Vicious_Cycle (vicious_cycle) wrote,
@ 2010-01-26 22:15:00

Entry tags:

Murderworld
Links from: http://www.scribbld.net/community/marvel_nextgen/105964.html?thread=5874924

Ghost Rider follows the trail set for him. While its clearly a trap, the demon is very hard to kill and he knows it, and somehow, the aura of terrible sin, and this feels like some of the worst in a city known for its sin at times, has always been irresistable to the Spirit of Vengeance. Nick has let the demon have reign for now, gunning the engine and riding deep into the park after the trail.

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ng_murderworld
2010-01-27 11:15 am UTC (link)

She sits on the abused body of her latest lover, tears of anger dripping unheeded down her cheeks.

His voice draws her attention she gazes at him without seeing. As if hypnotized, her soul aching for the words he spoke, she slid off the empty shell of a man and fell to the floor. Her legs were weak as she sobbed, making it difficult to stand. Stand and go to the man that would finally be perfect.

She crawls across the floor. Using the door frame for support as she stands, one hand reaches out in disbelief. Shaking as her fingers touch his chest. And then she is against him. Holding him to her desperately and kissing him. Kissing him and finally able to see him, to hear him. She looks up, into those eyes that promise her everything she's ever searched for.

Her grip tightens, perfect nails digging into his shoulders as her body is wracked with sobs. All the pain of those she loved... they never loved her. She had hoped for so long that she'd been wrong, that somewhere inside one of them there had been a glimmer of true affection. But there wasn't. There was only more pain. More fear and heartache. There wasn't even hatred. None of them even cared enough to hate her for what she had done. They were only frightened and in pain.

She would never know love... and she would never know hate. She could only watch and cry as she died in her own arms again and again. Feeling nothing of any real consequence. She meant nothing to no one... not even herself.

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vicious_cycle
2010-01-27 11:31 am UTC (link)

Realization comes flooding back to him. The world, the deception his body just played host to. The tiny little corner of a private hell she just reserved for herself. And he knows he should somehow pity her. There should be an ember of doubt or remorse or... something. That the human soul has enough empathy to find forgiveness, and to pity the monster.
But he has no soul. His parents sold it on the day he was born, the day they carved damned sigils into his innocent hands, and he would never be innocent or pure again. This woman made her hell, and now she has to lie in it, alone.

Nicholas can't help but wonder as he frees the survivors, these people who may now be haunted forever by what they've seen and experienced, scarred by their victimhood... first the men, then the reverend's victims, then the models, and then through each layer of hell, navigating the maintenance tunnels, demanding that the strong and able restrain the violent, carry the weak, anyone with medical training tend to the worst of the injuries...
Despite the commands, the insistence man care for man, the strong help the weak, and that together, and only together, they will find light and escape, even if they will never find peace...
Do they know he's not here for them? He never was. Their suffering might have gone unheeded, they might have died alone and unheard, as many others did in their company. There was no salvation for the victim, save that there was damnation for the wicked, and only that darkness drew him there.
Some of them might call him a hero. He saved lives. Some may fear him nearly as much as the sinners, and perhaps rightly so. They, at least, had souls, however wicked. There was in them depths to which they couldn't sink. The woman sought love, even if she was willing to deny it to others to try and find it. The reverend sought the Lord's punishment for the guilty, however overwrought, and in that, Nick can't help but remember his own reflection in the man's eyes - be careful when you stare into hell. The artist sought beauty.

But Nicholas? Nicholas is empty and damned. Whatever good he might do on this Earth, it may never be an untainted thing.

He nears the surface, and the light, leading his unholy procession of sinners and saved, examplars of vices and sins who now have to find somewhere to start again. His hands light - the pentagrams always light first, unholy shimmers lighting and playing over the surfaces of the scars.

Within moments, the flickers are an inferno, and the Ghost Rider is reborn. With the maintenance doors opened, he's able to call his very own pale horse - the bike roars up the tunnel, responding to his master now that he needs it again. These people will have to fend for themselves, hopefully for each other now.
The Ghost Rider isn't a hero... but he has heroes to save.

The final door from hell bursts away in a blaze of flame, and the Demon rides the Earth again.

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