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Chapter - 129
🕑 Added 2025-05-13 16:48:55 +0000 UTC[Title : Peter. Tony. Bruce]
….
Stan’s words lingered in the air.
No one moved.
And Regal? He just nodded once at Stan like he wasn't done yet.
Regal tapped the board again - this time, softer and deliberate.
“Now…” He said quietly. “Here are the details.”
He held up three fingers.
“Three characters. Three anchors. One for each pillar.”
He paused a beat. Then started.
“Peter Parker - Spider Man.”
“I want him to be the heart, and the soul of the universe, not in being the most crucial or powerful one. But be the emotional bridge - the one who connects us to the audience in the most personal way. His power isn’t in how strong he is. It’s in how close he feels.”
Regal walked slowly across the room, gesturing as he spoke.
“Think about it. A superhero in a full-body suit. Face always hidden. No visible identity. And what happens to that suit? It becomes a mirror.”
He stopped. Let that image sink in.
“He could be a kid. A teenager. An adult. A middle-aged woman. An old man. He could be any race, any class - and it wouldn’t matter. Because what matters is this—”
He turned, met every eye in the room.
“He’s a lovable, friendly, neighborhood hero… who just happens to have superpowers. That’s it. That’s all.”
A pause.
“That’s the Spider-Man I want.”
Silence followed. Heavy.
Across the room, Stan Lee blinked. Hard. His throat tightened as he glanced down, then slowly looked back up - eyes glistening.
In all his years, in all the thousands of pitches and adaptations, no one had ever distilled Peter Parker like that. Not with such purity and reverence.
That… that was the soul of the character.
And someone else had seen it. Truly seen it.
To him this part, this moment, it should’ve been in there.
But then again, maybe hearing it out loud made it hit even harder.
Still, Regal wasn’t done.
He raised his second finger.
“Tony Stark - Iron Man.”
He let the name linger.
“When people hear that name, I want only one thing to come to mind…”
He smiled, then delivered it clean:
“Once-in-a-generation genius.”
A few heads nodded. Some murmured their agreement.
Then came the smirk.
“And of course… maybe also ‘billionaire, playboy, philanthropist’ - depending on how many scotches he’s had before breakfast.”
That earned a ripple of quiet laughter across the room. Even Stan let out a small chuckle, shaking his head knowingly.
Regal’s tone shifted - the humor faded, giving way to something quieter, more grounded.
“But beneath all that flash, all that tech and ego… he’s something else.”
“He’s what happens when a restless mind chooses responsibility. When arrogance learns humility. When a man decides to build a suit of armor - not just to protect himself, but to protect others from becoming him.”
And then, Regal dropped his third finger.
His voice followed - lower. Steadier.
“Bruce Wayne. Batman.”
Silence returned.
“I believe his will be the hardest character to get right. But if we do... he won’t just be iconic. He will be etched as a symbol for many.”
Regal walked back to the center. No smile now. Just intensity.
“Because out of every superhero - Marvel, DC, it doesn’t matter - he represents something deeper.”
“Not the power of hope or the burden of greatness.”
“But the burden of being human.”
“With no superpowers or invincibility. Just pain. Discipline. Relentless purpose. A man who chooses justice, over and over, without ever crossing the line. Who wakes up knowing he could lose - who does lose - but fights anyway.”
Regal closed his hand into a fist.
“These three.” hHe said softly. “Peter. Tony. Bruce.”
“I want them to be the lens. The emotional foundation. The way the world - our world - will feel Marvel and DC.”
Regal turned back to the room, scanning each face.
There was more he wanted to say. Three more names he was holding back: Captain America. Superman. Joker.
Each one a pillar in their own right.
But not now.
And as for the multiverse? The grand idea of intersecting timelines, a shared cinematic world where Marvel and DC collide?
He hadn’t said a word.
That, too, was deliberate.
But truthfully… even he didn’t know yet.
Yes, it was his dream - like millions of fans from the world he came from. A dream so grand, it had always seemed impossible.
But here, in this world?
He could.
He had the rights. The power. The pieces.
The pieces were on the board.
The only question now was whether he could make them move.
And so, for now, he said nothing.
Silence would be his answer.
He tucked the thought away and raised a hand.
Samantha stepped forward, and handed him a smaller sheet - folded twice, clean and precise.
Regal opened it and held it up to show a design that no one had seen before.
The title was simple. Stark. Below it, a single black silhouette of a man not in armor - but in a workshop, surrounded by broken machines, firelight behind him.
A man building something.
“In two years - next summer, 2014.” Regal announced, voice steady. “I want to prove what a superhero movie can be… and what a Marvel or DC superhero should be.”
Two years.
That was the plan - the time for pre-production. He would need it.
His schedule was already impossibly packed. The [Harry Potter] film was locked for next year, and [The Hangover] still had unfinished shooting to complete. Every day was spoken for. Every hour fought over.
And yet - this.
This had to be made.
He let his gaze pause for just a moment on the editorial lead - the same man who had chuckled at the idea of Iron Man holding narrative weight. Who had, only an hour ago, dismissed the character as “a man in a toy suit.”
Regal didn’t flinch.
“I am aware some of you think this might be a joke.” He said, cool and clean. “And that’s perfect. Because the world does too.”
Silence again. The weight of it is oppressive. No more murmurs. Just locked eyes and thudding hearts.
Then Regal turned slightly, speaking not to the room anymore, but almost to the air itself. Or maybe to the timeline he was daring to rewrite.
He looked at Stan again. No smile this time. Just a calm, mutual understanding.
He leaned back. “Then let’s give you the tools.”
Regal bowed again, this time not as a plea - but as a declaration of war.
And outside, in that world still recovering from economic bruises and creative drought, the storm was already forming.
A young director with lightning in his voice was about to strike.
….
Somehow, against all odds, Regal had done it again.
As the heavy door clicked shut behind him, he exhaled like he had just stepped off a battlefield.
“God…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I thought they were going to rip me apart in there.”
Beside him, Samantha burst into laughter - light, musical, way too amused.
Regal shot her a glare. “Why are you laughing at your boss? That is not very salary-friendly behavior.”
….actually he had been noticing she was opening up a lot recently from her past stoic behaviour.
Samantha grinned in return. “It’s the way you say things like it’s life or death.”
He pointed a finger at her, mock stern. “That was a war zone. I was dodging landmines there. One wrong word and boom, they would be wiping me off the walls.”
But before she could retort, a shadow moved beside them - sudden and silent.
Both of them jolted slightly as a man stepped up from the hallway corner. One of the editors from the conference room. Middle-aged, clean-cut, no nonsense.
“Regal…” He greeted him calmly.
Regal blinked, then nodded back. “Hey. Didn’t expect—”
“They asked me to get you…” The man said, cutting to the point. “Tolliver and Carrow. They want a word. Privately.”
Regal’s smile didn’t falter, but the look in his eyes shifted - just slightly.
He already knew what this was.
Of course they wanted to talk. Regal had just flipped the board in front of a dozen legacy holders. The sons of the titans were bound to have thoughts.
Still, he nodded once. “Alright.”
Samantha gave him a quick glance - just a flicker of silent concern - but Regal didn’t hesitate.
He couldn’t afford to.
Sooner or later, he would have to deal with the old lions circling the territory. And whether they gave their blessing or just stood out of the way, he needed their silence more than their applause.
Because even one disapproving voice in the wrong room could stall a thousand moving parts. Force compromises. Cut sharp lines into dull ones.
And Regal couldn’t afford to compromise. Not even once. Not on this.
So he followed.
Quiet. Calm.
Eyes forward.
Like a man walking into the next battle with his hand already on the trigger.
….
Regal sat across from the two men - Tolliver Lee, son of Stan.
And Carrow Seagal - Jerry Siegel’s - eldest adopted son, lounging with an effortless arrogance.
There was one doubt still crawling in the back of Regal’s mind.
He had expected resistance.
Just now in the conference room, he had come prepared for pushback, for shallow smirks, questions about margins, sideways glances. He had expected greed masquerading as apathy.
Instead, they had let him speak.
Fully. Without interruption.
Now, in the private lounge, the silence stretched long.
Not awkward. Just… deliberate.
Carrow finally leaned forward, fingers steepled under his chin. His voice was soft. “You figured we were gonna let it die, didn’t you?”
There was no need to name it.
Everyone knew what he meant.
MDC.
Regal didn’t flinch.
At this point he was almost certain that these two wouldn’t rest until they dragged it, dragged MDC, into its grave.
So he didn’t blink. “Yeah. I did.”
Tolliver let out a dry laugh. “We almost did.”
There was no apology in his voice. No guilt. Just candor.
Regal watched them both carefully now. Something was off. Not wrong - but off.
“You have been bleeding the company.” Regal added a reminder. “Letting editorial rot. Killing long-term bets. You canned mid-tier series that still had traction. It looked like you were stripping it for parts.”
Carrow explained. “It is so that in the future the extracting would be simplified.”
“Because you thought it had no future.” Regal said.
“No.” David replied, shaking his head. “Because we knew we weren’t the ones to give it one.”
That gave Regal pause.
They weren’t defensive. They weren’t offended. And they weren’t trying to sell him anything.
They were admitting it.
Carrow stood and wandered toward the window, hands in his pockets, as he spoke.
“We are businessmen, Regal. We were never meant to be passion driven, nor could we replicate something visionary. Our fathers…” - He glanced back - “they had that spark and madness. That thing you can’t quantify. Stan used to tell me stories that made no sense on paper, but in the room? You believed him. Jerry? He could draw silence from a crowd without saying a word. They had that thing - that vision. That itch in their heads they had to draw out.”
Tolliver added. “We inherited their kingdoms, not their fire. So we did what we did. We optimized. We trimmed. We ran the numbers. And when the numbers said ‘burn it,’ we didn’t argue.”
Carrow turned fully now, eyes sharper than before. “But we didn’t sell either. Ever wonder why?”
Yeah… it was true.
If they had really wanted out, they could’ve cashed in years ago - walked away clean, with a bigger number than what they would get now. Hell, there had been offers. Fat ones. Easy ones. But they never took them.
Even now, the only reason they were willing to sell the remaining 8% to Regal was because of Gwendolyn, and more importantly, her father.
That bloodline meant security. Legacy. Insurance.
They were confident that, even in Regal’s hands, the shares weren’t going anywhere they didn’t trust.
Regal studied both men carefully.
“I don’t know the reason.” He said, voice cool. “But I am certain of one thing - it’s not sentiment.”
Tolliver smiled faintly. “You got us… It wasn’t. It was cautiously calculated insurance from us. Or maybe superstition. We didn’t believe in it… but we didn’t disbelieve enough to kill it entirely. Just that we weren’t the ones to make it become anything.”
Carrow walked back to his chair and sat.
“Because, somewhere, we knew we were missing something. Someone.”
David leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “We figured, eventually, some Hollywood kid would come screaming in with a cape fetish and a crossover pitch, and we would hear them out, let them crash and burn, then sell off the remains with a clear conscience.”
Regal narrowed his eyes. “And now?”
Carrow’s voice was dry, but respectful. “Now… you have made things inconvenient.”
Tolliver raised his glass, still untouched, in mock toast. “You spoke to the business. Not just the dream. Vision. Numbers that actually made sense. And the crazy part? It sounded real.”
Regal said nothing. Just listened.
They weren’t dazzled. They weren’t playing games. They heard him. And they had listened like people who were already imagining the road ahead.
Carrow added. “You are not a dreamer, Regal. You are an architect. And if even half of what you said today holds...” He looked at David, who nodded slowly.
“We win….” David finished simply.
The room was still for a moment longer. Then Regal leaned back, a small smile breaking through.
“…I underestimated you. No. More like you let me.” He said honestly.
Carrow’s smirk was slight.
Tolliver shrugged.
Regal said nothing, but the thought echoed quietly in his head.
You’ve been watching sheep this whole time, Regal. Turns out two of them had teeth the whole time.
Regal laughed under his breath - the tension bleeding away, replaced by something warier… but also more dangerous.
Alliance.
“We will fund your first slate.” Carrow said.
“..And even restructure MDC editorial.” Tolliver added. “Bring in who you need. Cut who you want. Creative autonomy within business parameters. You move, we back you.”
Regal blinked - once. It wasn’t a bluff.
They meant it.
This wasn’t just a greenlight. It was a shared throne.
He rose slowly, extending his hand across the table.
Carrow shook it first, firm and composed.
Then Tolliver, casual but committed.
No lawyers. No contracts.
Just three men with something to prove.
As Regal sat back down, Jonathan’s expression shifted - colder now, but not unfriendly.
“Just know, Regal. We are not your fathers, and we are not here to protect the soul of comics. We are here to build something that prints gold.”
Regal met the gaze without blinking. “Then you picked the right architect.”
They didn’t shake again.
And for the first time in decades, MDC didn’t feel like a brand sinking under its own nostalgia.
It felt like kindling.
Waiting for a match.
.
….
[To be continued…]
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