Rated: T+
Disclaimer: I do not own anything which does not belong to me. All properties are owned by Marvel Comics. I do own, however, my adaption to a certain character and this story idea.
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The sun would rise shortly, its entrance would ignite the flames of hades, and only a fool would willingly sojourn in this forsaken land. Crimson flames ride behind dust, burning Hades’ image permanently into our skulls. It is an aftershock of the moving motorcycle, the legendary Ghost Rider wields. Dust continues to soar, transporting a natural powder throughout the desert. A region so arid, only a Ghost could travel.
Out of nowhere, a temple appears. A man knelt before the shrine, heedless of the Ghost’s arrival, rest under the blistering sun, beseeching the earth, in wait of Hades’ forsaken affection. The battle has not begun, but it is already over. As the infernos halt, so does the rider.
“Plea,” the Rider said, his bike screeching to a standstill.
“You are too late.” The man said. His even voice matched his calm, collective posture. “He is coming.”
“Then,” the Rider said, reaching beside him, brandishing a heavy chain, approximately 3 feet long. “Let me help you welcome him.”
With a mighty chuck, the Rider heaved the manacle, cutting through the wind, and landing around the other man’s neck. Tightly secured, he pulled. Shattering his neck, the chain wielder stared at the corpse. Neither stirring nor active, the man, who wore white robes, was dead. Turning towards the temple, Ghost Rider began to walk, except something prevented him from doing so.
Looking down, examining closer, black spots surrounded his feet, and extended from the carcass. Leaving his feet, the Rider gained freedom, but whatever it was, began to move. Creeping through sand, it slivered like desert snakes. Slowly and oily, biting into the dead flesh, something began growing. Sprouting arachnid legs, then a blue torso, wearing a black leotard, the exiled being, Hades appeared. A cape with tendrils crawling on the ground draped incompletely around his frame.
“Ah, Infernal evildoers,” A devilish smile framed his face. It was picture time; the theme was Horror. “Hades has return."
Somewhat verdantly, or even cautiously, the Ghost Rider leapt of the bike. Chained wrapped in his hand, and knuckles tight, he was ready for a fight. Heaving the chain everywhere overhead like a spinning wheel, he shot. However, somehow, it just fell to the ground. Two large dents: One beside the Ghost Rider, and the other practically below him decorated the desert floor. Ghost rider glanced upward, away from the fallen weapon. In just a matter of seconds, Hades had relocated.
“Let’s put the toys down. “ His hand grasps the Rider’s arm, between the points of interjection. “I wouldn’t want to break them, now would I?”
Ghost Rider twisted, releasing the hold. His fist, aimed unswervingly at the exiled Olympian’s face, missed. Instead of catching the specific lifeless flesh, it hit the dead hand. A shockwave ripped through the air, blowing up residue of dust and sand. Hade’s grip tightened, shattering bones, even further than possibly before. Remarkably, the Ghost Rider let out a silent shrill of pain.
Hades kicked the open-mouthed Ghost in the stomach. Launching him a few meters backwards, the exiled Olympian said, “Have I won already? Continuing after the fallen Rider, he casually walked. While his cape crept, blue blames beckon behind him, fluttering in the wind. Gaining no reply, the King of the Netherworlds stopped, boringly staring at the now fallen human. “Ah, the Ghost has left already.”
“No.” The former Ghost Rider, Johnny Blaze said. Gathering sand in his hands, he slowly rises. Behind him, a wave of steam scorched the air. In the heat wave, he turned around slightly, partially facing Hades. “We… are just getting started.” Behind him, everything burned.
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This was a fun story to get the blood pumping in the morning. My first time writing about Ghost Rider too. I hope everyone enjoyed it.
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