EDITOR’S NOTE: This arc takes place before Ghost Rider #1

TWO-LANE HIGHWAY

Part II: Like a Light

By Chris Munn

Tell me not, in mournful numbers
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Whispers mixed with screams, filling the blackened pit with an unrelenting static. The whispers spoke of secrets too fragile for any ears to absorb, in turn causing the screams…a circular pattern that had existed since the beginning of time. Nothing had shattered the cycle in a thousand millennia, and it was believed that nothing would.

*KA-SHUNK*

*BKOOM! BKOOM! BKOOM!*

Fire erupted from the shotgun, bringing a flash of light to the pit. The darkness returned immediately after, but was broken again by a fire of a different kind. A tiny flame sparked from the end of the lighter, staying lit long enough for a cigarette to begin burning.

“Eternal torment,” John Blaze stated as he reached for the door handle, welcoming the exit from the ancient house, “my ass.”

The door flew open, a gust of wind blowing past the triumphant loner. His stride stalled as the stench of burning flesh hit his nostrils, causing his eyes to water.

“Oh no,” he muttered to himself, “not this.”

He stepped down the porch stairs in front of the house, shock setting in to his tired mind. When he had entered the house, it had been from a small dirt road off the highway. Now, the dirt road let to somewhere completely different…yet instantly recognizable.

Hell.

Screams and carnivals go together.

In the night air, screams filled the void of Millville, New Jersey. The Quentin Carnival, in town for the weekend, was not shy when it came to making their patrons scream in terror…be it from the freak shows or the rides. That night, however, brought screams of a different nature. Fires erupted across the carnival fairgrounds while gunshots were heard throughout. The miniature man known only as Wolf made his way through the carnage that had become of his home, leading away the two individuals that he felt needed protecting more than any others…Craig and Emma Blaze.

“Wolf, what’s going on?” Craig asked as he pulled on the arm of his younger sister. Emma cried as explosions erupted behind them.

“I don’t know, kid,” Wolf replied, rifle at the constant ready, “but things don’t look good. Everyone’s going crazy, attacking each other. We need to find Clara, maybe she can tell us what’s going on.”

The three diminutive figures made their way secretly through the burning visage of the Carnivale Quintano, a destination set in their minds. Emma still wept, one thought repeating through her mind.

“I want my dad.”

“Hell is where the heart is, don’t you think?”

John spun around, his senses and reflexes dulled by the shock of being in the one place he never, ever wanted to be again. Sitting behind him on the steps he only moments before had embarked down was a young woman. Flowing red hair trailed across her face, blown by the hot wind that was ever present in the netherworld, covering only barely the ornaments protruding from her forehead. Small horns, slightly visible in the bathing red light of soul fire, complimented her beautiful features magnificently. A silk robe of purple, the only article of clothing on her body, followed the wind blown movements of her hair in an almost synchronistic pattern. “How you doing, John?” she asked, fangs gleaming through her smile.

“Peachy,” Blaze answered as he tightened his grip on the handle to his shotgun.

“I’m Satana,” she stated as she hopped down the steps to stand face to face with the realm’s new visitor, “but we’ve met already. Not that you’d remember, though…alternate realities and all.”

“Not the nicest place for a little girl like yourself to be wandering around,” was the only thing Blaze could think to say as he watched the house, his last link back to the real world, faded away in front of him.

“I was thinking the same thing about you,” Satana replied with a smile. Her come-hither eyes pulled at John’s emotions, bringing up desires he hadn’t felt since Roxanne’s death. “Besides, nobody screws with me down here. They know better.”

“Why’s that? You the Devil’s blowjob queen or something?”

The demoness laughed, a sound that echoed down the hallowed tunnels of the infernal realm. “Actually, I’m his daughter.”

“Didn’t answer my question. This IS Hell, after all.”

“Well, the daughter of A devil. Hell’s split up into a bunch of realms, each with a ruler. This, for instance, is the realm of the demon lord you know better than the rest…Mephisto. My brother’s ruling the bastard section across those mountains in the distance.”

“Just peachy,” Blaze said as he holstered his shotgun.

“Okay, John, let’s screw the foreplay and get down to why you’re really here,” she said, ignoring Blaze’s comment. “You’ve been conned big time…my other brother set a trap for you, and you walked right into it with blinders on.”

“Your brother?” John asked in confusion. The answer hit him with the force of a sledgehammer to the face, “Blackheart.”

“You’re quick,” the succubus replied with a wink, “though technically Blackie’s only my half brother. He’s kind of the reject of the family, and we have different daddies. But anyway, yeah Blackheart’s trapped you here so he can run amok in your little carnival without having to worry about trouble.”

“The Carnival! Fowler!” John yelled, the situation finally setting into his mind.

“Calm down, John. You’re in good hands down here,” she continued as her body moved behind his, hands moving down to his crotch, “literally.”

With a smooth motion, John’s hands found themselves clasped around the young woman’s throat. “Get me back home. Now.” he demanded as he applied pressure to his grip.

“Can’t do that,” she responded with a smile, “you’re down here for another reason too, Johnny. You’re gonna take a little trip with me.”

“Like hell.”

Suddenly, the environment around the two changed. No longer were they standing amongst the broken and burning cascades of Hell, the mountains of flame and torment replaced by the cold steel and electrical hum of a futuristic spacecraft. Releasing the grip around Satana’s neck, John staggered backwards at the sight of the people around him. One with blue skin and a large red fin on his head…a female with fire for hair… and yet another apparently composed entirely of a crystalline substance. Two other males flanked the three strange ones, only they were the more basic human forms John was used to seeing.

“Where are we?” John asked softly, unsure of what would happen if he aroused any attention toward himself.

“We’re orbiting a planet called Sarka, smack dab in the middle of the thirty first century,” Satana replied sharply. “Don’t worry about these losers, they can’t see us. I’ve made sure of that.”

Before Blaze could respond, a being entered through the ship’s portal-hull that sent a cold sensation down his spine and into his legs. A beautiful blonde woman descended down, followed by a cycle-riding demon that John knew all too well.

The Ghost Rider.

“I am the Spirit of Vengeance!” the demon declared to the alien beings surrounding him. “My mission is to free my world of an oppressive regime that corrupts the innocent by cloaking its atrocities behind a false divinity!”

“How is this possible?” Blaze asked his female guide, still attempting to wrap his mind around their current location.

“Ghostie’s host is a native of Sarka, an alien named Autolycus, who’s a little pissed at the state of affairs of his home planet. A tyranny is in place, held by a religious theocracy called the Universal Church of Truth,” she replied. John simply shrugged his head and rubbed his eyes.

Suddenly, a young girl dressed in pink appeared from what appeared to be thin air, screaming that the demon before them must die. The Ghost Rider, momentarily taken aback, muttered a line about an “unholy symbol” before launching himself toward the girl. She wears the blasphemous ankh!! The symbol of the true believer! You lied to me, Guardians of the Galaxy!! And for that you will all DIE!”

“I think you get the point,” Satana quipped as the scene erupted into violence.

The setting changed almost instantaneously, where the two had previously occupied space on a far off spaceship in the thirty-first century, Blaze and Satana now stood in an old style American diner. A grim scene was unfolding before them, though just as with the previous journey, the period’s occupants were oblivious to the couple’s presence. A young man, barely in his twenties, was hopelessly standing off against a group of bikers…the leader of which obviously controlling the malevolent situation.

“Where are we now?” Blaze asked, barely paying attention to the event in front of him.

“Ohio,” the demoness replied, “1957. Now pay attention.”

“Look, screw this,” John stated angrily as he pointed his shotgun at the face of his female companion, “I could give two shits about a history lesson. Get me back to the real world, back to my kids, or wake up with real bad headache!”

“If that’s the way you feel,” Satana responded grimly, “then shoot.”

The air was shattered by the sound of a gunshot, startling both those involved and removed from the timeline’s reality. To even his own surprise, John’s finger had not pulled back on the trigger, a confident Satana still smiling directly in front of him. He looked to his left, seeing the young man in the diner’s face explode in slow motion. The large biker with the gruff beard and reflecting sunglasses laughed as the boy’s brain and skull splattered across his large form, gun still smoldering from the bullet’s release. Blaze swung his gun toward the bikers in a fluid motion, knowing somehow that the innocent people behind the diner’s counter were soon to meet the same fate as the boy on the ground. Satana chuckled at his attempt.

“They shot him!” Blaze yelled, an eye cocked in Satana’s direction.

“This is the past, John…you can’t change what’s already happened. You can’t stop what these seven men are about to do, and besides…you haven’t even seen the good part yet.”

“Everything’s stopped,” John muttered, realizing that time had slowed to a crawl. Smoke stood in the air, not moving from where it was held. The man that had been shot was now standing again, whole and healthy, while another man that looked amazingly like Clark Gable lit up a cigarette.

“Watch and learn, Blaze,” Satana said, hopping up to take a seat on the bloody diner counter, “the young guy there’s name is Johnny Ackerman. Kid’s a lot like you were when you were young, I’d imagine.” John decided to shut up, deciding that it may be a good idea to listen to her.

“Johnny, do you remember what happened after that biker stuck his gun in your face?” the man who couldn’t have been Clark Gable asked. Blaze gasped under his breath, knowing full and well the identity of the mystery man with the ability to slow time. “Satan,” he hissed, a feeling of dread for the young boy sinking deep into his gut.

“Oh that,” young Ackerman replied, “Well, I guess I must have been kinda shell-shocked, because no, I don’t, not really. There was a flash of white light, and I figured I was done for.

“I see where this is going,” Blaze said to his guide, “I don’t want to watch this.”

“Don’t make me gag and muzzle you, John,” Satana said as she pointed back at the conversation before them.

“Yep, when the biker shot you…”

“I got shot?” Blaze could see the shock setting in young Johnny’s face. Satana was right, the two were similar…cursed brothers.

“…The bullet destroyed a sizeable chunk of your brain, as is growing increasingly obvious. All kidding aside, there isn’t enough of your corporeal mind left for you to successfully fry up some Jiffy-Pop. But that doesn’t matter, because I’m addressing your astral body. Believe it or not, however, our rules say that you’re still in possession of enough of your right mind to make an informed decision.”

“No,” Blaze said, grip tightening on the butt of his gun, “don’t do it. Don’t do it son.”

“About what?”

“Whether you’d like to come back from the dead.”

The scene froze yet again, this time capturing even the demon himself in the serene still life. Satana shrugged at the morose Blaze, “Guess you’ve already figured out where this is heading, right? So let’s fast forward a little.” With a snap of her fingers, the scene advanced ahead. One of the bikers, the name of which Satana whispered as being Reptile, was digging through the pants of the very dead Johnny Ackerman. Without warning, the young man’s corpse lit aflame, a burning skull replacing the husk of a face the bikers had so kindly given him. The biker screamed in agony as the soul searing penance stare worked it’s magic, destroying the man’s mind and emotions and replacing them with unbridled blinding pain.

As the Ghost Rider tore a path of destruction through the biker gang, John Blaze dropped a few singular tears of sadness before turning his back. Satana looked on with a happy malice, delighted at the carnage before her.

“Zarathos,” Blaze uttered, recognizing the demon’s inhuman laugh.

“Ready to go?” the arousing succubus asked as she curled her fingers through John’s ponytail. Smacking her hand away violently, John turned and once again threatened with the shotgun.

“Why are you showing me this? This has no significance to me, he’s just another moron that traded his soul for a taste of vengeance. I wasn’t born when this happened, 1957 for Christ’s sake.” His finger tightened, barely squeezing down on the trigger.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Satana replied, “soon as we pay a visit to your mommy.”

“My…mom?” John asked in astonishment.

“Clara?” Wolf whispered as he slowly entered the psychic’s darkened trailer. “Clara, are you in here?”

“Turn on the light,” a weakened voice stated. Recognizing Clara Menninger’s voice immediately, the dwarfish man was almost afraid to take away the darkness. He didn’t want to see what had happened to her.

“Jesus Christ,” were the only words that managed to escape Wolf’s mouth as he flicked the light switch to the “on” position. Before him was his friend Clara, hanging from the ceiling of her trailer by hooks dug deep into her flesh. Cuts adorned her naked body, a puddle of blood collecting beneath her. The bile rose in his throat as tears dropped from his eyes.

“Wolf?” Clara managed to ask as a stream of crimson ran down her chin. “Is that you?”

“It’s me, Clara. Who did this to you? What’s going on?”

“Kill me, Wolf,” the blind psychic pleaded, “before he comes back.”

“Who, before who comes back?” he asked in anger, his fingers twitching across his rifle.

“John’s friend, not his friend.”

“I knew it! Son of a BITCH!” He screamed, Craig and Emma now taking their shocked positions behind him. “Where is he, Clara?”

“Not his friend,” she muttered again, “a demon. THE demon.”

“The demon?” he asked.

“Blackheart.”

“Her name was Naomi,” Satana stated matter-of-factly, “descendent of the late, great Noble Kale. Unwed mother of three and subject to the transformation into the Spirit of Vengeance. Great woman, your mom.”

“My mother’s name was Clara Blaze, my father was Barton Blaze,” John said defiantly, “don’t try to fuck with my head.”

“Look, Johnny,” Satana explained as she placed a hand on his chest, “your brother Daniel was adopted, right? What makes you think you weren’t as well?”

“This is bullshit,” he mumbled, taking her hand in his.

“Good boy.”

The scenery melted and transformed around them, turning the 1957 diner into a stretch of lonely highway deep into the early morning hours. The moon hung in the night air, peeking from behind dark clouds of swirling mist. John shot his guide yet another look of inquiry, wanting yet again to know their location.

“Rural Pennsylvania,” she stated, answering his questioning gaze, “and in about two minutes, a car is going to come barreling down this road and slam into that tree. This is where your mother…your real mother…faked her death.”

“Look, if you think I’m gonna buy all of this, then you’re two shits shy of a full pot…”

Before John could continue, Satana shot a silencing finger into the air and cocked her head into a skyward gaze. “I’ll be right back,” she said before vanishing in a collapse of wind and smoke.

“Great,” Blaze muttered under his breath, “just great. Look, I just want to get back to my carnival! Let me out of this…”

Suddenly, his protests were interrupted by the screech of tires on pavement, forcing him to look down the road. In a rush of fire and smoke, the car raced toward him at an ungodly speed. Unable to move from his spot, rooted to the concrete by some unseen force, John braced for the impact. To his surprise, his eyes opened at the sound of a crash.

The car was behind him now, a sparking piece of shattered wreckage resting against the exact tree Satana had pointed out earlier. The door to the destroyed car shot open with a swift blow from the inside, sprawling the metal slab onto the road. A young woman exited the vehicle, two young children in her arms and another following directly behind her.

“That boy,” Blaze whispered in astonishment as he watched the woman guide her children to safety behind a tree, “that boy’s…me.”

The loud, growling roar of a cycle engine caught John’s ear as it raced toward the wreckage. Another woman, dressed in leather and a jet-black helmet, squealed her vehicle to a smoking stop a few feet from the flaming wreckage of the car. The scene played out in what seemed to John as slow motion, the two women saying nothing as they locked a stare between them. Silent and featureless, the biker dismounted her steed, producing a shotgun from a holster on her leg. John glanced down at his own gun, the two looking strangely alike…the same model.

“Okay, John,” Satana’s voice echoed from the sudden tear in the air behind him, “we gotta go, as in now!”

“No, wait!” John protested as her arm reached out to his shoulder, gripping it with an inhuman strength. “I need to see this, I have to see it!” The scene was gone before his cries of distress were finished.

“Sorry about that, but I’ve got to get you out of here,” the redhead stated. “We’ve attracted the wrong type of audience, one that even I can’t protect you from.”

“What’s going on? Who are you talking about?” Blaze asked, dumbfounded even more than he was, something he didn’t think would be possible.

“Don’t worry about it,” Satana replied as she raised her hand to point behind her companion, “he’s already here.”

John Blaze turned, desperate to see what had the spawn of Satan running scared. His eyes spread with shock as his vision made contact with the vengeful spectre that was emerging from the thick blackness of Hell’s void. The flames cascaded around bone, an ear-piercing laugh escaping the demon’s lips.

“Not him,” was all Blaze could mutter.

The demon’s laugh grew even louder.

“Not him.”

The Ghost Rider continued to advance toward his former human host, fiery rage burning all around him…

NEXT: Blackheart’s corruption has ensnared the Quentin Carnival, and all Craig and Emma can do is watch! An old face is coming back…though he may be too late to stop the carnage! Will Blaze be able to escape Hell to save his family?

Pencil of Vengeance

Well, here’s the second issue of Two Lane Highway, a book three months in the making, lol. Originally scheduled for release in November, the issue I had finished was eventually scrapped, forcing me to write it completely over. This version is, in my opinion, a much better product…so hopefully you’ll all find it worth reading.

There’s a few moments of Ghost Rider continuity in this issue during Satana’s tour of Hell. The first scene from the future planet took place in Guardians of the Galaxy #13, the first appearance of the 31st Century GR. The second is from a fanfic series titled Ghost Rider ’57, written by a good buddy (and my co-writer on Defenders here at UM) named Mike McGee. I originally intended to tie in Ghost Rider 2099 and the GR of World War I, but the issue began to run long…so I’ll save those for another time.

The alternate reality remark made by Satana is a reference to the 1998 miniseries The Supernaturals, in which an alternate reality team of horror characters fought against the forces of Halloween…or some stupid shit like that. Satana, Blaze, Brother Voodoo, Jack Russell, and a few others made up the team.

Feedback is a writer’s best friend. If you like (or hate ::shrugs::), feel free to let me know.

-Chris Munn

EDITOR’S NOTE: This series was originally hosted at Ultimate Marvel and later, Strange Tales, which is why Chris’ comments about the release don’t fit in with Marvel Omega’s release schedule.