Marvel : Starting as Ghost Rider

Roger had, by this juncture, formulated a general comprehension of the nature of the enchanted mirror.

It appeared to be a conduit to a peculiar space, a realm wherein a mortal might assume the powers of a deity, a very creator.

Of greater significance was the fact that the objects conjured within were veritable. They possessed substance, could be consumed, and were capable of sustaining life.

The sole imperfection, it seemed, was their inability to be withdrawn from the confines of the mirror. Such a preternatural capacity suggested—

Perhaps Sally and the others had not, in truth, entered into the mirror, but rather, had utilized the enchanted artifact as a gateway to an unplumbed dimension.

Or, to venture a bolder hypothesis, perhaps a certain alchemist, or a practitioner of the arcane arts, in his explorations of the unseen, had stumbled upon this particular dimension.

Whereupon, employing his accumulated wisdom, he had fashioned this magical instrument, anchoring its coordinates, thereby permitting ingress and egress to this peculiar dimensional space via the mirror.

And having lingered within for an extended duration, becoming, in essence, its creator, their nexus to the corporeal world was severed, rendering return through the mirror an impossibility, and their whereabouts inscrutable to those beyond.

Roger retrieved his compact notebook, ever at the ready, and inscribed within its pages a single phrase: Equivalent Exchange.

From all his dealings with devils and demons, he had gleaned the inescapable truth of exchange. There was no such thing as a gratuity in this world, merely a disparity in the price paid by either party.

The objects within the mirror, be they gold or precious stones, could not be extracted, simply because the requisite equivalent exchange had not been rendered.

And those who aspired to play the role of God within, forsaking the return to the world of the living, were supplanted by a secondary persona that manifested in reality. This, it appeared, was the equivalent exchange exacted by the enchanted mirror.

He procured his breakfast from a victualler whose establishment boasted a degree of cleanliness, and, in addition, secured several portions to bring back for Sally and George.

Returning to Sally's residence, he found the pair still ensconced in slumber. Roger deposited the victuals and water upon the table within the drawing-room, and then commenced a circumspect examination of the enchanted mirror.

The frame of the mirror was fashioned from a timber of unknown provenance, and upon it were etched carvings of exquisite artistry.

Producing a magnifying lens, purchased earlier from a shop within the township, Roger meticulously scrutinized the carvings, bringing them into sharp focus.

Innumerable patterns, minute as ants, were revealed to be, upon closer inspection, a dense aggregation of meticulously engraved runes.

Ssss—

"Remarkable. This enchanted mirror may, in truth, be a magical portal, a mere conduit linking our world to another dimension."

What instilled a measure of unease in Roger was the observation that, likely due to her father's rigorous efforts to conceal the mirror by encasing it in concrete within the cellar, Sally had, in the process of extricating it, inflicted damage upon several sections.

While the overall structure remained uncompromised, several portions of the carved patterns had suffered abrasion.

What the significance of these missing sections might be, was a matter of grave uncertainty. What if, having entered once more, they found themselves incapable of returning—

"Then we are well and truly cooked—" Roger murmured to himself.

"What is 'cooked'? Have you made a discovery, Roger?"

Roger turned to behold George, who, though still bearing the mark of sleeplessness in the form of shadowed eyes, appeared considerably revitalized after a few hours of rest.

"It was a near thing. Nothing of consequence. There is sustenance upon the table; partake, if you will. Furthermore, I have ascertained the circumstances surrounding your two colleagues from the constabulary."

Roger then imparted to George the intelligence he had gathered, along with his deductions concerning the enchanted mirror.

"You posit that there exists a probability of our entering and being unable to return?" George inquired gravely, whilst masticating upon a piece of bread.

"Precisely. The periphery of the mirror's wooden frame is adorned not with mere ornamentation, but with magical runes. Several of these have been marred, signifying that the enchanted mirror is in a state of instability. Unforeseen perils may manifest at any juncture."

"I comprehend—" George concluded his repast and patted his person, searching for something.

Perceiving that his companion sought tobacco, Roger extracted a cigarette from his own case and proffered it.

"Refrain from excessive indulgence in tobacco, lest you succumb to the same pulmonary affliction as Scumbag Con."

"Who is this 'Scumbag Con'?" George accepted the cigarette, ignited it, and inhaled deeply.

"A demon hunter burdened with the fate of a solitary star. All who associate closely with him meet an untimely demise, yet he himself thrives."

George, naturally, found the concept of a "solitary star's fate" somewhat perplexing, but he grasped the import of the phrase "untimely demise."

Time elapsed, second by second, and George gradually consumed the cigarette, extinguishing the remnant with a decisive stamp of his foot.

"I have resolved to enter. Two of my colleagues are within. Even if they were mere civilians, I could not simply abandon them. It is my sworn duty."

"Roger, I shall enter alone. You remain here and await my return. Should an unforeseen circumstance arise, and I fail to return, I implore you, convey my apologies to my wife and daughter."

Roger rolled his eyes. With George having spoken thus, what recourse did he have? He could scarcely allow a supporting character to usurp the protagonist's moment of glory, could he? Though his moral compass might be somewhat askew, he could not permit anyone to overshadow him.

"I shall accompany you. Given your declaration, how could I permit you, an ordinary mortal, to venture into such a perilous place alone?"

George smiled, delivering a fraternal blow to Roger's shoulder.

"Despite your penchant for employing somewhat disreputable tactics as a façade, I have always perceived you to be a man of integrity."

"Refrain, I beseech you. I am, in truth, not a man of integrity, nor am I feigning..." Roger felt a pang of helplessness. Why was it that, in this day and age, even when he committed misdeeds, others persisted in perceiving him as virtuous?

"Have you two resolved to enter?" A melodious female voice interjected. It transpired that Sally, who had been reposing in the upper chambers, had also awakened.

"As Mr. Roger has stated, it is indeed fraught with peril within. I posit that, given the passage of time, your two police colleagues may, in fact, have no intention of returning." Sally added, in a silent aside, Or perhaps they are incapable of returning, their mirror personae having completely supplanted the real individuals.

And both parties find satisfaction in this arrangement. Those who enter the mirror dimension world assume the mantle of its God, its creator, whilst the mirror person arrives in the real world, attaining true corporeal existence.

Were it not for her inability to relinquish her son, she, too, would likely have chosen to remain within indefinitely. Sally sighed inwardly. She was to return to a life burdened with demanding employment and the daily contemplation of mounting credit card debts.

"Let us rest a while. Restore our strength. We shall enter this evening. 'Sharpening the axe will not hinder the woodcutting,' as the proverb goes. For without sufficient vigor, escape from any encountered peril will prove impossible," Roger stated.

"Your counsel is sound. I shall first cleanse myself with a bath. Subsequently, we may deliberate upon the particulars, and determine what armaments are required, prior to our nocturnal ingress." George, having foregone ablutions for a day or two, was emitting a rather pungent odor.

"Very well. I shall, in the interim, examine these patterns." Roger produced a photographic apparatus. He intended to capture each and every pattern, committing the runes to memory. They might prove useful in the future.

These runes, naturally, were beyond Roger's comprehension. But others possessed the requisite knowledge, such as Scumbag Con. Roger had never encountered a matter beyond his ken. Regrettably, he was a veritable harbinger of misfortune; even Roger, possessed of a protagonist's aura, dared not remain in his proximity for an extended duration—

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Roger meticulously photographed the patterns upon the magic mirror's wooden frame, magnifying each section. The high-resolution camera proved its worth, capturing every detail.

Satisfied that no element had been overlooked, he carefully stowed the camera, intending to, at a later juncture, seek the expertise of an individual versed in the identification of runes. Such knowledge might prove invaluable.

The arcane arts of this world adhered to the principle of equivalent exchange. Their utilization demanded a corresponding expenditure of magical energy, or some similar substance.

And the majority of practitioners would elect to employ more potent spells, even those that exceeded their corporeal capacity to withstand. Thus, in the throes of combat, they would avoid an untimely demise; the matter of recompense could be deferred.

Most spells of considerable power, those that surpassed one's inherent limitations, fell under the category of borrowed power. And from whom did one borrow? From devils, naturally, for their spells possessed the greatest potency.

The white magic of the Vishanti was reputed to bear the lowest interest, but, in truth, its efficacy was somewhat underwhelming. Thus, Roger retained a predilection for the black arts.

As for the method of repayment... Power acquired through one's own endeavors need not be repaid. If it had been agreed upon, what was borrowed belonged to him. Should anyone object, they were welcome to engage him in fisticuffs—

These runes, if presented to the denizens of the underworld, could undoubtedly be bartered for a considerable repertoire of black magic spells. Roger, with a sense of anticipation, carefully labeled each roll of film and secured them.

In due course, he would proffer them for sale, mingling a modicum of falsehood with a greater portion of truth, ensuring a substantial profit.

"Are you truly resolved to enter? I confess, the denizens within... they possess an unsettling verisimilitude. They seem, in all respects, to be real individuals."

Sally inquired with a measure of apprehension. She, it seemed, harbored a lingering trauma, rendering her averse to any further contact with the enchanted mirror.

The spectacle of the Superman of Light's demise, in particular, had instilled in her a profound sense of guilt, as though she herself were the executioner.

"Indeed. George has two colleagues within. Given his temperament, he would venture forth to rescue them even if they were mere acquaintances. The man will, in all likelihood, perish as a consequence of his damnable sense of righteousness."

Roger shrugged, expressing a certain helplessness. He himself was not impervious to the perils within, fearing not so much the denizens of the mirror world, but the possibility of becoming trapped, lacking, as he did, any mastery of spatial or temporal magic.

"That is not a 'damnable sense of righteousness,' but rather responsibility, the duty incumbent upon a police officer," a voice interjected from the doorway of the bathing chamber.

George, having completed his ablutions, evidently felt much refreshed, his recent anxieties considerably alleviated.

"Shall we procure some weaponry? I could visit the town's armaments emporium to acquire some."

Roger gestured dismissively. "Unnecessary. Conventional weaponry is utterly ineffectual. Moreover, the primary concern within lies with your two colleagues. What are their temperaments? Have they, perchance, conjured any... eccentric personages?"

For instance, the cunning schemer who betrayed his own creator, rendering her incapable of destroying the world he fashioned: Batman.

Or, perhaps, the Joker? Putting aside other considerations, Roger held the firm conviction that the Joker was a being beyond the control of any creator, his inherent nature being one of profound psychosis.

Roger imparted his deductions to George, then inquired as to the personalities of his two colleagues.

For their dispositions might well determine their actions within the dimensional space accessed through the magic mirror.

At this juncture, Roger could not refrain from casting a glance at Sally, who, in turn, displayed a measure of embarrassment.

Her own creations consisted primarily of cinematic idols, a veritable host of musclebound men, and robust warriors. Thinking upon this, Sally's countenance flushed crimson. She surreptitiously glanced at Roger, relieved to find him seemingly inattentive.

"Those two colleagues, they are not from my department. In truth, my acquaintance with them is not particularly profound. I am only aware that one of them is married, with a seemingly stable relationship, while the other remains unwed."

"That implies that one may be retrieved from the mirror world, while the other's fate remains uncertain," Roger mused, stroking his chin.

A stable family and emotional ties served as a foundation, though, naturally, one could not preclude the possibility of the individual having undergone a change of heart, forsaking his family. Nevertheless, in a general sense, the probability of his retrieval was undoubtedly greater than that of the other.

"Let us proceed forthwith. I find myself unable to slumber in such circumstances. The sooner this matter is resolved, the better," George declared abruptly.

"Hm, did you not intend to await the evening?"

"There is no time to lose. Who knows what further developments may transpire in the intervening hours? It is possible that we might be unable to rescue them, or—that the enchanted mirror might suffer some irreparable damage, rendering ingress impossible."

"Then... very well. Permit me a visit to the privy, and we shall depart."

Roger was, of course, not insistent upon George resting until evening for any altruistic reason. Rather, it was a matter of common knowledge that the Ghost Rider could only manifest his full power during the hours of darkness.

During the day... through prolonged and arduous training, he could, in the absence of direct sunlight, or in conditions of diminished illumination, manage a partial transformation.

But this was far from sufficient. A single bullet to the cranium, and he would be dispatched to meet Mephisto.

Only in the darkness did he possess the Ghost Rider's nigh-indestructibility. Combined with the various artifacts he had acquired through chicanery and deceit, he could ensure his own safety.

However, after further deliberation, Roger resolved to accompany him. For the Batman who could betray his own creator, that was because Sally was a woman. Were it a man, perhaps such an opportunity would not have presented itself.

"Very well, are you prepared? Let us embark," Roger inquired.

"Let us proceed—" George gazed at the magic mirror, then touched his protective amulet. Gwen, your father will return safely.

Roger extended his hand towards the mirror, the surface of which rippled like water, spreading outwards in concentric circles.

He then stepped through, followed closely by George. The two vanished within the magic mirror.

Sally, remaining outside, observed the two as though they were entering a cinematic world, their figures receding into the distance within the mirror's depths.

————

[Once there was a ship that put to sea]

[The name of the ship was the "Billy of Tea"]

[The winds blew up, her bow dipped down]

[Blow, my bully boys, blow]

[Soon may the "Wellerman" come]

[To bring us sugar and tea and rum] 

After Roger and George entered the magic mirror, traversing a passage of blinding white, the scene before them dramatically unfolded.

Presented before the pair was a boundless expanse of ocean. At the harbor, countless sailors bustled about, engaged in their myriad tasks. Sailors aboard some of the ships sang a sea shanty, its lyrics conveying the spirit of seafaring, as they prepared to set sail.

The bustling docks teemed with people, a vibrant cacophony of sounds, giving the impression of having arrived in a fantastical Age of Sail.

"Is this... the Middle Ages?" George's mind reeled momentarily. He rubbed his eyes, scrutinizing the scene once more. The tableau remained unchanged.

Sailors, clad in shorts and singlets, their skin tanned dark by the sun, cheerfully scrubbed the decks and hosed down the ships.

Vendors hawked their wares incessantly, and women, adorned with heavy cosmetics, cast alluring glances, occasionally enticing a few sailors into the nearby alleyways.

"Recruiting sailors! Recruiting crew! Anyone skilled in celestial navigation, at the helm, in the galley, or fluent in foreign tongues – any skill is welcome!" a man with a missing front tooth bellowed.

"George, look over there—" Roger pointed towards a pirate ship in the distance.

"The Black... the Black Pearl?" George's eyes widened. That ship was unmistakably the Black Pearl, the one from the Pirates of the Caribbean movies.