John was a small boy in a vast forest. The trees around him were white, but not from snow—they were made of bones. Exposed skulls gleamed in the moonlight, as if hundreds of empty eye sockets were watching him.
The boy walked barefoot along a gray path, shivering from cold and fear. Where was he? How did he get here? All he knew was that he couldn't stop.
Ahead, a gigantic white tree loomed. Its branches stretched out like bony fingers, and instead of fruit, skulls hung from them—old, young, human, inhuman. They stared down, motionless, until John took the final step.
"What do you seek, Jonathan Blaze?" the skulls spoke in unison, their voices merging into a sinister chorus.
The boy clenched his fists but did not step back.
"Zarathos, I know of your power," his voice trembled, but he forced himself to look straight ahead. "I want to live!"
The forest erupted with laughter. All the skulls opened their mouths at once, rotting teeth grinning in mockery.
"What's so funny, you stupid tree?!"
The massive canopy trembled. The skulls whispered among themselves, and then the tree spoke, its voice coming from everywhere:
"Heh, boy, you don't understand where you are. This forest is your soul. And I... I am your killer."
The branches cracked, coming to life. Roots slithered from the ground like serpents. John stepped back, but it was too late.
"If you've made it here, that means you're already dead!"
The skulls bared their teeth and lunged. Their decayed fangs sank into his arms, his neck, his stomach. He felt his flesh tear, his blood and life draining away.
John screamed.
He woke up, gasping for air. A dark motel room, hot sweat, a wild heartbeat.
"Damn nightmare…" John covered his face with his hands. "Lately, they've been getting worse."
He looked at the clock—01:23 AM. No chance of falling back asleep.
[That means it's time to work] he thought and stepped out of the room.
John wanted to check world news, particularly the situation with superheroes and supervillains. Unfortunately, his body's memories lacked enough information. Johnny had been too busy wrenching his soul from Mephisto's grasp to keep up with superhero affairs.
He walked to the reception. In the dimly lit room, the glow of a computer screen illuminated the face of a young receptionist, who was scrolling through pages with a bored expression—apparently, the funny pictures had run out for the night.
The receptionist straightened up the moment he noticed the visitor.
"Room 206," the young man identified him. "Something wrong?"
"Can't sleep," John waved a hand. "I'll give you five bucks for an hour of internet."
He reached into his wallet and found the needed amount among a few crumpled bills. His last cash—barely enough for breakfast and a bus ticket.
"We have free WiFi," the receptionist opened a drawer. "Let me find the password…"
[Good guy. Someone else would've taken the money for a free service. Almost feels bad to trick him.]
"I broke my phone," John lied, placing the bill on the counter. "Would you let me use the computer for an hour?"
"Alright," the receptionist stood up and checked the time. "You've got an hour. I'll do my rounds."
The guy grabbed a pack of cigarettes and left.
John immediately opened Google. He had only an hour and a lot to search for. First, he typed "Jonathan Blaze" into the search bar.
Was it foolish to look up yourself? No—if you wanted to know what the world knew about you.
So, there wasn't much information: a few old interviews and a Wikipedia page. He gained some fame after making it into the Guinness Book of Records for jumping over twenty buses on a motorcycle.
He finished high school. Didn't go to college. Completed a three-month accounting course. Planned to become a professional stuntman, performed a few tricks for a motorcycle racing film.
Four years ago, when he found the Cross of Zarathos, his motorcycle mysteriously caught fire during filming. Johnny barely survived. Since then, he cut all ties and left Hollywood.
His bank accounts were closed.
[Shame. I could really use a hundred bucks from a credit card right now.]
His mobile phone was shut off at the same time. Intelligence agencies know how to track locations through cellular signals. Given the Rider's criminal life, only an idiot would carry a smartphone.
And yet, Jonathan Blaze's life wasn't completely over. After extracting Zarathos, Johnny had planned to return to a normal life.
[I never understood the obsession with dividing life into two parts,] John thought, scratching his cheek. [What's the point of clinging to the life of a second-rate loser? Gaining superpowers puts you in the big leagues. It always pissed me off when superheroes, after some epic adventure, throw away their well-earned fame, take off their masks, and go back to some miserable job listening to a dumb boss yell at them. That's pure masochism.]
John was certain he would never return to being a stuntman or a professional gambler. After seeing what was possible, that would be straight-up regression.
[Even if I lose Zarathos, I'll dive into magic and become the Sorcerer Supreme.]
Next, he searched for "Ghost Rider."
There was a lot more information, even a dedicated Reddit thread.
The general public considered Ghost Rider a mutant and… a supervillain. There were several video recordings of a fire-covered skeleton burning criminals in the streets. Another video showed the Rider attacking Roxxon employees and setting fire to their oil refinery—it burned so brightly the flames were visible from space.
Straining the brain's memory, John recalled how it had happened. In that unfortunate moment, Johnny had decided to test what would happen if he stopped following Zarathos' first rule—punishing sinners. The madness mode had activated.
As mentioned before, a mad skeleton attacks the nearest sinners, who, at that moment, happened to be corrupt businessmen. And a mad skeleton doesn't give a damn that he's playing with fire in an explosive area.
The public was indifferent to the killing of street gangs. Just another vigilante—ever since superheroes became trendy, they'd multiplied like cockroaches.
But the moment he attacked a megacorporation, a shitstorm erupted! The media smeared the Rider in every outlet. The army got serious about eliminating the "supervillain." Roxxon offered a $250,000 bounty for Ghost Rider's head.
[The Avengers haven't attacked me yet only because they don't know where to look,] John sighed. [Still, if I ever need to restore my reputation, all I have to do is pay Roxxon the cost of the refinery and compensation. Any human problem can be solved with money.]
Next, he searched for "mutants."
The X-gene was a daily discussion topic, and every idiot dreamed of awakening their mutation. Xavier's School existed, and they had an official website. The X-Men were active, with their classic lineup.
Scrolling through their Facebook profiles, he found nothing but posturing—and a million likes under a picture of Jean Grey in a bikini.
Interesting. Judging by Reddit comments, anti-mutant sentiment was in the minority. Most people dreamed of hanging out with mutants—because it was just so cool.
Now he typed "superheroes" into the search bar.
The Avengers had formed a few years ago, and they were already splitting apart—but it had nothing to do with a "civil war." The first to leave was the Hulk, calling the entire team "government whores."
[Heh. I'm already starting to like the green giant.]
Then Thor left—not of his own will, though. He was kicked out for inappropriate behavior—there was even a video of him standing on a rooftop, pissing on pedestrians. Gross.
Overall, besides their epic battles with supervillains, the team also worked for the White House. Iron Man kept uploading propaganda videos, urging vigilantes to take off their masks and join government service.
[Typical salesman. He probably got a tax break for his company in exchange for that ad,] John scoffed. [Only an idiot would work for Uncle Sam when they have enough power to take Fort Knox solo.]
Their official website even had an old video where Captain America promised to arrest Ghost Rider.
[Won't your shield crack?] John snorted and closed the clown site.
The Fantastic Four. There was surprisingly little information about the first superhero team. Right after getting their powers, they defeated some monsters that had suddenly appeared in Manhattan—conspiracy theorists believed those creatures escaped from Richards' lab, and the team neatly covered it up. Either way, the Fantastic Four were explorers first and foremost. You rarely saw them on the streets.
Speaking of street-level heroes...
Spider-Man. For six months now, he'd been covering New York windows with webs. He hadn't done anything significant yet—unless you counted taking down second-rate supervillains.
[I'm sick of superheroes,] John yawned. [Magic is way more interesting.]
Curiously, the public knew magic existed—thanks to Thor's PR—but they were skeptical about it. Because of the growing popularity of the X-Gene, people tried to explain away any supernatural event as a mutation—even Thor's hammer.
The secrecy of the magical community pleased John. The last thing he wanted was hordes of idiots crowding the gates of Kamar-Taj the way they now swarmed Xavier's school.
He exited the internet, leaned back in his chair, and thought for a moment. A quick dive into the superhero world had given him three conclusions:
First, this wasn't the dawn of the superhero era. All the major teams were already formed and fairly stable.
Second, they were handling their own problems just fine.
Third, there was no point in forcing his way into their circles or trying to help them. He had enough of his own problems to deal with…
[Thirteen months until my soul collapses. No cure exists.]
"Time's up," the receptionist said, approaching. "Did you get everything done?"
"Yeah, thanks," John covered a yawn with his hand. "Looks like I'm ready to pass out again."
"Are you extending your stay?"
"No," he shook his head, remembering his dwindling funds.
"Then you have to check out by noon tomorrow."
"No problem."
John stood up and headed to his room.
[I need to pay Doctor Strange a visit and shake some old debts out of him. But first…] He felt the heat burning in his bones. [First, I need to crack a few skulls so I don't end up setting the Sorcerer Supreme's house on fire.]