The eerie shift in atmosphere provoked starkly different reactions from the trio. Peter seized Hong Fei's arm in a white-knuckled grip, pressing close like a startled animal. The previously impassive old man's face twisted violently, his darting eyes betraying a venomous hatred that ran bone-deep.
His lips peeled back from jagged teeth in a snarl, the expression downright feral. Only the Dragon King remained composed—he gave Peter's hand a reassuring pat before tilting his head upward.
"I know you're lurking," he called out, voice cutting through the unnatural stillness.
"If you've got the spine for it, show yourself. Otherwise, choke on your own cowardice."
On the final syllable, Hong Fei's body erupted with thousands of searing white light beams. The explosion of radiance flooded the area like a miniature sun, vaporizing the swirling black-grey energy in an instant. The keening wind died mid-wail as absolute silence descended.
The hateful old man froze mid-snarl, astonishment dawning across his features as he gaped at Hong Fei. Peter's head snapped up, eyes alight with naked admiration as he stared at the Dragon King's luminous form.
When no response came from the shadows, Hong Fei let the light dissipate. Mephisto's continued absence proved one thing—the bastard was cautious. Dangerous, yes, but more importantly, a master of underhanded tactics.
Devils like him had no concept of honor. Backed by formidable power, they'd stoop to any depravity. Right now, though? As a Hell Lord, Mephisto likely didn't fear Hong Fei outright—but given his obsession with Earth, he'd done his homework. No amount of taunting would draw him out. That little display just now? A test. Probing Hong Fei's reactions, his limits, the depth of his power.
The message had been received. Hong Fei's contempt was obvious. The ease with which his light dispelled Mephisto's darkness? A direct counter. And the real reason for the devil's absence? The Sorcerer Supreme still stood guard against the Dark Dimension. Even if Mephisto dared manifest here, it'd be a weakened avatar—and against the Dragon King's light, that'd be like serving himself up on a platter.
Dealing with devils was a losing game. When strong, they'd cheat or brutalize you. When weak? They'd slink away without a shred of shame. Underestimating their shamelessness was fatal. Cooperation? A fool's gamble. Even if forced into it, constant vigilance was the only defense—one misstep, and you'd find yourself sold out while counting their blood money.
The only solution was extermination. A Hell Lord's loot would be substantial. Better to declare outright: I'll kill you. Draw that line in the sand now so when they next met, they could skip the posturing and go straight for the throat. No schemes, just carnage.
"You..."
The old man's voice shook with disbelief.
"How did you—?"
Hong Fei extended his hand, palm upturned. A searing ball of light coalesced in his grip, blinding in its brilliance.
"The power of light," he declared, "the nemesis of darkness."
It was a bold claim—perhaps too bold. Light and darkness were two sides of the same coin, intertwined rather than opposed. While they often symbolized righteousness and villainy, they didn't represent absolute good or evil, especially not as defined by human morality. Take Michael, for instance, who had just been torn apart and devoured. Even the so-called restraint between light and darkness wasn't absolute.
Discussing effects without considering dosage was, frankly, irresponsible. Yet, this display served its purpose. It solidified the old man's trust in Hong Fei. His knowledge of the Dragon King came from television and the internet, the same sources millions relied on. To him, Hong Fei was Earth's strongest superhero, unmatched—at least for now.
The old man stared at the radiant sphere in Hong Fei's hand, his gaze softening. Slowly, a genuine smile broke across his gaunt cheeks. He took a step forward, and his hunched posture straightened with surprising ease.
The weariness etched into his face melted away, replaced by a bold, defiant expression. He approached the motorcycle, his hand gliding along its frame from the tail to the fuel tank.
"I am old," he murmured. Hong Fei smiled faintly.
"Only on the outside." The old man sighed.
"But my heart is old too."
"You're right," Hong Fei replied. "Very few people can force me to submit to their plans. Not my father, and certainly not that devil."
He nodded slightly. Peter, overhearing this, froze. Devils? Did they really exist? He glanced up at Hong Fei, his mind racing. If even an angel could have its wings torn off, surely a devil wouldn't stand a chance against him, right? Peter felt a strange sense of reassurance.
The old man's hand slid toward the motorcycle's handlebars.
"You're not in a hurry, are you?" he asked. Hong Fei shook his head.
"Not at all."
"Then I'll take one last ride. To New York."
"Do you need me to cover your tracks?"
"No need. People in this world are used to strange, supernatural things. I doubt I'll scare them."
"True. They're more accepting now. You might even become a star again."
The old man chuckled.
"I've been a star before. It's nothing special."
With that, he swung his leg over the motorcycle, his movements fluid and instinctive. He glanced back at Hong Fei, and the two shared a knowing smile. Peter's curiosity was nearly palpable. The old man turned his attention to the motorcycle, his eyes filled with nostalgia. Then, with a sudden twist of his right hand—
The rusted, scrapped-looking machine roared to life, its growl echoing like a beast awakened. Flames erupted from the old man's body, starting at his feet and surging upward. His shoes and pants ignited, the fire spreading rapidly to the motorcycle.
The fire traveled up his body, through his chest, past his neck. In an instant, his head—covered by a cowboy hat—shed its flesh, leaving only a flaming skull. Simultaneously, the flames engulfed the motorcycle, stripping away the rust and revealing gleaming, brand-new metal beneath.
The transformation happened before their eyes—the engine, fuel tank, handlebars, hubs, and tires all renewed themselves in seconds. Flames erupted, and a sleek metal war machine roared to life. Atop it sat a rider wreathed in fire, his skeletal face turning to regard Hong Fei and Peter. Hong Fei wore a faint smile, while Peter stood slack-jawed, utterly stunned.
With a twist of the throttle and a flick of the handlebars, the war machine surged forward. It screeched to a halt in front of them, executing a perfect drift. The skull rider's jaw clicked as he spoke, his voice eerily human and disarmingly humble.
"I have to say, the moment I saw you, your aura made me restless. If I'd met you when I was young, you'd have beaten me to death."
Hong Fei didn't mince words.
"I doubt I could kill you now."
"No," the skull replied, "I'm being honest. I think you could. Anyway, head inside and wait for me. I'll be back soon."
"No rush. Take your time."
The skull nodded, then straightened his gaze. With a coordinated motion of hands and feet, the war machine reared up and shot forward. Flames erupted in its wake, igniting everything in its path—plants, sand, stones—all consumed in an instant. A straight line of fire carved through the landscape, unimpeded by any obstacle.
Hong Fei watched until the rider disappeared at the horizon. Whoever this man had been before, he was now a figure of undeniable heroism. Turning to Peter, Hong Fei smiled and pinched the boy's cheek.
"Snap out of it."
Peter blinked, finally tearing his gaze away.
"Uncle, who is he?"
"A hero."
"What's his name?"
"Not sure, but you can call him 'Ghost Rider.'"
Ghost Rider raced toward New York in a straight line, undeterred by hills, rivers, forests, or lakes. Once he hit the main road, his blazing presence drew the attention of countless onlookers. This was a new kind of superhero, arriving in grand, fiery style. By the time he reached New York, The Foundation had already tracked his trajectory.
Coulson and his team had set up a checkpoint outside the city, flanked by two flags—The Foundation's blue-and-red emblem and the red banner with a yellow dragon. Coulson was ready to deliver his prepared speech, but before he could begin, Arthur's voice crackled in his earpiece, ordering an immediate withdrawal.
Reluctantly, Coulson turned and led his team away, spreading the news of the newcomer's arrival throughout New York. Moments later, Ghost Rider roared into the city, drawing a crowd of curious onlookers.
Meanwhile, Hong Fei led Peter into Ghost Rider's dilapidated house. Opening a Portal, he summoned Frank, who was deep in his crusade against the underworld. Hong Fei cut straight to the chase.
"I've got a big gift for you today."
Frank's irritation softened slightly, but his brow furrowed when he saw Peter.
"Why's the kid here?"
"I'm teaching a class."
"A class?"
"A class on the twilight of heroes, and also a class on choices and decisions."
Frank paused, his gaze shifting as he studied Peter. Hong Fei never acted without purpose. If he said this kid was important, then he was—or he would be. Even if Peter seemed ordinary now, Frank knew better than to underestimate him.
"A class on the twilight of heroes, and also a class on choices and decisions."