The dim glow of a single desk lamp illuminated the cluttered room. Papers were scattered across every surface, old newspaper clippings pinned haphazardly to the walls. The rhythmic clack of a typewriter filled the air as Arthur Brown, the city's most relentless reporter, sat hunched over his desk.
He leaned back for a moment, adjusting his glasses. His shirt was half-untucked, and his tie was loosened as if he'd been working tirelessly through the night. The events he had witnessed—the burning bike, the blazing eyes, the melted asphalt—were unlike anything he could comprehend.
His fingers hovered above the keys, ready to punch in the headline that would capture the city's attention. He muttered to himself, trying to string words together.
"'The Devil's Rider'? No, too cliché... 'Hell's Flame'? Hmm, sounds like a bad metal band... Damn it!"
He ripped the paper out of the typewriter, crumpling it in frustration and tossing it into the growing pile of failed drafts on the floor. His hands ran through his disheveled hair as he stared at the blank sheet before him.
Arthur began typing again, his fingers moving swiftly:
Witnesses describe a man on a flaming bike, engulfed in fire, who... who...
He paused, staring at the words. Slowly, the letters began to fade before his eyes. The ink vanished.
"What the...?" Arthur whispered, blinking in disbelief. He reached out and touched the paper, but it was blank, as though he hadn't typed a single word.
Frustrated, he loaded another sheet of paper and started again, more aggressively this time.
Unnatural phenomenon, rider on fire, no identity confirmed...
Once again, the words disappeared. The paper looked untouched, as pristine as when he'd fed it into the typewriter.
Arthur leaned back in his chair, his heart pounding. Something unnatural was happening, something beyond his understanding. The room felt colder despite the muggy air outside.
"No names, no traces, no stories," he muttered under his breath, feeling a chill run down his spine. He stood up and began pacing, muttering to himself. "This thing... whatever it is, it doesn't want to be named. It's like it's erasing itself from existence. What the hell am I supposed to call it?"
He turned back to his typewriter, a newfound determination on his face. He loaded another sheet of paper, his fingers poised above the keys. He thought about the fiery chaos, the screams, the melted roads, and the sheer power of the entity he had seen.
Finally, he typed two words:
"The Burning Ass."
Arthur stared at the words for a moment, a slight smirk forming on his face. "Catchy. Crude, but catchy," he muttered.
He pulled the paper out of the typewriter and held it up, reading it aloud: "The Burning Ass terrorizes the city! Not bad, not bad at all."
Arthur slapped the paper onto the growing stack of notes and grabbed his recorder. "This'll sell papers for weeks," he said, his voice tinged with dark humor.
The glow of the desk lamp flickered, and for a brief second, the room felt as though it was being watched. Arthur glanced around nervously, then shook his head and went back to his work, muttering, "Burning Ass... yeah, that'll stick."
***
The roar of helicopters filled the night sky as searchlights
that scanned the city streets. FBI agents and special forces swarmed the area, their vehicles blocking every possible escape route. The tension was palpable as officers barked orders into their radios. Somewhere amidst the chaos was Steven, disguised in a hooded jacket and a scarf covering his face. He moved swiftly through the shadows, avoiding the patrols as he made his way to his bike.
Meanwhile, in a dilapidated church on the city's outskirts, Blackout, Abigor, and Wallow stood near the altar. The air was thick with decay and dread as the trio searched for an ancient relic—a piece of paper containing a ritual that could amplify their powers.
Blackout held the fragile parchment, his pale, rotting skin glinting faintly under the dim candlelight. "This is it," he murmured, his voice dripping with malice. "The key to hell's ascension."
Abigor stepped forward, his impatience evident. "Let's finish this before the Rider finds us."
Blackout smirked, his confidence unwavering. "Let him come. He's just a child playing with fire."
Suddenly, the distant growl of a motorcycle engine echoed through the air. Abigor moved toward the church doors, but Blackout stopped him with a raised hand.
"No," Blackout said. "Let him come to us. Wallow, go and greet our guest. Bring him here."
The watery form of Wallow melted into the shadows, vanishing through the cracks in the floor.
Steven rode through the city at full throttle, weaving between abandoned cars and roadblocks. His heart pounded as he heard the faint whispers of something unnatural nearby. He followed the sound into a drainage system, his bike's engine reverberating off the damp, concrete walls.
Suddenly, Wallow emerged from the water, his liquid form twisting and reforming into a humanoid shape.
"You're out of your depth, Rider," Wallow sneered, his voice gurgling like a clogged drain.
Steven skidded to a halt, his bike spitting sparks. "You're just another pest to crush," he growled.
Wallow lunged, sending waves of water crashing toward Steven. But the Rider was quick, dodging and weaving as he sped through the tunnels. Despite Wallow's attempts to drown him, Steven managed to keep up, driving him back.
Wallow grinned, his plan working perfectly. He led Steven out of the drainage system and toward the church, disappearing into the shadows as they reached its decrepit steps.
Steven parked his bike outside the church, the eerie silence sending chills down his spine. He stepped inside, his boots echoing on the cold, cracked floor. The air smelled of rot and old blood.
At the end of the aisle stood Blackout, his imposing figure illuminated by the flickering light of dying candles.
"Welcome, kid," Blackout said, his voice like gravel. "You've been causing quite the stir."
Steven's eyes burned with anger as he stepped closer, flames flickering faintly around his hands. "Leave this world while you can, demon. I won't warn you again."
Blackout chuckled, the sound dark and menacing. "Warn me? You're a child playing with vengeance. You don't even understand what you've become."
Steven clenched his fists, the fire around him growing. He transformed into the Ghost Rider, his flaming skull lighting up the church like a beacon of hellfire.
But the moment he stepped further inside, the flames extinguished, and his powers vanished. Steven stumbled, his human form returning.
Blackout laughed mockingly. "Did you really think hell's power could reach you here? You're just a man now."
Blackout lunged forward, his movements swift and brutal. Steven barely had time to react, blocking a punch that sent him staggering backward.
"You don't stand a chance," Blackout snarled, his decayed hand glowing with the power of rot.
Steven dodged another attack, landing a solid punch to Blackout's jaw. "You're wrong," Steven spat. "I don't need hell's power to take you down."
The fight was vicious. Steven used every ounce of his strength, landing punches and kicks, but Blackout was relentless. His rotting touch disintegrated everything it grazed, and despite Steven's determination, he was slowly overwhelmed.
Blackout grabbed Steven by the throat, slamming him into a stone pillar. The impact cracked the pillar and Steven's ribs.
"You're nothing," Blackout hissed. "A child pretending to be a warrior."
Steven, battered and bloody, managed to stand, his resolve unbroken. "I'll never stop fighting."
Blackout's expression darkened. "Then I'll make sure you remember this night." He struck Steven with a powerful blow, sending him crashing into the wall. The impact shattered the stone, and Steven collapsed to the ground, barely conscious.
Blackout loomed over him, his decayed hand glowing as he prepared to finish him. But he paused, his expression turning to one of cruel amusement.
"No," he said, stepping back. "You're not worth killing yet. Consider this a warning. Stay out of my way, or next time, I'll make sure there's nothing left of you."
Steven lay on the ground, his body broken and his spirit shaken. Blackout turned and walked away, his laughter echoing through the church.
Steven dragged himself out of the church, his breaths ragged and pained. His bike stood waiting for him, and he managed to climb onto it despite his injuries.
From the shadows, Abigor and Wallow watched in silence.
"He's weaker than I expected, not like the other who destroyed our genetics" Abigor said.
Wallow nodded. "But he won't stop."
Blackout appeared beside them, his expression cold. "Let him come. Every fight will only make him realize how powerless he truly is."
The three demons vanished into the night, leaving Steven to nurse his wounds and prepare for the battles to come.