Chapter 62: The Battle Rekindled

There are many formidable villains in the Marvel universe. Some are rotten to the core, evil through and through; others have a painful past and did not choose the path of darkness willingly. Adrian Toomes is a classic example of the latter.

He was merely an electrical engineer, an ordinary man with dreams of flight. But unlike Falcon, the hero who fought alongside Captain America, Adrian had no support from the military or Iron Man to provide him with the technological wings to soar. For an engineer of his modest means, there was no one willing to fund his research.

Initially, he ran a small salvage company, specializing in clearing the battlefield debris left behind after the Avengers’ great battle in New York. Unfortunately, a single order from the U.S. government shattered his livelihood and those of his men. Citing national and global security, the authorities handed all salvage contracts to certified corporations—namely, Stark Industries and its affiliates.

Tony Stark grew richer, while Adrian didn’t even get a scrap. Such blatant unfairness easily breeds resentment. In a fit of anger, Adrian decided to reengineer alien weaponry on his own.

If events followed their course, a year later, thanks to the advanced weapons modified by his men from scavenged alien technology, the Vulture would find himself at odds with Spider-Man. But now, with Meimumu poised to intercept, history may already be veering in an entirely new direction…

Meimumu, however, paid these concerns little mind.

Inside the New York Sanctum, Mordo stood dumbfounded as Meimumu’s people hauled in various items.

“What are these…?”

“Leftovers from the last New York battle, Chitauri tech,” Meimumu replied nonchalantly.

“But—we’re sorcerers!” Mordo protested, growing agitated.

“All right, dear Master Mordo, in a situation where we’re severely outmatched, would you rather send underpowered apprentices to die on the front lines? Would you have me employ dark magic? Or perhaps try something else?” Meimumu smiled with utter innocence—like a fox.

Given these three options, how was anyone supposed to choose? Feeling the anxious gazes of the apprentice sorcerers nearby, Mordo’s scalp tingled. Not every apprentice was a Meimumu.

The resident sorcerers of the London and New York Sanctums had all been slaughtered like pigs and dogs by the Fallen. Mordo couldn’t bring himself to send the underqualified apprentices to the slaughter.

“You’re not really giving me a choice!” Mordo exclaimed.

He found that the longer he spent around Meimumu, the more his principles crumbled. What he once held sacred was fading into ambiguity.

When one’s morals are tossed out and picked up again, over and over, a dozen times or more, one day you’ll suddenly wonder: “Wait—did I ever really have principles?”

Unable to object, Mordo watched as Meimumu set his plan in motion. This strategy—using ingenuity to compensate for a lack of power—naturally won unanimous approval from the apprentice sorcerers.

While everyone busied themselves, Meimumu… appeared to be issuing some rather questionable orders.

“Pointing this thing at the front gate won’t work. Who falls for that these days?”

“Exactly! Turn it around—aim it toward our own people.”

“That’s the kind of twisted thinking that works.”

Unbeknownst to them, noon arrived.

“Senior Brother, you’ve worked hard, please have lunch!” A bright-eyed young woman hurried over, handing him a tray.

Wait a minute—why did she look so familiar? She had a lovely oval face, quite pleasing to the eye. His gaze drifted downward—hmm… hard to beat that hand.

Upright as ever, Meimumu looked away. “And you are…?”

“Senior Brother, I’m Li Keling!”

“Ah, Junior Sister Li! Thank you. Just leave the lunch here.”

She left, bashful and demure, and only then did Meimumu glance at his lunch.

A McDonald’s Happy Meal.

Seriously?

What do they take me for?

Mordo, you bastard, I give you ten thousand dollars and this is what you serve me?

Hmph!

Wait…

Delicious!

The days passed, and on the tenth day after the attack on the New York Sanctum, the situation finally changed.

Mordo rushed in, deeply anxious. “Bad news! The Hong Kong Sanctum has been attacked by Kaecilius—it’s destroyed!”

“What?” Meimumu’s expression changed.

He knew then that history had been completely rewritten. In the original story, it was the New York Sanctum that fell first, with Hong Kong’s distinctive sanctum meeting its end last.

Now that Hong Kong had been destroyed first, the full weight of the crisis pressed upon New York. Since Kaecilius was determined to destroy all three sanctums, New York would inevitably become his next and only target.

“Does the Ancient One know?” Meimumu, unflustered and displaying the calm of a true leader, quickly became the pillar everyone relied upon.

“She does, but Kamar-Taj has also come under a mysterious, albeit minor, attack. The Master is uncertain of the situation. Only after Kaecilius’s presence is confirmed will she act,” Mordo replied, still anxiously turning the Staff of the Living Tribunal in his hands.

Meimumu pondered in silence.

If this were the original plot, the solution would be simple: just summon the Ancient One. But the story was now unrecognizable.

With only himself to rely on, he could do as he pleased. When you’re alone, you only have yourself to worry about. But now, with a dozen lives—potential seeds for the future—resting on his shoulders, it was different. As Sorcerer Supreme, the Ancient One had to weigh many factors. She couldn’t focus only on this attack; if defending this time meant sacrificing all the apprentices at Kamar-Taj, the next assault might be impossible to resist.

The Ancient One might not say it, but Meimumu understood. According to history, she had fought many dark lords and suffered grave injuries; her body, by now, must be in poor condition.

That was the source of Meimumu’s inner turmoil.

Ah, it’s hard being the leader.

Meimumu gave his orders: “Hamir, take all the apprentices to the sanctum’s portal room. If we come under attack, disperse them at once.”

Hamir nodded solemnly.

Meimumu turned to the uneasy apprentices. “Once you leave, stay clear of the portal. If it reopens and it’s not summoned by one of us three masters, do not approach under any circumstances.”

“Understood,” Li Keling and the others answered in unison.

They knew they couldn’t be of any real help. Hong Kong’s sanctum had been reinforced, yet so many masters had vanished without a trace. The ferocity of the Fallen’s assault was clear.

“Whew! Now, all we can do is wait.”

They didn’t have to wait long. As expected, Kaecilius soon arrived—bringing death in his wake.