Richard ignored Johnny Storm's dark expression and the frenzy of reporters snapping photos. With Fina Lyle on his arm, he walked calmly into the hotel and disappeared from the entrance hall.
The reporters, however, did not lose interest. If security had allowed it, several of them would have rushed over to interrogate the Human Torch about his sudden romantic collapse. Cameras continued flashing relentlessly in his direction.
Johnny's mood, already sour, deteriorated further under the barrage of lenses.
With a furious roar, golden flames erupted around him. In a split second, he transformed into the Human Torch and blasted into the sky like a missile, streaking away toward the Baxter Building.
He offered no explanation, but his exit said enough.
The reporters were delighted.
The story had just become far more profitable.
…
Inside the banquet hall, Richard was immediately surrounded. Politicians, executives, and socialites approached him with polished smiles and overly warm greetings. Though he recognized few of them, he responded with courteous indifference.
While exchanging pleasantries, he scanned the room.
He found Wilson Fisk quickly.
Kingpin stood out in any crowd. Nearly two meters tall and weighing over two hundred kilograms—most of it muscle—he was an imposing presence in a tailored suit. He spoke calmly to a guest, but the sheer difference in physical scale made the exchange look like an interrogation.
Fisk sensed Richard's gaze and turned.
Surprise flickered across his face.
He had sent an invitation, but he had not expected Richard to attend. In truth, Fisk understood the disparity between them. As powerful as he was in the underworld, against someone like Richard he was insignificant. If Richard wished him dead, it would take little effort.
After concluding his current conversation, Fisk approached with two suited subordinates.
Though both men wore expensive custom suits, the difference between them was obvious. Richard radiated restrained elegance; Fisk radiated contained violence.
To ordinary people, Kingpin's presence was oppressive. Fina certainly felt it. Standing beside Richard, she stiffened slightly as Fisk drew near.
Richard, however, felt nothing.
To superhumans, Fisk's physical prowess was impressive but limited. Punching through concrete and mastering elite combat techniques meant little in a world of Omega-level mutants.
Fisk greeted Richard politely as host and guest, then departed without lingering.
Only after he left did Fina exhale.
"He feels terrifying," she murmured.
Richard did not respond.
…
The charity auction began shortly afterward. Fisk delivered a practiced speech about philanthropy before yielding the stage to the auctioneer.
Richard understood the reality.
Fisk would not keep the money. He did not need it. The event served a reputational purpose. Publicly, he was Wilson Grant Fisk, philanthropist. Privately, he was the axis of organized crime.
Ordinary citizens would see headlines praising his generosity. They would not know that a third of the attendees had gang affiliations. They would not know which politicians had accepted his bribes. Nor would they investigate the origins of certain auction items too deeply.
In America, the public saw what capital allowed them to see.
Richard had come for Ghost Rider, but he participated nonetheless. He purchased several pieces of fine jewelry, spending millions without hesitation.
Fina's smile widened.
She clearly believed the gifts were for her.
Richard noticed the expression immediately.
"These aren't for you," he said calmly. "Don't misunderstand."
Her face stiffened briefly, then she recovered with practiced grace.
"I'm already honored to accompany you," she replied softly. Leaning close, she whispered, "My sister is home tonight."
"We'll see."
If Ghost Rider did not appear, he would not object to further entertainment.
…
Baxter Building.
Johnny Storm sat alone in the living room, nursing a glass of whiskey. His custom suit had burned away during his transformation; he now wore his Fantastic Four uniform.
The humiliation replayed endlessly in his mind.
He disliked Richard intensely.
Yet despite his anger, he did not consider murder. He was reckless, not evil.
After draining his glass, he stepped onto the balcony and stared over the city lights.
He needed air.
Flames ignited around him once more. He launched into the night sky, weaving between skyscrapers at high speed.
It was supposed to clear his head.
Instead, over Brooklyn, he saw something unusual.
Below him, on a dimly lit street, stood a figure in a black leather jacket and jeans. A heavy chain hung across the body. Beside it rested a motorcycle engulfed in flames.
But the true focal point was the skull.
A blazing skull wreathed in golden fire.
Ghost Rider.
Johnny did not recognize him. His first assumption was mutant.
Richard's name flashed in his thoughts.
He scowled.
The flaming skull was pursuing several armed men who were clearly criminals. Even without context, their weapons and panic were telling.
Johnny descended without hesitation.
He hovered above Ghost Rider and hurled a fireball downward.
The explosion engulfed the rider in flames.
Ghost Rider did not move.
He looked up slowly.
"Do all you mutants solve things like Richard?" Johnny shouted. "Violence first?"
Ghost Rider said nothing.
After a brief pause, he turned away, focusing again on the fleeing gang members.
Johnny felt ignored.
Irritated, he launched another fireball, this time directly at Ghost Rider's skull.
The explosion cracked against bone and hellfire.
"I'm talking to you, Skull!"
Ghost Rider paused.
In his internal judgment, Johnny's sins did not yet merit punishment. But repeated interference shifted the calculation.
The Spirit of Vengeance decided to respond.
Ghost Rider turned fully and removed the chain wrapped around his torso.
Johnny smirked.
"A chain?"
The metal glowed red as hellfire enveloped it.
Johnny's expression hardened.
Without warning, Ghost Rider flicked his wrist.
The chain extended unnaturally, stretching dozens of meters in an instant—chain magic.
Johnny darted sideways, narrowly avoiding the first strike. The flaming chain snapped past him with a thunderous crack.
Johnny accelerated upward, evading another whip-like lash. The chain coiled and struck again, each impact carving burning scars into the pavement below.
This was no ordinary opponent.
Ghost Rider advanced slowly, hellfire intensifying.
Johnny gathered flames in both hands and released a concentrated blast.
The fire engulfed Ghost Rider once more.
When the flames cleared, the skeletal figure remained unmoved.
Golden eyes burned brighter.
For the first time, Johnny felt something unfamiliar.
Concern.
.....
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