Johnny Blaze stared at the charred remains on the ground, reeking of sulfur, his chest heaving. He whirled around and reached out his hand to Diluc.
"Diluc, give me the Contract of San Venganza!"
But Diluc merely glanced at the outstretched hand. The Black Rock Slash vanished from his palm in a flicker of dark red light.
He turned and walked out of the ruined apartment building, the night wind whipping his red ponytail. His voice was calm—so calm it bordered on cold:
"Go find Carter Slade, the gravedigger. He'll teach you how to master the Ghost Rider's power."
He paused, then added, "But you'll need to learn quickly. I'll be heading to North Brother Island around 7 p.m. tomorrow."
"What do you mean? He's teaching me!?"
Johnny froze. Before he could demand an explanation, Diluc's figure had already vanished into the night.
Johnny lunged forward, shouting, "Wait! You can't just leave it at that—"
His voice trailed off. The room was empty, save for a few scraps of burning paper dissolving into ash, swirling in the night wind.
He leaned out and scanned the narrow alley—but it was deserted, as if the red-haired man had never existed.
Frustrated, Johnny slammed his fist against the broken door frame, kicking up a cloud of dust. Through gritted teeth, he muttered with a mix of envy and resentment:
"Damn it! I'll master that move sooner or later!"
---
Meanwhile, on North Brother Island…
North Brother Island is a deserted island in New York City's East River. Once used as an isolation ward for infectious diseases, it was where "Typhoid Mary" was quarantined. After the 1904 General Slocum disaster— which claimed over a thousand lives—many of the victims' bodies washed ashore here.
In the 1950s, the island was converted into a drug rehabilitation center. Abandoned in 1963, it later became a bird sanctuary. Today, it's home to a crumbling, overgrown hospital, off-limits to the public and shrouded in an eerie silence. Locals call it the "Ghost Island of New York."
Its dark history and apocalyptic aura have made it a staple of urban legend.
At that moment, a sharp, ear-piercing crack echoed through the corridor of the abandoned riverside hospital. Deep within an ice sculpture, the true form of Blackheart slowly stirred. The crystalline shell shattered with a resounding crack.
He staggered to his feet, pale skin threaded with veins glowing faintly blue.
"Diluc Ragnvindr!!!"
Blackheart roared toward the sky. The sheer force of his voice shattered every window lining the corridor.
Clutching his chest, he stumbled into the hospital lobby and glanced around.
To the left, Roxanne Simpson lay frozen inside a transparent ice coffin, her face locked in terror.
To the right, a dozen members of the convoy stood frozen in ice—captured mid-struggle, some still clawing at their frozen prisons.
"Trap…"
Blackheart traced a chilling rune across the surface of Roxanne's ice coffin, muttering, "Who's the liar…?"
His gaze snapped toward the depths of the hospital.
From the darkness came the faint scrape of chains dragging across the floor—and a low, inhuman breath.
A cruel smile curled Blackheart's lips as he whispered coldly:
"True or false… Since I can't turn back, I'll embrace this madness with everything I've got!"
The Next Day — Midtown High School. School Supplies
"Z, wake up! Wake up! What do you think of this dress I designed?"
Peter Parker slapped Damian awake, proudly holding up a sketch and thrusting it in front of him.
Damian groggily turned his head, squinted at the drawing, then nodded slowly.
"Is this the pajamas you designed for your enemy? It's quite nice~ Absolutely perfect! Just imagining him wearing this makes me feel so relieved—I even feel like he didn't deserve to be this stylish!"
"You've got real talent for design. Keep it up—I believe in you!"
With that, Damian flopped back down, ready to resume his nap.
Peter curled his lip, completely dismissing the remark as pure jealousy.
But a moment later, as if jolted by a nightmare, Damian suddenly sat bolt upright, fixed Peter with a serious stare, and demanded:
"Peter… why are you suddenly designing clothes?!"
Peter's eyes darted around nervously. "Uh… well… that's—that's actually a really good question. Because, you know, it is a question. And… why do I say it's a good one? Well… because… it's definitely worth asking…"
He rambled on until Damian's increasingly oppressive silence forced him to relent. With a pitiful expression, Peter pulled a crumpled poster from his backpack and handed it over.
The paper was cheap—rough to the touch—and the print quality was abysmal. The lines in the images were jagged, the text blurry, and several words were misspelled.
Damian read the content aloud:
Underground Boxing Championship
"Bonebreaker's" 30-Match Undefeated Myth Challenge!
A legendary showdown! The "Bonecrusher," undefeated in 30 fights, awaits a challenger!
Rules:
1. Unrestricted combat (kicking, punching, grappling, and throws allowed; weapons prohibited).
2. Matches last 3 minutes, no referee—fight continues until opponent concedes or is knocked out.
3. Challengers must win three consecutive matches to earn the right to face "Bonecrusher."
Prize Pool:
• Regular match winner: $500
• Defeat "Bonecrusher": $10,000 cash + gold belt
Location: Warehouse No. 7, abandoned industrial zone (enter through the back door; password: "bones and flesh")
Time: Every Friday night, 11 PM – 3 AM
Registration: On-site only. Sign a liability waiver and pay a $200 deposit (refundable upon victory).
Entry Requirements:
1. Must be 18+ with no history of heart conditions.
2. Bring your own mouthguard. No shoes allowed.
3. Spectators: cash-only entry ($50 per ticket).
Note: You either leave with the money… or you're carried out.
— Organized by the East District Underground Fighting Association
Damian suddenly recalled a hellishly ironic joke:
Q: Why are there so few Spider-Man doujinshi?
A: Because Spider-Man doesn't have a book.
(Audio Book Service)
He turned his head slowly, squinted, and stared intently at Peter Parker before finally speaking:
"Kneel down. I have a favor to ask of you."
Peter Parker: "…Huh?"
Ignoring Peter's bewildered expression, Damian stuffed the poster into his own backpack and declared:
"You're not entering that fight. I'll give you the ten grand right now. Just stay home this Friday—keep Aunt May and Uncle Ben company."
He paused, then added with sudden urgency:
"Especially Uncle Ben. Keep a close eye on him! Sure, he's old—but he's also got this habit of doing good deeds."
Damian's voice dropped, laced with uncharacteristic bitterness:
"His intentions are admirable… but I strongly dislike what he did."
Peter went completely silent. His expression twisted into something unreadable—haunted, almost.
As Peter's gaze grew stranger by the second, Damian instinctively stepped back
, raising a warning finger.
"What kind of look is that?! I'm warning you—I only like women! You are not allowed to stand behind me anymore!"
Visit patreon.com/ShiroTL to gain access to 40+ chapters