Harry didn't hesitate at all. "Where are you?"
"Top floor of Stark Industries Tower."
"Alright. I'm on my way!"
Harry ended the call. With crisp, efficient movements, he pulled out his wand and tapped the air in front of him. A portal formed in an instant, woven from bright golden sparks.
He stepped through.
In the blink of an eye, he arrived on the top floor of Stark Industries Tower.
The lighting up there was bright enough to make everything crystal clear. Tony was already waiting. When he saw Harry stride out of the portal, he lifted a hand and offered him a glass of Romanée-Conti, forcing a tired smile onto his face.
"I've had unbelievably bad luck today. If I hadn't developed a portable magical suit, I'd probably be dead right now."
Hearing that, Harry's expression instantly turned strange.
He noticed the many abrasions on Tony's body. He tossed him a healing spell, and the scrapes visibly closed and faded at a speed the naked eye could follow, while Harry sighed in disbelief.
"What is going on today? I just found out Peter got hurt—didn't expect you to be injured too. Tell me. What happened?"
"Peter got hurt too?" Tony didn't start with his own situation. As always, his curiosity came first.
A sharp glint flashed in Harry's eyes, his voice dropping.
"Yeah. A bunch of lizard-men appeared out of nowhere in New York's sewers. Those monsters are attacking pedestrians indiscriminately. Peter went to stop them and got injured.
I'm planning to have S.H.I.E.L.D. step in—work with Peter and wipe out those sewer lizards together."
"So that's it." Tony nodded slightly. He knew perfectly well that with Harry's power, those lizards could be dealt with easily. Whether Tony helped or not didn't matter.
For Tony, what mattered more right now was studying magic—sharing more knowledge with Harry—and solving the trouble in his own body as fast as possible.
Before Harry could ask again, Tony took the initiative and explained where his injuries came from.
"Not long ago, at a Formula One race, I got attacked by some unknown guy. These injuries are his handiwork.
But I didn't call you over because of that. The guy's tech is… decent, I guess, but in front of the great Tony Stark, it's still not enough.
The reason I'm asking for your help is because I've run into a major problem—palladium poisoning.
You know it: palladium is the key element that keeps the energy reactor in my chest running. But now it's turned into a ticking time bomb threatening my life.
If this can't be solved, then humanity's greatest scientist is going to die young. That would be a loss for all mankind!"
Tony raised a hand, undid his shirt, and exposed his chest to the air.
Across his skin, dense greenish veins spread like a spiderweb—radiating outward from the Arc Reactor embedded at the center of his chest.
They looked like greedy green vines, growing and crawling beneath his flesh, eroding his body with ruthless persistence every single second.
Harry immediately understood. Palladium was leaking from the Arc Reactor—no wonder Tony's life force felt so weak right now.
Harry ran through the healing magic he knew. After confirming he could handle it, he nodded.
"I can temporarily ease your symptoms. With healing magic, I can suppress the palladium's erosion and extract most of the palladium from your body.
But that's only a stopgap. It treats the symptoms, not the cause. If you want to truly get rid of palladium poisoning, either you remove the Arc Reactor in your chest, or you stop wearing the Iron Man suit from now on. At the moment, those are the only two options."
Tony suddenly tilted his head back and drained the whiskey in his glass in one go, his throat working hard as the burning liquid slid down like a line of fire.
He set the glass down and let out a self-mocking laugh—helpless, yet resolute.
"Cure it? Don't joke around. You know that's impossible. The Arc Reactor is my lifeline. Without it, the shrapnel in my chest will kill me in minutes.
And as for not wearing the suit—I can't do that. This armor has already fused with me. It is my life. Can you still call me Iron Man if I'm Iron Man without the suit?"
Harry sighed softly, helplessness in his eyes. Then a sentence the Sorcerer Supreme had once said flashed through his mind, and his eyes lit up.
"Wait—maybe I do have a way! I know a doctor with insanely high skill. If he's the lead surgeon, and I assist on the side with healing magic, there's a chance we can safely remove the shrapnel from your chest!"
"Oh?" Tony's lowered gaze snapped up, hope surging. "What's the doctor's name?"
Harry's lips curled upward, a mysterious smile in his eyes.
"Stephen Strange. A genius neurosurgeon. And… he might even become my junior apprentice someday."
Tony froze for a beat before he understood what Harry meant. "So this Dr. Strange has really good talent for magic?"
"Very good. If I didn't exist, there's a strong chance he'd become the next Sorcerer Supreme. Even with me here, I'm still planning to make him the next Sorcerer Supreme."
Harry said it with a bright, delighted grin—though for some reason, there was a faintly sinister edge hidden inside that smile.
Tony's mouth twitched. He didn't know whether Strange's magical talent was really as good as Harry claimed, but he did know one thing:
Stephen Strange was about to have a very bad time.
Harry was a kind person, sure.
But sometimes… he really wasn't human.
Loki: "Right!"
The Hammer God: "Right, right, right!"
The abyss demons: "Right, right, exactly right!"
——————
New York City General Hospital. Inside the emergency operating suite, the shadowless surgical lights dimmed one by one. The steady beep of the monitor replaced the earlier chaos of alarms.
Stephen Strange stepped away from the operating table, peeled off his silicone gloves and dark green surgical gown, and walked out. He had just completed a surgery.
It had been extremely difficult. The patient's family demanded that he be the one to operate—because only he could work inside that fragile, complex cerebrospinal environment like a precision craftsman, removing the tumor perfectly, down to the smallest fraction.
Strange was still a young doctor, only practicing for a few years, yet his résumé was dazzling.
Not long ago, he had pioneered a laminectomy technique. Throughout his career, he had repeatedly created miracles, completing surgeries that seemed unbelievable. By now, his reputation as a famous doctor had spread far and wide.
At this moment, Stephen Strange stood at the peak of his life—TV interviews, admiration from female colleagues, a wealthy lifestyle… With his extraordinary skill, he had earned staggering money and lived a life others envied.
But to Strange, this was only the beginning. His goals went far beyond this.
In the future, he would create even more medical miracles, pushing his limits step by step, until he became a world-renowned top-tier doctor.
He believed—firmly—that this goal was absolutely within reach.
Oh, right. He also needed a gentle, virtuous partner.
His colleague Christine would be a very good choice.
And at that very moment, Christine walked into the washroom with light steps.
She turned slightly, standing beside Strange, and opened the tap. Water flowed out in a clear stream, droplets dancing over her slender fingers.
Casually, she noticed Strange rubbing his fingers over and over. The corner of her mouth lifted as she teased him.
"What's wrong, Dr. Strange? Planning to rub your fingers until they fracture? I heard you just bought a sky-high insurance policy for those hands of yours. Don't tell me you're about to put on a little insurance fraud show?"
Even though he knew that when pursuing a woman, he should show a gentler side—Strange had become famous young, and everything had gone smoothly for him. Arrogance was stamped into his bones.
Maybe only a massive upheaval—one that overturned his entire world—could shatter his current smugness and recklessness and force him to become steady.
So when Christine teased him, Strange still couldn't hold back. He lifted his chin slightly, pride and disdain written all over him.
"No. I wouldn't do something that stupid. I'm not like you people. Even a sky-high payout can't compare to the value of these hands. They have the power to bring the dead back to life."
Christine didn't argue. What Strange said was true—these nimble, powerful hands of his really had saved many lives.
In fact, Christine did have a bit of goodwill toward Strange.
But she didn't plan to get involved in an office romance, so she could only press that feeling down.
A faint smile lingered on her lips. "That really is you, Dr. Strange. If you weren't so arrogant, you'd probably be more popular with the other colleagues."
Strange reflexively shot back, "No, you don't understand. Genius is always solitary. I don't care about that so-called popularity."
The moment the words left his mouth, Strange regretted it so badly his intestines turned green. He wanted to slap himself on the spot.
He cursed inwardly—great. Now he's ruined it.
Sure enough, he sneaked a glance at Christine. Her smile stiffened instantly, surprise and awkwardness flashing in her eyes.
Even Christine—usually gentle and good at handling situations—looked a little at a loss.
Just as the atmosphere was turning suffocatingly awkward, a slightly heavyset figure approached from a distance. It was Dr. Nic.
He had entered the profession around the same time as Strange, but their skill and fame were worlds apart.
Strange was a dazzling genius in the medical field.
Nic was merely an ordinary doctor with relatively solid professional ability.
Normally, Strange didn't even bother hiding his coldness toward colleagues he considered mediocre, like Nic.
But right now, he was profoundly grateful that Nic had arrived. Nic had pulled him out of an awkward corner.
However, there seemed to be two people behind Nic—one of them looked familiar.
Was that playboy Tony Stark?
After leading them over, Dr. Nic—whom Strange considered a mediocrity—turned politely to Tony.
"Sir, this is Dr. Strange. You can talk. I still have some matters to handle, so I'll be going."
After Nic left, the young-looking man beside Tony Stark—someone who seemed barely of age—walked straight up to Strange. He wore a meaningful smile and extended his hand.
"Hello, Dr. Strange. I've heard a lot about you. I have a surgery here—no matter how I think about it, only you can handle it. I hope you'll be the one to operate."
Gwen is borrowing Harry's magic, and the reason she has the power of the fate-weaving web is because Harry used chaos magic's property of containing everything to reshape it into fate-weaving web magic.
So Gwen won't share spider-sense with Spider-Man, and she definitely won't become Spider-Woman. She's Harry's borrower—a sorcerer.
Don't forget: Gwen can also turn invisible, control electric currents, and use other magic!
//Check out my P@tre0n for 20 extra chapters on all my fanfics //[email protected]/Razeil0810.