Half a month blurred past like a bad montage.
Every morning Li Feng woke to basic physics pounding behind his eyes; every night he dreamed of a holodesk the size of a mountain and Bruce Banner morphing into Hulk with a grading rubric—ready to club him whenever his focus drifted.
Until today.
Dawn barely silvered the sky when Li shuffled toward the bathroom, eyes closed, bladder screaming—and found Banner already inside, shaving, spritzing toner, and grooming like a man going to war with stray hairs.
Li rubbed grit from his lashes. "Banner… you have a date?"
Banner's grin said everything. "Meeting Betty. I'll be back tonight. Oh—mind if I borrow your invisibility cloak?"
Li nodded on autopilot—ask Kreacher later—and then a thought cut through the fog like sunlight through blinds: no Banner meant no lessons.
Vacation. Blessed, homework-free, fusion-not-today vacation.
Never mind who'd begged for fusion in the first place.
Ten minutes later Banner was sharp in a suit and tie, took the cloak from Kreacher, and vanished down the dune. Li pressed to the RV window and watched him go with the delight of a kid seeing summer arrive.
When Banner finally slipped from sight, Li whooped. "Kreacher! Pack it up—we're going out."
Locks clicked. Kreacher shouldered bags, padded after him into the desert, and together they stepped through a fresh portal.
They spilled into a city at night. Neon English on billboards. Chrome-finned cars purring like sharks. America—just… not today's America.
Li tipped his head to the moon. A thought surfaced: dark night, rising wind—perfect for—
A stuttering burst of machine-gun fire chewed down a nearby alley.
"Well, that's on the nose," he muttered. "Didn't even say 'murder night' yet."
He drifted toward the gunfire, wondering if he'd caught this world's lead or supporting cast, when a flock of weirdly dressed hipsters spilled out of the alley. A heartbeat later, a man blurred past so fast he left an afterimage.
Li became smoke and followed. Anyone who made track stars look slow was either the protagonist or orbiting one. Tail him, eat well, enjoy the scenery.
Power hummed in the wake—an energy residue prickling his skin even on the wind.
Maybe he tailed too boldly. Maybe a shadow overhead is hard to miss. The runner skidded to a stop in the street, planted both feet like nails, and wiggled his torso side to side as if he could shake off momentum by shimmy.
Li hovered, baffled. "Inertia? Ever heard of it? This isn't a—"
The man looked up.
Green head. Porcelain grin. Hands stuffed into gaudy pajamas. He cocked a hip and beamed like a billboard come to life.
Déjà vu prickled. Li had seen this scene—on a screen.
He dropped from the air and strolled closer. "Buddy… what are you?"
Stanley Ipkiss—because who else—let his jaw plummet and clack on the asphalt. His tongue unrolled like a red carpet to Li's boots; his eyeballs sprang free, orbiting Li like curious drones.
Li stared. "The jaw I can file under 'snake day.' The tongue? Did you just welcome-mat me? And the eyeballs—aren't you worried they'll fly home without you?"
Green head. Cartoon physics. Hard stop, noodle sway. Oh, come on—The Mask.
Stanley snapped his jaw back, dabbed drool with a handkerchief, and winked. "Welcome to Edge City, tourist. Need a guide?" He glanced skyward. "Hey, kid—got a pilot's license for that?" he called to Kreacher, who hovered in on a glider charm. "No license, no airspace. Gonna have to write you up."
He spun like a top. When he stopped, he wore a police uniform and flourished a comically oversized ticket book at Kreacher.
Yep. If this wasn't the Mask's world, Li would eat the street.
Li licked his lips, gaze hungry on that green face. He knew the engine in this circus: a carved piece of wood wearing a smug smile.
Loki's mask. The Trickster's toy. A bauble still buzzing with a god's leftover spark.
Collector's dream. No way he walked past it.
Problem: in the movie, Stanley was essentially indestructible. He'd swallowed a bomb for love and burped. Li had no firm read on Mask-level power—or whether his sorcery would bite at all. Worst case, he picks a fight and the cartoon punches back.
So—trick, don't tussle.
He smiled, easy. "Sir, allow me to introduce myself. Austin. Mage."
"Mage?" Stanley blinked past Li at Kreacher's decidedly nonhuman silhouette. "You sure you're not an alien in a people-suit?"
"Human. He's my… magical manservant." Li shrugged. "Magic's been around forever. Folks just don't usually see it." He tipped his chin at Stanley. "Like right now. Before tonight, did you ever imagine you'd be omnipotent?"
He softened the smile and pointed lightly at the green face. "Don't deny it yet. There's a reason you feel that way. The thing you're wearing is an enchanted artifact."
Stanley's hand drifted up, fingers brushing green. "You… know what this is?"
"I will once I see it up close," Li said. "In our world, everything has a price. Mages pay in will or power. You? You're not a mage. No mana, no training. So what are you spending to use it?"
Blank confusion crossed Stanley's features.
Li leaned in, voice gone stage-low. "Lifespan? Soul?"
The tone—the look—hit home. Stanley Ipkiss, mild banker and professional pushover, had zero defenses against words like that. Panic flickered.
He replayed the night. The walk by the water. The mask he'd fished from the surf. The tug to take it home. To try it on. The change.
Not a dream. Real.
His hands flew up. He yanked the mask free.
Li blinked. That easy?
Green drained away. Pajamas remained. Stanley stood human again, staring at the wooden face like it might bite—then flung it down the street in disgust.
Li scooped it up, gentle, fingers testing the grain. Power murmured under the varnish—a sly, laughing pulse.
"Trickster-god Loki's mask," he murmured. "Some folks call him the Night God. Which would explain why it only plays after dark."
Stanley swallowed. "A god's mask? Then what… what did it take from me?"
Li shrugged, honest for once. "Don't know."
He smiled, slid the wood toward his own face, and lifted it to try.
—
Join me on Patreon for up to 22 advance chapters! Patreon.com/theuncrownedking