Awakening Kryptonian Bloodline In Marvel.-Chapter 396 - 396: 396: A Portal Prodigy

"Young Master Malrick, someone has mastered the Mystic Art of Portals and met our admission criteria," Jarvis announced.
"So soon? Who is it?" Malrick sounded surprised.
"It's an eight-year-old girl from Afghanistan, Shafika Mazari. You should remember her."
"Shafika… Wait. Is she from that family I rescued from the Ten Rings Gang?" Malrick frowned in thought.
He had forgotten that she was among the people he saved — but now, to hear she had progressed so quickly, he felt real intrigue.
Jarvis's reminder still surprised him. Someone had actually learned the portal magic in just three days — under the guidance of the system's AI. Such talent was rare, perhaps even exceptional.
Even Doctor Strange once took three days to grasp the Mystic Art of Portals.
But that comparison did not fully apply. When Strange learned magic, his entire worldview crumbled, he questioned himself, then rebuilt his belief system. In the game, however, magic was just another part of the setting — something to practice, without existential crisis.
Children had a purity adults lacked.
Their imaginations were not yet hardened by the world; reality had not built iron walls in their minds that blocked creativity or light. Teenagers still fantasized — about being rescued, about being special, about being chosen.
When magic manifested in the game and required dedication to cast, they would practice non-stop until they succeeded.
Adults, though, often dismissed it.
Concentrating, visualizing a destination for a portal — it all felt deliberate or forced, mystical for its own sake rather than genuine.
Take Stephen Strange, for example.
He, too, had been on Jarvis's pre-enrollment list. But he never bothered to complete the more demanding levels. On the rare occasions he entered, he was put off by how tedious and clunky the magic training seemed, and he quickly exited out of disdain.
What held his attention instead was the freedom in "Los Santos," the thrill of street racing, and the indulgent lifestyle in Cyber City. That world fascinated him more than any magical discipline.
Malrick said to Jarvis, "Keep monitoring the other candidates. By the way — is Strange still robbing banks in Los Santos?"
Jarvis replied, "No, he's currently into street racing in a game called 'Sherlock Holmes,' Young Master."
Malrick chuckled. "He'll probably come looking for help once he crashes a car in 2016."
---
Two weeks passed in a flash.
Tony and the others still hadn't yet completed "The Three-Body Problem" level. Meanwhile, Jarvis had wrapped up the enrollment process. He sent out 486 admission invitations, and 345 students accepted — giving an acceptance rate that felt impossibly stringent.
Unsurprisingly, Strange's name was not among them. The magical genius was already too distracted by his gaming addictions.
Today was official opening day at the Supreme Mage Academy.
---
The Mazari household woke early.
Shafika's father and sister stayed home, and her mother carefully dressed Shafika in a new robe reserved for special occasions. The little adobe house was full of nervous excitement as they awaited the arrival of the "Nightmare" mentioned in her admission notice.
When Shafika confirmed her enrollment two weeks ago, a red-sealed envelope had mysteriously appeared in their home. It was a physical acceptance letter from the Academy.
Her parents swore it had simply materialized, as though sent by fate.
Since then, their faith in the Academy had known no bounds. The letter even claimed that its principal was a kind of "superman" — someone they had all dreamed of.
For the Mazaris, this was more than just an honor: it was a chance for Shafika to escape their difficult life in that humble adobe house.
To them, a magic academy wasn't just noble — it evoked images of grand halls and regal banquets, like a palace straight out of a legend.
So, with hope and trembling hearts, they kept their door wide open, ready for the Nightmare they believed would arrive at any moment.
As midday sunlight shortened the shadows, Shafika's father paced anxiously.
"Didn't the notice say when the Nightmare would arrive?" he asked, stopping.
Shafika shook her head. "No, Dad. It only said 'today,' remember?"
Her father ruffled his hair. "I just worry I missed something."
Silence settled.
They had even prepared a special lunch to welcome their guest. Now it sat untouched, cold and unappetizing.
Shafika perched on a small stool, her chin in her hands, eyes fixed on the doorway.
She watched and waited, imagining someone wearing a magical hat would step through any moment.
Time moved slowly, until she heard soft, noble hoofbeats from outside — clip-clop, growing louder.
The whole family rose, staring at the door.
In their neighborhood, people only owned donkeys or cows. Such refined hoofbeats had to be the Nightmare's mount — a majestic is-of-sorts, riding in to claim his student.
Her father straightened his worn suit, made sure his tie was neat, and smoothed his wife's and daughters' hair.
They stood together, waiting, as though posing for a portrait.
The hoofbeats drew near, crisp and steady.
Then, a pitch-black head slipped through the doorway.
The creature looked part horse, part dragon — skeletal, skin tight over its bones, no flesh to speak of. Its eyes were milky and gray, as though clouded by cataracts.
The Mazaris gasped.
If they weren't prepared, they might have thought Death itself had come.
"Mr. Nightmare? Is that you?" Mr. Mazari called, holding his daughter's hand.
The creature tilted its head, then stepped inside with measured grace.
Where a rider should have been was only a saddle fastened to its back. Attached by a ribbon was a note, and from the saddle hung a small bag.
Shafika crept forward and picked up the note, reading it aloud in a trembling voice:
"Dear Miss Mazari, please straddle the Nightmare's back, hold its neck tightly, and it will safely carry you to your first stop on the journey to the Academy: Kamar-Taj."
Shafika blinked, courage rising in her chest.
She pointed at the creature, her curly brown hair bouncing, and said softly, "Dad, look — that's Mr. Nightmare."
—