A blaring truck horn was like a slap across Ian's eardrums.
"Damn it! Great Fortune Celestial Venerable!" He instinctively jumped back, his spine slamming "bang" against the street corner's fire hydrant. The cold metal through his thin T-shirt was accompanied by the sound of the hydrant deforming under the strain.
Fortunately, the fire hydrant did not break enough to start spraying water.
"Are you trying to get killed, you bastard! Don't you know you're blocking traffic?" The truck driver leaned halfway out the window and roared. The Santa Claus ornament hanging on his rearview mirror shook with the motion.
"First of all, I was standing in a crosswalk. Secondly... I hope you actually remembered to buy insurance." Ian stepped forward and fiercely kicked the stopped heavy truck twice.
This immediately sent two of the truck's wheels flying off.
Before the driver could even react.
Ian directly tore off the truck's fuel tank with his bare hands and tossed it onto the bed of a passing pickup truck. The passing driver probably realized he had just received a gift from nature.
"Vroom~"
He floored the gas pedal and sped off with his full load of plunder, disappearing around the street corner in the blink of an eye. However, his getaway speed was nowhere near as fast as Ian's running speed.
"Hello! Is this 911! I've been robbed by a little kid! Yes... He stole my gas tank, and he had accomplices, this must be a premeditated crime!"
"He didn't use any tools, he just ripped off my gas tank with his bare hands, and he kicked six of my truck tires off, so now I have to change my spare tire."
"What? You think I'm joking? I'm not joking!"
"What do you mean, please provide my identity information first? Damn it! Don't think I don't know you're trying to be racist! You white people only cover for your own race!"
"My extended family worked so hard to illegally immigrate from Curry Country, but you won't give them legal status! This is a lack of freedom and democracy!"
"This is the moral decay of... Hello? Hello?"
The rambling Indian driver was yelling furiously into the phone that had already been hung up.
Cops always show up?
Not a chance.
They have to distinguish between real and fake emergency calls.
911 dispatchers in the American police force have quite a bit of discretionary power in this regard.
...
Ian finally stopped after running two blocks. It wasn't because he was too tired, but because his shoes had long since burst open beyond repair, and he didn't want to continue performing barefoot running for passersby.
"No, this world can affect me again? Is this a good thing or a bad thing?" Ian was slightly puzzled. Nobody knew what the so-called Creator meant.
It was one thing for the Creator not to give Ian the title of Merit Saint suspended above his head—a title everyone could see everywhere he went and which came with all kinds of privileges.
But this damn Creator.
They actually incited the will of the universe to use the Great Fortune Celestial Venerable to scare a little boy!
but Ian... After weighing the pros and cons, Ian chose to tolerate it for now. After all, the wheel of fortune turns.
He still needed to grow.
Hanging out in someone else's territory.
He had to endure a little bit of hardship in the end.
"Blast it! Why isn't this new Marvel world a world where heavy trucks haven't been invented!" Ian wasn't genuinely afraid of the Great Fortune Celestial Venerable.
No matter how many trucks and planes were thrown to smash him, his heart would remain calm. He was only slightly wary of the Great Fortune Celestial Venerable when they were on four wheels and showing signs of moving.
No one could clearly state the reason.
Perhaps the after-effects of transmigration were just that hard to erase.
"I feel the malice of the Creator." Ian stared at the completely unglued, tattered shoe on his left foot. The shoe's toe was gaping open, as if mocking his "flying kick a heavy truck" feat.
"If I had known it could affect me, I would have used my fists." Ian mumbled, rubbing his hands together. He caught sight of a warm, yellow tent set up across the road.
[Winter Giveaway - Free Shoes and Clothing, Everyone Welcome.]
This was another sight to see in America.
The wealthy or the churches often provided charitable aid for votes and other self-serving reasons. Since you should take what you can get, Ian immediately went over to thank the wealthy for their generous gift.
"Merry Christmas! May you have a warm winter!"
A volunteer sister handed him a pair of thick work boots.
"I'm not exactly merry, but... thank you." Ian took the brand-new boots, squeezed the sole, and felt the quality was good. He quickly grabbed another pair from the pile of shoes.
The volunteer sister did not stop him because Ian had smiled at her. This was the advantage of being handsome, even as a vagrant, he had an edge.
"Are your eyes contacts? They're beautiful."
She even gave Ian a dreamy-eyed look.
"Thank you."
Ian thanked her again and politely left. He first put on the new shoes and then tied the other pair together with their laces, hanging them around his neck like a string of sausages.
The street was congested with people.
Cars flowed endlessly.
There was a vitality that Ian had never felt in the frozen world before.
He looked around.
Suddenly, he felt his sleeve being tugged.
"Mister, would you like to buy some? To help a poor little boy have enough money to buy a PSP." A child was actually selling small cookies by the roadside.
And he had latched onto Ian.
"It's only five dollars, and I'll even pray to Jesus for you." The little boy in the wool cap held up a tin box containing a few somewhat abstractly shaped cookies.
"Then ask him to talk to you more and send you a game console." Ian didn't fall for it. He felt that the little boy's craft did not deserve a PSP, which even he didn't have.
"Help me out, please help the child."
The little boy's eyes were red, giving him a pitiful look.
"Who isn't a child? If you keep bothering me, I'll report your mother and your grandmother, saying they conspired to sexually harass me. Believe me, I'll win."
Ian's low tone intimidated the little boy in front of him.
"..."
The boy could only put away Ian's used tactic, gazing timidly as Ian gradually disappeared around the corner. His young mind had probably received a major shock today.
"Having to start socializing from scratch in this world again is so annoying." Ian was feeling a bit down. He walked aimlessly on the street, the dazzling shops blurring before his eyes.
It started to snow.
The weather was somewhat erratic.
The cold wind carried snowflakes down Ian's collar, making him shrink his neck. This did have a slight flavor of the Doom Winter, but the temperature was far from that cold.
[Greenwich Village - Bleecker Street]
Ian walked past the street sign. Christmas decorations flashed brightly on both sides of the street. Pedestrians hurried past, wrapped in heavy coats, their white breath momentarily hanging in the air before dissipating.
In front of a three-story Victorian brownstone row house.
A small table covered with a purple velvet cloth was particularly conspicuous.
On it sat a crystal ball, tarot cards, and a crooked sign.
[Tarot Readings]
Behind the small table sat a horse-faced man draped in a cheap red cloak. His beard was trimmed neatly, but the hairstyle on his head looked wildly ravaged by a tornado.
"Young man! I see worry in your face. Clearly, you've been having a lot of bad luck lately. This is a sign of your fate star being dim. Why don't you try a tarot card reading?" He was dramatically shuffling the tarot cards, and upon seeing Ian pass by, he immediately flashed a mysterious smile.
He looked exactly like a fraudster.
"No need, thank you."
Ian didn't stop, maintaining basic politeness. He politely declined the man and continued walking. The fortune teller sighed regretfully behind him, lamenting the sluggish market.
Ian didn't hear this.
His attention was drawn to the television in the window of an electronics store on the street.
"What the heck!"
Ian's golden eyes contracted violently.
His listless demeanor vanished completely.
It was replaced by a shiver of shock. On the screen, a figure in a familiar uniform walked onto a stage, and the audience, resembling a talent show, erupted in intense cheers.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" The host's incredibly passionate voice, vibrating the entire street through the surround sound system, announced, "Let's welcome tonight's headlining superstar—SPIDER! VORTEX!"
As soon as this was said, a lot of people on the street were drawn to the television in the window.
"It's Spider Vortex!"
"Oh my God! I love him so much!"
"His Vortex Spray is still a classic that no one else can surpass!"
The onlookers beside Ian were all whispering to each other.
Ian couldn't hear any of it.
He rubbed his eyes and confirmed again that the person on the talent show stage was wearing the same superhero uniform as in his memory, but now, that young boy was standing on the stage.
[Peter Parker]
Subtitles on the TV displayed the boy's name.
"Dammit!"
Ian couldn't help but take a few steps back.
The superhero Spider-Man, Peter Parker, was wearing a sequined, modified uniform, with a grinning, toothed opening cut into his mask, performing a split followed by a backflip on stage!
"Gentlemen! Ladies! The New York boy is here! Where are the applause and screams?" Peter Parker grabbed a rope on the stage and spun himself around like a human gyroscope. His red and blue bodysuit was studded with glowing LED lights, and the spider logo on his back had been changed to an exaggerated fluorescent pink polka dot pattern.
Music.
Rhythm.
Spinning.
Dancing.
"!!!"
Ian was stunned.
What was he seeing!
He saw Spider-Man dancing wildly on stage!
The background music was deafening.
The passersby gathered around the TV were cheering just like the audience on the screen.
"It's coming! It's coming!"
"Vortex Spray!"
Two children looked extremely excited.
Just then.
"Let's get this party started!"
Peter yelled into the microphone. Then, he performed a knee slide, placed his hands on the ground, and abruptly raised his hips—at this moment, the dumbfounded Ian finally understood what Vortex Spray meant.
"Poof!"
Spider-Man's butt was shooting webs!
A large fan-shaped clump of white webbing spewed out, accurately covering the faces of the judges in the front row! At this instant, the audience in front of the TV and the audience inside the TV simultaneously let out enthusiastic screams.
The atmosphere seemed extremely heated.
A young man with a mohawk, waving a "Spider-Web Boy, I Love You" glow stick, fainted on the spot. Even by the TV, several girls looked like they were about to collapse at any moment.
"??????"
Ian's face hadn't worn a question mark expression in a very long time.
His eyes were wide as kettlebells, not mere bronze bells.
"My eyes! My new eyes are going blind!" Ian closed his eyes and vigorously rubbed his opened jaw, making sure it hadn't dropped straight onto the snow.
Too horrifying!
Was this actually happening?
It was even scarier than the horror stories Jonathan liked to read!
"It must be an imitation show! Or a fake human!" Ian refused to believe the reality he was witnessing. He had a bad feeling. He was dazed as he backed up, standing again in the middle of the street.
"Creator, are you there? If you are, squeak..."
To prevent the Great Fortune Celestial Venerable from reappearing, Ian lowered his voice as he looked up and spoke, "If you are, how about throwing a few hundred gold apples the size of a head over me?"
Despite his careful attempt at a probe.
Ian still received no response.
"No, is this reasonable? Is this right? This..." Ian's genuine shock was cut short as he turned his head and saw a clothing store on the street.
That man.
The man in the Marvel Universe who always insisted he wasn't cheating was standing in the clothing store's glass window, holding his classic shield.
It wasn't a mannequin.
Because Ian's excellent eyesight caught the subtle movement of the man secretly wiggling his neck.
The boy's breathing stopped again.
Perhaps sensing Ian's gaze, the live model in the window—who was only wearing tiny shorts, bare-chested, with perfect muscles—flashed Ian a smile showing his white teeth.
Yes.
The famous Captain America, the first leader of the Marvel Universe, was currently striking various bodybuilding poses in the display window. The olive oil smeared on his abs even glistened slightly under the spotlight!
Ian rushed forward quickly.
He pressed his face directly against the cold glass of the window, his exhaled white breath condensing into mist on the surface. The model suddenly came to life and made a gesture to him, forbidding him from knocking on the glass.
"I must be under one of Tony-sensei's illusions!" Ian's eyes were fixed on the shield in the model's hand, that iconic shield which the model now lifted like a dumbbell.
"Are you really Steve Rogers?"
Ian, unconvinced, pulled the door open and rushed into the store. The doorbell let out a cheerful "ding-dong." The cold wind, carrying snow, chased him inside, leaving a small trace on the antique-style wooden floor.
"That's right, it's me, your favorite Captain America." The model gave a standard eight-toothed smile. His abs flexed with his breathing. His muscles certainly looked technologically enhanced.
"Kid, I know what you're thinking."
Steve struck a pose showcasing his biceps. "Want to feel? The classic that modern technology cannot reproduce. Just one dollar will get you a full minute of touching."
Good heavens.
He had started a pay-per-touch model.
"..."
Ian was struck speechless.
"Why are you doing this here?" He finally couldn't help but ask, his mind filled with a herd of magical creatures known as the Grass Mud Horses stampeding through.
"Uh."
Steve was first taken aback, then showed a look of resignation.
"Sigh, I can't help it. Gotta eat, you know. Those politicians are all bastards who only care about money. Can you believe they're paying me retirement based on World War II standards?"
He put away his exaggerated display, his expression looking somewhat downcast, muttering, "Retirement pay based on 1945 standards? Who the hell could come up with a move like that against me? Fuck! I never had a nightmare like this in the decades I slept in the ice!"
Perhaps because Ian was a kid, Steve's swearing was very restrained, almost equivalent to a mild expletive like "darn it."
"..."
Ian's silence mirrored the deafening noise in his own heart.
"Sorry... but that really has nothing to do with me. It's Tony, it has to be him. His mental state is abnormal, and instead of seeing a doctor himself, he wants to push one onto me."
Ian's expression was quite complex. If he couldn't see that something was wrong with this newly opened world even now, he would be seriously failing his super brain.
"What are you saying?"
Steve was momentarily confused, not understanding Ian's meaning. He glanced at Ian's clothing and suddenly pulled out a small card from his very short shorts.
"You look like a rich kid. I'm streaming live on YouTube tonight at 8 PM. I'll be leading everyone in the 'American Booty Enhancement Project.' Remember to subscribe on time."
"If you want to have a butt like mine, you have to start training it young." Ian didn't dare to take Captain America's card. The man maintained his practiced, professional smile.
"Someone as handsome as me doesn't need a nice butt, it's the nice butts out there that need me." Ian said, picking up a clothes pole nearby.
He used it to adjust Steve's super short shorts, which were slightly revealing.
"Subscribe to my channel, and you can become even more handsome." Steve, still trying to push his wares, was undeterred. However, seeing the clothing store owner approaching from the back room, he quickly resumed his pose.
"Remember to subscribe."
Steve whispered his final reminder and then instantly returned to his statue-like stillness, apparently terrified of having his pay docked for moving.
"Sir, can I help you with anything?"
The clothing store owner approached Ian.
"Pray for me that none of this is real, thank you." Ian knocked over a rack of clothes as he turned to leave, the mannequins' wigs rolling across the floor like colorful mushrooms.
It was clear how much impact this had on the little boy's mind.
"Sorry."
Ian pushed open the clothing store door and rushed out. He wasn't exactly fleeing; rather, he suddenly realized a problem and returned to the area he had passed earlier.
[Greenwich Village - Bleecker Street]
He had been careful to tuck Steve's overly lush body hair back into his spandex shorts.
When the protagonist jogged up to the brownstone row house, the man with the stand seemed to have packed up. Not only was the small table gone, but the villa's main door was also tightly shut.
The cold wind swirled the snowflakes.
Ian stood before the oak door, which was carved with mysterious runes, looking up at the Victorian-style super villa. If he wasn't mistaken, this place should be the so-called Sanctum Sanctorum.
The temple of Kamar-Taj.
From the outside, it looked no different from the surrounding houses, just a bit prettier, with a French Baroque architectural flair and a distinctive Mansard roof.
Before the building was constructed, this place was used by a Native American shaman to seal demons. Later, it became a mass grave and a site for cult killings.
Eventually, it became the domain of Kamar-Taj, the home base for the sorcerers of the Marvel Universe's Earth, and at some point, the originally wicked place became the Supreme Sorcerer's headquarters in New York.
It was also Doctor Strange's residence.
And if Captain America and Spider-Man had become characters like that, the street hustler Ian had encountered earlier was likely someone whose identity was self-evident.
"I can't take this at all. This is not the Marvel journey I wanted." Ian was extremely depressed. The gargoyle on the spire cocked its head, as if mocking his hesitation.
After more than ten seconds of internal struggle.
The boy took a deep breath, raised his hand, and knocked—_dong_, _dong_, _dong_.
The knocking was loud.
Unfortunately, no one answered him.
"This is too strange." Ian mumbled, withdrawing his hand. A layer of fine verdigris clung to his fingertips. "Don't the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj even maintain the door knocker of the Sanctum?"
It wasn't that Ian was nitpicking.
This was genuinely baffling.
The Sanctum Sanctorum, as the crucial building for the Supreme Sorcerer to guard the Earth and the universe, was an important node in the protective barrier. Logically, it should be regularly maintained.
How could it look like it was falling apart, almost like one of America's Air Force fighter jets?
"_Dong dong dong~_"
Puzzled, Ian knocked on the door again. This time, after the knock, the door seam seemed to widen a bit, and a wisp of very plant-like incense drifted out from inside the house.
"Is this an invitation? Or is the door unlocked?"
Ian tried to push the door.
The heavy oak door slid open silently, revealing the magnificent hall inside. Floating candle holders cast a warm glow, illuminating the thin layer of dust on the railing of the spiral staircase.
It looked like it hadn't been wiped down in months.
"Is anyone home?"
Ian politely poked his head in and asked. His voice echoed in the hall, startling several pigeons nesting on the chandelier. This also allowed him to see where the pigeons were flying.
Amidst the falling feathers.
The purple velvet folding table was stored in a corner. There was also an armchair rocking back and forth, and the horse-faced man Ian had seen before was lying on it, looking leisurely.
The man was dressed even sloppier than when they met on the street—dark blue pajama bottoms poked out from under his sorcerer's robe. His left slipper was missing, and the sock on his right foot had a hole in it.
He was flipping through a copy of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes with his slender fingers. On the hardcover, Sherlock Holmes's pipe had been colored into the shape of a magic wand with a highlighter pen.
"Mister, why aren't you continuing your stall?" Ian stepped onto the faded Persian rug, his boot sinking slightly into it. His naturally sociable nature prompted him to ask.
"Because I always pack up once I've earned 200 dollars for the day." The man answered subconsciously, then, as if suddenly realizing something, he abruptly snapped the book shut.
"Wait!"
The man suddenly stood up. The hot tea next to him spilled onto his pajama bottoms, but he didn't seem to care. He looked at Ian with a sense of startled uncertainty.
A red cloak automatically flew up behind him.
Identity verification was successful.
"How did you get in!?"
Doctor Strange stared, utterly incredulous.
"Maybe because the door wasn't locked?"
Ian pointed behind him, adopting a slightly embarrassed expression.
"This has nothing to do with whether the door is locked or not! What about the Sanctum's protective spell?" Doctor Strange rushed to the doorway in three strides, checked everything, and his expression grew even more astonished.
"The protective spell is fine! Only those I permit can approach my house, and you, you didn't have my invitation." Doctor Strange suddenly turned around from the doorway.
His face held no anger, but excitement. "This proves that the Sanctum itself invited you, which means you are probably a world-shocking talent born to be a sorcerer!"
Doctor Strange made what he thought was a reasonable judgment.
"..."
Ian was silent for a moment.
"Are you trying to make a deduction like Sherlock Holmes?"
He found himself increasingly unable to understand the superheroes of this world.
Out of place.
That was probably the feeling.
"Huh?"
Doctor Strange was momentarily confused.
"You figured that out?"
He seemed a little embarrassed, letting the cloak scratch his head for him.
He was truly exhibiting a kind of extreme laziness.
"Don't copy that again next time."
Ian sighed deeply.
"It doesn't resemble him at all, but even so, it still makes me easily jump to a Sherlock Holmes story."
His words left Doctor Strange baffled.
After pondering for a long time.
He still couldn't figure out if Ian was complimenting him or criticizing him.
"Stephen Strange? Former neurosurgeon?" Ian was feeling quite moody, so he didn't continue the small talk but confirmed his identity information with Doctor Strange.
Hearing this.
Doctor Strange was initially stunned.
"You even know that?" Then, as if he had "deduced" something, he patted his forehead. "It looks like you have extraordinary talent in precognition!"
"That's fantastic! At least you won't starve!"
"Kid, are your parents nearby? Never mind, that's not important, I can handle them—it's mainly up to you. Do you want to consider changing careers to become an incredibly impressive sorcerer?"
"Seriously, no joke, you have the potential to become the Sorcerer Supreme!"
"I am the Sorcerer Supreme. Don't you think this cloak of mine is cool? You don't even have to wait for me to die. As soon as you learn the magic, I'll give it to you, and I'll immediately find a place to hang myself!"
"Seamless promotion! It couldn't be better!"
Doctor Strange spoke quickly, but that didn't mean his mind was working quickly. He rattled on and on, his intention to trick Ian was altogether too obvious.
"..."
Ian glanced left and right.
He found no trace of any other sorcerers.
He mostly understood.
"Is Kamar-Taj left with just you now?"
Ian's tone was probing.
Doctor Strange's excited expression instantly froze at this moment.
"Uh, it's not just me, it's just that the others... the others don't have such high talents, you know—it seems you've already dabbled in the world of magic."
"Are you from a family of sorcerers?" Doctor Strange forcibly changed the subject. The technique was clumsy. He was clearly trying to conceal something, wanting to engage in a bit of back-and-forth with Ian.
However.
Ian didn't want to play mind games with Doctor Strange.
"No, I'm not from a family of sorcerers, I'm from the Positive Energy Family... Damn it, can this world be normal for once? Compared to learning magic, which isn't so important anymore..." Ian interrupted Doctor Strange, who was about to continue his persuasive speech. "I actually want to know what's going on with this world."
He stared intensely at the Supreme Sorcerer in front of him.
"What do you mean, what's going on?"
Doctor Strange looked confused.
"You're out on the street doing fortune-telling, Captain America is modeling in a clothing store, and Spider-Man is off doing a striptease... Damn it, I really hope he's just doing a striptease!"
Ian held his forehead.
Even he was finding it hard to accept such an absurd world.
"Oh, you mean those two? That's normal. They're just trying to make a living." Doctor Strange lay back down on the chair, his tone carrying a sense of rightful commonplace that shouldn't be there.
The red cloak behind him flew back onto the coat rack.
"But they're superheroes!"
Ian covered his head.
"No, I have to see the Ancient One, I have to see Eternity... Hurry up and tell Eternity that I have earned merit for Marvel, I have shed blood for Marvel, I deserve an answer."
He could accept an absurd Marvel.
The boy, who had finally been a hero once, just couldn't accept that his heroic act had created such a weird and ridiculous world.
"Eternity? If I knew how to latch onto a big shot like that, would I be here reading novels?" Doctor Strange picked up The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes again.
"What are you hiding in your pants? I can feel the aura of magic." Doctor Strange asked while reading, and he conjured a chair for Ian.
But Ian had no intention of sitting down.
"A demon book?"
Ian pulled out his collection from his pants. Honestly, he still didn't understand what this book was. Perhaps Doctor Strange could help him identify it.
Although the worlds were different.
Some things still had commonality.
Ian's Creation God Book
This book liked to change its own name. Ian didn't mind, but he still held this flatterer book and walked forward, attempting to seek identification from the Marvel Universe's Supreme Sorcerer.
However.
"What the heck is this? The words are warped into monsters, I can't understand them at all."
Doctor Strange looked at Ian suspiciously. "As for demons? Are you trying to scare me? A ten-year-old sorcerer should already know that demons only exist in bedtime stories."
His words carried a hint of disdain.
Ian's pupils constricted sharply.
He sensed something new and wrong once again.
"What do you mean? You've never seen a demon? Never fought a Dimensional Lord? Dormammu? Cyttorak?" Ian, with his super brain functioning normally, keenly caught crucial information.
He immediately pressed for answers.
While he was at it, he snatched The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes from Doctor Strange's hands.
"Who are Dormammu and Cyttorak?" Deprived of his book, Doctor Strange could only reluctantly answer Ian. In his heart, he had already treated Ian as the successor who would replace him.
He had to be patient.
He still needed to trick the boy into joining his order.
"They are Dimensional Lords, also called Dimension Masters."
Ian swallowed hard.
He seemed to have realized what Tony, the God of All Machines, had done.
Sure enough.
"I don't know what a Dimensional Lord is." Doctor Strange picked up his empty teacup and drank a few sips. When he put the cup down, it was full, as if he had just spat into it.
"And no one has ever seen a demon, because demons are just stories used to scare children. Maybe they appear in movies, but at most, they are only products born from people's imaginations."
Doctor Strange's reply was still so matter-of-fact.
Silence descended upon the hall.
"Oh..."
Ian's expression kept changing.
"Tony, you said you weren't affected... Oh, he seemed to have gone silent back then."
His brain felt somewhat jammed.
"Wait, then what kind of magic do you Kamar-Taj sorcerers actually learn? And your cloak, its power should come from the Vishanti, the Trinity, right?"
Ian seemed to have grasped a loophole in this world.
Only.
"Uh... What is the Vishanti? You're confusing me a bit. It looks like you know something about the world of sorcerers, but how is this knowledge mixed with so much fantasy?"
Doctor Strange stood up from his chair and manually took down the cloak that had automatically hung itself on the coat rack. Its somewhat cheap and inferior quality looked very out of place.
"This is my Cloak of Levitation. It's not a creation of some Vishanti; it's a magical artifact I made myself... Heaven knows how much effort I spent creating it."
"But this is how magic is practiced; everything must be achieved by oneself." Doctor Strange's tone was full of emotion. His words also seemed to explain why this place was so desolate.
No creditors!
No backing!
Magic in this Marvel Universe had to be practiced diligently by oneself! The root cause must be the information Tony had included when setting up the Infinity Gauntlet!
Tony had tampered with the information in the blueprint! He mixed in his own private interests!
"Is there no source of magic that bestows power, a shortcut for sorcerers to practice? I mean, an easier way to practice?" Ian swallowed, trying hard to digest the information.
"No."
Doctor Strange shook his head.
He looked at Ian strangely.
"So, there are people in this world lazier than me."
His tone was very emotional.
"Where did you get that magical artifact? Did you steal it from your parents?" Doctor Strange's attention was once again drawn to the wondrous magic book Ian had pulled out. He began to weigh whether he could beat Ian's parents, snatch the child, and bring him back to Kamar-Taj to learn magic.
And just at this moment.
"_Dong dong dong~_"
A knock on the main door sounded.
"That's my takeout."
Doctor Strange was immediately distracted.
He quickly ran to the door.
"You weren't this quick when I knocked just now. Couldn't a boy like me be the one delivering your takeout?" Ian was puzzled, but Doctor Strange looked even more confused.
"You didn't knock. If you had knocked, I definitely would have heard it." Doctor Strange said while opening the door. As the door opened, cold wind rushed in, carrying the scent of cheese.
It was a pizza delivery.
The delivery person was a pretty girl.
Ian found her very familiar.
"Hi, Gwen, you finally aren't wearing leather pants. Do you remember the bond between us? You can't just forget that you owe me over a hundred and eighty favors!"
Ian spoke up to greet her, testing whether this familiar person had memories of the past.
Yes.
Standing outside the door was a girl wearing a wool hat with bunny ears. She was holding a pizza box, her nose red from the cold. This good-looking pizza delivery girl was Gwen Stacy.
"Huh?"
Gwen stared blankly at the boy inside the house.
"Who are you?"
She felt he looked vaguely familiar but couldn't recall anything.
"Me? I'm Ian, the Amazing Boy. The one you begged to be the new Spider-Man, but I refused." Ian keenly caught the moment of daze in Gwen's eyes.
"I knew it! The power of our bond can cross time and space!" Ian was thrilled. He immediately pushed Doctor Strange aside, rushed out the door, and hoisted the bewildered Gwen over his shoulder, running out.
"Put me down! This is kidnapping! It's kidnapping!"
Gwen was instantly scared speechless.
"We have to find Tony! If you still remember me, even just a little bit, then Tony must be the same as you!" Ian had his own plan all along.
"God! What are you talking about? What Amazing Boy? You're just a psycho boy! Damn it! Why does that sentence sound so familiar!"
Gwen punched Ian's back.
But found Ian's back hard as a rock.
"Excellent!"
Ian was ecstatic.
"That's it! The power of the bond is still working!"
He quickly ran across the street.
Behind him.
Doctor Strange, who had been pushed to the ground, looked utterly bewildered, like a husband who had been abandoned.
"You nasty little brat! I was just about to invite you to have pizza! And you treat me like this? Fine, you can treat me like this... Are you coming back to be the Sorcerer Supreme or not!"
He stood up, picked up the pizza box from the ground, and yelled at the outside while opening the box and eating pizza—however, the only thing that answered him was Ian's quickly disappearing silhouette as he sped away with Gwen over his shoulder.
Ian was in a hurry.
Because Ian was about to return.
"Why is he running so fast... Oh my God! He jumped! He's flying!" Doctor Strange looked at the distant scene, and the half-slice of pizza in his hand dropped directly to the ground.
A moment later.
He slowly recovered from the shock.
"It's only been on the ground for ten minutes, I can definitely still eat it."
Doctor Strange picked up the pizza from the ground, closed the door gloomily, and walked back into the Sanctum Sanctorum hall, his greasy hand reaching for The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.
Perhaps.
At this moment.
Something seemingly intangible struck Doctor Strange's mind.
"Wait, what did he say his name was?" Doctor Strange suddenly ran to the back hall of the Sanctum Sanctorum, opened a portal, and crossed an extremely long distance in an instant.
Kamar-Taj.
Stephen Strange crossed the threshold, the soles of his boots clashing against the stone floor.
No greetings from apprentices.
No conversations between sorcerers.
Only the cold wind whistling through the corridors. The empty holy site was quiet. The wooden dummies on the training ground were covered in dust, and a few discarded practice robes still hung on the rack, now weathered.
"I remember that name!" Doctor Strange's footsteps echoed in the long corridor. He pushed open one door after another until he reached the dusty and empty library. Doctor Strange's fingers ran over the sparsely stocked bookshelves, finally stopping at an ancient book with a golden cover.
He carefully pulled it out. The spine let out a faint "creak," as if it hadn't been opened in years. He had to blow off the dust to see the large characters on the cover.
There were no words or magical records in the empty book.
However.
[Ian's Magic Book]
On the cover.
The large characters, which were even more golden than gold, were very conspicuous.
***
Read 20 Chapters early on P-atreon.com/Redestro666