Statement:
The casino-related content in this chapter serves solely for plot purposes.
In reality: gamble ten times, lose ten times. Don't gamble.
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This "bad luck" had shifted Snakehead's entire destiny.
It even reached Fury without his knowledge, causing him to "forget" to finish the job.
When Lock saved the Queen of Asgard, Frigga, he had bent the sacred timeline toward his own benefit.
But with the smuggler, the timeline had twisted in the opposite direction — against him.
Because of his cursed fortune, Snakehead didn't explode after drinking countless vials of super soldier serum. Instead, his body absorbed them all, growing stronger with each dose.
He became a powerhouse so dangerous that even S.H.I.E.L.D. dared not casually provoke him.
This was the interaction of luck.
Those who followed Lock enjoyed blessings.
Those who opposed him were crushed by misfortune.
In general, good luck always restrains bad luck. That was why villains always fell in the end — because heroes carried the light of fortune.
Be it Lock's past life or the current Marvel world, the same truth held:
Light eventually prevails.
Just look at Tony Stark's first foe — Obadiah Stane. Once only a businessman, but because he stood against Iron Man, he was twisted into a super villain.
Or Aldrich Killian, who, out of resentment, developed Extremis, gave himself powers, and built his own army. His rise was real, but short-lived. Opposing Iron Man cursed him with ruin.
This was Lock's insight. Whether wholly true or not, only testing could prove it.
If Snakehead truly evolved into this "Evil God," then his transformation was born from bad luck itself.
That made him the perfect test subject.
Of course, testing didn't mean crushing him in an instant. Kill him outright, and you'd never know whether fortune had anything to do with it.
So Lock had decided — before fighting this Evil God, he would practice. Test his theory. Cultivate luck.
He turned to Fury.
"Are there any casinos nearby?"
Fury blinked. "...What do you need a casino for?"
They had just been discussing fate and fortune — and now Lock wanted slot machines? Did he mean to measure strength by whether he could win a jackpot?
Luck was part of power, yes. But among true warriors, no one seriously counted "luck" as battle strength. That was the kind of mistake that got you killed.
"Practice," Lock said simply.
General Ross coughed. "King Apocalypse, if it's money you need, just tell us. Fury and I can request funds from our superiors."
Then he shot Fury a glare, silently cursing him. So stingy, Fury. You didn't even give Lock proper resources; now he's going to raid casinos for cash?
Lock only shook his head. "Not money. Training."
Everyone still looked confused, but if Lock had said it, they couldn't stop him.
Hill pulled out a tablet. "New York doesn't match Las Vegas, but there are still a dozen top casinos. Don, which one?"
"The biggest one."
The destination was chosen. The group disguised itself and set out.
Lock could have gone alone with Natasha, but no one wanted to miss this. Watching King Apocalypse test a new cultivation method? If tickets were sold, the line would wrap around Manhattan.
For Fury, Natasha, Kate, and Hill, disguise was second nature. For Ross, Falcon, Daisy, and even Lock, fame wasn't so high that they'd be recognized by the public.
The only problem was Captain America. His face had been plastered on posters for seventy years. Everyone knew him.
In the end, Steve wore a false mustache and a skintight translucent shirt. From a noble soldier, he suddenly looked like a hard-faced tough guy with a questionable nightlife.
On the way, Lock quietly stirred the flow of luck. It was his first attempt, uncertain if it would succeed.
The casino's atmosphere shifted the moment they entered.
Eight or nine figures walked in — but their combined aura was overwhelming. Several Avengers, two generals, top S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and even Daisy, glowing faintly with Asgardian divine power.
Together, they carried the weight of a small army.
Guests stepped aside instinctively, not even knowing why they retreated.
The manager rushed over, sweating. "Honored guests, what would you like to play?"
He prayed silently. Please, don't cause trouble. If they fight, this whole casino might not survive.
Big casinos had strong security, but against this lineup? Security wouldn't matter.
Lock asked calmly: "How many chips are needed to place two bets on every machine and every table?"
The manager nearly stumbled.
Most gamblers bought a handful of chips, played their favorites. Rich men bet big at one or two tables. But to put two chips at every single table and slot machine?
That wasn't gambling. That was something else entirely.
Still, he answered nervously. "Seventy-two chips, thirty-four tokens."
Fury handed over a black card. "Exchange them. Biggest denomination."
The largest chip was one million dollars. Seventy-two of those, plus the coins, meant seventy-two million total.
The manager bowed and rushed to fulfill the order, while discreetly alerting security to stand ready.
Soon, a golden tray was delivered, piled with seventy-two gleaming black-gold chips and thirty-four ordinary coins.
The contrast was absurd — priceless tokens beside pocket change.
Natasha plucked a chip between her fingers, eyes on Lock. "Don. Where do we start?"
Lock answered simply:
"Slot machines first. I'm not familiar with casinos."
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