The Fury of the Day (Blade) [Ask for Invite]

[webdevil]

Midsummer Rise. Toronto, Canada. SHIELD Mobile Bunker.

In the southern part of the country, the heat could still easily crack mid-90s before the humidity of the noon hour pushed that towards an easy one hundred. For all the stereotypes Canucks had, it only took being in this town ten minutes to realize virtually none of them were true. Certainly not in this city at any rate, and he had been here a month.

One month.

It seemed like barely a minute. For some time - too much time - he was someplace else. Far away. A disruption. It angered him. No, it downright ignited his fury. He tasted their blood - figuratively and literally - for taking him from his work. Work, he found, was required here in this city the world often forgets unless the country's leader was making a tyrant of himself on the world stage. It was a city, he also found, that even its own people had forgot.

His name was Eric Brooks. He never forgot what he did. How long he had been away. How long it had been since the world had seen his true self. Blade. The Daywalker. He hunted vampires.

Half-human and half-vampire himself, Blade was always moving from place-to-place, city-to-city, always holing up in any warehouse he could find as he routed out the city's corruption that ran deeper than a fat man who fought a blind lawyer: Vampires. Hominus Nocturna. Capable of living for hundreds of years, these nighttime demons were first brought to the world's attention in the West by novelist Bram Stoker (though most believed his writings to be mere works of fiction and still do). The truth was even stranger than fiction: Dracula himself was not so easily defeated, and his unholy lives created a disease much easier to understand by modern science, creating vampires on every continent of the globe. And in that time, those who succumbed had become true horrors. Dracula would be proud.

True, many vampire hunters - including the original crew of Harker, Seward, and especially Van Helsing - came and went over the years, forcing the vampires underground. But in those shadows they only grew in power. Influence. Blood came at the exchange of coin, though at least in the vampires' collective case, the bloodsucking was literal. It was a match made only in Hell.

And then there was Blade.

True, he was not the first to learn how to kill vampires - he wasn't even the first to hunt his own kind - but he was the one who took to it better than all who came before him and since. And then some asshole from beyond the stars came and wore his face and shotgunned nearly everything he ever worked for to Hell. Sure, the bastard got him a cushy job at SHIELD - a job that gave him his current base of operations outside of the city as a matter of fact - but he also did the most unforgivable sin:

He made a deal with Dracula.

That should have been an alarm to ol' Vladdy that the man in the trench coat wearing his face wasn't Blade. After all the times they fought - and Blade killed him without remorse many times- and he never clued in? After all the friends... Family... that that animal had taken from the Hunter? Why in any part of any universe would Blade decide to assist him? It was because of this that made Blade realize how out of step he had become. It would never happen again.

"SIR!" Came a voice. Blade opened his eyes. He was in meditation. The incense burned just off to his side. His reverie was broken. The room itself was made to look like it had been imported whole cloth from a shinto tower of prayer in Kyoto, but all parts were fabricated by SHIELD.

"Alvarez," came Blade's dark timbered voice. The room was bathed in a soft silver blue glow, which made his dark skin and black armor make him seem near invisible, save for the pearly white teeth that exposed themselves into the light. His canines were slightly elongated even in his rested state, and gave his expression a permanent hungered expression that intimidated even his own officers.

"I-I know it's not my place to bother you like this, but, uh - -" said the man called Alvarez. Alvarez was only a rookie - barely two months on the job. Blade requested him tho along with the entire crew because outside of three of them, they nearly all worked with the imposter.

"You have something," finished Blade for him. Alvarez - realizing how nervous he sounded - gave a curt nod. Professional. This was going to need work.

"We got a line on Familiars operating out of some strip club, but we suspect the actual club itself could be a safehouse," said Alvarez, pulling up a StarkPad and handing it to him.

"Do we know whose Familiars?" asked Blade. Familiars were humans who operated in the daylight for vampires like slaves in the hopes their work could eventually make the vampire who owned them turn them into one.

"Our records got a few partial matches, but honestly, sir, none of them seem like the type to just set up shop here. It's sort of... Out of the way," replied Alvarez.

Blade took the Pad and gave it a once over.

"There are three million people in Toronto alone. And 'out of the way' is exactly where vampires like to be in a world of Avengers and Mutants," said Blade as he looked over the matches. There were four total, though only two stood out to him:

Siegfried, one of the High Council of Vampires. Man had a hatred for Dracula constantly trying to override the Council's will. And the other..

"Deacon Frost..." snarled Blade and got to his feet, handing Alvarez the Pad, brushed himself off, and made his way into the main hub.

"Frost? Whos- -" asked Alvarez, following in Blade's wake but the words died in his throat.

The hub looked like a nuclear bunker had a baby with a SHIELD helicarrier's bridge, but the tactile hardware was custom made for mobility and portability rather than sleek aesthetics that Fury seemed to like.

"Wilson, prepare Teams 1 and 3 for deployment. Containment gear required. Prep Squad 2-Amiens for recon. Sundown is not for sixteen hours, so inform them to get any maintenance or training done early,"

"We got something, boss?" asked the man named Wilson. The man's casual flippancy irked Blade a little. He must've had this rapport with the imposter. Blade gave him a quick look, eyes flashing. Wilson was average height, about one-eighty pounds, in shape, but had a wiry look to him. Early twenties. His record spoke to his skill, but Blade didn't trust a man who worked side-by-side with a Skrull and didn't realize it. The same lack of realization would get you killed in the vampire hunting game.

"Deacon Frost has a notorious habit of resurrecting himself. It's a possible lead to follow. Do we have any addresses on the Familiars?" asked Blade, putting his arms behind his back and stretching out, looking up at the gigantic screen that displayed the overall flow of operations.

"We can send Amiens to pick them up for questioning," suggested Wilson.

"Do it," replied Blade, "And while you're - -"

"Blade, sir!" a woman's voice cried out to his right. Blade rounded on her.

"Simms?" he acknowledged.

"We're tapped in to the local Met PD lines and dispatch just picked up something... Bizarre," she said, and without prompt, put the playback on the Ops screen, audio line warbling a hypnotic green.

"9-1-1, what's the - -"

"HELLLLLLLLLLLLLP!"

"Miss, I need you to - -"

"NO! GET AWAY! WHAT'S WITH THOSE TEETHWHATHAPPENEDTOY- -"

"Miss, I NEED you to calm down an- -"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The line cut dead.

A heartbeat rang heavy in the air before Blade asked "Do we have a fix on where that call came from?"

"GPS puts the call in the West Mall. A lot of the residential areas are older, more brick, less steel and glass,"

Blade knew by the time he arrived she would most likely be dead. But her killer, well, a rat in a cage.

Ten minutes later, a souped up custom black Firebird came flying out of an extended seacan on an East End shipping dock. SHIELD created a maze of seeming industrial parts that formed their mobile base. Going westbound, the traffic was mercifully limited. He made sure to take this assignment alone as a fleet of SHIELD vehicles no matter how conspicuous would draw attention compared to a lone muscle car. His arrival at the location didn't look particularly strange in this neighbourhood, not even the black trench coat or even the sword. The MAC-11 machine pistols he kept on his hips however, were carefully concealed. Canadians and their paranoia about firearms, he muttered bitterly before eyeing the building.

It was a small flat above an even older looking Indian antique store that didn't look like it saw much business. He wondered if the owners rented it out to a specific clientele, but the scent of blood and alcohol came wafting out of the door. He found the place alright. He kicked the door open and stepped inside, moving slowly. He began to hear haggard breathing with each step, moving silently as he dared. Even to a vampire's senses, Blade's massive six-foot-two, two-hundred and fifteen pound frame plus the extra forty pounds of kit he was presently carrying didn't even cause the rickety staircase to the apartment to creak. Useful when hunting vampires.

However, the lack of sound did not hide his scent. As he entered the flat, he barely got a look at the narrow criss-cross of rooms before from above he was tackled by something. Couldn't have been more than a bucky-sixty and pudgy as a man who never hit the gym in his life. But he was strong. And hungry. Teeth gnashing towards anything it could bite, the newborn vampire left his own neck exposed to see a familiar brand on his neck.

It was not Siegfried's or even Frost's. It was Dracula's.

What the - -

Blade moved his head barely an inch to avoid it being sliced off before getting his legs under the neophyte's chest and giving him a violent heave, hurling him across the hallway and through the plaster of the wall adjacent, leaving an equally cramped bedroom exposed. Blade wheeled to his feet and got into a guard position. No room to draw his sword he realized and the MAC-11s would draw too much attention. Oh right, like the thud through the wall didn't already. The vampire snarled and flashed a pair of freshly grown claws. Couldn't have been older than twenty. He was new.

"So how did Dracula get a Renfield-looking little twit like you into a place like Canada?" he asked. The vampire merely snarled and charged, the rest of the wall exploding as he tried using his new vampiric speed, but faltered. The room was shaded so sunlight was not an issue for him until three more steps.

"Well, at least I tried..." Blade sighed and with that, leaned to his side and used the neophyte's own momentum against him and pushed him right towards the window, which exposed brilliant sunlight, causing him to blister and burn on immediate exposure. In two more seconds, he would be dead. Blade considered reeling him in. He needed information and this was the best he got.

One second.

On the other hand, somebody turning one of Dracula's familiars into a vampire when reports indicated Dracula hasn't been to Canada for years, perhaps decades, would raise more than a few eyebrows alive or dead. That and neophytes didn't calm down from their blood haze for days and he had other pains in the ass to deal with.

Too late. The prick was ash. No less than he deserved.

He turned around towards the victim. A woman also in her early twenties, short cropped dyed hair, wearing a Star Wars t-shirt as her only article of clothing, and half buried in a closet, a pool of blood seeping out of her neck, chest, and (Blade flinched slightly) other places.

Blade turned around to the spot of ash.

"Damn..." he said and shook his head. He pressed a blu tooth stud in his right ear.

"Get a cleanup crew down here..." said Blade, before hearing a noise: A neighbour came through the door to look and would find what he saw, but no Blade; only a window spewing in the fury of the day into the room ajar...

[webdevil]

The car pulled back into the seacan and onto its struts and lowered into a sizeable hangar that had clearly been recently dug out from a makeshift landfill. Maintenance teams came circling the vehicle before Blade had even got out. The door opened and he was immediately bombarded by agents asking for information. Overeager types. He wondered if Hill gave his unit all the rookies. Blade gave them all a stern look and they backed off. A grunt and a disrobe of his trench coat later, he made his way into the command centre, and more voices.

"That did not look fun," said Alvarez, his voice an ice breaking one.

"Good thing you don't have social media, Boss: Not sure if the bots would know whether to be horrified by the vic or what you did to the perp," said Simms dryly.

"Did you get an ID from the cameras?" asked Blade brusquely.

"Despite the whole face contorted like a vampire? We did, sir," replied Simms and pulled up the kid's social media feeds.

"Louay Peters. Not much of a looker even before that little vamp out there. How he got a chick like that to date him is a miracle," she continued on.

"Probably for the money; it wouldn't be his charming personality," came Wilson, whose nose was scrunched looking at the feed.

"And she is?" asked Blade, and seconds later Simms pulled up her social media.

"Ashleigh Wallace. Early twenties, York University student. Media studies. Model student, and despite the looks had a penchant for theatre and Dungeons and Dragons it seems," said Simms with a clinical tone.

"I never understood the appeal of that game. You sit around a table and make shit up and have to roll dice and keep track of things? Blegh. It's like you're back in Math class again!" said Wilson off-handedly

"Says the guy with four engineering degrees," said Simms without looking at him, continuing to monitor the screen.

"Yeah well, doesn't mean I have to like sitting around taking the tests! I know best when I'm in the field!" replied Wilson.

"Keep telling yourself that,"

"Enough," barked Blade, tho the body language did not quite match the aggression his dark voice came with.

"Mister Peters here was one of Dracula's,"

The tone of the room shifted immediately and alert.

"Dracula," repeated Alvarez. Blade grunted in acknowledgement.

"What's he doing in Canada?" asked Alvarez.

"That's for you all to figure out," replied Blade and turned away from the command centre and left.

"And what will you be doing?" called Wilson after him, but when no answer came, Alvarez jabbed Wilson in the shoulder.

"Man why you gotta do that?"

"Do what?" replied Wilson defensively.

"You know even without the, well, whole imposter thing, he has that whole loner thing,"

"You realize he can probably hear you two, right?" said Simms, who was leaning back on the wall behind her, the console remaining idle.

The room lapsed into an awkward silence for a moment or two before they all set to resume their work.

[Rift]

Elsewhere...


The rumble of an engine broke the silence of the street as a single motorcycle pulled into a near abandoned parking lot. The man that sat atop it removed his helmet, wiping sweat from his brow as he looked around. Under normal circumstances he didn't bother with the protective gear, had no real reason to do so, but circumstances were anything but normal.

For a long while he had managed to keep himself away from any action or at least kept it to random small towns that big cities tended to look down upon anyway. It was far easier to dismiss tales of monsters, demons, and supernatural happenings when it came from flyover country. The usual method of handling such stories was relatively routine: deny it, dismiss it as ramblings of simpleminded country folk who clutched their Bibles too much, or in the worst case scenario where there were too many casualties or even pesky footage of an event cover it with some nonsense about a gas leak. It was easier for everyone when that was the case. Easier for him because he could ramble on down the road to the next no-name town and for the authorities who hated admitting that even in an era of invading aliens and superheroes signing up with the government, they still couldn't handle the mystical. Even the tights crowd who knew better opted to let him keep his distance and do his own thing despite disliking his methods. Whether it was because the Avenger-types didn't have time for small town America or because they secretly knew that even if they won trying to stop him it wouldn't end well he didn't know, but the unofficial arrangement worked.

Unfortunately, Johnny Blaze: stunt biker, on and off again carnie, and host to one of the most dangerous forces in existence made a fatal mistake. He thought he had his life together.

Sure, the whole acting thing didn't pan out thanks to the Rider finding out how corrupt those in the entertainment industry were, but the whole outlaw vagabond thing? That was going well enough. Turned out even the would be Mayberrys of the nation hid demons and sometimes they were literal. His time away from the super sorts had been beneficial because he was still fighting the good fight as he traveled about and Zarathos and he had come to an understanding. While he wouldn’t ever really call a divine weapon his friend, the Spirit of Vengeance had at least become more willing to cooperate. Even if Zarathos still despised having to explain things to his sad little human host, he had begun to at least make an effort to do so without it becoming a fight over who was going to be in the driver’s seat. The arrangement had been going so well Blaze stopped considering the Ghost Rider a curse and a burden and instead saw it as a means to do good, to stand against dark forces other could not, and maybe save some people along the way.

Then everything changed.

He blacked out somewhere in Texas after a scuffle with demons revealed that Hell had put out a bounty on his head. He came to in a ditch somewhere in Louisiana only to learn that he had apparently been engaged in a massive battle with the supernatural bodies that had governed the city. It was like his early days as the Rider all over again, with Johnny not knowing what Zarathos had done while he took a back seat in his own mind. Whatever was happening, even the Rider seemed confused as they cut a bloody swath across America, seemingly beelining for New York. Luckily only demonic forces and their servants had been hit, but it still left Blaze wondering just what was drawing them towards the last place they wanted to be. Before he could get his answer though he found himself in being sought by the authorities.

It tends to happen, when you wake up in the middle of a campground surrounded by dead bodies, and are caught literally red handed due to all the blood, he thought.

Of course The Rider had no interest in remaining captive. Rather than risk being locked away with so many guilty Zarathos would have a field day, he escaped. He had no idea where to go, whether or not he was responsible for the deaths, or how to stop whatever was happening. That is until the man/entity/being he’d first encountered outside of New Orleans appeared to him once more. The Hoodoo man, if he was even a human at all, tipped him off that the answers he sought were definitely in North America, just not the states. Allegedly, there was someone who could help him understand what was happening, a native woman up north, someone who had for a time played host to a different Spirit of Vengeance. Whether it was true or not he didn’t know, but it was worth a shot. Anything that could help him make sense of what was happening (and keep him from having to go to the Big Rotten Apple) was worth attempting.

The only question Johnny had was whether or not he could find this woman in a city as big as Toronto before the Rider left even more hats on the ground or something like SHIELD caught up to him. Last he’d checked the agency had field units actively looking for him and he doubted they would stop just because he left Uncle Sam’s influence.

“Okay,” he said, to himself and the Rider, “simple job. Rumor has it this joint plays host to some of the things that go bump in the night. We go in, ask around about this woman since she supposedly offers cleansings and exorcisms for a price, and we get out. I don’t care what is in there. We go in, get the info, and get out. And I don’t want to hear a single VENGEANCE MUST BE SERVED out of you. We don’t need any more heat on us. Got it?”

If the Rider did understand, it didn’t answer.


“Good talk. Alright, let’s go see what’s biting.”

[webdevil]

Blade spent the next two hours in deep meditation over this morning's events, and another two training and sparring with the tac teams to get them prepped for vampire tactics for this evening's raid. Where did a skeevy strip club and a Dracula Familiar - apart from the fact they both involved vampires and more specifically the High Council - connect? What was the line? Siegfried? Frost? He wouldn't put past the notion of Deacon Frost being resurrected for the umpteenth time. The man sure loved making a play at Dracula's throne. Siegfried on the other hand was an arch-traditionalist who preferred the rule of their law - laws which Dracula himself often violated whenever they didn't suit his goals. However, Dracula was the King of the vampire nation so laws put down in his absence were beneath him, Blade supposed. It made for two potential suspects and neither of them he particularly liked pursuing.

A shower and a short bite to eat later (steak and potato stew with cruciferous greens at maintenance portions), Blade was back in the command room for merely three seconds when Alvarez went rigid at attention.

"At ease, Alvarez," said Blade and the man visibly relaxed.

"Y-yes, sir," he replied and reached for a pad and handed it to Blade.

"Final reports of supply and ready check for tonight," he said and Blade looked over it. After a moment, Blade frowned.

"The duty roster needs adjusting. I know at least two of these men are on scheduled leave and this is only a Yellow Alert this evening. And we do not need that many garlic grenades, it'll draw too much local police attention carrying that much hardware especially at night. Canada, remember?" Blade stated, tho not unkindly.

"I'll get to on it, sir. Sorry, sir," replied Alvarez.

Blade shook his head and sighed, handing the pad back to Alvarez and made his way to the command console. After routine duties were adjusted, he was about to go run the tedious two hours of shift - Reports to Hill - before a blip marked the screen.

"Simms?" he asked.

"On it," she replied at once and was off.

"A ha! So it does work!" came Wilson, who was busy installing some server cabinets, and his head spun around to get a proper look.

"I reconfigured some of SHIELD's global networking scanners to zero in on the aetheric energies that are almost universally given off by mystic types. You know, Doctor Strange's weird light show effects? Vampires only give off a faint trace so we have to go more old school, but there are certain things you just can't hide," he explained briskly before making his fingers shape like a gun and making a "pow" noise. Blade gave a grunting snort.

"I see why you were hired, then," said Blade dryly, tho deep down he was impressed at the accomplishment.

"Well I try," said Wilson with a lopsided grin and a shrug.

"Try? You've spent four hours on that same cabinet," came Alvarez, who for the first time in Blade's line of sight began acting less like an agent and more like a team member. Wilson's grin faded slightly.

"Well, Toronto's frontier compared to some of the places we go. It takes time to get set up. Don't rush perfection,"

"So hurry up then," came Simms' voice again tho she didn't look at him. Instead, her fingers ran across the multiple keypads in front of her until it zeroed in on a fast moving target just coming up the 401, seemingly weaving through all the traffic as if it wasn't even there.

"What is it?" asked Blade.

"No idea, sir, but it's not exactly a Doctor Strange kind of thing, whatever it is. Current speeds aren't exactly moving blink-of-an-eye, but definitely moving faster than an F1 in the Indy 500," she said. That raised Blade's eyebrows a little bit.

"Current speeds will put him in the Toronto area in the next thirty minutes or so," she continued as she managed to get a proper lock on whatever it was and sent the info to Blade's phone.

"What's the play, sir?"

Blade surveyed the room to make sure everybody was doing their jobs.

"We got another ten and a half hours til sundown. Continue ops as normal. Simms, continue tracking that thing and keep me posted. Wilson, finish that goddamn cabinet before I get back or you answer to me; and Alvarez: Make the adjustments and then notify Squad Leaders to deploy recon of the building, and make sure they get the full run down on Filmore's," came Blade as he once again for the second time today made his way to the Hangar and his souped up Firebird.

As he got in the car and buckled up, he began to have a funny feeling about the target. A prickly familiar sensation shot down his neck before he shook it off. It didn't sit well. Still, he was armed with his standard operating kit and all demons didn't particularly like silver so he wasn't too concerned. He wondered if he should be.

[Rift]

Dark. Dingy. Likely in violation of various health codes and numerous safety standards. The bar was not unlike most of the watering holes that Johnny frequented stateside, at least aesthetically it was similar. An old jukebox churning out hits of years gone by and patrons that looked as if they were taking a small break from travelling long backroads were fairly standard fare in most of the establishments he went to. What set this place apart was the fact that he couldn't pinpoint a single fully human person in the joint.

He made note of the bikers sitting in a particularly dark corner, careful to not have their backs to the entrance, and couldn't help but notice their eyes were a little too shiny, their canines a smidge too sharp, and their beers tinged a shade too red. What looked like a prostitute at the bar had a faint air of smoke around her, the hint of sulfur to it indicating it wasn't from the cigarette she smoked in clear view of the No Smoking sign. The man she spoke to, a trucker talking about being on the final leg of a long trip up north kept one hand on a bottle and the other on the half-zipped duffel bag that Blaze could have sworn had reddish locks of hair peaking out of it.

Everywhere he glanced he saw monsters, hellfiends, and things of legend. All of them merely shooting the breeze like they were just folk, ordinary people trying to unwind after a hard day's work. Unfortunately, that work likely included murders, ritual sacrifice, and potentially even the eating of actual hardworking humans. It was enough to make him almost forget the scolding he'd given Zarathos before entering. With mystic energies in the air and monsters all around it was all he could do not to ask the Rider to come out and play. He could spit on almost any direction and hit something deserving of a Penance Stare or flaming chain to the face. As satisfying as that would be though, it didn't help him achieve his goal.

Swallowing his anger and disgust, Johnny walked over to the front and flagged down the bartender. A woman with eyes that seemed to glow with an ethereal inner light in a shade that didn't have a proper descriptor, he tried not to hold her gaze as he spoke.

"Whiskey," he ordered. "The further south it comes from the better."

She chuckled as she turned to get something from a shelf. "Not from around here huh?"

"What gave it away?" he replied. "Ain't used to the land of maple and politeness, no."

She smirked as she slid a glass to him. "No, I mean I think you may have walked into the wrong place. Your kind don't usually come in here. Not and leave the same as they entered."

Blaze returned her smirk. "My kind? You mean from the States? Way I hear it Americans venture up north all the time."

The trucker turned and smiled showing sharpened teeth, but never taking his hand away from the duffel.

"She means cattle. Cattle don't come in here. Only us...monsters."

Johnny's gaze shifted to meet the trucker's, not backing down or showing any reaction to his interesting dental work. "Looks like I'm in the right place then."

Because I'm one of the biggest monsters there are, he thought.

"'Dat so? Well boy I think you should look for somewhere else to drink."

"Not here for the booze, 'specially since like as not y'all went and spiked it for those non-monsters that wander in. I'm here for information. Looking for someone I was told frequented this hellhole. Native Woman, looks younger than she is, helps folks out with exorcisms and the like. Any idea where I could find her?"

The bartender exchanged glances with some of the patrons before asking, "And just why would you need an exorcism? You possessed or something?"

"Or something," Johnny answered. "Not looking to get rid of my demons."

He glanced over his shoulder at one of the vampire bikers that had inched closer without warning. "But I ain't above sharing them with folks. How about you go back to your corner, let me finish my conversation, and I'll be on my way."

The vampire scoffed. "You come into our bar, looking for that woman, and think you can tell us what to do? You've got a pair on you for sure boy. For a human I mean."

"Oh good, you know who I'm talking about. Any clue where I can find her?"

The trucker and the hooker both laughed as the vampire responded. "Any luck the witch is in the ground. I can send you straight to her if so."

Blaze, while trying to keep track of all the monsters in the place, had also been trying to ignore the tingling on the back of his neck, the temperature rise that was surely turning him red, and the burning in his very bones that set every nerve on fire.

"This can go one of two ways. The first, you keep bowing up and I have to show you and all the other bumps in the night here why you shouldn't try to play big monster on campus. The second, you tell me what you know about the lady and where I can find her, I walk out of here, and y'all go back to enjoying your evening. Choose quick, but be smart about Lugosi, cause there ain't no do overs."

The vampire hissed in response, his friends stood up, and the various other supernaturals either prepared to fight or enjoy the show.

"Wrong choice Hoss."

ENOUGH TALK! The abominations have spread enough suffering and misery, it is time vengeance finds them! Zarathos screamed in his head.

Blaze didn't bother to argue. He knew he needed the power to protect himself from what was coming, but he couldn't admit that to the Rider. Not because of pride, but because his eyes were boiling and his skin blistering as fire consumed his form. His pained screams gave way to the crackle of flames, the clinking of chains, and a deep laugh of pure malice.

"You have all spilled innocent blood and vengeance comes for you all!"

[webdevil]

"Sir!"

Simms voice came over the comm just as Blade was exiting the city limits southwest on the 401.

"Go,"

"Squad 2-Amiens is on the wire; something just happened at Filmore's. Patching them through," came the agent's voice with a note of urgency in her tone. Before Blade could even snarl, the squad leader - a man's voice - came over the bluetooth.

"Mission abort. Mission abort! Situation has completely changed! Filmore's has been hit! Not one of ours!"

Blade eyeballed the GPS system. Sure enough, the blip he was following updated and somehow was at Filmore's. He was right to have a bad feeling as he was pulling away from the bunker. He got off on the 427 intersection and began slowly making his way back into the city, though even at his speeds and even with police taken care of, he worried he would not make it in time. That fifteen minute window (if the GPS was reliable and he was not sure it was anymore) felt like an eternity.

"Officer Blake. Report. This is Blade. I am en route. What am I looking at?" asked Blade, who clicked a touch screen installed into the dash to reveal all their body cameras.

"Whatever is going on has so far been contained due to the daylight, but our equipment is picking up one hell of a fight going on in there! Sir! Should we breach?"

"Negative. Too risky without more intel. Did anybody not-a-regular enter the bar?" asked Blade, wondering if there was a connection to the dot's jump.

"Four, sir. A tattooed girl who looked like she just began working there, two vampires if their fully covered outfits walking in were a hint but we could be wrong, and a biker carrying a heavy chain with spiked shoulders.

Blade's eyes widened beneath the shades.

"Contain the area! Do not let anything leave that bar! I'll get there as soon as I can!"

Blade patched back into HQ. He hoped against hope but the odds against it were not looking good, especially if it was indeed Johnny Blaze, the Ghost Rider.

"Get all units on standby for immediate deployment," he ordered, tho his tone was muted. He had not seen Johnny since their time in the Midnight Sons, but he knew he would rather have the Rider on his side rather than have to take him down. Though Blade would not be against giving the skull-head a swift kick in his flaming teeth for upending his operation!

[Rift]

In his mind, Johnny Blaze shouted at the Rider. This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid. All he wanted was answers, a lead on the woman the stranger from New Orleans had claimed would help him overcome his current issues and perhaps enable him and Zarathos to resume the relatively stable arrangement they'd had up until the black outs started. He should have known better than to expect anything less than what was happening. Even when he had more control of himself The Spirit of Vengeance would not have been able to sit idle in a den of monsters. It was hardwired into his very being to punish those that spilled innocent blood, to bring vengeance to the deserving.

To this day Blaze didn't understand why something from the depths of Hell would be so keen on punishing sinners. For a long while he had assumed he was more like a bounty hunter or even a tax collector, sending souls that were damned below even before their scheduled demise. A monster for hunting monsters be they of the human variety or otherwise. At times he had to wonder though. On occasion Zarathos seemed more akin to an avenging angel than a demon, doing the dirty work others couldn't or wouldn't. It was part of the reason he was able to reconcile being the host. Doing a little bad to do a lot of good helped him sleep at night and focusing on the bigger, supernatural picture that flew right past most of the tights crowd enabled him to believe that he served a purpose. Times like these however tested his faith as he straddled the line between doing what he knew the Rider was designed for and trying to influence a personal matter for the better.

Despite his misgivings, Blaze had to admit that this was actually one of the few pluses of being the Rider. Answers or not, ridding the world of monsters was never a bad thing.

Several patrons had rushed him, trying to pin him to the floor. They had managed to get the Rider to take a knee for but a moment until he stood once more, flame pulsing from his being and scorching those that clung to him. A vampire turned to dust instantly while a possessed human stumbled away smacking at his clothes despite there not being a mark on him. The demon and its host were learning the hard way that the Rider often burned cold, that the searing of flesh was nothing compared to the burning of the soul. As the screams of the possessed man echoed, the hooker who had previously been all sneers, backed away while the trucker rushed in, bar stool in hand. It shattered uselessly over the Rider as he turned and cocked his head to one side as if mildly interested in the trucker. A sniff of the air revealed the demon lurking within, but before he could react the bartender, fangs bared, leapt to the ceiling and began to crawl across it before dropping into a kick.

The vampire bartender screamed half in rage, half in pain as it's foot snapped at the ankle. The Rider grasped her by the throat, lifting the bartender in one hand, and drew her in close.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she stammered.

"Exorcising demons," Zarathos answered while chuckling, amused at having thrown her words back at her.

As the vampiress burned from the inside out, the last bit of her human guise vanishing in embers, Zarathos turned sharply as if straining to listen.

You heard that? Johnny asked. We have company. Vehicles of some kind. I freaking told you to take it easy! We are no closer to finding the mystery woman and we've no idea if we've registered on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar or not. If that's them or even just the local authorities, we can't fight them and we can't find the woman if you land us in a cell! Give me the wheel for a minute!

The change was barely visible, but the Rider's posture altered ever so slightly as Johnny took control. His hand flexed, summoning the chain to it before it lashed out and caught the trucker around an ankle, tripping him before he could reach the exit.

"You ain't going anywhere Hoss. Not until I get some answers."

[webdevil]

Blade got the lowdown of Toronto's basic routines and all the quickest pathways to get around on road transport, and given he was given shadow conditions, he could not just ask Hill for a hovercraft conversion to his car so he had to go as spartan as possible. Reminded him a lot of the nineties in many ways in terms of resources. This psuedo-disconnection from the greater affairs of SHIELD to focus on vampire hunting was freeing, but it did come at a cost:

Traffic.

Toronto's highways were easily the most flooded and congested things he had ever had the misfortune of driving on. He had it to mere blocks before the turnoff, and immediately hit Rush Hour traffic.

"You have got to be kidding me!"

Blade swore fluently for a solid minute before he swore he could smell a familiar scent of burning asphalt. He glanced up. No sign of that flaming motorcycle yet but it could not be far, he noted given the potency of the stench. The westbound on ramp was just right there... Blocked by a concrete divider.

Blade swore again. He then adjusted some knobs on the dash of his car and yanked the shift stick into high gear. Letting the clutch go, he lurched the car sideways.

The sound that came from disintegrating cinder block and grinding metal made for one hell of a pop. Allowing the car to absorb the impact, he let the airbag hit him without so much as a glancing blow before the car came to a parallel park, blocking the on ramp. He got out of the car, drawing his sword as he came around the slightly bent hood, and kept it at a side ready position, letting his trench coat flicker in the breeze, revealing both a shiny SHIELD badge at his belt, and an even shinier custom MAC-11 sub-machine pistol loaded with Demon Hurting Silver Bullets at his hip.

"So much for daylight concealment..." he grunted to himself as he waited for Blaze. He was angry now.

[Rift]

Wood and glass alike splintered as the vampire bartender came crashing through the side of the bar, her still smoking form bouncing along the gravel, toasted but not dead. Her curses, whatever they were, tore from her throat in the vampire tongue, but Johnny certainly didn't her them. Inside he stood with one boot on the throat of the trucker, his attention focused on the bikers that had emerged from the restrooms, their demonic passengers showing their true faces. Inhuman eyes widened as the Rider casually swung the chain, fire slowly inching along it's length until it was a white-orange streak twirling about.

Turning to one that had sprouted ram-like horns and a third, red glowing eye the The Rider stared back, the empty sockets of the skull somehow more piercing than had they been filled.

"It's simple boys. First one who tells me what I want to, about the woman who claims to have once been like me, will be sent back to the pit quickly. The rest are going to learn that what you go through down there is child's play compared to what is coming. You think it's bad now, you just wait until I let the Rider take the wheel. And he really, REALLY wants to. So what'll it be? The easy way? Or..."

A roar like the scream of a thousand tortured souls tore through the bar as the hellcycle came crashing through a rear window.

"...are we going to have to go for a little ride?"

Blaze meant every word of it. Keeping Zarathos leashed was hard enough as it was, but in the presence of the undead and demons it was damned near impossible. In fact it had taken every ouch of control to reel him in thus far, which is why he had no clue he was about to be joined by the Daywalker.

[webdevil]

Blade's vampiric speed allowed him to appear as a blur even in broad daylight and cleared the distance from the on ramp to the bar in a matter of seconds. Weaving through the SHIELD Tac Team, he flash a quick signal that he no doubt knew the snipers would see as a notice that he was breaching, and with a hard kick, the door slammed open. For a moment, he wondered how much like an old spaghetti western this action looked as his dark frame was heavily backlit by the sunlight against the blackout. The air became cold and still, trickled with ash and dust and very little blood.

And then Blade felt his own blood run cold. He let his sword splay as wide from his body in a neutral stance as possible.

"You have a tendency to appear where you are least expected, Rider," said Blade irritably.

"Leave the two you haven't flayed yet alive, please. I need them for questioning,"

Blade knew Johnny Blaze had very little sway over what his flaming skulled half did if he so wanted to, and if he did he would have to get his attention in a not-so-pleasant way, but nevertheless, the Daywalker gave that empty socketed set of eyes a piercing glare of his own.

The vampire Blaze had missed spat and cursed Blade in the vampire tongue before lunging. Blade did not even break his gaze with the Ghost Rider as he sliced the vampire's legs out from under them and clean off, the limbs falling haplessly and igniting before they hit the ground. The vampire would survive the blow, but barely. He gave it a cheap stomp to quiet it. Nevertheless, the strike was a message sent.

[Rift]

The Rider held Blade's gaze for a time and watched as he cut down the vampire.

Blade. In Canada. Of everyone I thought I may run into up north he wasn't on the list, Johnny thought.

It made sense when he stopped to think about it. Blade killed vampires, vampires didn't have any set territory and were constantly trying to expand their areas of control, and Blade would go wherever the bloodsuckers were. Still, considering he was fairly certain that an alert had gone out on him and that everyone from the Avengers to S.H.I.E.L.D. were looking for the Ghost Rider, seeing a familiar face was concerning.

He's all about business though. Doesn't pick sides when the tights wearing crowd have their slugfests. And he knows us and Danny from the Midnight Sons days. Even if he has seen the news about me, I doubt he'll care. He has a mission and he always completes them. Besides, he's a loner, like me, it isn't like he's going to be Hill's lackey.

The Spirit of Vengeance was hesitant, not appreciating Blade's tone nor agreeing with Johnny's assessment. Still, for the moment at least, Zarathos seemed willing to play ball. Whatever was happening with him he wanted answers just as much as Blaze did.

"As you wish," he responded, voice like gravel. "I'm in need of answers myself."

Gripping the chain and wrapping it around his fist, the Rider looked at the crippled vampire, the flame burning brighter for a moment. "Preferably before the authorities decide to intervene."

[webdevil]

"I am the Authorities," said Blade cooly and with that walked towards the unmolested vampire and raised his sword gently to his throat. The vampire froze in fear at the site of the acid etched silver-titanium alloy that made up Blade's signature sword. He said leave the two alive for questioning, but given that he just sliced one of them into pieces himself, he knew that one of them was likely not going to survive the Rider's little, whatever he was doing here, was. Hedging his bets, however, he made his move.

"Now let's make this easy: You know who I am and what I will just do anyways. You undoubtedly know who the man behind me is. You will be dead one way or the other. How long the time happens until that moment, however? That is entirely up to you. See, I know you are one of Siegfried's little gremlins and having you all dead now just means my operation tonight would be for nothing as much as it would sending you back to your boss. Save one thing," said Blade with a voice of calm, cool steel.

"And what would that be? He's going to kill me anyways so what difference does it make?" the vampire spat, shaking in fear as their eyes darted back and forth between Blade's shaded eyes and the ringing silver blade inching every so closely to his throat. Blade raised an eyebrow then gave a very wicked looking smile that showed his own elongated canines.

"You know that sensation of piss running down your leg?" the Daywalker asked with acid in his voice as he leaned in, going into a short squat as he did, allowing the tip of his blade to touch the bloodsucker's throat, paralyzing him with fear, the silver ringing now with a dull hum as it touched unholy flesh.

"I suggest listening to it and getting creative." and with that, Blade began rummaging through the vampire's pockets, careful not to move the sword away from its neck and after retrieving it, handing it to them.

"Call," he said. The vampire obeyed. Dialing the digits and hearing the ring, Blade snatched the phone away. As it rang, he turned to the Rider.

"All yours," he said, removing his weapon (the vampire began having a serious coughing fit as the blade left his skin) and stepped away to let the phone ring.

"<Yes?>" came a voice in the vampiric tongue.

Blade tapped the blutooth in his ear and held the phone away long enough to say "Trace," before putting it back to his ear.

"<I've got a message for Siegfried,>" said Blade in vampiric.

"<Who is this? You understand our language but you are not Mikhail!>" said the voice, which despite the hacking wheeze of vampiric, became evident it was a woman speaking.

"<He'll know. And he'll know Filmore's is compromised. If he wants to find me, he can meet me where cameras roll but few watch at midnight,>" said Blade. He waited a moment, glancing out of the corner of his eye what the Rider was doing to the vampire. As it began to get interesting, the woman responded, this time in English.

"Understood. He looks forward to it, Daywalker," she said and with that, the line went dead.

"I'm sure he is..." muttered Blade darkly as the hellfire from the flaming skull of his companion flared up. Blade wondered for a moment if the flares were tied to the demon half's emotional state or Johnny's, but then decided it was not worth the question. Did it make a difference if the whole building caught fire?

[Rift]

While the Daywalker spoke on the phone, the Rider loomed over the injured vampire.

"The question is simple leech. The woman. The one supposedly like me. Who is she? Where is she?" he asked, Blaze clearly doing the talking.

it responded by spitting blood that sizzled against the flames engulfing the Rider's face. "Screw you!"

The irritated sigh that came from the skull rattled like the final gasp of a dying man. The Rider was growing impatient. Reaching over to a table that had survived the initial ruckus, he picked up a bottle of beer and crushed it in his leather clad fist. Bits of glass in his palm began to glow as they were heated by the supernatural flame and one by one Ghost Rider casually placed them onto the vampire. The shards began to smoke, searing their way through clothes and flesh alike, sinking inwards like a hot knife through butter. For a moment Blaze as unsure if it was him or Zarathos doing it and if he was honest, it didn't matter.

It's a monster Johnny. It deserves this and then some, he reminded himself.

"That pain you are feeling? That's not from heat. You see hellfire, contrary to popular belief, is not strictly hot. It burns cold and though it will mar flesh as easily as any other fire, it's true purpose is to scorch the soul. Your very essence, dark and twisted as it may be, will suffer in agony. I've seen it work on humans, mortals who simply had it coming. Bad men and women engaged in all manner of sin. It isn't pretty, your very soul burning from the inside out. It is not simply death, it is an unmaking, an unraveling of self. The darker the soul, the worse it is, the longer it lasts. But you, you are a vampire, an undead abomination. How stained is the shriveled excuse of a soul you possess? How many victims are etched onto it? How much cruelty have to dealt out simply because you can?"

Stepping back he felt the Spirit of Vengeance's influence growing, the skull head turning to one-side in a parody of a dog interested in a new noise.

If I didn't know better, I'd say Zarathos was proud, Blaze thought.

"Fine!" the vampire squeaked out through shouts of agony. "She came in here from time-to-time! A Indian woman that claimed she could deliver people from evil, save monsters from themselves! She said she has a spirit in her, one who became something new! A spirit of justice and hope! She said she was forever in the driver's seat, using its power as she saw fit!"

It then reverted to screaming, occasionally devolving into sobs and begging for forgiveness from people seen only in its mind's eye. To Johnny the claims seemed outrageous. The Spirits of Vengeance were what they were, weapons, means of meting out divine vengeance in a world crying out for it. To totally dominate the will of an entity such as that, to make it obey? That seemed too fantastical, even for Blaze who had seen so much that seemed impossible.

Then again, if a weapon is malfunctioning, as Zarathos seems to be, maybe she can help me gain a measure of control. I mean Mephisto did at one-time control the Rider to some degree, Johnny thought.

"WHERE IS SHE?"[/span] the Rider roared.

Gaining enough composure to answer through crying the vampire said, "S-s-she's gone. Said that a storm was brewing, gonna sweep down on the entire country and she wanted to get to shelter. H-h-her RV vanished two days ago!"

She know something I don't? Is there some bad juju brewing up here or did she somehow sense that a Spirit of Vengeance was on it's way and decided to skedaddle? Damn it. It's not much, but it is something at least, he thought.

Almost casually the Rider punched through the vampire's chest, grasped the heart, and channeled fire into it. A few seconds later the vampire's cried ended as it exploded in a ball of fire and smoldering ash. Turning back towards Blade, the flames around Johnny's body receded and boiled, charred skin regenerated until he was Johnny Blaze once more.

"Get what you need?" he asked.

[webdevil]

Blade nodded grimly, not even wincing as the vampire turned into a ball of fire and ash.

"But it appears my problems are not the immediate concern, are they, Rider? You're the one my team spotted on satellites coming in like a bat out of the proverbial you-know-what. Having trouble controlling your other half?"

Blade let the silence ring, then the vampire without his legs began to curse and wail again until quick as a flash, Blade's trademark MAC-10 machine pistol was in his right hand and pointed directly at him. Blade did not take his eyes off the Rider, and the vampire fell silent.

"I feel like I should warn you, Blaze: I work for SHIELD now. You can thank those alien freaks the capes deal with for that little posting. And given your status? I should by right be bringing you in.." he said slowly, allowing every word to sink in to his Midnight Sons ally.

"But we are not on American soil at the moment, so as long as I am present to supervise your activities, I do not have to arrest you or do much of anything else either..."

He knew the agents on his comms all would collectively have their jaws drop in shock. He suspected Simms was going to be looking into SHIELD codes and protocols as well. He didn't care. He sheathed his sword and with a fancy twirl, equally holstered his MAC-10. The vampire in the corner simply wimpered.

"So as long as you help me with my case afterwards, you got a destination in mind?"