Marvel's Hogwarts Professor

"Johnny, of all the stunts you've performed over the years, which one would you say was the most dangerous?"

Johnny Blaze leaned back in his chair, smiling as he fielded the question. Across from him, "Irena"—in reality, Natasha Romanoff—continued her line of questioning, her expression radiating professional curiosity.

"It's hard to pick just one," he replied with a chuckle. "But there's something about the stunts where you don't know if you'll make it to the other side… those are the ones that stick with you."

Natasha nodded, watching him closely. "As one of the top riders in the world, what's your take on criminals who use motorcycles to commit crimes? Any message for them?"

Johnny's face shifted, a flicker of something serious crossing his features. "Doesn't matter if they're on a bike or not—criminals should pay for what they do. I believe karma catches up with everyone eventually."

His eyes grew momentarily intense, the faintest hint of fire flickering within, as if touched by something otherworldly. Natasha didn't miss it, storing the detail away.

"And when did you start riding? Was it something you loved as a kid?"

A faint smile appeared as he recalled his youth. "I had a talent for it early on, and my family backed me up. Got my first bike before I could even drive a car."

One question after another, Natasha carried on the interview, each of Johnny's answers routine, his practiced confidence revealing little. But the more he spoke, the more Natasha began to sense the carefully guarded walls behind his words.

When he finished a particularly charismatic response, she decided to shift tactics, turning the laptop toward him. "I pulled up a report listing the top motorcycle stunt riders in the world," she said with a mischievous glint. "You're ranked number one. What do you think about that?"

A spark of pride lit Johnny's eyes. "Sounds about right. My stunts aren't exactly entry-level. I go for the hardest stuff, the kind other riders steer clear of." He shrugged, flashing a grin. "If I'm number one, I'd say it's deserved."

His confidence was infectious, and Natasha nodded with a look of admiration, feigned but convincing. The flattery seemed to spur him on, his demeanor growing more relaxed, his guard slipping.

Just then, a small pop-up appeared on the computer screen. Natasha glanced at it with mild interest, noting the title in bold text: "Stair-Climbing Ride: Unbelievable Stunt or Special Effects?" She feigned accidental curiosity and clicked on the video, watching as it began to play.

In the video, a flaming skeleton, engulfed in blue-white fire, rode a blazing motorcycle toward an abandoned building. As the wheels hit the ground, flames streaked across the road, leaving scorched marks in their wake. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, the flaming motorcycle defied gravity, climbing the side of the building in a feat that seemed impossible.

Johnny's expression tightened as he watched, his pupils contracting. The video showed him losing control a few nights ago, a time he thought he'd been completely alone, driven by the searing wrath of Zarathos. He had chosen a remote spot in Hell's Kitchen to release his pent-up fury, where no one could witness his transformation. Yet, somehow, here it was—a recording of his night as Ghost Rider.

Beside him, Natasha tilted her head. "That must have been some impressive special effects. Do you think stunts like that are physically possible?"

Johnny forced a grin, though his eyes were clouded with suspicion. "Sure, if you have a powerful enough bike, you might pull it off. But, Irena, if you want to know more, why not come watch my show tonight? We can talk after."

Natasha offered him a polite smile, understanding his underlying invitation. "I appreciate the offer, but I think I've gotten all I need from this interview." Her response was nonchalant, but her mind was churning. The way Johnny had reacted to the video was telling, hinting at a deeper connection between him and the mysterious flaming skeleton.

As she left Johnny's room, her thoughts lingered on the black magic card she'd glimpsed earlier, confirming her suspicions. Johnny Blaze wasn't just a daredevil rider. He was something… more.

In the car on the way back, Natasha removed her disguise, applying makeup and adjusting her attire with practiced efficiency. Coulson, driving, glanced over. "So, what did you gather on Johnny Blaze?"

"Plenty," Natasha replied, lining her eyes with precision. "The timing of the Flaming Skull's appearances and Johnny's visit to New York match up. And judging by his reaction to that video, I'd say we're looking at the same person."

Coulson nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "Another anti-hero, then. Someone who takes the law into his own hands… not exactly easy to work with, unless his abilities are exceptional."

Natasha let out a small sigh, recalling Johnny's demeanor during the interview. "He's complex. Definitely hostile toward crime, but he's not the bleeding-heart type either."

"Interesting," Coulson mused. "What about any weaknesses?"

"Typical vices," Natasha replied dryly. "He has a bit of a weakness for women, which could work in our favor." She hesitated, then added, "Oh, and there's something else. I saw a Vientiane World magic card on his desk."

Coulson's grip on the wheel tightened, his expression darkening. "So he might be connected to Professor Lockhart."

Natasha nodded, her voice tinged with intrigue. "He tried to brush it off, but I'm almost certain there's more to it than he let on."

Night at Rand Plaza

The grand opening ceremony was a spectacle, with elaborate displays and famous guests filling the square. A crowd of excited fans had gathered, buzzing with anticipation for the main event. It wasn't just the performances that had drawn them in, but the promise of a world-record-breaking stunt—the 400-foot "Leap of Death."

Behind the scenes, Johnny Blaze sat astride his motorcycle, eyes closed, breathing slowly as he tuned out the noise of the crowd. He could feel the thrum of excitement around him, the thrill and tension mounting in the air. Ever since he was young, stunts like these had been his way of balancing on the edge of life and death. The roar of the crowd, the adrenaline—it was his lifeblood.

And yet, tonight was different. He could feel the presence of Zarathos, the spirit within him, simmering just beneath the surface, agitated by the crowd's energy. The thrill of the challenge was like a drug, feeding Zarathos's hunger for chaos.

"Now," the announcer's voice rang out, hyping the crowd, "it's time for the main event! Please welcome Johnny Blaze, the world's top motorcycle stunt rider, here to perform the Death Jump!"

Cheers erupted, and Johnny opened his eyes, feeling a surge of energy as the motorcycle engine roared to life. He took a deep breath, gripping the handlebars tightly, and rolled forward, his gaze locked on the massive ramp at the far end of the square.

The audience watched with bated breath as Johnny began his approach, the crowd's cheers filling the night air. Cameras flashed, and the spotlight illuminated his path as he sped toward the ramp. In an instant, he was airborne, his motorcycle slicing through the sky like a comet, flames trailing in its wake.

The square fell silent as Johnny soared over the 400-foot gap, defying gravity, his bike flying like an arrow. The suspense hung thick as he neared the other side, every heartbeat seeming to stretch eternity.

Then, with a deafening thud, his motorcycle landed, skidding to a stop as the crowd erupted in applause. Johnny's face broke into a grin, the rush of the successful jump washing over him. He raised his hand in victory, basking in the cheers that filled the square.

As the applause began to die down, Johnny felt the familiar pull of Zarathos stirring within him, a nagging reminder of their pact. Tonight's show had been Johnny's own time, but now the spirit demanded its turn.

Johnny clenched his fists, feeling the spirit's anger simmering beneath his skin, its presence darker and hungrier than ever. Zarathos's fury was tied to unfinished business—his unrelenting hatred for Mephisto.

Taking a deep breath, Johnny whispered, "All right, you can have your time. But remember, I'm still in control."

The flames in his eyes flickered, and for a moment, Johnny could feel Zarathos's impatience urging him forward. He steeled himself, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

Tonight, the thrill of the ride was over. But the real hunt was just beginning.

Mephisto, Johnny thought, a cold determination settling over him as he felt Zarathos's strength merge with his own. You're next.

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