The Shelby Family boasted a thousand-year history, yet was never acknowledged by the pure-blood wizards of the magical world.
Simply because members of The Shelby Family couldn't cast spells like normal wizards at all.
They had to physically touch their target with their wand before they could release any desired spell.
Others could cast Expelliarmus from dozens of meters away—even from across a bloody battlefield.
But The Shelby Family had to press their wand directly against their opponent's wand just to disarm them.
In the magical world, this was nothing short of a cosmic joke.
Over the centuries, The Shelby Family found themselves ostracized by every faction imaginable. No one—absolutely no one—would associate with what they considered a worthless bloodline.
The man in the portrait recounted The Shelby Family's history with bitter fury, his voice rising and falling like a madman's rant against heaven's cruelty and cosmic negligence.
But neither Mother Polly nor big brother Arthur showed the slightest interest in his theatrical grievances.
After all, in their pragmatic view, the magical world was irrelevant to their operations. The Shelby Family's power base lay elsewhere—in the real world of blood, bullets, and business.
Tiger shared their sentiment entirely.
Firearms and military technology advanced at breakneck speed. No matter how impressive the magical world claimed to be, could it truly withstand carpet bombing? Missile strikes? Nuclear warfare?
If the magical world possessed real power, it wouldn't be the British Crown and Parliament calling the shots—it would be that Dumbledore fellow with his intimidatingly long list of titles ruling from the shadows.
Simple logic.
Brutal truth.
Those who wielded ultimate power and shaped humanity's destiny might not be the strongest individuals, but they were undoubtedly the most cunning—masters of riding revolutionary winds, understanding global mechanics, and manipulating resources with surgical precision. At minimum, they represented forces the magical world couldn't hope to overthrow.
"Until six hundred years ago."
Lawrence suddenly leaped onto his chair within the portrait, his painted eyes blazing with fanatical intensity that made him look half-mad with remembered glory.
"Our ancestor Rondo Shelby was blessed enough to become a disciple of the great alchemist Nicolas Flamel..."
Nicolas Flamel proved himself a truly wise mentor. In The Shelby Family's seemingly hopeless situation, he recognized their hidden brilliance—saw potential where others saw only failure.
If normal wizards' magical power could be compared to gaseous or liquid states, then The Shelby Family's magic was purely solid—compressed, concentrated, dense.
This didn't mean they possessed more magical energy, but rather that their power's quality and density far exceeded the norm.
Like how gauze might let water seep through, but would never allow sand or pebbles to pass.
Under Nicolas Flamel's patient guidance and instruction, Rondo Shelby delved deep into the mysteries of Ancient Runes.
Using his family's unique magical properties, he developed an entirely new series of enchantment magic perfectly suited to The Shelby Family's abilities.
Unlike other enchanters who required expensive magical metals and rare powders to achieve proper magical adhesion, Rondo Shelby could create protective amulets, record complex spells, and enhance magical effects using nothing but common materials—wood, stone, shells—powered by the sheer solidity and quality of his own magical essence.
His breakthrough was revolutionary.
Soon, Rondo Shelby's affordable enchanted items flooded the magical marketplace, undercutting established competitors and triggering explosive rage from other factions and every professional enchanter in Britain.
Rondo Shelby died during what appeared to be a routine supply run—supposedly killed by a young werewolf's surprise attack.
Everyone with half a brain knew it was a monstrous lie.
When authorities captured the young werewolf, his eyes held nothing but vacant confusion. The telltale signs of Imperius Curse control were unmistakable to anyone who cared to look.
But tragically, the Ministry of Magic that might have provided justice didn't exist yet. Only the Wizards' Council—a corrupt institution dedicated to protecting pure-blood interests above all else.
The Shelby Family possessed no political voice in the magical world. Even when Nicolas Flamel himself intervened on their behalf, the Wizards' Council merely offered up a few expendable enchanters as scapegoats before closing the matter permanently.
The Shelby Family never surrendered to despair. While mourning Rondo Shelby's murder with appropriate grief, they channeled their pain into determination.
Building upon Rondo's research foundation, they sought to weaponize Ancient Runes for personal enhancement—magic that would ensure no Shelby would ever fall victim to such cowardly ambushes again.
But Ancient Runes research proved far more dangerous than anticipated. The Shelby Family lost numerous members to experimental failures and magical backlash.
Their mounting casualties finally drew Nicolas Flamel's attention once more.
To honor his fallen disciple's memory and prevent further needless deaths, Nicolas Flamel personally joined The Shelby Family's research efforts.
After more than three centuries of painstaking work, The Shelby Family successfully evolved their crude Ancient Runes tattoos into something far more sophisticated—true bloodline magic that flowed through their very DNA.
"Every member of The Shelby Family doesn't experience traditional magical outbursts," Lawrence explained with professorial precision.
"Our magical power is too condensed, too solid. We require bloodline magic to guide and channel it properly at age seven."
"Tiger, my dearest youngest son." His painted eyes softened with paternal affection. "You're a remarkable exception."
"Before your mother could bring you to me for the traditional ceremony, you experienced your magical awakening naturally on your seventh birthday night."
"Seven is a magical number, after all." He winked with playful charm. "Isn't it?"
Lawrence settled back into his ornate chair, his expression growing more serious.
"Once the magical awakening is properly guided, our bloodline magic activates fully. The Shelby Family receives their first enhancement—specifically designed to prevent another werewolf massacre..."
His smile turned cold as winter steel.
No matter how many generations passed, The Shelby Family carried the deepest regret about Rondo Shelby's assassination. The wound remained fresh, a family trauma that would never fully heal.
"Oh, naturally!" Lawrence seemed to remember something important, studying the stoic Tiger with renewed curiosity.
"Different Shelbys manifest different enhancement patterns after their magical awakening. Some share common traits, others develop unique abilities."
"I'm quite curious, Tiger."
"Which aspect did you enhance?"
"Which aspect?"
Tiger felt genuinely puzzled by the question.
Venom's enhancements were comprehensive—affecting every system in his body simultaneously. Pinpointing one specific area seemed impossible.
Noticing Tiger's confusion, Lawrence raised his ornate scepter and gestured toward Arthur standing behind his youngest son.
"Take Arthur, for instance—simple-minded but physically gifted. He enhanced his body to superhuman levels. Stronger than werewolves, tougher than most magical creatures."
"Then there's Tommy, that brooding little genius. He enhanced his perception—incredibly sensitive to danger, equally attuned to emotional undercurrents."
Lawrence's smile turned mischievous with barely concealed amusement.
Detecting the teasing undertone, Tiger couldn't help but smirk in response.
"Fair enough."
"Tommy found himself a good match."
"Did he now..."
Genuine tenderness flickered in Lawrence's painted eyes.
Though he wasn't the four brothers' biological father, the love embedded in these magical memories felt absolutely authentic.
Before Mother Polly could display her mounting impatience, Lawrence refocused and continued:
"Of course, there's also John."
"That little bastard enhanced his speed—runs faster than werewolves in full sprint. Though I sincerely hope he doesn't apply that particular gift to his... other activities..."
"So, Tiger, what about you?"
"I'm certain Polly shares my curiosity."
Seeing Tiger's eyes grow distant as he pondered the question, Mother Polly impatiently lit a fresh cigar with sharp, aggressive movements.
"Bloody hell, Tiger."
"You'd better not feed me bullshit."
"I'm the one who delivered you into this world. Nobody knows your devious little mind better than I do."
Hearing this brutally direct assessment, Tiger's face took on a distinctly greenish tinge, though Mother Polly remained utterly indifferent to his discomfort.
"Your physique is excellent, your strength impressive—but those are merely byproducts of physical enhancement."
"Like John—running that fast without proper bodily support would just get him killed quicker."
"So you'd better think carefully before opening your mouth."
"Don't make me stuff you back where you came from!"
Mother Polly's words were so wildly inappropriate they seemed to gallop through Tiger's consciousness like a herd of stampeding toilets. Even Venom felt compelled to comment from within his host's mind.
[I thought your mouth was foul enough...]
[Shut it, Venom. Don't make me extract your kidney stones for jewelry.]
Tiger's expression darkened to match the bottom of a well-used cooking pot.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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