To call what happened in Harlem a "battle" was generous. What Li Feng did to Abomination wasn't a fight—it was a mage field-testing spells on a very unlucky crash-test dummy.
While Li Feng kept up his theatrics, Agent Phil Coulson adjusted his tie, put on the warmest smile in his arsenal, and extended a hand to the older couple nearby.
"Phil Coulson, special agent," he said smoothly. "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division—S.H.I.E.L.D. for short."
Uncle Ben accepted the handshake politely. "Ben Parker. And this is my wife, May."
Ben Parker? Coulson blinked. He knew the name from Li Feng's file. He'd looked into it more than once—Fury and Natasha were the only others in on the sorcerer detail. They'd theorized Li Feng's interest in the Parkers had to do with Richard Parker, Spider-Man's father. But standing here, Coulson wasn't so sure. Watching the way Li Feng hovered near Ben, the connection looked personal.
May frowned, steadying Ben on his injured leg. "Ever heard of this agency?" she murmured.
Ben shook his head, leaning close to whisper, "Doesn't matter what they call themselves. They're here for Austin. Let me handle the talking."
Coulson couldn't hear the words, but he read the guarded look in Ben's eyes. He understood. S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't exactly a household brand, and this was a lot for civilians to process.
He turned up the charm. "We're an international organization," he said. "Answer to the World Security Council. Our mandate is to manage enhanced individuals and the fallout they cause. Think of us as the line between the normal world and the stranger one."
He nodded toward Ben's leg, then opened the car door. "Let me get you to the hospital. Austin said once the bone is set, he'll help with the healing. I imagine you're eager to see that work."
May hesitated. Ben thought it through quickly. He'd only met Li Feng twice; these agents knew more. His name was already in their system. Better to cooperate. He smiled at May. "It'll be fine. They're legit. No point making this harder. And I don't want to end up on a cane the rest of my life. Besides… how many people get magical treatment? Even if it's the kind of thing you take to the grave, it's still exciting."
Coulson caught the subtext—Ben was nudging May's focus toward his injury and away from S.H.I.E.L.D. He filed that away. Clever man.
With his help, May got Ben settled in the back seat. Coulson eased into the driver's seat, stealing one more glance at Li Feng nonchalantly slinging spells down the block. His eye twitched. So much for sleep tonight.
He pulled out onto the street. "Mr. Parker, how much do you know about Austin?"
Ben had been expecting that. Calmly, he recounted both encounters with Li Feng in detail.
The first story—an invitation to dinner, a razor as a gift, kind words of comfort—gave Coulson pause. He tapped the wheel thoughtfully. By the second—Li Feng gifting protective charms—Coulson's eyes narrowed.
"Mr. Parker," he cut in, "you're not wearing the amulet he gave you, are you?"
Ben froze, then checked his neck. He looked at his suit, then down at his splinted leg, and gave a sheepish smile. "If I'd known Austin was a sorcerer, I'd never have taken it off. Who cares if a jade pendant clashes with a suit?"
May, realizing the charm might be the real deal, touched her own neck. She made a quiet promise to herself—never take it off again, and make sure Ben wore his too.
"These aren't trinkets," Ben muttered. "Why did he give them to us?"
"That," Coulson said, "is exactly what I'd like to know."
He got them to the hospital, paid out of pocket to expedite intake, then doubled back toward the battlefield.
By the time he returned, the scene was worse. Li Feng had opened a portal in public. People had already seen him casting spells; one more miracle hardly mattered. But for Ross, it was a nightmare. How do you cage a man who can step through reality at will? How many resources would you burn chasing him?
And Abomination's husk vanishing through that portal? In one move, Li Feng had nuked Ross's entire super-soldier project. No samples, no body, no future. What was Ross supposed to do—reverse-engineer breakthroughs from shaky cellphone footage? If he could, Coulson thought darkly, they should lock him in a movie theater with superhero flicks until he reinvented space travel.
Then Li Feng, mask tilted, gave Coulson a jaunty "call me" gesture before stepping into the portal—in full view of Ross.
Coulson's stomach dropped. Ross had just lost everything. And the only clear target left to blame was him.
Nope. Not today.
He pivoted, slid behind the wheel, and executed the cleanest peel-out of his life. Ross didn't even have time to shout before Coulson was gone.
Triskelion — Director's Office
Fury was hunched over his tablet, replaying footage of Li Feng's fight on loop, when a knock came. "Enter," he barked.
Coulson hurried in, damp with sweat. "Sir. I have a development on Austin."
Fury set the tablet down, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Go on."
"Our profile is incomplete," Coulson said carefully. "We missed something. He craves family warmth."
Fury's eye narrowed. "Explain."
Coulson described Ben Parker—solid, kind, the embodiment of trustworthiness. The kind of man who radiated safety. Then he recounted the details: dinner invitations, small gifts, gentle advice.
Taken one by one, nothing unusual. But offered to a stranger? A drifter with no ties? That was different. That filled a void.
And Fury saw it. Piece by piece, the profile sharpened. If Li Feng lacked that warmth, Ben Parker had provided it. And Li Feng had responded.
"Family," Fury said, rubbing his chin. "To Austin, Ben Parker reads as family. An elder."
Coulson lifted a shoulder. "That's how it tracks. Otherwise the speed and scale of his help are… hard to explain."
Fury kneaded the back of his neck, eyes on the looping Harlem footage. "He told you to call him, didn't he? My bet—he watched you drive Parker to the hospital. He'll want the name. Tomorrow, when you take Austin there, bring sensors. While he treats Parker, I want a clean read on the energy signature from that healing spell." A beat. "And watch how he treats Ben versus Peter."
Saying it out loud pinched something behind Fury's eye. He rewound to the first time he'd met Li Feng—earlier, technically, than Ben had. If I'd known he was starved for family? Forget dinner. I'd have sent a crate of razors and shaved him myself. And if comfort's the currency, I can talk a man's ear off till next spring.
Coulson didn't ask. You didn't survive long at S.H.I.E.L.D. by auditing your director's what-ifs. He kept his gaze on the shine of his shoes. "Yes, sir." He glanced up, gauging Fury's focus. "There's something else. No hard proof—likely connected to Austin."
"Go."
"Ben Parker works nights at Stark Industries. Security. One shift every three days." Coulson ticked it off. "Shift starts at dinner in the employee restaurant, ends after company breakfast. Pay's double normal night watch."
Fury rolled his eye. "Maybe I should apply when I retire. With my résumé I could squeeze five times that." He exhaled. "Stark hired him after Austin brought gifts, didn't he?"
Coulson lifted a hand—your words, not mine.
"We don't need a smoking gun," Fury said, rubbing his brow. "Stark put him on payroll because of Austin. Feels like deliberate courtship—and maybe not just curiosity about magic. Could be longer-term. Stark doesn't seat unvetted civilians on his floors."
"That's a Natasha question," Coulson said, palms out. Translation: ask the spy who brings back answers.
He angled toward the door.
"Hold up." Fury snapped his fingers. "Almost forgot. Line up some spirit mediums. They don't need powers—knowledge and field time count."
Coulson turned, baffled. Since discovering real sorcerers existed, he'd already canvassed half the city's "psychics." In conversation they were lions—one swore his biological father was Mephisto and his godfather was Jesus. The second a S.H.I.E.L.D. badge came out and the instruments followed, every one of them wilted. Not a candle's worth of energy.
Fury saw the confusion. "Remember what Austin said about Hell?"
Coulson did. Demons were real. Heaven? No comment. The thought settled in his gut like ice. So no matter who dies… Hell. Great. That'll keep the citizenry virtuous.
"Also," Fury went on, "Austin said Bob doesn't have a soul. That jogged a legend—Ghost Rider."
"Ghost Rider?" Coulson frowned. "What's that have to do with mediums?"
"In the stories, Ghost Riders cut deals with demons—soul for power." Fury tapped the table. "Riders are spirits under demonic control."
He scrubbed through the Harlem clip and froze on Li Feng reducing Abomination to leather. "Look 'white magic' to you? The Sanctum—Austin called them temple mages. They hunt demons. Let's label them white mages for clarity. Austin trains apart from them for 'special reasons.' That look like one?" Fury snorted. "No one calls mummification white magic."
Click. He landed on the moment Hulk toppled and Banner's spirit flickered free. "Now this. Strip the runes and fireworks—do you believe Austin physically slapped Hulk unconscious long enough to revert?"
Coulson shook his head. They'd barely collected Austin's DNA. Lab results pending. But a sorcerer outmuscling Hulk? That belonged in fiction, not a case file.
"My read?" Fury's eye narrowed. "He hit Hulk's soul, not his jaw—or masked it. Then there's this." He looped the segment where Li Feng's lips moved toward empty air.
"Sir… that looks like 'Banner,'" Coulson said.
"Lip-readers agree," Fury said. " 'Dr. Banner, could you cool off curbside? You're cramping my style.' 'Relax. You're not dead—I'll put you back in your body.' Lines like that." He leaned back. "The more I watch, the more I think he was talking to Banner's soul."
He counted on his fingers. "Second: resurrection. He's got at least two lanes. Tech is one. The other you heard on comms—Hell and souls are in play."
"Last: the way he talks about Hell. Like a local. His specialty reads like soul craft. That's likely the 'special reason'—why he's a rogue mage, not a Sanctum monk."
Coulson's temples throbbed. S.H.I.E.L.D. was supposed to be the fence between normal and weird. He usually solved weird with a sidearm, a plan, and better timing. After that speech, it felt like he should swing by a church and bulk-buy holy water. If a demon or ghost started a crime spree on Fifth Avenue, what then—negotiate? Demons do persuasion for a living. Who converts who?
Fury sighed, weariness leaking through the gravel. "If Austin leans demonic, I have to ask whether he can command vengeful spirits. You said he controlled resurrected Obadiah. That counts."
His voice dropped. "Maybe he came to the Triskelion less to brief me on magic and more to learn how demons mint a Ghost Rider. Put a spirit he already controls into Bob's body, use Bob to pry something out of S.H.I.E.L.D."
He fixed Coulson with a look. "I need to know how to tell if Bob's possessed. And how to block a hitchhiking spirit. That's why I want the mediums."
A chill spidered down Coulson's back—as if cold breath touched his collar. He shivered. "Yes, sir."
He headed out, taking the stairs two at a time. If the Triskelion might be crawling with vengeful spirits on loan from Austin, he'd line up those "experts" fast—and maybe spend the night in a church. Preferably until noon. Broad daylight sounded like a plan.