Shaw's Residence - Skull Island
Ernst cradled the newborn against his chest, gently soothing him until the crying stopped.
Looking down at the sleeping infant, Ernst felt entirely out of his depth.
He was a master of magic and science, but fatherhood was an alien landscape.
For a brief, irrational moment, he considered putting the boy back in the cultivation tank.
He shook the thought away. He needed help.
He needed his father.
Ernst left the laboratory and walked to Sebastian Shaw's private residence.
He walked into an unexpected gathering.
Shaw sat by the fire, swirling a glass of high-grade vintage red wine.
Across from him sat Wolverine, nursing a cheap, burning brandy.
Beside them was the island's newest resident: a resurrected, fourth-level mutant doctor.
She was a master of ancient Chinese healing arts, sipping silently from a porcelain cup of Maotai.
It was a bizarre trio. A former kingpin, a feral warrior, and a reclusive healer.
Yet, they shared a profound commonality. They were all ancients.
Shaw had lived for decades, sustained by absorbed kinetic energy.
Logan was nearing a century. The doctor was nearly sixty before her resurrection.
They found camaraderie in their extended lifespans, bridging their vastly different worlds.
The room fell silent as Ernst entered.
Shaw's eyes locked onto the bundle in Ernst's arms. His expression darkened.
"Is that a resurrected infant?" Shaw demanded.
"Unacceptable. What kind of parents kill a child? Even with volatile mutations, this crosses a line."
Ernst coughed awkwardly.
"This is my child," Ernst corrected.
Shaw nearly dropped his wine glass.
"You're... what? Your son? My grandson? Is this a joke?"
"He is my biological son," Ernst stated solemnly.
"Your grandson."
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Wolverine and the doctor stared, wide-eyed.
Ernst felt a rare flush of embarrassment. He had no wife, no partner.
Wolverine, ever the pragmatist, broke the silence.
"If you're the father, who's the mother?" Logan grunted.
Ernst sighed, briefly detailing his complicated history with the Black Widow.
Shaw scoffed. He viewed relationships through a lens of absolute power; if Ernst wanted the spy, he should have just taken her.
But the annoyance faded the moment Ernst passed the bundle into his arms.
Shaw's face softened entirely. He cradled the infant as if holding the most precious artifact on Earth.
A brief, irrational pang of jealousy flickered in Ernst's chest.
Growing up, Shaw had been a ghost, a warlord too busy building an empire to raise a son.
Ernst had been raised by nannies and Kerry.
"You're showing favoritism, Dad," Ernst murmured.
"I don't recall you being this gentle with me."
"You can't blame me," Shaw replied, not taking his eyes off the baby.
"I had an empire to build. Now I am retired? I have time. Let us old folks have our joy."
Ernst watched his father. He knew his own hands were too steeped in blood and science to be gentle right now.
"I'm leaving him in your care for now," Ernst decided.
"I'll arrange for a primary caretaker. A mortal woman named Tina."
Shaw looked up, eyes narrowing defensively.
"Who is she? Is she trustworthy? I won't have a spy near my grandson."
"She is a mother who sacrificed everything to save her children," Ernst explained.
"The boy needs maternal warmth. She will fill that gap."
"And her loyalty?"
"I own her absolute soul," Ernst said coldly.
"The contract is ironclad. If she harbors a single ill intent, I can overwrite her consciousness. She is perfectly safe."
Shaw nodded, satisfied by the ruthless pragmatism.
"Does the boy have a name?" Shaw asked.
"Kyle," Ernst said.
"Kyle Shaw."
"Little Kyle," Shaw smiled, gently rocking the heir to the empire.
While Ernst was playing with his child on Skull Island, the world above was descending into chaos.
The Devil's Cabin had opened its doors.
One hundred obsidian portals, scattered across the globe, offering miraculous trades for absolute prices.
In Washington, the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division mobilized.
Peggy Carter and Howard Stark reviewed the impossible reports.
Deep within S.H.I.E.L.D., dormant Hydra agents awakened, sensing a massive shift in global power.
High in the Himalayas, the Ancient One sat cross-legged.
She extended her astral form, attempting to probe the Cabin's dimension.
She was blocked. The Earth itself shielded the realm.
Recognizing the planetary mandate, the Sorcerer Supreme withdrew, leaving only a psychic message of cautious goodwill.
In the Scottish Highlands, Albus Dumbledore stared out from his office, a deep sadness settling in his bones.
The wizarding world was already fracturing; this new variable could shatter it.
Deep underground, the Dark Lord Voldemort tightened his grip on his wand, eyes gleaming with dark ambition as he read the reports.
Military bases went to high alert. Troops were mobilized.
Magneto's Brotherhood and massive corporate conglomerates converged on the known portal locations.
Countless factions were drawn to the Devil's Cabin.
The harvest had officially begun.
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