In his hidden laboratory, Sebastian stood at the test bench, gripping two blood bags as the potion simmered before him, its surface rippling with a latent, almost malevolent power. He deftly sliced open one of the bags, pouring Bruce Banner’s blood into a glass bowl and then dripping it into the crucible with practiced care, mindful to work quickly before the viscous liquid could clot.

As the potent blood met the brewing mixture, the potion’s hue darkened, swirling into a deep, ominous crimson that drew a brief, contemplative nod from Sebastian, who assessed its shifting color with the eye of a master alchemist. Satisfied—at least for the moment—he reached for his wand to stir the volatile blend, but before the tip could touch the surface, the concoction blackened in an instant and erupted in a violent explosion that sent shards of the crucible and a spray of inky liquid hurtling outward in all directions.

Yet before any of the shrapnel could so much as graze his skin, the debris froze mid-flight, repelled by the shimmering force field cast by the Ring of Harnessing Power on his left hand—a precaution that had saved him more than once from the volatile marriage of magic and science. Sebastian remained utterly unscathed, though his calm expression now bore a thin veil of frustration at yet another failed attempt.

With a precise flick of his wand, he murmured Scourgify, banishing every trace of the ruined potion and the shattered remains of the crucible in a swirl of vanishing sparks. His eyes shifted to the remaining blood bag still resting on the bench, and his lips tightened into a thin line; yet another failure in his increasingly desperate attempt to craft a potion capable of channeling Banner’s unique power.

“Potions are never simple,” he muttered to himself, his voice low as he acknowledged what he already knew—this was a puzzle only Tony and JARVIS, with their fusion of arcane theory and cutting-edge technology, could hope to help him solve.

Pushing aside the disappointment, Sebastian turned his attention to a sleek device occupying the far side of the bench—a wand-crafting instrument, a marvel of enchanted engineering and Stark Industries precision. Inside the device, a wand lay nearly finished, its body carved from pine harvested in Asgard’s ancient forests and its core the nerve tissue of a serpentine beast from the Nine Realms—a rare and formidable creature, a trophy Thor had gifted him during his last visit.

Wand-making, once an indulgence he had hidden away in the dusty corners of his past life, now flourished as a passion rekindled; not every wizard possessed the knowledge or the delicate touch required to craft such tools, but Sebastian’s lifelong obsession with collecting wands had, over time, evolved into a genuine mastery of their creation.

Lifting the newly completed wand from the cradle of the device, he turned it slowly in his fingers, feeling the subtle hum of the pine’s living heart merging with the serpentine core—a resonance that spoke of power, cunning, and loyalty all at once. Satisfied that it was flawless, Sebastian tucked the wand carefully into the folds of his cloak before stepping out of the laboratory, emerging through a hidden door disguised as a simple closet, and conjuring a golden portal that shimmered like a sunlit tear in the fabric of the room.

He stepped through and emerged in a quiet, tastefully furnished office—a private psychological clinic that served as Kaecilius’s foothold in the mortal world, a mundane façade behind which the former Master of Kamar-Taj could work undisturbed. Before embracing the mystic path, Kaecilius had been a respected psychiatrist, and now, having returned to his roots, he blended that old profession with the subtle tradition of Kamar-Taj sorcerers who often posed as healers, priests, or doctors among unsuspecting mortals.

“Mage Shaw,” Kaecilius said, rising smoothly from behind his mahogany desk, his tone carrying the same measured calm that had once steadied patients on the brink of despair.

Without a word, Sebastian placed a finely carved wooden box before him, its surface inlaid with runes that glowed faintly in the soft light. “Inside is your wand,” Sebastian said, his voice low but resolute. “You’ll also find memory crystals containing ten basic but essential spells—nothing you can’t master on your own. If you encounter anything beyond your grasp, you know how to reach me.”

Kaecilius inclined his head, his eyes locked with Sebastian’s in a silent exchange of trust and ambition. “Understood, Mage Shaw,”.

Without another word, Sebastian left the clinic and stepped into the bustling streets. His eyes drifted to Stark Tower, its spire piercing the New York skyline. The Chitauri invasion loomed, a shadow he couldn’t ignore. Time was short—he needed power, and he’d found a dangerous path to it.

A portal flared, carrying him to San Venganza, its ruins bathed in moonlight. The once-holy ground was a husk, scarred by old battles. Before he could move, dark clouds swallowed the moon. A figure stepped from the crumbled church—an old man in a black robe, leaning on a cane, hair slicked back.

“Mr. Shaw,” the figure said, voice smooth as silk. “You didn’t keep me waiting long.”

“Mephisto,” Sebastian said, unfazed. “Our sense of time differs. It’s been a while for me.”

Mephisto’s eyes lingered on the rings on Sebastian’s left hand—the Ring of Harnessing Power, the Ring of Frost. His gaze paused on the Ring of Frost, a flicker of interest crossing his face before he smiled. “Fast or slow, you’re here to deal, yes?”

“Yes. I’ll hand over the San Venganza Contract. But I want a price that satisfies me.”

Mephisto tapped his cane on the ground. “Name your desire.”

“Anything?” Sebastian’s tone was sharp.

“Anything.”

Sebastian’s lips curled into a calculating smile. “Then give me one-tenth of Hellfire’s authority.”

Mephisto’s smile vanished. In the shadowed night, his face warped—a glimpse of something monstrous before his human guise returned. His eyes fixed on Sebastian, cold and hungry. “Do you know what you’re asking for, Shaw?”

“I know the Contract matters to you,” Sebastian said steadily. “It’s not just a hundred souls—those are nothing to you. It holds deeper weight, enough to meet my price. I’m not asking for all of Hell’s authority—just a fraction of Hellfire’s power. A fair trade.”

Mephisto’s grip tightened on his cane. His voice dropped low. “You know more than most, but authority isn’t a bauble. I could grant you Hellfire’s power. One-tenth of its authority? Impossible.”

Sebastian locked eyes with Mephisto, his expression unyielding. He’d expected the demon to balk at parting with one-tenth of Hellfire’s authority. The true extent of Mephisto’s hold over Hellfire was uncertain, but Sebastian knew the Spirit of Vengeance—bound to the Ghost Rider—held a share that defied Mephisto’s will.

“How much will you offer, Mephisto?” Sebastian asked, voice steady.

Mephisto’s lips curled. “If you insist on Hellfire’s authority, I’ll grant you one ten-thousandth. That should suffice.”

Sebastian’s gaze hardened. “Too little. Five percent, no less.”

“One in a thousand,” Mephisto snapped. “That’s—”

“Five percent,” Sebastian cut in. “Refuse, and I’ll deliver the San Venganza Contract to the Ancient One. The Vishanti would find it… compelling.”

Mephisto’s face twisted. Shock and fury flared in his eyes. Overhead, storm clouds churned, lightning splitting the sky. A thunderclap revealed a red-skinned demon towering behind him, its roar shaking the ruins of San Venganza.

Infernal pressure slammed into Sebastian like a crashing wave. He exhaled, his wand appearing in his hand. His eyes glowed blue-white, arcs of electricity crackling around him. A bolt of Asgardian thunder split the clouds, flooding the ruins with harsh light. Lightning pulsed above, forcing Mephisto to pause, wary.

Asgardian magic, Mephisto realized. This mortal wasn’t just Kamar-Taj’s stray ally—he’d studied under Asgard’s masters. No mere wizard.

The demon behind Mephisto faded. He resumed his human guise. “Very well,” he said, voice tight. “Five percent of Hellfire’s authority. In return, you deliver the San Venganza Contract—intact.”

A parchment scroll appeared before Sebastian, its edges gilded with swirling patterns. He gave it a glance and shook his head. “No ornaments.”

Mephisto’s brow twitched, but he tapped his cane. The scroll shifted into plain parchment.

“English. Clear terms. No flourishes,” Sebastian ordered.

The contract changed again, words stripped to blunt legal clarity. Sebastian raised his wand, casting Oculus Veritas—his sight sharpening to microscopic detail. He scanned the text for hidden runes or traps. Finding none, he scattered twenty-five runestones inscribed with Asgardian sigils. From his cloak, he drew a single golden hair—Frigga’s. Her magic shielded his divination from interference, a safeguard born of her teachings.

Mephisto’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the hair. His scowl deepened—Sebastian’s ties to Asgard ran deeper than he’d guessed. With a snap of his fingers, the scroll transformed again—now just a single white sheet, its terms plain and binding.

Sebastian’s runestones glowed, confirming the pact was clean. He nodded, a thin smile tugging at his lips. “As expected of Hell’s Lord—your contracts are flawless.”

Mephisto’s glare was cold. “Sign it, Shaw. No more games.”

Sebastian drew his wand across his left index finger. A thin line of blood welled up. He let a single drop fall onto the contract. It flared and dissolved into a streak of blood-red light. The pact was sealed—ironclad.

He produced the San Venganza Contract, its weight heavy with damned souls, and tossed it to Mephisto. The demon caught it, crushing it in his fist. A black ruby, egg-sized and pulsing with inner fire, formed in his palm. He threw it to Sebastian.

“Five percent of Hellfire’s authority. Our business ends here.”

Sebastian caught the ruby, its heat biting into his palm. “Thank you, Lord of Hell.”

Mephisto’s form flickered, growing transparent. His voice lingered, sharp as a blade. “Shaw—one day I’ll reclaim this slight. Don’t give me an opening.”

“You’ll find none,” Sebastian shot back.

With the ruby clenched tight, he vanished in a vortex.

He emerged on a desolate mountain in the northwest, the air sharp and cold. The Ancient One stood waiting, her presence calm amid the barren peaks.

“Mage Shaw,” she greeted. “Did it go smoothly?”

Sebastian nodded, holding up the ruby. “I have the Hellfire authority. I need your help, Ancient One. Shield me from prying eyes—cosmic or otherwise—while I claim it.”

She inclined her head, her hands tracing subtle glyphs. “I’ll guard you.”

———————–

Author’s Note:Hey everyone! Just a quick update — my classes have started, so my schedule is a bit tight right now. Because of that, there might be days when updates are uneven or I can’t post daily. But don’t worry — I’m not dropping this story! All I ask is for your continued support and your votes. That’s all I need to keep going. Thank you for reading and staying with me on this journey!

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep