Blood Under the Moon: The Rider vs Warsman RPG

Sunshine fleeted into the west, giving way to the night. Warsman had been wandering through the area known as the Death Valley, a place of inhospitable heat and home to a myriad of creature known and unknown to humankind. There was no road in sight - he was far from the national park here, among the white rocks and bleached grasses and gravel. He wore a black jacket embroidered with the De Trop Dynasty logo in white upon the chest. This was matched by a pair of gray pants and black boots, the only diversion from this pattern being the royal blue helmet that encased his head in protection. A red-tipped feather dangled on a silver tassel from the right temple of the helmet as Warsman moved even slightly.

He had been walking for some time, trying to find a road or something, and was coming to the end of the larger rocks and to the smaller ones, as if the burlier ones would shy away from civilization. He turned his head slightly, keeping his dark yellow eyes straight, and popped his neck with a sudden jerk, making his dirty blonde hair follow the motion with a start, like if one was to be woken violently from a deep slumber. There was indeed a road ahead, for a rumble of a large vehicle was nigh.

Warsman covered the thirty feet to the edge of the highway and saw the heralding lights of a large truck as it came nearer, its horn blaring. Instead of backing away from this challenge, he embraced it and stood upon the elevated structure of asphalt and stone, his arms crossed and a narrowed gaze across his brow. The truck was immense even for an eighteen-wheeler, yet he stood still. The driver went mad from trying to move the cyborg and jumped from his throne, landing harshly to the ground. Warsman remained in his place, firm and unyielding as the truck split in two across his brow and a tomb of twisted metal stretched around him, spilling in twain on either side of the road in heaps of flaming scrap.

The cyborg looked from the carnage back to the driver, who attempted to shrewdly run away. To Warsman, he was a witness. A hook reached out from his forearm and was soon embedded through the man's torso and brought again through his chest cavity. He shrieked, but as the pull back to the inside commenced, it was cut off and he died quickly. The hook needed not to be painstakingly removed with twists and turns and the cyborg was soon standing on the road again, his arm as it was. Though, before he could continue, the hum of a motorbike came around to his hears and he looked to a light as he saw something appear in the distance.

John Wallace, the Rider, was roaring down the road on his hog.  he had just finished pulling off an operation in California with his pals Archer and Davidson.  Now, he was on his way to San Antonio, Texas where something required his immediate attention.  However, as he was on the road, that strange feeling came to him again.  Working almost like a premonition of sorts, it was almost as if Wallace could feel something terrible was about to happen.  Usually, this was something relatively easy to ignore, but something made the Rider wish to investigate further.  Therefore, he took a slight detour on his trip to San Antonio and headed straight into Death Valley.

As he neared Death Valley, the Rider felt as if there was a raging fire within his chest.  Getting closer and closer, the sensation became more and more intense.  The enhanced super soldier had begun to bring his abilities into play.  Going off road, his large Harley tore through the terrain with a certain ferocity.  His long, black leather trench coat flapped in the wind.  Like always, Wallace had a Kevlar vest strapped to his body underneath his shirt.  Two modified Colt's were strapped into a shoulder harness under his jacket, and two large hunting knives hung from his belt.  Mounted on the side of his hog was a large shotgun.  On the back of the seat was a chain coiled, ready to be used at a moment's notice.

The sensations grew more intense with every meter the Rider moved closer to his target.  Wallace did not know how much longer he would be able to control the urges.  Then, he saw it in the distance.  Along a secluded road, there was a truck that been mangled like a tin can.  On the ground lay a man, presumably the driver, whose body was severely mutilated.  Standing off in the distance was a large, hulking creature of immense power and strength.  This is what had been "calling" to Wallace all along.  A being of untold evil had slaughtered an innocent being with no justification.  Muttering under his breath, Wallace said, "Guilty...."

Now, there needed to be retribution..... or vengeance.  This creature's soul had just been stained with the blood of the innocent.  Now, that monster needed to feel their pain.  The Rider was just the being to do that.  Still off in the distance from the site, John gripped the handles of his hog and throttled up.  Tearing across the terrain with vengeance on his mind, the Rider reached with his right hand and picked up the large shotgun, keeping his left hand steady on the grip of the motorcycle.  Using his quick reflexes, the Rider placed the barrel of the shotgun across his left elbow, held it steady, then fired off a huge blast.

Holding the shotgun firmly with his left elbow, the Rider primed it and fired again.  He then repeated the process and fired off the shotgun three more times.  As he did so, Wallace turned the motorcycle to the left and rode in a circle around the mighty creature while he was shooting, maintaining a radius of about ten meters between himself and his adversary.  Vengeance was near, and now it burned like a fire within the soul of John Wallace.

Solid malice flowed from the light, which had now become the form of a motorcycle and rider, in the form of bullets from the barrel of a gun. His body was opened and slashed, but it did not fall apart. The shirt was ripped asunder by a second blast and he tore it away, placing it to the flames in a kingly burial. Warsman's upper torso, lean and toned, soon extended outwards with blades of royal-blue armor, which in turn folded and creased into plates and mail, following the design of his helmet to make it seem as if he were a knight, armed to every joint and muscle.

He was intrigued by his apparently hostile guest's ways as he attempted to encircle him. However, Warsman followed his every motion frame by frame, watching with zealous interest what this man was doing. Was he trying to kill him? He was doing a very poor job at this, so the answer must be no. But then again, why would he be shooting at him? The cyborg found no answer to this and moved, or rather suddenly appeared as if he had moved, into the direction of the bike's passing, his hands out and firm for the touch of  the tongs of the mechanism holding the wheel in front. This would, no doubt, send the strange rider barreling into the direction he was planning to go, and to ghastly results if Warsman had studied a motorcycle crash closely enough.

Warsman retracted his armor upon the upper torso, leaving only the helmet as usual. This portion of his body was bare and his arms were crossed, gloved hands reaching at either elbow and with a sly crinkle in his brow he would descend upon the rider, if he had fallen. The feather dangled slightly, catching a gust of wind and thus whistling to only the most potent of ears, meaning this would be a sign to his arrival if one was to listen enough.

The Rider rode swiftly as he encircled the mighty Warsman.  Just as he had finished blasting his shotgun, he suddenly realized that the magazine was empty.  Quickly, he dropped the shotgun to the ground and had begun to reach inside his coat to pull out the powerful Colt.  However, just as Wallace did so, Warsman's hand came out of nowhere and struck the front of the motorcycle.  This caused the moving vehicle to stop abruptly.  The impact sent the rear of the Harley flying up, due to the speed of movement it had previously attained.  This went on to show the magnitude of Warsman's raw power.

As the rear of the vehicle rose up and flipped over, it veered to the left as it did so.  The Rider's body was sent flying off into the distance, where it was about to slam into the rough terrain.  Just then, his enhanced reflexes came into play as he recovered the fall midair and landed with a flip onto his feet.  Just as Wallace's feet hit the earth, the intuition of his neural pathways was shooting off like crazy.  However, with recovering his fall midair and just landing, he did not have apt time to dodge what was coming next.  The large hog itself came flying down at him.  The broadside of the motorcycle hit the Rider's body full force and ran over him.  The Harley landed several meters away and John Wallace's body was laying on the ground.

While he had premier phsycial and mental enhancements due to his previous procedure, the pain was still exscrutiating.  Luckily, the tightly-strapped body armor on his torso prevented any broken bones or internal damage.  Without a doubt, the Rider would be feeling that one in the morning.  As for now, he had an issue to deal with.  Looking up, the Rider saw Warsman approaching.  With all his might, John struggled and slowly regained his footing.  With the monster behind him, Wallace began to control his breathing and catch his breath.  Turning his back on the monster, he ran to his fallen bike and grabbed ahold of the large chain with his left hand.  With his right hand, he quickly drew a large hunting knife.  He knew that perhaps his greatly-enhanced strength might allow him to inflict some form of physical damage to the creature.

Deep within, the raging sensation was beginning to thrive.  It almost felt as if John Wallace was losing control and something else was taking over.  Concentrating as hard as he could, he fought to remain in control of whatever it was within him.  Stepping to the side, he began to slowly encircle Warsman's hulking body.  Gripping the chain tightly, the Rider let it drag so that it would uncoil.  With the chaing loosened up in his left hand and the hunting knife tightly gripped in his right hand, Wallace made his move.  Powerfully, he whipped the chain around towards Warsman.  As it swung quickly towards Warsman's head, the Rider quickly jerked back on it - creating a massive whiplash effect with the chain.  Like an enormous steel whip, the chain's large spiked hook would dig into its target and tear away if contact was made.  Now, the real fight would begin.

The man was struggling for his bike, which now seemed more as a mobile armory than a mode of transport, yet Warsman remained at a steady pace, trailing behind him some feet as he moved drunk and dizzy, and with each second passing either becoming worse or better - this fluctuated randomly. Vehemence was upon Warsman and he desired to kill this man, whether for the higher or lower of fortunes, he thirsted for his blood for some strange purpose.

This newcomer was wrathful indeed, as if the driver was a relative or an old friend; or maybe he was an angel descended from the long-silent Heaven to deliver vengeance. Though, Warsman cared little for this fact, if it were to be true, and removed his arms from his chest, revealing a toned structure that shamed most others. He approached the fallen rider with redoubled speed, aiming to dismember him at a second's notice, but instead was thwarted in his advanced by a hook that embedded itself in his shoulder, dangerously close to his head in the process of its trajectory and obviously meant for the latter.

He grunted not and in place of pain he grabbed hold of the links, jerking towards himself so that his foe would follow into him and die within such a close range. Through all this fight, he was feeling a growing heat from the man's body, as if he would burst into flames if given the chance. 'No matter,' thought he.

Warsman, if his prey were to fall into the ploy of this action, would react with his forearm becoming enshrouded in the royal-blue armor of his own deisgn and reach out with a fist, each knuckle bristling with foot-long spikes, and attempt to carve open his foe with one strike aimed precisely at the tip of the collarbone, ending in a downward slash at the tip of the pelvis.. And if his foe would collapse, the cyborg would take the hook from his own flesh and cast it upon the ground.

Like a powerful metallic whip, John Wallace watched as the cruel hook of his chain latched onto Warsman's shoulder.  Then, his sense of warning came in.  It appeared as if something terrible was going to happen.  The chain tightly gripped around his hand, the Rider looked up to see Warsman.  Without even showing pain, Warsman grabbed onto the large chain and gave a sharp pull.  "Oh f...." John said as his body was jerked like a rag doll through the air.  However, with Warsman's strength, the Rider was flying through the air with incredible speed.  Then, his eyes beheld what lay ahead.

The cruel spikes of Warsman's armored forearm protruded.  Even though he could see himself flying towards them, there was nothing that John could do to avoid his perilous fate.  With all his quickness, he struggled to move his body to the left while it was still midair.  As he did so, contact was finally made.  The devastating spikes were then driven into the side of the Rider.  Like a knife slicing through butter, the spikes punctured the body armor over the Rider's torso and tore through the side of the long trench coat.  Through the body armor, the spikes pierced into the human's skin and tore through the muscle directly below his ribcage.

The Rider's body slammed down onto the rough terrain.  He exherted himself and was finally able to get up onto his hands and knees.  Blood poured out of the gaping wound torn in his side.  The immense bloodloss beginning to have an effect.  Gripping onto his side, he applied pressure in order to stop the bleeding.  However, such a large wound had caused the enhanced super soldier to lose so much blood in such a short time.  Wallace breathing was beginning to feel labored and he did not know how much longer he could hold out.  That raging sensation within him was fighting harder than ever to gain control.  The injustice that had been done could not go unpunished.

The world around John Wallace began to fade as he weeved in and out of consciousness.  Something new entirely was happening now.  Struggling to stay conscious and in the battle, he looked up at Warsman and defiantly raised his hands to fight.  To his surprise and disbelief, he could not believe what he was seeing.  As Wallace raised his hands for combat, he noticed that steam and heat were beginning to radiate from his gloves.  The sensation within him was more intense than ever.  Looking up at Warsman, John Wallace began to laugh.   With blood pouring out of his side, he was sitting there on his knees, looking up at Warsman, and laughing like a mad man.  With a blank stare on his face, he laughed harder and harder.  With an insane, almost demonic look in his eye, the Rider was slowly losing control to something else.

Going off without a flaw, aside from the blatant shift from the initial target, Warsman watched mercilessly as his foe crawled away to safety, like a beast waiting for its prey's imminent death so that it may feed. However, the rider seemed more comfortable than Warsman would expect from one who had been lacerated across his entire flank. He seemed calm, serene, and as if he would go to sleep at any moment.

But insanity set in, the loss of blood apparently too much for the human psyche to handle before succumbing to madness. The dismounted rider, though, seemed stranger than most when under this kind of pressure - altogether otherworldly and foreign. Blood pooled at his knees, the rider in the form of such a stance, and he laughed still more, prompting the cyborg to raise an eyebrow in both interest that his prey be mocking him so close and confusion when his wound made his face pale and white.

Warsman held his claws in tow, the protruding tips almost drenched with his foe's blood as it dripped into the dirt. The cyborg was suspecting something dark within the rider that had grown thus far, becoming mad and enraged by the wound. He percieved this to be a greater fight than he had once thought and he advanced upon his opponent, aiming to take him into the next life before this transformation was to happen. Slowly, at first, he came upon the rider, taking caution not to disturb the monotony of the chuckling, for suspicion that would only make him angrier and thus more supernaturally strong.

However, he withdrew this fear quickly, soon breaking into a small jog and then into a full run, bearing his claws as a bear would when it sighted prey. His footsteps were thunderous, like a train of stallions, and he advanced upon the rider with veracious speed and a killing intent. He raised the claws higher and leaped into the night-sky, bringing them down as if to smite them into the rider's skull.

John Wallace was on his knees, laughing like a mad man.  Severely injured and without hope, the raging inferno within his soul grew more intense with every second.  As the mighty Mon of War came barreling towards him, John dug deep within his soul.  He had no idea what it was that had seemingly taken him over.  All that he knew now was that he could not fight it any longer.  More heat began to radiate from his hands, and now even his face.  It felt as if he were on fire.  The evil was just too great for him to hold back anymore.  As if talking to his own spirit, John whispered to himself, "Time to play."

As he yielded to the strange desire within him, the burning sensation felt like it was covering his entire body now.  Placing his head in his hands, John Wallace was still laughing like an insane person.  Suddenly, his voice grew much deeper and somewhat muffled as he laughed.  With his face buried in his hands, he continued as his body began to go through a sick transformation.  Warsman was still coming.  He was getting closer and closer to the Rider.  Now, Warsman had leaped into the air and was coming down on the rider with his malicious claws raised, ready to bring certain death to John Wallace.

Just then, a tremendous force within the Rider let out a nerve-shattering roar, then sent a massive dome of hellfire shooting out of his body.  The blast pierced the air like a devastating shockwave, scorching everything within 10-meter-radius of him.  Whether the powerful blast had affected Warsman was uncertain.  All that was certain now was that the being knelt down amidst all the chaos was definitely NOT John Wallace.  Instead, it was the spirit of Vengeance and the true Rider had taken over.  This is what had happened in Retributiuon Canyon so long ago.  By makind a deal with the Devil himself, John Wallace was now transformed into one of the legendary ghost riders.

As the Rider slowly rose to his feet, one could instantly notice how his appearance had drastically changed.  The rough gauntlets he wore on each hand now had sturdy, razor sharp two-inch spikes protruding out of them.  His long black trenchcoat blew in the wind as three four-inch spikes protruded from each shoulder.  The Colts strapped to his torso had radically changed into weapons that were forged in the depths of Hell.  Where the gaping wound was torn in his side, an empty hole was there with slight flames coming out.  Finally, most horrific of all, his head only consisted only of a skull with the flames of Hell encompasing it.

The bounty hunter of Hell then looked over to Warsman with a fierce gaze.  Sadistically, the Rider cracked the knuckles of both hands.  Lying on the ground next to his feet was his chain.  Reaching down, the Rider picked it up.  As his hands contacted the metal, the flames of Hell instantly engulfed the chain.  Standing across from Warsman, the Rider raised his hand, pointed to Warsman, then said, "You....Guilty....."  Standing there with his flaming chain, the spirit of Vengeance having consumed him, the Rider was ready to fight and to send the Man of War straight to Hell.

This was no turn to ill-minded tactics.

The cyborg felt his body becoming literally boiled without water, his skin tearing from the severe dehydration, and the depths of his flesh becoming thin and like a fine dust. However, he tore from this strangling sensation and broke back into the world. He raised himself on an arm and his knees, his flesh rising and falling as he regained some manner of control over his lungs and airways. He stood an instant later, looking at the startling figure which imposed itself upon the Man O' War.

It was crawling with flames, licked clean of flesh by a sharp-tongued beast, braced with black leather as if it were armor, and with spikes every other part of his body. The rider became slightly more interesting to the cyborg in that moment, as he raised an arm, teeming with fire, and cracked a chain into his fingers, the latter becomings as its wielder. "You.....guilty....." he said, pointing a finger made of either bone or flame - but more likely both - and at the Warsman. This creature was certainly a vengeance of the angels of God, sent in herald of His true wrath. Warsman raised his arms to his chest, covering the bare muscle that was contrast to the flames of his opponent. He advanced one step, but then was gone, an expanse of dust left in his wake.

He reappeared, not behind nor at a flank, but directly in front of this abomination, striking at him in the chest with an elbow reinforced with a mighty blade jutting from a portion of his armor - which now was covering his attacking arm and shoulder, extending past his chest and to his left ribs, all of it royal blue and menacing to the eyes with every spike and indenture making it seem as if the parts of its making would spring out and attack if given the chance.

If this would fail, Warsman would retrect his offensive back a few yards, landing on a great stone with all four limbs tucked underneath him like a perched jungle cat, ready to pounce again and continue to wear down its prey into nothingness.

The Rider stood there like a rock.  Completely unshaken, he was resolved in his purpose.  One way or another, vengeance would be served and Warsman would pay the ultimate price for the shedding of innocent blood.  His flaming skull of vengeance looked on at the imposing Man o' War.  Suddenly, the Rider reached into his long trench coat and drew one of the Colt's.  When he had transformed into the spirit of Vengeance, the two Colt's that were strapped to his torso drastically changed.  Now, they were twisted and contorted as if they were forged in the fires of Hell itself.  Images of skulls and chain links were molded into it and flames of hellfire radiated from the sides.

As he held the bringer of doom in his hand, the Rider squeezed the trigger and fired off a round towards Warsman.  Instead of a bullet, however, a concentrated shot of hellfire was expelled.  In doing so, the hellfire was concentrated and expelled with speeds far greater than the Rider could do on his own.  On-contact with its target, it would burn right through the victim's flesh and then consume the individual from the inside out.  It truly was an exscrutiating way to die.  Now, the bullet was practically upon Warsman in a matter of no time because it had been travelling so very fast.  However, the Rider watched as the flaming bullet pierced through......air.

Somehow, Warsman had vanished.  The Rider was about to start moving towards the Man o' War's position when the unthinkable happened.  Out of nowhere, Warsman appeared directly in front of Hell's bounty hunter.  In the blink of an eye, the mighty Warsman raised his armored elbow and struck the Rider.  The blow struck the flaming jaw of the Rider and the blade was plunged into his left shoulder.  The force of the blow had literally knocked the the Rider's jaw out of place, and the jaw was now hanging by a single hinge.

Slowly, the Rider turned to Warsman, reached up, grabbed his jaw, and shoved it back in place with a sickening crack.  As for the blade that was now plunged into his shoulder, the Rider thought it best to let it remain for a little while.  The raging hellfire that was radiating from his body had begun to crawl up the blade and melt it like hot butter.  With Warsman so close, the Rider had been placed in a position to execute his most deadly weapon.  Looking up at Warsman, he spoke the famous words......  "Look into my eyes.  Your soul has been stained by the blood of the innocent.....  Feel their pain......"  At that dreaded moment, the Rider attempted to deliver his greatest weapon of all:  the Penance Stare....

Warsman raised an eyebrow as this foe cracked his jaw back into place, as if it didn't harm him at all. The rider closed in, but spoke:

"Feel their pain..."

At that moment, Warsman smirked. His hands drew back into fists as his enemy's eyes began to glow with a sickly-orange light and his own eyes felt as if they were about to pop.

"I don't think so," said he, ripping the blade from his joint asunder with a great ripping motion and thus, perhaps, evading the brunt of his foe's offensive. Although, his eyes stung zealously afterwards for a long while.

Staggering backwards, he began to think he had taken too much of the attack and it was as if his brain was trying to break out of his skull. He dropped to a knee and clenched at his brow, thrusting his fists against the metal of his helmet with intent to make the sensation stop at any cost. It, the helmet, was dented and marred when this fit was over and Warsman feared at what his foe could do if he was allowed to pry deeper. The indentures and imperfections were soon eliminated as the metal seemed to spring alive and repair itself. Warsman stood, although shaking a bit, and retracted his armor back into his body for another time, another offensive maneuver; surely this man wasn't as fast as his power would make him out to be.

"Just what the hell are you?" Warsman asked, taking care to avoid the rider's gaze.

However, he wasn't so patient for an answer, meaning the question to keep the rider occupied for a moment. He extended a pair of claws, this time one from either far knuckle and each long enough to meet the other side of a human skull, for he meant to pry them into his foe's eyes and take out that menace, if possible. The cyborg vanished a second time, reappearing from the right flank of the rider, his deadlier hand aimed for its predestined target while the remaining one silently crept from behind to steady the rear of the fiery cranium, thus ensuring some promise of a fatality.

Warsman had miraculously managed to break free of the Rider's feared Penance Stare.  The next time, the spirit of Vengeance would have to hold nothing back.  Now, he watched as the legendary Man o' War stumbled back in pain.  Such a short glimpse had inflicted so much pain upon the creature.  The pain and suffering he had inflicted was now returning to him, and he was experiencing firsthand what each of his victims were going through on an equally painful level as they had experienced.  In only a few seconds, enough images and sensations were sent to keep the monster busy.

Gripping tightly onto the chain with both hands, the Rider once again engulfed it in the fires of Hell.  Warsman was still a bit lightheaded from the previous assault.  Then, the Man o' War said, "Just what the hell are you?"  The Rider simply responded by letting out a deep, nerve-shattering laugh.  Just as he was about to attack the Man o' War, Warsman teleported once again.  However, the ghost rider had already delved into Warsman's soul once.  Therefore, he used that to his advantage.  Even when Warsman disappeared, the Rider could sense where he was by sensing the presence of his soul.  He knew exactly where Warsman was going.  Tightening the grip on his fiendish chain, he was laying in wait for him to appear.  The bounty hunter of Hell was ready.

Suddenly, he felt Warsman's soul directly to his right.  A sick smile creapt over the Rider's flaming skull and he held onto the chain even tighter.  At that moment, the dreaded spirit of Vengeance spun to his right and leaped backwards.  Using the momentum of his body and hell-given strength, the Rider swung his chain outwards in an attempt to crack the firey links into Warsman's ribcage.  Just as he did so, Warsman had an attack ready of his own.  As the Rider was jumping backwards, the spikes from Warsman's fist struck against his forehead.  The blow came so hard, that had grinded a harsh mark upon the skull of Hell's bounty hunter.  The Rider was knocked back by the sheer force of the blow and his flaming body was sent spinning through the air and down to the ground.  However, the Rider willed himself to get up.  There he stood, chain-in-hand, ready to finish the fight.

He didn't know whether it was the harsh crack across his ribs or the fact his opponent was more wily than expected that had caused his attack to misfire. But whatever the reason, Warsman stood, a duo of ribs crushed and a horrid smoking gash where skin and flesh used to beat with the heart and thrive with blood, which was now pooling to the ground. He clenched his teeth to ignore the pain and to allow his body to do mose of the healing. This was one mistake too many, letting his armor down, the cyborg never knew himself to be so sloppy!

Though this caused a flaking in his self-confidence, he pressed onto his advantage and aimed to strike at the rider again, but time and again he would need to win this foe's trust and then proceed with a strategy that he would never follow or expect. The cyborg hadn't the time for that.

He cracked his neck and smiled, eyeing the rider carefully before undergoing a series of flashes, after each one he reappeared at least a yard away from the last one. He hoped this would keep his foe occupied by following him instead of his motives. He finally stopped this dance, but only a second would provide his opponent with another attack to carry into his growing set of wounds and scars.

A short conversation between Warsman's mind and the supercomputer in his neck yielded a chain of his own, though it was barbed and heated using plasma energy rather than a strange form of flame. This sprouted from his wrist in short order, already it was nearing upon the rider with each link thirsty for blood.

Ready to fight, the Rider was more resolved than ever to take the beast down.  He held up his flaming middle finger, which protruded from the fingerless gauntlets he was wearing.  Drastic times called for even more drastic measures.  Already, the Rider had begun to take his chances.  This creature was one of the toughest he had ever encountered.  Something extremely radical was needed if vengeance would be done.  Hellfire was one of the Rider's greatest weapons from the underworld.  Hellfire burned literally anything set in its path.  No matter how strong the substance was, hellfire would melt it like hot butter.  This had been proven from its contact with Warsman.  Even the Man o' War's durable hide and impeccable armor had given way.

"Time to burn that little m@f@....." he said with a bony grin.  With that, the Rider raised his hand towards Warsman.  With the taste of his soul still fresh in the Rider's mind, he used that to concentrate on.  Opening his mouth, the spirit of Vengeance let out a blood-curdling howl.  With his concentration locked onto Warsman's soul, the Rider attempted to perform a feat which could only be described as "sickening."  Forming a compact orb of hellfire, the Rider literally attempted to burn Warsman from the inside out.  Howling loudly as he did so, the Rider knew that this had to end soon.

As he howled from his enflamed skull, he attempted to also lock eyes with Warsman once again to send images of the painful sins of his past.  He began to tap into Warsman's soul and send more and more images and sensations of the painful afflictions suffered by Warsman's victims.  The whole time, he maintained his control of the hellfire.  There, a battle of epic proportions was unfolding.  With the dreaded Penance Stare being given and the gruesome attempt to burn Warsman from the inside out, nothing but vengeance and destruction lay ahead.  With Warsman's superior durability though, anything was possible.  Still, the Rider maintained his concentration and howled louder than ever.

The Man o' War stopped in his tracks and the chain crumpled to the ground. He was dreaming in mid-combat, and he tried to pry himself from it, but he couldn't. He seemed to just stand there while he reinacted the first murder of Tenjin, the time where he had ripped the ninja's spinal cord from his body. At that moment, he felt a sharp pain when his fingers entered Tenjin's back, as if he was digging to do the same to himself. The ripping motion and Warsman yelled in agony, falling to the ground in a heap. He couldn't, no, wouldn't move.

Slobber and blood pooled from his mouth as the rider howled. He reached to cover his ears and he yelled to block it out, but his attempts were all in vain. He suddenly felt his legs again and he stood quickly, averting the man's gaze whenever he could, but as he moved to strike the rider howled again like a beast, making the cyborg buckle again to the ground in some primoridal fear left unconquered.

He forced himself up the second time, ignoring the bestial cries of his foe to the best of his ability, even going so far as to shut out his audial sensors, but he put them back online after a while, remembering that this foe was capable of attacking from anywhere at any time. He decided to run interference noise and began to play songs ranging from Beethoven to Slayer. This seemed to work and Warsman took the uneasy metaphorical bridge to bring the offensive to the rider, extending all eight claws from his knuckles as he leaped and sought to bring each down into the ghostly man's throat.

Just as the Rider was about to perform the ultimate act of grotesqueness upon the body of Warsman, something happened.  He was about to open his hand and manipulate the hellfire he had created inside Warsman's body into expanding instantaneously.  Doing so would have literally burned the Man o' War from the inside out.  It would have been a sick, twisted, and excruciating death upon any foe.

Suddenly, Warsman sprang to his feet and lunged the Rider with what appeared to be a newfound quickness, or a second breath.  The magnificent opponent extracted four savage claws on each hand and raced towards Hell's bounty hunter with the swiftness of a cobra and the raw agression of a wolverine.  At that moment, eight razor-sharp claws came directly at the Rider's neck.  It was all that he could do to just avoid the piercing inflictions that awaited.  Turning to the side in an attempt to dodge, the eight claws sliced along the side of his bony neck, even managing to chip away part of the bone.  The Rider howled in pain, then issued his own lethal counter attack.

Once he had cleared the blow, he made a slight distance between himself and Warsman.  Then, the Rider placed his hands at his side and let out a terrifying roar.  As he did so, his skull literally rose up and started to spin.  Sharp, blackened rays of light and darkness eminated from his neck.  During this ghostly process, the spirit of Vengeance literally sent raw fear honing directly towards the soul of Warsman.  The fear was sent to temporarily paralyze Warsman, and leave him in a temporary state of fear and disillusionment.  Roaring as he did so, the bounty hunter of Hell had begun once again to toy with the mind of his opponent.  As he continued to pour the raw fear towards his enemy, his hands gripped onto the two Colt's forged in Hell.  It was time to end this once and for all.

The rider was rampant with madness, his neck and head bursting into a chorus of wails and screams from banshees and wraiths from beyond time and flesh. Warsman threw himself to the floor in agonizing fear and he covered his head and ears, trying to contain himself from the devil above him. All the things he had done now flashed before him in rapid order, as if the visions were comprehending him to understand them all at once, and he knew his prey and they knew him, but most of all he knew their fear and it ate him from the heart and mind and soul, burning what it left behind in a rampage of dark power.

He remembered, suddenly, his family passing before he had done, the daughter he was left to bury and the brother left in the bloodied snow. He felt sadness and grief turn to maddening heartbeats as it twisted and marred itself into unrelenting insanity and horror. He took his body to the air and yelled, cried, out for the rider and he made for him suddenly, blinded by the visions yet knowing his foe to be lurking near at hand.

He swiped and slashed at the rider, his fear turning into a steady anger and still growing, fueling what power he had as if his body were an engine. Blood dripped from the corners of his eyes as the powers failed to contain his growing wrath, resorting to physical pain to mirror that of his fallen enemies. Warsman felt again the cold grip on his spine and the tearing sensation therein, but he ignored and foamed from the maw as his vision trickled back.

The cyborg had heard the rider from behind, no more than a few yards, and his teeth glittered in the moonlight as he raised his right hand, the flesh steaming for no reason as it burst into flame. He let an insane cackle escape his lungs and he raised it higher, curling it into a fist before bringing it to the ground and allowing it to release the contents of Warsman's evil design: an atomic-level blast made of pure light and heat energy.

The fear began to take hold of the mighty Man o' War.  The once insanely powerful Warsman was stumbling around like a mad man, slashing and striking through the air.  What was once one of the most feared predators of all time had now become the prey.  Warsman now felt what it was like to be hunted.  Using the psychological, yet mystic warfare to his advantage, the Rider now stalked his blinded prey.  The bounty hunter of Hell was ready to collect his dues.  Making his way over to the mentally decimated Warsman, he raised the two Colt's from Hell.  Each dark weapon would shoot a tight, compact orb of hellfire into its target.  Once inside, the hellfire would expand and instantly burn the target from the inside out.  As sadistic grin grew over the Rider's face as he prepared to pull the triggers.

Suddenly, Warsman's hand shot up into the moonlight.  The Man o' War then brought it down upon the ground and released a poweful blast of light and heat energy.  The Rider gladly embraced heat and found it to be a strength.  However, the light effects sent the Rider flying back nearly five hundred yards.  The blunt force impacted upon his body equal to the impact of an oncoming vehicle.  As Hell's bounty hunter hit the ground, it remained motionless.  The fire eminating from his skull had ceased as well.  It appeared as if he was finally finished.  In actuality though, things were far from over.

Flames of hellfire quickly ignited around the Rider's skull once more and he sat up with a renewed determination.  Raising his hand to his mouth, he let out a sharp whistle.  Out of the carnage, he motorcycle came roaring up on its own.  Placing his flaming hands upon the gas tank, the Rider let out a hideous roar and the hog hideously transformed into a ride more suited towards its rider.  Chain still in hand, the Rider wrapped it around his torso and let it hang across from his shoulder.  With that, he mounted upon his enflamed vehicle of death, then rode towards Warsman's position, leaving a long trail of hellfire behind him.  The motorcycle tore across the ground with amazing speeds as the spirit of Vengeance grew stonger than ever.

Finally, he reached Warsman's location.  Jumping off the motorcycle, the Rider walked directly up to Warsman.  Now that Warsman was in a weakened state of mind, the Rider would hold nothing back.  Looking into Warsman's eyes, the Rider spoke once again, "Look into my eyes... Your soul has been stained with the blood of the innocent....  FEEL THEIR PAIN...... "  Locking onto the Man o' War's eyes, he sent the images of every victim Warsman had killed.  Furthermore, he sent the sensations of the pain those victims felt when they died.  Holding nothing back, the Rider poured out the full Penance Stare on one of his most challenging opponents of all time.

The blast...it took out everything around him. A crater replaced the landscape, charred and broken rocks and vegetation falling into it by the will of gravity. Warsman himself had felt the effects particularly horrifically: he was forced into a large rock and hung there, crucified in a way as his arms were outstreched in the imagry of Christ. His eyes were closed and his body was bleeding at a startling rate. Blood dripped from the tip of his mask and into a small puddle upon the ground.

However, he awoke and thrust himself from the stone, landing in an exaggerated squat as he held his arms forward, letting the knuckles nearly scrap against the ground in the state of sheer exhaustion he was in. The magnitude of this showed, as his accelerated healing factor was working at a sixth of its normal capacity and his wounds would bleed dry before they were even sealed.

He took an instant to survey what he had done, but his eyes were caught by a column of flame erupting from the tailpipe of a wrathful machine piloted by a rider who had regained his throne. "Feel their pain!!" the Man o' War's opponent cackled, speeding with the fury of Hell at his back. Warsman stood painfully, his bones creaking with degenerating power. He never knew himself to do such a thing - to waste most of one's strength in one blow was to throw away a battle - and he had done just that! This foe had a way of controlling one's emotions and somehow he gained dominion over the cyborg's mind through anger and made him waste such energy.

Warsman, though, had little time to think, for he felt his flesh grow cold, chilled as if in ice. His vision turned black and his body weak. Death was upon him! He yelled madness and bloody tidings to his foe, keeping himself pried to the Earth by a thread. But a hand came from the darkness and enveloped itself around him and he saw a face in the resulting flame of this new place, which all it was engulfed in fire and dancing lights and devils. He was naked, stripped of anything of value, and he knew nothing after that except the cackling of a foreign laughing face and the smell of furnaces.

By now, the Rider had taken Warsman by the neck and was holding him up.  Finally, the dreaded Penance Stare was over.  Warsman's face contained a blank stare.  His eyes, however, were the most horrifying spectacle of all.  They were black in color and burnt to a crisp.  Little patches of flames erupted slightly between the burnt coating on them.  With vengeance taken, the Rider dropped Warsman's lifeless body.  Suddenly, he reverted back into the human form of John Wallace.  Strangely, he had remembered all the incidents that had taken place after his transformation.  John came to grips with the startling reality that was his life.  He had truly become a spirit of Vengeance.

"Remarkable sensation, isn't it?" a bone-chilling voice said behind him.  As he turned around, John Wallace saw the stranger who had come to him so long ago.  Suddenly, it had all become so clear to him now.  The whole reason why he had been given that power was to serve this being.... Mephisto.  "Well done, John." he said as he leaned on his cane.

John pointed at the beast and said, "You did this to me.  You turned me into some kind of...monster!"

"No," Mephisto replied.  "We made an agreement....  I would help you,  then you would help me."  With a demonic smile over his face, the stranger walked over to Warsman's lifeless body and knelt down beside it.  "Long have I been after the soul of this creature.  Now, he is free to do my bidding as well.  With my powers within him, there will be no stopping me."

"Just what the f#ck are you talking about?!" Wallace demanded.  He watched as Mephisto took out a scroll.

Mephisto then said, "We made an agreement.  You carried out your end of the deal.  Now, I'll carry out mine.  Your life is your own."  John contemplated everything that was going on.  Indeed, he would have his freedom back.  However, he had just attained the ability to control the powers of the ghost rider.  "Besides," Mephisto said.  "I won't need you anyway.  I have the Man o' War on my side now."

John thought long and hard about the decision ahead of him.  "No....." he said in a firm tone of voice.  "I'm going to keep this curse, and I will control it.  Instead of doing your bidding though, I'm going to protect the innocent.  I'm going to fight you...."

With those words, John Wallace leaped onto his motorcycle and, under the moonlit sky, transformed back into the form of Vengeance.  He then throttled up his blazing cycle and tore across the landscape, leaving Mephisto alone.  A long, perilous journey lay ahead of him.  He was one who took upon himself a burden of responsibilty.  Blazing ahead, he left it all behind.  Who was he?  He was the Rider, and now he had something else to do.....