I wasn't in Tony Stark's office when the "Hammer Industries problem" detonated, but I could picture it perfectly anyway.
Tony's office was basically a shrine to his own brain. Glass, steel, holograms, expensive minimalism pretending to be humility. If you stood still long enough, something in the room would probably try to scan you, monetize your heartbeat, and sell it back to you as a premium feature.
So when Pepper walked in with news that made Tony's blood pressure attempt to achieve escape velocity, the reaction was inevitable.
Apparently Tony didn't just get angry.
He got creative angry.
"That guy Hanmer is going to exhibit his steel soldiers and steel armor at my Stark Industry Fair?" Tony's voice hit a pitch that would've shattered lesser glass. "What the—what is this guy? How can he make these things based on his crooked melons and cracked dates?"
Pepper Potts didn't even blink. She'd been through terrorists, boardrooms, and Tony's emotional range, which was basically "sarcasm" and "sarcasm but louder." If she had a superpower, it was the ability to stay unflappable in the face of billionaire tantrums.
"Tony," she said, calm in that way that always sounded like she was speaking to a particularly intelligent dog, "the Expo invites global tech companies. That is literally the point of the Expo."
Tony's hands flew up. "Peps. Peps. Listen to the words I am saying. This is my Expo. My legacy. My… whatever the opposite of a funeral is. And we're giving Justin 'Please Clap' Hammer the central booth so he can show off my stolen baby like it's his?"
This part I did know from Tony directly, because he'd ranted to me during one of our earlier calls like I was his magical therapist who also happened to have the power to turn him into a statue.
He'd already handed the Mark II over to Rhodey.
Compared to the messier version of this timeline, it had been almost… civilized. Rhodey had wanted armor forever, and Tony—especially with the potion buying him time—had made a choice that looked like generosity. The handoff had happened. The suit had gone to the air base. The military had their prize, and Tony had the illusion of control.
Then history did what it always does.
The military, apparently, had decided to outsource modifications and production to Hammer Industries. Rhodey disliked Hammer, sure, but Rhodey didn't get to veto the Pentagon's favorite contractor, and he'd warned Tony about it like a man delivering a weather report he didn't want to read aloud.
Tony had taken that news the way a proud parent takes the information that their kid is about to be raised by wolves.
He'd been simmering for days, trying to ignore it.
Then Pepper walked in with the final insult: Hammer wasn't just participating at the Expo.
Hammer was getting the central booth.
New hatred slapped onto old resentment like fresh paint on a cracked wall, and Tony spiraled.
"Do you really want that guy Hammer showcasing at my Fair?" Tony asked Pepper, voice strained.
Pepper shrugged, because Pepper's shrug was basically an armored vehicle. "Excluding Hammer Industries would cause more problems than it's worth."
Tony narrowed his eyes. "When exactly is Hammer's exhibition?"
"Saturday," Pepper said. "Two weeks from now. Central booth."
Tony's jaw dropped. "Saturday? Central booth? You agreed to this?"
Pepper leaned in, and for a moment her calm cracked just enough to let the exhaustion show. Dark circles. Tension around the eyes. The kind of fatigue you get when you're holding up a crumbling empire with spreadsheets and willpower.
"This came from the military," she said. "We could refuse, but there's no need to strain relations. Your previous actions nearly froze Stark Industries' connection with them. We need to repair that bridge, Tony. Otherwise Stark Industries becomes a target."
Tony stared at her, and I could imagine the exact moment his irritation melted into guilt. Because Tony could be selfish, but he wasn't blind. Not when it mattered.
"You're right," he said, quieter. "This will be handled your way."
Pepper's expression softened. "Thank you for understanding."
Then she returned to her survival-level administration.
Natasha returned to pretending not to be Natasha.
__________________________________________________
I returned to my own list of problems—which had recently expanded to include something I'd been delaying for far too long.
My wand.
My improvised pine wand had served me well for years, but it was like trying to run an arc reactor through a paperclip. The stronger I became, the more it felt like the wand was the limiting factor—not my talent, not my intent, but the tool itself struggling to channel what I was trying to push through it.
If I was going to keep playing in a world with dimensional cracks, demons, and billionaires who thought death was negotiable, I needed a wand worthy of my current power. One that could handle the full range—light, dark, elemental, and the strange esoteric edges that this universe kept throwing at me.
So I went hunting.
Huruba Mountain, California.
There was a tree there—an oak that had been standing long before human civilization decided it liked buildings. Thirteen thousand years old, rooted deep, stubborn enough that time had tried to erase it and failed. Age mattered in magical materials. Age meant accumulated meaning. Spirit. Memory. Resilience.
This oak didn't just look old.
It felt old.
It radiated a quiet presence, like wisdom that didn't need to speak.
I approached at dusk, when the air cooled and the forest held its breath. The tree stood like a sentinel over everything around it, bark thick and ridged, branches stretching outward like a king's arms.
I didn't take an axe.
I wasn't a barbarian.
I became smoke.
It wasn't true shapeshifting the way some creatures did it. It was magic—my body dissolving into a controlled black mist, a spell that let me slip between physical boundaries without breaking them. I drifted to the trunk and pressed myself into the bark like a shadow sinking into water.
Inside, the tree's spiritual structure glowed to my senses—rings of time, layered energy, quiet strength.
Slowly, carefully, I extracted the heartwood core I needed. Not ripping. Not tearing. Drawing it out the way you pull a single thread from cloth without unraveling the whole garment.
When I withdrew, the trunk shimmered briefly under the restorative magic that I casted, sealing itself as if nothing had happened.
Back home, I laid the heartwood on my desk and studied it. The energy was raw, powerful, stable—exactly what I wanted. But a wand is not just wood. It's a partnership between wood and core, and for what I intended, I needed a core that could match this oak's depth.
Dragon heart.
Not "dragon heartstring," the polite sanitized version.
Dragon heart essence. Power. Heat. Will.
Only something like that could complement thirteen millennia of stubborn wisdom.
Which meant the next part of the plan would take patience, strategy, and careful planning.
Because in this universe, dragons weren't exactly waiting at the local petting zoo.
I was still staring at the heartwood when my communicator buzzed.
The Ancient One.
That was never a casual call.
I answered immediately, and her voice came through calm as ever, which somehow made it worse.
"Come to Kamar-Taj," she said. "Now."
I didn't ask why.
I opened a portal and stepped through.
Kamar-Taj greeted me with incense and tension. The kind of tension you could taste in the air—like the building itself knew something bad was approaching and had already tightened its wards.
And there, waiting near the training yard, was kaecilius.
His chest was wrapped in fresh bandages. His face was pale beneath the calm mask he tried to wear, and his eyes carried the kind of strain that said he'd been forced to survive something he hadn't been ready for.
"Abel," he said, and he didn't waste time with greetings. "It's bad. One of them—a wind demon, a former angel—moves faster than I can react. My attacks barely touch him."
I arched an eyebrow, forcing humor into my voice because sometimes humor is the only way to keep fear from taking the steering wheel. "Wind demon," I said. "Let me guess. Earth and water demons too? We collecting the whole elemental set?"
kaecilius didn't smile.
Which told me this wasn't a joke to him.
"This isn't ordinary demonic activity," he said tightly. "They're organized."
The Ancient One appeared beside us like she'd been there the whole time and my attention had simply failed to register her.
Her eyes met mine, sharp and calculating. "All of them are stranded fallen angels," she said. "They serve the Blackheart. They seek something Mephisto left behind on Earth."
The name hit like a cold draft through my ribs.
Mephisto.
That wasn't "random demon." That was a category of problem you didn't solve by throwing fireballs at it and hoping for the best.
Fragmented memories surfaced—flaming wheels, a skeletal rider, judgment that wasn't magic so much as cosmic law wearing a leather jacket.
Ghost Rider.
Dangerous. Unpredictable. Not something you approached casually unless you enjoyed being punished for your sins on a metaphysical level.
I let a slow breath out and made a decision before anyone could argue with me.
"kaecilius," I said firmly, "you hold your position. I'll handle reconnaissance."
kaecilius's eyes widened. "But you—"
"I can protect myself," I cut in.
kaecilius shook his head once, stubborn. "Abel… it's not safe."
The Ancient One's gaze softened slightly, but her words stayed measured. "He is stronger than when he first arrived at Kamar-Taj," she said to kaecilius. "He can protect himself. His restraint allows us to observe and strategize, but he does not require guidance to survive."
I didn't know if I liked hearing that. It sounded too close to, You're useful. Don't die.
But I nodded anyway.
Because she was right.
And because the world was moving too fast now for hesitation.
I opened a portal, but before I stepped through, the Ancient One's voice stopped me.
"Abel," she said quietly.
I looked back.
Her eyes held mine, and for the first time I saw something beneath the calm: a thin edge of uncertainty.
"Observe," she said. "Do not engage unless you must."
I gave her a small nod. "Understood."
Then I stepped through the portal into the night
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Hey guys, I'm Aurelius D. Black, your author, and welcome to Path of Arcane (or How to Survive and Maybe Craft Hogwarts in Another World).
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