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A New Identity Every Week - Chapter 75: Relic! Wrath of the Lord of Hell!
🕑 Added 2025-10-09 11:09:13 +0000 UTCHerman watched Johnny Blaze leave, his expression dazed and his eyes unfocused. Without hesitation, he shot into the sky, breaking through the clouds.
Standing above them, gazing down at the earth, the feeling was indescribably magnificent. Herman hadn’t used Raven Teleportation this time—he wanted to savor the experience of flight himself.
Otherwise, he could have simply teleported back with Quicksilver and Wanda earlier.
When he first went searching for Wanda, he couldn’t use Raven Teleportation since he didn’t know her exact location and had never been to that side before. On the way back, he could have used it, but really—flight is humanity’s ultimate dream. Who would ever turn down soaring through the sky?
And standing on the clouds… that was pure exhilaration. Of course, Herman had no intention of unleashing a Getsuga Tensho; he just loved the view of the night city, glittering with countless lights. In truth, it was fortunate he hadn’t teleported the twins straight back to Stellar Tower.
At the time, aside from wanting to fly above the clouds once more, Herman also intended for Quicksilver to do some mental groundwork with Wanda before returning. That decision, as it turned out, spared Stellar Tower from disaster.
Once Ghost Rider locked onto a target, even fleeing to the North or South Pole wouldn’t matter. Had he followed them back to Stellar Tower, the financial losses alone would have been staggering, and seasoned killers like Cross and Fox would have been the first casualties.
Assassins live with blood on their hands.
Cross and Fox were just highly skilled professionals with a few unique abilities—there was no way they could escape Ghost Rider’s judgment.
Skye probably wouldn’t have fared any better.
Wanda and Quicksilver both lived there as well. Perhaps only Wanda, with her Chaos powers, could have survived.
Even Carrie had been staying at the Tower lately, claiming she liked the company atmosphere. But as a mutant with the “Gluttony” trait, she was just as vulnerable. Gluttony is, after all, one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Who knew if Ghost Rider would mark her for judgment?
Herman doubted frail little Carrie could withstand it.
“I need to find a way to raise the strength of everyone back at base,” Herman thought. After admiring the nightscape one last time, a circle of ravens appeared beneath his feet.
The ravens multiplied and swirled around him, enveloping his figure. When they dispersed, Herman had vanished into the clouds.
...
Roughly half an hour after Herman and Johnny Blaze had gone, squads of armed men stormed the abandoned factory.
The troops moved with precision, surrounding the perimeter, while black-suited agents with ties searched every corner.
Technicians quickly set up instruments at key locations, scanning the ruins for lingering traces of unusual energy.
“How’s the scene?”
A middle-aged man stepped out of a Chevrolet SUV, his receding hairline obvious, though his eyes carried a calm warmth. It was Coulson—fresh from a call with Director Nick Fury.
“That skull-headed freak straight out of a horror movie was definitely here. We found plenty of motorcycle tire tracks on the ground.” A broad-shouldered Black officer, seemingly in charge of the troops, reported with disbelief.
“I still can’t wrap my head around it… a skeleton riding a motorcycle.”
S.H.I.E.L.D. had only recently received this intel. In fact, even news outlets had captured footage of the flaming skull.
Clearly, in his pursuit of Herman, Ghost Rider hadn’t bothered to cover his tracks. Fortunately, S.H.I.E.L.D. had moved fast, concealing the supernatural truth from the public eye.
But with more and more incidents piling up, Fury was running out of patience. He didn’t know how much longer they could keep the world stable while hiding these truths.
He had just been venting about it to Coulson over the phone. Coulson himself was already exhausted from handling the constant stream of supernatural cases.
“There will always be things in this world we can’t understand. As S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, all we can do is learn to accept the impossible.”
Coulson clapped the black officer on the shoulder. His hairline was retreating further every month—a price he paid for working late nights, every night.
“Any other findings at the scene?” Coulson asked, glancing toward the technicians. A bespectacled girl stepped forward, clutching a laptop in her arms.
“This place saw an incredibly brutal battle. Besides the heightened energy levels, we also collected some skeletal samples.”
Her tone brimmed with excitement. “I think they’re the ashes of the flaming skull. I can’t wait to get them back to the lab and find out what kind of creature it was—and how it could keep burning like that.”
She was clearly a scientist at heart. Everything had to be explained through science.
“And that skull—how could it set a motorcycle on fire? God, anyone would fall in love with that badass bike.”
The African-American armed officer cut in, his tone full of envy. No man could resist a Hellfire Harley.
“Exactly. That bike should’ve burned to ashes, especially since that skull’s flames can melt steel.”
The bespectacled girl nodded eagerly. Before arriving here, they had all watched the Ghost Rider videos.
A patrol officer in some remote town had caught it all on his body camera.
At one point, the traffic cop even tried to ticket Ghost Rider for speeding. But when he stopped him, he was so terrified that his instincts kicked in—he pulled out his sidearm and emptied the entire magazine.
Of course, the bullets couldn’t harm Ghost Rider. He dodged the shots with ease and melted the gun into a pool of molten metal.
From that footage, the bespectacled girl estimated Ghost Rider’s flames burned at least a thousand degrees.
“Kid, not everything can be explained with science… you’ll understand that someday.” Coulson gave the young woman—fresh out of S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy—a meaningful look before walking toward the massive crater left where Herman had slammed Ghost Rider down.
“Take a guess—how do you think this crater was made?” Coulson asked the nearby agents, his tone part inquiry, part test.
“Must’ve been… some kind of explosion? Maybe a grenade? No, more likely a small mortar round.”
The armed agent, a former Marine, offered his guess thoughtfully.
“You should watch more TV. Catch up on the recent hits… This was most likely a fist.” Coulson patted him on the shoulder.
“A fist?”
The man froze. He couldn’t comprehend it. A fist causing this much destruction?
“I’ll check the other side.” Coulson headed toward the collapsed structure. A voice crackled through his earpiece.
“Agent Coulson, any findings?” It was Maria Hill, Level 9 S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, speaking from headquarters.
“Unfortunately, no suspicious individuals here. Looks like that bad-tempered Ghost Rider has already left.” Coulson had a habit of nicknaming unknown entities, and his choice this time was already close to the official one.
“Coulson, collect every piece of evidence you can. Don’t overlook even the burned soil. We may extract something useful from it!” Hill’s stern voice came through clearly.
“I know how to do my job. In fact, we’ve already found something more significant—possibly ashes from Ghost Rider himself.” Coulson’s voice came slightly breathless as he squeezed into the rubble.
“That’s good news.”
Hill sounded pleased.
“I think I may have even better news.” Coulson, wearing gloves, lifted something from the debris.
“Looks like Ghost Rider fought someone here… and left something behind.”
In his hands was an ancient scroll.
Just holding it made Coulson feel as though he heard faint wails—no, countless voices crying out from within the parchment.
Coulson had found the San Venganza Contract.
Johnny Blaze clearly hadn’t realized he’d dropped it.
And when Herman searched through Ghost Rider’s memories, he hadn’t viewed everything. He only looked for the information he needed. Watching an entire lifetime’s worth of memories was no simple task.
As a result, Herman had no idea that Ghost Rider had visited an old gravedigger before meeting him—and obtained this very contract.
In the end, it was all coincidence.
As S.H.I.E.L.D. surveyed the site and carefully sealed the San Venganza Contract in a secure container…
Thousands of miles away, inside a chain hamburger joint...
Mephisto, his face growing increasingly withered, was savoring a cheeseburger. Clearly, he had struck another deal—one that drained even more of this avatar’s lifespan.
“Every time I come to the human world, I marvel at its beauty. This place should belong to me,” Mephisto murmured as a server brought over a plate of fried chicken nuggets.
The server was a young country girl with golden hair, a pure soul, and the heavy burden of her parents’ debts. She had come to the city to work and pay them off.
“I can see you’re strapped for cash, and I happen to have some extra funds… Interested in making a little deal for money?”
Mephisto had always favored kind souls.
“Sorry, I’m not sleeping with an old man.” The girl’s lovely features twisted with discomfort as she eyed him strangely.
Clearly, she misunderstood.
Mephisto froze mid-smile.
“No, no, no. I don’t lack women. In fact, I recently had a woman bear me a child. What I mean is a different kind of deal.”
His tone carried an insidious allure.
“So you’re a loan shark?” The girl’s face lit with sudden realization. She had met people like that before. Somehow, they always managed to discover her financial struggles. More than once, she suspected the bank that issued her credit card of selling her information.
“Of course not. I’m just a wealthy old man with time to spare, looking to discuss a future arrangement. You’d only need to pay a trivial price in exchange for…” Mephisto began to weave his words, ready to ensnare her.
But then, his expression shifted sharply as if sensing something.
“Damn it! My war knight!”
He could no longer sense Johnny Blaze—or the contract tied to him. The realization struck: his war knight had been erased.
Mephisto had never considered that anyone could wipe away his contracts. They were forged with Hell’s own power.
On this tiny Earth, not even the Sorcerer Supreme could undo them.
“What are you talking about?” The girl frowned. Was this old man insane?
“Damn you! How dare you kill my knight!” Mephisto no longer cared about deceiving the kind soul in front of him.
He had lost his most unique Spirit of Vengeance—along with his most unique contract bearer.
To Mephisto, losing one or two Ghost Riders usually meant nothing.
But this time, it was Johnny Blaze.
And with him, the fallen angel within. How could such a combination possibly be destroyed by a mere Earthling?
“Who was it!”
Mephisto’s face twisted into a monstrous snarl. He had planned to use Johnny Blaze to claim the power of the Medallion of Power.
Now even the Spirit of Vengeance bound to Zarathos’s soul was gone. This was not how things were supposed to unfold.
As Mephisto roared,
Crackle!
In the fast-food restaurant on the city’s outskirts, tables and utensils rattled violently. Light bulbs flickered, then exploded in showers of glass.
In the final flash of light, the girl saw the old man’s true face—a visage so terrifying it could make anyone cry.
She thought it was her imagination.
But then—
Boom!
Lightning slashed across the sky outside, the localized wrath of a devil. In its glare, she saw clearly:
It wasn’t her imagination.
The old man before her truly bore the face of a demon straight from hell.
“Ahhh!!”
The girl screamed at the top of her lungs and bolted, stumbling and crawling even after falling, driven purely by survival instinct.
Normally, Mephisto would have delighted in toying with a terrified soul, chasing them for sport.
But not tonight.
The losses were too great.
He sat amid the wreckage of the darkened fast-food joint, his face grotesque, his gaze so heavy it could freeze a child’s breath.
“Who holds such power?”
Names flashed rapidly through his mind.
Of all the powerful beings he knew, none would dare provoke him so recklessly by destroying a Ghost Rider—much less one tied to his offspring.
The Ancient One? Odin? Even they wouldn’t dare.
“Whoever it is…”
Mephisto turned toward the window, glaring at the lightning-torn sky. His low growl was drenched in rage and unwillingness.
This is provocation! A declaration of war against me!
The power of Hell churned violently within his avatar.
He knew: if even Blackheart and Ghost Rider had fallen, then this fragment of his power was no match for the killer.
But...
“My power will soon descend upon the mortal world!” Mephisto thought of the demon child he had recently sired through a human woman.
That child would serve as his vessel, capable of holding power surpassing even the Sky Father level. When that day came, no one on Earth could stand against him.
Of course, the woman still needed ten months to give birth.
Mephisto didn’t feel like waiting that long.
“Seems I’ll need to find an old acquaintance and strike a deal painful even for me. I’ll make that murderer learn what it means to provoke me!”
“He will suffer in my Hell—for one hundred million years!”
His venomous voice echoed through the ruined, silent restaurant.
