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The press room had been a furnace all day cameras humming, tempers spiking, grief hanging in the air like static. Tony Stark tried to keep his voice even.
"Sir, I'm sorry about your brother," he said, palms open, diplomatic. "We're working on the problem. But protecting every civilian in New York isn't solely on the Avengers. That's not how this works."
"You basked in our cheers," the young man snapped, shoving through the scrum of reporters. "You take the glory, you take the responsibility!"
He stepped closer. Heat bled off him. Tony tapped his chest; liquid metal surged across his body and locked into place. Iron Man stared back through a slick gold visor.
Then the kid's face… changed.
Flames crawled up his neck. Skin crisped away. A skull wreathed in a hellish fire that seemed to burn the soul, not the air lifted its gaze to Tony.
"Demon?" Tony muttered, bracing.
The skull spoke with a voice like a furnace door: "Look into my eyes."
The room chilled, despite the flames.
"You are guilty."
Tony felt the world tilt like something clawed straight past armor and bone toward the parts of him he never forgave. The Penance Stare didn't care about repulsors or alloys; it judged the ledger you kept in the dark.
And then someone stepped between them.
Nolan.
The ghostfire hit a wall of will and fizzled like rain on hot metal.
"Spirit of Vengeance?" Nolan said, head slightly cocked. "Not Johnny. No chain. Car, not bike… Robbie Reyes?"
E.L.L.'s voice pinged in Nolan's ear: "Confirmed. Linked to S.H.I.E.L.D. incidents. Crossed paths with Quake's father."
The burning skull turned toward Nolan. "Evil soul. You are guilty."
The Penance Stare surged again raw judgment, a metaphysical writ. Nolan didn't flinch.
The thing about the Stare? It shatters those who can't live with themselves. It does nothing to the truly unrepentant… or to the ones whose choices stand on an ironclad calculus they'll defend forever.
"Neat trick," Nolan said and palmed the Rider's head.
CRACK.
Like swatting a misbehaving Hellpuppy. The Ghost Rider dropped to a knee, flames guttering. Magic rode Nolan's strike the kind that makes intangible monsters feel very mortal.
"Here's your one free lesson," Nolan said, voice flat. "Stand down. Or the 'Ghost Rider' gig ends today."
The skull hissed. Hellfire ballooned and died in Nolan's grasp.
Reporters had already sprinted for the exits. The back doors exploded inward. A black muscle car, rimmed in the same unearthly blaze, roared into the hall like a charging bull, fishtailing straight for Nolan.
He sighed. A gesture. The car froze mid-ram, wheels spinning in place, flames bowing like candles in a gale. Nolan slapped the Rider again clean, efficient, humiliating.
A portal irised open and Wong stepped through, cloakless but all business. "Which hell-thing thinks it can strut onto Earth—" He stopped. Took in the flaming skull face-first on the carpet. Brightened. "Oh! A Ghost Rider."
Tony kept his repulsors hot. "And that is… good?"
Wong nodded toward the crumpled figure. "Once upon a time, fire rained from the sky and Riders Spirits of Vengeance rose to shield early humanity. When the demon Zarathos tried to take Earth, the first Riders fought him back. Most died doing it. The mantle has… complicated successors."
"Public service announcement appreciated," Tony said. "Ours seems broken."
The skull lurched, flames re-flaring. "Look into my—"
SMACK.
Nolan's hand again. The fire snuffed. Bone reknit into flesh, charcoal giving way to the exhausted face of Robbie Reyes sprawled on the tiles, armor-blackened racing jacket in tatters. The Charger's hellfire guttered out, steel sagging with a mundane groan as it settled back on its shocks.
Wong took a cautious half-step back. "New host. Unstable pact. He'll try to judge anything that moves until he learns where the line is."
Tony's mask peeled back. "Kid, grief doesn't deputize you to fry whoever's on TV."
Robbie, breathing hard, stared at Nolan with half fear, half fury, all adrenaline crash.
"My brother died," he rasped. "You people had years to prevent this and you didn't."
Nolan's expression didn't soften. "Pain isn't a license to kill. Learn the difference, or the Spirit finds a new driver."
The room held its breath. The cameras were gone. The smoke stung.
Nolan glanced at Wong. "Get him clear. Sanctum holding cell, damp the rider. I'll send a protocol for hosts so this doesn't turn into open-season street 'judgment.'"
Wong inclined his head, spun a ring of sparks, and the floor swallowed Robbie and the smoldering Charger in a golden sigh.
Tony exhaled. "On the bright side, that didn't end with me on fire."
Nolan ignored the quip, scanning the ceiling like he could see the city through it. "We're done grandstanding. The serum rolls out for baseline humans first. Then we fix the powered cases."
Tony nodded, jaw set. "I'll brief the U.N. You deal with the demonic Yelp reviewers."
Nolan's mouth twitched maybe a smile, maybe a warning. "Tell them the same thing I'm telling you, Tony. We save who we can. We don't play God. And if another 'Spirit of Vengeance' wants to test me today…"
He opened his hand. The leftover hellfire in the room flickered once and died.
"Let them say it to my face."
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