The burning wreckage of the helicopter smoldered on the rain-slick concrete, glowing like a mini sun against the storm. Smoke twisted upward, and as thunder rumbled over the campus, the sky finally broke.
First a light drizzle, then steady rain.
It hissed on hot metal, feeding the steam and smoke instead of putting out the flames. The college courtyard became a battleground of fire and storm.
Daniel stood in the center.
Across from him, the Hulk stepped forward.
Daniel's wand snapped up with reflexive speed.
A sharp surge of magic pulsed out. Raindrops between the two men shivered and froze in midair, suspended for half a heartbeat, then, with a flash, turned to sleet, then to jagged ice.
From that wall of frozen rain, a solid crystal barrier rose fast, cutting Hulk off from Betty completely.
For a second time, something in Hulk snapped. He let out a low, broken growl, pain rippling under the rage. Fists clenched, he shook the ground as his roar echoed through the courtyard.
Behind the wall, Daniel's hands moved again, tracing quick, practiced glyphs through the falling rain.
Above, the storm churned. Raindrops twisted upward, forming first icy needles, then spears—dozens, then hundreds, hovering overhead like a circling halo of blades, humming with pent-up force. The witnesses braced, watching in awe as Daniel called the weather itself.
The world itself bent to his will.
And Hulk could feel it—the unnatural cold crawling across the concrete, climbing his legs, chilling even his monstrous hide. Beneath him, the ground iced over. His breath thickened. Even for him, the air felt sharp, biting.
Above, the storm kept growing. More rain froze into ever-larger ice spears.
Across the quad, tanks picked up their targets. Red laser dots flickered through the sheets of rain as gun barrels trained in on Hulk.
For just a second, Hulk felt a pain that had nothing to do with weapons. A pain deeper than broken bones or bullets—the pain of being on the outside, of rejection. Of not belonging—not to Betty, not even to the country he'd once served.
Then he bunched his massive legs and, with a thunderous leap, shot into the sky—a green meteor disappearing into the storm.
Daniel lowered his wand. The frozen spears, caught in a swirling dance, dropped in a final arc—a shimmering river of ice that traced Hulk's path, then crashed into the Hudson with a hiss.
And just like that, Daniel was gone too—vanished on the wind.
Now, only Betty remained in the center of the battlefield.
Smoke faded; the storm quieted; across the drenched field, her father stood.
General Ross.
Through the curtain of rain, they locked eyes.
Betty didn't apologise.
Ross let out a slow, tired breath. For a moment, he didn't see his daughter—he saw her mother: strong, proud, impossible to reach.
He said nothing.
---
Back at Betty's private villa, rain poured down even harder. Inside, soldiers tore through every cabinet and drive on Ross's orders, hunting any trace of Bruce Banner—or Daniel.
Ross stood over a table piled with Betty's records, Daniel's school files, everything that could paint a picture.
It was too perfect and clean.
Ross knew a manufactured background when he saw one.
Someone was backing Daniel, and Ross needed to find out who.
"If we could dissect him," Ross muttered, "maybe we'd get some real answers. But magic isn't science."
Still, if he couldn't crack Daniel through force—he'd use temptation. Surveillance. Leverage. Control. Try to win Daniel over, and if that failed, squeeze him. And if that failed…
Ross's gut twisted. He didn't trust magic but he respected power.
And Daniel had plenty.
He glanced toward the next room, where Betty sat with a book, her expression unreadable.
He approached quietly. "Betty," he said, measured and calm, "How much do you really know about him?"
She barely looked up. "He's a magician," she said. "Don't you know that already?"
Ross pressed, "I mean—how did you meet? Why New York? You really believe he's just here to study?"
Betty snorted. "He never lied to me. Unlike you."
That hit Ross harder than he expected.
It told him two things: Daniel never manipulated Betty. And Betty was making her own choices.
That was a problem.
He rubbed his temples, thinking of S.H.I.E.L.D., of mutants, now this. He needed allies, not more question marks.
But if Betty could get through to Daniel…
He softened his tone. "You're smart. You know the risk of letting someone like him operate alone."
She turned slowly, her stare cold. "Daniel's even harder to find than Bruce."
And with a cutting glance:
"And he's not the only one like him."
Ross straightened. "You're saying… there are more?"
She didn't answer but she didn't have to.
Behind Daniel was something bigger—a network, a hidden world. Maybe a cabal of magicians; maybe a secret order. Either way, Daniel was just the beginning.
Ross's jaw tightened.
He needed control. Fast.
"Betty," he demanded, "where is he?"
She looked right at him. "I don't know," she said. "But Bruce? I know where he's going."
She turned back to the window.
Ross's mind moved fast. If Betty wouldn't talk, he'd dig another way—her phone calls, her emails, her movements. He'd find out everything.
Behind him, rain tapped at the glass.
Without missing a beat, he called out, "Trace all Betty's communications—calls, messages, everything. And pull up everything we have on Daniel van der Berg, especially anything odd in his past."
His aide nodded and hurried off.
Ross stared out at the city.
Wizards could vanish in smoke and shadows. But Ross had two things they'd never match: resources and patience.
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