The Pendragons # 8
Written by Barry Reese

St. Mary's Church, Barfeston

Clive Winthrop stood outside the ancient house of God, staring up at the occult carvings located above the doorway entrance. Even now, in the middle of night with snow falling all around, the images were capable of stirring his blood and reminding him why he had done all of this, claiming a human form and taking the long, hard road to political power -- all to ensure that his plans would not be rushed, would not be opposed.

But they were rushed now, because opposition had arisen. He turned to his companion, each word sending a cloud of warm air out from his mouth. "It begins here."

Zarathos, cloaked in a garment the color of warm blood, nodded slowly. Blue flame flickered about his head, which bore the appearance of a fleshless skull. Even without a face to show his emotions, it was obvious that the Soul-Taker, too, felt the rising tide of excitement. "It began long before now, Blackheart. It began for me when Centurious first opposed me, leading to your father's games of deceit. For you, it began at your birth, when your destiny was writ in the prophecy of the Black Mass."

Winthrop smiled at that. Zarathos was right, of course. All of Blackheart's existence had been one long road towards his surpreme triumph. "I find myself growing more and more pleased that the Ebony Knight failed me*, Zarathos. You and I are kindred spirits, both spurned by Mephisto... and both hungry for our just rewards."

(*Back in our sixth issue.)

Zarathos didn't answer with words, but his flames flickered brighter. He raised one hand, discharging an eldritch blast that shattered the door into bits of splintered wood. "We should be mindful of our enemies -- these Pendragons are potent and I am well aware of how dangerous John Blaze and the Noble Kale Ghost Rider can be! It was they who last trapped me in my stonework prison."

"Stop right there! In the name of God, just stop!"

The two men turned to see an older man dressed in pajamas moving towards them, a stick held in one hand. He was obviously the local priest, coming out from the nearby parsonage to defend the church from two late-night vandalizers. His eyes opened wide, however, when he saw how unusual these intruders truly were: one was a skull-faced demon, much like the ones depicted in the stone carvings of the church, and the other was none other than the Prime Minister himself.

Winthrop stepped forward, using his powers of persuasion to calm the man. "Father Monroe, isn't it?"

The old man's mouth moved, but it was almost a minute before he found his voice. "Y--Yes. Are you really the Prime Minister?" Father Monroe's eyes flickered towards Zarathos, who stood in the doorway of the church, his flames casting horrible shadows on the ground.

"Yes, I am. And did you vote for my party in the last election, Father?"

Monroe shook his head in a negative response, pointing to Zarathos. "No, I always vote Labour... What in the name of the Queen is that?"

"My new political advisor," Winthrop murmured with a smile. "Zarathos... Please show him what I think should be done with Labour supporters."

Zarathos strode forward quickly, gripping the frightened priest by the collar and lifting him off the ground.

Winthrop watched in fascination as Zarathos sucked out the man's soul in a terrible orgy of Hellfire. The sound of the man's screams were like a symphony to Winthrop and he licked his lips, savoring the spectacle.When it was done, the foul son of Mephisto clapped the Soul-Taker on the back heartily. "Now that you've had your evening feast, let's begin, shall we? By this tomorrow, it shall all be over."

And the long, dark night took a turn for the worse.

Highgate Cemetery, London

"Do you sense anything?"

Betsy Braddock, the successor to her brother Brian as England's foremost champion, Captain Britain, nodded slowly. She and her companion, the Pendragon known as Grace, were making their way carefully through the hallowed paths of Highgate, home to some of England's most notable souls. It was appropriate, then, that tonight they sought a very particular spirit -- the Spirit of Vengeance. "Yes... he's nearby, and not alone. But his thought patterns are different from the last time I met him*. They seem tinged with... femininity... now."

(*Betsy, back in her days as Psylocke, encountered the Dan Ketch Ghost Rider during her days with the X-Men.)

"If it's alright with you, Betsy, I don't think I'll mention that to him." Grace moved past her more colorful teammate, keeping her senses on alert. Even though Spitfire and Union Jack had met this Ghost Rider recently and had vouched for him, she still considered him somewhat untrustworthy -- appearance-wise, at least, he looked more like an agent of the Bane than an ally. Grace stopped in midstep, raising her left arm defensively. The blade that lay along the underside of her arm glinted in the moonlight. "Are they nearby? I heard something."

Captain Britain rose into the air, giving away their position. Grace motioned for her to lower quickly, but Betsy ignored her. Once, not so long ago, she would have shared Grace's secretive nature. But since her brother had restored her back to her original form, that of a beautiful, cautiously optimistic young British woman, she had felt a change come over her heart and mind. She was more than a telepath now, more than a Ninja. Those had been guises of hers in the past, of course, but they did not fully describe her now. She was Captain Britain, symbol to a nation. And she would not hide from those who would be her allies. "Ghost Rider! We come with open arms... There is a terrible threat that needs facing!"

The sudden sound of two motorcyles roaring through the cemetery made Grace spin about. What she saw there left her mouth hanging open, for no mere photograph could possible compare to this...

There before her were two cyclists, one of them most assuredly human, though his eyes were hidden from her by dark sunglasses that he wore, even in this dim moonlight. The other, however, was like something out of a madman's fevered dream: leather-clad, with a large chain spinning in one hand, the figure's shoulders were topped by a fleshless skull surrounded by brightly-burning flames. The voice that issued forth from the Ghost Rider was cold and full of deathly energy. "Yes. The time has come for Blackheart to pay for his crimes. The lives of innocents are at stake."

The second figure, whom Grace now recognized as Johnny Blaze -- the stunt cyclist who once had been Ghost Rider of a slightly different type -- lit a cigarette and nodded. "Yeah -- what he said."

Lyonesse Island, Pendragons Castle - The Next Morning

"...centered on four locations, outlined on the map behind me." Peter Hunter, active as the heroic Albion since World War I, had settled into the position of leader since the abrupt departure of the Black Knight, but he couldn't help feeling that someone else might be better suited to the task. At heart, he was a teacher, a scholar. What this group needed was a master tactician. "We need to go to these areas and disrupt their plans."

The assembled Pendragons and their guests stood about the meeting room table, watching as the floating Monitor Sphere rotated, the four areas identified by the Red King of the Hellfire as being the sites of Blackheart's scheme highlighted by yellow stars. Union Jack, standing close by Spitfire, stroked his chin thoughtfully. Joey had his mask pulled back, revealing the ruggedly handsome features that had caused more than one woman to lose their heart to him. "And why aren't we calling in the Avengers and the Fantastic Four on this?"

"Because if what Ghost Rider tells us is true, calling on more heroes will only make it worse," Albion replied. "For whatever reason, Blackheart has identified the people in this room as being the primary threats that he faces. Ghost Rider's human host witnessed the deaths of Dr. Strange, the Scarlet Witch and others... I fear that anyone besides us will end up with the same fate as those sorcerors."

"Albion is right. The ancient wizard Dakimh the Enchanter has peered into the future and seen that it will be one of us who will vanquish the son of Mephisto and his allies. There is no need to burden others with this."

"But we have taken the liberty of forwarding a recording of this briefing to the Avengers, the FF and the X-Men," Betsy pointed out.

"I shall go wherever I am needed, but how shall we divide up these locations?" Gawain asked. The robotic member of the Pendragons approached the Monitor Sphere, pointing towards the Dun-shi Hill location. "Mayhap I shall be allowed to go here, where I travelled in days of old."

Jackie punched Joey in the ribs before the current Union Jack could point out that Gawain was an automaton and had never been to Dun-shi Hill in anything other than a Questworld scenario. Joey whispered to her "So are you still mad at me or not?"

Jackie did her best to look innocent. "Whatever do you mean?"

"About when Romany came to see me. You looked pretty jealous."

Jackie cast him a withering stare. "Jealous? Why would I be jealous of you and that strumped-up little tart?"

"Ahem."

Jackie and Joey both looked up to see that every face in the room was turned towards them. With a bit of color rising to her cheeks, Jackie realized that her voice must have risen at the end. Casting a thankful glance at Albion, who had interrupted her before she could have made an even bigger fool of herself, she said "My apologies. Please continue."

John Blaze spoke up, eager to move past the obvious romantic tensions in the room. He and his own wife were estranged at the moment, over his decision to remain in England over the holidays. "Let's go ahead and decide who's going where, since that's the most obvious plan. If I understand correctly, all we have to do is screw up Blackheart's plan in one area and this whole thing falls apart, right?"

For the first time, the team's mage, Wynter, stepped into view. "That is essentially correct. Blackheart is apparently the focal point of something called the Black Mass Prophecy. Within the text surrounding the prophecy itself, it implies that there is a window of opportunity after he has ascended to rulership of the '...land of Olde Kings.' Once we have foiled this plan of his to plunge England into an age of magic, the prophecy itself will be rendered void."

"There are still unknown forces at play here," Ghost Rider pointed out. "If, as the Red King says, Blackheart planned to use the Ebony Blade to control the souls that will be sacrificed, then he will have to find a replacement."

"And don't forget that Clive Winthrop is the Prime Minister. We might have to fight our own countrymen if he uses the military to defend these locations," Kate said.

"I've given that some thought," Grace said, as she looked to Albion for support. "Why not have Kate go down to the telly station and share our evidence about Winthrop. Even if nobody believes it yet, it will help keep us from looking like the villains when news of what we're doing hits the street.

Kate looked worried. "They won't leave me on the air for long once I start my spiel -- and there's always the chance that Blackheart might try to shut me up."

"Then I will accompany you," Wynter said. "I will make sure that your words go forth unimpeded."

Albion nodded in agreement. "And that will allow those of us in the field to contact you with questions, Wynter. You've got more magical knowledge than the rest of us combined, so we can't risk you getting captured or hurt."

Blaze cast a glance at Ghost Rider, who remained silent. Unknown to the Pendragons, Ghost Rider shared his current existence with Jennifer Kale, a powerful sorceress in her own right. Seeing that his friend wanted to keep their secret for now, Blaze turned back to Albion. "Skullface and I have experience with Blackheart, so we'll split up. That way, two groups will have the benefit of our expertise and not just one."

"Fair enough. And remember -- Betsy will network all of us together as much as possible, but with magic involved, the psi-link could be broken at any time."

Outside in the hall, the young son of Kate McClellan, Cam, pressed his ear against the door and listened. A chill had been slowly building in his veins, throughout the meeting. Somehow, someway, he had retained enough of the Pendragon he'd once housed to know this: the prophecy would not be undone. His mother and her friends were doomed to failure....

Destination: Dun-shi Hill, Scotland- Spitfire and Gawain

Spitfire and Gawain arrived at the so-called Fairy Hill just as mid-afternoon brought a break in the relentless snow and rain that had covered the British Isles. With the sun peeking out from behind the clouds and the harsh winds lying dormant, it was almost enough to convince the Pendragons that perhaps the dark days were moving behind them.

One look at what awaited them on the Hill was enough to dispell such thoughts, however.

A small squad of British soldiers stood watch there, each of them armed with assault rifles. Spitfire uttered an oath under breath and looked towards Gawain. The stalwart android stood at her side, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. At times, Gawain's stiffness was frustrating, or even amusing... but now, she found it oddly comforting to have such a stable spirit next to her. Unlike her recently slain son Kenneth or the philandering Joey, Gawain was a bedrock of reliability. "Sir Gawain, this could get quite nasty. Be a dear and distract those gents for me... I'll zip about and see what's what."

Gawain nodded, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "Fear not, gentle lady. I shall stand by your side, no matter what may come." With that reassurance, Gawain strode forward into view of the soldiers. The men had been distracted by the nearby beauty of Loch Ard, but they quickly hefted their weapons as they saw the Pendragon approach. "Ho! 'Tis only I, Sir Gawain of the Pendragons!"

The troops' commander raised a hand, gesturing for Gawain to halt. "I recognize you, sir, but I'm afraid we have explicit instructions not to let anyone pass. Unfortunately, those orders apply even to the Pendragons."

Gawain tilted his head to the side, feigning ignorance. "May I ask who gave thee your orders?"

"They come straight from the Prime Minister himself, Sir Gawain. And I beg you, don't make me order my men to fire."

While Gawain attempted to talk his way past the obviously distressed commander, Spitfire was rocketing past them. She was nothing more than a red-and-gold blur as she ran by, slowing only when she came to the exact center of the hill. There, in the midst of a large fairy-ring of stones and mushrooms, was an occult symbol the likes of which she'd never seen. It pulsed hotly, though, melting all the snow for a good two dozen feet around it. As she neared, it gave her a lightly nauseous sensation.

Perhaps it was this sensation that prevented her from seeing the golden shape in the air above. By the time she noticed the large, bird-like shadow fall across the ground, it was too late. She came to a complete halt just as a giant golden robotic-hawk swooped down low, pelting the ground with powerful missiles. The bursts sent shrapnel flying and even though Spitfire rocketed forward, she was unable to avoid all of the rocks and debris. A large chunk of earth struck her in the face, sending her tumbling down the Hill, rolling head over foot until she splashed down into Loch Ard.

Gawain, upon seeing all of this, began to rush forward. "Lady Jacqueline!" he exclaimed. The soldiers opened fire, though all were loathe to do so. The Pendragons were heroes of the people, but the men's loyalty to Winthrop was overwhelming. Gawain shrugged off the gunfire, though bits of his pseudo-flesh was torn away, revealing gears and wires.

The Pendragon swept his sword through the soldiers, careful to avoid killing them. Many of them went down on the first blow, but others continued to fire as he rushed past. The android came to a stop as he saw the mystic symbol pulsing brighter on the ground. "Strewth! What devilment is this?"

"It's not the work of the devil, patchwork man! It's the salvation of the English people!"
 

Gawain turned to see an older man striding towards him. The gunfire had halted and the soldiers seemed to be letting this newcomer dictate what happened next. The giant robotic hawk landed near the old man, its red eyes following Gawain's every move.  "And you are?" Gawain asked, casting his eyes downwards, where he saw Spitfire crawling from the Loch. "I am Lord Hawk*... and I have sworn to defend this area until its spell can be achieved. Our people have lost their way, become corrupted by pollutants and corporations. A return to our past is the only way to remain true to the British spirit!" (*Last seen in Captain Britain Weekly #27 (April 13, 1977), in which Professor Scott of Thames University betrayed his old friend Brian Braddock and launched an assault on the "corrupt" nature of modern British society.)

Gawain shook his head sadly. "I, too, have seen much in modern times that distresses me. But to be true to the ideals of chivalry, we must not impose our will upon others!" The Pendragon lunged forward, striking Lord Hawk full across the face. The blow sent the old man to his knees and caused his robotic hawk to jump onto Gawain's back, sinking its sharp claws into the curcuitry of the hero's back.

"Tear him to bits, my pet! Destroy him!"

"I don't think so, you daft old fool...." Spitfire, soaking wet, rushed past and grabbed hold of the hawk's head. She began ripping and pulling, disassembling it at super-speed. Within seconds, it was inert, falling off Gawain to clank to the ground.

"No, you can't stop this! You can't!" Lord Hawk rose, his eyes on the symbol, which now flashed a brilliant red. His look of horror turned into one of triumph. "You are too late! It comes! It comes!"

A wave of eldritch energy shot forth, enveloping all who stood on the hill. Everyone, including Spitfire and Gawain, howled in pain. For a seeming eternity, they twitched and shook, thinking that this, surely, must be Hell.

And then it was gone... and in its wake lay an unconscious Spitfire and Lord Hawk. The soldiers were mere piles of ash, their souls having been absorbed, along with those of hundreds in the surrounding area. They were nothing more than fuel for a coming disaster.

And Sir Gawain, the robotic hero, remained standing, though his systems had shut down completely and his sword had tumbled to the ground. He and Spitfire had been saved by the Pendragon spirit within them, the eternal gift of Avalon, while Lord Hawk had been spared by his masters.

Precious few others would be so lucky.

Destination: Stonehenge - Blaze and Captain Britain

Betsy Braddock held on tightly as John Blaze brought his bike to a halt near the famous standing rocks of Stonehenge. She could have flown over, but she was enough of a flirt to accept Blaze's offer to hitch a ride with him. She'd always loved a man in leather, after all.

"You picking anything up from the others?"

Betsy frowned. "No... I had them all in my telepathic link, but as each nears their target, they go dead. I was afraid of that -- Blackheart must be using some sort of spell to block me."

"Nothing that bastard does surprises me," Blaze said. He waited until she was off the bike before turning it off. "I just hope we end this thing quickly -- I'd like to get back home before the New Year."

Captain Britain glanced at him. "Look, I don't want to pry, but if you need to talk about something... I mean, it doesn't take a telepath to see you're hurting."

Blaze bit off a harsh, sarcastic reply. He knew she was only trying to help and it wasn't her he was mad at, anyway. "Maybe I'll take you up on that, afterwards."

Betsy looked away, towards the center of Stonehenge. "We're not alone anymore. Something just materialized."

Blaze hefted his shotgun. Capable of firing pure Hellfire, it was more than a match for any demon-spawn that Blackheart had sent to guard the place. "Any idea who or what it is?"

She took to the air, spotting a tall, powerful figure standing over an occult rune which lay smoldering on the ground. "His mind is too alien for me to read completely... but he's got a flaming skull, with blueish fire. That ring any bells?"

Blaze's face drained of all color. "No way..." He looked up at Betsy. "Get your ass down here, girl! This is serious!"

Captain Britain never got the chance to do as he said. The figure in the distance had spotted her, unleashing a blast of Hellfire that struck her full in the torso. Her screams echoed in the air and she landed in a flaming heap, her eyes open wide and spasms wracking her form. The touch of pure evil had proven too much for the psychic and her mind had shut itself off to compensate.

Blaze knelt at her side, checking to make sure her pulse was strong. He stood up after doing so, a look of pure hatred on his face. Now he knew why he'd had to stay in England. It was for this.. the opportunity to meet the being who had stolen so many years of his life. Zarathos.

Blaze pointed the gun at the figure who approached slowly, arrogantly. "Stop right there, Z. Or I swear to God I'll blow a hole right through you."

Zarathos laughed softly, obviously pleased to see his old host. "John Blaze... Are we fated to meet again and again? Or will I finally free you from this cycle of violence today? All those times you prayed for death while we were merged... Perhaps I should grant you that."

Blaze's response was to open fire, his shotgun discharging burst after burst of Hellfire. The blows hit Zarathos hard, tearing open gaping holes in the demon's shoulder and chest. But the Soul-Taker did not go down. Instead, he propelled himself forward, roaring as he batted aside Blaze's shotgun. The weapon flew through the air before landing near the prone form of Captain Britain.

"I thought you were still stinking up Cypress Hills, Z." Blaze backed away from his old foe, desperately thinking of some way he could survive this confrontation. He lacked the power to defeat Zarathos directly and Betsy, though beginning to stir, was unlikely to be much help.

"A servant of Blackheart's found me and helped revive me. Did you truly think that I would remain imprisoned forever? I am eternal, Blaze... and I always find a way to claim victory. You should know that more than any other. Of all the mortals I have known, you alone had the strength of will to balance my own... Never once did you surrender control of your form utterly to me. For that, I salute you." Zarathos raised both hands, filling each with the blue-tinged Hellfire that he controlled. "I would offer you the chance to serve me in the coming world of magick, but I know you too well. You would foolishly cling to your humanity, even in the face of ultimate power. Goodbye, John Blaze... I shall never forget the tormented time that we shared together."

John tried to throw himself out of the way of the twin blasts, but one of them struck him, burning him in the all-too familiar agony of Hellfire. His own resistance to it had been raised over the years, due to the constant exposure, but it was still enough to leave him writhing on the ground.

Zarathos watched him for a moment, seemingly torn between pity for this human who had lived soul-to-soul with him for so long, and a desire to finish him before he caused any more harm. At last, Zarathos, turned from him. He and Blackheart had begun the spell last night, in Barfeston, though these fools obviously didn't know it. They were too late. After Stonehenge, only one site remained to be activated... and then the age of magic would begin.

Zarathos was so intent on his plan that he failed to notice the form of Captain Britain, who rose on shaky legs. She picked up Blaze's shotgun and reached out with her own mind for John's -- she felt it, alive and vital, though in great pain. Satisfied that he would survive, she flew into the air, silently approaching the unsuspecting Zarathos.

Rain had begun to fall again as the Soul-Taker knelt and touched the occult sigil on the ground. It pulsed brighter as its energies began to pulse, spreading out in an ever-widening circle. Zarathos braced himself for the coming tide of stolen souls, each of which he would control and enjoy. Some of their energies would remain within him, increasing his own power -- the rest would be funnelled to Blackheart for use in creating the barrier that would plunge Britain into a new dark age.

"Bugger off, demon!"

Zarathos turned just in time to receive a burst of Hellfire to the chest. He staggered back, his feet coming to rest on the sigil itself. "Stupid cow! You are too late... It has begun!"

"You'd better hope it hasn't -- because if you're right, I'm going to be in no mood to spare your life!" Captain Britain streaked forward, generating a psi-blade in her right hand. In her left, she continued to squeeze the trigger of Blaze's gun, hitting Zarathos again and again. His howls of pain grew louder as her psi-blade slashed through his skull, frying his mind.

All around them, energy swirled and the wind began to whip faster and faster in a cyclone of death and magic. The souls of hundreds of innocent people, all those in the nearby area not protected by the Pendragon or by their own magical immunity, were sucked out of their host's bodies and brought here, to the magical area known as Stonehenge.

Zarathos reached out and latched onto Betsy's throat, squeezing hard enough to make her drop Blaze's gun. The souls were rushing into him now and he was growing in strength, capable of overwhelming Captain Britain's assault. "Join them, hero! Join the dead who now rush into me! Empower me!"

John Blaze staggered towards this scene, seeing the young woman he'd only known for a few days scream as her life came close to ending. There would be some who would argue with calling John Blaze a hero -- after all, he had sold his soul to the devil long ago, in a vain hope to avoid losing his surrogate father. He had become the antihero called Ghost Rider, who had helped many -- but who had always wanted to rid himself of the curse rather than keep it and save more lives. As a husband and father, he had frequently been a failure, letting them be hurt and traumatized again and again. But the spirit of self-sacrifice was strong within him, the desire to inflict pain upon himself if it might help others. That spirit had led him here to England, away from those who loved him, and it now propelled him forward. One thing kept echoing in his mind, the words of Zarathos just moments before -- Of all the mortals I have known, you alone had the strength of will to balance my own.

Blaze locked his fists together and delivered a powerful blow to the back of Zarathos's skull. The Soul-Taker turned to face him, Betsy still locked in his grip. Blaze's words were nearly drowned out by the wailing around him, as the souls of innocents departed this world for another. "Stop it! These people don't deserve this!"

"I am a God, Blaze! You held my essence within you and still you fail to see that? I am Zarathos, the Soul-Taker!"

"You're a lousy piece of crap who hurts others just to make himself feel important! And that ends now!" Blaze wrapped his arms around Zarathos, locking the two of them into a powerful death grip. Zarathos tossed aside Captain Britain, trying to free himself from the human who held him, but the man's arms were locked and would not be moved. The two of them danced together in the middle of the sigil, magic flowing through them both. Blaze thought of all the people he'd lost over the years, of the woman and children he had waiting for him at home, and he knew that he had to do this -- nobody what it took, these innocent people would not go unavenged.

And Zarathos screamed, as he felt something beginning to happen. His mind, his spirit, began to be pulled forward -- into that of John Blaze. "No! I will not be bound! I am too powerful! I -- will -- not-- be--"

An explosion so bright that it could be seen as far away as Paris drowned out his next words. Betsy hid her head with her hands and braced herself, but she felt no heat from the explosion, no pain.

The winds died down and Betsy felt the soft drops of rain on her flesh. She lifted her head and stared into the face of a nightmare.

"Have no fear, mortal. I mean you no harm. For I am.... 

Coming Up Next Issue: First things first, check out Ghost Rider U.K. # 7 for part two of "Isles of Magick!" Kate and Wynter take to the airwaves, while the remaining heroes try in vain to prevent the coming age of magic. And, shocker of shockers, the original Ghost Rider has returned! But on whose side will he stand? Then, next month, Pendragons # 9 features the exciting climax to the "Isles of Magick!" The final, and we mean final, battle with Blackheart will cost the life of a Pendragon -- and it will alter the course of the Pendragons Universe forever!

Welcome to part one of "Isles of Magick!" This storyline officially began in Black Mass, but it had elements (such as the Gilded Man and the Ebony Knight) that appeared way before that -- in fact, it really had its genesis in Black Knight: Destiny Walk # 0, our very first Pendragons Universe story.

It is, of course, an action-oriented crossover, so I apologize if you think that I skimped a bit on some of our usual subplots this issue. Everything will resume after "Isles..." has run its course, though the Pendragons will have lots more problems by then.

Lord Hawk is the first of a series of obscure Marvel UK villains that I will try and refurbish. Expect to see one or two more before the current crossover is finished. Anyone who recognizes these fellas deserves a No-Prize!

The return of the original Ghost Rider will, I hope, be exciting for some of you. Amongst Ghost Rider fans, there are those who prefer the Noble Kale/Dan Ketch/Jennifer Kale GR and those who will always believe that Johnny Blaze is the only flaming-skull hero they need. Will both remain active in the Pendragons Universe or does the return of the original spell doom for the Noble/Jennifer version? Stay tuned!

You can reach me at aric_dacia@yahoo.com