The negotiations were brutal, but in the end Fury walked away with three drops of Fountain of Life—and one more chip: Li's resurrection spell.
At first, Fury tried to make it "on call." Li stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I'm not your butler. Try that again and I'll resurrect your old man just to have him chew you out at three in the morning."
Counterfeit or not, the spell had more teeth than the Fountain in the right hands. "Take him alive" missions bled agents. A high-value target wrapped in armed security usually meant body bags and condolence checks. But if resurrection was an option? The rules shifted. If capturing clean failed, you dropped the target, kept the body intact, and had Li pull the soul back long enough to answer questions. Same intelligence, fewer funerals.
Fury pressed, bargained, and finally settled on ten resurrections. Li refused to budge beyond that. For his side of the table, he earned six days—six—to probe the laws of space through the Tesseract.
The deal struck, Li shooed Fury toward the door like a man waving off a salesman. "Go prep your container. And repeat after me: one drop equals two days' rent. Your rates are darker than your suit."
Fury put on a smile so fake it squeaked. "Don't act like I overcharged you. The Fountain's a very good medicine. You're chasing comprehension of a law—that's a permanent upgrade. If anything, I'm taking the loss. We can reopen the—"
"Beat it," Li said, spreading his hands, exasperated. "I don't even know if it'll work."
Fury rolled his eye. No one bought that. He left him with a single word over his shoulder: "Heh."
Outside, Coulson waited with a small phalanx of lab techs and enough equipment to outfit a mobile morgue. He stepped forward with something resembling a cryo-case and managed his usual calm smile. "Mr. Austin, if you'd open the gourd."
Li lifted the green vessel, eyeing the case, then gave a warning. "Ground rules. The Fountain's delicate. Freezing doesn't help—it hurts. Study it fresh. If you come back later and it's flat, don't blame me."
Coulson blinked, turned to Fury for backup. Fury studied the etched runes crawling over the lacquer, weighing the angle. "What's the optimal storage?"
Li's eyes gleamed with humor. "If you can swing it? Find a sorcerer who knows time magic."
"Time?" Coulson blurted, eyes going wide. "You people can—"
Fury's cough cut him off. A sharp look: shut it. The lab coats were already staring at Li like he'd just announced gravity was optional.
Li didn't mind. His long game had him standing next to Avengers in broad daylight; attention was inevitable. And at his current level, nuisances barely registered. He grinned. "An ordinary sorcerer can do in a pinch—if they're willing to burn themselves maintaining the Fountain's effect."
Fury chopped the air with his palm. "One drop now for analysis. The other two when I call."
One drop. Testing him. If S.H.I.E.L.D. had a mage tucked away, they'd know storage already. If not, this was blind fishing. Li studied Fury's face, then Coulson's. No flicker of relief, no calculation. Either S.H.I.E.L.D. had no wizard—or they were buried deeper than even Coulson knew.
Fine. Either way, he'd tell the wraiths to tread light. Worst case, he torched the supply and brewed more.
He popped the stopper. Under the leash of a spell, a single glimmering drop floated free and drifted into Coulson's odd glass tube.
"What's with the tube?" Li asked. "Factory reject? You cutting costs on labware now?"
Coulson slotted it into the case. "Vacuum-sealed. We maintain a constant vacuum inside. That won't damage it, will it?"
Li tilted his head, scanned the room, then raised both hands. "Tech's not my lane. I only know the best method involves spells."
He'd dropped "spells" three times now. If Fury still missed the hint, he could trade the director's chair for a scratching post. Fury swept the room, saw the way the scientists were hanging on every word, and finally exhaled.
"Business concluded," Fury said, clipped. "Coulson will see you out."
Li caught the subtext—no more audience, no more oxygen. He smirked at Coulson's ushering gesture. "Want to see what 'home in a blink' looks like?"
He was two seconds from opening a portal—or dissolving into black mist—just to scramble the lab kids' worldviews when Fury's eye twitched. A muscle spasm, a warning. Then he pulled his wallet, ripped out a corporate card, and handed it to Coulson like a man paying ransom. "Take Mr. Austin to a high-end restaurant. My treat."
Li scratched his head. Fury paying? Hard to walk past that. He glanced at the darkening windows, then sauntered toward the exit. "Make it the full tour. Eat, drink, play—the works. Bill it all to the Director."
He slung his bag, in high spirits.
Coulson watched him go, admiration buried under a wince. Not afraid of the black book at all, are you? He caught Fury's curt nod, then hurried after Li, smile back in place.
Minutes later, they were on the highway, Manhattan lights glimmering ahead. If Li wanted to bleed Fury's card dry, Coulson knew exactly where to start: Broadway—shows, musicals, Times Square glitter, every marquee lit.
Dinner and a show. A perfect night.
Except it wasn't. Li didn't care about tuxedos or arias. Give him popcorn, chips, a bucket of soda, and the biggest screen in town. That was entertainment.
The SUV skimmed past Harlem, neon spilling through the windshield. Li Ming slumped in the seat, hand pressed to his stomach. "I've lost three pounds in the last hour," he muttered, cracking the window for air.
The city's noise poured in with the breeze—and under it, Coulson caught something else. His ears twitched, years of firearms making him sensitive to the rhythm. Bursts of gunfire. Then the deep thump of an explosion. He leaned forward, jaw tight. "That's M4 fire. Standard issue. Who the hell is the Army shooting at in Manhattan? Terrorists?"
"I don't know who's shooting who," Li said, pointing ahead. "But someone just swan-dived out of a helicopter without a chute. Birdman cosplay? Or a flea with a death wish?"
Coulson followed the finger. No parachute. No wings. Just a man plummeting. He calculated the angle, the velocity, the terminal impact. There'd be nothing left to collect.
Except there was.
The jumper climbed out of a crater, roaring, his skin glowing green under the streetlights, fists like wrecking balls. He lumbered toward a fireball blooming at the end of the block.
Coulson's breath caught. "The Hulk?"
Li rubbed his brow. "Coulson, pull over. You with that pistol—even if you pulled a tank out of your trunk, it'd be a toy to him."
Coulson threw the SUV to the curb, already speed-dialing. "You know the green guy?"
Li nodded just as Fury's voice came over the line, rough with fatigue. "Coulson? I'm buried. Tell me Austin didn't start something again."
Before Coulson could answer, Li plucked the phone. "Trouble? I'm starving." He scratched at his temple. "What's that general's name? Ross. Thaddeus Ross. Picture this: his future son-in-law's out here, all green and optimistic in a pair of shorts. Ross doesn't like the fashion statement, so he sent the Army to fix it."
On Fury's end, the feed showed the Hulk trading blows with something worse. The Abomination, bone spikes cutting through mottled skin, stomped after the green giant.
The Hulk ripped a police cruiser in half, wore it like boxing gloves, and charged. He hammered Abomination with a flurry of lefts and rights, then mounted him and rained blows like a landlord collecting back rent.
Fury winced at every strike. Collateral damage scrolled across his board: cars overturned, streetlamps shattered, windows caving in. He rubbed his temple. Two monsters, both built for demolition, both tearing Harlem down to the rebar.
He swallowed his irritation and asked the only question that mattered. "Austin, can you handle them both?"
Li glanced at Coulson, who was already scanning for civilians, jaw set. Part of Li wanted to unleash something nasty—Fury had bluffed earlier about S.H.I.E.L.D. knowing "a little" arcane. A reminder that he wasn't anyone's chew toy would be therapeutic.
"For me? Three moves. Maybe four." Li grinned. "What's it worth?"
Fury's eye twitched. "Put Coulson back on."
Li frowned, handing the phone over. "No help? Seriously?"
Coulson listened, murmured assent, then slid the phone away. He handed Li the keys and Fury's credit card. "Director says pick your own restaurant. Also says he doesn't want to read 'Sorcerer in the Streets, Science Can Beat It' on tomorrow's front page."
He drew his pistol and jogged toward the chaos, already waving civilians away. If he couldn't fight monsters, he could at least stop a stampede.
Li scratched his head, about to take the wheel, when a voice cut through the sirens. "Austin?"
He turned. Aunt May stood there in an evening dress, worry written in every line of her face.
"Austin? What are you doing here? Gala night?"
She dabbed at her eyes, tried to smile. "Birthday. Ben and I were going to keep it simple, but he said he's stable at Stark Industries now, making enough. He wanted to treat me. Dinner, then a show." Her breath hitched. "I changed after work, got near the restaurant—then all this. I don't know if Ben's safe."
Li looked toward the glow of flames, the roar echoing down the street. "Ben's in there?"
She nodded, helpless.
Li palmed his face. "Uncle Ben, seriously? Couch and cake weren't good enough?" He yanked up his hood, and before May could blink, his body unraveled into black mist and knifed through the restaurant's shattered doors.
Inside, Uncle Ben sat propped against an overturned table, a crude splint lashed to his thigh. His face was drawn with pain, but his hands were steady as he comforted a trembling diner. "You're going to be fine. The police will be here soon. Bright side, it missed the artery. You'll walk again."
The man started to breathe easier—until a ribbon of shadow surged through the entrance and coalesced into Li midair. His eyes went wide. "A ghost!"
"Ghost? No," Li snapped. "No ghost would dare show up in front of me."
Ben squinted, blinking past the haze. No mask. No alias. Just Austin. "What are you?"
Li's eyes swept the broken leg. Flesh he could heal, but bones took more. He slashed the air, opening a glowing portal rimmed with energy. "A sorcerer. Explanations later." He flicked his fingers and Ben floated, weightless, through the doorway of light.
Outside, May stared, frozen between terror and awe. The portal shimmered in front of her, and through it came Ben—hovering, battered, but alive.
"Hey, May," he said, mustering his gentle smile despite the pain. "You look amazing tonight."
Her mind whirled—black mist, glowing doorways, her husband drifting like an angel. But he was alive. That outweighed everything. She threw her arms around him, holding tight, as if the world might try to steal him away again.