After a crash course in fusion theory and a meal to settle nerves, Banner finally surrendered to exhaustion. Li Feng didn't need sleep—his mind ran like an engine that never idled—but Banner wasn't built for transcontinental whiplash in seconds. Better to let him rest before Hulk woke up cranky and decided to remodel the RV.
By the time the desert cooled to night, dawn was breaking in New York. Li Feng rapped on Banner's door with a screwdriver.
Banner opened up, hair mussed, eyes clearer after a few hours. He accepted the tool with a suspicious look. "What's this for?"
Li Feng tapped his ear and swept a hand around the cabin. Banner sighed. A screwdriver. No schematics, no kit. He was supposed to sweep a space-bending RV for bugs with one lonely hand tool?
He gave Li Feng a haunted look. "Mr. Austin, is it too late to back out? Four storage lockers the size of small houses, and I'm armed with… this? Be honest—did you invent this job just to keep me locked up?"
Li Feng chuckled. "Not that dramatic. The lockers are all magical gear. Everywhere else? Yours."
That still left a lot. Banner turned the screwdriver in his hand, defeated. "Fine. Take me with you to New York. This isn't enough. I'll need components. Books. If I'm teaching you physics, books help."
Li Feng nodded. "Kreacher, get him a shoulder bag. And some cash." He winked at Banner. "Hope you like shoulder bags."
Kreacher shuffled out with a plain satchel and a sad handful of bills. "Boss… less than three hundred dollars. All to Mr. Banner?"
The air went still.
Li Feng was a farmer when he wasn't bending space—food, clothes, tools, he produced himself. As a sorcerer, nothing he truly needed could be bought. Banner wasn't better off—fugitives didn't keep savings accounts.
They shared a look. Li Feng scratched his head. "Uh… enough? If not, I can—wait." His eyes narrowed. "Obadiah's assets. Kreacher, did you record his accounts?"
The attendant shook his head miserably. "Boss, you told Mr. J.A.R.V.I.S. to record. But we never retrieved the deposit box."
Li Feng snapped his fingers. "Right. I'll just call JARVIS."
Kreacher's ears drooped. "Kreacher failed. Kreacher should be punished." He started to headbutt the wall until Li Feng waved him off.
"Go tend the garden."
Banner watched him vanish through a locker. "That was… guilt spiral with a side of self-harm."
"Old scars," Li Feng muttered. "He'll be fine."
Two cloaks drifted out of a locker. Li Feng handed one over. "Repelling cloak. Wear it, and people overlook you. I've also got the deluxe—turns you invisible. You could flip Ross off to his face and he wouldn't see it."
Banner slid into the cloak, grim. "I prefer not to be anywhere near Ross. Visible or invisible."
"Fair."
Li Feng flicked open a portal. A heartbeat later, they stepped into the top floor of a glass tower.
"Where are we?" Banner asked.
"Stark Industries," Li Feng said. "Pepper's office, to reach JARVIS. Money first, shopping later."
They didn't make it that far. Tony was already on the floor, arc reactor glowing brighter than before.
Li Feng's grin crooked. Timeline shift. Without the palladium death clock, will he still pass the suit to his Air Force buddy? And what about that live-demo bathroom gag?
Tony spotted them instantly, striding over with restless energy. "Buddy, that Manhattan block party last night—hell of a show." His gaze flicked to Banner. "Robert Bruce Banner?"
Banner shook his hand, then shot Li Feng a look. I thought the cloak made us invisible.
Li Feng shrugged, nodding toward the glowing circle in Tony's chest. "That reactor? He can spot us. Without it? Not a chance."
Tony grimaced. He hated wearing it twenty-four seven, hated what it did to his ribs and stamina. But without it, he was a corpse. With it, maybe he'd outlast his toys, his empire—and Pepper.
He rubbed his brow. "Doctor Banner, can you give me a minute alone with Austin?"
Before Banner could move, Li Feng cut in. "Hold up. Tony, spot me some cash. I'll pay you back after I move Obadiah's assets into my name."
Tony's mouth twitched at the memory. He rolled his eyes. "Name an amount. Call it a gift. But Obadiah's estate stays with his family."
Li Feng arched a brow.
Tony pushed through, fast. "I killed him, no regrets—life or death. But his family wasn't in the war. He watched me grow up. I'm not leaving his kid on the street."
Li Feng shrugged. "Relax. If I didn't need books, I'd have forgotten already. Unless magic reagents go on sale for cash, those little green slips mean nothing to me."
"Good." Tony flagged an assistant. "Potts has a card. Grab one."
Li Feng turned to Banner. "Favor? Pick it up. Buy physics texts. Tonight—" he jabbed ceiling-ward—"rendezvous on the roof."
Banner nodded, excused himself with the assistant.
Tony scanned the floor, then tugged Li Feng into a quiet corner.
Li Feng eyed the reactor and smirked. "Beautiful piece. Shame your dad was born too early. He should've been first to see it."
Tony blinked, eyes narrowing. "You know what this is." His jaw tightened. "Time magic. You knew what my father left me, and you didn't tell me?" His voice dropped, raw. "Do you have any idea what I went through? The pressure? Every morning, testing for palladium poisoning, wondering if today was the day. And you just watched. We're through."
Li Feng rolled his eyes. "Cut the break-up drama. I haven't even asked why Uncle Ben's on your payroll."
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. "I saw his file. A man like that belongs at my company—"
Li Feng waved him off. "Spare me. Do I look like I buy that? Be straight."
Live through a terrorist ambush, end up with shrapnel camping by your heart, and even Iron Man starts living with a pit of dread.
Yes, Stark's proudest invention—the arc reactor in his chest, the armor that made him headline news—was genius. But none of it erased the private misery.
He'd considered surgery to remove the shrapnel. JARVIS ran the numbers and handed him the grim truth: odds of survival were abysmal. Stark wasn't eager to roll those dice. Who volunteers for death?
But days ago, after the fight with Obadiah, he'd seen what the Fountain of Immortality could do. For the first time, he saw a path forward: go under the knife, and flood his system with Fountain water to keep his life force roaring while the surgeons worked.
Bathe the operation in immortality.
Li Feng listened, silent.
Of all the so-called heroes, Stark irritated him most. Not the man—his cheats.
Take Captain America. On paper, two buffs. Against Li Feng? Worthless. Wangcai—his pet dementor—could drain the star-spangled man without breaking stride.
Buff one: the serum's stamina. "I can do this all day"? Cute. Against a dementor that could keep it up for a year? See how long before biology filed a complaint.
Buff two: the shield. Vibranium boomerang that mocked physics. Li Feng would pay good money to open Newton's coffin, haul him into sunlight, and ask how a disc of metal returns to sender every time. Against a dementor? What's he going to do, block despair?
Most of the rest—Banner, Romanoff, Barton—were worse. Blind against the unseen.
Among the rare few who could perceive a dementor, Stark's arc reactor gave him that edge. Fine. Let him see. He couldn't stop it.
The real danger was Stark's brain. Give him time and he'd build gadgets to let everyone see dementors—then engineer counters. That cheat code made Li Feng itch.
If Stark removed the reactor, he'd lose the sightline. Studying what you can't observe is harder. And without the reactor's boosts, wouldn't he be easier to enthrall with a spell? Worth testing.
After a long beat, Li Feng asked, voice even: "That credit card you handed me. Putting Uncle Ben on your payroll. Those weren't favors—they were leverage. So you could ask for Fountain water later?"
Stark pinched the bridge of his nose. "Not ask. Buy."
"With what? Dollars?" Li Feng scoffed. "You think I care about that?"
"The no-man's-land I built for you," Stark said smoothly. "Title's in your name."
Li Feng snorted. "Did I miss the memo where the Fountain went on clearance?"
Stark leaned closer, voice low. "I know you sold Fury three drops. Price wasn't shared. But you'll sell it. Tell me what you want. Between money and connections, I can deliver."
Li Feng had already decided he wanted Stark reactor-free. He rubbed his chin. "How much are we talking?"
"One thousand cc," Stark said.
Li Feng stared. "How much?"
"1,000 cc." Stark spread his hands. "You won't let me study it. I don't know how much life it grants."
"That's not even a liter!" Li Feng snapped. "What's your plan—hook it up like a saline drip?"
Stark tilted his head, thoughtful. "At first, I figured sips. Or have the surgeon inject it if things went south. But now that you mention it, an IV isn't a bad—"
Li Feng flipped him off. "Get lost. Die if you have to. Bringing you back would be a waste of resources."
Stark returned the gesture instantly. "Look who's talking. You'll sell to Fury but not me? You watched palladium shred me. Friend of the year. Time to make it right—sell me a liter."
"They paid in something worthy," Li Feng said. "You? You want it for free?"
That tone—Stark heard negotiation. He straightened his jacket. "Name it. Even if it's magical, money opens doors."
"Magical, yes." Li Feng pulled parchment from his sling bag. A quill floated. Words etched themselves. "Sign a confidentiality covenant, and I'll tell you what I'm after."
"After?" Stark eyed it. "You said find. So it isn't in the arcane vaults—you think it's loose, in civilian hands?"
Li Feng nodded. "Slipped from a big player. I only know it was buried somewhere. No owner—yet."
Stark scanned the clauses, chuckled. "Even the alphabet boys aren't this uptight. Delete all data from JARVIS the second I find it? No peeking at contents? What is this, a cursed VHS?" He signed anyway, handed it back. "All right. What are we hunting?"
Li Feng signed too. The parchment flared and dissolved to ash. JARVIS immediately pinged Stark about an anomalous energy envelope—noninvasive, but binding.
"Now it's official," Li Feng said. He split open the mirror dimension, crystalline walls glinting. "The Darkhold. Last seen in a shuttered energy lab. One team member in prison, one paralyzed, the rest 'dead'—but their souls are locked in a special container."
"Wait." Stark's eyes widened. "Souls. In a box."
Li Feng arched a brow. "You've met resurrected Obadiah. Don't act surprised humanity has souls."
"Names. The lab. The program. Survivors," Stark pressed.
Li Feng spread his hands. "That's all I've got."
Stark stared. "…You know how many energy labs close every year? I'm supposed to track that?"
"Which is why I asked for help," Li Feng said. "If I knew, I'd be renting an excavator."
He shifted tactics. Stark's brain was a cheat; even bound, he'd try to peek. Better to make the warning clear. "The Darkhold is also called the Chthon Scrolls. Chthon etched his sorcery on indestructible parchment. The book corrupts minds. In tens of thousands of years, I know of five who read it without breaking—and one of them wrote it. So stick to the covenant. Do not open it."
"What about you?" Stark asked. "If it's that dangerous, why chase it? And if I hold it—what happens to me?"
"So long as you don't open it, it can't tempt you." Li Feng tapped his chest. "As for me, I can't read it either. Never said no one could. Remember how I said it used to be in a big shot's hands?"
Stark's eyes narrowed. "You know this big shot. You're planning to return it—or have him teach you how to read the Darkhold."