Legends claimed that some people, whether deceived or willingly corrupted, made bargains with demons from Hell.
In exchange for their souls, they were consumed by Hellfire, transformed into cursed Ghost Riders, and left to serve as Hell’s executioners in the mortal world.
It was an old tale, especially common throughout the American West.
Like many legends...
It wasn’t entirely fiction.
The blazing figure racing after Evenson’s car was proof enough.
Ordinarily, only a single Ghost Rider walked the Earth at any given time. For reasons no one fully understood, they spent most of their existence roaming the American Southwest.
New Mexico happened to be part of that territory.
And on Evenson’s first visit to the state...
His luck had held true to form.
The motorcycle’s engine roared louder.
"It’s gaining on us," Melinda warned, drawing her pistol and chambering a round.
Whatever the motorcycle had once been, Hellfire had remade it into something far beyond any earthly machine.
Its speed bordered on the impossible.
"I noticed."
Evenson glanced at the pistol in her hand.
"You really think that’s going to help?"
"I doubt it."
Melinda shook her head.
"But it makes me feel better."
That was all it was.
Psychological support.
The infernal motorcycle surged alongside them on the passenger side.
Evenson spared it a quick glance.
"I’ll admit..."
"It looks pretty cool."
Melinda instinctively raised her pistol.
Then she finally got a clear look at the rider.
She froze.
Until now, she’d assumed they were dealing with some kind of fire-powered mutant.
Powerful...
Dangerous...
But still human.
She couldn’t have been more wrong.
The rider wore battered biker leathers atop a motorcycle whose wheels burned with eternal flame.
There wasn’t a shred of flesh anywhere on his body.
Only a blazing skeleton.
Every bone burned with Hellfire.
Even the eye sockets held nothing except two blazing infernos.
His eyes...
His eyes...
Evenson had warned her.
Don’t look.
But shock stole her focus for a split second.
Her gaze met the Ghost Rider’s.
"...!"
Agony exploded through her body.
A fire ignited inside her soul.
Faces emerged from the flames.
People she’d killed.
The little girl from Barren Island.
A Soviet intelligence operative.
Names she’d forgotten.
Victims she’d buried so deeply in memory that she’d believed they were gone forever.
Now they stood before her again.
Twisted.
Screaming.
Condemning her.
Every accusation echoed directly into her mind.
"I told you not to look into his eyes!"
Evenson’s shout cut through the nightmare.
A heavy smack landed on the back of her head.
An icy current flooded into her body through the impact, extinguishing the spiritual fire consuming her.
The hallucinations shattered.
Melinda gasped for breath.
She had survived by sheer luck.
The Ghost Rider’s attention had never truly been on her.
To him, Evenson, a warlock wielding dark and forbidden magic, radiated far greater sin and far greater danger than an ordinary SHIELD operative.
Had the Rider focused his full Judgment upon Melinda...
Her soul would likely have burned away before Evenson could intervene.
The burning skeleton turned toward him.
"You..."
Its voice sounded like molten iron grinding across stone.
"...are guilty."
Evenson kept his eyes on the road.
"Maybe."
"But you’re not the one who gets to judge me."
Without looking away, he spoke to Melinda.
"Hold on."
A grin spread across his face.
Hidden beneath the gearshift was a small red button.
He’d installed it ages ago.
Until now...
He’d never had an excuse to use it.
His thumb pressed down.
The car lurched violently.
The exhaust pipes, which normally emitted nothing at all, suddenly belched a cloud of glowing green smoke.
Then roaring emerald flames erupted from them like miniature jet engines.
The tires began glowing.
Green light spread across the rubber before ghostly emerald fire engulfed every wheel.
For a brief moment...
The car looked almost like a four-wheeled counterpart to the Ghost Rider’s infernal motorcycle.
Soul Engine Overload: Activated.
"Let’s see what you’ve got."
The car exploded forward.
Acceleration slammed both passengers against their seats.
The speedometer climbed past six hundred kilometers per hour almost instantly.
The Ghost Rider vanished into the distance behind them.
Only then did Melinda finally catch her breath.
"What..."
She swallowed.
"What was that thing?"
"The Penance Stare."
Evenson eased his grip on the wheel now that they’d bought themselves some distance.
"It burns the soul."
"The fuel is your own guilt."
Melinda stared out the windshield.
"...Then I really am guilty."
The memory of that burning sensation still lingered deep inside her.
Evenson shrugged.
"Maybe."
"Maybe not."
"The Rider’s standards don’t exactly line up with ours."
"And they don’t always make sense."
That wasn’t speculation.
Ghost Riders judged according to the laws of Hell.
Petty offenses might earn absolute condemnation.
Meanwhile, someone guilty of horrific crimes under human law might escape judgment entirely.
Trying to apply human morality to infernal justice was an exercise in frustration.
After several more minutes of high-speed flight, warning runes flickered across Evenson’s dashboard.
The Soul Engine had reached its limit.
"Looks like that’s all it can handle."
With obvious disappointment, he disengaged the overload system.
The emerald flames disappeared.
The wheels returned to normal.
The exhaust fell silent.
Their speed dropped back to something resembling an ordinary sports car.
Unfortunately...
That also meant the Ghost Rider would eventually catch up again.
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