literature

One Vengeance

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Literature Text

One Vengeance

A path of fire blazed through the streets of New York, at its pinnacle, a demon of hell given manifest on Earth through unholy powers drove towards the sound of the guilty, his vengeance watering for its due.  Their dark souls singing like sirens in his ears, driving him onwards as fast as hell’s fire could carry him.  He rounded a corner and managed a stop that should have been impossible at his speed, and the men with innocent lives on their hands turned and stared at the arrival.

“Blood will be avenged with blood.”  The flaming skull atop black, leather shoulders bellowed, its voice rocking the very marrow of their bones as the guilty gaped in terror.  At their feet, a beaten, but living man struggled to move but found his body too broken and slumped back to the pavement.  He would need medical attention quickly, but right now, those who stood before the Ghost Rider were due a view of hell and the suffering of their victims.  Every one of them guilty.  He raised his fist, preparing to sear one of the humans with his fire, when a shot rang out, and one of the members farthest from him fell to the ground, a gun clutched in his death grip, that had been aimed at the Rider.  All heads turned to look for the source of the leaden messenger, when a chilling, eerie laugh echoed between buildings and rose to strident strings that made Johnny Blaze, buried deep inside the mind of the Rider, shiver.

Appearing to melt from the core of the very shadows of the street, a being in a black cloak and hat with raised guns of silver pointed the threatening weapons at the guilty party.  The Ghost Rider glared at the being, but found no cry from its soul, no song of guilt, but there was a soul there.

The men caught between the two spirits of darkness gaped, wide-eyed and shaking.  Then, one of them scrambled, attempting an escape but as he tried to back up from the threat that had manifested from the shadows, he ran right into the Ghost Rider, who wrapped a fiery fist around his neck.  With screams of horror, the man stared into the hellish gaze and had his soul flailed by the pain of those who had suffered at his hand.  The deed finished, he was dropped to the ground, a babbling, useless lump.  As the Ghost Rider looked back to where the black figure had been, he found him gone in the short moment it had taken him to perform his Penance Stare, and had already knocked three of the gawking men to the ground, unconscious.  Not to be outdone, he whipped out his chain and quickly dispatched the remaining handful of human filth to blessed oblivion.  They could be dealt with later.

“You.”  He stood from his bike and stomped heavy boots over to the black mass that crouched over the innocent.  Its cloak draped about the figure, and the brim of the hat tipped down to obscure the shape of the being in the dim streetlights.  “I will have your name.”  The black mass pulled a vial of an unknown purplish liquid from beneath his cloak, a dazzling red gem, a fire opal, danced in the light given off by the Ghost Rider as it held the vial and administered the concoction to the injured man.  Without a sound, the figure lifted the man from the ground, the brim of the hat tilting up to reveal deep, blazing orbs that, had the Ghost Rider been human, may have served for a mortal substitute of the Penance Stare.

“I am The Shadow.”  A quite, powerful voice came from behind the red scarf that obscured the Shadow’s mouth, but the sound was not muffled in the least.  “Do as you wish with them, they are men of crime and have earned their place in Hell, but let two of them go.  There is an evil afoot, that they will lead us to once they return to their senses.”  The Shadow turned on his heel, as the fire about Zarathos’ head flared.  A human giving orders to the Bringer of Vengence?!

“Shadow!”  He bellowed, but the figure did not flinch or stop.  He simply continued walking down the empty street, with the injured man over his shoulders.  “HUMAN!”  Without a motion to acknowledge him, the Shadow stepped towards a building with his charge, and seemed to meld away within its shadow.  With a huff and an indignant sputtering of flames from his head, Zarathos chased after the Shadow, but found the street lacking his presence.  Without the guilt to beg him onwards on a trail of pursuit, he was left with only the gibbering bags of flesh that lay near his flaming bike.

He would only let one go.
Quick, fun little crossover between the Shadow and Ghost Rider worlds. Sometimes Ghost Rider makes appearances in New York apparently, so I couldn't resist.

This is my very first Ghost Rider ficlet, and I'm very, very new to Ghost Rider, so please be gentle, I may have messed up characterization.

If you're wondering why this blindsided you in the middle of my Eva fanfic, that would be because I'm currently in two role play scenarios, one with The Shadow and the other, Ghost Rider.

Ghost Rider (c) Marvel
Shadow (c) Conde Nast
© 2009 - 2024 Lonely-Invisible
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