The man moved like a ghost, stepping into the center of the crowd.
His rough facial features were filled with disgust, and his greasy black hair parted in the middle, revealing a forehead as wrinkled as old tree bark.
In silence, he raised a wand, pointing it at the old man.
"Severus, please."
The old man shook his head gently at him.
His wrinkled face showed a complex expression—as if pleading for the man to stop, yet also hinting at something deeper.
However, the black-robed man, Severus, showed no hesitation as he swung his wand.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A blast of green magic shot toward the helpless old man.
At that moment, everyone believed the old man was doomed.
For Avada Kedavra was the most unforgivable and deadly curse.
To this day, only two people had ever survived it.
However, to everyone's shock—Just as the deadly curse was about to strike the old man—A man clad in a sleek black battle suit suddenly appeared out of nowhere in front of him, without any warning.
The man's eyes remained closed, his physique as perfect as an ancient Greek sculpture stepping down from its pedestal.
The green glow of the Killing Curse struck him directly in the chest, only to disperse into flickering light, fading into the air.
Yet, the armored man did not react at all.
The Unforgivable Curse, meant to end life instantly, hit him like nothing more than a passing breeze.
He never even opened his eyes.
And when he finally did, it was like a bolt of lightning cutting through the darkness of the observatory.
Everyone instinctively stepped back, their hearts pounding wildly, as if they had just brushed past death itself.
"Ah, did I manage to get the teleportation right this time? Oh? You must be Dumbledore?" The armored man's piercing gaze softened as he looked at the white-haired, white-bearded old man.
"I am indeed. And you are…? Are you alright, sir?"
Dumbledore studied the man before him, curiosity flickering in his eyes.
He was absolutely certain—the Unforgivable Curse had not harmed this man in the slightest!
"Of course, everything is fine. So you really are Professor Dumbledore—it's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Lyon."
Lyon gave a slight bow in greeting. This time, he had finally arrived at the right place.
Dumbledore quickly returned the gesture.
For a brief moment earlier, he had wondered whether this mysterious and powerful man had been sent by Voldemort.
But now, seeing Lyon's friendly demeanor, he began to suspect otherwise—perhaps this young man had been sent by someone in Nurmengard Tower to aid him..?
"Albus Dumbledore—though I suspect introductions may not be necessary."
He hesitated, taking a step forward, then asked once more, "Mr. Lyon, are you truly unharmed?"
Lyon found the repeated question odd. "Why do you keep asking that?"
Then, glancing down at himself, he realized something. "Ah, I see. You're talking about my battle suit, aren't you?"
"Don't worry about it. This is just an outfit that can change appearance at will."
With a mere thought, his Superman suit instantly transformed into a wizard's robe adorned with shimmering starlight.
"But now that you mention it… I did feel a slight coolness just now. Did someone splash water on me?"
The Killing Curse had not only failed to harm him—it hadn't even registered as an attack.
In fact, he had barely felt anything at all.
Crossing between worlds always left him in a dazed, sluggish state, almost like a vegetative trance.
At this moment, a sudden Killing Curse felt to him like a shot of espresso—nothing more than a wake-up call.
Lyon glanced around, taking in the scene.
There was a wild-looking woman with smoky eye makeup, and an old, bat-like man lurking nearby.
Beneath the floorboards of the Astronomy Tower, Harry Potter was hiding.
Dumbledore's wand had rolled away, lying abandoned on the ground.
This scene felt strangely familiar.
"Professor Dumbledore, it seems like you could use some help?"
Lyon recalled this moment in the story—it was Dumbledore's death.
But from what he knew, this wasn't an accident.
It was something the old man had planned and orchestrated himself.
"Ah, no need to worry—everything is as it should be. Please, allow me to say just a few more words to them, Mr. Lyon."
Dumbledore was clearly trying to hurry him along so that Snape could get on with killing him.
Lyon gazed at him for a long moment.
First the Ancient One, and now Dumbledore…
Why is it that every time I meet these so-called "great masters of magic," they're always in the middle of dying?
This gave Lyon the strange illusion that he might be some kind of "curse" upon powerful magic users—every time he met one, they seemed to be on the verge of dying.
"As you wish."
Lyon stepped aside.
"Perfect timing, actually—I need to bring a few of my companions over. See you in a bit, Professor Dumbledore."
"Of course. See you soon."
Dumbledore instinctively nodded.
And in the very next second Lyon vanished without a sound.
Every single person present, whether Death Eater or white wizard, was stunned into silence.
"He... he didn't use Apparition, did he?"
Lucius Malfoy's voice quivered slightly as he observed the scene, his platinum-blond hair catching the dim light.
Snape, gripping his wand tightly, was momentarily at a loss as well.
Before anyone else could react, he cast a glance at Dumbledore—
"Are you still going through with this?"
Dumbledore nodded slightly—
"Get on with it!"
"No... Severus, please."
Dumbledore repeated his original line, as if sticking to some preordained script.
Snape's face remained cold and impassive, his eyes dark and filled with the weight of a thousand grievances.
He raised his wand once more.
But this time, he chose a different spell.
"Sectumsempra!"
The spell struck Dumbledore with precision.
Immediately, deep gashes appeared across his face and chest, as if slashed by an invisible blade.
Blood gushed forth, staining his robes a dark crimson.
His frail body shuddered, stumbling backward. With one weak, trembling hand, he reached out to steady himself against the stone parapet—
And then, he fell.
The Death Eaters instinctively rushed to the edge, peering downward.
Dumbledore, his silver beard now soaked in red, tumbled like a discarded ragdoll through the open air.
Above him, the darkened sky, thick with clouds, reflected in his glassy, lifeless eyes.
He crashed heavily onto the ground below.
A deep pool of blood spilled from his broken body, seeping into the soil beneath his pale wizarding robes.
Dumbledore was dead.
Even after his final breath, his eyes remained open, as if still gazing beyond the clouds—toward the endless stars above.
"NO! PROFESSOR!"
From beneath the astronomical instruments, Harry Potter burst out of hiding.
Rage surged through his veins as he took off in pursuit of the retreating Death Eaters.
...
Meanwhile, Lyon reappeared in Kamar-Taj.
"Look who's back! Our own Clark Kent, did you find the right universe this time?"
Tony, who had just been deep in conversation with Wong about Odin's missing eye, turned to greet him.
"Found it," Lyon said. "Now, chatterbox Bruce, are you sure you're ready? We can leave right now."
Banner blinked in confusion. "Huh? I didn't say anything."
Tony patted his shoulder. "Lyon's talking about 'Brucie Wayne' over here."
"Superman and Batman? Oh my god, you two even have personalized nicknames for each other?" Banner raised an eyebrow high.
"It's not a nickname—Tony made it up," Lyon clarified. "Wong and Mordo are ready. How about you two?"
Lyon had intentionally left an hour between his return and departure, giving Tony enough time to wrap things up.
Banner adjusted his backpack. "I'm set… Actually, ever since I got back to New York, I've had nothing but a single pair of pants. Good thing Tony grabbed some essentials for me while he was out."
Since he had been arrested upon returning to New York, Banner was completely broke.
And thanks to his frequent transformations into the Hulk, even his last pair of pants was tattered and torn.
But a lack of material possessions didn't bother him at all.
If anything, he felt calm. At peace.
Standing beside Superman and these masters of magic, the Hulk, who had haunted him for years, suddenly no longer felt like a problem.
For the first time, Banner thought that not even the comfort of being in his mother's womb could compare to the sheer sense of security he felt now.
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