Chapter 736: Danger, Thanos, Danger (Middle)

Strange and Stark both froze in place.

Strange opened his mouth wide, stepped forward, and said, "This… how can this be removed? Is it solid? Isn't it supposed to be a halo of energy?"

Sheer casually handed the halo to him; Strange hesitated and didn't dare take it. He leaned in to examine it and realized the halo was truly solid—the surrounding light was dense, but at its center, the glow dimmed, like a circular light strip.

Stark took the halo from Sheer's hand, weighed it in his palm, and found it wasn't heavy—its mass was roughly equal to that of an equal-sized piece of vibranium.

It had no texture at all, as if its temperature and roughness perfectly matched his skin's surface; though he held something, it felt as if he held nothing.

"What is this? What did you make it from?" Stark examined the halo repeatedly. "Its properties are strange—the material doesn't seem to be any known metal…"

Sheer cleared his throat and said:

"A few days ago, I offered God a sacrifice he was very pleased with, and asked to tour Heaven—but unfortunately, he refused me."

"At that point, I settled for less: I asked for God's blessing. He refused again. Of course, I didn't wish to ask more from the greatest and most merciful Savior—so I was granted the status of an angel."

Sheer snapped his fingers, and the halo returned to his head. Stark saw absolutely no movement, felt no trace of when it left his hand.

Sheer took the halo from his head again and said, "Clearly, I am now a glorious angel, of no low rank—similar to the Seven Archangels. God holds me in high esteem, so this halo is special…"

Stark and Strange stood frozen, both in identical postures: arms crossed, bodies leaning back, faces wearing expressions of "Did he forget his meds this morning?"

"If you don't want to tell the truth, just shut up—don't make up such stories," Strange shook his head. "If someone like you can go to Heaven, I'll burn the Bible when I get back."

"I didn't go to Heaven," Sheer spun the halo on his finger. "I only received Heaven's residency permit—and this halo."

Stark was more pragmatic. He looked at Sheer. "Alright, ignore that ridiculous story—what can this halo actually do?"

"It can light up!"

With that, Sheer demonstrated for Stark and Strange.

He held the halo, paused, then soft light flooded the entire lab, brightening it completely.

The halo wasn't a light source—the glow didn't originate from it. Instead, light appeared evenly throughout the room, making everything brilliantly illuminated.

"And?" Stark asked next.

"Uh… it can enlarge and shrink." Sheer demonstrated again: holding the halo, it instantly expanded to the size of a hula hoop, then grew to half the room's height.

Then it shrank again, until it became invisible. Sheer added, "And I can recall it to me from anywhere—just a thought, and it returns to my head."

"Good. Anything else?" Strange asked.

"Hmm…" Sheer thought for dozens of seconds before saying, "Maybe… it's very hard."

"Come on! Is this really the angelic halo God gave you? Besides being a lightbulb, expandable, anti-theft, and extremely hard—does it have no other function?" Stark stared wide-eyed at Sheer.

"Seriously? Don't tell me you went through all this trouble just for this? Shouldn't something like this have holy light, blessings, or something?"

Strange walked up, and Sheer took the halo off his head and handed it to him.

Strange studied it, found no other function. He tried activating it with magical energy—but the halo acted like a bottomless pit: no matter how much energy he poured in, it reacted nothing, and the energy couldn't be retrieved.

No holy light, healing, blessing—none of those properties existed. No matter how he tested it, it simply sat there, inert.

Stark and Strange stared at the halo, speechless. Stark shook his head. "This is the most useless thing you've ever had. Truly."

Strange nodded in deep agreement.

In their view, everything Sheer possessed had purpose: the symbiotic gray mist gave him incredible mobility and prevented many dangers; the umbrella was made of mysterious material, usable as both weapon and defense against ranged attacks.

But this halo—beyond these basic functions—had no use at all. It felt utterly out of place.

Yet Sheer seemed to like the halo very much.

Strange shook his head, utterly unable to understand this madman's thinking. As for Sheer's story, neither Strange nor Stark believed it. When Sheer didn't want to tell the truth, he invented absurd tales—that was their mutual understanding.

"Alright, let's test the functions you mentioned," Stark took the halo.

At that moment, Bruce Banner entered, turning to close the door as he said, "Tony, the data you requested won't be ready until next week… Oh, you're all here? What are you doing in here? And why are so many lights on?"

Banner glanced around the lab—it was much brighter than usual. He smiled. "I wish my lab had this kind of lighting. One of my ceiling lights is broken and still hasn't been fixed."

"No problem, Dr. Banner, I'll fix it for you later," Sheer turned and said. Stark snorted, rolled his eyes. "You don't actually think replacing a bulb means you can fix a ceiling light, do you?"

Sheer shot him a sidelong glance and said nothing. Banner stepped forward, pointing at the halo in Stark's hand. "What's this? A new invention of yours?"

"It's the crystallization of this psychiatrist's delusion… Never mind, Bruce, you're here just in time. Let's test what properties this strange halo has."

Two physics geniuses together left no room for Strange or Sheer to speak. Soon, they launched a series of experiments and successfully identified the halo's peculiar traits.

First, the light emission: Stark found the halo's glow didn't obey physical laws—it couldn't be refracted, yet could appear anywhere.

There was no source. Light simply activated within roughly a fifty-meter radius, like increasing the brightness of an image—every object within view became illuminated.

No building could block it. Within the illuminated area, there were no shadows—every spot was equally bright.

The second function—enlarging and shrinking—was straightforward, though the speed was slow, making it useless as a weapon via rapid expansion.

Its weight changed with size, but density couldn't be measured. The minimum size exceeded human observational limits, so its ultimate shrinkage limit remained unknown.

As for the recall function, it was indeed just an anti-theft feature: no matter where the halo was, Sheer could summon it instantly, ignoring space and environment—though it always returned to his head.

Stark ran additional tests and found the halo could only remain on Sheer's head. Anyone else who held it couldn't make it float above their own head—only Sheer could.

Most crucially, its hardness: all known metals in Stark's lab failed to dent it.

Vibranium, adamantium, molten steel—all rare, expensive metals—showed no greater hardness after impact tests.

Stark fixed the halo to a machine that gripped it internally, then initiated high-speed rotation.

The halo slowly approached a slab of adamantium—and sliced through it like butter.

Sheer nodded in satisfaction. "At least it can serve as a blade, right?"

Stark and Banner both shook their heads and sighed. Sheer looked at them. Banner explained, "We have more efficient methods to cut similar metals. And in today's world, where efficiency is urgent—if this material can't be mass-produced, it's meaningless."

Sheer sighed. "Alright, I guess that's it."

"Wait—can't you use it as a weapon?" Strange asked.

"That's the odd part. In some ways, it completely defies physics. In others, it obeys physics too rigidly." Stark removed the halo and threw it.

It hit the floor with a clang, rolled a few times, then stopped. Stark said, "See? Its destructive power depends entirely on how hard you throw it."

"In flight, it has no inherent acceleration. Even if we could give it acceleration, why would we? A projectile isn't just about hardness…"

"In short," Banner summed up sharply, "it's a brick harder than anything else."

After confirmation by multiple experts, the halo indeed had no extraordinary properties. Sheer suspected these traits arose from religious imagery and the act of crossing worlds.

As the group prepared to leave, Sheer turned to Banner. "Come on, Dr. Banner. I'm more concerned about your ceiling light—and your mental state. How's your other personality?"

"I was just going to talk to you about that. Lately, he's changed. I don't even know how to describe it…"

"No problem. Let's go to your lab and talk slowly."

Sheer and Banner drove to Banner's lab. As soon as they entered, Sheer noticed the lighting was dimmer. One ceiling light was out.

Sheer turned into gray mist and floated upward to repair the light, asking Banner about his mental state. But even in mist form, the halo still floated above his head—he hadn't fully adjusted to having a halo on his head.

Sheer surged the mist upward—the mist harmed nothing, but the extremely hard halo embedded itself directly into the ceiling.

A "crack" echoed—the ceiling cracked open. Simultaneously, the light Sheer was repairing and the three surrounding lights went out.

Looking at the now darker lab, Sheer landed and rubbed his hands. "Sorry, Dr. Banner. Your lights might… but it's fine…"

He reached up, took the halo from his head, and handed it to Banner. "Since this halo broke your lights, tonight's lighting is its responsibility."

He snapped his fingers. Instantly, the lab blazed with brilliant light.

After Sheer left the room, Banner held the halo, stared at it, and shook his head in confusion.