Chapter 62: Leaving After the Deed is Done
The setting sun bathed the ruins in a grimy gold.
Gunsmoke, concrete dust, and the smell of scorched alien alloy swirled together, hanging over Manhattan; it was impossible to tell if it was sunset or embers.
Hawkeye rested his bow on his knees, sitting on the edge of a jagged piece of rubble, staring at the sheep at his feet.
The sheep was chewing on something.
One-third of the emergency evacuation memo Fury had handed out before the battle had already entered the sheep's stomach. Loki's golden vertical pupils held a deep-seated hatred, but his jaw pragmatically maintained a rhythmic chewing motion.
"Baa."
Captain America crouched in front of it and studied it for about thirty seconds. With his shield resting on his knees, he looked up at Arthur: "Is it still... him?"
"Either way," Arthur leaned against an outer wall with two cracks in it. "The form is a sheep, and the consciousness is still there, but he just can't speak. The spell will last twelve hours at most."
"Twelve hours," Tony repeated, something rising in his tone. "A god of Asgard, in the body of a sheep, staying conscious for a whole night."
"Yes."
"He'll remember every detail."
"Yes."
"Good."
Tony rummaged through a miraculously intact small cabinet near the ruins and pulled out a bottle of wine—Lafite. The bottle had fine cracks but hadn't leaked, and the metal seal reflected the setting sun. He handed the wine over and opened his faceplate. "Cheers, Mage. I'm serious, name your price for Stark Industries shares."
Arthur took it and took a swig directly from the bottle.
On a ruined rooftop, surrounded by the smell of scorched earth, drinking fine wine felt absurdly contrasting.
"I don't want shares." He handed the bottle back. "I want that indigo Aston Martin in your garage, the limited edition numbered 007."
Tony paused for a moment.
"...How do you know about that one?"
"A mage's perception doesn't rely on his nose."
"The garage is sealed shut."
"Where's the key?"
Tony flicked the bottle's rim with his thumb, making a light clinking sound. "Third row of hooks in the garage, seventh one. Get it yourself, and don't scratch the paint." He paused. "Would you sell the energy model for the barrier? I'll throw in a Porsche."
"Not for sale."
"A Bugatti."
"Knowledge isn't something you exchange for money, Stark."
Tony didn't speak again.
He leaned back into the half-broken chair, biting the rim of the bottle, looking up at the sky after the mushroom clouds had dissipated. For the first time, that face lacked its usual flippancy during bickering.
After a while, he said, "Thank you."
Just two words, no suffixes.
Arthur didn't respond.
Hawkeye remained silent, leaning against a low wall, watching the sheep paw at the rubble-strewn floor. It tried to charge at Arthur, stumbled, couldn't stop, slammed its head into the edge of a rock, bounced back, sat down, and pawed the ground again.
He had been controlled by the Mind Stone. That feeling of being hollowed out, conscious but unable to move, still woke him up on some nights.
Now that thing had turned into a sheep with a green scarf, capable only of bleating, spinning in circles out of frustration because it couldn't headbutt anyone.
Clint Barton plucked his bowstring once and leaned back against the wall. His breathing was steadier than before.
The roar of propellers pressed in from the distance, the wind swirling the ashes on the ground.
Natasha was the first to look back.
The three of them didn't exchange words, each taking their positions.
The black helicopter landed steadily, and the hatch opened. Nick Fury stepped down, his black trench coat pressed by the bay wind. His single eye swept over everyone on the roof and stopped on Arthur's face. Most of the floor tiles were broken, but he stepped cleanly with every stride, without hesitation.
"A remarkable performance, Mr. Mage," he began, carrying that habitual pressure of someone who had already won before speaking. "The whole of New York owes you a favor. That is a fact, and I acknowledge it."
Arthur pushed off the wall and stood straight.
"Because of that, S.H.I.E.L.D. must intervene," Furycontinued. "The power you possess exceeds any of our evaluation frameworks. If an unknown variable of this magnitude is not recorded and regulated, it poses a potential threat to all of humanity. I need you to cooperate in establishing a personal file, undergo periodic evaluations, and accept deployment during major threat events."
The wind blew the remaining part of that half-eaten memo across the tiles, stopping briefly in front of Fury's boots.
"Regulated." Arthur repeated the word, his tone flat. "Director Fury, what exactly are you going to use to regulate me?"
"S.H.I.E.L.D. possesses the world's most comprehensive special ability management system, technical reserves, and law enforcement authority."
"I know what you have," Arthur cut him off directly. "I also know how much of it is fake."
Fury's single eye twitched slightly.
"That management system of yours is a sieve. Agent files can be forged, databases can be penetrated, and you can't even guarantee that every person sitting at your conference table is a real S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent and not some Old Snakehiding for sixty years. Right?"
The rooftop went silent for a beat.
Captain America's fingers tightened slightly on the edge of his shield.
Tony held the wine bottle suspended in mid-air, not drinking.
Fury's face didn't move, but the look in his eye changed. The usual oppression sank, and another layer surfaced from beneath. A man who had kept all his cards face down for a lifetime had his hole cards flipped by someone from across the room—and the person doing the flipping was nonchalant, speaking as if it were all common knowledge.
"Your source of intelligence," Fury's voice dropped an octave.
"Logic. No need for intelligence as a foundation." Arthurput his hands in his pockets. "An organization that claims to be the world's top intelligence agency having its vulnerabilities pointed out on the battlefield by a mage who just arrived—Director Fury, that fact alone is the reason you should go back and lose sleep."
A beat of silence.
"Not because of me."
Fury's jaw tightened for an instant, then relaxed.
"S.H.I.E.L.D.'s application for regulation remains in effect. This isn't an invitation; it's a notification."
"Mm."
Arthur gave a non-committal hum, took his hand out of his pocket, turned to look at the sheep on the tiles, bent down, and pinched the corner of the green cloak hanging around its neck.
"I'm taking this sheep. Borrowing it for a few days."
He looked up, scanning Fury, the Avengers, and the entire ruined rooftop one last time.
"As for you all."
"Take your time cleaning up the battlefield amidst the lies."
Teleportation consumed the laws of space; squeezing his mana pool, he had just enough.
He snapped his fingers.
Purple arcane light welled up from beneath the tiles, swallowing the silhouettes of him and the sheep within half a second.
The light dissipated.
The man was gone. The sheep was gone.
Only the sunset and the ruins remained.
Tony put the wine bottle down, looked at Fury, then at Captain America, and finally turned toward the tiles where Arthur had stood.
"Did you guys notice?" he said. "He didn't even change his coat before he left."
Hawkeye looked down at that tile. "And he made off with Loki."
No one spoke anymore.
Fury stood in place, his trench coat pulled back by the wind, his single eye fixed on that tile, unmoving.
HYDRA.
No one spoke those two words, but they hung over the rooftop, pressing down on everyone.
---
In the apartment, the system panel hung in the top right corner of his vision. His mana was climbing back from single digits to double digits, still slowly recovering.
Arthur tossed the sheep onto the sofa. The sheep immediately pawed at the cushion twice with its hooves and squeezed into a corner, maintaining a Loki-esque silent protest throughout.
He sat opposite it and turned on the TV.
The news channel was broadcasting aerial footage of the Battle of New York. The ticker tape scrolled with headlines about the Avengers' triumph and the dawn of the age of heroes. He watched for only a few seconds before the screen flickered.
Static, then an emergency broadcast logo.
"Emergency report from Westchester County. A large-scale gathering of unidentified individuals has suddenly appeared. Multiple witnesses described supernatural phenomena such as metal levitation and structural deformation. A man calling himself Magneto has issued a statement to the public via broadcast, demanding..."
The screen flickered again.
It returned to the New York aerial footage.
It was as if that segment had never happened.
Arthur put down the remote.
The Arcane Mark on his palm had been heating up. That mental frequency seeping in from the crack in the dimensional wall was still gently pulsing. It was ancient, gentle, and overly restrained, compressing itself into an extremely narrow frequency, carefully avoiding spilling out even a fraction.
It didn't feel like pressure.
It felt more like waiting.
Arthur turned his left hand over, facing the light from the window.
The heat hadn't diminished; that frequency was still gently tapping.
His mana pool was nearly empty, and his meridians were still burning, yet the silhouette of the next trouble had already taken a firm stand in that direction.
The warmth in his palm surged gently once more.
The person on the other side was still waiting for a response.
Chapter 63: The God of Mischief Treated as a Pet
The day after the Battle of New York, the sunlight was clean.
The Arcane Mark on his palm no longer burned. The frequency that had waited all night in the rift of the dimensional wall quietly withdrew around four in the morning, like someone gently closing a window.
A window in the third building opposite had no lights on.
By the time Arthur scanned that spot, his coffee hadn't cooled yet, and his Arcane Vision had already clearly counted the heat sources inside. Nine people, standing in scattered, trained intervals, with three types of metal tubes all pointed at the glass on his side.
He switched the cup to his other hand and turned around.
At the other end of the balcony, His Highness Prince Lokiwas bowing his head, gnawing on a sofa cushion.
His fur was snow-white, his curved horns were polished, and the gold and green cape around his neck was crooked. He was pulling at the corners of the imported Italian leather piece by piece; the tearing sound was small, but the rhythm was steady, carrying a long-premeditated will for destruction.
Arthur took a sip of coffee, didn't turn his head, and just casually said: "That cushion costs eight thousand dollars."
The tearing sound stopped for two seconds.
Then it became even more vigorous.
In the living room, Pietro squatted on the floor, holding a bunch of dried herbs found in the corner of the refrigerator toward the sheep: "God My Lord, care for a taste?"
Loki Goat looked up, his golden vertical pupils staring straight at him.
Pietro put the herbs down, shifted half a step to the side, and nudged Wanda's arm: "It's glaring at me."
Wanda ignored him.
She sat on the sofa, hands on her knees, two clusters of red mist floating at her fingertips; the edges were messy, dissipating quickly, unable to be pressed into shape.
"Don't force it." Arthur walked back into the room, squatted down opposite her, and drew a circle with his finger at the most turbulent part of the red mist, without touching it. "There's a knot here. If you're anxious, it's even more anxious than you. If the energy can't get out, it runs everywhere."
Wanda looked down and remained silent for a few seconds. The tension in her fingertips slowly relaxed, and the edges of the red mist stabilized slightly.
At that moment, something brushed past the outer edge of the barrier. Two sets of footsteps, their rhythm kept very even.
The doorbell rang.
Two rings, evenly spaced.
Pietro's ears twitched. Arthur had already stood up and clapped his hands. "I'm letting them in."
He turned the doorknob.
The door opened.
Nick Fury stood outside, his trench coat weighed down. His single eye swept around the room, stopping on Loki Goatfor a full three seconds before continuing to scan. He scanned the twins, the cups scattered on the coffee table, and finally landed on Arthur's face.
A young girl followed behind him, holding a tablet. Her eyes were faster than Fury's, having already circled the room. She paused an extra beat on Loki Goat, suppressing the upward curl of her lips, though not completely.
Fury stepped in with steady strides, acting as if everywhere he went was his home turf. He withdrew his gaze from the sheep: "Good morning, Mr. Mage."
"Director Fury." Arthur stepped aside, showing no intention of further hospitality. "Have a seat. I don't mind if you talk while standing."
Fury didn't sit.
He stood in the center of the room, glanced at Wanda and Pietro, and switched to a professional tone that exerted pressure without being overt: "Regarding yesterday's events, thank you for your help. New York owes you, and S.H.I.E.L.D. owes you as well. I personally acknowledge this on behalf of the agency."
Arthur held his cup and didn't speak.
"Because of that, I hope you understand what I'm about to say next. It's out of responsibility, nothing else."
Fury turned his gaze to the sheep and paused for a beat. "Loki needs to be handed over and held in custody by S.H.I.E.L.D., regardless of his current state."
The sound of the sofa cushion being torn stopped opportunely.
Loki Goat looked up and, with all his divine pride, let out an unexpectedly high-pitched "Baa" at Fury.
A vein in Fury's temple throbbed. He pulled his gaze away from the sheep and turned to the twins, his tone tightening slightly: "Additionally, these two are HYDRA Test subjectsand are classified as undetermined risk factors. S.H.I.E.L.D.needs—"
"No need."
Three words. Arthur didn't raise his voice, but Fury's words were cut off, clean and simple.
The red mist at Wanda's fingertips moved, and her hands gripping her knees tightened slightly. Pietro moved his foot forward half an inch. Both of them leaned toward Arthur's direction simultaneously; there was no reason, but that direction just felt stable.
Fury narrowed his eyes. "Mr. Mage, this isn't something you can decide alone. It involves international security—"
"Director Fury." Arthur placed his cup on the coffee table with a light sound. "Have you thought about what I said on the rooftop yesterday?"
Fury said nothing.
This silence was clearer than anything he could have said. He had thought about it. He had thought about it all night. But he hadn't found anything, or he had found something and didn't dare to keep digging.
"You came here for three things: first, Loki; second, these two children; and third," Arthur paused for a beat, "you want to create a file on me and have me accept your supervision."
Fury's eyes flickered and quickly flattened. He didn't deny it.
"Of those three things, you won't be taking even one." Arthur stood up, half a head shorter than Fury, but his center of gravity was very stable. "It's not because I'm being unreasonable. It's because right now, you haven't even figured out who among your subordinates is working for you and who is working for someone else."
Fury fell silent.
He wasn't often like this. A man who had kept all his cards face down his entire life had his hand exposed once yesterday, and today his face was being rubbed against that same card again. He needed time, but this time was shorter than yesterday.
"I suggest you go back and clean your own house first," Arthur lowered his head to pick up the cup and took a final sip. "Come back and talk once you've finished cleaning. You're welcome here anytime."
Fury looked at him for five seconds, said nothing, and turned toward the door.
The girl followed. At the door, she looked back, her eyes lingering on Arthur's face for a beat. It wasn't just a professional assessment; it carried something irrepressible, as if she had found an expression she recognized on a completely unfamiliar face.
Arthur nodded to her.
She pursed her lips, followed Fury, and went out.
The door closed.
Pietro immediately turned around: "Will they come back?"
"They will." Arthur put the empty cup back on the coffee table. "They'll think more clearly before they come next time."
Wanda didn't move. She sat on the sofa looking at him, that kind of silence that suggested she was truly thinking about something, not just having nothing to say.
Arthur didn't address it and turned toward the balcony.
His gaze pierced through the glass and stopped at the unlit window in the third building opposite.
Nine heat sources. They had been in position the moment Fury entered the door, hadn't moved, and were still there now.
Three types of muzzles, all aimed this way.
Arthur blew on the steam of his freshly poured coffee and turned around, his tone very flat: "Pietro, take Wanda to the inner room and practice the circuit from just now."
Pietro blinked. His senses had already told him something outside was tense. He patted Wanda's shoulder. "Let's go, I'll help you catch up."
Wanda stood up and took one last look toward the balcony.
Arthur's back was to her. Holding his cup, Arcane Threadhad already quietly extended from his fingertips, passing through the glass, across the street, and reaching toward that dark window opposite.
Chapter 64: An Ant Shaking a Tree
Seventh floor of the building opposite, lights off.
Crossbones tightened his tactical mask. In the communication channel, steady breathing came through, one after another—fifteen in total.
"Target confirmed. The mage is on the balcony, unarmed and in no defensive posture."
The sniper adjusted the magnification to the maximum, the crosshairs resting on the coffee cup in Arthur's right hand.
"Officer, he's just an ordinary person. He's not even wearing a bulletproof vest."
No one responded to that.
Crossbones pulled a file from his tactical bag—a battlefield analysis report from within S.H.I.E.L.D., sourced from one of HYDRA's own plants in the analysis department.
The report stated: There is a clear pre-cast chant for the target's spellcasting; the shortest observed record is 1.2 seconds.
1.2 seconds.
It only takes 0.3 seconds for an Armor-piercing Bullet to travel the full distance.
"These magic users are like they're out of power if they don't mutter a few words." He stuffed the file back. "After the first round, he won't even have time to open his mouth."
"What about that barrier? The one from yesterday."
"It drained his energy. Didn't you see him swaying when he left? The recovery period is at least forty-eight hours, and it's been less than twenty."
His thumb flicked off the safety.
"All units, ten-second countdown. Ten, nine..."
Inside, Wanda's hands stopped. The red mist was trembling, but that frequency wasn't hers—it was coming from outside. She had felt that kind of pressure, being precisely locked on, many times in the laboratories of Sokovia.
"Someone is going to kill us."
Pietro moved half a step toward the door. "The building opposite. Several of them, all aimed at the living room."
"Go tell him."
"He knows."
Wanda herself wasn't sure why she was so certain, but Arthur's tone when he told them to go inside was too calm—so calm it didn't sound like he was arranging a practice session.
She didn't move again.
In the living room, Crossbones' countdown didn't finish.
He didn't reach three.
Five gunshots overlapped into one. The silencers suppressed most of the gunpowder noise, but the tearing sound of the bullets breaking the sound barrier couldn't be removed. Two Rockets were fired from the flanks at the same time, their orange-red tail flames streaking across the gray-blue sky.
Seven rounds. Five angles.
Then, they all stopped.
Not slowed down—stopped.
Five Armor-piercing Bullets and two Rockets were pinned less than a centimeter outside the glass. The rifling patterns on the bullets were clearly visible, and the propulsion flames of the Rockets were frozen in mid-air—a single frame, as if time had been cut out.
The glass didn't even tremble.
A layer of faint, almost invisible ethereal blue light film floated against the outer surface of the window. It only emitted a very shallow halo at the few points where the bullets made contact. There was no sound, no vibration.
On the other side of the light film, Arthur lowered his head and blew on the steam rising from his cup.
Crossbones stared at the seven suspended munitions through his scope. His finger loosened on the trigger and then squeezed back—a full second. He had never wasted a second on the battlefield in his life.
"All units, additional firepower! Pour all ammunition into it!"
No one had time to execute the order.
Arthur set down the cup. The bottom hit the coffee table with a soft click.
He raised his right hand.
Just once, like shooing away a fly.
The seven munitions hanging outside the window turned simultaneously, their tail flames reigniting as they flew back the way they came, their speed visibly increasing.
Crossbones saw the front of the bullet in his scope, saw the rifling patterns, and saw the propulsion flames burn his vision white.
He threw away the launcher and lunged to the side. His knees slammed onto the concrete floor, and the shockwave from behind pushed him more than two meters. His face pressed against the ground as gravel scraped his cheekbone.
Three explosions, less than half a second apart.
Three sniper positions on the seventh floor of the opposite building—three balls of fire. Shattered glass and concrete flew halfway across the street.
Residual smoke drifted upward. The street was silent for two seconds.
Then, screams flooded into the comms channel. Someone shouted that their leg was broken, someone shouted they were on fire, and some shouted nothing at all.
Crossbones climbed up from the rubble. A crack had appeared in his left arm armor, his ears were ringing, and blood trickled down from his temple.
"How many are still mobile?"
A few intermittent responses came through the channel. He counted: six.
Not many.
Long-range wasn't working; they had to get close. All intelligence said that casters were useless in close combat—just don't give him the distance to open his mouth.
"Bring the C4. Storm the main door. Close-quarters combat."
He tore off his shattered mask and pulled a High-frequency Vibration Blade from his vest, the blade humming and trembling.
Thirty seconds later, the apartment hallway.
C4 was stuck to the door frame, Crossbones holding the detonator.
"Three, two, one."
Boom.
Gunsmoke and wood splinters flew in all directions. Six men rushed in with guns drawn, their flashlight beams sweeping through the smoke.
The living room was empty.
On the sofa, there was only a sheep with its hooves covering its ears. Its golden vertical pupils swept over the six men from head to toe, its expression like it was looking at extras who had wandered onto the wrong film set.
On his third step onto the floor, Crossbones felt something wrong underfoot.
He looked down.
The floor was covered in ice-blue patterns, converging from all sides to form a complete design where they stood. The color was exactly the same as the barrier from yesterday.
Cold air rose from the patterns.
Frost wrapped around their boots, layer by layer—the soles, the uppers, the ankles—and then stopped there, thin as a layer of glaze. But when he tried to lift his foot, it wouldn't budge.
All six men were pinned at the same time.
Someone fired at the floor; the bullet embedded itself without leaving a crack. Someone reached down to pull, but the moment their fingers touched the blue patterns, their entire arm lost all warmth, skin frosting over as they cried out.
The cold air continued upward, passing the knees.
Crossbones gripped the vibration blade and hacked at his feet. When the blade hit the ice, the humming vibration changed pitch, and after two strikes, it died out.
Light peeked through the crack of the inner room door, but it remained closed.
There were footsteps from the balcony, very slow, step by step.
Arthur walked in from the balcony, still holding that cup of coffee. He stopped in front of the six people pinned to the floor, his gaze sweeping from left to right before landing on Crossbones.
"That intelligence of yours," he took a sip, "it says that mages need to chant to cast spells, right?"
Crossbones clutched the dead vibration blade. His lips were turning purple, and his breath was pure white mist. He had no sensation below his knees.
Arthur traced a circle in the air with his right index finger—a casual movement.
The frost rose another five centimeters.
"It also says... mages are useless in close combat."
He withdrew his index finger, his gaze falling on the crack in Crossbones' chest armor, pausing for a beat.
A dark tattoo was visible through the crack—octopus tentacles, ink-colored, extending deep beneath the armor.
Crossbones leaned back half an inch, but his feet were pinned; he couldn't retreat.
"HYDRA."
Arthur repeated the name, his tone no different from reciting the scientific name of a pest.
He didn't say anything else. He switched the coffee cup to his left hand, and the Arcane Mark on his right hand emitted a very faint blue light as he began to write something in the air. It wasn't a rune for a barrier, nor a magic circle for freezing.
It was something else.
Crossbones didn't recognize it, but the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
Chapter 65: Ice and Fire Funeral
Crossbones shifted his gaze from the Octopus tattoo and met Arthur's eyes.
There was no threat in that gaze. It was flat. After a glance, Arthur didn't seem interested in looking further.
"Is that tattoo on your chest a job benefit, or did you get it yourself?"
Crossbones didn't reply. The ice had already climbed to his upper thighs, and the Reinforced armor's thermal control system was alarming frantically, its red indicator lights flashing incessantly.
His gaze swept over the other five Agents.
Not one of them could move.
The one closest to the door was frozen up to his waist, his gun pointing downward. A layer of frost hung from the trigger guard, and his finger remained in the position of pulling the trigger, but that finger had already frozen solid with the metal.
The second one tried to shout, but his mouth opened only for his breath to freeze into a small cluster of ice crystals right in front of his lips, sticking to his beard.
The third one was crying.
Crossbones gritted his teeth and pressed a hidden catch on the chest of his Reinforced armor with his right hand.
The armor emitted a sharp overload whine, and high-temperature steam erupted from the gaps between the chest plate and shoulder guards. The heating modules in the lining were forcibly pushed to three times their safety threshold.
The ice began to crack under the dual effects of steam and high temperature. The cold condensed from laws could withstand physical cutting, but it could not withstand the penetration of heat at the molecular level.
Arthur looked down at the cracking ice.
He didn't move.
He was waiting.
Crossbones gave a loud roar, forcibly pulling his legs out of the ice as shards flew everywhere. He drew a High-frequency vibration blade from his back with his left hand; the blade hummed, cutting the air into visible ripples.
He was fast. HYDRA's Super Soldier Program had given him explosive power far beyond an ordinary person's; less than half a second passed from breaking free to drawing his blade.
The blade went straight for Arthur's throat.
The door to the inner room was pushed open a crack, and Pietro's figure flashed, already standing at the edge of the living room before the floorboards could even make a sound.
"I'll—"
Halfway through his sentence, Arthur waved his left hand backward. It was casual—so casual it was almost annoying.
Pietro's steps stopped on their own. That instinct was faster than his brain's reaction; the person in front of him didn't need help at all.
Arthur pressed his right index and middle fingers together and pointed forward.
No chanting. No charging.
An ice-blue spear condensed from his fingertips, exactly two meters long. The shaft was transparent, with intricate Arcane Runes flowing within, and the temperature at the tip was so low that the surrounding air directly precipitated into white ice crystals.
The Ice Spear and the vibration blade met in mid-air.
The High-frequency vibration blade was claimed to be able to cut through any known metal, its surface vibrating forty thousand times per second; theoretically, no substance could resist such continuous cutting.
At the moment of contact, the humming sound changed its pitch.
It turned from a stable high-frequency vibration into an irregular, ear-piercing screech.
Then, the first crack appeared on the blade.
Crossbones' eyes narrowed.
Cracks spread from the point of contact in both directions faster than he could react. By the time he wanted to let go, the vibration blade had already snapped in two. The front half flipped through the air and embedded itself in the floor, while the back half remained in his hand, covered in a thin layer of ice as the high-frequency vibrations ceased entirely.
The Ice Spear did not stop.
It passed through the broken blade, took Crossbones' entire right arm with it, and pinned him into the wall behind him.
There was a dull thud. Heavy and solid, it went all the way in.
Crossbones' back slammed against the wall. His right arm, from shoulder to wrist, was pierced through his sleeve armor and the wall by the Ice Spear, leaving him hanging there with his toes just three centimeters off the ground.
He looked down at his right arm. The chill from the Ice Spear was seeping through the gaps in his armor, and it was already starting to go numb.
A mouthful of blood welled up, and he turned his head to spit it onto the ground. The blood droplets fell onto the ice and were frozen into small red dots before they could even spread.
"The intel said you were a Squishy ranged fighter who had to chant to hit anyone, and that you were easy pickings in close quarters."
Arthur walked over, his pace neither fast nor slow.
He stopped in front of Crossbones.
He raised his right foot and kicked Crossbones' abdominal armor. The force wasn't particularly great, but the placement was precise, wedging exactly into the seam between two armor plates.
"Who told you a Mage can't fight in melee?"
Crossbones was kicked half an inch deeper into the wall. The Ice Spear creaked within the structure, shifting his right arm slightly. He didn't have time to spit out the second mouthful of blood and swallowed it back down.
His eyes darted around.
He looked past the five companions frozen into ice sculptures, past the silver-haired youth standing at the inner room's door, and past the sheep huddled motionlessly in the corner of the sofa.
Then he shut his mouth.
His jaw muscles tightened, and his teeth clamped down hard.
Embedded in Crossbones' right back molar was a standard HYDRA-issued Poison capsule. It was Cyanide-based; once bitten, it would stop the heart within seven seconds, leading to brain death from oxygen deprivation and leaving no window of time for interrogation.
He bit down.
The moment his teeth crushed the capsule's shell, the taste in his mouth changed.
It wasn't the taste of bitter almonds. That was the taste Cyanide should have had; he had tasted the simulated version during training.
It was the taste of mint.
Cool and refreshing.
Crossbones was stunned.
He bit again, so hard his molars ground together.
The minty taste grew even stronger.
Arthur stood before him, a faint trace of white light still lingering on his right index finger—the remnants of a Cleanse, so thin it was almost invisible.
"Poison is also a type of filth," he said, lowering his hand. "This skill of mine isn't picky."
Crossbones' expression finally crumbled.
It wasn't fear. He was trained to suppress fear.
But he couldn't suppress this.
He could be unafraid of death. But his teeth were shattered, his mouth was full of mint, and the man opposite him hadn't even looked at him properly. With a casual gesture, he had wiped away Crossbones' last bit of agency.
Even dying was now subject to another's permission.
He hung on the wall, his right arm pinned by the Ice Spearand his mouth full of mint, unable to live, yet unable to die.
Pietro stood at the inner room's door. He opened his mouth but swallowed the words he wanted to say.
In the corner of the sofa, the Loki Goat curled into a ball. Its golden vertical pupils darted between Crossbones and Arthur, and the hooves that had been constantly scratching finally went still.
"Baa."
It was a very soft sound. It was unclear whether it was mockery or lingering fear.
Arthur turned around to face the center of the living room.
He raised his left hand, palm up, fingers slightly curved.
A cloud of purple light mist seeped from between his fingers, condensing into a fist-sized sphere above his palm. Intricate Arcane Runes flowed across its surface, each one glowing.
The light sphere floated up two feet and bloomed.
A purple light membrane spread out from the center of the sphere, forming a two-meter-wide flat surface in the air.
An image appeared on the surface.
The image showed the interior of a black bulletproof SUV. Nick Fury sat on the leather back seat, still holding that unfinished phone call. His single eye was staring out the window in a certain direction, the veins at his temples throbbing.
Hanging on the wall, Crossbones turned his head and saw the image as well.
His face went completely pale.
Fury didn't know he was being watched. But Arthur knew that Fury didn't know. Everyone in the room knew.
Arthur left the projection in the air and walked back to the balcony, picking up the cup of coffee that had already gone cold on the railing.
He took a sip.
It was cold.
He set the cup down. The Arcane Mark on his palm was still warm. The mental frequency seeping through the Rift in the dimensional wall pulsed gently again, closer than yesterday.
And more urgent than yesterday.
Chapter 66: Fury's Fear
Daisy sat beside him, her tablet resting on her lap, her expression grim.
She had heard those explosions too.
Fury's in-car screen lit up.
No one had touched any buttons.
An arcane signal forcibly took over all channels of the vehicle's communication system, and Arthur's apartment living room appeared on the screen.
Nine HYDRA Agents were frozen into ice sculptures.
Crossbones was pinned to the wall by an ice spear.
Fury's gaze swept across the screen and stopped.
A piece of Crossbones' reinforced outer armor had shattered upon penetration, tearing the tactical undershirt and exposing the skin above his chest to the camera.
That tattoo.
Fury recognized it.
World War II archives, interrogation photos of HYDRAprisoners of war, every historical document marked as Red Confidential—these were all things of the past, things that should have been eradicated.
Now, it was tattooed on the chest of one of his own men.
Brock Rumlow, S.T.R.I.K.E. Commander, Security Level Alpha-7. He had signed the transfer papers himself; he had personally authorized the clearance for the core areas of the Triskelion.
Reporting directly to Alexander Pierce.
Fury's hand let go of the phone.
He didn't speak.
From the side, Daisy saw the muscles in his jaw tighten significantly.
On the screen, Arthur looked at the camera and waited a beat.
Waiting for Fury to see clearly.
Waiting for him to connect this incident with the words spoken this morning.
Then Arthur raised his right hand and gave a casual wave toward the nine ice sculptures in the living room.
A wall of fire spread out from his palm.
The color skipped red and orange, manifesting directly as a blinding blue-white.
As the wall of fire swept past, there was no melting process for the ice; the solid state jumped directly into a gaseous state, skipping the transition entirely.
The ice was gone.
The people were gone too.
Cleanly erased, without even a trace of ash left behind.
On the floor, only a small patch of tiles remained, burned into a glassy texture that reflected the ceiling lights.
Fury sat in his seat without moving, his fingers resting on the armrest, nails digging into the leather surface.
On the screen, Arthur walked up to Crossbones and pulled out the ice spear.
The ice spear turned into water vapor, and Crossbones slid down the wall to collapse on the floor. His right arm had completely lost sensation, and the reinforced armor had burned out its batteries from the overload, hanging off him like scrap metal.
Arthur bent down, grabbed the armored collar at the back of his neck, lifted him off the ground, and walked to the window.
The glass was intact.
Arthur used Crossbones' head to punch a hole through the glass.
Fury's SUV was parked across the street downstairs.
Over two hundred pounds of reinforced armor plus the weight of an adult male falling from the seventh floor onto the roof of a car made a very substantial sound.
The metal roof was smashed into a human-shaped crater, all the airbags inside deployed, and the bulletproof glass cracked into a spiderweb pattern from the inside.
Fury got out of the car. Crossbones lay on his roof, eyes open and breathing, but unable to speak.
The in-car screen was cracked, but the image remained.
Arthur's voice came clearly from the shattered screen.
"This is the last time, Fury."
"The next time one of your rats comes to bite me, the fire won't be burning in my living room."
"It will be burning in your office at the Triskelion Headquarters."
The screen went dark.
Fury stood by the car, staring at the unconscious Crossbones on the roof, staring at that octopus tattoo.
The wind pulled his trench coat back, but he didn't adjust it.
Daisy came around from the other side and opened her mouth to speak.
Fury spoke first, his voice very low.
"Check Rumlow's superiors, check the source of the orders, check everyone he's contacted at Alpha-level or above."
He paused for a beat.
"Start with Pierce."
Daisy gripped her tablet, her thumb rubbing against the edge before tightening her hold again, and she gave a nod.
---
Inside the apartment.
Arthur returned to the sofa and sat down.
Loki Goat had moved from the corner of the sofa to under the coffee table at some point. The entire sheep was curled into a ball, having witnessed the entire process from freezing to cremation. Now, its hooves finally stopped scratching, and it lay there quietly.
"Baa."
It was very soft.
It was hard to tell if it was mocking or submission.
Wanda came out of the inner room and scanned the area.
The vitrified tiles on the floor, the round hole left by the ice spear in the wall, the broken window.
She walked over to Arthur and stood there.
She was very close, her calf pressing against the outside of his knee, the back of her knee slightly tensed. The fabric of her skirt brushed against his pant leg with a very light friction, and she didn't retreat after the contact.
Arthur could smell the faint, almost dissipated scent of body wash on her. It had been suppressed by the cold living room all day, and only now did it seep out as she drew closer, carrying a specific warmth from being heated by her body temperature.
"Will those people come again in the future?"
"No."
"How can you be sure?"
"Their boss will be too busy trying to save himself to worry about us."
The corners of Wanda's mouth relaxed; it wasn't quite a smile, but the tension she had been holding dissipated.
She sat down beside him, her shoulder brushing against his upper arm. After the brush, she stayed there, not pulling away nor moving closer, remaining at that neither-too-far-nor-too-close distance. Through two layers of clothing, her warmth slowly seeped into him.
Pietro leaned half his body out from the inner room, looked at the excessively clean floor, retracted, and then leaned out again two seconds later.
"That Crossbones, is he dead?"
"Not dead. The armor absorbed most of the impact."
"A pity."
"Not a pity. He's more useful alive than dead."
Pietro's gaze flickered between Arthur and Wanda, lingering for an extra half-second on the line where their shoulders touched, before his words took a turn.
"Alright, you call the shots."
Then he retreated back inside.
The living room suddenly felt empty.
Arthur leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes for a moment.
The mana in his pool had just returned to triple digits. Today's consumption wasn't huge, but stacked on top of yesterday's overdraft from the Nuclear Barrier, his meridians still felt swollen and sore.
He needed rest.
Wanda's breathing was very light and slow. She didn't speak or leave. At some point, the contact had shifted from shoulders touching to half her arm leaning against him. A stray strand of her hair rested on his cuff, rising and falling with her breath.
She should know she was leaning against him.
She didn't move.
In the living room, only the sound of the wind blowing in from the window and the two people's deliberately slowed breathing remained. Body heat was exchanged through the gaps in their clothing, warming a small patch of the cold room.
The rest didn't happen.
The system panel in the upper right corner of his vision flickered, and a red warning message flashed across, the font two sizes larger than usual and blinking urgently.
[Warning: Ultra-high frequency cross-dimensional mental distress signal detected!]
[Signal Characteristics: Omega-level telepathic band, with x-gene identifier.]
[Signal Source: Current Universe coordinates, 1,037 meters underground in New York State.]
The Arcane Mark on his palm grew hot.
It was completely different from the warmth he felt when perceiving Charles yesterday; that frequency had been ancient, restrained, and patient.
This one was different.
Sharp.
Desperate.
The kind squeezed out with the last breath of a drowning person.
The signal was still flashing.
Arthur turned his hand over, looking at the glowing mark on his palm, and silently recited a name in his heart.
It wasn't Charles Xavier.
Chapter 67: Out-of-Control Shockwaves
Three days after the HYDRA incident.
The Arcane Mark on his palm twitched again.
It had been three days.
That mental signal coming from one thousand and thirty-seven meters underground had never ceased. Its frequency grew weaker by the day, and with every pulse, the interval lengthened by a few seconds.
Arthur turned his hand over to take a look and clenched his fist.
His Mana Pool had just returned to the safety line. The exhaustion from the Nuclear Bomb Barrier combined with the drain from burning HYDRA meant his meridians were still feeling swollen even now.
He couldn't rush it.
He pulled his attention back.
In the living room, Wanda sat cross-legged on the sofa, her fingers slightly curved. A few wisps of red mist were strung between her fingertips, much thinner and steadier than they had been three days ago.
Arthur sat on a low stool opposite her. An extremely thin Arcane Thread hung from his index finger, the other end resting on the edge of the red mist at Wanda's fingertips.
Guidance at this level cost almost no mana. He was only responsible for the direction; the force belonged to Wandaherself.
Blue and red permeated each other at the contact surface, forming a purple transition zone.
The thread was pulled taut. Their fingertips were separated by less than three inches. Every breath she took created an airflow that caused the thread to sway, transmitting the sensation to his hand.
"Sink it a bit further. Don't rush. Let it find the exit on its own."
His voice was kept very low. Given the distance between them, any lower and he would be whispering right into her ear.
Wanda's brow was furrowed, a thin layer of sweat beaded on her forehead, and her eyelashes were trembling.
Under his guidance, the red mist slowly sank, passing through the blockage nodes Arthur had marked and turning a corner along the Energy Circuit.
The color of the purple transition zone deepened by a shade.
"Yes, that's the feeling."
Arthur fine-tuned the angle of the thread. "Your Energy Circuits are naturally three times wider than an average mage's. It's an advantage, but it requires finer control to fill the pipes. Otherwise, the energy will run wild inside and you'll likely burn yourself out."
Wanda opened one eye. "You make it sound like clearing a sewer."
"Pretty much, in principle."
She closed her eye again, the curve at the corner of her mouth impossible to hide.
The red mist completed a full lap of the circuit and returned to her fingertips. Its edges were at least thirty percent more stable than when it started, no longer on the verge of dissipating at any moment.
"That's enough for today. Over-practicing will fatigue your meridians; the losses would outweigh the gains."
Wanda lowered her hands and moved her wrists, which had been stiff for too long.
Arthur reached out to wipe the sweat from her forehead. His fingertips carried that slight chill that comes after mana dissipates heat. When he touched her, Wanda's breathing hitched for a beat. The thin sweat soaked into the curve of his finger pad. She didn't pull away, but her Adam's apple bobbed.
His fingers lingered for half a second longer before pulling back.
The doorbell rang.
Two rings, very close together. The rhythm of the person pressing it was somewhat hurried.
Arthur's barrier sent back a signal. He took a look, stood up, and walked toward the door.
Wanda withdrew her hand and suppressed the slight flush on her face that didn't come from practicing.
The door opened.
Daisy stood outside in a dark blue casual jacket and a ponytail, holding two paper bags. The bottom of the bags had already been soaked with a small patch of dark grease.
"Char siu buns and shrimp dumplings from Chinatown. I waited in line for forty minutes. If you say you're not hungry, I'm eating them all right here."
"Come in."
Arthur stepped aside. As Daisy crossed the threshold, she brushed past his chest. That faint, cold woody scent remaining after mana dissipation swept past her nose. Her step faltered for a moment, and her gaze lingered on Wanda for a second as she passed.
Wanda didn't speak either.
Both of them were looking elsewhere; neither was the first to say anything.
"Don't have to go to S.H.I.E.L.D. today?" Arthur took the paper bags and placed them on the coffee table.
"Personal time. Fury is busy with an internal purge. The whole headquarters is a mess; he has no time to worry about me."
Daisy sat down at the other end of the sofa, separated from Wanda by the distance of a cushion.
The oil paper was opened, and the steam and aroma of the char siu buns emerged simultaneously.
A gust of wind.
Suddenly, there was a bun in Pietro's hand.
"I didn't take it."
"Then what's in your hand?"
"Air."
He bit the bun and retreated into the kitchen.
In the corner of the sofa, the Loki Goat's nose twitched twice in the direction of the char siu buns. Its neck extended half an inch and then retracted, maintaining the dignity a god should have.
Ever since witnessing the complete process of freezing followed by cremation three days ago, this sheep had become much more well-behaved. It didn't even nibble on the sofa cushions anymore.
Daisy glanced at the sheep, tried to hold it in but failed, and laughed.
When she turned her head after laughing, those few wisps of red light at Wanda's fingertips that hadn't yet dissipated swept through her peripheral vision. Arthur's hands also held a lingering pale blue glow.
She hadn't seen the purple where the two colors had just been intertwined, but she could smell that chill in the air mixed with Wanda's body heat.
"Were you guys just practicing?"
"Yeah, helping her sort out her Energy Circuits. She has great talent, but her fundamentals are too rough. The horsepower is high enough, but the steering wheel is loose."
Wanda added from the side, "His metaphors always involve fixing pipes and cars."
Daisy let out a laugh, shorter than the last one.
She reached down to grab a shrimp dumpling. When her finger touched the edge of the bamboo steamer, she paused for a beat.
"Is it good?" she asked Arthur, her voice dropping half a notch.
"It's good. The forty-minute wait was worth it."
"That's good then."
Wanda ate her shrimp dumpling with her head down. The red mist spun in a small circle between her fingers, gathered into a tiny ball, and then dispersed.
She pressed her hand against her knee, pushing that bit of heat back through the fabric.
The afternoon sunlight shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows of the three people.
It was quiet for about two minutes.
Arthur put down his chopsticks.
"Your hand is shaking."
Daisy's hand holding the bamboo steamer froze. She looked down.
It was indeed shaking.
The frequency was very fine and dense, continuous and unstoppable.
"Maybe I was carrying the bags for too long."
She put the bamboo steamer down and used her other hand to press down on her right hand.
The left hand was shaking too.
The glass on the coffee table quietly moved two millimeters.
No one had touched it.
Arthur looked at the glass for a second and then looked up.
"When did this start?"
Daisy's smile vanished. "Probably... it started after the Battle of New York. It was very slight at first, just occasional numbness in my fingers. I thought it was post-traumatic stress and didn't think much of it."
"And the last few days?"
"The frequency is getting higher. Sometimes when I'm sleeping, the pillow moves too. I actually thought it was an earthquake."
Arthur stood up, walked over to her, and squatted down.
"Put your hand here."
He held his palm up in front of her.
Daisy hesitated for a second before placing her right hand on his.
His palm was cool, while her fingertips were hot. The temperature difference flooded her entire arm the moment they touched. Daisy's pulse quickened by two beats.
As Arthur's finger pads touched the back of her hand, that frequency poured in.
A resonance wave radiating outward from the cellular level. Every molecule was oscillating, spreading outward with a consistent frequency and no decay.
Residual energy from the Tesseract.
High-dimensional particles scattered across New Yorkwhen the Chitauri wormhole collapsed. A portion had been absorbed by this girl's body and was now activating a long-dormant gene sequence in her blood.
The mark on his palm grew hot.
Wanda also stood up and walked over to Daisy. A small section of red mist extended from her fingertips to sense it, and then she looked up.
The three of them were very close. Daisy's hand rested in Arthur's palm, while Wanda stood half a step from her shoulder. Two different temperatures of breath closed in from both sides.
Arthur shook his head.
"Daisy, during the Battle of New York, at the moment the wormhole closed, where were you?"
"Near Grand Central Station, helping evacuate civilians. The shockwave from the wormhole closing knocked me out for about ten seconds."
"And after you woke up?"
"My palms were burning hot. It lasted for about an hour, and then it went away."
Arthur didn't let go.
His Arcane Perception traveled up Daisy's arm, past the elbow, past the shoulder, and probed down her spine.
This scan was much more taxing than helping Wanda sort her circuits. The water level of his Mana Pool dropped by a visible chunk.
Daisy bit her lower lip. As that perception passed her collarbone, it brought a layer of tingling numbness, as if someone were tracing the outline of her bones with cool fingertips.
There was something there.
A mass of energy curled deep within the bone marrow, a murky grayish-white. It huddled there, pulsating every few seconds. With every pulse, Daisy's hand would shake.
The frequency of the pulsations was accelerating.
Arthur withdrew his hand and stood up.
"You're staying here tonight. Don't go back."
Daisy was stunned. "What do you mean?"
"A mass of energy is awakening inside you. Its growth rate is faster than I estimated."
He walked to the window and tapped his knuckles twice on the frame.
According to the current rate of its growth curve, it would break the critical point within seventy-two hours. By then, if Daisy sneezed, the buildings for half a block would shake along with her.
"Your ability isn't a disease, but if we don't intervene to control it during the awakening period..."
He didn't finish his sentence.
The glass on the coffee table cracked.
No one had touched it.
A fine crack appeared on the wall of the glass, spreading from the base to the rim. Water seeped from the crack and trickled down the tabletop.
Daisy looked at the glass, her expression changing.
She hid both hands behind her back.
Wanda looked down. The red mist hovering above her knees was also shaking at the same frequency as Daisy's hands.
Arthur turned back.
The Arcane Mark on his palm twitched again.
This time he distinguished it. The signal from one thousand and thirty-seven meters underground and the mass of energy awakening inside Daisy had almost identical frequencies.
They were of the same origin.
He glanced at Daisy, then at the patch of red mist above Wanda's knees that was shaking along with her.
The signal on his palm twitched again, the interval three seconds shorter than the last.
The thing underground was accelerating its awakening.
Chapter 68: The Mage's Training
"It's gone, but the vibration remains."
Arthur let go of her hand and took half a step back.
"A special genetic sequence in your body is being activated. The energy released by the wormhole's collapse during the Battle of New York accelerated this process."
"What is it?"
"Something you've always had."
Daisy stared at her hands. The frequency of the vibration quickened slightly. The bamboo steamer on the coffee table trembled along with it, and the shrimp dumplings jumped gently inside the basket.
"I can't control it."
"Don't try to control it for now. First, feel where it is located within your body."
Before the last word even hit the ground—
A powerful shockwave erupted simultaneously from Daisy's wrists to her fingertips. An invisible force field radiated from her body in all directions. The cups and dishes on the coffee table bounced up at once, the oil paper from the BBQ pork buns fluttered in the air, and the entire floor-to-ceiling window emitted a sharp hum.
The floor was shaking.
The walls were shaking.
The light bulb overhead shook until the lampshade screws loosened, falling to the ground with a clatter.
It wasn't just the apartment. Sounds of things collapsing came from downstairs, people were shouting, and further away, car alarms screamed one after another.
The entire building was resonating with her heart rate.
Daisy stood up and backed away, desperately trying to pull her hands behind her back.
"Stop it, please stop it!"
The shockwaves didn't stop. The first glass on the coffee table shattered, and before the fragments could hit the ground, they were vibrated into even finer particles in mid-air.
Pietro rushed out from the kitchen, but the vibrations poured in from all sides. Speed was useless; he didn't know which direction to move in.
Wanda opened her hands, the red light of Chaos Magiccondensing in her palms as she tried to wrap Daisy in a force field. The moment the red film touched the shockwaves, it was shattered—the frequency was too chaotic and urgent.
"I can't contain her!"
Daisy stumbled back toward the window. Her eyes were already red, and tears fell uncontrollably. Every drop that bounced off her cheek carried a ripple of air almost invisible to the naked eye.
"I'm going to shake the whole building down! Let me out!"
Her hand touched the window frame.
Arthur took a step forward, his left arm wrapping around her waist and his right hand cupping the back of her head, pulling her entirely into his embrace.
The second Daisy's face pressed against his chest, the shockwaves slammed solidly into Arthur. His clothes flapped loudly, and his hair was blown back by the invisible force field.
He didn't budge.
Mage Armor activated silently from the surface of his skin. A blue light film clung tightly to both their bodies, forming a sealed force field shell that suppressed all outward-radiating shockwaves within the space between them.
The vibrations in the apartment stopped instantly.
The floor stopped shaking, the lights stopped swinging, and the shouting downstairs gradually subsided.
Only the interior of the force field bubble was still churning, energy bouncing back and forth in the narrow gap between the two of them, unable to escape.
Daisy's face was buried in his chest, her whole body still trembling. Her fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt, her knuckles turning white from the strain.
"I've become a monster."
"You haven't."
"I'm going to kill everyone."
"You won't."
His voice was low, right above her head.
"You just haven't learned how to hold onto it yet."
Daisy's breathing slowed down, changing from hurried gasps to long, steady breaths.
Arthur moved his right hand from the back of her head, a wisp of extremely faint blue light suspended at his fingertips as he placed them against her temple.
Arcane Wisdom.
A sharing of perception, devoid of any aggression.
A clean stream of arcane information was injected into Daisy's cerebral cortex. Those chaotic and disordered vibration frequencies became visualized waveforms in her mind, with every wave's amplitude and period clearly defined.
"Do you see it?"
"I see it. So many lines, all jumping around."
"Find the thickest one, the red one."
"I see it."
"That's your fundamental frequency. The others are just secondary harmonics; ignore them. Just grab the fundamental frequency and try to suppress its amplitude by half."
Daisy closed her eyes.
In the visualized space constructed by Arcane Wisdom, she saw the full picture of the power within her body for the first time.
She reached out with her consciousness, cautiously pinching that thickest red waveform and pressing it down.
The intensity of the vibration decreased.
The energy churning inside the force field bubble began to subside.
"Good. A little more, take it slow."
The amplitude of the red waveform dropped to one-third of its original size.
"Now try to gather all the energy in one direction. Don't let it scatter. Concentrate it on your right index finger. Imagine you are using your finger to point at something."
Daisy raised her right index finger in the darkness.
Under her guidance, all the messy waveforms began to converge in the same direction. It became narrower and more intense, but controllable.
"Open your eyes."
She opened her eyes.
Arthur had already let go of her and stepped back, his right finger pointing at a cracked but not yet shattered glass on the edge of the coffee table.
"Aim at it. Let go."
Daisy raised her right index finger and aimed it at the glass.
Her index finger twitched slightly, very faintly.
The glass shattered where it stood. It was vibrated apart evenly from the inside, the fragments almost identical in size. They scattered on the coffee table with a crisp, pleasant tinkling sound.
Daisy stared at the pile of fragments for two seconds before turning to look at Arthur.
Tears still hung from the corners of her eyes, but her eyes were now bright.
"I did it."
"You did it."
Wanda stood by the sofa, the red light in her hands having been withdrawn at some point. She watched the light of relief on Daisy's face and remained silent.
Pietro squatted at the kitchen doorway, half a BBQ pork bun still in his mouth, his eyes wide with amazement.
In the corner of the sofa, Loki Goat poked half his head out from under the coffee table. His golden vertical pupils flickered between Daisy and the pile of shards before he retracted his head again.
Daisy looked down at her hands.
They weren't shaking anymore. Her ten fingers rested quietly together.
She took half a step forward and rested her forehead against his shoulder.
She didn't say anything; she just leaned there.
Arthur didn't move.
The afternoon Sun shone through the half-shattered floor-to-ceiling window, falling upon the two of them.
Wanda withdrew her gaze and looked down. The residual red mist on her fingertips circled her ring finger for half a turn. She clenched her fist, and it dissipated.
The silence lasted for about ten seconds.
Then, the palm of Arthur's left hand lit up.
A blinding white light surged out from the lines of his palm, its intensity more than a level higher than usual. The Arcane Mark throbbed violently beneath his skin.
Arthur's brow furrowed.
A red warning popped up on the system panel in the upper right corner of his vision.
[URGENT! A cross-dimensional Omega-level telepathic signal is forcibly accessing the Arcane Mark!]
[Signal Source: 1,037 meters underground in New YorkState, Hellfire Club Hidden Base.]
[Distress Caller ID: Emma Frost.]
[Signal Characteristics: x-gene carrier, telepathic frequency, near-death state.]
A string of coordinates emerged from the white light, branded directly into his consciousness.
That frequency was so sharp it felt like a needle stabbing his nerves.
Daisy looked up and saw the light in his palm, as well as the slight tightening of his expression.
"What's wrong?"
Arthur suppressed the light in his palm.
He glanced at her, then at Wanda.
"Someone is calling for help."