"Skyl, we're friends, right?" Tony's eyes were sincere.
"That depends on what you're about to say." Skyl could tell exactly what he was angling for—some flashy entrance, that was all.
The moment they got back to New York, the news was wall-to-wall: Tony Stark confirmed dead. Stark Industries was even holding a memorial service this afternoon.
Tony was practically vibrating with excitement. "Look—so we're sorcerers, right? Which means, rounding up, we're basically in the same line of work as magicians. You show up at the memorial, do a magic trick, and then—bam—turn me back into existence. Instant jaw-dropper. How about it? Tomorrow's headlines will be all you."
"Boring." Skyl yawned. "You'd do better to text every New Yorker and say: 'I'm Tony Stark. I'm not dead. I went to Nepal to learn magic, and now I desperately need money for a flight home. Send me $1,000 and when I'm back I'll pay you $10,000.' You might even make money off idiots."
"Only retirees would fall for that, right?" Tony rubbed his chin. "Wait. Is that… text-message fraud?"
"If you lie, it's fraud. If you actually pay them back, it isn't."
Tony's eyes lit up. He contacted his home AI. "JARVIS. Yes, it's me—Tony. I'm out. Now pull up the guest list for the memorial service and send them a message… yeah. And open a new account for me."
It was supposed to be a joke.
By noon, a transfer actually came in.
Skyl and Tony squatted on a sidewalk eating Subway sandwiches. Dressed in their weird getups, they looked like two broke street performers, and more than one passerby asked them to "do something."
Tony, bored out of his mind, started doing the middle-finger trick. Basically: guess what's in my hand? Surprise—it's my middle finger.
He immediately got warmly greeted by the locals.
"F*ck you!"
"F*ck you too!"
The crowd dispersed in a storm of swearing, and Tony's phone buzzed with a message from JARVIS.
"Skyl, I got money."
"Anyone willing to send you money either loves you to death or is dumb as a rock," Skyl said with a squinting smile. "Most likely both. Can you see who sent it?"
Tony went quiet for a beat. "Pepper. My assistant."
"Yeah. Love really does turn brains into soup." Skyl nodded. "Didn't expect a guy that shameless to still have someone this loyal."
Tony first grinned like he'd won something, then let out a soft, heavy sigh. "I've decided. From now on I'll be a devoted, upstanding man. Loyal to my work. Back to family life."
"Every dirtbag says that."
"What would you know? You're basically a kid." Tony laughed and gestured at Skyl's height. He was about to launch into a few adult jokes, but when he caught Skyl's half-smile, something about it made him suddenly chicken out. "Ahem. Why so serious? Come on—give your dear uncle a smile. Or should I smile for you?"
"Mr. Stark, if you like Joker references, I can turn you into the Joker," Skyl said pleasantly. "The kind that would give Batman nightmares."
"No fun… huh?" Tony glanced at his phone again. "Wait, another transfer. Where are all these suckers coming from?" He checked the name. "Stan Lee. An old friend."
Skyl's expression went strange. "Stan Lee? He's at your memorial too?"
"Yeah—oh, and another one." Tony's brows lifted. "Obadiah. My dad's friend. I always treated him like an uncle. Guess he really misses me."
Obadiah Stane. The backstabbing traitor. Tony had gotten kidnapped because that man sold him out behind the scenes. So this was guilt money? Crocodile tears?
Skyl smiled wider. "Oh, he definitely misses you." He finished the last bite of his sandwich, dusted off his hands, and made the wrapper vanish. "Come on. Let's go do the memorial show."
"You literally just said no!" Tony stared.
"Magicians need an opening act before the big reveal," Skyl said. "Now it's interesting. I want to see what those three 'generous donors' look like when you pop back up."
Skyl snapped his fingers. His wizard robe became a tailored suit. White gloves appeared. His pointed hat turned into a magician's top hat.
He looked himself over—sharp enough, but still missing something.
So he conjured a cane.
What else?
A magician needed a beautiful assistant. And for a memorial service, you needed a luxury ride.
Skyl bought a bottle of sparkling water from a nearby shop, then blew into it—glub-glub-glub—until a huge bubble swelled up. With a soft pop, it became a four-wheeled carriage. He blew four or five smaller bubbles, and they became servants, a coachman, and a glamorous assistant.
The assistant was blonde, blue-eyed, dressed like a Rockette, with the classic all-American sweetheart look. She threw Skyl slow, shameless winks. The coachman and servants, meanwhile, were impeccably polite, wearing white wigs like British judges—pure aristocratic theater.
Newly minted sorcerer Tony gawked so hard he looked like his brain had stalled. "Master. Can you teach me that one? I don't care about the rest. Just that 'conjure a girl' move—please, you have to teach me."
"Aren't you turning over a new leaf and returning to family life?"
"I've decided tomorrow is soon enough," Tony said, righteous as a saint.
"Shut up." Skyl snorted, grabbed Tony by the collar, and stuffed him—whole—into the top hat.
"Oh! F*ck!" Tony got out exactly one shriek before disappearing into the hat like it was a bottomless tube.
Skyl put the hat on, stepped into the carriage with his assistant's arm around his, and the coachman cracked the reins.
In the stunned, horrified stares of bystanders who looked like they'd just witnessed a cryptid sighting, four horses thundered down the street toward the Stark Industries campus.
At 1:00 p.m., the memorial service was packed with influential people—military and political figures, business partners, business rivals. Whether they loved Tony or hated him, they came to see him off.
Everyone had received that ridiculous text message. Some scoffed, others frowned hard. Most agreed it was ordinary scam nonsense—just bizarrely delivered to their phones, sparking a heated little wave of discussion.
Obadiah stood at the podium, delivering the eulogy as Tony's elder.
Pepper Potts was in a corner, crying so hard she could barely breathe.
"Let us remember this young man—Tony Stark—brilliant mind, taken too soon into God's embrace…"
That was when a clear, piercing whinny rang from the street.
A horse-drawn carriage rolled straight through the gates, unimpeded, and came to a stop beside the memorial. The crowd turned in shock.
Obadiah called for security to remove the uninvited guests, but for some reason no one answered.
A servant opened the carriage door.
In full view of everyone, a long, elegant leg appeared first. When she stepped out, she displayed her charming face openly—the kind that made men silently applaud and women roll their eyes. She smiled with warm sweetness, and the anger rising in the crowd evaporated on the spot.
Then another figure emerged from the carriage: a young man dressed like a stage magician. He stood on the step, removed his hat with impeccable courtesy, and bowed to the entire audience.
"Young man," Obadiah said, keeping his tone as polite and humorous as possible, "who invited you? There is no performance scheduled today. This is not the place for magic… unless you can perform a miracle."
Skyl smiled. "A friend named Anthony invited me to perform. This trick is dedicated to Ms. Virginia 'Pepper' Potts. He asked me to pass along a message: he's received your transfer, and he's flying from Nepal to New York as we speak. His plane will land in five seconds. Ladies and gentlemen—please welcome… Tony Stark!"
He tossed his top hat into the air.
The hat suddenly became a massive passenger jet circling overhead, the roar deafening.
Then it plunged—straight into Tony's casket.
Boom.
The jet exploded into a skyful of smoke. The whole scene erupted into chaos, screams stacking on screams.
"Attack! This is an attack! Call 911!"
A strong gust tore through and scattered the smoke.
Standing on top of his own coffin, with his back to the crowd, was Tony Stark.
Under the stunned, impossible stares of everyone present, Tony turned around, flashed a V-sign, and shouted coolly, "I'm back!"
Silence swallowed the entire place.
"Tony… it's really you." Obadiah's face looked like he'd just seen a walking pile of cow manure. "You're not dead?"
Tony hopped off the coffin, threw his arms around Obadiah in a big hug, planted a loud kiss on the man's shiny bald head, and laughed. "Miss me?"
Obadiah looked like the walking pile of cow manure had kissed him.
Pepper Potts stormed over. Tony opened his arms, ready for a dramatic reunion—
Smack.
He took a solid slap across the face.
Before he could even apologize, the fiery woman yanked him into a fierce hug. Pepper sobbed into his chest, laughing and crying at the same time.
"Alright, alright," Tony murmured, gently patting her back. "I'm here. I'm back."
In the crowd, Stan Lee beamed at the person next to him. "I just made ten grand."
Skyl walked over and greeted him. "Hello, sir. Did you enjoy my magic show?"
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