Now that he had a somewhat functional relationship with Bob, it was time to see what he could actually do with his skills.
Lucius sat on the comfortable-looking sofa with the curtains half drawn, like he was hiding from the day itself. The house was quiet in that upper-middle-class way, insulated, confident, and clean. The kind of quiet that assumed other people dealt with the ugly parts of life somewhere else.
On the coffee table, Bob waited.
Plain black cover. No title or decoration. The same innocent look every dangerous thing tried to pull off.
Lucius stared at it for a moment, then leaned forward and tapped the cover twice.
"You and me," he told the book. "We are going to get rich, or we are going to get arrested. Preferably the first."
Bob, being a book, did not answer.
The whispers did not return either. That was progress. Or a trap. Most likely both.
He opened it anyway.
The first page held the list again, neat and confident, written like a contract someone had already signed on his behalf.
Name: Lucius Noctis
Race: Homo Superior
Class: Wizard
Affinity: Alchemy, Rituals
Racial Skills
- Rapid Healing
- Mental Shields
Class Skills
- Veil of Fate
- Blessed Brewing
- Sacrificial Array
He traced the words with his eyes, then shut the book halfway and let it rest against his palm.
"All right," he said. "Let us audit the benefits package."
First came the racial skills.
Rapid Healing.
He had already experienced that one firsthand. It was wonderful, terrifying, and extremely rude. It had sealed his forearm like his body was on a mission to prevent him from bleeding in a way that mattered.
He rolled up his sleeve and stared at the skin where he had cut himself repeatedly. It was smooth, no mark, not even a faint scar.
Rapid healing was as useful as a fire extinguisher in an arson contest. You did not appreciate it until everything was already on fire, and then you loved it like you would a sugar mommy. He cleared his throat; there was no need to remember some details from his former life.
The only downside was that getting three drops of blood had been a small torture session. His own body had behaved like an overprotective parent. Healing was amazing, yes. But it did not stop his pain receptors.
Next.
Mental Shields.
That one did not need an explanation. It said what it did. It made his mind less of an open book, which was good, because the last thing he needed was some telepath turning his thoughts into entertainment.
With those two passives, he would not be an open smut novel for anyone with the skill set to creep around other people's heads.
He paused on that thought.
He had always hated the idea of being on the wrong end of mind reading skills. Privacy mattered. It was the last thing most people still had.
Also, he had seen enough internet to know what humans did when they had access to other people's thoughts.
He continued to contemplate. Now the class skills. He had a class after all. He was not a plebeian anymore.
His hard work had paid off.
The hard work of answering an SMS in a café in Paris before he died. A few sarcastic taps on a phone screen, a little greed, a few wish lists typed out like he was ordering lunch. Now it was time to reap the advantages of those dedicated minutes.
So disciplined, so brave. Truly, history would remember his heroic effort of selecting options.
He shook his head and focused.
Veil of Fate.
The moment he gave it attention, something in the back of his skull shifted. Not pain. Not the knowledge kick from the grimoire. This felt like a curtain being drawn, something sliding into place between him and whatever sent him here.
He closed his eyes and tried to sense it.
It was difficult to describe. He did not feel hidden in the way a man felt hidden behind a wall. He felt missing. Like a line had been erased from a ledger.
His fate was hidden from entities up to universal levels.
That was what the knowledge told him. Not something he believed because it sounded cool. In the cinematic universe, there were not many multiversal threats.
He hoped that meant the veil would hold.
He remembered enough about Marvel to know the difference between the films and the comics. The comics were a cosmic fever dream. The films were the diet version.
Even Loki, one of the weaker villains in the cinematic universe, became a ridiculous thing in the comics. Multiversal, godly, absurd.
Lucius patted his own chest in an imaginary gesture of approval.
"Good choice, me," he muttered. "For once."
Next was the Blessed Brewing.
He focused on it, and the understanding came with no dramatic effects. Most good things in his life arrived quietly and then punched him later.
Blessed Brewing was not just a skill. It felt like a blessing layered into the act itself, like some alchemy god had decided to make his life easier for reasons he did not know.
It doubled the result of his brews while reducing the required ingredients by one.
Double output and one less ingredient. Yes, please.
He ran it again in his head and felt something close to an honest satisfaction.
"That is a good one," he said. "That is the kind of cheating I respect."
Then came Sacrificial Array.
His mood shifted.
The knowledge behind that skill was clean and bright, almost cheerful in its clarity. Runes, structure, and intent laid out like a recipe.
It was a butcher's deal.
With the array, he could take a desired trait or a skill from an individual and sacrifice the rest, life force, soul, whatever counted, to the thing behind the SMS.
Lucius leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
So his benefactor was not a saint.
He was in Marvel, so that should not have surprised him. This universe ran on blood and trauma, and the heroes still found time to give speeches.
He pressed a hand to his chest and struck a dramatic pose like he was on a stage.
"How barbaric," he declared in an exaggerated voice. "How would I, a person from another universe, have the heart to kill for personal gain? How archaic. How villainous."
He held the pose for another second, then dropped it and chuckled.
Again, he was in Marvel.
There were hundreds, maybe thousands, of empowered individuals. Supers, enhanced, aliens, monsters, people who thought spandex was a personality trait and a mask can hide your sins even from the Priest from your childhood choir.
He had literally zero commitment to anyone other than himself.
If it came down to it, he would sacrifice the entire cast without blinking twice.
He rested his elbows on his knees and looked at Bob.
"Let us not pretend," he said quietly. "You were never going to make me a hero."
Bob still did not answer, and that was fine. Silent friends were the key for long lived friendships.
Now it was time to explore possibilities.
He focused on the alchemy formulas again. They unfolded in his mind like a manual he had studied for years, except he had not studied, and the price he paid was slightly on the expensive side. Plus, the headache felt like a divine punishment.
Every potion had three versions.
Light, Medium, and High.
He decided to start with the basics. Healing and stamina.
There was no reason to be naive. Humanity had spent billions to make certain delicate parts of its anatomy perform on demand, and entire industries were built on vanity and fear. People would pay for anything if you promised them youth, strength, or a longer night.
He had seen it in the normal world. He would see it here, too.
And if some supreme idiots were willing to destroy Rhinos for miracle cures that did not work, that was on them. Someone should have explained to them that the Horn and the nail of that magnificent creature were made of the same simple thing called Keratin. Same as human hair or nails. The difference was structure, not magic.
He exhaled. Right. Yammering finished.
The plan was simple: he would brew healing and stamina potions.
He would sell them.
He would get money.
He would get access to more power so he could start to hunt people with traits he wanted. He did not dare to ask the entity about his other wishes, such as the sentry serum and psychic powers. Their last conversation ended on a sour note.
Returning to his plans, he was not looking for fame. Fame attracted attention. Attention attracted heroes. Heroes attracted problems.
He opened Bob and flipped to the formulas to see if there were any differences between the ones embedded in his mind and the book. There were none. So why the headache..
Yes, formulas.
Light Healing Potion.
Light Stamina Potion.
He read the first one.
He blinked.
He read it again.
He blinked again, slower this time.
He closed Bob.
He sat back and stared at the ceiling like it had personally insulted him.
Then he wished Bob to disappear.
The book vanished from the coffee table with the obedience of an object that knew its place.
Lucius sat there in silence.
He had expected rare herbs. Exotic crystals. A magical flower that only grew under a blood moon in a haunted valley.
What he had gotten was a grocery list.
Light Healing Potion.
Apple.
Spinach leaf.
Honey drizzle.
Put them in a pot.
Boil them together for ten minutes.
Result: two doses.
Light Stamina Potion.
One large banana.
A handful of oats.
A spoon of honey.
Boil for ten minutes.
Result: two doses.
Lucius stared at the air in front of him like the recipe was floating there.
Either Mr Really Powerful, the thing behind the SMS, was mocking him…
Or he had struck gold.
No, not gold.
He had hit the jackpot, and the jackpot was located in the produce aisle. He exhaled, slow and controlled.
He stood and walked into the kitchen.
The cabinets were neat. The counters were clean. A fruit bowl sat on the island like a staged photo.
He opened the pantry.
He checked the fridge.
He found apples.
He found spinach.
He found honey.
He found bananas.
He found oats.
He stared at the ingredients for a moment, then laughed.
He was going to benefit humanity. He, after all believed in equality. The only difference was that some people were more equal than others.
What he was really going to do was sell miracle soup to rich idiots.
He pulled a pot from a cabinet and set it on the stove.
The metal clanged.
He looked down at his hands.
"Let us see what you can do," he told himself.
Then he started chopping an apple like the future depended on it.