VCM Legends speak of Ghost Riders, cursed souls bound by infernal contracts, roaming the world to do the Devil's bidding.
Years ago, one such Rider was sent to the village of San Venganza to deliver a contract containing the tormented souls of thousands.
But he knew its power was too great. If the Devil claimed it, the consequences would be catastrophic.
So, he did the unthinkable—he betrayed the Devil himself.
"That legend—it's about you, isn't it? The last Ghost Rider." Ethan said with a smirk, his tone laced with certainty.
Across from him, the old man's gaze darkened. "So, that's your real goal. You're after the San Venganza contract."
Carter Slade, the former Ghost Rider, stood motionless by the roadside. His presence alone carried the weight of a century of defiance.
He had spent over a hundred years in hiding, keeping the contract away from Mephisto's grasp.
"You let the Rider go on purpose just now," Carter continued, voice laced with accusation. "All so you could get to me."
Ethan shrugged. "To be fair, I did want to capture him. But since I'm already here, why not kill two birds with one stone?" He spread his hands in mock innocence.
In truth, once he realized the Ghost Rider had come to meet the last one, his priorities shifted.
The contract was far more important.
Nick Fury was a competent man, but when it came to magic, he was completely out of his depth.
Even if Ghost Rider was delivered to him, there was no guarantee he wouldn't mess it up somehow.
On the other hand, the Ancient One was far more reliable, and the San Venganza contract—an artifact tied to Mephisto, the King of Hell—was a disaster waiting to happen.
The sooner it was dealt with, the better.
"So, tell me," Ethan said, taking a step forward. "Where's the contract?"
Carter let out a dry chuckle. "And you think I'd just hand it over? Even if you tore this place apart, you'd never find it. And if you plan to torture me, go ahead. Ghost Riders don't exactly need bodies to exist."
With that, he collapsed onto the ground and stretched his limbs out as if inviting an attack. It was clear—no matter what Ethan did, he wasn't going to talk.
But Ethan had no interest in torture.
Instead, his eyes scanned the wreckage, searching for something.
It didn't take long.
He stepped forward, picking up a broken shovel from the debris.
"Well, well… looks like I found it." He tapped the wooden handle, revealing a glimpse of the hidden contract.
Carter's eyes snapped wide open in disbelief. "What?! How the hell did you figure that out so fast?!"
He had spent years crafting the perfect hiding spot.
Night after night, he wrestled with ideas, losing hair over the stress.
Who would ever think to check something as mundane as the wooden handle of an old cemetery shovel?
Ethan smirked and held up the damaged handle, exposing the contract inside. "Simple. The explosion cracked it open. And look at that—seems like you were cleaning graves with the most valuable artifact in Hell."
Carter Slade: "..."
At that moment, Carter Slade was filled with a thousand words of frustration, but he didn't know whether to voice them or not.
"Are you seriously taking the contract?" Carter suddenly sat up, his expression hardening.
"Why? You planning to stop me?" Ethan smirked as he swiftly tucked the contract away.
Even though Mephisto had stripped him of most of his Ghost Rider powers after his betrayal, Carter still retained enough residual energy to transform once more. It was that leftover power that had kept him alive for over a century and allowed him to recover so quickly from the earlier explosion.
But then, to Ethan's surprise, Carter let out a weary sigh and simply lay back down, staring at the sky like a man with no more fights left to give. "Take it."
Ethan blinked. "Wait… that's it? You're just letting me walk away with it?"
Given Carter's history—betraying Mephisto himself to keep this contract safe—Ethan had expected a last stand, not complete surrender.
"Aren't you worried I'll misuse it? You don't even know me," Ethan added, feeling oddly guilty about how easy this was turning out to be.
Carter let out a tired chuckle. "That's what the kid thinks, not me. That boy still puts too much faith in the Ghost Rider's judgment. Just because someone carries a dark power doesn't mean they're evil."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying you actually trust me?"
Carter turned his gaze to the sky, his expression unreadable. "Kid, I was a lawman before all this. A real old-school sheriff. And after everything I've seen, I know a bad man when I see one. You're not one."
Ethan was silent for a moment, taking in the weight of Carter's words. Despite all the destruction, all the chaos, this old man saw something in him that even he wasn't sure he believed about himself.
"Alright then, old man. I'll take care of it," Ethan finally said, nodding with a newfound respect. "Looks like you can finally rest easy."
Just then, a voice crackled through Ethan's communicator. "Sir, are you alright?" It was Agent 0233, his tone laced with concern.
Carter smirked. "Kid, do me a favor. I'm done with the Ghost Rider business, and I sure as hell don't feel like answering a bunch of government questions."
Taking the hint, Ethan turned toward the approaching SHIELD agents. "This guy? Just a civilian. I saved him with my abilities before the blast hit. He doesn't know anything about the Ghost Rider."
Melinda May eyed Carter suspiciously before nodding. "Understood. If he's just a bystander, we'll make sure he's compensated for the damages."
As she helped Carter up, she muttered, "We'll also need to rebuild his house since it was destroyed during the mission."
At this, Agent 0233 paled. "Wait, rebuild it? But… but we just—"
Ethan turned to him with a deadpan expression. "You were the one who blew it up, weren't you? Seems only fair."
Agent 0233 looked like he was about to cry. "I—I know, but—"
"Good," Ethan cut him off. "Make sure it's rebuilt exactly the way it was."
Watching the agent struggle to accept his fate, Carter chuckled. "Kid, you really know how to get the last word."
Ethan smirked. "Always."
With the contract now secured and Carter Slade's situation handed over to Agent 0233, the mission was finally complete.
Having fulfilled the Ancient One's request, Ethan leaned back in the car, glancing at Melinda and Yuriko as they smoothly drove away, leaving Agent 0233 behind with a complicated expression on his face.
"Did Ghost Rider get away?" Ethan asked as he patched into Fury's comms.
"There was a… technical error," Fury responded, his tone laced with irritation.
Ethan smirked, raising an eyebrow. "That guy's got style. He rides around on a flaming bike, does whatever he wants, and answers to no one. You gotta admit, that's flamboyant."
Fury sighed. "Forget it. He's not our main problem. As long as he doesn't interfere with S.H.I.E.L.D., I'm willing to look the other way."
Ethan chuckled. He had expected that response.
"Oh, by the way, I just got word—last night, some mystery guy broke into Coulson's site and tried to take the hammer. He failed, but still, you might want to pick up the pace." Fury added,
"Don't worry, Director. At this speed, we should arrive right after sundown," Melinda assured him, her eyes locked on the road ahead.
As the last rays of the sun dipped beyond the horizon, the team drove towards their next destination, prepared to rendezvous with Coulson.
Meanwhile, back at the camp, Carter Slade sat by a small fire, waving lazily as Agent 0233 walked away.
His house was gone, but the agent had at least brought him a tent and some basic supplies.
Tomorrow, construction crews would arrive to rebuild his home, but for now, he was content.
The weight of his long-held responsibility had finally been lifted.
Leaning back, Carter let out a deep breath, feeling more at peace than he had in decades.
That peace, however, was short-lived.
A cold, unnatural wind swept through the camp, carrying the distinct stench of sulfur and decay.
The fire flickered violently before dimming, as if cowering before the approaching darkness.
Carter's eyes snapped open. "Who's there?" he called out, reaching for a torch.
A sinister chuckle echoed in the night. "Took me long enough to find you, old man."
From the shadows emerged a pale-faced man, his heavy eye shadow making his features even more unsettling.
Behind him stood three others, each as eerie as the next, their appearances resembling some twisted, gothic gang.
Carter's grip on the torch tightened. "This is hallowed ground. Filth like you doesn't belong here."
One of the gang members, his soaked hair clinging to his face, lazily raised a hand.
Water materialized out of thin air and surged forward, snuffing out the torch in Carter's hand.
Before Carter could react, the pale leader stepped in and effortlessly swiped the torch from his grasp, slamming a fist into his gut.
Carter hit the ground hard, gasping for air.
The man crouched beside him, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "Guess who I am."
Carter clenched his jaw. He knew that aura, that arrogance. "Mephisto's son... the one they call Blackheart."
Blackheart sneered. "Close, but not quite." He leaned in, his expression darkening. "I prefer 'The Future Lord of Hell.'"
Carter exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You think you can actually take Mephisto's throne?"
Blackheart's smirk grew wider. "Oh, I don't think—I know. I have my father's power, but none of his weaknesses. The only reason he still holds his little kingdom is because he's latched onto Hell's power like a leech. If it weren't for that, I'd have thrown him off his throne already." His eyes gleamed with hunger.
"But that's about to change. Once I get my hands on that contract, I'll create a new Hell—right here on Earth."
Carter felt a chill run down his spine.
Blackheart stretched his arms, reveling in his own monologue. "This world is wasted on humans. My father was weak, content to skulk in the underworld while mortals flourished. Pathetic. He could've taken everything, but instead, he let these insects rule."
His lips curled into a snarl. "But I'll show him. I'll show all of them. With the contract's power, I'll bring Hell to Earth, one step at a time."
"Blackheart, you're arrogant and foolish. You don't even come close to your father," Carter Slade scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain.
If consuming the human world was really that simple, Mephisto would have done it ages ago.
Slade couldn't decide if this demon-spawn was just an overconfident brat or straight-up brain-dead. Probably the latter.
With Mephisto's cunning and paranoia, if he had ever sired a son who was actually intelligent and powerful, he would've eliminated him before he became a threat.
Mephisto was the eternal ruler of Hell—he didn't need heirs. Sons were just playthings, disposable at best.
Everything the Blackheart boasted about was pure delusion. No weaknesses? All of his father's power?
Slade almost laughed.
Mephisto wasn't an idiot—if he let this fool walk around thinking he had an edge, it was only because it amused him.
Blackheart wasn't some rising conqueror; he was just a desperate upstart, kicked out of Hell because he couldn't hold his own.
Now, clinging to the hope of Saint Van Gonzal's contract, he was here, gambling it all for a shot at power.
If he won, he'd crawl back to Hell with some leverage.
If he lost?
Well, he'd learn the hard way that betting against Mephisto was a death sentence.
"You really don't know when to quit," Slade taunted, his smirk unwavering.
The Blackheart's patience was razor-thin to begin with.
Now, it snapped.
"Give me the contract!" he roared, his face contorted with fury. "Now! Hand it over!"
He punctuated each demand with a vicious kick to Slade's ribs.
The blows landed hard, but the old Ghost Rider only grinned through the pain.
He'd endured far worse in his time. A few kicks from a tantrum-throwing demon barely registered.
His soul—once fused with the Spirit of Vengeance—was untouchable.
Not even the Blackheart's foul sorcery could pry it apart.
As the demon seethed, contemplating new ways to make him talk, a distant rumble cut through the silence.
The low, familiar growl of an engine.
Slade's lips curled into a knowing smirk.
A blaze of fire cut through the darkness, roaring down the road like a streak of vengeance.
The Ghost Rider had returned.
The Blackheart straightened, eyes narrowing as the burning figure came into view. But when he saw who it was, his grin widened.
"Well, well," he mused, cracking his knuckles. "If it isn't the devil's little errand boy."
From the flaming bike, Ghost Rider's hollow gaze locked onto him.
It wasn't Ethan—it was his true target. The one he had sworn to hunt.
The Blackheart.
"Don't engage!" Slade shouted. "You're not ready for this fight!"
Last night's battle had left Ghost Rider wounded, his infernal energy drained.
And after facing Ethan's relentless attacks, he hadn't had time to fully recover.
Now, weakened and outnumbered, he was walking straight into a death trap.
But Ghost Rider didn't listen.
Instead, he revved his engine and sped straight toward the Blackheart.
The demon laughed, raising his hands in anticipation. "Oh, this is gonna be fun."
Just as they were about to collide, Ghost Rider did the unexpected—he veered sharply at the last second, skidding around the Blackheart.
Reaching out, he snagged Slade by the arm and yanked him onto the bike in one swift motion.
Realization struck the Blackheart too late.
"Stop them!" he bellowed.
The Water Demon reacted instantly, shifting into a wave and rising up in front of the escaping riders.
But Ghost Rider didn't hesitate—he twisted the throttle, flames surging from his wheels as he crashed through the watery blockade.
The Water Demon barely had time to reform before the bike was already tearing down the road, leaving only scorched pavement in its wake.
"Dammit! After them!" the Blackheart roared, his fury echoing into the night.