The true potential of his powers revealed itself entirely by accident a few nights later.
Max had projected his consciousness into one of the NY-stationed Shadowkhan to check their progress.
Frustrated by the dark, snowy alleyway the ninja was lurking in, Max instinctually thought of his utility magic.
To his utter shock, the ninja’s gloved hand began to glow with the soft, white light of the *Lumos* spell.
He dropped the spell in surprise.
*Wait.* He forced the ninja’s shadowy vocal cords to vibrate, pushing a thought into physical sound.
“Testing,” the ninja rasped, its voice sounding like dry leaves scraping across a stone floor.
Back in his crib in Louisiana, Max’s infant body let out a silent, breathless laugh.
This changed everything.
He didn’t just summon the Shadowkhan; they were perfect physical conduits for his soul.
He could cast his magic, use his skills, and even speak through them.
Every superhero in the comics—especially Spider-Man—suffered from the same fatal flaw: they couldn’t be in two places at once.
They ruined their personal lives, abandoned their loved ones, and constantly risked exposing their secret identities just to patrol the streets.
Max would never have that problem.
He could attend family dinners, go to school, and sleep safely in his bed, all while his shadow army fought crime and executed his will thousands of miles away.
It was the ultimate loophole.
The Rambeau Boy’s First Year Birthday
As the second week of December rolled in, the atmosphere in the Rambeau farmhouse grew incredibly festive.
Max was about to turn one, and Maria and Monica were determined to make it special, providing Max with a steady stream of adorable, grounding moments:
**The “Captain” Lessons:** Monica had made it her personal mission to ensure Max’s first word was superhero-related.
She would sit in front of his highchair for an hour at a time, pointing to herself.
*”Cap-tain.
Say Cap-tain, Max!”* Max, whose vocal cords were finally developing enough to form syllables, found it endlessly amusing to stare back at her with wide eyes and blow a raspberry instead.
**The Lopsided Cake Prep:** Maria, while an ace pilot and a formidable woman, was not a master baker.
Two days before his birthday, she attempted to bake a test cake from scratch.
It came out of the oven leaning heavily to the left, slightly burnt on the edges.
When she presented it to Max to taste the frosting, he gave her a gummy smile and happily smacked his hands on the tray, earning a tired but radiant laugh from his adoptive mother.
**The Tablecloth Cape & The Superman Treatment:** Both Maria and Monica knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Max was extraterrestrial—the smoldering crater he had left in their pasture upon arrival was irrefutable proof.
Leaning fully into her comic book lore, Monica frequently tied his indestructible tablecloth around his neck like a cape and placed him directly in the sunniest patches of the living room floor, convinced he needed to absorb “yellow sun rays” like Superman to grow his powers.
Watching from the kitchen, Maria’s feelings were far more complicated.
She worried about what those potential powers might do to him.
Would absolute power corrupt him?
She secretly prayed that his alien lineage would remain entirely dormant, that he would never sprout strange physical differences or awaken world-breaking abilities.
More than anything, looking at the giggling baby zooming around the sunlit carpet, Maria just hoped he would grow up to be a healthy, good-hearted young man.
Despite his origins, she had truly come to see him as her own son. Follow the newest chapters on novelping.com.
The Streets of New York
While Max played the role of a happy baby during the day, his nights were spent observing the gritty reality of 1991 New York City through his scouts.
The ninjas had successfully located the Stark estate, sinking into the shadows of the expansive property to wait for the target date.
However, while waiting, the ninjas reported back on the state of the city.
The crime rate was staggering.
Muggings, gang violence, and fatal accidents were happening every single night.
Lying in his crib, Max pondered his moral compass.
He wasn’t a sacrificing hero.
He wasn’t going to spend every ounce of his mana and Karma trying to save every single person on Earth.
But he wasn’t completely heartless, either.
He had the power to help, and doing nothing felt like a waste of the ROB’s gifts.
He established a strict, pragmatic protocol.
*”Listen closely,”* Max transmitted to his NY scouts.
*”If you encounter a fatal incident, do not reveal yourselves.
Stay in the shadows.
You are absolutely not to cure them completely; miraculous recoveries leave evidence, and we cannot afford the suspicion of the authorities or the magical community.
Instead, cast **Minor Healing** just enough to halt any further deterioration.
Stop the blood loss, keep their organs from failing, and anchor their vitals.
Maintain them in a critical but stable condition until emergency services arrive.”*
And so, the Shadowkhan became the unseen guardian angels of New York.
A man stabbed in an alley found his bleeding inexplicably slowing to a crawl, his fading pulse forcefully anchored until the ambulance arrived.
Max saved lives from the comfort of his crib, leaving the doctors to credit sheer human resilience rather than magic.
December 16, 1991
Max’s first birthday in this new universe was a quiet, heartwarming affair.
Maria managed to bake a cake that didn’t lean, frosting it with bright blue icing.
Monica gave him a hand-drawn comic book featuring “Max the Tablecloth Boy” fighting bad guys.
As Maria held him close, kissing his forehead while the candles flickered, Max felt a genuine swell of love for the two of them.
But as the sun set and his family went to sleep, Max’s demeanor shifted.
He closed his eyes and connected to the four ninjas stationed at the Stark estate.
It was time.
Through the eyes of a ninja hiding in the corner of the Starks’ lavish living room, Max watched history unfold exactly as he remembered it from the movies.
A young, reckless Tony Stark was sprawled upside down on a couch, wearing a Santa hat and complaining loudly.
Howard Stark strode into the room, dressed in a heavy winter coat, his face lined with the stress of running an empire and holding onto secrets too big for one man.
“Does he always have to be doing that?” Howard snapped, glaring at Tony.
“He’s home for the holidays, Howard,” Maria Stark replied softly, her fingers pausing on the keys.
“Give him a break.
Say something nice.”
Howard sighed, adjusting his coat.
He looked at his son, the tension thick in the room.
“I know you’re hiding something, Tony.
But I also know…
I love you.”
Tony, defensive and guarded, offered nothing but a sarcastic quip in return.
He didn’t say it back.
It was a regret that would haunt Tony for the rest of his life.
Howard shook his head, turning toward the door.
“Let’s go, Maria.”
“Are you sure you don’t want the security detail, Howard?” an aide asked from the hallway.
“No,” Howard dismissed sharply.
“I’m driving myself.
It’s a private errand.”
Through his ninja proxy, Max watched Howard head to the garage.
The elderly billionaire opened the trunk of his customized car, carefully placing a metal briefcase inside.
Even from the shadows, Max’s ninjas could sense the potent, humming energy inside the case: the blue, glowing pouches of the recreated Super Soldier Serum.
Howard shut the trunk, and Maria slid into the passenger seat.
As the engine roared to life and the car pulled out of the driveway into the snowy New York night, Max made a crucial calculation.
If his ninjas stole the bodies at the crash site, S.H.I.E.L.D.
and Hydra would know something was wrong.
The timeline would shatter instantly.
He needed the world to believe the Starks were truly dead.
*”Follow them,”* Max transmitted, his mental voice cold and precise.
*”Sink directly into the shadows of their physical bodies.
Do not engage the assassin, and do not interfere with the crash in any way.
Let the authorities find them.
Stay hidden in their shadows through the autopsy, the morgue, and the funeral.
The exact moment they are buried and the graves are covered, pull their bodies down into the Shadow Dimension.”*