Being A Law God In Marvel!

Eternal sleep.

For three days, Robert Stark felt as if a century had passed. His once pristine hair had started to gray, and he looked on the verge of aging overnight.

His genius son, who had always been his pride, had been asleep for three straight days. No matter what they tried, they couldn't wake him.

Doctors came and went, performing every test imaginable, yet all their efforts were futile. His son looked like he was merely in a deep sleep, but no amount of prodding, pinching, or even medical stimulation seemed to reach him.

In the past three days, his son had neither eaten nor drunk, and his once vibrant and round cheeks had begun to sink. His frail body was now surviving solely on glucose injections, barely holding on.

"Why, God? Why are you punishing me like this?!" Robert exclaimed in anguish, gripping at his thinning hair and pacing around the room in despair.

A maid carefully opened the door, her expression solemn. "Sir, Dr. Hughes has arrived."

"What? Dr. Hughes?"

Robert Stark shot up from his seat, his sunken eyes regaining a glimmer of hope. Dr. Hughes was a legend in the medical world, a three-time Nobel Prize winner, including one for his groundbreaking work in modern sleep medicine.

"Please, bring him in immediately!"

"No, I'll go and meet him myself."

Moments later, Robert was leading Dr. Hughes into the room, clinging tightly to the man as if he were a lifeline. "Doctor, my son's life is in your hands. You're my last hope!"

Dr. Hughes nodded with calm reassurance. "Mr. Stark, I've heard of your situation. Rest assured, I will do my utmost."

Robert stepped back as Dr. Hughes set up his equipment, meticulously examining the young boy. The entire room was silent, the only sound being the faint beeping of the monitoring equipment.

After what felt like an eternity, Dr. Hughes put away his tools, his expression troubled.

"Doctor?" Robert asked nervously, gripping the edge of a nearby table.

Dr. Hughes sighed. "Mr. Stark, this is… one of the most perplexing cases I've encountered in my career."

Robert felt his heart drop into a pit of despair. "Does that mean there's no hope?"

"No, not necessarily. There are two possibilities here," Dr. Hughes said, adjusting his glasses.

Robert's face lit up slightly. The other doctors had been at a loss, but Hughes had already identified two possible avenues. "What are they, Doctor?"

"The first possibility is a rare condition similar to 'sleeping sickness.' Have you heard of it?"

Robert furrowed his brows. "I've heard the term in passing. Is that what this is?"

"Perhaps. About six years ago, I encountered a case in Kazakhstan. The patient fell into long bouts of sleep that lasted several days. Though their case differed slightly from your son's, the symptoms bear some resemblance."

Robert's throat tightened. "What was the outcome of that case?"

"I was able to wake them eventually, but…" Dr. Hughes trailed off, shaking his head. "They were left with severe aftereffects: frequent drowsiness, amnesia, and even hallucinations. They were alive, but hardly the same person they once were."

Robert clenched his fists. "And the second possibility?"

Dr. Hughes hesitated before leaning in closer. "Mr. Stark, forgive me for asking, but… have you ever crossed paths with the supernatural or offended anyone with… mysterious abilities?"

Robert froze. His father had once mentioned that the Stark family had benefited from the aid of a 'magician' during their early rise to power. Could this be related?

"I… I don't know," Robert lied, his mind racing.

"If it is a curse or something beyond the physical realm, I'm afraid you'll need to seek help from someone with knowledge of the arcane," Dr. Hughes concluded, his voice laced with unease.

Robert nodded slowly, a sinking feeling settling in his chest. "Thank you, Doctor. Mary will see you out."

As Dr. Hughes left the Stark estate, he looked around cautiously before flagging down a cab. "Take me to Hell's Kitchen," he instructed the driver.

The cabbie hesitated. "Hell's Kitchen? Are you sure, sir? That place isn't safe."

"Don't worry. Just drop me off at the edge of Eighth Avenue."

The driver nodded reluctantly, steering the car toward the infamous neighborhood. Hell's Kitchen was a chaotic and dangerous place, home to all manner of criminals and misfits, but it was also a hub for those who operated in the shadows—the kind of people who might understand 'mysterious forces.'

As the cab sped toward its destination, Dr. Hughes prepared himself for what lay ahead. If his suspicions were correct, this wasn't just a medical mystery—it was something far more sinister.

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