Kingpin spoke, he placed the scroll on the coffee table. The golden patterns gleamed with a dark red light under the lamp, like a slowly flowing vein.
His fingers paused on the edge of the scroll, not out of hesitation, but as he organized his thoughts—the kind of pause one makes when someone is about to tell a story they haven't told in a long time.
"This was a gift from a priest when I was on a business trip to the Vatican when I was young."
Russell's brow twitched.
The Vatican, priests, and golden scrolls—these three words together reminded him of something.
To be precise, he is an ancient Hell Lord in the Marvel Universe who likes to pretend to be a priest.
Of course, the Vatican priest, who is outwardly elegant but inwardly Demons in Hell, would not give away golden scrolls casually, unless that person possessed something that interested him.
"What does that pastor look like?"
Kingpin paused for a moment, his brows furrowing slightly, as if he were reminiscing.
"He had an old face, covered in wrinkles, and black eyes, but he was very polite and had an elegant demeanor."
He looked at me and said, "Your destiny is strong, but your path will be difficult. This scroll will help you when you need it."
"So you believed it?"
"I didn't believe it at the time," Kingpin said in a low voice, "But I accepted it because it wouldn't cost me anything."
Later, when I returned to New York, I consulted many experts. Some said it was from the Middle Ages, some said the writing on it did not belong to any known civilization, and some said it was completely fake.
But I could sense that it was different, so I locked it in a safe, and it stayed there for twenty years."
Russell reached out his hand, but didn't touch the scroll; his Atomic Vision was activated.
The golden patterns disintegrated, peeled away, and vanished in his field of vision, revealing the most basic atomic structure.
Carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, sulfur, and several other elements he couldn't name were arranged in a complex way, not naturally, but deliberately woven by some force.
The core of the scroll is not paper, not cloth, not any known material, but a dark red energy that slowly wriggles like a human heartbeat.
Based on Kingpin's description and the information he obtained from exploring the scrolls, there's no doubt that the priest is Mephisto.
Russell withdrew his gaze, leaned back on the sofa, looked at Kingpin, and calmly spoke.
"I believe this scroll is a contract."
Kingpin's pupils contracted slightly. "A contract? A contract with whom?"
The words had barely left his mouth when his eyes darted around. "With the Demons?"
"There is an ancient Demons, Mephisto, the Lord of Hell and Demon God of Dimension space. He loves to make deals with people, giving them what they want and then taking away their most precious possessions when they are at their happiest."
Russell's lips curled slightly. "And that Vatican priest, despite his outwardly friendly demeanor, is no good person at heart, or rather, he's not even human."
Kingpin tapped his fingers twice on his knee, a slow, deliberate rhythm, as if someone were processing a difficult piece of news.
"So I was tricked? This scroll is useless."
"That's not necessarily true." Russell reached out and picked up the scroll. The golden patterns on his fingertips glowed faintly, like a snake that had been startled awake.
"This contract has not yet been activated. Mephisto is waiting for you to open it and make a deal with Him."
"If you don't open it, He can't take your things away. What the pastor said is true; it can indeed help you when you need it, as long as you're willing to pay the price."
Kingpin silent, staring at the scroll, at the golden, vein-like patterns, and then looked up at Russell's eyes, whose color was indescribable.
"I'll give it to you, can you handle it?"
"Of course." Russell tucked the scroll into his sleeve without ceremony. "I'll keep it; it might come in handy later."
"What's it for?" Kingpin blurted out.
Russell looked at him and said with interest.
"Well, I said I want to train in Hell. There are lots of powerful Demons there, enough fights to make me stronger, and this contract is my ticket. Do you believe me?"
Kingpin filled with mixed feelings. If someone else had told him to go to Hell for training and find Demons as sparring partners, he definitely wouldn't have believed it.
But the person in front of me... who can refine his body with Sulfuric Acid, cannot be treated as a normal person in terms of their thought process.
Anyway, Kingpin didn't care about things in Hell, but he knew one thing: Russell had accepted his things.
"Have you agreed to my conditions?"
"I agree." Russell leaned back on the sofa, tapping his fingers lightly on the armrest twice, a slow rhythm. "But there's one thing you need to understand."
"What?"
"I can help you awaken your abilities, but I can't guarantee that the abilities you awaken will be as powerful as you want."
Everyone's X-Factor is different, and the ability to awaken is related to your personality, experiences, and Genes.
"If you're a gang leader, your awakened ability will most likely be either strength-based or defensive. If you want to be president, it wouldn't be surprising if you awakened a control-based ability."
Kingpin's breath hitched for a moment. "Control abilities? Can any kind of ability awaken? Like Magneto's metal manipulation, Professor X's Telepathy— "
"Either is fine." Russell's expression remained unchanged, his words containing seven parts truth and three parts falsehood.
"But the strength depends on yourself. Magneto's power has been nurtured within him for most of his life. It's unrealistic to think you can challenge him as soon as you awaken your powers."
Professor X's Telepathy is the culmination of decades of experience. You, having just awakened, want to become the strongest on Earth? That's a bit impossible. At most, you can only read what the person in front of you is thinking, but—"
He paused for a moment, then said, "Once your potential is unlocked, you have to practice. The more you practice, the stronger it becomes."
If you're too lazy to train, it will become weak, just like with fitness. Looking at your physique, you're all muscle built into your bones, you must work out a lot regularly.
Russell glanced at Kingpin.
Kingpin nodded, stood up from the sofa, straightened his suit, and politely extended his hand.
"It's a great honor to meet you. I hope it will be a pleasure to work with you."
Russell stood up casually, not immediately reaching out, as if to say beforehand:
"This Demon Scroll can only awaken one ability for you at most. If you want to be president, or want to awaken multiple powerful abilities, that's far from enough."
Kingpin's smile froze. Kingpin both surprised that Russell could awaken more than one ability in someone, and annoyed that realizing his own dream was so troublesome.
He experienced life in prison and aspired to become a criminal tycoon since childhood, but more than 30 years later, he is still confined to the city of New York and has not even become mayor.
While the underworld gangs all seem to consider Kingpin the undisputed kingpin, there are actually several other underworld forces, such as the Silverman Organization and the Hand, who are not convinced.
Russell, whose strength is unfathomable, clearly saw this as an opportunity not to be missed.
Having made up his mind, Kingpin tentatively asked:
"The only extraordinary thing I have is that scroll. How about you become president for me, even if it's only for five years? I'm willing to lead the entire New York underworld to work for you."
"No need for all that trouble, just promise me you'll participate in the competition at the White House," Russell stated his plan.
Since someone offered him a spot, he rarely bothered to scout for a candidate. Kingpin his physical abilities being at their peak, Kingpin was still just an ordinary person.
"I'm worried about the match..."
Russell interrupted Kingpin, "Don't worry, I'm here. Don't be afraid. Even if you die, I can snatch you back from the jaws of death."
"Then there's no problem." Kingpin smiled again.
"Just come find me tomorrow morning. I hope you can figure out what ability you want before then."
Russell extended his hand. "As for being president, I'm only responsible for handling the dangers. Whether you get the presidency depends on your performance."
"Clear."
With the handshake successful, Kingpin was full of confidence. He had the support of Russell, who was known as the Om Messiah, and he was not yet ready to become president.
Then you've truly lived in vain.
"Okay, I'll come again tomorrow morning." Kingpin released his hand, turned and walked towards the door, stopping after a few steps without looking back.
"Mr. Russell."
"Um."
"I'll have someone design the White House stadium. Including setup time, three days should be enough, but you'll need to clean the venue a day in advance."
Russell nodded. That was indeed something he should do. After the bullets had been flying for a while longer, he could go for a walk around the White House.
He wondered if there would be any surprises. The better the opponent's preparations, the more excited he would be. He would bring his zither with him then.
Kingpin pushed open the door and went out.
Bullseye stood in the corridor, looking at him, and couldn't help but ask:
How did the deal go?
Kingpin nodded slightly. "From now on, we will serve Mr. Russell."
Hmm? Serving Russell...
"You sold yourself out?" Bullseye frowned.
Faced with Bullseye's questioning, Kingpin calmly replied, "Don't put it so harshly. I call this an investment; I'm just getting involved myself."
"Put yourself in the game?" Bullseye's lips twitched. "Isn't that just being someone's dog?"
The two people stepped into the elevator, and the doors closed.
Felicity watched the two leave and emerged from another room. "Lord Russell, that person—"
"He is Kingpin, and he will be with us from now on."
Felicity paused, taken aback. "Kingpin? But he's a mob boss, and I've heard he's ruthless."
"I know."
"Then why..."
"I've killed people too."
Felicity opened her mouth, unsure what to say, while Russell looked at her.
"Kingpin is right about one thing: he's useful. He can handle the things I don't want to deal with. Like the White House game venue, like the Mutants gathered downstairs, like those who want to cooperate with me but don't dare to come to me directly."
I need someone to shield me from those trivial matters so I can focus on becoming stronger.
"I'm sorry, it's my fault for not being capable enough."
Felicity lowered her head. "And what about me? What else can I do for you?"
"Just live your life well, for example, reading is a very good thing."
"I will." Her voice was soft, but firm.
Russell nodded, about to say something, when suddenly an orange light shone into the room.
It wasn't a light source; it was more like a door had been opened, and light squeezed in through the cracks, drawing a complex, Mandala- like pattern in the air.
At the center of the design is a bald human figure wearing a yellow robe.
The Ancient One stepped out of the halo, her shoes making a soft rustling sound as they dragged across the floor.
"Mr. Russell, I apologize for disturbing you, but I would like to invite you to the Sanctum Sanctorum."
Russell looked at the bald woman. Had she finally come?
In Marvel's everyday NPCs, there are two bald characters: Professor X and the Sorcerer Supreme.
Thankfully, he wasn't bald.
Now?
"Now."
Felicity looked wary. "You... who are you?"
"Don't worry, I mean no harm," Ancient One said with a kind smile.
Russell glanced at Felicity. "I'm going out for a bit. You stay here and tell Laura and Rogue not to worry."
Before Felicity could speak, the Ancient One reached out, and an orange halo appeared beneath Russell's feet.
The next instant, the two people disappeared from the living room, the light circle shrank to a thin line, and then nothing remained.
Felicity stood there, a book on the shelf beside her falling to the ground, flipping to the last chapter, rustling in the wind.
The Sanctum Sanctorum.
Russell's feet landed on the stone slabs, and the air was filled with the unique antique smell of a centuries-old building.
He looked around. The walls were covered with ancient oil paintings, depicting Angel and Demons, Heaven and Hell, and mythological figures he had only ever seen in books.
The corridor was long, and the candlelight flickered in the draft, casting shadows on the walls like a group of dancing ghosts.
Ancient One walked ahead of him, her hands behind her back.
Do you know why I asked you to come here?
"Have no idea."
"Because you've put me in a difficult position."
Russell's eyebrows twitched. "Difficult?"
Ancient One pushed open a door, revealing a small but warm study. The fireplace was burning brightly, the fire crackling as the wood burned.
The bookshelves on both sides were filled with books, and a half-open magic book lay open on the table. She walked to the fireplace, stretched out her hand, and the flames danced on her fingertips before becoming perfectly obedient.
"Stephen Strange, he's a surgeon. He was in a car accident a couple of days ago, and his hands were severely injured. He can no longer perform surgeries."
Russell leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. "Why are you telling me this? I didn't hit him."
"Because he was originally my candidate, I spent a long time looking through many Timeline with the Time Stone, and in each timeline, he became the Sorcerer Supreme, protecting Earth and resisting Dimension invasions."
The Ancient One turned to look at Russell. "But your appearance has made the Timeline unpredictable, and you shouldn't belong to this world."
Russell looked at her without saying a word.
"You are a variable. Even the Time Stone cannot see your exact future. It can only mean that the karma on your body is too strong, and even time can block it."
I looked at hundreds of Timeline and, through the blurry fragments, discovered that the future in each timeline was different.
In some Timeline you become the Savior, in others you become the Destroyer, but the only thing in common is that in every Timeline you are destined to become... a god.