Marvel : Starting as Ghost Rider

"Oh? You are ignorant of this? Then by what means do you exorcise demons? Do not tell me you rely solely upon that fetid holy water," Roger inquired, astonishment in his tone.

Sam was rendered momentarily speechless. They did, indeed, rely upon such implements.

Salt was their most frequent recourse, for though it could only repel devils, not slay them, the reason for the devils' aversion to a substance incapable of inflicting harm remained an enigma.

The Winchester brothers were a resourceful pair. They substituted salt for bullets, discharging them from firearms.

Their customary method involved locating the true form of a vengeful spirit, sprinkling it with salt and petrol – perhaps adding a dash of holy water – and then immolating the spirit, thereby resolving the matter.

Hearing Sam's explanation, Roger inquired, "And what of those phantoms capable of rendering themselves invisible? How do you contend with them when you cannot perceive them?"

"We typically locate their mortal remains, sprinkle them with salt, and then employ holy water and petrol to incinerate them—"

"....."

Truly troublesome. One must also transport petrol. Had it been he, he need only know the adversary's true name to resolve the matter.

A single expectoration of flaming spittle, and those vengeful spirits and devils alike would be consumed by fire.

Observing Roger's silence, Sam could not refrain from posing a question that had troubled him since their encounter.

"Sir, are you also a demon hunter? And you mentioned that I possess a formidable power within me. Could you enlighten me as to its nature? I have never sensed it."

Roger nodded, finding the youth's earnest demeanor pleasing, and deigned to enlighten him. "Upon your boarding the vehicle, I detected it. Within your blood resides a potent trace of sulfur. You possess the blood of a devil within you."

Sam immediately retorted, "Impossible! I am a true human. How could I possibly possess the blood of a devil within me?"

Roger rolled his eyes, those of a dead fish. "I, too, am human. Yet I possess a Ghost Rider within me. Why do you fixate upon lineage? If you possess power, utilize it."

"But... but..."

"Possessing the blood of a devil does not signify that you are the offspring of a devil, nor does it imply that your mother engaged in infidelity. Consider the analogy of a blood transfusion in a hospital. Does that make sense?"

Hearing Roger's explanation, Sam breathed a sigh of relief, evidently comforted by the assurance of his legitimate parentage.

George inquired with curiosity, "Roger, by your implication, does the transfusion of a devil's blood bestow upon one the power of a devil?"

Roger corrected him, "No. It results in death."

George: "....."

Sam: "Then why am I...?"

Roger gestured dismissively. "I cannot say. Perhaps you possess a constitution of unparalleled rarity, and thus the devils covet your person."

"In this world, teeming with countless individuals, there are always those whose constitutions are remarkably singular, including their souls, attracting the covetous gaze of devils."

Including a certain Scumbag Con, whose soul was coveted by both Heaven and Hell...

Thus, they journeyed, conversing and driving, until dusk. Roger brought the vehicle to a halt before a roadside motel, intending to secure lodgings for the night.

"By the by, Mr. Roger, you mentioned that the maiden, Meg, was a practitioner of black magic? Could you elaborate upon the nature of black magicians?" Sam inquired with curiosity.

He and his brother differed. He had been sheltered and protected, even attending university. His elder brother, Dean, however, had followed their father in the pursuit of exorcism.

Thus, he possessed only a rudimentary understanding of many matters pertaining to the underworld, as did Dean.

Tsk, tsk. Roger pitied the two brothers. They possessed physiques of unparalleled天赋, yet they employed the methods of ordinary mortals to exorcise demons, often relying upon hasty perusal of their father's journal for guidance.

"She is not necessarily a black magician. She may be a witch. Consider them as a group of individuals who favor borrowing power from devils and demons. If that lorry driver harbored no ill intentions, he would be unharmed. However, should he entertain malicious thoughts, hehe, he is in for a misfortune."

Roger chuckled wickedly. Those who dared to contemplate impropriety towards a witch or a female black magician, death was a merciful release. Far more agonizing was a fate worse than death.

"Roger, since you knew the maiden was so perilous, why did you not intervene? Should that driver come to harm..." George expressed his disapproval.

"Why should I intervene? So long as the driver harbored no wicked intentions towards her, he would suffer no harm. Consider Sam, who has remained in her company for so long. Has she harmed him?" Roger, still grinning, replied callously.

George was momentarily speechless.

Roger was no saint, nor did he consider himself a virtuous individual. To intervene and slay every witch or black magician he encountered – that would be the act of a madman.

Those who practiced black magic were not necessarily malevolent, and those who practiced white magic were not necessarily virtuous. Had not the Ancient One of Kamar-Taj herself employed black magic?

Besides, had she not remained in Sam's company for so long without inflicting harm upon him? Why, then, should he meddle?

"Rest assured. Those who employ black magic are not necessarily homicidal maniacs. It is possible that she may merely administer a minor chastisement to that driver and then release him. You must have faith in the inherent goodness of comely individuals, such as myself," Roger declared, pointing to himself.

"Your heart is utterly blackened. You are no virtuous individual," George retorted, unable to resist a jibe.

"Hahahaha, whether I am or not is of little consequence. The virtuous perish swiftly, while the wicked endure for a millennium, hehe."

At that moment, Sally emerged from the motel.

"Gentlemen, I bring favorable tidings. The rooms within are plentiful, and the rates are reasonable. I have already secured four rooms for us. Let us proceed within."

With George's assistance, Sally moved with halting steps towards the motel. After all, his physique remained at its peak, facilitating a swifter recovery.

Roger also followed behind the pair, preparing to enter. However, he observed Sam standing forlornly beside the automobile, incessantly dialing a number upon his mobile telephone.

"What troubles you, Sam? Why do you remain stationary?"

Sam raised his head, addressing Roger. "Mr. Roger, my brother's telephone remains unanswered. It has been four hours since I last contacted him. I fear he may have encountered some misfortune."

Roger inquired, "Could his telephone be devoid of power?"

Sam shook his head. Such an elementary error was one his brother would not commit, particularly when the two brothers were separated.

"No. My brother would never commit such an error, especially not during an exorcism. I fear he may have met with an accident."

Roger paused. An exorcism? Then there was no doubt. An accident had indeed occurred.

After a moment's contemplation, Roger decided against informing him of his concerns, omitting the "I fear." Instead, he inquired, "Do you wish to seek him out?"

"Indeed. I wish to borrow your vehicle to return to Burkesville. For that is where he was undertaking his current assignment."

[Burkesville]? Was that not the township they had traversed that very morning?

"Very well. It is permissible. The vehicle belongs to George. I shall inform him. And then, I shall accompany you on your journey."

Roger recalled that the Winchester brothers were blessed with the protagonist's halo, enduring countless tribulations without perishing. However, that was the realm of television. In the real world, any number of unforeseen events could occur.

"I am most grateful, Mr. Roger." Sam expressed his gratitude.

"You are welcome. I charge a fee."

"....."

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[Burkesville Welcomes You]

Upon their second arrival in Burkesville, night had already enveloped the town, the sun having long since set. Throughout their journey, Sam had driven with exceeding haste, pushing the vehicle to speeds approaching two hundred kilometers per hour.

Fortunately, this state was sparsely populated, and thus, at night, there were few vehicles upon the roads.

Arriving in Burkesville, Sam found himself somewhat bewildered. For a small town, though not vast, was not insignificant either. Where was he to commence his search?

"Compose yourself... Compose yourself. I recall, this town's peculiar legend centers upon a sacred tree." Sam began to rummage through his rucksack, seeking the information they had previously gathered.

Roger rolled his eyes, those of a dead fish. He sensed that these two brothers, whenever one was abducted, the other managing to locate him with precision, relied heavily upon fortune.

Roger alighted from the vehicle, proceeded to a nearby farm, procured a small brazier, executed a series of hand gestures, and commenced to chant an incantation.

Locating individuals, in this respect, magic proved more efficacious.

[Sacred Mother Earth]

[Mother of the Upper Realm]

[Please guide me]

[Reveal the demon hiding here]

Upon the completion of Roger's incantation, a wisp of black smoke began to emanate from the brazier, drifting slowly in a particular direction.

Roger beckoned to Sam. "Let us proceed, young man."

Sam hastily gathered his belongings and followed, observing with curiosity the wisp of smoke guiding their path.

"Mr. Roger, what manner of magic is this? What language did you just employ?"

"This is Enochian, the language of angels. It is a magic that utilizes the spirit of the earth to locate individuals, though it is primarily effective in detecting demons, evil spirits, and the like."

"Then my brother....."

"Once the evil spirit is vanquished, your brother shall naturally be found."

"....."

Within a darkened forest, two individuals were bound, a man and a woman. One of them was, indeed, Sam's elder brother, Dean.

It transpired that this town's crops had, for half a century, enjoyed favorable weather and abundant harvests.

Conversely, each year, individuals perished in accidents, invariably a man and a woman. This had aroused the suspicion of the Winchester brothers.

And that very day, Dean had ascertained that the cause was likely sacrificial offerings. Each year, if a young man and woman were offered as sacrifices to the local evil spirit, the scarecrow, then the town's crops would flourish, regardless of drought or flood.

So, after offering a friendly warning to a pair of young lovers from out of town, to no avail, Dean had employed his salt-loaded shotgun to repel the scarecrow, rescuing the couple.

As a consequence, the following day, he was seized by the enraged townspeople and bound, to be offered as a sacrifice.

The girl beside him was even more unfortunate. Her parents had perished as sacrifices, and she had been raised by her aunt for over a decade, oblivious to the truth. Due to the urgency of the situation, she had been selected as a substitute.

She wept, gazing at her aunt, utterly unable to comprehend how her own kin could be so cruel, to offer her as a sacrifice to an evil spirit.

"So, you were entirely ignorant of this matter?" Dean inquired of the girl.

"I did not know. No one ever informed me," the girl replied, her eyes devoid of light.

She had only learned of the scarecrow evil spirit from Dean, indicating that she had been raised as a sacrifice since childhood.

"Alas, I pray Sam can arrive in time to rescue me."

"Who is Sam?"

"He is my younger brother. He is aware that I am here to exorcise a demon. If I fail to contact him for several hours, he will know that I am in peril, and he should come to find me."

"Let us hope so—" Perhaps the shadow cast by her aunt's actions was too profound. The girl appeared despondent.

Gradually—

The wind began to stir. Within the nocturnal forest, in addition to the incessant bites of mosquitoes, there were the miscellaneous sounds of insects.

And at this moment, what instilled a sense of chilling dread was not the strangeness of these insect sounds, but rather their cessation.

Could one imagine, within a forest, the complete silencing of all insectile chirping? It was as though they sensed the approach of some unknown, profound terror.

These insects had ceased their stridulations. This was an innate animal instinct, a premonition of natural peril.

"I believe we are in considerable trouble," Dean murmured.

Before them, illuminated by the moonlight, a shadowy figure advanced, step by step. The dimness obscured its features, but Dean could discern that one of its hands was a hook.

"Jeez, what is that?" the girl whispered.

Slowly, the shadowy figure drew nearer. It was, indeed, a scarecrow, clad in tattered garments, a mask upon its head, straw protruding from the rents in its clothing.

One hand brandished a sickle, the other bore a hook. It advanced slowly towards Dean and the girl.

Observing the approaching scarecrow, the girl was overcome with terror, emitting a piercing shriek. Dean, meanwhile, continued his desperate struggle, straining against his bonds.

Alas, the ropes were exceedingly thick, beyond the capacity of mere human strength to break.

The scarecrow reached Dean, raising its hook, aiming it at his head, preparing to strike.

[It is over. I am finished—]

Dean, in despair, gazed upon the hook, poised to pierce his skull—

When the hook was a mere fraction of a second from impaling him, a resounding report echoed from nearby.

Bang—

The shotgun blast, with its concussive force, struck the scarecrow's hook with precision, deflecting its attack and saving Dean's life.

From the shadows emerged two figures. One was his brother, Sam, the other unfamiliar.

Sam, wielding the shotgun, discharged round after round at the scarecrow. Logically, a shotgun blast should have sufficed to disintegrate a scarecrow. However, evil spirits defied such logic, remaining intact despite the barrage.

"Fool! To strike a scarecrow, you must employ fire," Roger declared, producing a cigarette and igniting it.

He then flicked the lit cigarette at the scarecrow.

Whoosh—

As though dry straw encountering a flame, the scarecrow instantly ignited, burning fiercely.

The scarecrow attempted to flee, taking two steps forward before the flames engulfed its entire form. Finally, it collapsed, unmoving, reduced to cinders, leaving only an iron hook upon the ground.

Dean, newly unbound, and his brother Sam stared, their eyes wide. This was particularly true of Dean.

Yesterday, he had rescued that couple, employing his shotgun and expending countless rounds, yet failing to slay the creature, merely impeding its movements. Now, someone had dispatched it with a mere cigarette.

This caused him to question his existence, to doubt whether his methods of exorcism were flawed.

"This... It is dead?" Sam approached, examining the remains.

"Not necessarily. It may yet survive."

Roger retrieved the iron hook from the ground, employing a tissue to wipe it clean. These remnants of evil spirits, within the underworld, were valuable materials, salable for a considerable sum.

"Indeed, this gentleman is correct. That scarecrow may not be dead."

Dean then proceeded to explain his certainty, for the source of this town's peculiar legend was a sacred tree. Only by locating that great tree and incinerating it could all be concluded.

[PS. Enochian, the language of angels in the TV series, and Latin, are commonly employed for incantations.]

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