Green Ghost Rider Novels & Stories

Dad rarely comes here. I keep looking at her picture until my eyes turn heavy with sleep. GHOST His feet are lighter than air as he strides toward her, making no noise, not even by mistake. His feet aren't touching the floor. He's floating in the air, just an inch above. A ghostly smile plays on his handsome face as he glances down at her, sleeping in an awkward way. His eyes are still roaming on her body, looking for a sign of injury. Fury burns in his eyes as he recalls her surroundings with the fire. His suit is so dark that he easily bends in the dark.

I clutch my hands to my chest, biting down on a scream. “Sorry,” he says. He sounds like he means it. “But you are the daughter of a mass murderer, and we are not taking chances.” The doors slam shut. Darkness swallows the van except for a thin line of light at the seam. The engine starts. We move. The cuffs keep burning. I can smell my own skin cooking under the metal. I close my eyes and focus on breathing because if I let myself think, I will break. Ethan Rivers rebuilt his pack on revenge. Everyone knows that. And now he has me.

The witches closed in, their laughter echoing like a chorus of nightmares. Something inside Aqua snapped. A surge of dark energy, unfamiliar and terrifying, welled up within her. She felt her pendant grow hot against her skin, the clear crystal turning black as smoke. The air around her crackled with raw power as she turned back towards the attackers, her fear morphing into a blinding rage.

Chris pursed his lips as he asked, “How’s the review of surveillance videos coming along?” “Boss, I cannot steal Web Rider’s thunder, or he will skin me alive.” Night Rider scratched the back of his head. “Right you are...” Web rider walked in flamboyantly as if on cue. His appearance was a contradiction to all the other shadow guards. He had a strip of hair through the midline about 5cms wide and 3cms long that was dyed green, like a parrot’s tuft while the rest of his head was shaved clean. His clothing was just as ridiculous. He wore a bright magenta leather jacket and pants.

The weirdo did not look like a shaman at all. He was wearing bright pink feather coat. His hair was tied into bright blonde pigtails and he wore a large neon pink hat on his head. He also carried an Armani bag pack over his shoulder. The guy looked more like a middleaged fashion designer than a shaman. Joonjae was not too fond of the guy but he had no choice. Undertaker was the only shaman who was daring enough to agree to Joonjae and Chaerin's ghost marriage. Moreover, Undertaker was equally determined to bring down Park Haewon. He would not disclose his reasons, but his agenda did not matter to Joonjae as long as their goal was the same.

The pair of trackers clapped on either side of the otherworldly mother of three, hanging tensely tight for their decision. Melissa pulled off the dirty job, which involved putting her hand (wrapped in a medical glove) into the half-gnawing mind of the late Ghost Rider, looking for something she knew she wouldn't find. “It's not there.” “Your pineal organ isn't there,” he announced, removing his hand from the top of the vile-looking fellow and removing the glove to dispose of it.

"Look what crawled out of the drain." Three men stepped into the light. They wore oversized hoodies and tactical vests scavenged from the raid. In the center stood Ghost. He was thinner than I remembered. A jagged scar ran from his ear to his jaw—a gift from the last turf war I’d led before I disappeared. "Ghost," I said. I didn't lower the pipe. "Don't 'Ghost' me, you golden-eyed prick." He spat a glob of phlegm onto the concrete. He raised a heavy-duty revolver. "Except your eyes aren't gold anymore, are they? You look... ordinary. Like the rest of us rats."

Again. Breathing deeply, he paved his way to the right wing of the place and headed to a huge garden located in the middle of the Palace. Large balls of energy were emitting different spectres of light to the surroundings. There was a stage situated a hundred steps away from him as people gathered around it. He walked a few steps ahead as he tried to look for his brother and mother on the stage. Instead he saw his father, a man in his mid 60's with a grey beard covering half of his face. He was wearing a green velvet robe bearing the Seal of the Guardians: a symbol of a fist wrapped in a circle. There were four others who stood beside him that wore the same robes with the seal.

“If you all weren’t so blind, you’d call dibs on her, too!” “No one is calling ‘dibs’.” A figure near the back now rose from its perch. He was a tall man, made even taller by his placement in the chamber. A dark black robe hooded his face and filled out his body even more, so that he appeared to loom over the assembly like the shadow of a monster. “That’s quite alright” Madam Dro said dismissively. “Make your preferences, surely, but stay your desires until after the demonstrations are concluded. Give all of our gifted youngsters a good look over; I promise that you won’t be disappointed.”

My heart raced as Xavier slowly eased the motorcycle onto the road. The bright moon and stars illuminated the night sky, creating a peaceful and quiet atmosphere, interrupted only by the motorcycle roaring down the road. Riding with Xavier, I started to grasp his passion for this experience. It was as if we were soaring through the night, feeling liberated and untethered from the world around us.