Providence

  July 30, 16:40

  What exactly did it mean to have the ability to create technology that could mimic spells and formulate spells that mimicked technology? Most might say this description proved apt, and they wouldn’t be wrong.

  For me however, it meant redoing a lot of my prior creations simply because I could now give them reliable protections against magical effects. Faust had shown me having super technology didn’t mean jack shit before the unfair force of magic.

  I had gained the support of the unfair force with the acquisition and digestion of the sorcerer’s memories. My new mystic eyes enhanced this, but my latest perk changed mere support into something else. Something more.

  The best comparison I had for it was the positions Nabu and Klarion held. They were Lords of their respective factions and natural states of reality. Order and Chaos. What did that make me and the other people with similar abilities?

  Hephaestaus was a god, a lord of smithing and technology and everything in between. I wouldn’t dare call myself a god though. The Guardians of the Universe were ancient super aliens. They were the lords of the emotional electromagnetic spectrums and some of the Lantern Corps.

  The Weaponers of Qward… I didn’t know much about them but they did supply Sinestro with enough rings to make his own Lantern Corps. Didn’t know if they were lords of anything, but for people able to make lantern rings, they had to be.

  Now that I could produce creations on par with theirs, was I a Lord of Magitech? Nope. That didn’t have much ring to it. What about Lord of the Mystic and Machine? What if I removed the “and” and reversed the order of the two main focuses?

  Lord of the Machine Mystic.

  Yes. This had a much better ring to it.

  Nodding and spinning in my seat, I ended the short break I had taken to cool off and ended this mental expedition. The goal was to find a suitable title if I ever decided to use one, not to actually use it now.

  I didn’t even need to imagine announcing myself as such to feel the cringe. How did Nabu do it? Must be his advanced age and that gigantic stick shoved up his ass.

  Rather than focus on such frivolities, my time was better spent putting my newly gained expertise to immediate necessities. Almost every scientific knowledge and technology available to me would benefit from the mystic machine stuff, but I had to prioritize.

  The current phase of SHIELD’s growth needed my near constant attention.

  From the vetting of new recruits, supervising their training and performances, reviewing of intelligence updates, and the creation and assigning of missions, I had a lot to do.

  I had even put aside the Subspace Foray project. We had made good progress, but weighing it against SHIELD’s current needs saw the organisation come out on top.

  And now that I could confidently see the end goal of the project being realised due to the latest perk, I didn’t want to shift my focus. Not now. Not until I had dealt with the pressing concern of security and things in general had entered a stable phase.

  The concern of security had to do with the cat I rescued from Klarion’s clutches. It was here on the island, and I had given it to Cassandra this morning, asking the girl to think of a name and tell me later today.

  Kent had come through on his promise and allowed me to peruse the library in the Tower of Fate.

  With Nabu’s help (he wanted Klarion gone more than anyone), we found a spell that hid a target from one specific thing and nothing else. In this case, if Klarion returned to the mortal plane and the liberated Teekl was deliberately placed in front of him, none of his senses would pick her up.

  This wasn’t a case of invisibility and invincibility, but rather not being able to hit what you can’t see. That was also another drawback. If the obscured target was a living thing and it attacked what it was being hidden from, the spell would break.

  It was a fairly easy spell to cast, and my next, obvious question as to why it wasn’t mainstream died an early death. The spell needed a constant influx of magical energy to sustain.

  At Kent’s worry and sympathy for not finding a good enough solution, I laughed and thanked him. Nabu received my gratitude as well, though his took much effort on my part. Guy made it hard to like him. Not that he cared about likeability.

  With this spell in hand and my magical, indelible marker eyes, I confidently returned to Providence with Teekl and passed her on to my daughter. This left me free to focus on what The Mystic and The Machine promised with regards to stuff of this caliber—converting spells and rituals into workable technology.

  After I unwrapped the reward—so to speak—the huge influx of information happened as expected. Same for the pounding headache. I accepted both with open arms and basked in the forbidden knowledge, the candle flame proving its silent worth.

  There was too much to unpack regarding the three main boons stated in the description. I could tell just from the cursory glance the candle flame facilitated that it would take me about a month of non-stop work to digest the new arrivals and put them to use.

  My priorities already set, I singled out the portion detailing how to convert magical knowledge to technology, using the obscuring spell as a sort of lightning rod to accelerate my assimilation of the knowledge.

  I hadn’t slept since yesterday, and I planned to stay awake until I had working versions of the device that perfectly mimicked the spell’s function protecting the entire island and other key locations.

  Other applications of the digested knowledge would soon follow once that worry was put to rest. I’m talking portal generators that weren’t Zeta-Tech, stasis and regeneration pods, and many more.

  For now, I had a family to meet and a dinner with an Admiral to prepare for.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  An alarm went off and I glanced at the time.

  In twenty minutes I had to be in Bludhaven to pick up Felicity. I blinked, eyes wide. We were supposed to have our ninth date later today and spend the subsequent weekend together on the island. A mini vacation of sorts.

  Of all the things that could disrupt our streak, why did it have to be another meeting? This was going to be tough to explain. Felicity would have to understand that I didn’t schedule the meeting.

  However in the email I sent I didn’t even provide the times I’d be available. So yeah, this was my fault. Damn it. I’ll have to make it up to her.

  Galvanised by the blunder I’d made, I finally pried myself from the seat and teleported to the beach house. A quick sweep with magic later and I turned toward the door.

  Outside, I found my quarry; Cassandra, Mike, and the cat. The android was explaining a fact about felines while the girl gently brushed the cat’s fur and listened attentively.

  As for the cat, the greedy little demon hugged a bowl of milk and lapped the white goodness aggressively. Guess being the familiar of a Lord of Chaos didn’t come with treats.

  I didn’t announce my presence, but Cassandra, having fought off sneak attempts since she was old enough to understand what they were, sensed me the instant I arrived.

  She spun in my direction and smiled. She stood up to run to me but paused and picked up the cat before doing so.

  “Wel… come… back,” she said, her voice faint.

  Repairing the damage to her vocal cords was the easiest part of solving her speech problem. The healing, regenerative, reconstruction methods available to me were too many to count.

  It was the neurological part. Apart from maybe her time as an infant (and this was a big maybe) Cassandra hadn’t uttered a single word. Ever. What little I knew about biology told me that we’d have to address the neurological side of things.

  Thankfully, the Cyberpunk data pad had a solution for that as well. It was amazing and frankly, also horrifying what humanity could achieve if they threw away morals and pursued results above everything else.

  I mean, why were there multiple nanite treatments to stimulate the speech centers in the brains of those that had suffered catastrophic brain injuries, autistic children, and many other cases?

  I seldom wondered if such laser focus on results and nothing else was the way to go. But I’d always remember what the world in Cyberpunk was like and also think of the kind of people who engaged in such pursuits.

  They were animals. Plain and simple.

  I smiled and rubbed Cassandra’s hair in response to her greeting. “Thank you. That’s really good.”

  Her smile got bigger and she held out the cat with both arms, the initially struggling feline docile in my presence. Milk dripped down its whiskers and I laughed.

  “Her…name. Eu...dora.”

  “Eudora huh,” I rubbed the cat behind its ears. “What does it mean?”

  “It…means…gene…rous…gift.”

  I crouched to reach her eye level. “Thats—”

  She shook her head and I stopped.

  “I…name…her…you?”

  She sensed my confusion pretty easily and grew frustrated. Before I could offer some comfort, Mike stepped behind her and put a hand on her shoulder, causing her to look up at him.

  “It’s okay. It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just concise,” he said, his voice robotic yet sounding human at the same time.

  Cassandra focused back on me and lowered the cat. She closed her eyes and inhaled.

  “Cat…not…gift,” she opened her eyes. “You…are. You…are…generous…gift. You…give…me…every…thing.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes. I gently grabbed her face and cleaned them.

  “I understand,” I said and pressed my forehead against hers for a moment before standing up. “Thank you.”

  Perhaps having read my intent to wrap her in a hug, she threw her arms around me even before I did. Smiling, I did my part to make the hug complete, patting her back and rubbing her hair.

  “You are also a gift to me,” I said, and she hugged me tighter.

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  Washington DC

  July 30, 20:57

  Since the meeting with the Admiral was to secure SHIELD’s inevitable rise to legitimacy, I refrained from arriving at the location using the various teleportation methods available to me.

  Instead, I drove to the restaurant normally from the airport after arriving at the latter location with a hired private jet. Well, I drove was not accurate.

  I wasn’t alone on this trip. Five SHIELD agents accompanied me, three in the sky with the Zephyr and two on the ground with me, one of which was Lyla Michaels.

  In the short timespan I’d worked with her, the qualities that led to her instatement as the leader of ARGUS in the Arrowverse became quickly apparent. She was my future second in command, she just didn’t know it yet.

  However, I wanted some time to pass first. Let her accumulate more experience against the meta part of this world, rack up completed missions and acquire more skills that would make her a threat on par with the League’s human members.

  It wasn’t lost on me how this development looked almost the same as Maria Hill’s direct subordination to Nick Fury. The parallels would’ve been perfect if not for one thing; me.

  I was the misshapen piece of this puzzle, and I’d come to understand this long ago. After my time with the League fixing this and then diving into Ra’s al Ghul’s memories, I was closer than ever to achieving the right shape.

  Soon, the day would come when I wouldn’t be plagued by doubts and feelings of inadequacy about the path I’d chosen. However, today wasn’t that day.

  “Sir, we’re here.”

  I blinked at Lyla’s voice and looked outside the window, noting the sparse and evenly spaced street vendors perched under the tall lights illuminating the less than busy streets.

  “This is a nice place to have a walk…” I muttered.

  “Sir?”

  “Don’t mind me. Case?”

  Lyla passed me the prepared suitcase from the front and alighted from the vehicle, moving from the front side door to the back. The chill and bright light hit me at once and I welcomed it, inhaling as I joined her on the ground.

  “I’ll take it from here,” I said before pausing at the sight of the vendor near the entrance to the meeting location. “You know what, wait.”

  I let the suitcase hang from my left arm and waved at Michaels to follow me. We stopped near the vendor turning a Green Arrow shirt over and over as some kind of display.

  “Hi. I’d like one shirt for every hero you have.”

  “Uhh.. all of them?”

  “Why? Don’t have them?”

  “I-I do. Please, your size?”

  “Two sizes. I want one set in Large and another set in Small.” ‘This will be Cassandra’s gift for this little trip.’

  Business proceeded smoothly and I handed over the shirts to Lyla, leaving her to return to the vehicle and a satisfied and well tipped vendor at his stall.

  The sight of the superhero shirts should’ve done nothing to me. I mean, I had seen the real things. The real people that inspired them. I knew them personally. Well, some of them but you get my meaning.

  However something about tonight and the sight of the clothing reminded me of who I used to be before all this. In my younger days I had shirts with both Superman and Batman designs and even a Spider man backpack.

  This all changed when I grew older and I stopped wearing such stuff. But seeing them again tonight told me that for all the stuff I’d been doing to take time off and truly live this life, I hadn’t done the simple things like wear the shirts with the designs of the heroes I admired.

  And while I could have rectified this with a simple message to Mike to fire up the fabricator, something about doing that seemed unnecessarily… I don’t know, hollow.

  It just didn’t feel like the normal thing to do after seeing someone sell the thing I wanted right in front of me. Someone who was most likely not as financially well off as me. Hence, the impulse buy.

  Anyway, that little tangent out of the way, I walked up to the entrance of the restaurant. Two men, dressed in black suits just like me, wore tactical harnesses that clashed with their suits while wielding assault rifles.

  HK416’s. Huh.

  To prevent any misunderstandings, I’d sent over my image and certain details of my identity beforehand. So the scene of gun muzzles being pointed at me while orders were being barked didn’t happen.

  Instead, I handed over the suitcase to one of the men while the other patted me down, quite thoroughly if I might add. Under the watchful eye of more and more of these armed and suited men, I was ushered into the empty but well lit restaurant.

  They led me to a table where the person I was here to meet sat and waited, looking sharp in his well pressed uniform, medals hanging from the left side of his chest.

  “Mr. Rath.”

  “Admiral,” I said and kept my hand in the pockets of my greatcoat, inwardly wondering how he’d react if he knew said pockets were larger than he could even imagine.