Li Ming knew exactly why Nick Fury was here. Too many question marks clung to him, and Fury was the type whose curiosity came factory-installed with paranoia.
If Li Ming hadn't been confident, he'd have Apparated out the second he sensed Fury's presence. Instead, he sat tight, smiling when Fury, stone-faced, asked, "Who are you?" Then he turned to Stark.
"Before I explain myself to Mr. Hard-Boiled here, can J.A.R.V.I.S. do me a favor? I want a crystal-clear recording of an egg sprouting facial expressions."
"Brilliant idea," Stark said immediately—never one to avoid stirring trouble. He'd wanted a scan of Fury anyway, to pin down which agency had broken into his house. And watching the Director's poker face crack? That was entertainment.
"J.A.R.V.I.S., high-res track this Egghead's face," Stark ordered. Then, to Li Ming: "Is that his real name? Family business in diners? Whole clan named after breakfast menus?"
Fury did not appreciate becoming "Mr. Egg." If he didn't want answers more than satisfaction, he would've already put a round into the bar top for punctuation. And if this weren't Stark's house, wired with an AI recording everything he'd have ordered Stark out and questioned Li Ming alone.
He set one hand on a whiskey glass the other on his pistol, tapping the gun against the wood. His good eye locked on Li Ming: Go on.
Li Ming gestured his fingers towards two whiskey glasses. They floated to him and Stark, neat as chess pieces. "Remember our deal?" he said, eyes crinkling. "You have 3 guesses…"
Fury glared at the hovering glasses, then at Stark, and deadpanned: "Shapeshifter or some type of humanoid alien…"
Li Ming snickered. "That's two guesses but yeah good enough." He smirked and said "I'm a wizard,"
Fury's frown deepened. He didn't buy "wizard." In terms of mythology of what people think wizards or warlocks can do then, yes, his skills match. Hypnosis, teleportation, now telekinesis. For now, I'll file it as a multi-ability enhanced human. Precedent: none.
Before he could argue, Li Ming drew a slim wand from his shoulder bag and flicked it toward the floating glass.
The glass morphed into a rabbit, which hopped across the counter, then shifted into a teapot and poured steaming tea…all midair.
Fury rubbed his one good eye, cataloging: the wand, the bag too small for it, the rising steam. He very much wanted to call a S.H.I.E.L.D. shrink and ask if "mass hallucination via suggestion" was a thing.
Stark leaned in, sniffed. "Drinkable? And lend me the stick, would you? I want to turn these walls into solid gold."
"Save it," Li Ming said. "I know the gold is a cover. You just want to dissect the wand. In your hands it'd be a very expensive fire poker."
"Transfiguration has three pillars," he continued. "Key point: the object's essence doesn't change."
He tapped Fury's pistol. It shimmered into a plump, golden-skinned roast chicken.
"Looks and feels like chicken," Li Ming said. "You could even carve a slice. But bite it, it still tastes like—gun. Swallow the whole bird, and—" He glanced at Fury, who was turning the "chicken" over, intrigued despite himself. "—well, you really want to find out how digestible firearms are?"
Fury set the thing down with a grunt. "Two questions. What's that stick? And if you turn a glass into a gun, does it fire?"
"A focus," Li Ming said, twirling the wand. "Like a voltage regulator. Keeps things stable. With better control, I could even gift one to you."
Fury's eye narrowed. "Meaning without it, you're a lot less dangerous?"
Li Ming caught the angle, set the wand aside—and blurred, skin darkening, features reshaping, until Fury was staring at his own face. Li Ming lifted one palm, cupping a sphere of rippling heat. "I know you're thinking of stealing my focus. I need it to practice certain spells cleanly—not all. I'm not helpless without it. And…"
Fury, feeling the heat from meters away, sighed. "You're reminding me of Talos."
He tapped his temple. "Remember Natasha? Whether you meant it or not, you told her you didn't want to meet me when you were weak. So—you're strong now?"
If Li Ming hadn't been wearing Fury's face, Stark might've missed the subtext. As it was, he caught it: there are people who can look exactly like you. His mind sprinted ahead. What if this Talos ever turned into me?
"Who's Talos?" Stark asked.
Li Ming ignored the warning tone in Fury's voice. "Green-skinned refugees. Live in orbit. One of them—head scientist—once turned a regular jet into a space fighter overnight with just wrenches. You two would get along."
"Orbit," Stark muttered. "I thought I was top of the food chain. First wizards, now aliens above Earth. Somebody give me back my ignorant comfort zone."
Fury latched on to something else. Stark had said "a group of wizards." "There are more?" he asked, eye narrowing.
Li Ming spread his hands. "How else do you think I learned? Divine inspiration? No. I studied. Learned. There's a lineage."
So: learned, not innate. Fury rubbed his brow. "Entry requirements. Where are you based?"
"Pack up the fishing rod," Li Ming said. "They're busy protecting Earth. No time for small talk."
"My job is protecting humanity," Fury countered. "Maybe we're on the same side. Give me a number. I'll reach out." He studied Li Ming. "What about you? Why aren't you busy saving the world? And how do your people communicate? Phones? You don't own one. No carrier bill. Nothing."
Li Ming considered. To reach the Stones, he'd have to swim with the Avengers eventually. Fury would learn pieces of the truth regardless. "I won't give you Sanctum contacts. Call me a wild mage. Self-taught. Back when I had no backing and not much power, I kept my distance."
Fury shrugged. "Feels like you all knew me while I didn't know you existed. Hard to believe. Maybe my first guess was right—you're an alien with special tricks." He looked at Stark. "Talos doesn't just copy faces. He syncs recent memories too."
Li Ming lifted his palms in a believe it or don't gesture, then called toward the kitchen: "Kreacher, fries."
Stark heard the subtext in Fury's warning: Curiosity kills billionaires. Poke the wrong alien, and he'll wear your face and raid your mind. Which, perversely, only made Stark more curious. But he also knew this wasn't like tinkering with a new reactor. This was a new ecosystem—complete with unknown pathogens. Curiosity would wait.
And if trouble comes, Stark thought, glancing at Li Ming, there's a wizard who can rewind the clock. Then he caught himself: He's not my dad. He won't show up on command. And I still don't know what "time" he wants from me.
For now, he just gave Fury a small nod—I hear you. Then he grinned toward the hall.
This should be good. Let's see Fury's face when Kreacher walks in.
Fury's eye twitched when Kreacher padded in with a plate of fries. He tilted his head. "This what you call human? Am I blind?"
Li Ming took the fries with a smile. "A house-elf. Serves wizards only. Mine, specifically. Kreacher."
He nodded at the elf. "Tell Mr. Egg what happens when ordinary people stumble into the wizarding world."
Kreacher blinked his saucer eyes. "Ordinary people's memories are removed with Obliviate and replaced with false ones. When necessary, we use Legilimency to read memories and ensure all traces are gone."
When the elf finished, Li Ming waved him off, absently rolling his wand in his fingers. "Curious about the step-by-step on memory edits?" he asked Fury.
The implication was clear: Stark wasn't the target of that hypothetical wipe. Fury eyed his pistol—still a roast chicken—and swallowed a sigh with his pride. "I'm more interested in how many of these house-elves there are. And what they can do."
Across the room, Stark lifted his glass. "Count me in. Also, I'd like to own one." He tapped the arc reactor in his chest, smirking. "Once I upgrade this, tune the output, I'm basically controlling energy. That makes me a wizard too, right? Tech wizard counts."
Li Ming rolled his eyes. "Upgrade that toy into something nonlethal and non-toxic first. Otherwise, you're just a short-lived ghost."
Fury's gaze lingered on the arc reactor. He knew Stark Industries had full-scale models. S.H.I.E.L.D. had schematics—thanks to its founders. But that size? Portable? From the way Li Ming said it, Stark didn't have long. Another late-night headache for HQ.
"Stay on topic," Fury said, drumming fingers on the bar. "We're discussing Kreacher."
"Not my fault," Li Ming said, pointing at Stark. Then he spread his hands. "What kind of creature do you think wizards would accept as bonded servants? One with magic of their own. As for numbers—limited edition. Rarer than pandas."
Fury narrowed his eye. "Magic of their own. What kind? Who taught him? The Sanctum? How many elves are at the Sanctum?"
Li Ming stifled a sigh. Fury was still fishing for Sanctum intel. With the Ancient One's opinion of Snake-H.I.E.L.D., you're lucky this tower's still standing.
He lifted his chin, tone sharpening into a warning. "Listen, Egg. Don't let headcounts fool you. You don't want a fight with the Masters of the Mystic Arts." He tapped his chest. "Me? On a bad day I could wipe a small country off the map. I'd still kneel if the Sanctum took me seriously. Best thing you can do is pretend you never heard of them."
Stark blinked at "wipe a country," then remembered the desert: the black-hooded wraiths spilling from Li Ming's staff. Dementors, Kreacher had called them. He'd been skeptical then—if normal people couldn't see them, why could he? But he'd watched them feed, unseen, merciless. Terrorists cut down like wheat.
Invisible army, Stark thought, jaw tight. Country-killer, indeed.
Fury wanted to scoff at the boast. But he caught the look Stark shot at the wand, the way the billionaire's smirk flattened. His scalp prickled. Headache for later, he told himself. And oxygen.
Silence settled. Li Ming topped off their glasses, then leaned back. "Elves don't run on the same magic as wizards. Hard to list every trick. More important: they're wired to belong. No master, and they crack."
Fury massaged the bridge of his nose. "I know enhanced people can lose control. How dangerous is Kreacher if he snaps?"
So you're asking, what happens after I die? Li Ming thought.
"First, he'd manage my estate," Li Ming said lightly. "If he never found a new wizard and lost it… I only know he'd be dangerous. How dangerous? Ask anyone who's met a mad magical creature. Unpredictable."
Fury exhaled. "Then I should pray you don't meet God anytime soon. To prevent that day, I think you should meet one of my people."
He pressed a finger to his earpiece. "Send him in."
Li Ming arched a brow, glanced toward the hall. "King of spooks indeed. I thought it was just us three. Calling backup because you're worried I'll mop the floor with you?"
A man in black combat gear appeared in the doorway. He lifted his hands, turned a slow circle—no weapons.
Stark's mouth twitched. "Busy night. Another soldier fresh off the tarmac? Or did someone throw a party in my house and forget to tell the host?" He flicked two fingers. "J.A.R.V.I.S., facial scan."
The AI flagged him as clean. Fury beckoned the man forward, then looked at Li Ming. "You met in Portland. I asked Bob if he'd seen you, he said no. Our best polygraph couldn't prove a lie. Now I've got a different theory. You said memories can be altered. Bob's were, weren't they?"
Fury leaned in, voice flat. "Even if I accept magic exists, Bob's gift isn't a spell. It's technology. Care to explain that?"
Li Ming shrugged. "Believe it or don't. I wasn't about to destroy something that extraordinary with my own hands." He tilted his head. "You? Why run that experiment?"
Fury studied his face, then smiled without humor. "Believe it or not, I'm trying to save on burial plots and put the money into benefits."
Stark glanced between them, lost the thread. "Hey—still here. Someone going to tell me what's on Sergeant Sunshine that's so special?"
Li Ming and Fury answered together. "Not your business."
Stark stroked his goatee. "J.A.R.V.I.S., deeper—"
"Don't," Fury snapped. The last thing he needed was Stark connecting dots on resurrection tech. Between Li Ming's warnings and his own calculus, there'd be no more answers tonight.
He lifted a hand in parting and steered Bob toward the door. At the threshold, he pointed two fingers at his eye and said to Stark, "Holster your curiosity. The world's messy enough. I'm not cleaning up after you."