December 31st, 1999. 11:47 PM. Bern.
The ballroom glittered with old money and new ambition.
Crystal chandeliers scattered light over marble floors polished to perfection. Laughter mingled with the clink of glasses as champagne flowed freely. Men in sharp suits and women in elegant gowns moved with the quiet confidence of those used to power—the kind of people who built empires with a toast and destroyed them with a whisper.
Arthur Hayes stood near the bar, nursing a glass of champagne he had no intention of drinking, and observed.
This was the event of the year—an exclusive New Year's Eve gala. Scientists, tech moguls, defense giants, venture capitalists, and a few celebrities for show. Every major player from the crossroads of technology, finance, and influence was here.
Phoenix Group had received its invitation months ago. Arthur hadn't planned to come. Not until Daniel mentioned that Tony Stark would be attending.
That gave him pause. He remembered this night—or fragments of it—from the canon. And that changed everything.
His gaze drifted over the crowd, studying faces, gestures, and conversations.
Most people here wouldn't have recognized him even if they tried.
Phoenix Group's public image was Daniel Wang—charismatic, media-savvy, the perfect frontman. Arthur preferred it that way; he worked best in the background, away from spotlights and microphones.
But tonight wasn't about staying hidden.
He'd come for a reason—to see Tony Stark. To see the man before the cave. Before the arc reactor. Before the armor.
—
A year ago, Arthur wouldn't have had time for parties. Back then, his life had been a blur of training, research, and business—each pulling him in a different direction.
That changed the moment he perfected clone magic. The same technique he'd used during his second encounter with Mephisto—the one that had saved Ariadne.
It had taken months of trial, error, and near-catastrophic soul strain. The breakthrough came when he stopped trying to forge independent copies and instead treated them as extensions—limbs of consciousness, tethered directly to his core soul.
The clones weren't suited for battle. They were fragile, easily disrupted, and incapable of handling complex magic for long. But for everything else - reading, observation, planning, and day-to-day work - they were invaluable.
And because they were connected directly to his soul, each clone was fully him. There was no need for memory transfer or synchronization. Everything a clone saw, read, or learned streamed back to Arthur instantly. Every insight, every word, every discovery became part of his mind in real time.
It was like having multiple screens open in his head, each running a different program, all perfectly in sync.
At present, Arthur maintained four active clones.
Clone One sat deep beneath Hogwarts, in the Chamber of Secrets, meditating to sense the flow of Ancient Magic that ran through the castle. That was his top priority. Months of daily practice had honed his perception to the point where he could feel its presence clearly—almost touch it. Yet, control remained just out of reach.
Clone Two occupied the non-magical wing of his home library, surrounded by technology manuals—both Kree holographic data and modern human research. Scientific knowledge poured steadily into Arthur's mind, neatly catalogued and cross-referenced.
Clone Three resided in the magical section, poring over Slytherin's hidden tomes and the rare grimoires he'd collected from across the world. Every spell, every fragment of arcane theory, was studied and absorbed.
Clone Four managed the Phoenix Group alongside Daniel—overseeing projects, drafting expansion plans, and coordinating operations.
Meanwhile, the original Arthur—the main body—focused on applying everything his clones learned. He practiced martial arts, refined his chi control, practiced magic and mystic arts and pushed his limits further each day.
It was exhausting in ways few could imagine - like balancing five trains of thought at once, each speeding down its own track. But Arthur's soul was strong. He could bear it.
For now, a quiet voice whispered in the back of his mind. But how long until something breaks?
He ignored it. There was too much to do and too little time in a mortal lifetime. Every edge counted.
His gaze swept across the ballroom again. Familiar faces stood out—names from books he'd read, people Daniel had mentioned, and even a few he recognized from the Marvel timeline. Maya Hansen was here. And in the corner, quietly mingling, was a man who looked very much like the doctor who would one day save Tony Stark in a cave.
But still no sign of Tony Stark. Looked like he was going to be fashionably late.
Bored, Arthur's mind drifted to something more recent—an event that, in a strange way, connected back to Stark.
The Maximoffs.
Not a name that would mean much to most people—not yet. But one day, everyone would know it. Especially hers. Wanda Maximoff—the Scarlet Witch. A woman whose grief would shake realities.
He hadn't planned on saving her. The idea had never even occurred to him. When the Sokovia conflict broke out ten months ago, Arthur barely noticed. Wars came and went; there was always one somewhere.
And besides, his focus had been elsewhere: Ancient Magic, clone refinement, Phoenix Group's explosive growth.
The Maximoffs had been furthest from his thoughts.
Until that meditation session nine months ago.
—
Flashback: March 1999
Arthur sat in his meditation chamber, awareness expanded, sensing the ambient magical energies flowing through Britain. Hogwarts blazed like a beacon to the north. Smaller magical communities pulsed with familiar rhythms.
But then—something else.
A spark. Distant. Unfamiliar.
Not Ancient Magic. Not wizarding magic. Not chi, not dimensional energy. This was something primal. Raw. Chaotic.
Arthur's eyes snapped open. His consciousness focused entirely on that sensation, abandoning all other threads of thought.
What was that?
The pulse came again, stronger this time.
Arthur stood abruptly. Closing his eyes, he focused on the signature and traced it. The source pulled him east—across Europe, over forests and mountains—until the thread ended in a place filled with noise and fear.
Without hesitation, he Apparated.
He emerged into chaos.
Explosions lit the night sky. Missiles screamed overhead. Buildings burned and crumbled under relentless shelling. Gunfire echoed through narrow streets filled with smoke and dust.
Arthur found himself standing in the middle of a war zone.
Sokovia.
And in that instant, everything connected.
Sokovia. Wanda Maximoff. The Scarlet Witch. Chaos Magic.
He remembered her story—the girl who'd watched her parents die, the bomb that never exploded, the hatred for Tony Stark that shaped her life. Her own descent into vengeance, manipulation, and tragedy. He remembered how, in another life, millions had wept for her. How he had wept for her.
He decided, in that moment, to give her a different story.
Arthur extended his senses again, searching for that chaotic spark. It pulsed faintly to the west. He followed, stepping carefully through debris and flame, until he reached a half-collapsed apartment block.
The structure groaned under its own weight, threatening to fall at any second. Through the cracks and dust, he saw them—two small figures huddled beneath a slab of concrete.
A boy and a girl, no older than ten, covered in dust and blood. They stared at something in front of them with the kind of absolute terror that transcends fear.
A missile.
Stark Industries logo clearly visible on its side. Embedded in the rubble less than three feet from them. Unexploded.
Arthur's gaze sharpened.
This was the scene. The moment that defined the Maximoff twins. The origin of their hatred for Tony Stark. The spark that would drive them into Hydra's arms.
But the missile hadn't gone off. Not because it was defective. Because of her.
There was Chaos energy wrapped around its detonation mechanism. Subtle. Unconscious. But present. Wanda had somehow prevented it from going off through sheer desperate will.
That must have been the magic he'd felt. Fate, perhaps, guiding him here.