"No need. Aside from the money I earn through photography, I have zero interest in funds from any other source. To a photographer, that's not a fee. It's an insult."
Morin refused with righteous indignation, his expression serious.
"As for that question, I can answer it for free. Everything I've achieved comes from persistent practice and countless trials-plus a tiny, negligible bit of talent and luck."
Tony fell silent.
What the hell does that have to do with practice?
No matter how much you practice, can you train yourself to turn invisible so people don't notice you taking photos?
"Fine," Tony said. "How much do you know about Hydra?"
"Do you want me to take pictures for you?" Morin lit up instantly.
"Wait. What did you just say?" Tony froze.
"As a photographer and an employee of Stark Industries, it's perfectly reasonable to accept payment for filming confidential material," Morin said meaningfully. "You didn't forget, did you? Boss?"
"Of course not," Tony replied without hesitation. "The moment I got back, I told Jarvis to add you to payroll."
Technically true.
He had said "the moment I got back."
He just meant back to his villa.
Close enough.
"In that case, we're in an employer-employee relationship," Morin said, rubbing his hands together. "You pay. I film. Perfectly reasonable. It's just that this organization is involved everywhere, so I might need a bit more."
At that moment, text appeared on the projection.
[Sir, the location of the documents and materials left by Mr. Howard has been located and marked.]
Jarvis didn't elaborate.
He didn't need to.
"That part isn't necessary right now," Tony said. "Just track Obadiah. Film what he's doing and what he plans to do."
"That's easy," Morin said. "As long as the price is right, everything's negotiable. If you want, I can even film the color of the President's underwear."
"That won't be necessary," Tony said. "If it were the First Lady, I might be slightly more interested."
"Tsk. I didn't know you were that kind of Tony Stark," Morin said solemnly. "I truly didn't misjudge you. Unfortunately, this photographer does not accept adult-rated commissions."
Definitely not because a certain Divine Beast with the codename '404' was watching.
"Dammit, I don't have that kind of fetish. I was joking," Tony snapped.
...
"I see. An exoskeleton suit. A miniaturized Arc Reactor."
On the plane, the Hydra soldier answered Obadiah's questions. Every word was transmitted to Arnim Zola.
"If I can manufacture this... I might regain my freedom."
Zola's mood surged.
Before, technology and energy constraints made production impossible. Now, Tony Stark had hand-built a functional unit.
The era had caught up.
"Miniaturizing the Arc Reactor is extremely difficult," Zola murmured. "Tony Stark is a true genius. But the reactor is essential. It is the key to Hydra's revival."
In the abandoned underground base, red light flickered across the monitors.
Like eyes.
"If I acquire the reactor and solve mass production, combined with exoskeleton suits, each Hydra soldier's combat power would skyrocket. If necessary, I could even use an exoskeleton to obtain a 'body.' Control many at once. One man as an army."
Fanaticism pulsed through the glow.
Zola had cheated death by uploading his consciousness, but the price was unbearable.
No body.
No sensation.
Confined.
This was why, in another future, he would choose destruction over migration.
But now-
Opportunity.
Even if it was just armor.
"I must seize it. Capture Tony Stark alive if possible."
Orders were issued.
The command reached the Winter Soldier.
Recently thawed.
Recently inspected.
The strongest asset Hydra possessed.
Bucky Barnes.
Once a Howling Commando.
Captain America's closest friend.
He fell into a ravine, lost an arm, and was taken by Hydra.
Brainwashed.
Turned into a weapon.
Including the mission involving Howard and Maria Stark.
Was he guilty?
Philosophical.
Moral.
Different people answered differently.
In another story, that difference would split heroes apart.
Morin knew where he stood.
And for now, it didn't matter.
Captain America was still frozen in the Antarctic.
Receiving the mission, Bucky showed no reaction.
Eyes closed.
Waiting.
Transport.
Ambush.
Execution.
Return to sleep.
As always.
...
Morin didn't spend every moment watching Tony or Obadiah.
He had no interest in tracking two men's every move.
Experience points could be earned anytime.
In three days, he finished reading every magic book the Ancient One had prepared.
For someone with his mind, it still took three full days.
The amount of knowledge was staggering.
And this was just one room.
But he noticed problems.
So he returned to 177A Bleecker Street.
The door stood open.
The Ancient One waited alone.
Hands behind her back.
Looking up at the sky.
Her yellow robes and bald head glowed faintly, carrying an inexplicable sense of holiness.
"You've come."
"I've come."
"Then let us go."
She turned.
Space split open.
Sparks erupted, forming a circular portal two meters wide.
Snow.
Wind.
Cold spilled through.
The most iconic sorcery of the Marvel world.
Opening a portal.
She stepped through.
"All right," Morin followed, suppressing the urge to say, I shouldn't have come.
The portal closed.
They stood atop a snow-covered mountain.
Kamar-Taj.
Deep in the Himalayas.
Invisible to all but the permitted.
A familiar feeling stirred in Morin's chest.
When he first crossed worlds, he had begun here.
Back then, it was to steady his mind.
That was no longer necessary.
Still-
I should visit them someday.
Snow fell.
Temperatures that would kill ordinary people were nothing to them.
"You have doubts," the Ancient One said.
"One major doubt," Morin replied. "Most spell structures are mature, but nearly all of them rely on borrowed power. The Vishanti. The Trinity. Chthon. Dormammu. Mephisto."
"Is that the foundation of magic in this universe?"
"Yes," she said. "For most beings here."
"Why?"
"This universe is a multiverse," she explained. "Some beings merge with the rules that form reality. When successful, they become gods or masters of dimensions."
"They call those rules Godheads. Power tied to a Godhead requires permission. Unless the deity is destroyed and the Godhead becomes unclaimed, users are subject to control."
"So most rules are already owned," Morin said.
"Yes. Infinity. Death. Eternity. Entropy. They control the highest foundations."
She paused.
"But you needn't worry. Most of your spells aren't part of this system. Even enemies cannot restrict you."
"Which means some are," Morin said.
She smiled.
"I've said too much. You would've discovered it eventually."
She gestured.
"The Kamar-Taj library is there. You may read everything. I'll inform Wong."
"That's perfect," Morin said sincerely.
He wouldn't use most of it.
But understanding principles was enough.
"However," she said, "everything has a price."
"I understand."
"I want you to inherit my position as Sorcerer Supreme."
Morin froze.
"Huh?"
Nearby, a sorcerer's forming spell collapsed instantly.
Morin glanced over, then looked back.
"Why?" he asked directly.
"You are powerful. And suitable."
"With respect," Morin said slowly, genuinely confused. "The Sorcerer Supreme-"
"That isn't important," she interrupted. "You only need to pass the title to him at the proper time."
She met his eyes.
"Until then, I want you to be the Sorcerer Supreme."