Chapter 230 – The Avengers Have All Gone Insane
Allen's eyes gradually turned cold. He dropped his usual carefree grin and, with a look of icy superiority, said indifferently, "I thought you'd be someone I could treat gently. Turns out I was just deluding myself. In that case, don't blame me for being rough."
With that, Allen grabbed a fork with a vicious expression, stabbed a whole fried egg, and stuffed it into his mouth like a starving man.
"Fsssh, haaa… hot, hot… gulp…"
The high heat sealed in by the oil spread through his mouth, forcing him to puff out bursts of air, but in the end, he chose to swallow it in one go.
He immediately grabbed a glass of juice and poured it into his mouth to ease the burning pain.
Throughout the entire ordeal, Wanda's expression was so scrunched up it looked like a wrinkled chrysanthemum.
Seriously—does breakfast really need this much drama?
If someone only heard the sounds and didn't know what was happening, they'd think some pervert was trying to assault someone.
Agatha, on the other hand, was long since used to it. She focused on eating, though Allen might very well be eyeing her plate next.
That drumstick incident from five hundred years ago still lived in her memory—absolutely shameless to the core.
"Prim and proper on the outside, but fiery and wild underneath. I really do have an eye for people," Allen said with a self-satisfied look.
"Do you want more?"
Wanda asked kindly, "If that's not enough, I can make you some more."
"This time, I want it fully cooked. A shameless soft-boiled egg doesn't suit someone as modest as I am," Allen said with an awkwardly shy expression.
Modest?
Do you even know how to spell the word "modest"?
Quit slapping labels on yourself like that.
"Wait a moment."
Wanda raised her hand and used Chaos Magic to fry another egg, the whole process smooth and effortless.
Basic stuff. No big deal.
Chaos Magic was incredibly versatile and could mimic the effects of most magical spells.
That said, things like space mirror magic and time manipulation were exceptions at the same level.
Time magic, in particular, was notoriously demanding. Unless you possessed the Time Stone or had reached the level of Sorcerer Supreme, you had to be extremely cautious experimenting with it—or risk devastating backlash from time itself.
Of course, Allen knew a bit of basic mirror magic, but it hadn't proven useful. It was mostly good for creating distance, folding space, or forming a mirror domain. In practical combat, it was far less effective than just opening a portal.
Comparatively speaking, Agatha's power as a "Supreme Sorceress" was a bit watered down. Her magic was rigid, lacking adaptability or creative finesse.
Understandable.
After all, people with magical aptitude were already rare. It was unreasonable to expect everyone to be on the same level as Allen or Wanda. If they were, an army of sorcerers could easily slaughter gods or launch invasions into multidimensional realms.
As for why Wanda treated Allen so courteously, it was entirely because of his help.
Hela, the Goddess of Death, had agreed to assist them.
However, there was a catch—her divine power carried the essence of death. While she could wrap Quicksilver's soul and carry it across the dimensional barrier back into his body, he would merely return as an undead being.
That's why they had to wait for the full moon, when Wanda would enter the underworld via dreamwalking.
At that moment, Hela would escort them back to the world of the living.
After all, the death gods ruling the underworld had unanimously agreed that no soul could be released lightly. Most tolerated Hela's involvement out of respect, but a surprise ambush by rivals couldn't be ruled out.
After Hela gave her personal assurance, Wanda realized how foolish her original plan had been.
Taking on all those death gods alone? Never mind whether she could retrieve her brother's soul—she might not even make it out in one piece.
"When's the full moon?" Allen asked casually.
"In two days," Wanda answered instinctively. She'd been keeping track of the time.
"Crap!"
Allen suddenly sprang to his feet, thinking aloud, "I've been stuck in here for over a day. What if the Avengers got pulled in too?"
"…"
Wanda remained silent.
She was in charge of creating this altered reality with Chaos Magic and hadn't bothered monitoring everyone's movements.
Besides, her original design specifically excluded outside interference from her resurrection plan.
But then some weirdo barged in—and the system couldn't rewrite Allen's memories.
In theory, Wanda could instantly defeat Professor Charles Xavier in the mental realm. There shouldn't have been any possibility of failure.
In practice, the problem lay in the rules themselves.
Intruders would have their perception altered to believe they were mentally ill—but Allen was already mentally ill. How do you turn a crazy person crazier? The logic broke down, and so his perception remained completely unchanged.
Agatha helpfully chimed in, "They're probably in the psychiatric hospital."
A portal opened.
The three of them rushed to the hospital.
The moment they appeared, chaos erupted inside.
Security immediately reached for their sidearms and prepared to shout warnings.
But in the blink of an eye, a scarlet magical glow enveloped the building, freezing all the staff in place—only the patients were left unaffected.
"I wanna see what the Avengers look like as mental patients. It's gotta be hilarious," Allen said gleefully.
"Is that Iron Man over there?"
Agatha pointed toward the restroom entrance, where a slightly hunched, gray-haired figure was sneakily peeking into the women's restroom.
"You pervert! Peeping at the ladies' room?!"
Wham!
Allen shot forward like a lightning bolt, leaped into the air, and delivered a solid kick to the rear of Tony Stark, who was bent over, spying.
"Ow…"
Tony yelped in pain and crumpled to the floor.
He was dressed in a blue-and-white-striped hospital gown, looking utterly aggrieved and innocent. "I wasn't peeking! There's a Big Star inside the restroom. I was trying to catch him, summon SpongeBob, force him to reveal the Krabby Patty formula, start my own burger joint, get rich, marry a wealthy beauty, and reach the pinnacle of life!"
"Shit, you're over fifty and telling a lie a toddler wouldn't buy. You think I'm some brainless Patrick Star? I can't believe this is the real Tony Stark. That's it—we're done. I'm cutting all ties. No more uncle-nephew bond."
Allen, still fuming, gave him two more vicious kicks, looking every bit the neighborhood thug bullying a frail elderly man.
"Boo-hoo-hoo…"
Tony sobbed like a child, tears streaming down. But even while crying, he insisted, "I'm not lying! I'm not Tony—I'm Private Ryan! I'm a paratrooper! I landed head-first during a jump! You can't bully me! Waaaah…"
"Still lying? Still got the nerve to lie?!"
Allen looked every bit the petty villain, relentlessly kicking poor Tony until he wailed uncontrollably.
Of course, neither Wanda nor Agatha made any move to stop him.
After all, they were used to seeing Iron Man save the world with that noble, heroic image.
Cough… tui—beneath it all, he was still a dirty old man. Now with clear signs of dementia and still perving on women's restrooms… classic playboy, never lost his touch.
"Do you have a grudge against him or something?"
Watching Allen kick him with such joy, Wanda couldn't help suspecting a personal vendetta.
"Of course not! Don't talk nonsense! How could I hold a grudge against my dear nephew?"
Allen immediately denied it with righteous indignation—then shamelessly admitted, "I just really, really wanted to kick him a few times."