It was a dark, stormy night in Vale, the clouds blocking the entirety of Remnant's shattered moon from view. The winds howled as they blew past the windows and doors of the bar. The rain was pounding hard against the glass of the windows and the wooden shingles of the roof. The front door opened with a crash as lightning struck in the distance, showing the outline of a man in a cloak. All conversations stopped as he walked in. He was a newcomer, and they always had some sort of story to tell. The man sat by the fire, showing only his tired eyes. He spoke in a gravely voice, with a western Valean accent, one that had all of the bar's occupants on the edges of their seats. He started simple.

"Remnant has many legends. Myths. Tales told by the campfire to scare campers, or to teach young kids how the world works. There's the Man with Two Souls. The Four Seasons. And the Silver-Eyed Warriors. All legends have some sort of history behind them, some kernel of truth. This, is the legend of the Ghost Rider" A murmur went through the crowd that had formed in front of the man. They never heard of this legend before. Was it forgotten in time, only to resurface at random? The only group who weren't around the man, were a group of seven, huddled around a table. One of them, silver-haired, said nothing as he pretended to pay attention to the meeting he was currently in, while listening in on the story the man was telling.

Legend goes that every generation has one, though that hasn't been the case for a long, long time. Our tale begins some hundred ninety years ago. There was a quiet, peaceful town called San Vanganza, located in a now uninhabited part of Vale. The peace was so great that the Grimm stayed away from it. It was said that a fully grown, centuries old Nevermore flew over it once and was vaporized instantly.

This lasted for years until a stranger came by, started making deals with the townsfolk. The people who lived there were kind and never turned down anything offered by anyone, even by a stranger. Little did they know, this man was the Devil himself, Metistyophelese. The deals they made were simple, innocent. Some money for food and drink. Do some work for some room and bed.

Then they started to get… harmful. Friends betrayed each other, couples cheated, landmarks graffitied. Everything went to hell. Brother against brother, father against son, mother against daughter. Everyone were at each other's throats. The peace in the town turned to anarchy. The church was burned, the library destroyed, town hall demolished. It turned into a massacre, the second worst to Mount Glenn. The Grimm came and killed whoever survived the anarchy. Their souls never left, forever trapped on the tainted soil.

Years pass, and there's a sheriff who was driven out of his town by bandits who framed him for the murder of his own wife and kids. For months he wandered, looking for a town to settle down and get something strong to drink. One night, as he was laying in his tent, trying to brave a storm, one much like this one, he found that the thunder stopped. He only heard the rain hitting the fabric of his tent. He heard footsteps and the thumping of a cane hitting the earth. Whenever it did, the lightning flashed, which showed the shadow of a man. He silently pulled out his pistol and went to surprise the man, but was proven wrong when he was forced to kneel against the ground. He grunted in anger as he tried to force his body to move, but it didn't work. He felt cool metal under his chin, and he was forced to look up.

And there he was, the Devil, though not known to the sheriff at the time, standing there, dressed in all black. His eyes were black as pitch with the pupils glowing crimson. They rivaled even the Grimm's in terms of lack of soul. Hie hair, white with age, was slicked back against his hair, making him look like an aristocrat. His hands were gloved in black, though the tips had holes in them, as if blades constantly slid and out of where his nails were. In his hands was a black cane, made of darkened wood and tipped with what seemed to be like metallic ice. The bottom of the cane was designed as fire, which licked up the sides of the cane a couple inches before stopping. The handle of the came seemed to be a screaming skull with garnets in the eyes, while it's being held up by multiple skeletal hands and arms. Whenever the lightning flashed, the sheriff swore he saw the man's face change. It was nothing he ever seen before. It was made of shadow, the jaws going further than should be possible, the teeth abnormally large and sharp, and his eye sockets seem to hollow whenever it flashes.

The man kneeled in front of the sheriff. "Feeble human." he said, his voice silky smooth. "Would you like to exact revenge to the ones who killed your family?" without hesitation, the sheriff nodded. "All you have to do is sign, and you can. Vengeance, for your soul" the man produced a scroll, the old fashioned paper scroll, which had the contract printed on it. The man unrolled it and handed it to the sheriff. He started to read what would happen should he make it official, however, he pricked his finger on accident by the edges of the scroll, causing his finger to bleed. He winced and pulled his hand away as the blood landed on the dotted line. The man chuckled and pulled the contract away.

"That is perfect" he said this as the sheriff started to writhe in agony, smoke coming from his skin. "Now, you can avenge your family. However, you now work for me" the sheriff screamed out as he caught fire, his skin burning away. The screams turned demonic as he started to laugh. Soon it was terrifying to anyone who might have heard, but the stranger seemed unfazed, a too wide smile on his face. The sheriff was now a flaming skeleton, his skin gone. He looked up at the stranger, eye sockets blazing with orange fire. The stranger told him what he now was, and what he was to do. After he avenged his family, he would have to do contracts for him, doing bounties, collecting souls, and answering to the stranger.

Years have past after that, and the sheriff was used to being the Ghost Rider. He killed demons, traveled the land, and collected lost and corrupted souls. One day, in a dry summer, he was approached by the stranger, who he now knew as the Devil. Metistyophelese asked him to go to the destroyed town of San Vanganza. He obeyed obediently. For three weeks he rode nonstop. Because of him being the Ghost Rider, he had not the need to sleep, it was a comfort, he had not the need to eat or drink, for it was only a treat. When he arrived, he almost instantly shifted to the Rider. The place was tainted in such evil. Betrayal, anarchy, rape, murder. All of the worst sins were committed here. He followed the evil to it's source. A simple scroll, though its Aura was different. Even though it was non-living, it pulsed with thousands of evil souls. He had to use his gloves to pick it up, in fear that his hands would burn. When he went to the contact point, the Devil was there, his hand out to accept the contract. The Rider knew he could not let the Devil get his hands on such an evil artifact, so he did nothing no other Rider has attempted to do before. In a flash of light so bright that Metistyophelese had to shield his eyes, the Rider shifted and ran, only a trail of smoke and flaming hoof prints on the sand, so hot that it turned it to pure glass. He attempted, and succeeded, to outrun the Devil himself. He was never heard from again.

Everyone in the bar was looking at the old man in awe as he took a break from his story to take a drink of water. When he sat the glass down, he sighed before continuing. "Some say that he died and had the contract buried with him. Some say he's still alive, hiding with the contract. Others say that he's creating an army, an army of Riders, to take down the Devil and make sure that the contract is safe. However, I know one thing. If anyone comes to you, someone you don't know but you feel like you can trust him, run. Run as far away from him as you can. 'Cause, if you don't, you'll regret it for the rest of your unnatural lives" Lightning struck again as the old man turned to the fire, his features hidden. Everyone started talking again, but one of the group of seven, a man with wild black hair, a shaggy beard, and crimson eyes walked over while the others looked to him.

"Hey, old man. Is that story you said true, or was it something you picked up in your travels?" He spoke in a deep voice, raspy as if he smoked daily. There was no response. He tried again. "Old man, I'm talking to you" again, no response. He was getting angry. "You got a death wish or something" he touched the man's shoulder and was promptly blown back as the cloak burned away.

In the old man's place was a man - no, beast - in an old sheriff's outfit that has seen better days. He had a stetson, which has holes in it. He had no skin, instead a flaming skeleton, Everyone scrambled back as the flaming man walked to the red-eyed man. Along the way, tables nearby caught fire. He pointed to each of the seven. First was a blond man. "You, innocent" he spoke in an echoey voice, sounding as if his lungs were filled with smoke. He then pointed his boney finger to a black and red haired woman. "Innocent" he pointed to the man who touched him. "Innocent" he pointed to a blonde woman. "Innocent" then he pointed to the black and grey haired man with a metal plate in his forehead and the silver haired man.

"You, guilty" he stepped forward and grabbed the metal-head by his right arm, which promptly started to screech under his touch, shifting and tearing the man's jacket sleeve. It revealed a metal prosthetic chest and right arm up to the shoulder. It shifted and distorted to regular, smooth silver, to a demonic looking metal with terrifying designs. Everyone watched in horror. The cyborg was forced to his knees.

"i-I was only doing my job! I swear! I'm a General, and I had to do it! I would have been kicked out and lost all of my chances to protect Atlas, I swear!" he said. The flaming man kneeled, looking in his eyes, as if he was looking into the cyborg's soul.

He stood up after a minute and let go, the General's prosthetics going back to normal as he said only one word. "Innocent" then he turned to the silver haired man, with glasses. He simply sipped his coffee. He pointed to him.

"You, guilty. You have escaped death many times. You have changed many bodies, though your souls are the same. You have outrun me once. Never again" he stepped forward as the silver haired man sipped his coffee some more. The burning man stopped in front of her, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and lifted him up. The man was unfazed as he took a long sip of his coffee, drawing out the sound. He finished with a sigh, smacking his lips a bit before he looked the man in the eyes.

"How rude" he said with a slight English accent. He was completely unfazed, and this took the burning man aback.

"You are not afraid of the Rider?" the fire flickered a bit. Never before has anyone ever not been afraid by the Rider, let alone seem annoyed by it. This man has truly seen a lot. The silver haired man scoffed.

"Please, I faced against the Queen of the Grimm, and lived for centuries. I have seen more than you have and experienced all four of the tales you spoke of. I am the Man with Two Souls, also known as Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde. I gave the four maiden's their powers, which in turn created the seasons, and I have met many of the silver eyed warriors. Now, tell me this, Rider: do you wanna fuck with someone like me?" tendrils of darkness seemed to snake from the silver haired man's shadow.

The Rider dropped the man and backed away. The tendrils receded as the silver haired man stood. The Rider snorted fire as he stormed out, whistling shrilly when he exiting the pub. There was the galloping of hooves and a flaming skeletal horse galloped to the front. The Rider mounted him and spurred the horse on, running fast enough that the all the windows on the street shattered. No one except for the group of seven spoke of it again. Even then, they barely spoke of it.