Lucas stepped forward and pinned the Ghost Rider to the ground with one foot.
Purple lightning burst from his body, instantly spreading across the Rider's entire fra.
"Wanda."
Wanda moved without hesitation, Chaos Magic gathering at her fingertips.
She tapped the Ghost Rider lightly on the forehead.
In an instant, Chaos Magic poured down like a flood of liquid light.
Wherever it flowed, Hellfire recoiled and vanished.
Within re breaths, the flas were extinguished entirely.
Johnny's consciousness surged back into control, flesh regrowing rapidly—even the severed leg regenerated in seconds.
"I… what happened to …?"
Johnny woke to find himself sprawled on the ground and imdiately realized he had transford again.
"Let's go inside first."
Crowds had already ford all around them, phones raised in every direction.
Videos of the Ghost Rider were already exploding across the internet.
Back in the office, the shaken Johnny gulped down water in huge swallows.
"You've never thought about trying to control the Spirit of Vengeance inside you?"
Lucas asked.
Johnny treated the Spirit the sa way Bruce Banner once treated the Hulk—
as a monster to be expelled.
But that path only drove the Spirit madder.
"Control? How? Every ti he appears, I black out instantly."
Johnny was frustrated.
He spent every day praying sunset would co a little slower,
just so he wouldn't have to surrender his body.
"You and it are already one.
You are him, and he is you.
You have to accept him—turn that power into your own.
Rejecting it only makes it more violent and uncontrollable."
"I can't.
I don't even know where it is inside .
I can't feel it at all."
Johnny had no idea how to locate it, let alone control it.
"Try calming your mind.
It's in the deepest part of your soul.
If you quiet yourself enough, it'll co to you."
Lucas wasn't sure how one was supposed to "communicate" with the Spirit of Vengeance, but ditation was the simplest thod.
"You can try it at ho.
But let make this clear—if sothing goes wrong, don't bla .
I'm just offering advice, not guaranteeing results."
Last thing he wanted was Johnny demanding compensation after the Spirit burned his apartnt down.
Johnny nodded.
"I'll try. I'll head back now."
He had just reached the door when he paused and turned around.
"Uh… will that Spirit show up again tonight?"
"No. You're fine."
Only after receiving a firm answer did Johnny leave with so peace of mind.
Skye watched him go and asked,
"Will he really be able to control that skull-headed thing?"
"He should.
He is the Ghost Rider, after all. If he can't control it, he'll eventually lose his mind entirely. phisto would have to pick a new contract holder, and the title of Ghost Rider would shift.
But Johnny Blaze is destined to be the Ghost Rider—
he'll get there."
Lucas knew the "plot."
Johnny succeeding was inevitable.
Back ho, Johnny stripped down and sat cross-legged on his bed.
He recalled Lucas's words—
it was essentially ditation.
That much he knew how to do.
At first, nothing happened.
But as ti passed, just as Lucas had said—
A tiny blue fla erged in the depths of Johnny's consciousness, flickering violently as though trying to break free from so unseen constraint.
Johnny instantly understood:
this was the Spirit of Vengeance.
And strangely—
he could feel it was him.
Sothing he could control.
He reached toward it with his mind.
At first, the Spirit rebelled wildly.
But Johnny was patient.
Bit by bit, his consciousness connected to the fla.
Gradually, the Spirit quieted.
It no longer thrashed wildly—
the fire softened, becoming almost gentle.
Johnny's excitent surged.
He had done it.
He'd taken the first step toward true control.
When he opened his eyes again, dawn light filled the room.
He had ditated all night—
but it was worth it.
He could now clearly sense that the Spirit no longer raged uncontrollably,
nor would it seize his consciousness at random.
He rushed back to Lucas's office and shared the good news.
Lucas nodded, unsurprised.
He told Johnny to keep doing it every day until he achieved full mastery.
Johnny went ho in high spirits.
For the first ti, he saw hope—
hope that he wouldn't live like a rabid monster anymore.
A few days later, Johnny had complete control over the Spirit of Vengeance.
He could transform at will, and Hellfire no longer burned him—
in fact, it felt warm.
That sa night, deep in a barren desert, a sinister wind began to howl.
Sand whipped upward, forming a miniature sandstorm.
From its center, a lone figure erged.
Dressed head to toe in black, skin pale as death, deep shadows under his eyes—
he looked every bit the embodint of gothic tal.
This was Blackheart—
phisto's unfilial son.
He had co for the Contract of San Venganza.
With it, he could dethrone his father
and take the throne of Hell for himself.
He surveyed the empty wasteland, then turned his gaze toward a distant cluster of lights—
a small town.
A minute later, he pushed open the doors of the town's saloon.
The once-boisterous bar fell silent instantly,
save for the music still playing.
The place was perfectly "old west,"
from decorations to atmosphere.
Blackheart strode to the bar, grabbed a waiter by the collar.
"Where is the Contract of San Venganza?"
His voice was cold, eyes even colder.
"What the hell are you talking about? Are you sick? Let go!"
The "waiter" was a burly cowboy built like a wall—
not soone easily intimidated by a pale, frail-looking stranger.
Blackheart grinned.
Rows of razor-sharp teeth flashed like a shark's.
He opened his jaws wide and bit off the man's entire face.
"F—! He's a maniac!"
The woman behind the bar shouted.
She pulled a shotgun from beneath the counter and fired.
Half of Blackheart's head exploded,
only for black mist to seep from the wound
and regrow his missing skull monts later.
He turned his gaze on the woman—
his eyes glowing red.
She fell into a trance,
raised the gun to her own head,
and pulled the trigger without hesitation.
Blackheart turned back to the rest of the bar, smiling—
bits of flesh still caught between his teeth.
"So… does anyone know where the Contract of San Venganza is?"
No one answered.
Everyone opened fire instead.
Gunshots erupted like a hailstorm,
muzzle flashes lighting the entire bar.
When the barrage ended,
Blackheart looked like a perforated sieve—
but he didn't fall.
Dark smoke curled from every wound,
and within seconds he was whole again.
If you'd like, I can translate the next chapter as well.
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