Carter Slade sprayed the liquor from his mouth all over Nick Fury's face.
"Cough, cough! Sorry, sorry." Carter Slade waved his hand awkwardly. "I really didn't mean to. It's just that you've given me a deeper understanding of what it means to clutch at straws.
Right now, you're like a gambler who has put plenty of chips on the table but hasn't been driven into a corner yet."
Nick Fury calmly wiped his face clean. "So? Do you have any way to stop all this?"
"No, absolutely none." Carter Slade answered bluntly. "I've already lost the power of the Ghost Rider. Now I'm just a useless old man waiting to die.
Even if I were still the Ghost Rider, I definitely wouldn't be Satan's match. Otherwise, I wouldn't have hidden in that graveyard for over a hundred years."
"Then what was the point of bringing you here?"
"Director Fury, I'd like to ask the same question." Carter Slade shot back without any politeness. "I was originally planning to find a church, get myself a priest's position, and retire in peace.
With my resume and life experience, that shouldn't have been too difficult.
But I had barely escaped the demonic tide at Saint Vangansa when this..."
"Coulson. Phil Coulson." Coulson smiled awkwardly yet politely.
"Agent Coulson flew a plane over, dragged me and my horse straight to this base, and never even asked whether I agreed.
Don't place your so-called hopes on a useless old man. That isn't wise. It's even a little foolish."
"It was a last resort. The director had no choice," Coulson said weakly.
"Worrying over nothing." Carter Slade disdainfully spat into the trash can. "According to the prophecy, if the Gate of Hell has opened, then Heaven will surely appear as well.
When gods fight, mortals should