Chapter Seventy-Three: The Touch That Becomes an Addiction. [New Book Seeks Your Support and Recommendation]

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Nominally a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, in reality a Hydra base, the ground suddenly trembled. Ghost Rider, who had been brought here unconscious, awoke, his eyes sweeping the unfamiliar surroundings with a hint of discomfort. Soon, flames began to flicker and dance across his body, as if searching for something.

“Found it!”

A few seconds later, Ghost Rider spoke slowly.

The next moment, the heavy motorcycle parked elsewhere in the base roared to life on its own, crashed through the wall of Ghost Rider’s cell, and leapt inside. Flames erupted from every inch of the bike, molten fire dissolving steel bars in a torrent of light.

Ghost Rider had summoned his mount. Within this base, he sensed the presence of countless sins; it was time once more for him to mete out punishment.

The base’s guards soon converged, Hydra agents launching a barrage of gunfire at him. Yet Ghost Rider showed no fear. He didn’t even bother to dodge or defend himself—he simply strode forward, bullets sparking off his flaming form without causing him to retreat a single step.

“You are… guilty.”

His raspy, hollow voice echoed as he raised his hand; a torrent of fire burst forth, the shockwave sweeping outward. As the flames slowly faded, Ghost Rider stood unscathed at the center, while the surrounding agents had been reduced to ash.

“Truly unforgivable?”

He mounted his motorcycle.

“And… too weak!”

As he finished, flames from his body enveloped the entire motorcycle. A deafening roar pierced the air, triggering alarms and violent explosions throughout the base.

At the very instant the flames reached their zenith, Ghost Rider and his motorcycle surged forward, smashing through the base’s wall and soaring into the open.

He brought the bike to a halt in the wilds, gazing back at the burning base. The flames on his skull flickered with irrepressible fury as he muttered a name through clenched teeth.

“Ro… ald!!!”

“You… are guilty!!!”

Because of Ghost Rider’s rampage, chaos erupted inside the base. Amid the turmoil, Barton found Rogers.

“Hey, Cap.”

Rogers, who had been interrogating a Hydra agent, looked up in surprise.

He saw Barton flash him a bright, toothy grin—all eight teeth on display.

Setting aside the unconscious Hydra agent, Steve cleared his throat.

“It’s you?”

“No, not me, Cap.”

Barton nodded, handing Rogers a gun.

“No, I mean—was it you?”

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“No, Cap, I mean this really wasn’t me.”

“Oh? Then who was it?” Rogers asked, curiosity in his voice.

“It wasn’t me, Cap,” Barton replied with a shrug.

Rogers had been asking who was responsible for the chaos in the base. Barton, however, thought he was being asked who had stolen the Cosmic Cube. Though their lines of questioning were entirely at odds, their answers somehow fit together perfectly.

“All right, Barton. Have you seen my shield?”

Deciding not to dwell on it, Rogers prepared to break out. He knew it wouldn’t be long before more Hydra agents arrived—they had to use the confusion to escape.

“Sorry, Cap, I came in a bit of a hurry,” Barton replied. He drew his bow and loosed an explosive arrow, which blew open a distant section of the perimeter wall, sowing even greater chaos.

Alternating cover, the two pushed through the base to the outermost checkpoint.

On the other side, a dense mass of Hydra agents raised their weapons, accompanied by the barrels of various armored vehicles, all trained on them.

“Cap, is it too late for me to take you hostage now?”

“I think it’s too late for that, Agent Barton.”

Seeing the array of guns and cannons pointed their way, they sensibly dropped their weapons and raised their hands high.

“Hey, man, try a taste of Asgardian might!”

In the next instant, Thor’s voice thundered from above—followed by a crash of lightning and thunder.

“Boom!”

A bolt of lightning struck down from Thor’s hammer, coursing violently through the base’s outer defenses and easily piercing the armor of the war vehicles. The electrical fury swept through the enemy lines, breaking the encirclement in a flash.

“Thor?”

Rogers looked on in astonishment at Thor’s arrival, curious as to how he’d found them so quickly.

“Tell me—how did that strike look?” Thor asked with a hint of playful pride, standing before them.

“I’m actually more curious how you found us,” Rogers admitted. He’d left some clues, but with Thor’s intellect, it shouldn’t have been possible for him to arrive so quickly…

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“Call it the excellent intuition of an Asgardian heir,” Thor replied.

Rogers understood then.

This was the legendary blessing of the simple-minded.

The so-called favor of the All-Father.

“Thank you, Odin,” Rogers silently made the sign of the cross in his heart.

After the Manhattan disaster, he’d started believing in God.

...

Elsewhere, Roald was busy with his grand project of forging card traits.

He’d spent over eight hours preparing.

First, he immersed the Sindragosa card face in his blood, letting it soak until its luster shone rich and full, the image of Sindragosa glowing with a tender, slippery sheen, suffused with a ghostly blue radiance and a captivating aroma.

Then, a sprinkling of salt, a dash of star anise, a stick of cinnamon—

No, that wasn’t right.

The next step was to add 100 grams of ground dragon bone—the perfect amount to coat the entire card, ensuring none was wasted. This would marinate the card face thoroughly, infusing it with the energy of “chi”—that mysterious force—fusing Eastern and Western traditions, allowing the front and back of the card to flourish together.

Once the card base was ready, it was time for the details.

A drop of Thor’s blood was added; as the card began to crackle with electric light, this explained why provoking a battle between Sindragosa and Thor was so crucial. The card developed a crispness, reminiscent of a sweet waffle, and additional traits relating to charge, windfury, or energy would emerge.

Because it was the blood of a god, the card’s upper limits rose dramatically.

Next, 300 milliliters of Peter Parker’s blood was added, giving the card new traits associated with Spider-Man—agility, danger sense, possibly charge, divine shield, or other characteristics. Sindragosa’s insight was also enhanced.

These steps were vital—akin to the shamanic rituals of Azeroth’s trolls, or the witches’ incantations: “Add a little poisonous mushroom, and an old shoe sole.” It might seem unscientific, but it worked.

After all these steps, the once-plain Sindragosa card now shimmered with countless traits. The newly forged Blue Dragon Queen was fresh and enchanting, her scent irresistible. After dozens of steps, you could feel the smoothness of her skin, the card’s crisp, tingling sensation under your touch.

It was addictive.