Afghanistan. The desert baked under a merciless sun.
Bruce Banner stumbled out of the portal barefoot, landing on scorching sand. His soles hissed against the heat as he hopped from foot to foot. "Any chance we don't teleport onto a frying pan? Or was this supposed to be a live demo of 'sizzling Banner'?"
Li Feng shoved his skull mask up onto his forehead. "Kreacher! Guests. And two tall frosty beers."
A camper shimmered into view, sliding over the dunes like a mirage. Banner squinted, trying to decide if it was tech or sorcery. Then a gray-skinned attendant padded out, carrying two frosted mugs. Banner's eyes darted to the sky, like he half-expected an alien mothership next.
"Who are you? Where am I?"
Li Feng passed him a beer. "Forgot the intro. Austin—Li Feng. Sorcerer. Nice to meet you, Dr. Banner. Welcome to Afghanistan."
Banner took the mug, offered a cautious handshake. His gaze lingered on the attendant retreating into the camper. "And… what exactly is he?"
"Kreacher. Personal attendant," Li Feng said, raising his mug, draining half in one pull. He sighed with satisfaction. "That thing earlier? That wasn't your soul. Spirit-form. Subtle difference."
Banner was about to probe further when a ripple of magic prickled the air. A portal stitched itself open behind Li Feng. Banner's instincts screamed retreat. He edged toward the camper.
Li Feng clapped him on the shoulder. "Kreacher can field your questions. I've got company."
A figure stepped out of the glowing circle—Karl Mordo, robes flowing, expression thundercloud dark.
Li Feng spread his arms in mock delight. "Mordo. Long time. How'd you track me down?"
Mordo's gaze was ice. He glanced once at Banner through the camper window, then back. "The Ancient One sent me. With a warning."
Li Feng scratched his head. "Warning? What did I do this time?"
"Oh, you offended Kamar-Taj," Mordo said flatly. "Enjoying your spotlight in New York? Soul extraction in public? If the Ancient One hadn't intervened, we'd have had a line of sorcerers at your door. Take a number, wait your turn."
Li Feng frowned. "I masked my casting. The Sanctum's wards shouldn't trace me."
"Ever heard of television?" Mordo shot back. "You blasted spells on camera. If not for that mask, you'd already be on the wanted board."
"TV, huh." Li Feng chuckled. "Figures the Ancient One pegged me. But you? My mask slip? Reveal my devilishly handsome face?"
"Handsome? Punchable." Mordo jabbed a finger at the scythe slung across Li Feng's shoulders. "That relic screams your name. Combine it with your… particular energy flavor, and anyone trained at Kamar-Taj could connect the dots."
He lowered his hand, voice hard. "The Ancient One sent me because I know your nature. Otherwise, after you harvested soldiers' spirits in front of cameras, it wouldn't be me standing here—it'd be a combat cadre."
Li Feng shrugged, smirking. As long as it's not her personally, I'll take the field trip. "So what's the message?"
Mordo exhaled, resigned. "The Ancient One's words: 'Is your hide itching? Looking to get yourself stir-fried?'"
Li Feng blinked, scratched his backside on instinct. "Translation?"
"You really don't know? Or you forgot why Kamar-Taj stays hidden?" Mordo asked.
Truth was, Li Feng had never bothered to press. He'd figured the Ancient One just liked her peace and tea. With his own defenses, why care if the world learned he was a mage?
"Because there aren't enough sorcerers?" Li Feng guessed. "Or because Earth leans on tech? If people learn magic's real, they'll storm the gates, civilization regresses?"
Mordo snorted. "If it were that simple, I'd be home. You're circling the edges. The real reason's deeper."
He laid it out. "In our discipline, every spell has a cost. You borrow from the multiverse; the energy isn't yours. It's always there. But there's always a price. Centuries ago, even if people knew, it didn't matter—no technology to replicate it. But then humanity split the atom. That changed the math."
He let the picture build. "If the world learns where magic draws from? They'll treat it as a bottomless new energy source. Best case—phones that never die. Planes that never land. Skies choked with machines."
His tone hardened. "Worst case—arcane warheads. Armies juiced by forces they don't understand. And then? People looking at long-lived mages, demanding the same lifespan. Who pays the bill? Not machines. They don't have a conscience to carry the debt."
He held Li Feng's gaze. "So what's the tab humanity racks up?"
Li Feng rubbed his jaw, thoughtful. "Point being—we're not ready to play with that current." He raised a brow. "When would we be ready?"
Mordo spread his hands. "Other species out there wield it cleanly. Their tech dwarfs Earth's. Maybe when your civilization's at that level, you'll be ready. Until then—"
He clapped Li Feng's shoulder. "You've drawn too many eyes. The Ancient One asks: no more public casting. Use your invisibility. And curb the shadow work. If you don't, next time it won't be me."
He sliced a new portal into being. One foot through, he added, "And that scythe? Change its look. Right now it's a beacon. Enough sorcerers have seen you to make the connection. It's only a matter of time."
The portal snapped shut, leaving nothing but desert heat, a humming camper, and two sweating beers.
Mordo vanished with a neat fold of his sleeve. Not a grain of sand dared complain. Li Feng stayed where he was, frowning into the heat.
Invisible casting wasn't the problem—his cloak could blur him from sight and nudge bystanders away. The headache was the other half of the warning: no shadow work in public. That shaved off his sharpest edge.
His kit split four ways—time, space, soul, fire.
Time-stop was the one he'd drilled hardest. He couldn't freeze heaven and earth, but he could lock the air between them. Scaling it was the riddle. One target at a time was clean. A crowd? What—hand out numbers and ask them to queue?
Space was portals and the mirror dimension. Lethal if you got creative—catch a head in a closing gate or toss someone into crystalline exile and let extradimensional weather do the rest. Strong, yes. Practical, not always.
Soulcraft was his hammer—and Mordo had just told him to holster it where cameras could see. What now, respec into medic and spam healing?
He wasn't beating the Ancient One, and flirting his way out of it wasn't his style. Until she took her "bow," he'd shelve shadow work where witnesses gathered. And even after her bow… that was halftime, not curtain. The universe had a way of letting her walk onstage whenever he got loud.
Which left one path: light the world up—smarter.
He cut for the RV with a wry twist of his mouth. Lucky for him, he had a high-IQ, heavily published Bruce Banner sitting in his camper. If he couldn't use soulcraft in public, he'd make fire science his new religion.
Inside, Banner sat a little stiff on a very soft leather couch. After the expandable cabin, the cavernous storage, and a firsthand demo of magic, he'd tabled the skepticism. Back straight, he'd been peppering Kreacher with questions like a grad seminar.
Li Feng pushed the skull mask up. Banner pointed at the phone. "Agent Coulson called. Asked me to pass a message—Mr. Parker's surgery started tonight, should finish around midnight." He glanced toward the blazing window and did the math. "If we're really in Afghanistan, that's… nearly now in New York."
He hesitated, the apology rough in his voice. "When I turn into the Hulk, I lose control. I'm sorry your friend was hurt because of me. I hope the surgery goes well."
Li Feng scratched his head. Maybe "overnight surgery" sounded like "critical." He didn't correct it. He wasn't a doctor, didn't have X-ray eyes. He knew Ben wasn't in mortal danger. Beyond that—nothing helpful. And a little guilt could make reasonable asks easier.
He dropped onto the opposite couch, passed the scythe and his empty mug to Kreacher. "Another cold beer." He flicked Banner a grin. "And a change of clothes for Dr. Banner."
"Banner," he corrected, embarrassed and grateful in the same breath as Kreacher handed him a neatly folded bundle. "Thank you." He cleared his throat. "The man just now—he was a sorcerer too, right?"
"Mordo," Li Feng said easily. "Sanctum sorcerer. Keeps magical wildlife from stomping the planet."
He rubbed his hands together, half smile, half warning. "For certain reasons, most mages stay in the shadows. Except me, due to—"
"I get it," Banner cut in quickly. "I won't talk about seeing him."
"Good." Li Feng snapped his fingers.
The mirror dimension unfolded with a soft crystalline hum. Angles tessellated. Light doubled back on itself.
"We're in the mirror space," he said. "Adjacent reality. Human comms can't punch through the boundary. Safest place to talk."
Banner stood, touched the air, and felt glass yield like water. "So you do have listening devices in the camper," he said before he could stop himself—and winced. Of course governments were listening. And not everything here was enchanted. Some of it screamed bleeding-edge tech—like the wall-mounted 3D projection screen that promised indecently good movies.
Li Feng held up two fingers. "Two favors."
Banner sat again, palms open. "No promises. I'm still a wanted man." He nodded: go on.
"Hard for me," Li Feng said, smile crooked, "easy for you. At least one of them. You're a famous physicist."
Being called that by a sorcerer felt like a category error. Banner blinked. "All right."
Li Feng pointed skyward. "First, teach me how to run nuclear fusion."
Banner followed the gesture, confused—until the word clicked. The sun. A sorcerer wanting to study fusion… not the ask he expected.
Li Feng coaxed a flame to life in his palm. "Some of what I do has a scientific spine. This?" The fire tightened, brightening without growing. "I'm forcing molecules into violent collision."
Banner didn't need more. He swallowed. "You want to turn that into… a controlled thermonuclear reaction."
Li Feng dipped his chin. Exactly.
He'd tried the books—primers, papers—come up with a pounding skull and no traction. Recipes were one thing. Cooking was another. He needed a chef, not a shelf.
Banner rubbed his temples and leveled him a look. "Your magic is terrifying. Do you understand what happens if you lose control of a fusion reaction?"
"A thermonuclear blast." Li Feng nodded at the crystalline horizon. "Which is why we're in the mirror dimension. Spillover doesn't hit the real world."
Banner weighed the trapdoor under the conversation—memory edits, persuasion, the fact that Hulk's psychic resistance wasn't what fan forums thought. Refusing wouldn't help. Better to shape it. "Then we start at the basement. Plasma physics. Confinement. Lawson criteria, transport, instabilities. You'll need a foundation. It'll take time."
A yes was a yes. Li Feng grinned, a little relieved, a little wolfish. "Second favor."
Banner exhaled, braced. "Hit me."
"Given how long Ross has chased you, you're a professional at counter-surveillance." Li Feng tipped his head at the cabinets and trim. "Find every bug in the RV. Don't touch them—just tag the spots and tell me what each device does."
That loosened Banner's shoulders. "That I can do." His gaze roamed the cabin with a pro's interest. "While I walk you through fusion, I'll sweep the place. And take a closer look at this tech-meets-magic ride."
Kreacher appeared with two new frosted mugs. Li Feng handed one over, then snapped—an empty volume marched off a shelf and flipped open midair, pages waiting.
"Lesson one," Li Feng said, flame spinning tight above his palm like a caged star. "Teach me how to make this behave."
Banner stared at the bead of fire—white at the core, whispering like wind in pine. He took a slow drink, set the mug down, and shifted into professor mode.
"First rule," he said. "No miracles. Physics or magic—if you want fusion, you pay. Temperature, pressure, confinement. We start with why the sun doesn't blow itself apart."
Li Feng's smile sharpened. "Perfect. And while we're paying, let's make sure the bill lands in the mirror and nowhere else."
Outside the glasswork world, the camper hummed in the desert heat. Inside, a physicist began to sketch a star, and a sorcerer learned how to hold one.