More advance chapters on P@treon.com/Saintbarbido.
Some powerstones would go a long way...
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-A day later-
The night draped Gotham in a blanket of suffocating darkness, pierced only by the distant glow of neon lights and the occasional flicker of police sirens.
On the rooftop of 'The Cat's Cradle', Selina Kyle stood in a red robe and a glass of wine held with one hand.
Her green eyes were narrowed in frustration at the man standing close to the roof's edge.
Her dead best friend's Husband. A man she considered family. Maybe more...but now she wasn't so sure about that.
He'd been ducking her since last night after they'd taken down Black Mask. But the time for answers had arrived.
"Why, Michael?"
She asked, her voice cutting through the tense silence between them.
"How long did you think you could keep it from me? You've been lying to me this whole time. Ghost Rider... it's you."
His injuries were nowhere to be seen and his body had also changed. He was bigger and taller. How had she not noticed it??
Michael said nothing, his back still turned to her, gaze locked on the Gotham skyline.
His black jacket fluttered slightly in the night's breeze, the only movement he'd made in what felt like an eternity.
He wasn't the Michael she thought she knew— She could sense the underlying heat and darkness- the Rider lurking just beneath the surface. It's vengeance like a second skin he wore.
Drowning, the wine in her glass, Selina stepped forward, sandals tapping lightly against the concrete,
"You've killed people. Burned them alive. Granted most of them were scum like Black Mask, but some were people whose mistakes were less than the punishment given."
She'd even known a few of Two-Face's goons. Good men who had no choice but to turn to crime just to provide.
Still no reaction. The tension between them became unbearable, like a taut rope on the verge of snapping.
She could almost see the fire in his eyes, though his back remained turned.
"You're not the man I knew. Not the man my sister fell in love with. Not my Michael."
Her voice grew sharp and cutting, finally eliciting a reaction as his shoulders stiffened.
Feeling terrible at the low blow, she went on the offensive,
"And when does the Rider's vendetta end? When you've burned the whole city to ash? Gotham doesn't need another loose cannon tearing it apart."
At last, Michael stirred. His voice, low and gravelly, carried an edge that chilled her.
"You don't understand, Selina. Gotham's a rot, and I'm the cure."
She laughed, bitterly.
"A cure? You sound like every other maniac who thought they could save this city by burning it down. I've seen it before, Michael. They try to fight Gotham's darkness, and it always breaks them. Turns them into the very thing they swore to destroy."
He turned, and when she saw his vengeful eyes, her stomach twisted.
"They broke because they were weak," he said, stepping toward her.
"But I'm not. You wanna know why?"
Selina shivered at the dark confidence in his tone.
"Because The Ghost Rider is Immortal and Relentless. He's God's Judgement, inviolable and unstoppable. NOTHING ON THIS MORTAL PLANE CAN BREAK ME."
His voice thundered with a power that made her instinctively step back, her pulse quickening. She could literally feel the heat wafting off him, as the Ghost Rider's influence bleed through.
The fear from before came back, but she refused to let it rule her. Not now.
Her fists clenched, and she met his fire with ice.
"And what about the innocents, Michael? The people caught in your so-called Judgment? Would the Rider burn them too? Batman would never—"
"Batman?"
Michael's lips curled into a sneer, his eyes flaring brighter.
"Batman's too weak to do what's needed. He's been playing this game for years, and look at Gotham—worse than ever. This city doesn't need a hero. It needs a demon."
His words were laced with venom, but beneath the anger, Selina could see it—the pain he was drowning in, the loss that had consumed him. "Michael, this isn't you. It doesn't have to be."
He didn't answer. His gaze shifted past her, toward the sky, where the Bat-Signal had appeared, but not with its usual symbol.
This time, the silhouette of a skull loomed within it.
A personal call, evidently meant for him.
"I have to go."
He said, voice flat.
Selina, confused and angry, grabbed his arm.
"Michael, don't you dare walk away from me. You're not the only one here who's lost something. Don't pretend you're the only one hurting."
He shook her off gently but firmly. "You're right, Selina. This is about my dead wife and daughter. So stay out of it. I'll have my Vengeance and not you or anyone else can stop me."
And with that, he stepped toward the edge of the rooftop.
From the shadows below, the hulking form of J'onn, currently disguised as a monstrous dragon, emerged, his scales glistening in the dim light.
Michael leapt onto his back, the dragon's flaming wings unfurling in preparation for flight.
"Michael, wait!"
Selina shouted after him, but it was too late.
The dragon's wings flapped once, twice, and then they were airborne, soaring off into the night sky.
---
The city passed by beneath him in a blur of lights and shadows as Michael focused on the Bat-Signal, his mind racing.
Batman had altered the signal just for the Rider—there was no mistaking that. But why did he want to meet? Was it a trap? Most likely. Could he have taken Jimmy?
A low growl rumbled in Michael's throat, the flames of the Rider flaring within.
Batman had been an obstacle that was quickly turning into an annoyance. It seemed the Penance Stare from last time wasn't enough to put him down.
'This time I'll put an end to it', Michael thought as the Hell Ride descended toward the location marked by the signal—a graveyard on the outskirts of Gotham.
The dragon touched down on the sidewalk, its massive form filling up the whole street.
Its wings folded as Michael dismounted, taking in his surroundings. The graveyard bordered a large cathedral. His eyes narrowed- he knew the place.
"J'onn keep an eye out, there's a high chance it's a trap."
He could afford the risk but Michael knew better than to lose control of his arrogance.
The dragon shifted into a bee, buzzing around Michael's ears. The flames of Vengeance roared to life, consuming him from the inside out. His body flickered with hellfire, and the Ghost Rider stepped through the Cemetery gateway.
The graveyard was deathly silent, the only sound the soft rustling of leaves in the wind.
But even in the dim light, the Rider could see two graves ahead. The names on the headstones were: 'Sarah Anders. Emily Anders.'
His wife. His daughter.
Standing before them, in the shadows, was Batman—silent, unmoving, his face hidden beneath the cowl.
A familiar, suffocating rage surged within the Rider and the fire around his skull burned hotter.
"BATMAN"
Ghost Rider growled, his voice now, a guttural echo of hellish vengeance.
"YOU TOOK JIMMY. WHERE IS HE?"
Batman's silhouette was calm and composed, despite the weight of the Rider's presence filling the graveyard.
"Jimmy's been handed over to the police. He's an escaped convict. I put him where he belongs."
The flames flared around the Rider, illuminating the tombstones in a haunting bluish glow.
His guess had been right. Which meant,
"THIS IS NOT ABOUT HIM, IS IT? YOU CALLED ME HERE FOR SOMETHING ELSE." His skeletal jaw clenched, realization dawning within the empty eye sockets.
"YOU CALLED ME HERE BECAUSE YOU KNOW WHO I AM."
Why else would Batman be standing in front of his family's graves?
Batman remained silent for a long moment, then finally spoke, his voice measured and deliberate.
"I know what you've become, Mr. Anders. You think you're bringing justice to Gotham, but all you're doing is feeding the city's fear."
The Rider took a step forward, his chain rattling,
"THE ONLY ONES WHO NEED TO FEAR ME ARE THE ONES WHO DESERVE IT."
Batman didn't flinch.
"And who gets to decide that? You?" His voice dropped to a grave whisper.
"I've seen this before. Someone who thinks they're above the law. Someone who thinks their pain gives them the right to do whatever they want. I won't let that happen again."
The Rider's flames crackled, but there was no hesitation in his voice.
"GOTHAM IS A DISEASE, BATMAN. YOU'RE JUST ANOTHER BANDAGE COVERING THE INFECTION. I AM THE CURE YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN."
For a moment, neither of them moved. The graveyard was still, save for the flickering flames.
And then, slowly, deliberately, Batman reached up and removed his cowl. The man beneath the mask—Bruce Wayne—stood revealed.
"I want to speak to the Man, not the Ghost."
Bruce said quietly, his voice no longer the gravelly growl of Batman, but something softer, more human.
Ghost Rider faltered, the flames dimming slightly as Michael's consciousness fought its way to the surface. The Rider's burning skull was replaced by a broken man.
"Hello boss, came to hand me my termination contract? Who knew Bruce Wayne was the Batman?"
Michael asked.
"No, I came to talk. To understand you, not the Rider."
Bruce shook his head.
"Be honest with me, this isn'about Gotham, is it? It's about them."
He nodded toward the graves of Sarah and Emily.
"They died because no one did what needed to be done."
Michael said, his voice a harsh rasp.
"If someone had stopped the Joker before... if you had killed him..."
He trailed off, glaring accusingly at Bruce, who remained unaffected.
In his anger, wisps of flames flickered across Michael's body.
"I won't stop until everyone like him is dead."
Bruce stepped closer, eyes locked onto Michael's.
"And then what? What happens when you've killed them all? Will Gotham be better? Will you be better? You're not bringing Sarah or Emily back, Michael. And if you keep going like this, you're just creating more pain—more families, more loved ones, who'll be just as broken as you are."
Michael chuckled, humorlessly,
"What's with today and the unasked for therapy sessions?"
His breath came in ragged gasps, as he stared back,
"Get this through that billionaire head of yours, Mr. Wayne. Those monsters you're trying to protect, WILL DIE. Painfully too, they deserve to suffer for their sins. You could have stopped it then, but you didn't. Now, I will."
Bruce's expression tightened.
"That isn't justice. It's revenge."
"You think I don't know that?"
Michael's voice cracked, full of sorrow and anger.
"I 'need' this, Bruce. I need them to pay. For all our sakes. A man like The Joker is an enemy of humanity. A demon. And only a Demon can take out it's Kind."
Bruce stood in silence for a long moment, his eyes heavy with understanding.
"I know, Michael. I know what it's like to want revenge. But there's a line. And if you cross it, there's no going back. The Rider has, but Michael Anders hasn't."
Michael's hand twitched, the Rider fighting for control again.
"Even if I have to do it with my own hands, I'll have the Joker's head. My hatred has already crossed that line."
Bruce closed his eyes, when he opened them, the two held contact for a few seconds. Bruce searched and didn't find a lick of hesitation in Michael's eyes.
"Then we'll stop you."
He resolved,his voice changing to something hard.
Before Michael could respond, J'onn's voice buzzed in his ear, a telepathic warning.
(They're here, Michael. We're not alone. I can feel multiple minds approaching.)
Michael stopped, scanning the shadows. Slowly, figures emerged from the darkness, surrounding him.
Wonder Woman, Shazam, Green Lantern, Zatara, and Constantine—all standing at the ready, their expressions grim.
Michael glanced back at Bruce, who had already replaced his cowl.
"You should've called the whole League, Bruce."
Michael said, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"You're gonna need them."