Chapter 176: Chapter 176: The Iron Fist

Arthur stood in his laboratory, staring at the culmination of over two months of tiring work. What had once been a fragment no larger than a fingernail now pulsed before him—a complete heart, blazing with golden fire, suspended inside a containment field.

It hadn’t been easy. Or cheap.

The worktable around him was a battlefield of empty vials, cracked runestones, and discarded tools. Dragon heartstring from the most reputable wizarding suppliers. Phoenix tears in quantities that would make any alchemist faint. Acquiring them had been a journey across borders and shadows.

Then there was the basilisk venom, along with blood he’d harvested years ago from the Chamber of Secrets—priceless and irreplaceable.

Each ingredient had its role. The dragon materials served as the framework, their raw vitality resonating with Shou-Lao’s essence. The phoenix tears stabilized regeneration, preventing the heart from burning itself out as it grew. And to his surprise, basilisk components balanced the volatile energies, keeping the heart’s expansion controlled instead of explosive.

Arthur checked his notes one last time, muttering under his breath, “Almost all my wizarding wealth gone in a few months… good thing it was all stolen wealth.”

Winky, who’d been hovering nearby, wrung her hands anxiously. “Master has spent much galleons,” she squeaked. “Is this going to be worth it?”

Arthur smiled faintly. “Maybe. Maybe not. We’ll know soon. But isn’t money supposed to be spent? For people like us, with magic and time, wealth is just a tool—easy enough to earn or steal again.”

The heart pulsed steadily, its rhythm hypnotic. Perfect. Well almost perfect.

Arthur could still sense faint traces of Shou-Lao’s will inside it. Not a consciousness exactly, but an echo—an ancient instinct clinging to the living flame.

That wouldn’t do.

Arthur wanted the power, not a dragon’s whisper guiding his mind. The thought of being bound to K’un-Lun as its protector was intolerable. He wouldn’t let anyone, living or dead, claim authority over his choices.

So Arthur spent another week performing a kind of spiritual surgery – using Legilimency, soul magic, and mystic arts to extract that lingering will. It was like a delicate surgery. Each misstep risked unraveling weeks of progress, or worse, destroying the heart entirely.

But in the end, the purification worked. The heart burned brighter, its flame pure and silent. Power without personality.

Arthur levitated the glowing heart and guided it to his ritual chamber. Every symbol on the floor hummed in response as he placed the floating heart in the center.

He took a deep breath, steadying his mind. It was time to see if months of effort and a fortune’s worth of resources had been worth it.

But first, a safety check.

He waited. Minutes ticked by. Then, , out of nowhere, a small parchment fluttered into existence before him. Arthur caught it effortlessly.

A single word was written on it in his own handwriting:

Alive.

He smiled and turned his gaze to the Time-Turner resting in the corner of the room. “Well,” he murmured, “that’s as good a green light as any.”

Without hesitation, he plunged both hands into the molten heart.

The reaction was instantaneous.

The heart’s power didn’t simply flow into him, it invaded. Golden fire tore through every nerve, every vein, rewriting him from the inside out. His chi pathways ignited in an instant, expanding under unbearable pressure as foreign energy carved new routes where none had existed before.

Arthur screamed, though no sound emerged. His throat had locked, every muscle seized in agony.

The pain was eerily familiar – like the reconstitution ritual years ago. His body was being unmade and remade all at once. Bones melted and reformed. Muscles tore apart, only to reknit stronger than before.

His magic instinctively fought to heal the damage even as it occurred, creating a vicious loop of destruction and regeneration. Magic and chi worked together just to keep him alive.

Time lost meaning. Minutes or hours, Arthur couldn’t tell. His world narrowed to endurance, to simply surviving the next moment, then the next.

Without Shou-Lao’s guiding consciousness, the dragon’s power had no restraint. It raged through him like a tsunami hitting an unfortified shore, unending and merciless.

But Arthur Hayes had endured worse. He’d touched the raw energy of the Space Stone. He’d rebuilt his own body from the edge of death. This—this was just another wall to break through.

Bit by bit, his body adapted. The chaos found rhythm. The foreign chi started merging with his own, the golden fire becoming part of him rather than an invasion. His enhanced physique, already beyond human, evolved further.

Finally, the agony ebbed.

Arthur collapsed to his knees, gasping for air. The heart was gone—completely absorbed. In its place, his entire being glowed faintly with golden light. Chi radiated from his pores in shimmering waves, flooding the room with warmth and vitality.

He rose slowly, testing his movements. No pain. No weakness. His body felt impossibly light—yet filled with power, a burning pulse under his skin. He glanced at his hands; they shimmered faintly, as though sunlight lived inside them.

He took a moment to test his other abilities.

Magic – a quick Patronus erupted perfectly, a silver falcon even brighter than before.

Mystic arts – golden mandalas formed instantly at his command. Everything worked perfectly, unchanged by the transformation.

Everything was still there. Nothing lost. Only gained.

Good.

Now for the real test.

Arthur inhaled deeply, reaching inward toward his chi. The response was instantaneous. No slow cultivation, no drawn-out meditation. It was there, vibrant and waiting, as though it had always belonged to him.

He focused it into his right hand, compressing the power into his fist. The golden glow intensified, flaring with an orange tint like condensed sunlight.

He punched downward.

The reinforced floor didn’t just crack—it cratered. Shockwaves rippled outward, triggering several of his protective wards. Dust and debris flew everywhere.

Arthur stared at the destruction, then at his unmarked fist, and laughed.

He was the Iron Fist now—or something like that. The difference hardly mattered.

Power thrummed through his veins, demanding release. He needed to test it properly—in a fight, against someone who could actually push him.

K’un-Lun was obviously off-limits. He had no intention of letting them know he’d essentially cloned their god’s heart.

But he knew someone who would appreciate a good fight.

Before leaving, though, he had one last task.

Arthur walked to the Time-Turner, tracing the delicate runes engraved around it. He set the device spinning, opened a tiny temporal window, and slipped a note through—back to his past self.

“Loop complete,” he murmured with a grin.

Then, without hesitation, Arthur changed into his Kree armor. The sleek metal shimmered against the golden light still radiating from his skin.

He lifted a hand, tore open a golden portal, and stepped through—ready to test what he’d become.

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