At night, a sleek black sedan sped along the winding mountain road, cutting through the darkness with its high beams. Inside sat a boy of about ten years old, huddled next to a well-maintained woman in her early thirties with smoky makeup. They were Nadya and Danny—a mother and her son, the latter being the progeny of a demon, both currently on the run.
"Mom, how long do we have to live like this?" Danny asked, lifting his head to look at his mother with weary eyes.
"I don't know, Danny. But it will all be over soon, my child," Nadya said, stroking his hair comfortingly.
But even as she spoke, she lacked confidence in her own words. Being targeted by a cunning devil like Roarke, who had been planning this for years, meant their chances of survival were terrifyingly slim.
"We will survive," Danny said suddenly, taking his mother's hand in his.
As a cambion—a child of a demon—his powers were currently sealed by Roarke, but that didn't hinder his precocious intellect. With the sensitive nerves he was born with, he could clearly see the fear trembling beneath Nadya's brave face.
"Mom, after we've settled down, how about finding me a father? A real father," Danny suggested, trying to distract her. "Roarke is just a monster who wants to use me. I want a real dad. What kind of man do you like? Tell me."
Nadya blushed slightly, realizing Danny was trying to cheer her up. For a moment, she let herself slip into the daydreams of her youth.
"When I was a student, I always had a dream," she murmured, a faint smile touching her lips. "In the dream, when I was most desperate, a superhero would appear. He would have wings on his back and be surrounded by dazzling light. He would descend from the sky, destroy all the enemies, and save me from a bad life."
"Wow! That sounds like a cool dad," Danny said, his eyes flashing with yearning. "What does he look like in your dream?"
"The light on his body was always too dazzling, so I never saw his face clearly," Nadya laughed softly, realizing how silly she sounded. "Don't tease your mother like this."
CRASH!
Suddenly, reality shattered the moment. Several dark SUVs rushed out from a side road, slamming violently into their car.
"Damn it! They found us!" Nadya screamed, wrestling with the steering wheel. She tried to swerve, but it was too late. Another impact sent their car spinning off the road, crashing into a ditch.
Before Nadya could recover from the shock, the SUVs surrounded them. A group of armed mercenaries dragged the mother and son out of the wreckage.
"Danny!" Nadya shouted in despair as she saw her son being manhandled. Before she could rush to him, she was kicked to the ground by a tall, scarred man.
"Carrigan! Please! That's my son!" Nadya pleaded, looking up at the man. She knew him; they had a history.
"I know that, Nadya," Carrigan squatted down, looking at her with cold eyes. He snorted. "But he's not mine."
"Don't worry, I won't kill the boy. He is the package my employer wants," Carrigan sneered. "But you? You're different. Did you really think I would forgive you for leaving me for a demon?"
It was a twisted irony. Roarke, the ancient devil, had hired Carrigan, Nadya's ex-lover, to hunt them down. If this story were published in a gossip magazine, the headlines would be filled with words like "Shocking!" and "Scandalous!"
Just as Carrigan aimed his gun at Nadya's head to finish the job, the roar of a motorcycle engine tore through the night.
Everyone turned to look at the overpass above. A motorcycle wreathed in flames swooped down like a meteor, defying gravity.
Nadya stared at the flames, her heart skipping a beat. It reminded her of her dream—the hero descending from the sky. But as the figure landed, the fantasy crumbled.
It wasn't a shining angel. It was a skeleton in a leather jacket, its skull engulfed in black, smoky fire.
The Ghost Rider had arrived.
Despite his corrupted appearance, the Rider's strength was undeniable. He whipped a chain of magma from his chest and swung it in a wide arc. The chain sliced through two mercenaries instantly, turning them into ash.
The mercenaries, hardened killers who licked blood from their knives, faltered. Facing a literal demon from Hell tends to weaken one's resolve.
"Don't panic! Get the heavy weapons!" Carrigan shouted, stabilizing his men.
Carrigan retrieved a grenade launcher from his trunk. He took aim and fired.
BOOM!
The explosive round hit the Ghost Rider square in the chest, blasting him back five or six meters.
Seeing the monster fall, the mercenaries regained their courage. They popped their trunks, pulling out machine guns and RPGs, aiming everything they had at the fallen Rider.
Carrigan didn't stay to watch. He grabbed Danny and dragged him into his car. "Drive!" he barked at his driver, leaving his men behind as cannon fodder.
The Ghost Rider tried to intercept, but a barrage of concentrated fire slammed into him. The sheer force pushed him back into a parked car, which exploded as a stray bullet hit its fuel tank.
"Keep shooting! We can kill it!" one mercenary shouted excitedly, reloading his launcher.
Suddenly, a red-hot chain flew out of the inferno. It pierced the shouting mercenary's chest. The terrible flames of Hell extended along the chain, wrapping around his body and soul, burning him to nothingness amidst agonizing screams.
The others panicked. They tried to retreat, but the chain moved like a sentient viper, hunting them down one by one.
"Die! Die!" A man fired his machine gun wildly, screaming in terror.
The Ghost Rider ignored the bullets. He opened his jaw, unhinging it like a snake, and inhaled. He swallowed the bullet stream whole, then spat the molten lead back out like a shotgun blast, shredding the man's chest.
"Help! Help me!" The last mercenary fell to his knees, his legs too weak to carry him.
At that moment, two more figures descended from the sky—a young man about twenty years old and a small girl.
"Hey, keep one alive. Don't eat them all," Ethan Hunt said, stepping in front of the Rider.
The Ghost Rider looked at Ethan, his black flames flickering. "I... hunger. I need the souls of the wicked."
"I don't care about your diet plan. I need intel," Ethan said expressionlessly.
The Rider growled, his flames swelling, but the restrictions of the contract—and perhaps a lack of motivation—held him back. He slumped down by his bike, the fire extinguishing as he reverted into an unconscious Johnny Blaze.
"They said blackening makes you stronger," Ethan muttered, looking at the sleeping Johnny. "Why does he feel weaker? It's like he's quiet quitting."
"He's forced to work overtime on a weekend," Luna quipped. "Of course he's slacking off. The corruption makes him more cunning, but also lazier."
Ethan sighed and turned to Nadya, who was still on the ground, shivering.
"You are Nadya? Danny's mother?" Ethan asked gently.
"Who are you?" Nadya asked, her eyes full of vigilance.
"S.H.I.E.L.D.," Ethan flashed his badge. "The name should be familiar."
"So you aren't with the Devil," Nadya relaxed slightly, but then grabbed Ethan's arm. "You have to save Danny! He's just a child! Can I trust you?"
"Don't worry, ma'am. Helping those in need is in the job description," Coulson's voice came from behind. He walked up, smoothing his suit, smiling that reassuring, high-hairline smile of his.
"Please trust us. My team is professional," Coulson helped her up. Nadya's eyes brightened at his gentle demeanor—until she saw Melinda May standing behind him, radiating an aura of pure murder.
"Did you find the lair?" Ethan asked Coulson.
"Uh... sorry. We lost them," Coulson's smile froze.
"You're kidding," Ethan stared. "You are Level 8 agents. You have a Quinjet. And you lost a car?"
"It wasn't a normal car," Coulson looked embarrassed. "It was a Wuling Hongguang van. And the driver... he drifted around corners using inertial physics I've never seen. The last thing I saw was a 'Leak Repair' sticker on the bumper before he vanished."
"So, the legendary Wuling Hongguang drift defeated S.H.I.E.L.D.," Ethan rubbed his temples. "Do you want me to challenge him to a race on Mount Akina next?"
"No, it wasn't just the driving," Coulson pulled up a holographic display. "Look at the footage. The van literally disappears after the turn."
"Cloaking technology?" Ethan asked.
"Wuling vans don't come with Klingon cloaking devices," Coulson said. "I suspect a Meta ability. Or X-Crystals sold on the black market."
"So we shot ourselves in the foot with the globalization of powers?" Melinda interjected dryly.
"Everything has two sides," Ethan said firmly. "We can't stop progress just because criminals use it. If we ban powers, we end up like the Qing Dynasty banning firearms—waiting to be conquered by aliens with bigger guns."
"Great speech," Melinda rolled her eyes. "But where are the mercenaries?"
"I have a faster way," Ethan turned to the shivering mercenary he had saved from the Rider.
"Dude," Ethan smiled, pointing at the sleeping Johnny. "Do you want to wake up the skull guy? Or do you want to talk?"
The mercenary's pupils shrank. "No! Keep that monster away! I'll talk! We don't have a base, but Carrigan is meeting an arms dealer tomorrow night at a quarry!"
"Coulson, find the quarry," Ethan ordered.
"Easy peasy," Coulson grinned at Melinda. "Right, May?"
Melinda ignored him completely, storming back to the Quinjet. Coulson stood there, confused. "What did I do this time?"
Meanwhile, in a dark castle, an elderly gentleman in a top hat sat across from a middle-aged businessman, sipping tea.
"They found you quickly," the businessman said coldly. "Is this your doing, Mephisto?"
"You will fail, Roarke," Mephisto replied calmly, sipping his tea.
"I don't fear your threats," Roarke sneered. "This is a nexus point. Once the Nine Realms align, I will open the gates of Hell. Human progress is irrelevant against a legion. Once I harvest Danny's power, I will take your throne."
"I know," Mephisto stood up, a mysterious smile playing on his lips. "That is why I added a little seasoning to my Knight. It might ruin my plans for him, but to get rid of you, sacrifices must be made."
Mephisto walked into the shadows and vanished.
Roarke sat alone, his face gloomy. He slammed his fist on the table.
"Fine. If mercenaries won't work..."
In the darkness of the corridor, countless pairs of blood-red eyes opened. Roarke was done playing hide and seek. He was bringing out his real capital.
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Word count: 1797
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