Marvel : Starting as Ghost Rider

Just as Roger had taken up the rearguard position, George had already departed this mirror dimension, returning to the real world.

Emerging, still shaken, he gazed upon the enchanted mirror. Sally, who had been awaiting him, seeing the distress upon his countenance, hastened to inquire.

"What?! Did you encounter peril within? Or was it your colleague from New York who acted thus? Has he lost his senses?"

Sally's eyes widened in disbelief. Was this individual not George's colleague? How could he inflict harm upon them?

"Power, and authority, are a venom, a venom of desire. Your father's diary was most accurate. This is a magic mirror that devours human desire," George replied, gazing upon the enchanted mirror before him.

Its frame was etched with arcane patterns. A closer inspection would lead one to become lost within the labyrinthine complexity of its runes. The ebony frame appeared to be coated in a lustrous lacquer, yet, upon closer scrutiny, this proved to be an illusion.

"Partake of some water. You appear to be drenched in perspiration—" Sally proffered a glass of water.

"My thanks." George accepted the water, draining it in a single draught. A day of flight had left him both weary and parched.

But now, Roger had not yet emerged. He could only wait. Remaining within, he would not only be of no assistance, but would require Roger's protection.

He knew Roger to be a demon hunter, but witnessing Roger's phantasmagorical abilities, he realized that he had underestimated his power. Roger was far more formidable than he had imagined.

"Will Roger be safe, alone within?" Sally inquired, concern evident in her voice.

"Have no fear. Roger is a demon hunter. He is more formidable than you can imagine," George replied, reassuring both Sally and himself.

After a further ten minutes or so, the two remained seated upon the sofa, awaiting his return. George, growing increasingly restless, patted his pockets, then rose.

"I shall go to purchase a pack of cigarettes. Should Roger emerge, contact me by telephone."

"Very well. Go, then."

George departed, making his way to a small shop beyond the house to acquire two packs of cigarettes. Considering the matter, he also purchased some provisions to bring back.

Upon his return, he discovered that another individual had joined them within the house, and was engaged in amicable conversation with Sally.

"Roger, you have returned! Excellent! Were you injured?"

George, overjoyed, approached, delivering a fraternal punch to Roger's shoulder, followed by an embrace.

"No harm befell me, my friend. A mere horde of insignificant adversaries could scarcely inflict injury upon me. Hehe. Oh, and Sally, where were we in our discourse?"

Roger disengaged from George, turning to face Sally.

George observed that Roger's gaze appeared somewhat lascivious, an expression he had often witnessed, yet there was something... off...

"We were discussing how you single-handedly vanquished thousands of Captain Americas, escaping from the mirror."

"Oh, oh, yes. I alone decimated thousands of Captain Americas. You cannot imagine. They were legion, a veritable sea of humanity. I gave a cold snort, and with a single..."

Before he could complete his sentence, a pistol was pressed against his head.

"Do not move. Raise your hands. Who are you—"

It transpired that George, for reasons unknown, had drawn his firearm, aiming it at Roger's head, his countenance grim.

"Hey, hey, hey, George, what are you doing? It is I, Roger. Have you lost your mind?" Roger inquired, astonished.

George roared, "I have not lost my mind! Your gaze towards Sally is amiss. You are not Roger. Who are you, in truth?"

Sally watched this unfold, bewildered. Were these two not friends? Why had they suddenly turned against each other, with firearms drawn?

"He is Mr. Roger. I witnessed him emerge from the magic mirror just now."

"Hehe, he is Roger, but his gaze is amiss. Have you not noticed how lascivious his eyes are when he looks at you? Though a man may share the same body and appearance, his gaze will betray him."

"But..." Sally whispered. "But are not all men thus?"

Having spoken, she surreptitiously glanced at Roger. A handsome, youthful, mixed-race man, even gazing at her with that look, she did not find it particularly objectionable...

George retorted coldly, "Roger, I shall ask you: What is the motto you utter when you frequent bars?"

Which motto in a bar? Roger scratched his head, racking his brains, but to no avail.

"Er, could you provide a hint? I utter too many."

George sneered, "The superior hunter often appears in the guise of his prey. That is Roger's motto."

He then pointed the pistol at Sally. "Roger was never so forward. You, however, resemble a lecher who has not encountered a woman in three years."

"Therefore, you are not Roger. Whence have you come? Wait—"

George abruptly recalled something. He widened his eyes, gazing first at the mirror, then at the Roger before him. He seemed to have divined his origin.

"Hehe, it is a testament to the perspicacity of police officers. Your intuition is remarkably keen. You discern the slightest deviation in demeanor and immediately detect it." The Roger who had been held at gunpoint was unfazed, slowly rising to his feet.

"Then what is your intention? To slay me? I am now Roger." The Roger who had emerged from the mirror spoke with a chuckle.

"Hey, my friend, I am not as base as those other individuals. You may consider me to be him, in all respects."

George fixed his gaze intently upon the Roger who had emerged from the mirror, posing the question that had been troubling him.

"I do not comprehend. The diary stated that one must either sever ties with reality or remain within for many days for another self to manifest. Why, having entered for less than a day, have you emerged?"

Roger, unconcerned, scratched his ear. "That is a query I, too, should like answered. Perhaps it is because I am excessively powerful, and thus, the process was accelerated. Very well, I am departing. What is your decision? Will you discharge your firearm and slay me?"

"You cannot leave. Return to the mirror, or I shall open fire," George gritted his teeth, cocking the pistol, chambering a round.

"I believe you have overlooked a salient point. Though I share the same memories as he, to me, you are but a stranger—" Scarcely had his words been uttered when Roger transformed.

Black smoke and flames erupted from his body, his skull instantly transforming into a skeletal visage, adorned with flowing, fiery locks.

Bang!

George, without hesitation, discharged his firearm, striking the skeletal apparition. The latter, however, charged forward, delivering a blow that sent George flying.

George, sent sprawling, collided with a wooden display cabinet, collapsing to the floor, unconscious, the number of fractured bones unknown.

"Aaaah—" Sally, witnessing this horrific scene, clasped her hands together, emitting a series of terrified screams.

"How irksome, woman." The skeletal head, seemingly lacking ears – how perplexing – expressed its annoyance.

He then retrieved George's fallen pistol, and, taking aim at Sally, fired.

Bang—

"The world is, at last, tranquil. To reiterate, a mind unburdened by feminine distractions, draws the blade with divine swiftness." The skeletal head surveyed the fallen Sally with satisfaction.

Retrieving Sally's car keys, he reverted to his human form and departed, intending to savor the pleasures of the material world.

————

"What in the name of all that is unholy? Why can I not exit?" Roger vehemently kicked at the thin, glassy barrier before him.

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"What transpires? Why can I not egress?" Roger delivered another forceful kick to the transparent, glass-like portal.

It was illogical. He had entered for scarcely a day. How could such a circumstance arise? Could it be that the damaged runes upon the magic mirror had induced a malfunction?

Inaction was not an option. Roger was no master of spatial magic. Should he fail to escape, he would be condemned to remain, to play the role of a god, to indulge in the fantasies of a harem.

Retrieving his Winchester Model 1887 shotgun, he activated the amplification ability bestowed by the fruit, aiming at the portal and discharging a round.

Boom!

A colossal burst of sparks and concussive force impacted the portal. No fissures appeared, but Roger, with keen observation, noted a slight tremor.

There is hope!?

"I shall employ a more potent measure." Licking his lips, Roger invoked the Hellfire, imbuing the shotgun. Instantly, a weapon of magical fire materialized in his grasp.

Hellfire enchantment, coupled with the amplification of the Devil Fruit. Fire!

Bang! Bang! Bang!

After three rounds, fissures appeared upon the transparent portal, though they were mending themselves with disconcerting speed.

"Whew—" Roger blew a whistle.

"My companion, we must alter our configuration. Make haste."

Mounting his Hell Cycle, the front end of the vehicle underwent a transformation, sprouting a pointed prow.

He then reversed a short distance, twisting the throttle, extending the two exhaust pipes at the rear of the motorcycle, and maximizing the fiery emissions.

"Charge forth! For liberty—"

The Hell Cycle, with the velocity of a fighter jet, hurtled forward, colliding precisely with the weakened portal, shattering it and departing this dimension.

The Real World—

George, struggling to rise, crawled with difficulty towards Sally to assess her condition. Then, enduring the excruciating pain, he crept into the kitchen, locating a first-aid kit.

Once more crawling forth, he retrieved hemostatic medication to staunch Sally's bleeding. He lacked the strength to bind her wounds with bandages, and could only lie upon the floor, panting heavily.

Recalling that he should summon emergency services, he retrieved his mobile telephone, only to discover it devoid of power. He had neglected to charge it since arriving in this town.

"Fuck—" Incensed, George hurled the telephone to the ground.

He knew not how many ribs he had fractured, rendering movement impossible. He could only hope that a neighbor had heard the gunshots, and would thus summon assistance. Perhaps then, both Sally and he might survive.

He was unaware, however, that the town was sparsely populated, and that Sally's residence, in particular, was isolated, with few neighbors. The gunshots had gone unnoticed.

"Huff... Huff..." Each breath felt as though his lungs were ablaze, a struggle for air.

Just then, the sound of shattering glass reached his ears. Roger, having shattered the portal, had emerged from the mirror, bringing the Hell Cycle to a steady halt within the living room.

"What has transpired? Were you attacked? How came you both to be thus injured?" Dismounting the motorcycle, Roger hastened to George's side, inquiring.

George, with labored breath, pointed towards the mirror. "Another... another you... emerged from the mirror. Our wounds are his doing."

"I?" Roger, bewildered, glanced at the mirror. He had been within for less than a day. Had another self already been born?

And was it not required that one sever one's ties to reality for the principle of equivalent exchange to engender another self to emerge from the mirror?

"Enough. This is not the time for such reflections. I must devise a means to mend your injuries."

Roger assisted George in assuming a seated position, leaning against the sofa.

"I... I am unharmed, merely a few fractured bones. You must first find a way to aid Sally, or summon an ambulance. She is near death." George, with strained effort, gestured towards Sally, lying upon the floor.

Sally lay prostrate, her life force dwindling, drawing more breath out than in.

"Oh, my apologies." Roger examined Sally's condition. A bullet had pierced her internal organs, causing significant blood loss. Transporting her to a hospital for emergency treatment offered a slim chance of survival.

It appeared that unconventional measures were required—

Roger blinked, recalling a long-forgotten entity, a fallen angel akin to a physician of great skill.

[Pazuzu, the Initially Fallen]

He swiftly conceived a plan, retrieving his cheat, purchasing a character skin, transforming it into the likeness of Scumbag Con, and equipping it.

He then produced a small knife, incising Sally's hand, and then his own palm, pressing the two wounds together.

Closing his eyes, Roger intoned the incantation, "In the name of the Great Magician, John Constantine, the oath shall endure—"

Then, he retrieved a parchment, placing it upon the floor. He drew a hexagram around it with salt, arranged the candles, and finally, chanted another incantation in Latin.

[From distant lands, O mysterious being.]

[Worshipper of life, manipulator of desire, coveter of endless wealth, the devil who controls the hearts of men.]

[I bear witness to you with my life, I offer my soul to you as sacrifice, I guide you with my own blood.]

[Bound by a covenant forged in ancient times.]

[I, John Constantine, terminate all defenses and protections. Hearken to my summons, demon, and submit!]

[I summon you to appear in this mortal world!]

As the candles flickered erratically, devoid of any breeze, Roger's eyes turned white, his head tilted back for a considerable time.

An unseen, dark mist began to coalesce around his body, then, through the blood oath, slowly mended Sally's wounds, the bullet being expelled from her body.

After a considerable time, the treatment concluded. The candles extinguished. Upon Roger's arm appeared the runic inscription of a true name of a devil – a mark, akin to a coordinate.

"I... I am healed? Incredible! I was shot, was I not? Eh? Who are you?" Sally, astonished, looked at the man holding her hand.

"That was Roger. He was employing magic. It was he who employed magic to save you," George's voice interjected.

He had witnessed the entire process, finding Roger's supernatural magic both astonishing and perplexing. Why had he altered his appearance before casting the spell?

"Ahem, it is I," Roger coughed, reluctantly releasing Sally's hand. Hm, somewhat rough, but the texture is pleasant.

He wiped his hand across his face, unequipping the character skin, reverting to his original appearance. He examined his arm. Indeed, the demonic sigil had vanished.

"You would be well advised to erase the preceding events from your memory, and to refrain from uttering a single word. For should the devils hear, they will come to collect their due."

"Collect their due? You employed the power of devils in your spellcasting? Are you not a demon hunter? How can you borrow the power of devils?" George was astounded. The situation was growing increasingly perplexing. Was Roger, perhaps, a practitioner of black magic?

Roger extended a hand towards his chin and coughed. "Ahem, do not speak thus. Those detestable devils, forever attempting to extend usurious loans in the mortal realm. If one does not exploit them, they will not comprehend the perils of the human world."

"And why did you employ the name of John Constantine?"

"That fellow is a scoundrel, burdened with numerous debts to devils. Many debts do not weigh one down."

"........"