Ghost Rider Spirit Of: Vengeance 2012

Moreau raised an eyebrow. “No more hiding?”

“You wanted me, Roarke?” the Rider growled. “Come take me.”

Johnny looked at Danny. The boy was crying silently. ghost rider spirit of vengeance 2012

Johnny didn’t flinch at the name. Roarke. The devil had many names, but that one tasted like ash on the tongue.

The Rider opened its mouth, and the sound that came out was not Johnny’s voice. It was the judgment of a thousand burning cities. Moreau raised an eyebrow

The Rider drove one burning hand into Roarke’s chest. Not to kill. To curse . For every soul Roarke had stolen, the Rider seared a brand of living fire onto the devil’s immortal heart—a wound that would never heal, a pain that would follow him through every disguise, every century, every hell he crawled back from.

He was hiding. Not from the Devil. From himself. The boy was crying silently

“You did well,” the Rider whispered, Johnny’s voice echoing beneath the gravel. “But don’t mistake me for a friend.”

The fire died. Johnny fell to his knees, human again, smoking and trembling. He looked at his hands. No burns. No chains.

Then Roarke stepped from the shadows.