His eyes shone eerily bright in the darkness, like the pupils of a beast, glimmering with a ghostly cold red light.
As his body slowly descended, the car lights barely grazed him, illuminating a face so pale it had no trace of blood.
At first glance, it looked like a paper figure used for mourning at a paper shop.
In such a desolate place, encountering a face ashen white, a figure floating in mid-air is unimaginably terrifying.
The surrounding temperature seemed to drop to freezing instantly.
"Damn!"
The young man's legs went weak, and the tire wrench in his hand dropped to the ground with a clang as he stutteringly pointed above:
"Wha... What are you, a man or a ghost?!"
The seasoned thug also jumped in fright, a cold sweat breaking out in the palm holding the mountain knife.
But he, after all, was an old hand in the martial world who had chopped people before, so he forcefully swallowed his spit and cursed bravely:
