DC Heroes in Marvel

The Next Day

The entire Los Angeles Police Department was in chaos.

Overnight—just one night—thirty-eight people had died across the city. Every single body looked the same: shriveled, as if drained of all blood, their skin stretched tight over brittle bones, like mummified remains.

There was no need for forensic analysis. Anyone could see it at a glance—these thirty-eight victims had all been killed by the same murderer.

The LAPD scrambled to pull surveillance footage, only to uncover a terrifying sight:

A flaming skeleton, clad in a leather jacket, riding a motorcycle wreathed in fire.

The footage showed the fiery figure emerging from an alley, its presence alone enough to suggest the overwhelming power it had unleashed in a single night. Thirty-eight people—eliminated.

And while none of the victims were exactly model citizens—most were gang members, including a few high-ranking leaders—the fact that they had all been killed at once, in the same way, set the entire criminal underworld on edge.

Los Angeles gangs were in uproar, convinced they were being targeted. Several powerful factions banded together, pooling resources to put a $2 million bounty on the killer—dead or alive.

The LAPD wasn't far behind.

"This flaming skeleton—I don't care if you have to tear Los Angeles apart, you find him! And you find him before the gangs do!"

The police chief's fist slammed against his desk as he barked the order.

At the same time, the media got wind of the story.

Within hours, news of the "Super Homicide" flooded every major outlet in Los Angeles and quickly spread beyond.

[Super Killer Wipes Out Thirty-Eight Gangsters Overnight!]

[Flaming Skeleton? Superpowered Vigilante or Elaborate Disguise?]

[Gang War? Street Hero? The Truth Behind the Massacre!]

The headlines dominated social media, radio stations, and television broadcasts—not just in Los Angeles, but as far as New York.

New York City

Eddie Brock, busy with his usual work, glanced at the latest reports. He knew Anton was in New York, so he picked up the phone.

"You hear about this?" he asked.

Anton's reply was simple. "Leave it alone."

Eddie immediately got the message.

…

On the Set of Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice

Anton casually strolled through the studio, overseeing production while keeping one eye on his phone, scanning updates from the Los Angeles Times.

According to the police, they had "found some clues" but refused to disclose details until a formal press conference.

Meanwhile, the city's gangsters weren't waiting for an investigation. They moved much faster than the LAPD.

Their first stop? Chinatown.

The last place the flaming skeleton—Ghost Rider—was seen before disappearing.

Anton had little personal stake in Los Angeles, but that didn't mean he lacked influence here.

The Continental Hotel—protected under Batman's watch in New York—was a High Table establishment. And the High Table's reach extended across the world, including L.A.

Plenty of gang members secretly worked under the High Table's thumb.

If Anton wanted to track down the movements of Los Angeles' criminal underworld, it was far easier than trying to monitor the LAPD.

"Chinatown?"

Anton thought for a moment.

It was worth checking out.

He had already tried calling Johnny's phone—no answer.

Through Constantine's memories and recalling last night's events, Anton realized something:

When Johnny Blaze transformed into Ghost Rider, he probably wasn't the type to carry a cell phone.

So, if Anton wanted to find him, he'd have to do it the hard way.

Unlike Mephisto, he had no contract linking him to Johnny—no way to track him magically.

Fortunately, Chinatown wasn't that big. And with the High Table's resources, Johnny wouldn't be hard to find.

With that thought, Anton stood up and left the film set.

Los Angeles – Chinatown

Papa's Antique Shop – Afternoon

The shop should have been open for business.

Instead, the CLOSED sign hung on the door.

More than that—the shop's bulletproof glass door had been shattered, barely held together by its broken frame.

Inside, a massive Asian man—his body built like a sumo wrestler—stood in the wreckage, holding a tiny broom that looked comically small in his massive hands.

Carefully, he swept shards of glass off the floor.

A voice came from behind him.

"Father, how is that person?"

A little Asian girl, about ten years old, excitedly asked in Chinese, surrounded by a thin, white-haired old man.

"I found out his identity! His name is Johnny Blaze. He's a motorcycle stuntman—he's broken world records ten times! He's basically the god of motorcycle stunts!"

She clenched her fists and struck a playful punching pose.

"But his fans would never expect that their idol is actually a demon… The murderer who killed thirty-eight gang members last night—that was Johnny Blaze!"

"Oh, Xiaoyu, be careful! You're about to knock over my antiques!"

The old man quickly pulled her aside.

"That bastard already broke so many antiques—I'm making him pay double for the damages."

As he spoke, he turned to a large, timid-looking man.

"Tru, go check if he's awake. If he is, he owes me money."

"D-Daddy…"

Tru shrank back, his massive frame at odds with his fearful expression.

"I'm scared."

"Scared?"

The old man's face darkened.

"What is there to be scared of? It's daytime—the Spirit of Vengeance doesn't appear during the day."

"Spirit of Vengeance? Ghost Rider?"

Xiaoyu jumped up excitedly.

"Father, so what you said yesterday was true? The Ghost Rider punishes the guilty, that's why he killed all those gang members! But yesterday, he tried to kill Tru… does that mean Tru is guilty?"

"The Ghost Rider has zero tolerance for evil," the old man said gravely.

"Xiaoyu, in this world, most people have done something wrong. Tru used to work for Wallon. He followed orders and did a lot of bad things—of course, he's guilty.

But he's changed. The Thirteen Districts have pardoned him. He's not the same man anymore."

"Then why did the Ghost Rider still try to kill him?"

Xiaoyu frowned.

"The Ghost Rider doesn't forgive—ever. Even if someone makes up for their past mistakes..."

Before the old man could respond, a voice interrupted them.

All three turned toward the shop entrance.

"Uncle Long!"

Xiaoyu's eyes lit up. She ran over and jumped onto one of the men like a koala, clinging to him with excitement. Then, she glanced at the blond-haired stranger beside him.

"Who's he?"

"Uh…"

Jackie Chan scratched his head, setting Xiaoyu back down.

"I don't know. He said he was here to buy antiques."

He turned to the blond man.

"By the way, I forgot to ask—what's your name, sir?"

The man gave a slight smirk.

"John."

His eyes flickered with something unreadable.

"John Constantine."

….

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