again. The kick sent Johnny soaring a dozen blocks, and when he landed, he shattered the asphalt beneath him. Car alarms wailed, and residents woke up, but the noise was nothing compared to the next event¡ªJuggernaut¡¯s leap.

    ¡°Hothead, you¡¯re pretty sturdy!¡± the man yelled mid-air. His landing shattered every window in the building. ¡°Haven¡¯t had a fight like this in ages. Come on, show me your best shot!¡±

    Juggernaut crossed his massive arms over his chest, waiting. Johnny wasn¡¯t one to waste an opportunity.

    Johnny stood, scanning the wrecked asphalt around him, and spotted a manhole cover. He picked it up and swung it with all his strength at the giant. The cover shattered into pieces, but the attacker didn¡¯t even flinch.

    ¡°Damn! That strike could turn a man into a bloody smear, and his armor doesn¡¯t even have a scratch,¡± Johnny thought. ¡°He¡¯s protected by some kind of invisible force field...¡±

    "Not bad, little Tyson," Juggernaut sneered. "Now watch how real men hit!"

    The giant grabbed a nearby car and smashed it into Johnny, turning the vehicle into a heap of scrap metal. Beneath the wreckage, Johnny reflected:

    ¡°Why the theatrics? Doesn¡¯t he see how quickly my bones regenerate? Without nerve endings, I don¡¯t even feel pain. Or is he testing ways to kill me?¡±

    When Juggernaut tossed aside the car remains, his face beamed with a broad smile.

    ¡°Wake up, Hothead! The night¡¯s just getting started!¡±

    Johnny discreetly drew a knife from his boot, ignited it with flames, and hurled it at the giant¡¯s chest. The blade sank to the hilt. A thin trickle of blood dripped from Juggernaut¡¯s mouth. It was a direct hit to the heart.

    ¡°You¡¯re pulling a knife in a fight?¡± Juggernaut pouted, like a disappointed parent over a bad report card. ¡°What a hillbilly!¡±

    The next punch sent Johnny flying again. The crimson blur of Juggernaut charged after him, plowing through a dozen buildings.

    ¡°So my flames can penetrate his force field, but it doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Johnny thought, watching the knife wound close instantly in a crimson flash.

    Finally, Juggernaut stopped, tossing Johnny into a lamppost. Shards of the lamp scattered onto his skull.

    ¡°Did you see me run?¡± Juggernaut laughed. ¡°That¡¯s my super move¡ªthe Unstoppable Juggernaut! Now show me your big trick!¡±

    Johnny activated the Penance Stare. A fiery spiral of sins flared around Juggernaut¡¯s head but dissipated instantly, as if hitting an impenetrable barrier.

    ¡°Some kind of psychic crap?¡± Juggernaut frown. ¡°Fight like a man!¡±

    The next punch launched Johnny across the street and into the wall of a music store. Juggernaut¡¯s laughter echoed in the distance:

    ¡°And now for a musical break! Get it? Musical break!¡±

    Johnny lay among the broken musical instruments, sheets of music fluttering down onto him.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    "If this keeps up, that idiot will destroy the whole city. And I¡¯m supposed to kill this magical Hulk with just this," he muttered, gripping a pair of drumsticks.

    Johnny stepped out onto the street. Juggernaut stood a hundred meters away, smirking. Johnny extended a hand and gestured for him to attack.

    "Hothead, you a karate master now?" the enemy jeered, striking a runner''s pose. "Show me your kung fu!"

    Juggernaut accelerated into a crimson blur once again.

    Johnny quickly hurled the drumsticks, which wrapped around a lamppost, securing the piano wire he held in his hands. With a single motion, he pulled the wire taut at Juggernaut¡¯s head level and ignited it with hellfire. The metallic string glowed bright, turning into a lethal trap.

    ¡°Oh no,¡± muttered the unstoppable force.

    His head flew off his shoulders, and blood flooded the street.

    Now to remove the helmet and burn that thick skull.

    ¡°That hurts, you bony pig!¡± screamed the head mid-flight. Juggernaut¡¯s hands caught it like a basketball and placed it back onto his neck. The wound healed instantly. ¡°Now you¡¯ve made me mad!¡±

    A crimson flash! Juggernaut grabbed Johnny by the skull and charged forward, grinding calcium off his bones with every wall they smashed through.

    ¡°Get out of the way, morons!¡± Juggernaut roared. ¡°I¡¯m about to beat the Hothead to a pulp!¡±

    ¡°No, oh no,¡± Johnny thought, realizing where they were heading.

    The crimson missile slammed into a gas station. The resulting fuel explosion shot flames skyward. No one had time to evacuate in a single second.

    ¡°Are you an idiot?!¡± Johnny yelled, climbing out of the fire. ¡°I¡¯m the Ghost Rider! Fire doesn¡¯t hurt me! You just killed innocent people!¡±

    Juggernaut laughed.

    ¡°Oh, so you can talk!¡± he exclaimed cheerfully, kicking a charred corpse. ¡°Feeling sad over a bunch of nobodies? Don¡¯t pretend you¡¯re a hero. We¡¯re both killers.¡±

    A new, unfamiliar fire began to burn in Johnny¡¯s ribs. He had never wanted to kill someone this badly in his entire life.

    ¡°I never hurt those who didn¡¯t deserve it,¡± the Rider said, his hollow eye sockets fixed on Juggernaut. ¡°I¡¯ve never taken an innocent life. I only kill parasites who ruin others¡¯ lives. And now you¡¯ve claimed the top spot on my list.¡±

    Johnny unleashed the fire inside him. He felt himself transform. Everything burned. Not just hellfire¡ªsomething brighter, more merciless. Golden flames erupted through the usual blaze, and Johnny felt himself slipping away. His consciousness blurred, his thoughts drowned in pure rage. His body began to change: bones elongated and grew stronger, the air smelled of molten metal. The fiery trail behind him melted asphalt, and every bone seemed sharp enough to cut steel.

    Johnny wasn¡¯t thinking. He wasn¡¯t holding back. He had become a storm, a force of pure destruction.

    ¡°Oh-ho-ho! Is that Zarathos I see?¡± Juggernaut bellowed gleefully, his form changing too. His skin turned crimson, bony protrusions emerged from his body, and lightning danced in his eyes. ¡°Then meet Cyttorak!¡±

    Zarathos didn¡¯t listen. Zarathos thirsted for vengeance. Zarathos saw a sinner, and nothing could stop him. Golden flames burned through sin as Zarathos charged into battle.

    ---

    Johnny was back in control, the familiar Ghost Rider once again. But nothing else was familiar. An entire city block was engulfed in flames. All the buildings were in ruins, and faint groans of survivors could be heard beneath the rubble.

    Their cries were drowned out by Juggernaut¡¯s thunderous laughter.

    ¡°That was a blast, Hothead!¡± the killer beamed like a child. ¡°Did you know our powers are alike? You need to punish, and I need to destroy. Now I¡¯ve had my fill of destruction for the month. So, who¡¯s the idiot now?¡±

    Johnny felt the golden flames rise within him again, but he forced them back into the cage of his ribs. Zarathos wouldn¡¯t help here.

    ¡°Think I¡¯m your enemy? No, Hothead, you¡¯re just a tool. All of this¡ªjust for the sake of destruction.¡± Juggernaut crouched, ready for a powerful leap. ¡°Well, I¡¯m off before the super clowns show up!¡±

    And with that, he was gone, leaving Johnny in the ashes.

    ---

    Johnny returned home as the sky began to lighten, turning a pale gray. The silence around him was broken by a familiar voice.

    "Looks like you had a fiery night," Melissa quipped, leaning against the doorframe. "The flames of your heroics were visible from the window."

    Johnny wordlessly shoved his jacket, reeking of smoke, into her hands. He was exhausted. Every movement sent a dull ache through his bones, still remembering Juggernaut''s blows.

    "Does Mom know?" he asked grimly.

    "Mistress Naomi is asleep," Melissa drawled, her mischievous smile unwavering.

    "Then don¡¯t tell her," Johnny growled, heading to the living room.

    "I doubt she won''t figure it out after watching the news," Melissa added, following him.

    Johnny collapsed into an armchair, burying his head in his hands. Melissa, arms crossed, sat down across from him.

    "An encounter with another monster must¡¯ve left quite the impression," she remarked sarcastically.

    "Yeah," Johnny muttered coldly.

    "I¡¯m sure now you want to kill him," she continued. "I could help. Make you stronger¡ªif you trust my expertise."

    "And how exactly?" Johnny raised his eyes, flames of irritation flickering in them.

    "Convince your mother to give me back the Grimoire," Melissa said, her tone calm, as if discussing the weather.

    Johnny let out a hollow laugh.

    "Mom defeated you in a fair fight. You¡¯re weaker than the Ghost Rider. You can¡¯t make me stronger than Juggernaut. Get lost," he snapped.

    Melissa tensed for a fraction of a second before her usual expression returned.

    "As you wish, Master Jonathan," she replied, her voice silky but with a hint of menace. "I¡¯ll go make breakfast, and you should prepare for nights like this to become a regular thing. These monsters are just the beginning. You have no idea what might crawl out of the shadows."

    The air filled with the faint smell of sulfur as her lips parted to reveal sharp, devilish fangs. But in the next instant, she was back to looking like an ordinary girl, disappearing down the hallway.

    Melissa was gone, but her words lingered in his mind. The world didn¡¯t revolve around street criminals. Thinking of himself as the only monster had been naive. His chance encounter with Juggernaut had been a painful lesson.

    He needed to become stronger.

    Johnny tried to relax. His gaze fell on the remote, and he turned on the TV. The screen showed images of a city district engulfed in flames.

    "A fire in the south. Witnesses report seeing two monsters fighting in the streets. One, they say, resembled a giant demon, while the other looked like death itself, wreathed in flames..." The anchor spoke quickly, recounting the events.

    Johnny flinched when one witness said, "It was like a horror movie! We all thought it was the end. They destroyed an entire district in just a couple of minutes!"

    "Three minutes¡ªthat¡¯s just one round, and we nearly burned all of New York," Johnny thought, a chill running down his spine. He pictured what would¡¯ve happened if the fight had taken place here, in their neighborhood. His loved ones would¡¯ve burned alive, without even realizing what was happening.

    Captain America appeared on the screen.

    "We¡¯re already on this case," he said confidently. "The Avengers will find those responsible and bring them to justice."

    Johnny abruptly changed the channel, but the same report greeted him. Another channel¡ªstill the same discussion.

    He stopped at an advertisement. On the screen, a man in a white suit with a warm smile spoke.

    "We are the Silver Wing Foundation. Our mission is to help those in difficult situations. It doesn¡¯t matter who you are. If you need help, call us. We¡¯re always ready to lend a hand."

    Johnny stared at the screen, hypnotized. It was time for decisive¡ªor desperate¡ªaction, depending on how you looked atit. He picked up the phone and dialed the number.

    "My name is Jonathan Blaze. I need help."