Sorcerer in the Marvel Universe

"Whew... you nearly gave me a heart attack."

Phil Coulson slowly lowered his pistol after recognizing the man who had appeared behind him. His pulse settled as the hooded figure removed his cowl, revealing Evenson Richter.

"You know," Coulson sighed, holstering his weapon, "sneaking up behind a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent is a good way to get yourself shot, Mr. Richter."

Evenson shrugged.

"Maybe. But if that happened, you’d be the only one getting hurt."

Coulson gave him a flat look.

"Could you at least let me keep a little dignity?"

He knew full well a handgun wouldn’t do anything to Evenson. That didn’t mean he enjoyed having the fact stated out loud.

His attention drifted to the sinister staff in Evenson’s hand.

"What’s the story with that thing?"

The staff was crowned with several grinning skulls and looked every bit as ominous as the magic Evenson had just displayed.

Evenson casually twirled it once.

"This? Carved from cow bones."

He grinned.

"Murder’s still illegal, after all."

Coulson blinked.

That... somehow raises even more questions.

"So it’s fake?"

"Pretty much."

"Then why carry it?"

Evenson thought for a moment before answering with complete sincerity.

"...Because it looks cool."

Coulson stared at him in silence.

"I walked right into that one."

His eyes shifted to Evenson’s robes instead.

The deep violet garment looked like something pulled straight out of a high fantasy epic. Intricate runes shimmered across the fabric, blade-like pauldrons floated weightlessly above his shoulders, and the dark vortex behind him completed the illusion.

"Don’t tell me the outfit’s fake too."

Evenson brushed imaginary dust from his sleeve.

"The Vestments of the Voidheart."

He smiled with unmistakable pride.

"My class armor."

He paused.

"Well... my homemade replica, anyway."

"It has a few magical properties, but nothing impressive. If I were wearing the genuine set..." He nodded toward the battlefield behind them. "...that oversized iron turtle wouldn’t have survived the Rain of Fire."

The robes were indeed Evenson’s own recreation of the legendary Warlock armor.

Compared to the original, however, they were little more than a convincing imitation.

They provided only a slight boost to spellcasting, but that wasn’t why he’d made them.

Their true value lay elsewhere.

The enchantments dampened the magical fluctuations produced while casting, making it far more difficult for other spellcasters to detect him.

Just as importantly...

They looked incredible.

If he was going to fight monsters, he wasn’t about to hide his face behind a ski mask or wrap a strip of cloth around his head like some bargain-bin vigilante.

Style mattered.

Creating the outfit had also forced him to lean into the only Azerothian professions that were remotely practical on Earth.

Tailoring.

Engineering.

At first glance, Warcraft’s professions looked wonderfully versatile.

Reality was considerably less generous.

Gathering professions were out immediately. Evenson had no interest in wandering mountains with a mining pick, a skinning knife, and a bundle of herbal tools strapped to his back.

Most crafting professions weren’t any better.

Enchanting?

That required magical equipment to disenchant.

He didn’t even own a proper set of gear yet.

His robes were replicas.

His staff was literally carved from cattle bones.

Where exactly was he supposed to find enchanted equipment to break down?

Alchemy sounded useful until one remembered a rather important detail.

Earth didn’t exactly grow Peacebloom.

Or Silverleaf.

Or any of Azeroth’s other alchemical herbs.

And Jewelcrafting?

If he already had enough precious gemstones to level that profession, he certainly wouldn’t have been taking odd jobs just to afford a decent car.

That left Tailoring and Engineering as the only realistic options.

Even then, money remained a problem.

Engineering, in particular, was an expensive hobby, and his progress in it was practically nonexistent.

Evenson’s gaze drifted toward the recording equipment inside Coulson’s vehicle.

"So..."

"You got the whole fight?"

He smirked.

"Do all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents enjoy spying on people, or is that just you?"

Coulson coughed awkwardly.

"It’s not spying."

"It’s intelligence gathering."

"S.H.I.E.L.D. needs to understand what you’re capable of."

"I figured."

Evenson nodded.

"But one recording isn’t enough to understand a warlock."

"Honestly?" Coulson admitted. "That fight wasn’t what I expected."

Evenson chuckled.

"What were you picturing?"

"Me flying in on a broomstick?"

"Waving a wand around while shouting dramatic incantations?"

He shook his head.

"You still don’t understand magic."

"I’ve already thrown most of my old ideas about magic into the trash," Coulson replied.

Evenson raised an unconvinced eyebrow.

"...Most of them," Coulson corrected.

Then his expression grew serious.

"What surprised me wasn’t the way you fought."

"It was how quickly you won."

"We’ve seen what that armor can do. I thought the battle would drag on for quite a while."

"Instead..."

"It was completely one-sided."

Evenson couldn’t help smiling.

So they expected me to get beaten to within an inch of my life before pulling off some dramatic comeback?

He waved dismissively.

"It wasn’t that overwhelming."

"I just took advantage of a weakness."

"The Iron Monger wasn’t fragile."

"If I’d tried to overpower it with direct destructive spells, things would’ve been much messier."

That wasn’t the whole truth.

The larger reason was that high-level Destruction magic tended to attract attention, and attracting the attention of powerful people was something Evenson preferred to avoid.

Instead...

"I used curses."

A sly smile crossed his face.

"The armor may be incredibly durable."

"But inside it..."

"...there was still an ordinary human."

Throughout his dealings with S.H.I.E.L.D., Evenson had cultivated a reputation for being remarkably straightforward.

Not completely honest.

Just honest enough.

Coulson believed him.

Unfortunately, that only led to another concern.

"You can cast curses?"

"I thought you said you’d thrown away your old ideas about magic."

Evenson sighed.

"Curses aren’t what folklore makes them out to be."

"They’re simply a subtler branch of magic."

"They’re difficult to detect."

"And even harder to defend against."

He shrugged.

"No voodoo dolls."

"No killing someone from the other side of the planet."

Coulson wasn’t particularly comforted.

’Difficult to detect’ and ’hard to defend against’ were already terrifying enough.

Evenson stretched lazily.

"That’s enough lessons for tonight."

"You wouldn’t understand the finer points even if I explained them."

He turned to leave before glancing back over one shoulder.

"And don’t forget our agreement."

"Otherwise..."

A mischievous smile appeared.

"...I might actually start making voodoo dolls."

Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. keeps its promises."

"I’ll hold you to that."

Evenson gave a casual wave and strode away with every bit of the mysterious dignity he’d carefully cultivated.

After only a few steps, he stopped.

Turned around.

Walked back.

"Coulson?"

"Yes?"

"...Could you give me a ride home?"

"The guys who dropped me off misunderstood what I meant when I told them to wait farther away."

"They went all the way home."

Silence.

Coulson stared at him.

The terrifying warlock who had harvested Obadiah Stane’s soul minutes earlier now looked faintly embarrassed, standing beside the road asking for a lift.

"...Get in."

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