"How did you do that?"
Tony asked while pulling off his dented metal helmet, his face covered in soot and sweat.
"Do what?" Lucas looked at him blankly, sitting atop a weapons crate with his greatsword resting across his knees.
"That tornado." Tony pointed outside the cave. "I saw it with my own eyes — you waved your hand and the whole thing just… vanished."
For something so wildly unscientific, Tony Stark's curiosity burned hotter than the desert sun.
"Oh, that?" Lucas shrugged. "Just magic. Nothing special."
"What the hell?! Say that again — magic? You're telling me that kind of nonsense actually exists in this world?"
Tony's voice cracked with disbelief. To a man who worshiped science, "magic" was like claiming gravity took weekends off.
Lucas rolled his eyes. "What's so unbelievable about it? A thousand years ago, who could imagine humans would travel thousands of miles in a single day? Or talk to each other across continents? Or fly in the sky — hell, even walk in space?
Science is just another kind of magic, and magic is simply science with a different power source. Take that glowing thing in your chest — who'd believe someone could build a miniature, stable fusion reactor out of scrap metal? Sounds like magic to me."
Tony paused, then gave a slow nod. For once, he didn't have a snarky comeback.
"Heh," he chuckled. "You're an arrogant little brat. I like it. What's your name?"
"Lucas," he said simply, "owner of the Devil May Cry Agency. It's in New York. You should drop by when you're back."
He handed Tony a sleek black business card. Surprisingly, Tony took it, slipping it carefully into a gap in his armor.
"You plan to keep wearing that tin can forever?" Lucas asked, eyeing the bulky, uneven armor.
Tony sighed. "I'd love to take it off, but without proper tools, no chance. Once I get home, I'm melting this junk heap down and starting fresh. Right now it's like wearing an oven — with nails inside."
Seeing Tony drenched in sweat, Lucas rummaged through his bag-space and pulled out two chilled bottles of peach soda, handing one to Tony and one to Yinsen.
"Whoa, ice cold? Where'd you pull this from, kid? Don't tell me that's magic too — or some kind of pocket-dimension tech?"
Tony twisted off the cap and chugged half the bottle. The cold fizz spread through him like heaven itself.
"Thanks," Yinsen said softly, sipping his own drink. Being held captive for weeks, he hadn't had anything remotely refreshing.
Suddenly, the rhythmic thumping of helicopter blades echoed from above. Sunlight spilled into the cave as armed soldiers appeared at the entrance.
"Well, looks like your ride's here," Lucas said, stretching lazily.
Coulson and a man in uniform stepped in — the latter a tall, broad-shouldered Black man with a warm grin.
"Wanna ride in my fun little jeep again, pal?" said Colonel James Rhodes, Tony's best friend and future War Machine — though right now, he was just the concerned soldier version.
Rhodey threw his arms around Tony but immediately winced. "Damn, man! What is this thing you're wearing? You trying to cook yourself alive?"
Tony shrugged with a wry smile, then gestured to Yinsen.
"Rhodey, this is Dr. Yinsen — my savior. If it weren't for him, you'd be collecting pieces of me right now."
Rhodey embraced Yinsen warmly. "Then I owe you my friend's life, Doctor. Thank you."
"Come with me to New York," Tony urged. "Stark Industries will always have a place for you."
Yinsen smiled faintly and shook his head. "No, Tony. I'll stay. My people need me here."
His tone was final. Tony didn't press further. Instead, he handed Yinsen a military satellite phone.
"If anything happens — anything — call me. I'll come running."
The two men hugged tightly, neither hiding the emotion in their eyes.
Across the cave, Coulson finished reporting in to Nick Fury. The director's voice over the comm finally eased — Tony Stark, the son of one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s founders, was alive. If he hadn't been… Fury would've had to answer for it personally.
"Coulson, looks like your job's done," Lucas said casually, waving as he started toward the exit. "I'm heading out."
He stopped at the mouth of the cave and added over his shoulder, "Oh — tell Fury not to stiff me on the payment. Otherwise, I might just drop by your S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ for a… friendly visit."
"Hey! Kid!" Tony called out. "You're not coming with us?"
Lucas looked back with a grin. "Nah, you guys are too slow. I'll take my own route. Oh, and Tony — swing by my office sometime."
He raised a small whistle to his lips — the Chocobo Whistle — and blew. Space around him warped like rippling glass, and within a blink, he was gone.
Tony froze, eyes wide. "That… that was quantum teleportation! Unreal…"
He stared at the empty space where Lucas had stood, muttering, "Devil May Cry, huh? What kind of lunatic names his business that?"
---
Tony boarded the military plane bound for New York, already planning how to rebuild his armor.
Meanwhile, Lucas lounged in the steaming hot springs of his Chocobo Space, washing away the desert's grit. Even his hair had sand in it — that place was hell.
After a long soak and a fresh change of clothes, he stepped back into his office. Only Skye was there.
"Just you?" he asked, dropping onto the couch. "Where's Natasha and Pepper?"
"Natasha got a call and took Pepper with her," Skye replied without looking up. She was busy brushing the fluffy Mog creature sprawled across her lap, which purred contentedly.
The floor around her was a shrine to pet care — toys, treats, and brushes everywhere.
"Huh. Guess S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't as slow as I thought." Lucas stretched, finding the comfiest angle on the couch.
"So," Skye said, glancing over, "you actually rescued that Tony Stark guy?"
"Of course," Lucas said smugly. "When I step in, there's no such thing as failure."
Then he suddenly sat up, face serious. "Oh, right — keep an eye on Stark Industries' stock. It's about to spike in a day or two. Sell everything at the peak. Then, when it crashes again, buy it all back. As much as you can."
Skye blinked. "And then?"
Lucas smirked, folding his arms behind his head. "Then we sit back and count the money."
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