Steven walked back into his house, a slight sense of relief momentarily lifting the weight of the world off his shoulders. The dark events of the past few days—the fight, Kristina's love, his transformation—felt like they were beginning to make sense. He allowed himself a fleeting moment of happiness, but it was short-lived.
As he stepped into his dimly lit living room, his heart skipped a beat. The mirror on the far wall caught his attention. At first, it seemed like a normal reflection, but then his gaze locked with something—or someone—unexpected. In the mirror stood his uncle, Larry Henderson. His figure appeared as clear as the day, but the image was warped by something darker, more sinister. It felt as if his uncle was standing in the room with him, yet at the same time, it felt like he wasn't.
Steven froze, his hand still on the doorframe. "Uncle Larry?" His voice trembled with disbelief, his heart pounding against his ribs. "But... you're..."
The reflection of his uncle smirked, that familiar gleam in his eyes, but there was an unsettling coldness to his smile, a wicked knowledge that made Steven's skin crawl.
"Steven, you've come far, but you're not done," Larry's voice echoed, low and dangerous, a tone that made Steven's breath catch in his throat. "There are still things you must do. The Rider, Steven. It's not just a power. It's a calling, a curse. You've barely begun to understand what it means."
Steven hesitated. The memories of the pact he had made with Mephistopheles, the overwhelming need for vengeance, rushed back to him. The Rider, his new identity, the pain, the rage—it all felt like a storm brewing inside him, one that would drown him if he wasn't careful.
Larry's form flickered, almost as if he were fading away, his image warping like smoke in the mirror. "You can't run from it forever, boy. You've been marked. But there is one more thing you must do. Someone you must face. His name... the caretaker."
Steven's blood ran cold. The caretaker. The name hit him like a slap. He knew exactly who his uncle meant. The old man who worked in the graveyard, the one who knew more about the Rider, the one who could offer him answers—or more trouble. But something in Steven's gut told him that meeting him might be the key to unlocking the chaos within him.
"You need to go to the graveyard, Steven," Larry's voice grew darker. "Before it's too late."
The mirror flickered again, the image of Larry fading out of focus, leaving only the silence of the room. Steven stood frozen for a long moment, trying to calm his breathing. The weight of his uncle's words hung heavy in the air, thick with the promise of something worse to come.
Steven clenched his fists, his resolve growing stronger. He couldn't afford to back down now. Not after everything that had happened. Not after everything he'd become. The Rider was part of him, but the darkness was becoming more than just a curse—it was a calling he couldn't ignore.
"I'll go," Steven whispered to himself, his voice trembling with both fear and determination. "I'll find the caretaker. I'll find out what this all means."
With that, he turned towards the door, his hand gripping the doorknob tightly. The night awaited him, the storm in his mind still raging. He had no idea what the graveyard would hold, but one thing was certain: there was no turning back now.
As he stepped outside, the cold wind greeted him like an old friend, but it felt different this time—more foreboding, as though it, too, knew what was coming.
5
The sun rose over the horizon, its first light spreading slowly,
lifting the darkness from the world. But even as the world woke, Steven felt the familiar weight of his struggles pressing on his chest, a constant reminder of the darkness lurking just beneath his surface. The day's light did little to ease the unease that simmered inside him.
He stood before the mirror, running his fingers through his hair before adjusting his leather jacket. The familiar feel of the worn material against his skin was a comfort, even though the memories it carried were far from simple. He grabbed his keys and walked outside. His eyes lingered on the bike sitting under the shadow of the garage, a beast of chrome and fire, his demonic chopper that had become both a vehicle and a symbol of the pact he had made. It wasn't just a bike anymore; it was part of him. It roared to life as he started it, the engine thrumming beneath him like the beating of a heart.
The road blurred as he rode towards the cemetery, the wind rushing past him, carrying with it the distant scent of damp earth and old memories. The Cypress Hills cemetery was a place he'd only visited a few times before, but it was there, nestled in the hills, that he would find the answers he sought.
As he approached the entrance, the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the grounds. The cemetery was bathed in the golden glow of early morning, a stark contrast to the darkness that had taken root inside him. He dismounted his chopper and walked toward the caretaker, who was kneeling by a freshly dug grave.
The old man, hunched over with age, looked up as Steven approached, his face shadowed by the wide brim of his hat. His hands, rough and calloused, worked with slow, deliberate movements as he placed a stone atop the grave.
"You're here," the caretaker said, his voice gravelly, as though the years of working among the dead had seeped into his very soul. He didn't look at Steven, but the tone of his voice spoke volumes. "I've been expecting you."
Steven paused, glancing around the quiet graveyard. The caretaker's presence was unsettling, a reminder of the strange connection between life, death, and everything in between.
"I need answers," Steven said, his voice steady but edged with a growing sense of urgency.
The caretaker finally stood, his movements slow but purposeful, and turned to face Steven fully. His eyes, sharp and penetrating, studied Steven for a moment, as if measuring the weight of his words.
"You want to understand the Rider, boy?" The caretaker's lips curled into a semblance of a smile, but there was nothing kind in it. "You want to understand the deal you made with the devil?"
Steven stiffened at the mention of the devil, the familiar bitterness of his pact rising within him. But he didn't flinch. He needed answers.
"Who was the first Rider?" Steven asked, his voice low but determined. "I need to know."
The caretaker looked at him, as if weighing whether to speak or remain silent. Finally, he gestured for Steven to follow him.
They walked toward a particular grave, the stone worn and weathered by time, with only faint traces of the name carved into its surface.
"This here," the caretaker said, pointing to the stone, "is the grave of Carter Slade. Texas Ranger. A good man who lived by the law until he became the first Rider. And that's when everything changed."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, as if sharing a secret long buried. "Slade didn't make the deal willingly. The devil took him, turned him into a weapon, and now he's just another part of the rider's legacy."
Steven knelt down, studying the grave, the name barely legible, but the weight of its history palpable. Carter Slade. The first Rider.
The caretaker stepped back, watching Steven carefully, as if waiting for him to understand the full depth of the words.
"You think you have control over this, but you don't. The Rider isn't just a title; it's a curse. Slade died and became a part of it, and now, so will you." The caretaker's voice grew cold, his eyes narrowing with a mix of disdain and pity. "You think you're special because you can wield the power, but in the end, the devil owns you. And once you're gone, you'll be just another piece in his game."
Steven's chest tightened. He wanted to deny the truth in the caretaker's words, but a part of him couldn't. The Rider had taken hold of him, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep fighting it.
"I know what I've become," Steven said, his voice rough. "But I still have control. I won't let it take me."
The caretaker shook his head slowly. "You're fooling yourself if you believe that. The Rider doesn't need your permission to take over. It's always waiting. Watching. All you can do is keep running, keep trying to outrun it. But one day, it will catch up with you, and when it does... there won't be anything left of you."
Steven stood, his heart pounding in his chest, the caretaker's words echoing in his mind. He turned away, but before he could leave, the caretaker called after him.
"Remember, Rider. The devil never loses. Not in the end."
Steven didn't respond. He couldn't. His mind was racing, his heart torn between the desire for revenge and the fear of what he was becoming. But he knew one thing for certain—he had to face Blackout. He had to stop him, or the darkness would swallow everything.
As he walked back toward his bike, the caretaker's words lingered, a haunting reminder that no matter how far he ran, the Rider would always be waiting.
The demonic chopper roared to life beneath him as he revved the engine. He had a mission now. The path ahead was darker than ever, but Steven didn't care. The Rider would never stop, but neither would he.
It was time to hunt.