Novel & Cerita Who Created Ghost Rider

Her breaths coming in hard pants, she pushed herself to go even faster, all she needed to do was outrun the creatures and she had a chance to get back to him. Then the creatures suddenly erupted into a race after her and she tripped on her own feet and fell as their speed shocked her. They would be on her in the next second. She screamed and covered her head and then, an icy cold hand grabbed her wrist and the scene changed. She was in a bed chamber now, a huge single bed in the middle room covered with deep red coverings and she spun around to ask why she had been brought here and came face to face with the Ghost Rider, without the hat obscuring his features.

Clad in armor that seemed to glow with spectral light, the rider wielded a whip that crackled with dark energy. "It's him," Silas whispered, his voice trembling with recognition. "It's my father." The others turned to Silas, shock and confusion etched on their faces. "Your father?" Marinetta asked, trying to piece together the implications. Silas nodded, his eyes never leaving the ghostly figure. "He died many years ago, but it seems his spirit has returned, driven by a need for vengeance." The ghost rider dismounted, moving towards them with a menacing grace. Silas stepped forward, his heart heavy with a mix of dread and determination.

I was beyond furious that he had kept this from us all this time because I knew now that the faceless men in my dreams were Royal Guards. “They’ll kill you! You’ll never get close enough to kill him,” Ryder said in a low tone. “You don’t know half of what I can do.” I hadn’t earned the name Ghost because I was a good hunter. I earned it because I was the best. I could move so quietly that even Milo didn’t hear me and his hearing was better than mine. I didn’t feel pain and I healed faster than any species in existence. Ghost wasn’t just a myth, it was who I became.

Then the rider lifted both hands. Not in surrender. With caution. Like someone approaching a wounded animal. Their voice came out distorted through a modulator. “Ghost,” they said softly. Everything inside me stilled. Only three people ever called me that. One was dead—Saint. One should’ve been dead—Shade. And the third… The third was an ally long buried in the dark. A ghost from my old life. The rider reached up and slowly—very slowly—removed their helmet. My breath caught.

Castellano had clearly mastered the second. "There was trouble," he said. It wasn't a question. "There was," I answered calmly. "It was handled." "Ghost Rider?" The name rolled off his tongue without surprise. That interested me more than the question itself. Names didn't spread through our world unless someone wanted them to. Either Ghost Rider had built a reputation deliberately... or someone else was making sure the legend spread for them. Neither possibility was comforting. I held his gaze. "Someone had an interest in disrupting the transfer," I said. "They failed."