It took months.
Months of digging. Months of warding. Months of carefully falsified city permits, rerouted infrastructure, bribed inspectors, and amnesticized witnesses. The Midland Circle building in Hell's Kitchen stood tall and respectable above us, pristine and ignorant.
Beneath it?
We had carved out a cathedral of secrecy.
The fake construction project above masked a vertical shaft reinforced with vibranium alloy supports and layered thaumaturgic stabilizers. Freight lifts descended into the earth, carrying equipment, personnel, and the occasional unfortunate D-class worker who asked too many questions.
Tonight, I walked down the final stretch myself.
Lanterns lined the carved tunnel—real flame, not electric. I preferred it that way when dealing with ancient magic. The flicker of fire revealed distortions in air and space that modern lighting sometimes failed to show.
Behind me, my Red Right Hand moved in disciplined silence. Mutant abilities restrained. Weapons ready. Reality anchors active. They were not here for combat—they were here in case something woke up.
At the end of the tunnel stood the wall.
Not stone.
Not metal.
A seamless barrier covered in flowing K'un-Lun script, etched in gold and something darker—veins of chi embedded like circuitry. The air around it vibrated faintly, as if the seal breathed.
We hadn't found the bones.
We'd found the door.
I stepped closer.
With my Fairy Eyes open, the world peeled back.
Runes unfolded into layered equations. Chi pathways became luminous rivers. Intent crystallized into structure. The seal wasn't just a lock—it was a test. A composite construct woven from K'un-Lun mysticism, dragon chi, and something older—something that brushed against the anomalous frameworks I'd only ever seen in Sarkic and proto-Daevite relics.
Impressive.
Very impressive.
The material itself wasn't native to Earth. It was semi-organic, semi-spiritual—responsive only to a specific energetic signature.
The Iron Fist.
Of course.
Normally, opening this would be impossible without Danny Rand—or rather, without the living conduit of Shou-Lao's chi. The seal was keyed to that harmonic frequency. Without it, any brute-force attempt would trigger catastrophic backlash. Spatial collapse. Implosion. Possibly a city-level event.
But "normally" didn't apply to me.
I had two advantages.
First: two thousand years of magical refinement.
Second: knowledge from a past life that told me exactly what this was guarding.
I extended my senses deeper, studying the energy signature encoded into the wall. It wasn't just power—it was pattern. Rhythm. Intent shaped into form.
So I did what I always did.
I adapted.
I slowed my breathing, letting my internal mana circuits realign. I reshaped the flow of magecraft within my body, bending it away from my natural signature and toward the structure the seal demanded. At the same time, I drew on my understanding of chi—not my primary discipline, but one I had studied thoroughly enough to mimic its current.
Mana became chi.
Chi became dragon-flame.
Not perfectly.
But close enough.
The wall reacted.
Gold script ignited, veins pulsing brighter. Pressure built in the air like the moment before a storm breaks. My Red Right Hand shifted subtly, preparing for violence.
I pressed my palm against the center of the seal.
For a moment, resistance.
Then—
Recognition.
The structure rippled. Not broken. Not shattered.
Accepted.
With a deep, resonant hum, the wall split down the middle. Stone peeled back like flesh parting from bone, revealing darkness beyond.
I exhaled slowly.
"Send in D-class," I ordered.
Two personnel were brought forward immediately. Collars active. Monitoring spells layered. They were pushed gently—but firmly—through the opening.
We waited.
Thirty seconds.
One minute.
Two.
Their vitals remained stable. No spatial distortion. No sudden chi spikes. No spontaneous combustion or possession.
"Clear," came the radio confirmation from inside.
I allowed myself a small smile.
"Mining teams," I said. "Proceed."
Floodlights were rolled forward. Equipment followed. Engineers entered cautiously, scanning everything with both technology and thaumaturgy.
And then we saw it.
The cavern beyond was vast—far larger than our projections. An underground hollow that shouldn't exist beneath Manhattan without collapsing the city above. The walls shimmered faintly with residual magic, reinforcing the space.
At its center lay bones.
Not scattered.
Arranged.
Coiled like a sleeping titan.
A dragon skeleton the size of a skyscraper, ribs arching like cathedral vaults, skull tilted slightly as if watching eternity pass. Gold-white bone with veins of crimson chi still pulsing faintly through the structure.
It was dead.
But not empty.
Even from the entrance, I could feel it—the density of power saturating the air. Every breath tasted metallic and ancient. The D-class closest to the remains began sweating almost immediately, their heart rates spiking under the sheer pressure of proximity.
This wasn't just a corpse.
It was a reservoir.
I stepped fully into the cavern.
For a moment—just a moment—I felt something brush my mind.
A memory not mine.
Flame. Sky. Battle. Hunger.
Then it was gone.
Residual echo, I told myself.
Nothing more.
"Extraction protocols," I ordered calmly. "Segmental removal. Preserve structural integrity. No heavy machinery within twenty meters of the primary spine."
The teams moved with precision. Diamond-tipped cutting tools infused with containment runes were brought forward. Each bone fragment would be catalogued, sealed, and transported under maximum security.
This would take weeks.
Maybe months.
But it was ours.
I looked up at the massive skull, eye sockets dark and endless.
With this supply, we could perfect the resurrection serum beyond anything the Hand had dreamed of. Stable batches. Refined chi infusion. Compatibility testing with SCP-006 enhancement.
Death would become logistical.
Reversible.
Containable.
And perhaps, with enough refinement… optional.
Behind me, Commander Cody approached quietly.
"Perimeter is secure," he said.
"Good," I replied.
I let my gaze sweep the cavern one more time.
Hell's Kitchen had always been built on crime, ambition, and blood.
Now it rested on a dragon.
And the Foundation owned it.
"Begin transport," I said softly.
Above us, New York continued unaware.
Below, we harvested immortality.