Smith's mind immediately catalogued everything he knew about Ta Lo when Wenwu mentioned returning there.
The mystical village wasn't technically on Earth—at least not in conventional geographic terms. It existed in a pocket dimension accessible only through specific pathways that opened on certain calendar dates. A realm parallel to Earth but operating under different physical laws.
And it was home to creatures that would make most supernatural beings look mundane by comparison.
His transmigrator knowledge provided the inventory: nine-tailed foxes, qilin, dijiang, and other Eastern mythological beasts whose power levels he couldn't accurately gauge. More concentrated mystical fauna than even Kunlun possessed, and Kunlun housed a literal divine dragon.
The Great Protector—Ta Lo's guardian dragon—granted the village's warriors their distinctive abilities. The dragon power Ying Li once wielded before sacrificing it for love. That same power could be passed to Shang-Chi and Xialing if the elders approved and the Great Protector accepted them.
But Ta Lo's greatest significance wasn't its wonders. It was what the Great Protector guarded.
The Dark Gate. The seal containing the Dweller-in-Darkness and its soul-consuming army.
Smith's jaw tightened slightly, the only external sign of his concern. In the original timeline—the one where Ying Li stayed dead—the Dweller had whispered to Wenwu through the sealed barrier, mimicking his wife's voice, manipulating his grief into obsession. The warlord had attacked Ta Lo trying to breach the Dark Gate, believing he could free his beloved.
Instead, he'd nearly unleashed an entity that fed on souls, backed by an army immune to conventional weapons. Only dragon-scale weapons and dragon power itself could harm the Dweller's forces. Technology, standard mystical attacks, even the Ten Rings' cosmic energy—useless.
The Dweller's minions could drain souls with a touch, adding victims to their ranks.
But Ying Li's alive now, Smith reminded himself. No grief for the Dweller to exploit. No reason for Wenwu to attack the seal.
Still, the creature's existence remained a strategic concern. An entity that powerful, sealed but conscious, waiting for any opportunity to escape—that was a time bomb Smith couldn't ignore indefinitely.
If there's a chance, he thought, I need to study Ta Lo's defenses. Understand what dragon power actually is. Figure out if ki energy shares enough properties to damage the Dweller's forces.
Because if the seal ever broke—through natural degradation, dimensional instability, or cosmic interference—Earth would face a threat that made most invasions look trivial.
"No problem," Smith said aloud, his tone carrying none of his internal strategizing. "I understand wanting to bring your wife home, let her family know she's returned."
Wenwu's shoulders relaxed.
Smith continued, voice casual but words carefully chosen. "However, Ta Lo isn't an ordinary place. There are forces there—ancient ones—that don't always align with human intentions. If you encounter anything unusual, anything that feels wrong or tries to influence your decisions, don't make commitments on the spot. Come back and discuss it with me first."
He met Wenwu's eyes directly. "I'm not questioning your judgment. I'm acknowledging that places of power sometimes have their own agendas."
Wenwu's expression shifted—surprise mixed with respect. "Director, you know about Ta Lo?"
"Some," Smith confirmed. "Enough to recognize it houses mystical creatures of significant power. Nine-tailed foxes, qilin, divine beasts whose abilities I can't fully assess." He smiled slightly. "Though from what I understand, they're quite beautiful despite being dangerous."
Eddie Brock stood twenty feet away, nursing a beer and watching Wenwu's animated conversation with Smith. An idea flickered through his mind—what if he recruited the thousand-year-old warlord for The Paragons?
The thought died almost immediately.
First: Wenwu had just joined the Fraternity. Trying to pull him into a specific team project before he'd even settled into the organization would be presumptuous.
Second: The man's power level was absurd. Adding him to The Paragons would completely imbalance the team dynamic. How could anyone else serve as captain with a millennium-old warlord on the roster? The group would just defer to his experience and combat expertise for every decision.
Third: Age and treachery. Wenwu had been manipulating political landscapes since before America existed. Eddie was smart, but he wasn't arrogant enough to think he could manage someone with that much experience in a subordinate role.
Better to leave the ancient warrior for Smith to deploy strategically.
Eddie spotted Michael Corvin near the refreshment table and headed over. The vampire-werewolf hybrid would be a much more reasonable recruitment target.
After another few minutes of conversation, Wenwu excused himself to share the good news with Ying Li. Smith watched him go, then turned his attention back to the celebration.
Various Fraternity members approached in waves—toasts, congratulations, brief updates on operational matters that didn't require immediate action. Smith maintained the appropriate level of engagement, the social performance of leadership.
Then Bulma appeared beside him.
She'd ditched the formal dress she'd been wearing earlier and changed into something more comfortable but still appropriate for the celebration. She held a glass of wine, the red liquid catching the light.
Bulma settled into the chair beside Smith without asking permission, the casual familiarity of someone who'd spent two years working closely with him. "Brother Smith, I'm an adult now."
Smith glanced at the wine glass and shook his head, reaching over to take it from her hand. "The drinking age here is twenty-one. You're eighteen."
"That's not what I'm talking about." Bulma's voice dropped, carrying a different weight.
She leaned closer, taking his arm with both hands, her body language shifting from professional colleague to something else entirely. "You know what I mean."
Smith did know. He'd been carefully not acknowledging it for months.
Bulma Brief had manifested from the Dragon Ball system as a teenager—sixteen years old, genius intellect fully formed but emotionally and physically still developing. Smith had maintained strict boundaries, treating her as the brilliant scientist and valued colleague she was, nothing more.
Two years had passed. She'd turned eighteen three months ago.
And she'd made her interest increasingly clear.
Smith's gaze automatically tracked to Fox across the room. His first relationship, his partner in building the Fraternity, the woman who knew him better than anyone.
Fox met his eyes. Her expression was knowing, amused, completely unconcerned. She smiled and returned to her conversation with Melina Vostokoff.
Melina had noticed the exchange. "Your chief scientist isn't exactly subtle, is she?"
Fox's smile widened. "Bulma's been patient for two years. That's remarkable restraint given her personality."
"And you're fine with this?" Melina's tone carried genuine curiosity, no judgment. She'd lived in the Red Room long enough to understand that relationships took many forms.
"Why wouldn't I be?" Fox sipped her wine. "Bulma isn't the only woman in this organization with feelings for Smith. Look at Selene—she's not even trying to hide it."
Melina followed her gaze. The vampire elder sat among her clan, but her attention kept drifting to Smith. The predatory interest in her eyes was unmistakable.
"Half the female vampires in the organization would jump at the chance," Fox continued matter-of-factly. "But Selene keeps them in line. They worship strength, and Smith is the strongest being they've encountered who isn't actively hostile."
She paused, considering her words. "Smith is getting more powerful every year. His responsibilities are expanding. One person can't... well, let's just say I'm practical about these things."
Melina studied her. "You're not worried about being replaced?"
"Replaced?" Fox laughed. "I'm his first. I helped build this organization from nothing. That gives me a position no one else can claim." Her expression turned more serious. "In some cultures, I'd be considered the primary wife. The one who sets the tone and maintains harmony."
She glanced back at Bulma. "And honestly? Bulma's brilliant, dedicated, and genuinely cares about him. If Smith is going to have other relationships, I'd rather they be with women I respect."
Back at Smith's table, Bulma maintained her position against his arm, waiting for his response.
Smith set the wine glass aside and turned to face her properly. "Bulma, you've been invaluable to the Fraternity. Your inventions, your research, your dedication—"
"That's not an answer," she interrupted gently. "I'm not asking you to evaluate my professional contributions. I'm telling you I'm an adult now, and I'm interested in you. As more than a colleague."
Her blue eyes held his, unflinching. "I've been patient. I didn't push while I was underage because that would have been inappropriate. But I'm eighteen now, and I'm not going to keep pretending these feelings don't exist."
Direct. Honest. Very Bulma.
Smith respected that, even as it complicated his life.
"This isn't something to decide tonight," he said carefully. "At a celebration, with wine flowing and emotions running high. If you still feel this way tomorrow—"
"I'll feel this way tomorrow. And next week. And next month." Bulma's voice carried absolute certainty. "I know my own mind, Smith. I have since I was sixteen. I just waited until it was appropriate to act on it."
She stood, releasing his arm but maintaining eye contact. "Think about it. I'm not going anywhere."
Then she walked away, her posture confident, leaving Smith to process the conversation.
Across the room, Fox caught his eye again. She raised her wine glass in a small, private toast, expression saying clearly: Your choice. I support whatever you decide.
Smith exhaled slowly. The Chitauri invasion, the looming Celestial emergence, the Dragon Ball tournaments, the Fraternity's expansion—somehow, navigating personal relationships felt more complicated than any of those strategic challenges.
Focus on one threshold at a time, he told himself. Deal with the immediate problems first.
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