Mike ate more than twenty fried chicken pieces and over ten hamburgers, once again startling the staff. "Could he be a monster in human skin?"
Only Mike and Night Werewolf were eating. Blade and Morbius didn't even touch the cola. It was unclear if they couldn't eat or simply didn't like it, as one was a Vampire and the other a half-Vampire.
"Barely half-full," Mike patted his still flat stomach and asked Blade, "What are your plans next?"
"Nothing special, it's still the same — wherever there are Vampires, I'll go. As long as Dracula is not dead, I won't stop."
"What a hard worker," Mike thought the United Nations should give Blade a commendation banner. "By the way, do you know about the dark divine book?"
The three nodded, all indicating they knew.
Blade said, "Vampires call it the 'Dark Bible.' It's said to be the origin of Vampires, and destroying it can end all Vampires. In fact, we've found several copies."
Blade took out his phone and showed several photos. The photos were of several hardcover books with the same symbols, but different cover colors: black, red, purple…
"Fake?" Mike asked.
Blade shook his head, "Perhaps. Some of them do contain strange magic power that can turn people into Vampires. After burning the books, those Vampires cursed by magic indeed disappeared. I wonder if these are true rubbings of the dark divine book. If rubbings possess such magical power, then the true dark divine book must be terrifying."
Mike looked thoughtful.
Blade asked, "Why are you asking about the dark divine book?" He was more interested in what happened tonight.
Why did the formidable Drake and the imposing Talos die so inexplicably, like mere ants?
However, Blade didn't ask. He noticed Mike's lack of interest, even a deliberate avoidance.
Mike's reason for avoiding the topic was quite heartbreaking; it wasn't some inconvenient secret to reveal, but the tragic event of a man with a billion in his account squandering it down to a few million in mere seconds.
The past was too painful to recall.
Blade usually became talkative only when trash-talking enemies. Since Mike didn't want to say more, he didn't press.
Night Werewolf was also curious, but beneath his rugged exterior lay extreme cultivation and a delicate mind.
Mike thought for a moment, organizing his words: "When I killed Drake, I sensed the dark divine book."
Blade's eyes lit up: "Perhaps the rumors are true, it's just that we haven't found the real dark divine book."
Morbius said, "Speculation is meaningless."
Blade said firmly, "Then let's find it!"
Mike's phone rang.
It was a call from Coulson.
As a middle-aged man gradually embracing a health-conscious lifestyle, Coulson wouldn't call Mike in the middle of the night unless it was an emergency—this was the opposite of Mike, and also why Coulson often got so angry he'd throw his phone.
Coulson, a highly trusted subordinate of Fury. Therefore, for any important case, Coulson was a top choice. He, Coulson, was a brick for S.H.I.E.L.D.
Coulson: So the result of being trusted by leadership is endless overtime?
According to intelligence, a Harley rider in a punk leather jacket appeared at night, killing people frantically. Of course, ordinary riders committing murder are not S.H.I.E.L.D.'s concern, but what if this rider had a skull for a head and was engulfed in Fire?
Shortly after receiving the order, a S.H.I.E.L.D. plane carrying Coulson and Laura landed in the wilderness of the western United States.
After some investigation, a stunt rider named Johnny Blaze came into his view because Johnny had left his license plate at the crime scene—an unbelievably amateurish mistake.
Coulson arrived at the Quentin Carnival amusement park. Coincidentally, a group called the "Sons of Anarchy," an illegal motorcycle club, also came looking for Johnny. This group had a companion killed by Ghost Rider, and then an internal police informant told them: Johnny was the suspect. So they came, completely unaware that their "enemy" wasn't human at all.
Johnny wasn't there.
Coulson encountered members of the Sons of Anarchy. Coulson pulled out his badge, his disguised identity as an FDI Agent. He forgot one thing: this was the wild west, where criminals, if guilty, usually didn't flee, but directly pulled out a gun and started shooting.
Coulson was pinned down and couldn't raise his head.
However, at this moment, Mike's phone rang.
The result was the famous scene of Coulson throwing his phone.
Facing the intense firepower of a dozen gunmen, Coulson was considering retreating. Alone, and with insufficient firepower, a well-trained Agent would usually wisely retreat if there was no compelling reason to stay.
Coulson felt there was no need to risk his life in a shootout with a dozen gangsters. The face he lost now could be regained after he called for backup.
Just then, the Ghost Rider-transformed Johnny, riding his Hell Cycle, "descended from the sky."
"Shoot him, kill that flaming little bitch!" someone from the Sons of Anarchy yelled loudly.
It was false to say they weren't unnerved by Ghost Rider; they used yelling as a way to bolster their courage.
Gunshots erupted all at once.
Coulson noticed that bullets had almost no effect on the flaming skull; even the torn leather jacket recovered in the blink of an eye.
Ghost Rider swung his chain, wrapping it around a person, pulling them over, and engaging in a "deep" gaze.
Amidst screams, the eyes of the person Ghost Rider gazed at looked as if they had been branded by a hot iron, even sparking with Fire.
Ghost Rider repeated the process, and after killing three people, the Sons of Anarchy collapsed; after all, they were just a gang, lacking the courage to fight to the Death.
Ghost Rider then ensnared another Sons of Anarchy member who was about to get on his motorcycle, before he could even hit the gas.
Ghost Rider mounted his Hell Cycle and chased after him.
"F*ck!"
Even though he had dealt with many supernatural incidents, Coulson still felt a chill down his spine: "What kind of monster?!"
Coulson quickly returned to the parking lot and started Laura.
Of the thirty-six stratagems, running away is the best!
Suddenly, Coulson heard the sound of an engine behind him.
"Is the monster chasing me? Why?" Coulson cursed inwardly.
There were more than a dozen Sons of Anarchy members fleeing, and they were scattering, so the flaming monster, no matter how fast, couldn't possibly catch them all one by one in such a short time.
The Hell Cycle approached rapidly, its speed definitely exceeding 200km/h, and it ignored terrain. This wasn't a motorcycle; it was essentially a plane without wings.
"At this rate, I'll definitely be caught. Good thing I'm driving my beloved Laura." Coulson opened a hidden panel and pressed a button.
The jet engines hidden in the four tires activated, and Laura instantly transformed into a "flying car," soaring into the air.
Coulson noticed that Ghost Rider stopped his pursuit, instead gazing with his hollow skull eyes at Coulson, who was flying into the air and gradually moving away.
"Not chasing anymore?"
Coulson didn't relax his guard; instead, he flew far away, only landing when he reached the city center.
Then, instinctively, he called Mike. In his mind, for strange incidents, finding Mike was always the right thing to do.
Completely disregarding the previous "phone-throwing" grudge.
"I really am a magnanimous person," Coulson self-hypnotized.