Chapter 895

The Ghost Rider’s sudden appearance caught everyone off guard.

At SHIELD headquarters, the support operation descended into chaos. Skye had detected an approaching heat signature moving at incredible speed and warned that it might be a missile. Victoria Hand, overseeing the operation from the command center, immediately focused all her attention on Blake’s team.

Then communications from the field went silent.

Hand’s stomach tightened.

What had happened? Where had the missile come from? Who had launched it?

A disturbing possibility occurred to her.

Had Coulson discovered that Blake was secretly investigating him? Was he trying to eliminate a potential threat before Blake could expose him?

If so, Coulson was more ruthless than she’d imagined. Melinda May was there too, a woman he’d known for years. Had he really been willing to kill them both with a missile?

"All support teams, stand by!" Hand ordered over the communications network. "Do not approach the target location without authorization. We have an extremely dangerous hostile on the scene. Repeat, do not approach!"

A moment later, a familiar voice crackled through her earpiece.

"What’s the situation?" Hand demanded.

Relief washed over her when she recognized May’s voice. At least May was alive. Whatever had happened, it apparently hadn’t been a missile strike.

"What is Agent Blake’s condition?"

"Agent Blake has been captured by Deathlok."

May’s fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles cracked. Her body trembled faintly as she struggled to suppress the violent impulse that had surged through her when the Ghost Rider appeared.

"Then shouldn’t we send the support teams in immediately?" Hand asked.

"The situation is complicated. Bringing more people here will only make things worse."

May’s voice was cold, her eyes fixed on the flaming skeleton standing nearby.

Hand frowned.

"What exactly is going on? And what was that heat signature Skye detected?"

She couldn’t understand why May was refusing assistance. Was she deliberately leaving Blake to die?

"Ghost Rider," May answered flatly. "He’s here. The heat signature was him."

"What?"

Hand nearly dropped her headset.

As a senior SHIELD agent, she knew about the Ghost Rider. He was an extremely dangerous and unpredictable entity, one that even experienced operatives were advised to avoid.

According to the latest intelligence, he’d been operating in Eastern Europe.

What was he doing in the United States?

"I have no idea!" May snapped. "But whatever happens, don’t send anyone else here. You’ll only get them killed."

Hand hesitated before accepting the warning.

"Understood."

She immediately turned to the other personnel in the command center.

"Pull every file we have on the Ghost Rider. I want a complete record of his known associates, movements, and any evidence indicating when he entered the country."

If this situation was as dangerous as May claimed, Hand needed to understand exactly what they were dealing with.

At the scene, the Ghost Rider had remained motionless for several seconds.

Then he suddenly swayed from side to side and let out a thunderous howl.

He pressed one fist against his chest and thrust the other toward the sky, striking a pose that wouldn’t have looked out of place at the climax of a heavy metal concert.

Michael Peterson, now transformed into Deathlok, stared at him in bewilderment.

What the hell was this?

Peterson had thought his own appearance was unusual, what with the advanced armor and the extensive burns across his face.

But a flaming skull?

Seriously?

This was supposed to be a science-fiction nightmare, not a fantasy convention. Had the supernatural decided to crash the wrong genre?

The Ghost Rider’s eye sockets suddenly flared brighter.

He leveled his spear and lunged.

The blazing weapon pierced Deathlok’s armored arm, punching straight through the metal as if it were paper.

Blake dropped to the floor.

Deathlok staggered backward, staring at the hole in his arm. The intense heat had cauterized the wound, leaving no blood behind. Instead, a small patch of fire clung to the damaged metal, burning relentlessly.

He tried to beat it out.

Nothing worked.

The flames refused to die.

"You..." The Ghost Rider’s voice rumbled like distant thunder. "You are guilty."

He advanced, each heavy footstep echoing through the wrecked building.

"Accept your judgment."

Deathlok retreated, his damaged arm hanging uselessly at his side.

Then his remaining arm snapped upward.

Two miniature missiles emerged from the armor, locking onto the Ghost Rider.

Before he could fire, the flaming skeleton moved again.

In a single swift motion, the Ghost Rider seized Blake by the front of his jacket and hauled him upright.

"Look into my eyes."

The demand might have seemed strange to anyone watching, but the Ghost Rider’s judgment followed rules that had little to do with ordinary ideas of good and evil.

To the people in the room, Michael Peterson was clearly the villain. He was the one wearing the armor, attacking SHIELD agents, and carrying weapons capable of killing everyone present.

But the Ghost Rider saw things differently.

Before becoming Deathlok, Peterson had been a good man. He’d worked hard, loved his son, and genuinely wanted to do the right thing. Most importantly, he hadn’t killed anyone.

He’d made mistakes, certainly. Some of his actions might even have crossed serious moral lines. But none of them had made him deserving of the Ghost Rider’s judgment.

His transformation had changed everything.

As Deathlok, Peterson had killed people and carried out orders for evil men. Yet he’d done so under coercion. His life and his son’s life had been used to force him into obedience.

He was a weapon in someone else’s hands.

The true guilt belonged to the people controlling him.

That didn’t mean the Ghost Rider would simply ignore Peterson’s condition. Deathlok’s continued existence was itself unnatural. His soul might have been destined for Heaven or Hell, but some blasphemous process had allowed him to remain in the world when he should have passed on.

Refusing to die when death was deserved was another kind of transgression.

Even so, the Ghost Rider recognized that Peterson’s sins were not entirely his own. He was a tragic creature who had been forced into monstrosity.

Blake was different.

He was a SHIELD agent, a man who ostensibly served justice. He hadn’t defected to HYDRA, and by ordinary standards, he could still be considered one of the good guys.

But being on the right side didn’t make someone innocent.

The Ghost Rider’s judgment reached beyond official affiliations and noble intentions.

Blake had spent years climbing the ranks of SHIELD. How many dirty operations had he participated in along the way? How many people had died because of his decisions? Could he honestly claim that every order he’d carried out had been just?

Had he ever killed a guard who was simply doing his job?

Had any of the operations he’d commanded led to innocent people being caught in the crossfire?

Blake might have convinced himself that his actions were justified, but justification was not the same thing as innocence.

Under the Ghost Rider’s supernatural judgment, the senior SHIELD agent carried a far heavier burden of guilt than Michael Peterson.

Blake struggled instinctively to avert his eyes.

He couldn’t.

An invisible force held his gaze in place, forcing him to look directly into the burning sockets.

Then the memories came flooding back.

Every buried incident. Every death he’d tried to forget. Every face that had haunted him in the quiet hours of the night.

The dead emerged from the depths of his memory, their expressions twisted with fury as they surged toward him.

Blake made a strangled sound.

Then he went completely still.

His eyes were left dark and charred, their light extinguished.

"Damn it!"

May shouted in fury.

She’d never expected the Ghost Rider to target Blake first. The entire sequence had happened so quickly that she hadn’t managed to intervene.

Now she drew the combat knife from her back, preparing to rush the flaming skeleton.

Before she could move, a burst of golden sparks erupted in front of the Ghost Rider.

A circular portal of brilliant yellow light opened in the air.

"Well, I certainly didn’t expect the Ghost Rider to show up."

Aboard the aircraft, Claire rubbed her forehead in frustration after receiving May’s report.

Skye looked at her anxiously.

"Are you going to help them or not?"

"Of course I’m going to deal with this properly!"

Claire was familiar with the trouble the Ghost Rider could cause.

Previous incidents involving him had generally taken place behind Kamar-Taj’s back. That had been bad enough.

But Kamar-Taj’s new leadership had only just been established. Claire had only recently taken up her position as First Mage.

And now the Ghost Rider had decided to make a public spectacle of himself right in front of her.

He wasn’t even trying to keep a low profile.

It was practically a deliberate insult.

If she let this go unanswered, how was she supposed to maintain her authority in the future?

Dark energy flickered around Claire’s body.

Black armor materialized over her, forming the imposing shape of the Lion King armor. She reached into the air with her right hand, and a black knight’s lance covered in vicious spikes appeared in her grip.

"Storm, weigh anchor!"

Skye watched in astonishment as the weapon began to spin. A dark vortex of wind coiled around its length, growing more violent with every revolution.

Claire raised her left hand and traced a circle in the air.

Another portal opened before her.

On the other side stood the Ghost Rider, apparently still occupied with his judgment.

"Hmm?"

The flaming skeleton tilted his head, momentarily confused by the sudden appearance of a portal directly in front of him.

Then he noticed the armored woman standing beyond it, a massive lance aimed straight at his skull.

She raised her weapon and shouted its true name.

"Rhongomyniad!"

The world exploded.

A black storm surged through the portal and slammed into the Ghost Rider with overwhelming force.

The impact tore through the ceiling and launched him into the sky like a cannonball. He shot upward, growing smaller and smaller until he was little more than a distant point of light.

His voice drifted back from the heavens.

"I’ll be back!"

Claire snorted.

"That’s what I call a long-range strike."

She withdrew her lance and closed her fist.

The portal shattered into fragments of fading light.

Behind her, Skye stood frozen.

She’d known Evenson was powerful, but she’d never realized his girlfriend could unleash this kind of force.

"Did you kill him?"

"No."

Claire waved her hand, and the black armor dissolved into nothing. She planted her hands on her hips and looked toward the sky.

"The Ghost Rider isn’t that easy to kill. But he’ll need a long time to recover from that."

She sounded entirely satisfied with the result.

At the New York Sanctum, Wong stood before a magical instrument resembling a circular stone disc. He studied the supernatural energy rippling across its surface, his expression growing increasingly serious.

"An infernal magical signature," he reported. "The source has been identified as the Ghost Rider."

He turned toward Stephen Strange, the current Sorcerer Supreme.

"He’s somewhere in the United States."

"Give me his exact location."

Strange tugged at the collar of the red Cloak of Levitation draped over his shoulders.

"I’ll deal with him."

Wong looked at him with concern.

"The Ghost Rider is a formidable opponent. Aside from the Ancient One, no one at Kamar-Taj has the power to reliably handle him."

He still found it difficult to accept how much had changed since learning that the Ancient One had drawn upon the power of the Dark Dimension.

But the truth was undeniable.

Without the former Sorcerer Supreme, Kamar-Taj had lost the one person capable of handling certain threats without breaking a sweat.

Wong reached for a familiar artifact.

"Take this."

He removed the Eye of Agamotto and handed it to Strange.

"It would be safer if you had it."

Strange hesitated.

He remembered the warnings about using the Time Stone. Even a seemingly minor intervention could produce consequences far beyond what he intended.

Still, the Ghost Rider was no ordinary threat.

After a moment, Strange slipped the Eye of Agamotto around his neck.

He was just retrieving his Sling Ring to open a portal when Oliver approached with light, unhurried steps.

"There’s no need for you to intervene, Sorcerer Supreme."

Oliver’s tone was respectful, but a faintly meaningful smile played across his face.

"The First Mage has already dealt with the situation."

Strange nearly dropped the Eye of Agamotto.

All that preparation, for nothing?

He’d been ready to charge into battle, and someone else had already sent the Ghost Rider flying.

Fantastic.

Just fantastic.

"Fine," he muttered, putting the Eye of Agamotto away. "As long as the threat has been dealt with, I suppose it doesn’t matter who did it."

He turned to Wong.

"So, what are we having for dinner?"

Wong’s face brightened.

"Tuna sandwiches sound good."

Strange regarded him suspiciously.

"How much money do you have?"

"Two hundred."

"Rupees?"

"Yes."

"How much is that?"

"About a dollar fifty."

Strange stared at him.

"You can’t even afford a decent meal with that!"

Wong immediately straightened, adopting the solemn expression of a man imparting an ancient philosophical truth.

"Attachment to material possessions is a betrayal of the spirit."

Strange stared at him.

Then he glanced at Wong’s rather substantial stomach.

"If you believe that, why not survive on fresh air? Why are you asking for sandwiches?"

Wong endured the look for several seconds before finally relenting.

"You know how things are right now. All the funding requests have to go through the council, which means they require approval from the First Mage."

He paused.

"And the money allocated to the New York region comes from Oliver’s personal resources. Even the property this Sanctum stands on belongs to him."

Strange frowned.

"Surely they can’t be refusing to give you money for food?"

Even if Oliver controlled the finances, denying someone their meal allowance seemed excessive.

"It’s not that simple." Wong rubbed his rounded stomach. "I spend quite a bit. Tuna sandwiches are expensive, and I eat a lot of them."

Of course he did.

Wong had finally escaped the Hong Kong Sanctum and secured a position as a librarian, believing he’d left his troubles behind. He’d hoped to escape the clutches of his senior, Lily Grant, and enjoy a peaceful life surrounded by books.

Then that woman had followed him to headquarters.

After managing to transfer to the New York Sanctum and serve under the Sorcerer Supreme, he’d discovered that Lily Grant had settled in New York, too.

There was no escaping her.

At this point, Wong felt that delicious food was the only thing capable of comforting his battered body and wounded spirit.

Strange sighed.

"Was this how things worked when the Ancient One was in charge? That must have been exhausting."

"She had a much better life than this," Wong replied without thinking. "Then again, she was the real Sorcerer Supreme."

Strange’s expression darkened.

"And what does that make me? A fake?"

"Of course not."

Wong shook his head quickly.

"Everyone recognizes you as the Sorcerer Supreme. We respect you."

"But despite having the title, I don’t get to make any decisions. I barely have anything to do at all!"

Strange spread his hands in frustration.

"I gave up medicine because I wanted to help protect the world. I didn’t abandon my career just to sit in a Sanctum and collect dust."

"The council is trying to help you," Wong explained. "Our work is too important to entrust entirely to one person. They want to make sure everything is handled properly."

"Then what about the Ancient One? Didn’t she shoulder the entire responsibility herself?"

Strange was beginning to take the situation personally.

As a physician, he’d been a celebrated prodigy. As a sorcerer, he’d advanced at an extraordinary rate and eventually received the title of Sorcerer Supreme.

He was accustomed to being recognized for his abilities.

Now, the council’s refusal to grant him meaningful authority felt like a deliberate statement that they didn’t trust him.

Wong considered his words carefully.

"There’s a difference between you and the Ancient One. You’re the Sorcerer Supreme because the council recognizes you as such. The Ancient One didn’t need anyone’s recognition. She earned that title through her own power."

He placed a reassuring hand on Strange’s shoulder.

"Look at it this way. The council has taken the administrative burden off your hands. That gives you more time to train and become stronger. Once you’ve demonstrated what you’re capable of, they’ll have more reason to trust you with greater authority."

Strange shrugged.

"They’re handling everything for me. How am I supposed to prove myself when they won’t let me do anything?"

"Take this incident, for example."

Wong lowered his voice.

"The Ghost Rider can’t be killed easily. The First Mage struck him with an extraordinary attack and drove him away, but he’s still alive. It won’t be long before he returns."

He gave Strange a pointed look.

"This is your opportunity. Find him before he fully recovers and see if you can reach an understanding with him."

Strange considered that.

"If you can persuade him to stop causing trouble, that would be a significant achievement. The council would have to take notice."

"Hmm. You’ve got a point."

Strange nodded, then grabbed Wong by the arm.

"All right. Locate wherever the Ghost Rider landed. I’m going to have a little talk with him."

Wong blinked.

Then he began preparing the magical instrument again.

It seemed dinner would have to wait.

...