Chapter 15: Old Wang and the Staredown with the Ghost Rider

He actually knows that demon’s name? He seems to know a lot about that demon. Just who is he, really?

Robbie suddenly realized that the Chinese youth before him had a terrifying look in his eyes—so deep they were like an abyss, like the starry sky, like the hell and blood-soaked battlegrounds of legend. A violent, tragic aura crashed over him, making him feel as if he’d plunged into an icy pit, as if he were gazing upon mountains of corpses and seas of bones, upon a war of unimaginable carnage.

In that instant, Robbie instinctively staggered backward several steps, nearly losing his balance. He gritted his teeth and drew a deep breath.

How is this possible? He’s just a teenager, probably barely an adult… yet why does he look more like a cold-blooded killer, like a soldier who’s survived decades of gunfire and war, like… a man-eating demon!

A dreadful thought flashed through his mind and his face changed dramatically. It was this very person who, last night, had caught a rocket with his bare hands, redirected it, and blown up an entire truckload of Fifth Street Gang members. The number of people killed by his hands was likely greater than Robbie himself had ever killed.

Killing is never easy. Even if, thanks to the Spirit of Vengeance, he didn’t vomit or feel fear, the psychological shadow was unavoidable. He didn’t like killing—never.

But what about this guy? He ended more than a dozen lives as if swatting flies, his expression calm, almost indifferent. He was used to killing, as natural to him as eating or drinking water—so ordinary, so casual, so unconcerned.

Such a person is a demon.

No. He’s like me—there’s a demon dwelling in his body too. And even if not in his body, then certainly in his heart!

The Spirit of Vengeance raged within, its icy, turbulent voice roaring through his mind. It was furious at Robbie’s weakness, eager to unleash its wrath, show off its power, and destroy everything.

Old Wang’s provocation had deeply offended it—so noble in its own eyes, it wanted to teach this man a harsh lesson, even if there was no aura of sin about him. That didn’t matter—it was simply displeased! Might as well beat him up first!

“No!” Robbie growled in a low voice, fighting desperately to keep control. No, you can’t come out, not now.

There are still people at the repair shop. They might be far away, but they’re not blind. They’ll see everything; they’ll know the truth. They’ll think I’m a monster and spread the word, bringing the police down on us. My life will be ruined. Gabe’s life will be ruined. We’ve fought so hard to survive; we ought to live well!

Get back inside—this is my body, and I make the decisions!

Rage burned in his eyes. Never before had Robbie felt so determined, so unyielding, so indomitable. He fought the Spirit of Vengeance with everything he had, refusing to give in.

Sky retreated dozens of steps away. If they were going to fight, better to keep his distance. What if they broke his phone? It was expensive!

Inside the Heart of Azeroth, the young lady blinked. Boy, don’t hold back now! Old Wang’s been itching for a fight for eighteen years, but never found anyone to take it out on. Give him a chance, would you?

Old Wang’s lips curled into a faint smile. What a fledgling. To think he houses such a terrifying evil spirit and still can’t control its power, can barely suppress it. It reminded him of his old friend from Azeroth, the undead archmage Merry Winterwind, who had lived nearly three thousand years.

Merry Winterwind bore within him a sealed Dreadlord, Kessranathir, and was always “sickly”—a legendary undead mage, yet often weak as a kitten. In the end, Old Wang had to take action himself, beat Kessranathir back to the Twisting Nether, and only then did Merry regain his vigor, becoming Old Wang’s twenty-second follower. Later, he joined Old Wang’s Argus expedition, where a 25-man team ganged up on Aggramar and the Sunderer—at least he got to make a name for himself.

It was hard to say which was stronger, the Spirit of Vengeance or Kessranathir, but probably the former. Robbie was hardly worthy of being compared to a legendary undead mage, which made his plight even worse.

Such a stark contrast, such a miserable situation, and yet he persevered. Partly because the Spirit of Vengeance was less cunning than a Dreadlord—no model citizen, but at least it was reasonable, disciplined, and had principles. It also proved how remarkable Robbie was.

This boy wasn’t bad at all. I like him.

Time slipped by, second after second. Old Wang watched Robbie with an amused smile, watching his face twist through torment, struggle, pain, even despair, until finally, calm returned. He had succeeded.

The Spirit of Vengeance was certainly formidable—even Old Wang was wary of it. But it followed the rules, kept its word. The contract it had made with Robbie was binding, and with the contract’s power, Robbie could restrain it. It was hard, but he managed.

This left Old Wang frustrated. A battle of stares was boring; he craved a real duel. Why wouldn’t he give him the chance? Afraid of being seen by others? They could always arrange a private match—he’d let Robbie pick the time and place!

“Don’t provoke it. You have no idea how terrifying it is!” Robbie bent down, looked up, drenched in cold sweat, gasping for breath, as if he’d just fought a grueling five-minute battle in bed—yet now, after the fiercest struggle, he had regained absolute calm, restored his reason.

He shot Old Wang a venomous glare, then suddenly shuddered and fell silent. For he remembered Old Wang’s gaze a moment ago.

This smiling man was terrifying too—maybe even more so than the Spirit of Vengeance!

Please, would you two big shots stop messing around? My frail body can’t take the clash between you! If you’d come at me one at a time, I might be able to endure it.

But both at once, attacking from both sides—no, inside and out—I honestly can’t bear it! I’m the real victim here!

You must be the weakest Spirit Rider in history, with a personality like that… Clearly, drivers can’t compare to bikers. The biker gangs can snatch purses—could you?

Old Wang spread his hands. “You’d better advise it not to mess with me.”

Really, I’m not bluffing. Go ask Varian, the Hellscream clan big and small, the Tauren chieftains old and young, the three sisters, the four gods, five dragons, six guardians, seven shas, eight horses, nine classes—who among them hasn’t faced my challenge?

Robbie: “…”

Weren’t you the one who provoked it just now? Boss, you’re too much!

Robbie simply didn’t know what to say anymore. Strength wasn’t scary, thick skin wasn’t scary. But someone strong and shameless—that was truly terrifying. Not even hellfire could burn through that hide!

Old Wang’s throat grew drier after two minutes of talking—even monks need water—and he decided to hurry things along. “So what are you going to do? What’s your plan?”

Robbie froze. You’re asking me what I plan to do? You started this mess—I should be asking you!

No, actually… This does have something to do with him, but at the core, it’s my problem.

I really do need to think about what to do.

Robbie grew agitated. His uncle was in prison now—deservedly so… though honestly, that wasn’t punishment enough. The man had killed several people, killed intentionally, not by accident, and still got off lightly.

But he was still his uncle. He couldn’t just turn him in, and there wasn’t much evidence anyway.

Vengeance needed to be served; that was the contract between him and the Spirit of Vengeance. To possess its power meant bearing the burden of revenge—its obsession, unchangeable.

But whom should he target? The few surviving members of the Fifth Street Gang? Joseph? Uncle Eli? Or the Book of Darkness?

The real culprit was the Book of Darkness—but how does one take revenge on a book?

Robbie was lost. Was he supposed to tear it up, shred it, burn it to ashes?

“Hey, something’s happened!” As the two stared each other down, Sky suddenly shouted, “S.H.I.E.L.D. has set its sights on the Fifth Street Gang!”