Sorcerer in the Marvel Universe

A simple utility spell like telekinesis was well within Claire’s abilities.

In fact, Evenson had never understood why Kamar-Taj, despite having such a limited selection of practical combat spells, had invested so heavily in household magic.

They had spells for everything.

A cleaning spell that could dry-clean clothes automatically. An organizing spell that could return a room full of scattered books and papers to their proper places in an instant. Even a spell that could keep refilling whatever drink was in your cup.

They had the whole domestic-magic package.

Meanwhile, Evenson had searched through his entire warlock grimoire and hadn’t found a single spell remotely comparable.

If he wanted something useful around the house, he had to develop it himself.

Sometimes he suspected that this was why the sorcerers weren’t more impressive in a fight.

They’d spent so much time making magic convenient that they’d forgotten to make it dangerous.

Azeroth’s highborn elves would have understood the priorities perfectly.

Instead of wasting all that magical talent on self-refilling drinks, why not figure out how to turn a magical blade into a flying sword?

Something that could decapitate an enemy from a hundred paces away.

Now that would improve combat effectiveness.

Unfortunately, Claire’s normally effortless telekinesis was behaving strangely today.

She extended one hand toward the vial in Evenson’s grasp and cast the spell.

The blood inside merely trembled.

"That’s strange..."

Claire frowned and tried again.

This time, the blood shook more violently, but the vial still didn’t move.

She glanced sideways at Evenson.

"Evenson?"

Claire was certain she’d cast the spell correctly.

Which left only one possibility.

He was messing with her.

"It’s not me."

Evenson chuckled.

"Try increasing the output."

Claire narrowed her eyes.

Then she planted her feet, raised both hands, and took the stance of someone preparing for a fight.

"Hup!"

This time, the spell worked.

Unfortunately, she put a little too much force into it.

The blood shot through the glass like an arrow leaving a bow and flew straight toward her.

Claire jumped.

Fortunately, she managed to regain control before the blood splashed all over her.

"That is bizarre..."

She stared at the blood hovering in midair.

"It feels incredibly heavy. The amount of magical force I was applying should have been enough to pull an adult man across the room."

"Exactly."

Evenson stepped beside her and carefully collected the floating blood back into the test tube.

"This blood has an unusually high capacity for holding magical energy. It takes considerably more power to make it respond."

Claire’s expression changed as understanding dawned.

"So...that’s why that woman was able to give birth to the Son of Satan?"

She knew exactly whose blood they were examining.

She also knew Nadia’s unusual circumstances.

A normal human woman who had somehow carried the child of a demon.

"Not the only reason," Evenson said. "But probably the most important one."

Azeroth was famous for having remarkably few biological barriers between species.

All sorts of races could produce hybrids.

But dragons?

That was another matter.

For the record, dragonspawn and dragonkin didn’t count. They still possessed pure draconic bloodlines. Their forms had simply been deliberately altered during development.

As far as Evenson knew, Azeroth had only one true half-dragon born from an actual cross-species union:

Cenarius, son of Ysera, the Green Dragon Aspect, and Malorne, the White Stag.

And Malorne wasn’t exactly an ordinary animal.

He was one of Azeroth’s most powerful demigods, powerful enough to stand against Archimonde.

That example alone proved something important.

A stag could father a child with a dragon because their bodies were capable of supporting the other’s power.

The problem wasn’t necessarily biological compatibility.

It was power.

Ordinary mortal races simply couldn’t withstand the power carried by a Dragon Aspect’s unborn child.

Their bodies were too fragile.

The reverse was equally true.

The same principle explained why the birth of a Son of Satan was so extraordinarily rare.

Such children were intended to become the future vessels of powerful demons. A demon would normally place the majority of its power inside the unborn child, leaving only its authority behind as the key capable of unlocking that power later.

Setting aside the fundamental differences between humans and demons, there was another enormous obstacle.

How could an ordinary human woman possibly carry a child containing the power of a greater demon?

She wouldn’t survive the pregnancy.

The power inside her would destroy her long before the child could be born.

Nadia was different.

Her body possessed an extraordinary capacity to withstand supernatural power.

That was what had allowed her to carry Blackheart’s child safely to term.

Evenson’s eyes narrowed.

"What an incredible constitution."

He stared thoughtfully at the vial.

"And Blackheart only treated her as a disposable vessel for producing his child."

A faint smile crossed his face.

"What a waste."

He tapped the glass.

"I think I should make better use of that trait."

Claire’s eyes narrowed as well.

She gave him a dangerous look.

"What are you planning?"

Her voice sharpened.

"You’re not thinking about having a child with her too, are you?"

"What kind of person do you think I am?"

Evenson frowned.

Then his expression brightened.

He took Claire’s hand and smiled affectionately.

"As for children..."

He leaned closer.

"How about we have one someday?"

Claire’s face immediately turned red.

"Tch. You idiot."

She muttered the words through a pout, but she still leaned comfortably into his arms.

The moment was almost sweet.

Almost.

The laboratory door suddenly burst open.

"Evenson, we’ve found—uh..."

Melinda stopped dead.

She stared at the scene in front of her.

Claire’s eyes went wide.

"Wait!"

She immediately shoved Evenson away.

Then, apparently deciding that wasn’t enough, she added a flying kick for good measure.

Evenson slammed into the wall.

He stared at Melinda in disbelief.

Seriously?

You got divorced and you’re single now. Does that mean you have to ruin everyone else’s romantic moments too?

"What happened?"

Evenson glared at her.

Melinda remained completely unfazed.

She simply handed him a tablet.

"We located Carrigan half an hour ago. We’re already above their position."

Evenson caught the tablet.

The screen displayed a night-vision feed of a quarry.

There were quite a few people below, along with several military-style trucks.

"All of these people belong to Carrigan?"

"Most of them don’t."

Melinda pointed toward the screen.

"Carrigan seems to have been badly frightened by what happened last time. He’s buying some heavy weapons to protect himself."

She paused.

"The men down there belong to a Russian arms dealer named Milkhakov Berikov."

"What did he buy?"

Evenson sounded genuinely curious.

"Javelins."

Melinda’s answer was flat.

Evenson’s expression changed instantly.

"Then get the plane higher."

Melinda stared at him.

So did Claire.

Claire looked genuinely confused.

"What’s wrong with you?"

"Javelins are anti-aircraft missiles."

She gave him an incredulous look.

"After all those hours of playing Call of Duty with me, did you seriously learn nothing?"

Evenson fell silent.

He had no good answer.

...

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