"Tell you what," Hubert continued. "Why don't we make a trade? His life… for your retreat." His monster form could easily speak and the voice was chilling to say the least. Tony's repulsors hummed to life, and Hubert growled lowly, pressing his claws deeper against Barton's ribs. Blood seeped from the wound.
"Ah-ah. Move an inch, and I spill him open." Tony's jaw clenched.
"Why do you care about him, anyway?" Hubert asked. "I've seen your kind. Cold. Detached. Calculating. Or is this weakness? Sentimentality?"
"You wouldn't get it," Tony said, voice flat.
"You're right. I don't." His grip tightened once more, and Barton's struggles grew weaker. "So, what will it be, metal man? Back down… or watch him die?"
Tony took a slow breath. He knew that he couldn't do anything here and he also cursed himself for not taking Barton out of the equation faster. He was so much drowned on revenge that he had forgotten the main picture for the moment.
Suddenly, before Tony could respond, Hubert struck.
With a monstrous snarl, the vampire lunged, sinking his fangs deep into Barton's neck.
Barton's body jerked violently, his muffled scream cutting through the thick tension in the alley. Tony's eyes widened in horror as he saw blood spurt from the wound, staining the vampire's grotesque maw.
"Barton!" Tony shouted. Repulsors flared.
But before he could fire, Hubert abruptly pulled back. He licked the blood from his lips, then—with a blur of motion—he was gone.
Vanished into the darkness.
Barton collapsed onto the cold cobblestones, clutching his neck as blood poured between his fingers. His breaths were ragged, shallow. His skin already looked pale.
Tony wasted no time.
"Shit, shit, shit—hold on, Barton!" He sprinted forward, kneeling beside his friend. His gauntlet scanned the wound, trying to assess the damage, but he didn't need an AI to tell him the situation was bad. The bite was deep. Too deep. If he didn't act fast, Barton was going to bleed out right here. And bleeding wasn't the only thing he was worried about. He had read his tales when he was small and in this world some of the tales were real.
He had a very bad feeling about this.
And to make matters worse, the sounds of shouting and hurried footsteps echoed from the streets beyond the alley. The fight had drawn too much attention. If the city guards or witch hunters arrived, things would get even messier.
Tony had no choice.
"Alright, Barton, we're getting out of here." He scooped Barton up. With a burst of power, the Storm Javelin's thrusters roared to life. They shot into the sky, leaving the alley—and the chaos below—behind.
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The night was still, save for the distant howl of the wind through the dense forest that surrounded the sacred grove. Cathbad stood beside Liam, his weathered hands tracing symbols in the air. Ancient standing stones hummed with a quiet energy.
"You understand, boy," Cathbad began, "a staff is not just a tool—it is an extension of yourself. The power it holds is the power you wield. The strength of your will, your magic, your essence—all must be woven into its core."
Liam nodded. If he was going to be a true sorcerer, he needed something of his own. Something that amplified his magic and stood as a symbol of his abilities.
Before them lay the components: Mithril, steel tempered by dwarven smiths and heartwood from eldar tree. Cathbad ran a hand over the wood, whispering in Quenya. The bark peeled away on its own, revealing a smooth, polished core.
"This wood has seen centuries. It holds the memory of the land. It will become the conduit of your magic."
"How do we merge them?" Liam asked. He needed to be a part of this making as every sorcerer would have to go through this process himself if he needed a staff for himself.
"With fire, with power, and with will."
The two set to work. First, the heartwood was shaped into the perfect form—tall but balanced, with a slight curve at the top where the core of its magic would rest. It was neither too thick nor too thin, feeling like an extension of Liam's hand.
Next, the mithril was heated within an enchanted forge. Cathbad was very much surprised when he saw mithril as apparently mithril had once been welcomed into the continent once when the Conjunction of Spheres took place, but it came in very low quantity and the Aen Elle and Seidhe had hidden them, never to be seen or used by humanity. He had read about it but when he witnessed mithril for the first time, he was amazed and also excited. His new student was definitely an unique one.
Liam, seeing the face of Cathbad smiled and petted Elie. This was the name Liam had given to the rabbit. Elie had never left his side since Liam had started his training and was beyond happy to bond with Elie. Liam had decided to take Elie to Fenrir and extend its life using magic as life restoration came easy for the current Liam. Especially with the knowledge and godlike powers in his world.
The flames turning a deep blue as runes flared along the forge's rim. The metal shimmered like liquid light, resisting the heat yet bending to the combined will of Liam and Cathbad.
As Liam channeled his power into the mithril, he could feel it responding, drinking in his magic. Sparks of energy flared around his hands as he shaped the metal into fine filigree, tracing along the length of the heartwood. The steel was then melted down and carefully wrapped around the base of the staff, reinforcing its structure while allowing the magic to flow unimpeded.
Cathbad then carved intricate runes into the staff, his fingers moving with practiced precision. Each rune was an invocation, a seal of power that would bind the elements together.
"This is where your power comes in, Liam," Cathbad said. "Imbue the staff with your essence. Let it know you."
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