Chapter 317

New York, Manhattan—this incredibly bustling and busy district only grows slightly quieter at night; when darkness fully fell, the snow gradually stopped, the air remained cold, and the snow accumulated along both sides of the streets, lit by streetlamps into warm hues.

In the shop windows along the street, mannequins were dressed in beige reindeer sweaters, wearing scarves of red and green interwoven, with strings of glittering bulbs hanging above the displays and an absurdly excessive number of gift boxes placed in the corners.

Although Christmas was still some time away, these merchants, occupying the best locations across all of New York, had already prepared for the upcoming holiday shopping frenzy.

At the center of the central roundabout, the enormous Christmas tree had been set up in order, but its tiny bulbs had not yet been lit; the gift boxes beneath were covered in thick snow, still uncleaned, yet crowds for photos kept coming steadily.

In the reception room on the top floor of the west wing of Arkham Asylum, Shearer held a cup in one hand, leaning against the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the children below chasing and playing on the street, while Strange sat on the sofa, gathering scattered magazines.

"I wonder who told me yesterday they'd rather die than wear a reindeer sweater this Christmas," Shearer said without turning, but Strange heard the mockery in his voice—he let out a snort, glancing down at his own blue-and-white reindeer sweater.

It was a very ordinary turtleneck sweater: light blue from collar to shoulder, then white, then light blue again; on the white section were blue patterns of reindeer and snowflakes—it was, in short, a common reindeer sweater that one would almost certainly bump into someone else wearing on Christmas.

Strange flipped through the magazine in his hand and said, "When I passed the window, I didn't even look at it—I just felt sorry for the clerk stuck with unsold stock, so I bought one on impulse. As for you, I thought you were the type who avoided holiday fuss."

Strange turned to look at Shearer, who was also wearing a reindeer sweater—he had on a white shirt underneath, over which a dark green reindeer sweater was layered, with a white reindeer on the chest; this sweater had far less chance of matching someone else's, though it wasn't entirely unique.

"After all, everyone likes to wear this," Shearer said, taking a sip of water.

At that moment, the door creaked open—Steve entered, also wearing a reindeer sweater. He froze upon seeing Strange and Shearer's outfits, scratching his head: "I thought you two were the type who avoided holiday fuss."

His sweater perfectly combined Strange's and Shearer's styles: red and green stripes, with a white reindeer on the chest.

"Come on, Captain, this color's way too dated—did you pick this yourself?" Strange asked Steve.

Steve walked over, sat on the sofa, bent his arms, and rested his hands on his knees: "Nick gave it to me. He said SHIELD should have some holiday atmosphere—not just me, Natasha and Hill got the same gift, but they thought the color and design were too dated and refused to wear them."

"I think it's just right," Steve smiled. "After all, dated clothes suit dated people."

"I just hope when I next visit SHIELD headquarters, I don't see a giant Christmas tree covered in golden bells, or eaves lined with colorful little lights," Strange crossed himself, and all three laughed.

"Nick's taste is truly beyond me," Steve shook his head. "We're all from that era, but clearly he doesn't realize that the aesthetics of that time aren't retro yet—they're just dated."

"Let's get to the point," Shearer walked over, placed his cup on the table, then went to the side buffet, picked up two other cups, and poured water for the two.

"I heard Nick wants to throw a Christmas party?"

Before Shearer finished speaking, Strange raised both hands: "Oh my God, spare me—he doesn't know how busy we are?"

"Yes," Steve nodded, rubbing his cup. "You know he's always trying to unite these people with special abilities, to form a team…"

He won't miss any opportunity to bring us together for chats, heart-to-heart talks, and building cohesion. I don't mind these events, but just thinking about the tedious procedures of a dance party gives me a headache.

Shearer and Strange exchanged glances: "The most headache-inducing part must be the dance partner?"

Steve sighed deeply. Strange wanted to tease him, but then remembered his own love life—and sighed too.

His love life's biggest problem was that he had no love life at all. Strange complained: "I'm literally dying from work—I haven't left the Sanctum Sanctorum for a full week. Can you believe that?"

"Those gods and demons call me over for the tiniest things—territory disputes, loan interest rates, multi-party negotiations, down to lost-and-found, pet boarding, even insomnia chat. What do they think this place is?"

Strange sighed. Shearer asked him: "Isn't Loki around? Isn't he supposed to be the universe's all-knowing?"

"You don't know? Loki and Thor are still on Sakaar—they haven't returned yet. I don't know if they'll make it back before Christmas…"

"What are they doing there?" Shearer asked, puzzled. "Isn't that a primitive planet?"

"Correct," Strange said, sipping water, then wrinkling his face at the cup. "Why is this hot water? No tea or coffee?"

"It's already 10 p. . Are you planning to stay up all night?"

Strange grimaced, set the cup down, and said: "Maybe it's better they don't come back—at least we won't have to worry about them causing chaos on Earth. Thor's powers are restored, and Loki's probably close behind…"

Steve nodded: "True. If they had no powers, fine—but if they regain them and still live among ordinary people, they'll inevitably put them in danger. Nick will have another headache."

"Looks like you two have been busy lately, while I'm the only idle one," Shearer walked around the sofa, sat on one side, leaned back against the soft cushion, sipped the hot water, and let out a contented sigh.

"You'll be busy soon—there's been no shortage of strange events lately. Even Peter is swamped."

"What's happened now?"

"I've been investigating this myself. Have you heard about the recent supernatural incidents in Queens?"

"Supernatural incidents? You mean ghost stories?"

"Exactly. You know New York has many residential areas and many graveyards. Recently, residents have reported seeing undead and skeletons near graveyards, plus numerous rumors of will-o'-the-wisps."

"Aren't these things reported every year?" Strange said dismissively. "My hospital loves gossip like this—bodies suddenly missing from the morgue, will-o'-the-wisps seen in hallways at night, dead patients suddenly appearing at windows. What's there to discuss?"

"This time, the witnesses include Spider-Man Peter and his uncle and aunt."

"They live in Forest Hills, Queens. The western side of Forest Hills Park is the Forest Hills Cemetery. First, Peter saw something resembling a skeleton while walking his dog; then, a will-o'-the-wisp scared his aunt. So he's been busy investigating."

Strange fell silent. Shearer also fell into thought, because both knew Peter—he wasn't the type to exaggerate or sensationalize.

Steve looked at Strange: "This should be your magic world's business—can wizards resurrect skeletons or control will-o'-the-wisps?"

Strange tapped his chin with his knuckles, thinking: "Theoretically, yes. A wizard's power comes from exchange—if his exchange partner possesses the ability to resurrect the dead, he could control undead and skeletons."

"But practically, almost no wizard does this—it's meaningless. All exchanges demand a price, and the power gained should be used for more useful purposes. What's the point of resurrecting corpses and undead? To scare people?"

"Hmm… can't they attack or something?"

Shearer looked at Steve: "Captain, you're a martial arts master. You know how hard skeletons and corpses are to fight?"

"They're just variants of humans—actually weaker. Without magical protection, skeletons have no muscles and can't withstand any blade; corpses, aside from being disgusting, are no different from ordinary people…"

"To make them formidable in combat requires immense magical energy," Strange explained. "You must use that power to protect every bone and decaying muscle, and infuse them with soul-fire to grant them basic intelligence—to pick up weapons and fight…"

yawenku.

"With that much energy, you could create far more powerful monsters. Once, a dark mage in Montana summoned a shadow dragon; another necromancer sent a swarm of soul-devouring birds to attack a hospital…"

"But skeletons? I've never heard of anyone doing that in Kamar-Taj. Even with magical protection, you'd need an enormous number of them to even attempt attacking a modern human city."

Steve rubbed his chin and nodded: "True. If they had that ability, a large monster invading the city would be faster. So what are they trying to do? Just scare people? Create panic?"

Shearer shook his head: "It doesn't look like it. If they wanted panic, they'd target Manhattan or Brooklyn—those are New York's centers. Queens has plenty of hills and parks, but low population density, and reporters don't go there."

As they discussed this, Steve's phone rang. He picked it up and pressed answer—Peter's voice came through, frantic.

"Captain! Skeletons! Moving skeletons! At Forest Hills Cemetery—can you come over?!"

"Listen, Peter, calm down. Is it urgent? I'm on my way…"

"Uh… not that urgent—they can't beat me. I just don't know what to do with them. Should I punch them? Would they pass out? They don't even have brains—can they even pass out?"

Steve looked up at Strange. Strange spread his hands: "Fine. I need coffee. Looks like another all-nighter…"