Marvel's Strongest Mage

The moment Hulk emerged from the water sphere, dripping and dazed, news broadcasts around the world zoomed in.

Audiences watching on TVs, tablets, and massive digital billboards couldn't help but laugh. Their amusement grew when Hulk, without hesitation or thought, charged back into the water sphere again.

He never once looked up—because in his mind, Daniel was still inside.

What most of the public didn't realize, however, was that the "Daniel" standing atop the water globe wasn't real.

It was an illusion.

Only those with enhanced senses or training could tell that Hulk's eyes had remained locked on that single image the entire time, unaware that the real Daniel had already vanished from the scene entirely.

In truth, Hulk should never have entered the sphere in the first place.

Water, manipulated by a magician of Daniel's caliber, became a perfect medium for deception. Within its depths, illusions could twist, shift, and multiply. Hulk believed he was focused, tracking Daniel's every move, but Daniel had already altered his path without Hulk noticing.

If they were in another place—isolated, without eyes watching—Daniel might've welcomed a direct confrontation. He knew he couldn't truly beat Hulk, not in a straight brawl, and even holding his own would be a brutal challenge. But to hurt Hulk? To make him bleed? That, Daniel could do.

But not here.

Not with the world watching.

Every move had to be calculated. Misdirection was survival.

Sure enough, after entering and exiting the water sphere three times, Hulk finally snapped out of it. His pupils sharpened. He looked up—and saw Daniel, standing above the sphere, watching silently.

With a guttural roar, Hulk leapt.

Midair, he launched a thunderous punch.

Daniel merely glanced at him—then vanished, slipping effortlessly into the sphere as if melting into it.

Hulk's punch slammed through the top of the sphere, leaving a gaping crater—but again, he fell inside, swallowed whole.

Water surged to fill the space, and the globe continued expanding.

Inside, Hulk lashed out in a frenzy, fists and feet flailing.

But Daniel was no longer there. He had already exited the sphere, cloaked in invisibility and standing silently nearby.

Viewers watching live had no idea.

To them, it looked like Daniel and Hulk were battling within the massive water globe, which now hovered in the middle of the street like a floating tank. Watching Hulk thrash inside, many clutched their chests in panic.

But a few had already figured it out.

Dr. Charles Xavier, observing from across the city with his vast mental reach. Reed Richards—Mr. Fantastic—watching the scene unfold through satellite feeds. Tony Stark, analyzing everything from the rooftop of Stark Tower. Even Nick Fury, sitting in a shadowy S.H.I.E.L.D. surveillance room, narrowed his eye and gave a knowing smirk.

They all understood what was happening.

And none of them warned Hulk.

Finally, with a shuddering boom, Hulk launched himself out of the sphere again.

But this time, there was no frustration on his face.

He looked calm.

His gaze shifted to Betty Ross, standing yards away behind a cordon of destroyed vehicles.

General Ross's expression changed instantly.

"He's fully restored," he muttered grimly.

Betty's breath caught.

It all clicked now.

All this time, Hulk hadn't been flailing blindly. He had been stalling—recovering. His "confusion," his "chasing illusions," all part of a subconscious effort to buy time.

Now, that time had paid off.

He was back at full strength.

"He's leaving," General Ross said, his voice heavy.

He knew Hulk better than anyone alive—better than even Betty, who knew Bruce Banner intimately. But Bruce and Hulk were not the same.

They shared a body. Not a mind.

Betty watched as Hulk turned his eyes toward her. His expression—surprisingly—held something tender. Encouragement. A silent promise.

Then, with a slow turn, he looked toward the massive water sphere.

His features hardened.

He raised his right arm like a drawn bow. The high-definition broadcast caught every muscle in his arm flexing beneath his emerald skin.

And then—he struck.

A single, explosive punch.

The entire sphere detonated.

The ten-meter-wide water globe didn't burst—it erupted. Every channel of water, every current, shattered. Daniel's magic snapped in an instant. Water flew in all directions, flooding the streets, slamming into windows, scattering debris.

One blast of water even rocketed dozens of meters down the road, splashing over wrecked vehicles and stunned soldiers.

Amid the chaos, a figure stood firm.

Daniel.

Ten meters from Hulk, the two stared at each other.

In their eyes burned something primal—respect, challenge, and an understanding born from shared fury.

Then they moved.

At once, they rushed.

Daniel took the first step—and water surged toward him, rising over his limbs and shoulders.

By his second step, a water giant had fully formed around him, matching Hulk's size.

Water continued to pour in from every direction. Fire hydrants, broken mains, even the air itself seemed to feed him. But instead of growing larger, the giant's form compressed, becoming denser, tighter—stronger.

Then came the clash.

Hulk's fist crashed into Daniel's chest, blasting a hole clean through the water giant's torso.

Daniel's own fist met Hulk's jaw with devastating force, snapping his head back and hurling him across the street.

Anyone else would've died from Hulk's punch. But Daniel's magic diffused the blow. His true body had only absorbed a fraction of the impact.

Even so, the damage was real.

Water gushed from the hole in the giant's chest—but just as quickly, more surged in. Within seconds, the wound was sealed.

Hulk was already back on his feet.

His regeneration was near instant. He wiped his mouth, grinning.

Daniel's water giant stood in the middle of the ruined street, arms wide. Nearby, ruptured hydrants still sprayed columns of water. But now, they reversed, siphoned toward Daniel like rivers being swallowed.

The giant's color deepened—first blue, then darker… until black shimmered faintly beneath its surface.

He was getting stronger.

Soldiers rushed onto the scene, weapons raised.

They surrounded General Ross and Betty, forming a protective circle. Every gun pivoted toward Hulk.

For a moment, Hulk looked at Ross.

Disdain flickered in his eyes.

Then, he looked back at Daniel.

A strange, almost mournful shake of his head.

He stomped.

The ground cracked beneath him as he launched into the air, soaring fifty meters up, catching the edge of a skyscraper. With another leap, he vanished into the skyline.

Gunfire echoed after him.

"Da-da-da-da—"

But it was no use. Hulk disappeared, leaping from building to building, then out of sight.

Even a trailing helicopter could only follow him to the Atlantic shore—after that, he was gone.

And Daniel?

He vanished too.

The water giant collapsed, melting into the streets. One moment it stood, and the next—it was gone.

No one had seen him exit. No one saw where he went.

The last hydrant, crushed under the force of Hulk's exit, hissed and died. Water stopped.

Silence.

The battle was over.

And General Ross, his daughter Betty, and the soldiers quietly withdrew, leaving the ruins of Manhattan behind.

Days Later...

Public outcry erupted.

Citizens demanded answers.

Who was the water giant? Who had saved New York from total destruction? Rumors flew—some claimed he was a government agent. Others believed he was a new Avenger. His name trended worldwide.

The media drew comparisons to Iron Man and Spider-Man. He was hailed as a savior—an equal among heroes.

But behind closed doors, the atmosphere was far less celebratory.

The U.S. government wasn't amused.

Officials demanded transparency—not only about the mysterious water mage, but about Hulk, and Bronski's "Abomination" transformation. They wanted full reports. Accountability.

After all, the military had arrived too fast. Someone inside had known.

It wasn't just a news circus.

It was a political war.

Later... at Betty Ross's Apartment

Daniel returned to find General Ross alone, sitting in the dark, sipping whiskey.

He was still in uniform—but the insignia marking him as an active-duty soldier was gone.

He had been discharged.

Forced retirement.

Without looking up, Ross pulled a small green booklet from his coat and tossed it to Daniel.

"Here. Got you a clean identity. U.S. Army. Full rank. Major. Daniel Whitehouse."

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "Whitehouse?"

Ross smirked. "Could've gone with Whitehall. Same difference."

Daniel flipped through the document. It was real—his photo, a Defense Department seal, everything official… except no listed battalion. No traceable unit.

"If we need you," Ross said dryly, puffing on a cigar, "someone from the White House will reach out directly."

Daniel stared. "So I'm now under presidential command?"

Ross chuckled bitterly. "Through me."

He knocked back another glass.

"I may be out, but I'm not giving those bureaucrats everything."

Daniel understood. This wasn't just a favor—it was leverage. Ross had traded something to keep one hand on the steering wheel of power.

"So…" Daniel asked, studying him. "Politics?"

"Maybe."

Ross didn't elaborate.

He poured another drink just as the door creaked open behind them.

A man entered—middle-aged, wearing black-rimmed glasses and a trimmed mustache. He hummed softly under his breath, walking into the room like he already belonged there.

Daniel turned and frowned, thinking, 'Who is this?'