Sorcerer in the Marvel Universe

Evenson stepped out of his room and into the base courtyard.

The engine’s roar hit him immediately.

It wasn’t just loud. It was the kind of sound that would earn noise complaints anywhere on Earth. There was only one motorcycle capable of making that particular infernal symphony.

The Ghost Rider had arrived.

Johnny Blaze sat astride his hellish bike, its chrome frame wrapped in flickering Hellfire. Judging by his appearance, he’d fully recovered from the injuries of their last encounter and could transform again without issue.

Fortunately, he’d also learned something from that encounter.

Instead of charging in while bellowing You are guilty! and swinging chains at everything in sight, he simply watched Evenson from the saddle.

Evenson studied him in return.

Last time had been too chaotic to appreciate the details. Now he had the chance.

The motorcycle was gorgeous.

Whether its aesthetic counted as gothic, heavy metal, or something that existed only in nightmares, it looked incredible. Everything the Ghost Rider touched seemed to undergo the same impossible transformation. Set it on Hellfire once, and it came back looking like the coolest thing imaginable.

Whether the upgrade actually improved performance was almost beside the point.

It always looked spectacular.

Now that’s a power worth stealing, Evenson thought. Give me that ability and I could turn a beat-up three-wheeler into something that looked ready to invade the galaxy.

Unfortunately, it clearly wasn’t an inherent property of Hellfire itself. He’d harvested plenty of Hellfire from the Ghost Rider before, yet none of his possessions had spontaneously become infernal works of art.

That meant the transformation was a unique talent of the Rider.

A shame.

He shook the thought away and lifted the can of beer in his hand.

"I assume you didn’t come here looking for another fight." He gestured casually. "Why don’t you drop the transformation so we can talk like civilized people? Or..." He glanced toward the flaming bike. "You could help me grill some chicken wings with that fire. Beer always tastes better with barbecue."

The Ghost Rider remained silent.

If burning someone alive had been socially acceptable, this conversation probably would’ve ended differently.

A few moments later, the flames receded.

Johnny Blaze stepped off the motorcycle and started walking toward him.

"Where’s the contract?"

Evenson immediately pointed at him.

"Easy there. Personal space, buddy. We’re nowhere near close enough to share drinks."

Johnny stopped and took a step back beside his motorcycle.

Only then did Evenson smile innocently.

"What contract?"

"The Contract of San Venganza."

Johnny had no patience for games.

"You took it from the Caretaker."

"The contract was stolen?" Evenson raised an eyebrow in exaggerated surprise. "And what makes you think I had anything to do with it?"

In reality, stealing the contract had been one of the most important parts of his plan.

He’d never wanted the final battle against Blackheart to happen in San Venganza, where the contract’s power belonged. More importantly, possessing the contract let him dictate the timing of everything that followed.

His ideal scenario had been simple.

Blackheart would track down the contract...

Arrive here...

And at that exact moment Loki would conveniently drop the Destroyer armor on his head.

Problem solved.

Sadly, coordinating villains and Asgardian invasions on a precise timetable wasn’t realistic.

He couldn’t predict exactly when Loki would unleash the Destroyer, nor could he guarantee Blackheart would arrive on schedule to become celestial roadkill.

Plans, unfortunately, rarely respected optimism.

"I spoke to the Caretaker afterward," Johnny said.

For a brief moment, he silently mourned Carter Slade’s sanity. The old Rider had been left thoroughly questioning reality after the ambush.

"He identified me?" Evenson asked.

He was genuinely curious.

The contract itself lay somewhere the Ghost Rider couldn’t sense. If Johnny had tracked him here, then Evenson must have left clues behind during the operation.

"No."

Johnny shook his head.

"He had no idea who attacked him."

He reached into his pocket and held up a small piece of metal.

"But I found this."

Evenson focused on it.

A rifle bullet.

Military caliber.

"Not exactly something civilians buy at the corner store," Johnny said.

Gun ownership might be common in America, but military assault-rifle ammunition wasn’t casually lying around for anyone to purchase.

"That’s your evidence?"

Evenson remembered giving strict instructions for every spent casing to be collected.

The bullets themselves had remained inside Carter Slade.

Extracting every round would’ve required carving them out of a living man one by one.

That would’ve been traumatic for everyone involved.

"And according to the Caretaker..." Johnny continued, "the attackers behaved like government personnel."

He ticked the points off one by one.

"They called their leader ’Commander,’ not ’Boss.’"

"There were two leaders."

"One of them was a woman."

"The first time we met, you had a woman working with you."

Wait... he figured Melinda out?

Evenson blinked.

Melinda had worn a mask and bulky tactical armor during the operation.

Could Carter Slade really identify a woman through all that?

For a Rider over a century and a half old, that would be disturbingly impressive.

Johnny answered the unspoken question.

"Her voice."

"...Right."

Melinda had spoken during the operation.

That made considerably more sense.

Good. I’d rather not believe a 170-year-old cowboy could identify women by silhouette through body armor.

Probably best never to repeat that thought where Melinda could hear it.

Johnny continued.

"The leader also knew exactly who Carter Slade was."

"And when they left, he told the Caretaker, ’You’re not my opponent.’"

Johnny lowered his head.

"You told Mephisto why you came to New Mexico."

"I saw news footage of the hammer."

"Then the entire area disappeared behind a government security cordon."

He looked up again.

"When you connect all the pieces..."

"Government agents."

"A female subordinate."

"Someone powerful enough not to fear the Ghost Rider."

"It all points to one person."

"You."

Johnny’s expression carried a hint of quiet satisfaction.

Years of watching detective cartoons apparently hadn’t been wasted.

Evenson couldn’t help smiling.

"I have to say..."

"Your reasoning is pretty awful."

He took another sip of beer.

"But you’re right."

"I took the contract."

Johnny remained silent.

Evenson continued before he could speak.

"As far as I remember, our agreement with Mephisto never included returning the contract."

His own mission had always been straightforward.

Kill Blackheart.

Johnny’s assignment to recover the contract had come later as nothing more than Mephisto’s verbal instruction. It had never been written into the original deal.

"So why are you so determined to get it back?"

Johnny’s expression hardened.

"Blackheart cursed my girlfriend."

His voice was low.

"I need the contract to save her."

"So..." Evenson said.

"You led them straight here."

He looked past Johnny.

Two figures were approaching across the courtyard.

Walking calmly.

Unhurried.

Blackheart.

And another demon.

Evenson showed no sign of concern.

"For someone bound by a contract," he said quietly, meeting Blackheart’s gaze, "serving two masters at once is a dangerous habit."

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!