Marvel’s Master of Heavenly Magic

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During the weekend, George spent most of his time practicing newly learned spells, occasionally taking the time to visit Hagrid and learn about magical creatures. He also engaged in a sort of spiritual communication with the magical creatures that Hagrid kept. During this period, he didn’t see Harry or Ron. Rumor had it that they were being punished for crashing the car and damaging the Whomping Willow.

By the second week, George was still madly accumulating points while absorbing as much magical knowledge as possible, continuously learning and practicing new spells.

Meanwhile, on the Marvel side of things, after more than ten days of investigation, he was starting to see some results.

That evening, George rode his modified motorcycle from the mutant school located in the outskirts, heading towards the Bronx, closer to the city.

On the way, when he encountered a checkpoint, he used a high-priced fake ID to pass without trouble.

In these ten-plus days of investigation, aside from getting a rough idea of the situation of the dozens of large and small families in the Bronx, he also paid a hefty sum to acquire a fake identity from a local forger.

Of course, this fake identity would only fool ordinary police officers. If he were to encounter the CIA, S.H.I.E.L.D., or the FBI, it wouldn’t hold up.

Let alone using this identity to open a bank account and deposit the money he obtained, then using it to buy Stark Industries' shares.

So from the start, he had no intention of buying Stark's shares himself. His current body was a product of a lab experiment, with no legitimate identification whatsoever. Using a fake ID wouldn’t be enough to get through.

He needed a proxy, but he couldn’t just pick anyone at random.

First, the person had to have some level of status; otherwise, buying Stark’s shares on his behalf might raise suspicion and attract the attention of various organizations.

In fact, George thought that even if he looted all the gangs in the Bronx and used the cash to buy Stark Industries' stock, it would be a drop in the ocean for such a colossal company.

After all, the cash he could seize was just that—cash. At most, he could coerce some gang leaders into withdrawing their liquid assets, but he couldn’t take all of their wealth.

To the impoverished and chaotic Bronx, that amount of money might be astronomical, but to Stark Industries, it was likely worth less than some of the art pieces in Tony Stark’s mansion.

The wealth of truly rich people is unimaginable to the poor.

One painting in Tony Stark's room could be worth billions, but for George, even a billion would be more than enough to provide a stable life for him and the mutant kids.

He didn’t need to make big moves or go up against major organizations right now. What he needed was a stable life where he could focus on studying magic and improving his strength.

If it weren’t for the fear of the Chitauri invasion in a few years and the possibility that the Avengers might fail to fend them off, leading to Earth's collapse, he wouldn’t even be staying near New York.

Additionally, the proxy had to have ties to the Bronx and be unable to leave. Otherwise, with that much money in their hands, they could simply run off with it, and George wouldn’t know where to find them.

People die for wealth, and birds die for food. He didn’t believe that after just a few months of interaction, anyone would be truly loyal to him. He wasn’t exactly radiating an aura of authority.

Luckily, these past ten days hadn’t been for nothing. He had gradually identified a potential target.

Tonight, he was going to watch a show, and if all went well, his proxy would be confirmed.

After parking his motorcycle, George found an empty alley where he donned a black cloak, covering himself completely, and put on the most common mask one could easily buy on the street. He then activated his powers.

The specially designed soles of his shoes, embedded with metal plates, lifted him slowly into the air, rising above the alley.

After this period of development, especially under the influence of his wizarding bloodline, his control over magnetism had improved significantly. He could now barely manage to manipulate objects weighing over a hundred pounds.

This already exceeded the initial potential limits the lab had set for him.

If he were to encounter X-24 now, he could easily toy with him using his abilities. A weight of over 100 pounds would be more than enough to make X-24, whose body was filled with adamantium, stumble and struggle to walk.

Thus, by pushing himself to the limit, George could barely manage to use his magnetically enhanced shoes to lift himself off the ground.

Of course, the speed wasn’t much to speak of—he’d be slower than walking. In battle, he’d be a sitting duck.

However, in specific scenarios, it could be incredibly useful.

For example, right now, he could effortlessly ascend to the rooftops, moving across them to avoid surveillance and prying eyes, making it easy to infiltrate heavily secured locations without being traced.

On the rooftop of a seven-story strip club controlled by the Chebel family, an elderly man in his seventies sat in a wheelchair, watching a middle-aged man, beaten to the brink of death, with a touch of regret.

"Lyon, you really are exceptional. I had high hopes for you and treated you like a son.

But unfortunately, tonight, you must die here."

"Mr. Chebel, I didn’t betray you! I’m innocent! I’ve always seen you as a father—how could I betray you? You have to believe me!"

The bloodied middle-aged man, struggling to get up, desperately tried to prove his loyalty.

Born the child of an addict, Lyon’s mother had abandoned him when she could no longer bear the hopelessness of their life.

At thirteen, he had saved Mr. Chebel, who was being pursued by a rival family, and from then on, Chebel took him under his wing, bringing him into the family business and giving him a life he had only dreamed of.

In the thirty years since, Lyon used his intellect and dedication to help the Chebel family grow from a small group to one of the thirteen major families in the Bronx.

But after one assassination attempt, he was framed as the mastermind trying to seize control of the Chebel family, condemned to die—a fate he was unwilling to accept.

He had a beautiful, loving wife, many brothers he had fought side by side with, and a newborn daughter. He had devoted most of his life to this family.

"I know you didn’t betray me," Chebel said with a complicated look in his eyes. "That assassination was staged by me. Otherwise, with your position and reputation in the family, I wouldn’t have had a way to get rid of you so easily."

Lyon’s eyes widened in shock as he muttered in disbelief, "Why? Why would you do this?"

"I had no choice. I’m old. The doctors say that with my body in this condition, I have at most two years left.

But my son—he just turned twenty. He’s only begun to take over the family business, and he’s far from capable or respected enough."

Chebel coughed, looking at Lyon with sadness. It wasn’t that he had no feelings for him. But no matter how capable Lyon was, no matter how mediocre his son might be, he couldn’t allow Lyon to become a threat to his son’s future.

"You fear I might replace your son in the future, but you know my loyalty. I would never do such a thing!" Lyon collapsed to the ground, as if all the strength had drained from his body.

Chebel wheeled himself forward and shook his head. "Lyon, I trust your character, but I don’t trust your subordinates.

In my position, sometimes it doesn’t matter if you don’t want the power. Your subordinates might push you into it."

(End of Chapter)