Sorcerer in the Marvel Universe

The moment Melinda picked up the broken fire axe again, Evenson instinctively backed away several steps, raising both hands in surrender.

"Once a month!" he shouted. "Six months, give or take! That’s as fast as I can safely do it!"

"Really?"

Melinda lowered the axe slightly, though she made no move to put it down.

"Really!"

Evenson nodded so vigorously it bordered on desperate.

"If you don’t mind ending up looking like Tyler, I can dump all the power into you today."

Melinda’s expression twitched.

She remembered Tyler’s true form.

She was willing to pay a heavy price for strength...

But becoming that was asking a little too much.

"...Fine."

She finally tossed the broken axe aside.

"I’ll believe you."

Evenson silently thanked every deity he could think of.

"So," Melinda continued, "how strong will I become after all the stages are complete?"

"At your current level?"

Evenson relaxed now that the axe was safely on the floor.

"You can only empower relatively simple objects."

"Swords."

"Knives."

"Bows."

"Anything mechanically complicated, like a crossbow, is still beyond you."

Melinda frowned.

"That’s it?"

"Don’t underestimate yourself."

Evenson shook his head.

"Right now, if you enchant a stone and throw it, it’ll hit with roughly the force of a grenade."

"...Now we’re talking."

She nodded with satisfaction.

"And after that?"

"As your power grows, you’ll be able to enchant increasingly complex machinery."

He began clearing space on the workbench, moving the pressure cooker back into the center before plugging it in and switching it to its warming setting, clearly preparing it for Melinda’s next treatment.

"Eventually, firearms."

"Then armored vehicles."

"If you’re physically strong enough..."

He smiled.

"...there’s nothing stopping you from enchanting an entire fighter jet."

He paused for effect.

"Or even a battleship."

Melinda blinked.

"...That’s ridiculous."

"That’s progression."

Evenson shrugged.

"So yes."

"You absolutely need armor and a proper sword."

She slowly nodded.

"I suppose that makes sense..."

Then another thought occurred to her.

"But what about a mount?"

She crossed her arms.

"A knight is supposed to have one."

Evenson fell silent.

After several seconds, he quietly glanced toward Claire.

Please tell me your shop doesn’t also stock horses.

Claire answered with an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

Seriously?

I run a fake occult shop that secretly sells anime collectibles.

I have cosplay armor.

Who keeps a horse in storage?

Evenson cleared his throat.

"Well..."

"As it happens..."

He briefly considered buying an actual horse and empowering it with blood magic.

Fortunately, reason prevailed.

"The Teutonic Knights were famous for fighting on foot."

He nodded confidently.

"So naturally..."

"...Chaos Knights are also highly proficient at dismounted combat."

Melinda stared at him.

"...You’re using the Teutonic Knights as your example?"

"The deeply religious crusading order?"

"...Moving on."

Evenson ignored the question.

"Besides, within another three stages you’ll probably be able to do exactly what Ghost Rider does."

"Enchant a motorcycle."

"So the mount problem solves itself."

Melinda snorted.

She looked ready to ask another question.

Before she could...

A husky trotted down the basement stairs with a cellphone clenched between its teeth.

"Habs."

Evenson’s smile was painfully forced.

"Long time no see."

Ever since the Sorcerer Supreme had left and the awkward romantic chaos had erupted, every one of Evenson’s summoned demons had vanished without a trace.

Cowards.

The lot of them.

They might normally behave like idiots, but when it came to survival instincts, they possessed astonishing clarity.

Watching their master get caught in a relationship disaster?

Awkward.

Helping him?

Even worse.

So they had unanimously decided to retreat upstairs and quietly play board games until the danger passed.

"Who is it?" Evenson asked.

Habs dropped the phone onto the table.

"The slave race."

He spoke with such magnificent disdain that, somehow, the expression was perfectly readable even on a husky’s face.

"...Who?"

Evenson frowned.

"I don’t know anyone by..."

Before he could finish, an enraged voice exploded from the speaker.

"If that stupid mutt calls me that one more time, I’m sending him to a laboratory for dissection! Whatever’s left can go into a stew!"

Evenson nearly threw the phone across the room.

He slowly turned toward Melinda.

She wore exactly the same stunned expression.

Because they both recognized the voice.

Nick Fury.

Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.

"Hmph!"

Habs puffed out his chest.

"Cocoa Bean, listen carefully."

"If you insist on calling me a stupid mutt, then you’ve gravely insulted my dignity."

"I suggest addressing me as Lord Habs..."

"...or perhaps Mr. Dog."

"Then I might consider showing you proper respect."

Another incomprehensible roar erupted from the phone.

This time Fury wasn’t even forming coherent words anymore.

He’d been driven past rational anger.

Melinda watched the exchange in amazement.

She’d heard rumors before.

But seeing it firsthand was another matter entirely.

The man who had remained perfectly calm while the Chitauri invaded New York...

...had just been reduced to incoherent rage by a dog.

"...Director."

Evenson hurriedly rescued the phone.

"It’s Evenson."

"Please don’t hold it against him."

"He works for me."

"...Unfortunately."

"So, what happened?"

Several deep breaths came through the speaker.

Fury eventually regained enough composure to speak.

Then his next sentence made Evenson’s face go rigid.

"What?"

He shouted.

"What do you mean something happened to Coulson?"

He immediately held out an arm to stop Melinda, who had already rushed to his side after hearing Coulson’s name.

"...Didn’t the resurrection succeed?"

"It did."

Fury’s voice was grave.

"The procedure was successful."

"Coulson came back."

"But..."

"Something is very wrong with him."

A brief pause followed.

"...Is Melinda with you?"

Fury suddenly asked.

"I can see her car parked outside your shop."

S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicles all carried satellite tracking.

There was no point denying it.

"Yes."

"She’s standing right beside me."

Evenson grinned wickedly.

"She stopped by to discuss my disability compensation."

Melinda shot him an expression somewhere between annoyance and resignation.

Then she quietly pulled out her phone, opened her banking app, and transferred the money.

If he was going to keep up the act...

She might as well commit to the bit.

Silence filled the line.

Fury suddenly realized something horrifying.

Everything that had just happened...

The shouting.

The argument with Habs.

Every embarrassing second.

Melinda had heard all of it.

"...Then she knows about Coulson?"

"I’m afraid so."

Another sigh.

"...Fine."

"She was going to be involved eventually anyway."

His tone became all business again.

"I need you to examine Coulson."

"Immediately."

"I’m on my way."

Evenson gestured for everyone to head upstairs.

"I’ll drive to Headquarters now."

"No."

Fury stopped him.

"You won’t."

Evenson frowned.

"...Why not?"

As the group emerged from the basement, Fury answered.

"Because Coulson isn’t at Headquarters."

"And where he is..."

"...you can’t reach by car."

Evenson froze.

Slowly...

He lowered the phone.

At that exact moment, the front door opened.

Nick Fury walked into the shop, slipping his phone into his coat pocket as though nothing unusual had happened.

Evenson stared at him.

"...Does S.H.I.E.L.D. not charge for phone calls or something?"

"You were standing outside."

"You could’ve just come in."

Fury answered without missing a beat.

"I placed the call collect."

He said it with complete seriousness.

Evenson rubbed his forehead.

"...You know..."

"I’ve suddenly decided Habs had an entirely reasonable point."

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