Marvel : Starting as Ghost Rider

Orbs of fire erupted in the sky, cascading towards the city like fallen stars.

The blatant disregard for civilian safety displayed by these fighter jets, conducting aerial bombardments within an urban landscape, would be utterly inconceivable in the real world. Yet, within this dimension, such illogic reigned.

"We must depart," Roger declared. "Delay further, and I fear what manner of monstrosity that fellow might conjure." He silently implored Mephisto's protection, praying that Carmack would not manifest a Superman.

He surveyed their surroundings with the Eyes of Judgment. The most vulnerable point in the dimensional barrier was now within reach. A short distance remained, and he could employ an enchanted bullet to shatter it with a single shot, creating a portal for their escape.

Once more, they mounted the Hell Cycle, speeding towards the designated exit.

"Blast it all! Must we endure another bout of roller-coaster theatrics?" George lamented. "My heart will surely fail from fright. Is an elevator truly beyond our reach?" He shuddered at the thought of Roger, once again, executing a perpendicular, ninety-degree descent towards the ground.

"Time presses, George. Do you prefer the leisurely descent of an elevator, or a swift departure? And do not fault me for failing to warn you: should he conjure a nuclear warhead, we shall be utterly, irrevocably annihilated."

The prospect of a future cardiac ailment was a matter for later concern. Survival, at this juncture, took precedence. George, gritting his teeth, resumed his precarious perch.

"You realize, you are the first man to ride upon my motorcycle, and to embrace me thus from behind. The sensation is...unsettling," Roger confessed, a hint of awkwardness in his tone.

"Silence, Roger. I find this far more unsettling than you. Drive!"

Roger, with a sigh of resignation, complied, reactivating the Hell Cycle. The twin tires once more blazed with infernal fire.

Then, amidst George's renewed shrieks, they plummeted down the skyscraper's façade, the tires, defying Newtonian physics, maintaining a tenacious grip upon the vertical surface.

This time, their passage proved less fraught with peril. With the aerial threat neutralized, the terrestrial officers posed little impediment to Roger, astride his wall-climbing motorcycle.

Swiftly, the Hell Cycle reached the location Roger had previously identified as the weakest point in the dimensional barrier. All that remained was to discharge his firearm, shatter the mirrored surface, and their escape would be secured.

[George, why do you persist in this futile resistance? Remain here, and I shall bestow upon you whatever your heart desires.]

"Carmack, I have a family in New York. I am not a scoundrel like you, capable of forsaking my wife and child," George retorted, his voice laced with contempt.

"Even if you choose to remain, why impede our departure? What, in truth, is your intent, you miscreant?"

"Perchance he genuinely desires... you," Roger interjected softly, his tone laced with dark humor. He found the actions of people of color to be, shall we say, unpredictable...

[Apologies. I am the God of this realm. I shall not permit your departure. None shall leave.]

"A premonition of ill omen stirs within me—" Roger murmured softly.

His words proved prophetic. Scarcely had he discharged an enchanted bullet, creating a nascent temporal portal, when a towering figure slowly materialized, obstructing the aperture.

"By all the devils... Captain America?!" George's eyes widened in utter disbelief, confirming that his vision was not deceiving him.

The star-spangled tights, the vibranium shield emblazoned with a star, and, most notably, that signature American posterior – there could be no mistaking him. It was, undeniably, he.

"It appears a confrontation is inevitable," Roger whispered. "George, remain behind me. I shall create a diversion; you seize the opportunity to escape."

"And what of you? Can you ensure your own safety?"

"I possess my own methods of evasion. Heed my words, and all shall be well."

With that, Roger immediately discharged his firearm at Captain America, only to have the latter anticipate the trajectory and interpose his star-emblazoned shield, deflecting the projectile.

To Roger's consternation, the Hellfire clinging to the bullet failed to ignite or melt the shield.

This was an unsettling development. Hellfire was the bane of all souls. This world was, ostensibly, a construct of Carmack's thoughts, a mere phantasm. By all rights, the spiritual realm should be equally susceptible to its flames.

Observing this individual, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the character Kakashi from a certain Japanese manga, Roger experienced a surge of apprehension. This Captain America, vaunted as the "fifty-fifty" combatant of the cosmos, capable of engaging any opponent in an indefinite stalemate – he could not ascertain the extent of this fabricated Captain America's power.

Roger retrieved the Winchester Model 1887 shotgun, aiming it squarely at Captain America, and unleashed a volley of projectiles. Alas, each was met with the Captain's preternatural anticipation and deflected by his shield.

Since firearms proved ineffectual, close-quarters combat was the sole remaining recourse. Roger discarded the shotgun onto the Hell Cycle and, with a swift, fluid motion, extracted a katana from behind him, charging forward.

Captain America, momentarily taken aback by Roger's unorthodox maneuver – he was, it seemed, the first individual he had encountered who retrieved a weapon from such a location – nonetheless reacted instinctively, engaging in combat, though his gaze could not help but linger momentarily upon Roger's posterior.

The katana clashed heavily against Captain America's shield, the infernal flames, yet again, proving incapable of melting the opponent's impervious defense.

Having parried the blow, Captain America retaliated with a swift kick aimed at Roger's abdomen. Roger executed a backflip, narrowly avoiding the strike.

He was not a demon hunter who neglected physical conditioning. He had received instruction in various forms of hand-to-hand combat and martial arts, though he had not attained mastery in any. Nevertheless, his skills sufficed for his customary assignments.

After all, his primary adversaries were devils and demons. Of what use was martial prowess against such incorporeal entities? Thus, Roger's daily regimen focused primarily on the cultivation of his magical abilities, particularly those pertaining to the Ghost Rider.

"George, make your escape—" Roger, whilst locked in combat with Captain America, bellowed.

George nodded, sprinting towards the temporal portal. At that precise moment, Captain America hurled his shield, embedding it in the ground directly in George's path. His mission was to prevent the escape of both individuals.

[An opportune moment!]

Observing the shield's departure, Roger, seizing the katana, lunged forward with renewed vigor, simultaneously imbuing the blade with Hellfire. The flaming katana, with exceeding celerity, descended towards Captain America's head.

But the "fifty-fifty" combatant was no mere pretender. Captain America deftly evaded the fiery blade, then launched a swift kick towards Roger's midsection.

"Oof, that smarts—" Roger grimaced, his countenance contorted in pain.

For this time, he did not evade, electing to endure the blow with his physical form. Simultaneously, he seized Captain America's leg, immobilizing him.

"George!"

"Understood!"

Bang—

George discharged his firearm. The unerring projectile, amplified by his fruit-derived ability, struck Captain America with pinpoint accuracy.

Wounded, Captain America's movements exhibited a momentary hesitation. Seizing this fleeting advantage, Roger fixed his gaze upon his adversary's eyes.

"Look at me, Steve Rogers."

[Eyes of Judgment], activate—

Captain America, naturally, possessed no knowledge of the Eyes of Judgment. He instinctively met Roger's gaze, and found himself transfixed, unable to avert his eyes.

Then, in a fleeting instant, his corporeal form rapidly dissolved into wisps of green smoke, the swiftness of his dissolution startling even Roger.

After Captain America had dissipated into smoke, Roger thoughtfully examined the shield he had left behind.

"At last, it is resolved. Huff—" George wiped the perspiration from his brow.

[Hehe, prematurely so, George.]

A voice resounded from the heavens. It was Carmack.

Carmack, now adorned with two angelic wings upon his back, descended slowly. Indeed, he had relinquished the self-imposed limitations upon his power.

Virtual games could be indulged in at any future juncture, but the opportunity to torment two real individuals was not to be squandered.

Carmack descended slowly, surveying the site of Captain America's demise. A subtle smile curled his lips. He extended a hand and gestured.

And then—

A dozen or more Captain Americas materialized, each brandishing a shield, each possessing that perfect physique and American posterior.

Roger: "....."

Observing the dense throng of Captain Americas before him, Roger felt a twinge of apprehension.

The crux of the matter was that each bore a shield, a piece of equipment that, inexplicably, his Hellfire was unable to incinerate.

"George, make haste—" Roger abruptly produced several grenades from his person, hurling them towards Carmack.

The detonation of a dozen or more grenades was, naturally, a spectacle of no small consequence. The Captain Americas immediately formed a shield wall, protecting Carmack.

However, the ever-cunning Roger had not merely employed conventional explosives. Some of the grenades contained… additives. And—

The dozen or more grenades, upon being hurled forth, were instantly amplified by Roger, each expanding to the size of a basketball. Had it not been for the proximity of the target, and the risk of self-inflicted harm, Roger could have enlarged them to the dimensions of an automobile.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Following the multiple explosions, there were flashbangs, smoke grenades, and some containing a soporific gas. Some, even, bore curses that Roger had inscribed—

In the aftermath of the detonations, some of the Captain Americas began to howl in distress. For while they had blocked the shrapnel, they could not evade the smoke. Roger had infused the grenades with a variety of curses.

Some induced lethargy, others an unbearable itching, some corrosion, some cold, some heat.

Essentially, every curse Roger could muster had been incorporated. Such was the standard preparedness of a demon hunter, though since his ascension to the status of Ghost Rider, he had seldom employed these lesser implements.

Observing the disarray of the Captain Americas, Roger once again produced his prized possession, the Arnold-exclusive shotgun, the Winchester Model 1887.

"Make your appearance, my darling—" Licking his lips, Roger aimed the shotgun at the clustered Captain Americas and Carmack.

Boom!

Enchantment and amplification. The enchantment was Hellfire, the Ghost Rider's signature flame. The amplification was derived from the fruit he had consumed within the mirror dimension.

The pellets, upon exiting the muzzle, underwent an instantaneous expansion, transforming into flaming spheres of metal.

One shot unleashed a multitude.

Hundreds of enormous fireballs hurtled towards Carmack and his Captain Americas, the sheer force of their impact, coupled with the density of the Hellfire, leaving them unable to attend to both the fore and the aft.

The inherent flaw of a creator had manifested. Carmack possessed the power of creation, but he lacked combat prowess, magical abilities; at best, he could wield a firearm to engage a few criminals.

Witnessing the ineffectualness of the Captain Americas he had created, Carmack trembled with rage.

At that moment, the shotgun in Roger's hand clicked, its ammunition depleted.

Carmack, with a wave of his hand, caused all the injured Captain Americas to vanish in a puff of smoke. Then, with a sneer, he addressed Roger.

"Your ammunition is exhausted, is it not? Know this: I am the creator of this world. You may slay as many Captain Americas as you please, yet it will avail you nothing."

Subsequently, Carmack gestured once more, and a dense formation of Captain Americas reappeared. This time, there were—ten thousand.

Carmack gestured again, and a metallic gate materialized, obstructing the temporal portal, thwarting Roger's escape.

"Advance. First, incapacitate them. Then, apprehend them alive."

Instantly, the ten thousand Captain Americas surged forward, inundating Roger. The first hundred or so immediately enveloped him. Each Captain America possessed one-on-one combat skills that surpassed Roger's; a hundred of them...

Boom—

An explosion emanated from the center of the massed Captain Americas. Roger had once again undergone his complete transformation, becoming the skeletal Ghost Rider, wreathed in flames from head to toe.

Since focusing his training upon control, Roger had rarely manifested his complete form. For one, the skeletal visage was unsightly, potentially deterring female companionship. For another, Roger had discovered that this form conserved energy.

Each full transformation, though potent, was also exceedingly draining, necessitating the subsequent reaping of sinful souls to replenish his power.

Otherwise, a side effect would manifest: [A persistent, insidious whisper, urging him to harvest the souls of the guilty].

That whispering was maddening, ultimately reducing one to a mere tool of the Ghost Rider, a frenzied being obsessed solely with the reaping of sinful souls.

Having successfully mastered complete control, Roger had become even more formidable. However, he also, consequently, seldom revealed his ultimate form.

Now, he had tested the amplification provided by the fruit. To his delight, the effect was remarkable. The normally diminutive flaming skull had expanded, resembling the Susanoo from the Naruto anime...

Though his physical stature remained at approximately 1.8 meters, the surrounding flames reached a height of over ten meters, instantly incinerating the surrounding, densely packed Captain Americas.

"This effect is commendable. It bears a certain resemblance to the Susanoo of Uchiha Madara..."

Roger directed a sinister smile towards Carmack. You desire a mass assault by ten thousand Captain Americas? Very well, I shall engage you, one against ten thousand.

Activating his fiery Susanoo, he charged directly towards Carmack, who was shielded by the Captain Americas. Wherever he passed, any who came into contact with even a spark of the flames were reduced to ashes. Countless star-emblazoned shields fell to the ground like discarded equipment, clattering as they landed.

"Devil! He is a devil! Obstruct him! Prevent his advance—" Carmack, his countenance ashen with terror, bellowed.

Witnessing the Captain Americas being reduced to ashes, Carmack was seized by fear. It was the first time he had encountered such a phenomenon.

It was likely that, in the real world, New York's relative tranquility, and his dealings solely with human criminals, had sheltered him from any encounter with devils. This was his first glimpse of a flaming skeleton. However, Roger's current appearance...

A talking skeleton was, indeed, somewhat terrifying. It was not merely women; even men might be driven to incontinence—

Carmack yearned to flee. Cherishing his life above all else, he no longer harbored any desire to retain two human playthings. He prioritized his own survival.

Turning to flee, however, he was confronted by a motorcycle, its tires blazing with fire, hurtling directly towards him.

Carmack: ".....?"

Bang—

What the fuck? What manner of contraption was this? The sole thought in Carmack's mind, as he was sent flying, was why an unmanned motorcycle would activate itself and collide with him.

But it was too late. Airborne, before he could even touch the ground, a large hand seized him firmly.

"Look at me—"

Before Carmack could react, he beheld two eyes – or, more accurately, two sockets within a skull, containing two small flames, brighter than any he had yet witnessed, akin to twin suns, igniting his very soul...

Poof~, Roger cast aside Carmack, now reduced to a desiccated corpse, upon the ground.

"It is concluded. Not even a demon lord from Hell has compelled me to exert my full power. You, however, have achieved this. I shall bestow upon you the title of..."

Roger gazed up at the surrounding star-emblazoned shields, pondering. Then, he bestowed a more fitting appellation.

"The Mightiest Captain America Breeder. A breeder more prolific than even a sow— Ptooey—"

A small globule of flame-formed spittle was ejected onto Carmack's remains, igniting a raging inferno, reducing him to cinders.

Following Carmack's demise, all that he had created began to dissipate, as had occurred in Sally's world. The Captain Americas, both living and deceased, dissolved into wisps of green smoke.

Roger extended two fingers into his mouth.

"Whew, whew—"

A whistle, and the Hell Cycle automatically drove over, halting beside Roger.

"Good companion. Your cooperation was exemplary. Upon our return, I shall reward you with the finest motorcycle oil. George and the others must be growing impatient. Let us return."

Boom!

With a resounding roar, Roger, astride the motorcycle, entered the temporal portal.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Support me with comments , reviews and powerstones