The Son of Mischief and Moonlight

Harry cracked his knuckles and stretched his neck as he stepped into the sparring ring, the crowd of monks around him buzzing with anticipation. Facing him was Lei Kung the Thunderer, who stood calm and composed, his every movement screaming "I've been doing this for centuries, kid."

"So," Harry said, flashing a cocky grin as he adjusted his stance, "any chance you're going to take it easy on me, or should I start writing my will now?"

Lei Kung raised an eyebrow. "Confidence is good, Harry Lokison. Overconfidence... is not."

Harry's grin widened. "Good thing I'm a fan of walking that fine line."

The Thunderer didn't respond. He simply slid into a defensive stance, his movements fluid and precise. The air between them felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.

For a second, Harry stood still, his body loose but coiled like a spring. Then he tapped into the chi he'd been practicing for weeks now, letting it flow through his body like a warm current. He let the feral instincts he'd absorbed from Sabretooth rise just enough to sharpen his senses—every sound, every flicker of movement around him became clearer.

And then, with a playful smirk, he launched forward.

Harry started with a sequence straight out of Monkey Style Kung-Fu, a style he'd picked up from none other than Sun Wukong, the Monkey King himself. His movements were erratic and unpredictable—leaping, twisting, and flipping through the air like gravity was just a mild suggestion. He aimed a sweeping kick at Lei Kung's legs, but the Thunderer sidestepped with the ease of someone who'd seen it all before.

"Interesting," Lei Kung said as he parried Harry's next strike. "You fight like a monkey. Fitting, considering your father."

"Thanks," Harry replied, dodging a counterstrike by rolling under Lei Kung's arm and popping back up behind him. "But don't let the monkey moves fool you—I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."

He let the feral side of Sabretooth take over for a moment, his strikes becoming sharper, more aggressive. His nails—claws, really—swiped through the air, aiming for Lei Kung's chest. But Lei Kung was faster, deflecting the attack with a precise block before countering with a palm strike aimed at Harry's ribs.

Harry twisted mid-air, avoiding the strike by a hair. "Okay," he said, landing in a crouch, "remind me to never get on your bad side."

The Thunderer didn't reply. He simply shifted his stance, his movements as calm and steady as a river. Harry could feel the shift in energy, like Lei Kung was no longer just sparring—he was testing him.

"Alright," Harry muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Time to kick things up a notch."

He let his chi flare, the energy radiating from him in waves. His movements became faster, more precise, the chaotic nature of Monkey Style blending seamlessly with the ferocity of Sabretooth's instincts. He darted in and out of Lei Kung's range, throwing punches and kicks in rapid succession.

For a moment, it looked like Harry might have the upper hand. But then Lei Kung caught one of his punches, twisting Harry's arm and sending him sprawling to the ground with a single, fluid motion.

"Overcommitting to your strikes," Lei Kung said, his tone calm but firm. "A mistake many young warriors make."

Harry groaned as he picked himself up, brushing the dirt off his pants. "Noted. Next time, I'll just let you hit me for fun."

Lei Kung's lips twitched—just barely. Was that a smile? Harry couldn't be sure.

They circled each other again, the tension in the air thicker than Hermione's lecture notes. This time, Harry slowed his movements, focusing on defense rather than offense. He let Lei Kung come to him, using his heightened senses to anticipate the Thunderer's strikes and deflect them with just enough force to redirect the energy.

"You're learning," Lei Kung said as Harry dodged a particularly nasty kick aimed at his head.

"Yeah, well," Harry replied, feinting to the left before flipping over Lei Kung's head, "I'm kind of a fast learner. Comes with the whole 'being blessed by half the Olympian pantheon' thing."

Harry's playful banter was cut short when Lei Kung's fist grazed his cheek, the impact sending him stumbling back. He shook his head, the feral side of him growling in frustration. But instead of letting it take over, he took a deep breath, channeling the frustration into focus.

He tapped into his chi again, this time letting it guide his movements. He stepped forward, his strikes no longer chaotic but precise, each one flowing into the next like a perfectly choreographed dance. For the first time, Lei Kung seemed to falter, his movements just a fraction slower as he adjusted to Harry's shift in style.

Finally, Harry saw an opening. He feinted with a low kick, then spun around and aimed a palm strike at Lei Kung's chest, channeling his chi into the attack. The Thunderer blocked it, but the force of the strike sent him sliding back a few inches—a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

Lei Kung straightened, his expression unreadable. "You've come far, Harry Lokison," he said. "But you still have much to learn."

"Story of my life," Harry replied, grinning despite the sweat dripping down his face. "But, hey, at least I didn't totally embarrass myself this time."

Lei Kung inclined his head, a gesture of respect. "You are stronger than you realize. But strength alone is not enough. Remember—discipline, focus, and humility are just as important as power."

Harry nodded, the weight of Lei Kung's words sinking in. "Got it. Less showing off, more focus. Unless I'm fighting someone who deserves it, then it's back to showing off, right?"

Lei Kung sighed, but Harry swore he saw the faintest hint of a smile. "You are impossible, young trickster."

"Thanks," Harry said, grabbing a towel from the sidelines. "I'll take that as a compliment."

As he joined his friends, who were eagerly dissecting the sparring match, Harry couldn't help but feel a spark of pride. Sure, Lei Kung had wiped the floor with him, but he'd held his own—mostly. And if there was one thing Harry Lokison knew how to do, it was rise to a challenge.

—

In a quiet alleyway far from prying eyes, Zero—mercenary, enigma, and overall master of "don't ask, don't tell" operations—moved with the precision of someone who'd been doing this for far too long. His dark tactical gear blended perfectly with the shadows, his presence barely more than a whisper against the backdrop of a bustling city.

The dead drop was simple—just a loose brick in a crumbling old wall behind a long-abandoned warehouse. The kind of place that screamed, "Hey, shady stuff happens here," but was ignored by anyone with better things to do than stick their nose where it didn't belong.

Zero glanced around, his enhanced senses sweeping the area for any hint of surveillance. Nothing. Just the faint hum of distant traffic and the occasional bark of a stray dog. Satisfied, he pulled a small pendrive from his pocket.

"Three Mile Island," he muttered under his breath, staring at the device. "Blueprints, security details, and a whole lot of secrets Stryker wouldn't want getting out."

With a flick of his wrist, he slid the pendrive into the hollowed-out space behind the brick. He placed the brick back carefully, making sure it looked undisturbed. Then, without a sound, he melted into the shadows, gone as quickly as he'd arrived.

---

Hours later, as the city dipped deeper into the night, Warren Worthington III made his way to the drop. His tall frame was hidden beneath a long trench coat, the fabric billowing slightly as he moved with purpose. Beneath the coat, his wings were tightly strapped down by a leather harness, a necessary evil to avoid drawing attention.

To the untrained eye, he was just another figure in the night—a man trying to avoid the streetlights and the gaze of the occasional passerby. But Warren was anything but ordinary.

He reached the dead drop without incident, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings. Satisfied that no one was watching, he crouched by the wall and pried the brick loose with practiced ease. The pendrive gleamed faintly in the dim light.

Warren pocketed it, his expression grim. If what Zero said is true... Stryker's facility might still be operational. And if that's the case, there are mutants trapped in that hellhole.

Straightening up, he adjusted his coat, his wings shifting slightly beneath the harness. He turned on his heel and disappeared into the night, the pendrive burning a hole in his pocket.

Time to see what Stryker's been hiding.

—

The Xavier Institute's War Room was filled with the kind of tense energy you could cut with a knife. The holographic table at the center cast an eerie glow over the room's occupants as blueprints of Stryker's facility rotated slowly in midair, each detail being scrutinized.

Nick Fury stood at the head of the table, his single eye sweeping over the schematics like a predator stalking prey. He didn't like loose ends, and right now, this whole operation screamed loose ends. Next to him, Director Peggy Carter maintained her characteristic composure, her sharp gaze fixed on a particular section of the map labeled "Specimen Containment."

Across from them, Chiron—disguised as the kindly wheelchair-bound Mr. Brunner—studied the projections with practiced calm. Beside him, Coach Hedge leaned casually against the wall, his ever-present scowl making him look like he was one snarky comment away from punching something (or someone).

Warren Worthington III—Angel to those in the know—was unbuckling his leather harness and trench coat after his flight. His majestic wings stretched briefly before folding tightly against his back, feathers ruffling as he glanced at the holographic display.

"I don't know what kind of game you're running here," Fury said, his voice a low rumble, "but this intel better be solid." He shot a look at Warren. "I'm not dragging my people into a mutant torture factory without knowing every inch of that facility."

"It's solid," Warren replied evenly. "Zero's good at what he does. Stryker doesn't even know this leak exists yet. But trust me, we've got a small window before he figures it out."

Peggy crossed her arms. "Even if these blueprints are accurate, the facility's defenses are formidable. We'll need more than a handful of operatives to pull this off." Her eyes flicked to Chiron, who had remained conspicuously silent until now. "Mr. Brunner, wasn't it? You've been unusually quiet for someone who was so eager to involve us in this operation."

Chiron adjusted his wheelchair slightly, his expression calm but inscrutable. "I prefer to observe before I speak, Director Carter," he said smoothly. "But you're correct—this mission won't be easy. Stryker's facility isn't just a fortress; it's a labyrinth of traps, weaponry, and… other unpleasant surprises."

Fury narrowed his eye. "You sound like you've been there before."

"Not exactly," Chiron replied, his tone maddeningly vague. "But I've seen the kind of horrors men like Stryker are capable of."

"Yeah, yeah, horrors," Hedge interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "Let's focus on the important part—kicking down the door, smashing some heads, and getting those kids out."

Fury gave him a long, unimpressed stare. "And what are you gonna do?"

"I'm the guy who's gonna be your distraction," the satyr said, puffing out his chest. "Loud, chaotic, and full of surprises—that's me."

"Fantastic," Fury deadpanned, turning back to the blueprints. "If this is what we're working with, we'll need a solid plan. Worthington, you're flying recon. Carter, you and I will split the infiltration teams. Brunner and Hedge—"

"Hang on," Peggy interrupted, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Chiron. "You're coordinating this operation, aren't you? So where's your ace in the hole? Someone like Stryker doesn't just get taken down by a bunch of well-meaning volunteers."

Chiron hesitated for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Hedge to step in.

"Don't worry about it," the satyr said, grinning mischievously. "We've got a heavy hitter lined up. You'll know him when you see him."

Fury's eye narrowed. "And who is this 'heavy hitter'? Another mutant?"

"Not exactly," Chiron said carefully.

"Then what exactly are we dealing with?" Peggy demanded.

Hedge opened his mouth, likely to say something snarky, but Warren cut him off. "Look," Warren said, stepping forward. "You don't need to know all the details right now. Just trust that when things get dicey, this guy will show up and tip the scales in our favor. He's… unconventional, but effective."

"Unconventional?" Fury repeated, clearly unimpressed. "I don't send my agents into battle with unconventional. I need specifics, not vague reassurances."

Chiron exchanged a glance with Hedge, who shrugged. "He's… complicated," Chiron finally said. "But rest assured, his skills are beyond anything you've seen before. He has a talent for defying expectations."

"And for blowing things up," Hedge added cheerfully.

Fury sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fine. But if your wildcard gets us killed, I'm holding you personally responsible." He gestured to the holographic map. "Now let's get back to the plan. What's our infiltration strategy?"

As the group resumed their discussion, Warren leaned closer to Chiron. "You think Harry's gonna make it in time?" he murmured.

Chiron smiled faintly. "If I know him, he's probably finishing up a sparring session as we speak. He'll be ready."

Warren nodded, though he didn't look entirely convinced. He couldn't shake the feeling that introducing Harry to Fury and Carter was going to raise more questions than answers. And given Harry's… unique nature, those questions weren't going to be easy to explain.

For now, though, they had a mission to plan. And if everything went sideways, well… Harry had a way of turning the impossible into a manageable level of chaos. Here's hoping that streak held up.

—

The mansion's long, wood-paneled hallways stretched endlessly before them as Hank McCoy, ever the gracious host and eternal optimist, guided Logan to his new quarters. Logan trailed behind with his usual gruff demeanor, his single duffle bag slung over his shoulder, his boots thudding heavily on the polished wooden floors. The sharp scent of fresh varnish and faint traces of lingering teenage chaos tickled his heightened senses.

"Logan, I think you'll find your accommodations quite satisfactory," Hank said, his cultured voice resonating with a calm cheerfulness. "Third floor, corner room—ample space, solid insulation, and most importantly, far enough from the student dormitories to minimize disruptions. From both sides, mind you."

Logan grunted, rolling his neck to ease the lingering stiffness from his last fight. "Yeah, well, don't worry about me, bub. I have a feeling I've bunked down in mudholes with less 'amenities.' Just gimme a bed that don't collapse if I roll over, and we'll call it good."

Hank chuckled softly, glancing back at him. "Somehow, I suspect you'll find the Institute a more accommodating environment than… mudholes. Though, fair warning—the students can be rather curious about newcomers, particularly those of your—shall we say—reputation."

Logan's lips twitched into the faintest smirk. "Great. A mansion full of kids pokin' their noses where they don't belong. Just what I signed up for."

As if on cue, a loud crash echoed from somewhere ahead, followed by a chorus of panicked whispers and poorly stifled giggles. Hank froze mid-step and pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a long-suffering sigh.

"Speaking of which," he murmured, his tone dripping with resignation, "it seems our illustrious students are, once again, testing the structural integrity of the building."

Logan quirked an eyebrow. "Sounds like a party. Maybe I should've brought beer."

Turning the corner, they found the source of the commotion: a toppled bookshelf, its contents scattered across the floor like the aftermath of a small tornado. Standing amidst the chaos were five kids, their expressions a mix of guilt, defiance, and mild panic.

At the center of it all was Scott Summers, a scrawny 11-year-old with a mop of brown hair and oversized red-tinted glasses that made him look like he'd borrowed them from Elton John. He was straining to lift the bookshelf back upright, his face red with effort. Beside him, Remy LeBeau, another 11-year-old with messy auburn hair and a cocky grin, was nonchalantly flipping a playing card between his fingers like he didn't have a care in the world.

"Told ya not to lean on it, Summers," Remy drawled, his Cajun accent making the words sound both lazy and sharp. "Now look what you done—whole thing went crashin' down."

"I wasn't leaning on it!" Scott snapped, glaring at Remy through his glasses. "It just… fell!"

From the sidelines, Lance Alvers, a wiry 10-year-old with a perpetual smirk, was leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed. "Pretty sure it was your fault, Summers," Lance said, his voice dripping with mockery. "You're like a walking earthquake."

Behind them, Kitty Pryde, a 10-year-old with her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, was crouched on the floor, trying to pick up a book. Every time she reached for it, her hand phased through the cover, leaving her huffing in frustration.

"This is so unfair," Kitty muttered, throwing her hands up as yet another book slipped through her fingers. "How am I supposed to clean up if I can't even touch stuff?"

Meanwhile, Rogue, also 10, stood off to the side, her oversized green hoodie and gloves making her look even smaller than she was. She was holding a book carefully in her gloved hands, her Southern drawl laced with exasperation. "Y'all realize we're probably gonna get in trouble for this, right? Mr. McCoy's not exactly a fan of—"

"—wanton destruction of property," Hank interjected, stepping forward with an arched brow. His towering frame cast a long shadow over the group, making them all freeze in place like deer caught in headlights.

"Uh, hey, Mr. McCoy," Scott said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "We were just… uh… organizing the bookshelf. For, you know, educational purposes."

"Yeah, right," Remy snorted, his grin widening. "You knocked it over tryin' to grab that comic book from the top shelf, mon ami. Don't try to deny it."

"I did not!" Scott protested, his face turning even redder.

Logan, who had been quietly observing the scene with his usual mix of amusement and annoyance, finally stepped forward. "Alright, kids, enough yappin'. Lemme show you how it's done."

He grabbed the fallen bookshelf with one hand and lifted it back into place with a casual ease that left the kids gaping. Dusting his hands off, he turned to face them, his piercing gaze sweeping over the group.

"There," he growled. "Now, next time you feel like wreckin' the place, do me a favor and don't."

The kids stared at him, wide-eyed and silent, until Kitty finally whispered, "Whoa. Who is this guy?"

"This guy's Logan," Hank said, adjusting his glasses with a wry smile. "He'll be staying with us for the foreseeable future. I suggest you all do your best to make him feel welcome."

"Logan, huh?" Lance said, tilting his head. "Cool name. You some kind of superhero or something?"

Logan snorted. "Kid, I'm just a guy with claws and a low tolerance for BS. So don't test me."

"Claws?" Rogue asked, her eyes widening. "Like… actual claws?"

Logan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, real claws. And no, I ain't showin' you. Now, how about you runts get back to whatever trouble you were causin' and leave me alone?"

Remy's grin returned as he flicked his playing card into the air one last time. "Don't worry, mon ami. We'll leave ya be—for now. But this place? It's like a big ol' gossip mill. We'll know all your secrets by lunch."

Logan narrowed his eyes, his tone dropping dangerously low. "Good luck with that, kid. My secrets tend to bite back."

The kids scattered after that, their whispers and giggles fading down the hall. Logan shook his head, muttering under his breath. "A whole mansion full of nosy brats. What the hell did I get myself into?"

Hank clapped a hand on his shoulder, his grin as serene as ever. "Oh, don't worry, Logan. You'll adjust. And who knows? You might even come to enjoy it."

Logan gave him a sidelong glance. "Don't hold your breath, bub."

But as they resumed their walk down the hallway, there was a faint glimmer of something resembling amusement in Logan's eyes. Maybe—just maybe—this place wouldn't be all bad.

—

In the shadowy cavern deep within K'un Lun, Shou-Lao, the ancient and revered dragon of the city, sat perched on his stone throne, his eyes glowing with an intensity that could melt steel. He gazed out over the tranquil expanse of the city, but his thoughts were far from peaceful. There was a new task at hand—one that would shape the destiny of a young warrior.

He had summoned Lei Kung, the Thunderer, and Yu-Ti, to discuss a matter that had been weighing heavily on him. The two of them arrived in the cavern, their footsteps echoing as they approached Shou-Lao.

"Yu-Ti, Lei Kung," Shou-Lao rumbled, his voice deep and thunderous, "I have summoned you for a matter of great importance."

Yu-Ti, the stern and calculating mentor, bowed his head in respect, but his expression remained unreadable. "What is it that weighs on you, Shou-Lao?"

Shou-Lao's massive claws shifted on his throne, his eyes narrowing. "The boy—Harry—and his friends will soon need to leave K'un Lun once more. It will be a mission of great danger, one that will force him to confront not only his enemies but his own nature."

Lei Kung frowned deeply. "You cannot possibly be serious. The last time they left in the middle of the night, after causing havoc with the monks, it caused more trouble than it was worth. They had to spend weeks apologizing and assisting in chores, all while remaining silent. And for what? To attend a birthday party!"

Shou-Lao let out a low, rumbling chuckle, which echoed in the cavern. "Yes, they were reckless—but they were young and full of fire. They learned something from that experience. And now, they are ready for something more. Their time here has been crucial in their growth, but Harry is not the only one who needs to be prepared. He must be ready for his final trial—to defeat me."

The words hung in the air, heavy with the gravity of their meaning. Yu-Ti raised an eyebrow. "Defeat you? Shou-Lao, you are the heart of K'un Lun. No one has ever bested you. What makes you think Harry is ready for such a task?"

Shou-Lao's eyes flickered with ancient wisdom. "He is not yet ready, but the mission he will undertake will bring him closer to his final trial. It is only by facing this mission—and the challenges that lie within it—that he will find the strength needed to confront me. I will not make it easy for him. But he must face me to prove his worth, to rise above the warrior he is now."

Lei Kung looked hesitant, still wary of Harry's brashness and his tendency to rush into situations without fully understanding their consequences. "And what of his friends? You want them to accompany him, do you not? They are as much a part of his journey as he is."

Shou-Lao nodded. "Indeed. They are more than just companions—they are the forces that will shape Harry's destiny. They must all leave K'un Lun together, for the mission requires their combined strength. They will face trials that will test their loyalty, their courage, and their bond as friends."

Yu-Ti leaned forward, his sharp gaze never leaving Shou-Lao. "And you expect them to succeed? After everything they've done here?"

Shou-Lao's expression softened, a hint of pride in his ancient eyes. "They have learned, they have grown, and now they must apply what they have learned in the world beyond K'un Lun. This mission will be the final test of their training. They will be tested in ways they cannot yet imagine."

Lei Kung crossed his arms, still uneasy. "And you trust them enough to let them go?"

"Yes," Shou-Lao answered simply. "But I also trust that they will return stronger, ready for the trial they must face. The final trial is not just a test of strength—it is a test of the heart. Harry's heart, to be precise. And in order for him to truly ascend to his destiny, he must confront me in the arena of battle. Only then will he prove his worth."

There was a long silence as Yu-Ti and Lei Kung absorbed Shou-Lao's words.

Finally, Lei Kung sighed. "Very well. I will allow them to leave—for now. But I will not allow them to embark on this mission without proper preparation. They will need guidance. They will need to understand the weight of what they are about to face. And you, Shou-Lao, will ensure they are ready for it."

Shou-Lao's eyes glowed fiercely. "I will. But their true preparation begins now—outside the walls of K'un Lun, where their trials will take them to places none of us can follow."

With that, the decision was made. Harry and his friends would leave K'un Lun once more, this time for a mission that would take them one step closer to the final confrontation with Shou-Lao himself. It was a mission that would shape their destinies and test them in ways they could never have imagined. And in the end, Harry would have to face the one trial that had been waiting for him all along.

—

Harry really wasn't a morning person. Or any time-of-day person, honestly. But then, when you're a half-god, half-mortal hybrid with a family tree that looks like a who's-who of mythological legends, you kind of lose track of time. And boundaries. And personal space, apparently.

In the middle of his dreamscape—a magical realm where time and reality warped like his mother's hunting arrows—Harry stood at the edge of a cliff that overlooked a landscape so surreal it could've been ripped from the pages of a graphic novel. Floating islands? Check. Shifting clouds? You bet. Mountains that looked like giant beasts yawning and stretching? Oh, absolutely. Harry had seen it all before, though. This wasn't his first training session with Sun Wukong, the Monkey King himself, aka his newest supernatural babysitter.

Wukong, lounging casually on a rock with his golden staff propped up against his shoulder like he was chilling after a long day of godly nonsense, shot him a smirk. "You look like you just woke up from a nap in a volcano," he said, eyes glinting with that familiar, cheeky glint. "That's the face of a guy who's ready to save the world, huh?"

"Yeah, well," Harry shot back with a smirk that probably made his dad—Loki—proud. "You try keeping it together when your whole existence is a walking paradox. I'm like the universe's idea of a middle child, you know? Half-god, half-mortal, full-on confusing."

"You sure are a handful," Wukong agreed, but his tone carried the fondness of a mentor who had learned to enjoy the chaos. "But I wouldn't be training you if I didn't think you had potential. And from what I hear, you're about to test that potential against a real nightmare."

Harry's expression hardened as the mention of Stryker hit him. That name had been on his mind for weeks now. He'd been eagerly anticipating this mission ever since the whole nightmare of Jean's tenth birthday party, when Stryker's goons—including Sabretooth—attacked. Harry's memories of that day still smoldered like a hot ember: the fight, the brutal violence, and finally, Sabretooth's death at his hands. And, yeah, Harry might've absorbed his powers in the process—without even trying.

If there was one thing Harry didn't mind about being part god, it was the freaky perks. But today wasn't about cool abilities or shapeshifting into creatures so ridiculous even his grandmother, Frigga, would've raised an eyebrow. Today, it was about something far darker: taking down Stryker, the man who had been messing with mutants and messing with Harry's life for way too long.

"I've been waiting for this," Harry muttered, cracking his knuckles, the familiar electric buzz of anticipation thrumming in his veins. "I want to give Stryker a taste of what he's been dishing out to the innocent. And I'm not talking about a dinner date."

Wukong's face turned serious—well, as serious as the god of mischief and transformation could look. "Yeah, kid. This isn't just some revenge mission. Stryker? He's a bigger threat than you think. He's not just out for blood—he's out to change the game for everyone. For mutants, for humans, for everyone who doesn't fit into his twisted plan."

Harry raised an eyebrow, the usual mischief in his eyes replaced with the deadly seriousness of someone who had been burned by Stryker's kind before. "What are you saying? That this is more than just about him being a total creep? More than just taking him down for good?"

Wukong nodded, his expression somber now. "Yeah. This is bigger than just some bad guy you can punch into submission. Stryker's part of something—something much darker. You think stopping him will solve everything? Trust me, Harry, you and your friends will be fighting much worse soon. And you're going to need everything you've learned here to face it."

Great. So, not only was Harry dealing with the super fun challenge of stopping a man who basically wanted to be the villain in every mutant movie ever, but he was also going to have to face something worse. As if he didn't already have enough divine angst to deal with, now he was about to be thrust into a cosmic chess game with bigger stakes.

"I can take it," Harry replied, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders, clearly unfazed by the growing weight of the conversation. "Besides, I've got the power of the gods in me. Literally. And I've got you—guy who can shapeshift into anything and everything. Don't tell me that doesn't come in handy."

Wukong grinned, clearly enjoying Harry's sense of humor despite the tension in the air. "I'd never tell you that. But don't get too cocky, kid. You still need to learn how to control that power. Yeah, you've got all these blessings and tricks up your sleeve, but none of that matters if you're not thinking ahead. You can be a god, but if you don't have the right strategy, you're just a god with a really big ego."

"Yeah, yeah. Strategic brilliance and all that." Harry rolled his eyes, though the words sank in. He'd learned plenty from his own mentors, like Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. But this? This was next level. If he was going to be the hero everyone seemed to think he was, he'd need to think smarter, faster, and much more carefully than ever before.

"You and your friends are leaving K'un Lun soon," Wukong continued, "to deal with Stryker and his cronies. Then, after that, you'll return for your final trial—the fight against Shou-Lao. But first? You need to focus. This mission will test you in ways you can't even imagine."

Harry clenched his fists, his jaw setting with determination. "I'm ready. I've waited long enough to bring Stryker down. And if Shou-Lao is my final test, then bring it on. I've got a point to prove."

"That's the spirit," Wukong said with a grin. "But remember: think with your head as much as you think with your fists. You can't fight every battle the same way."

As Harry turned to face the shifting dreamscape, feeling the pull of the mission ahead, he realized one thing. He was ready. He wasn't just some guy with a ridiculous family tree or some random demigod lost in the middle of a divine tug-of-war. He was Haris Lokison—son of Loki and Artemis, trickster and hunter, shapeshifter and warrior. And he was going to show the world exactly what that meant.

But first? He was going to take down Stryker. And he couldn't wait to get started.

---

Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!

I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!

If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!

Click the link below to join the conversation:

https://discord.com/invite/HHHwRsB6wd

Can't wait to see you there!

If you appreciate my work and want to support me, consider buying me a cup of coffee. Your support helps me keep writing and bringing more stories to you. You can do so via PayPal here:

https://www.paypal.me/VikrantUtekar007

Or through my Buy Me a Coffee page:

https://www.buymeacoffee.com/vikired001s

Thank you for your support!