The chamber was quiet—too quiet compared to the forge's endless rhythm. Only the faint hum of air recyclers filled the air as Luthar sat before a small metal desk. A cup rested beside him, thin tendrils of steam curling from its surface. Inside was a simple mixture of milk and a measured trace of sugar—his own version of comfort.
He lifted the cup, taking a slow sip. His organs had long been repaired; his stomach could easily process full meals again. Yet, even after that much restoration, he still couldn't bring himself to eat solid food. Not because he couldn't digest it, but because his body had never been able to process solid food.
He stared at the cup, expression unreadable behind the mask. "Definitely easier than eating ice cream," he murmured, his earlier joke echoing faintly in the quiet room.
With a quiet sigh, he set the cup aside and brought up the system interface—lines of glowing data forming in the air as the system began listing recent rewards and performance logs.
Production reward report:
Iron Blades Forged—312 Units → +312 Points
Reinforced Armour Prototypes—47 Units → +6,800 Points
Drop-Wing Maintenance & Calibration—+1,100 Points
Scarab Constructs (3rd Generation)—100 Units → +200,000 Points
Original Value: 500,000—Adjustment: Reduced due to shared labour input.
Luthar studied the numbers in silence. Even if Hephaestus had done the majority of the forging and enchantment, leaving him to handle only the neural integration and cloning of mini-brains, the sheer volume of production had given him a decent amount of points.
Still, part of him couldn't help but measure the loss of points due to shared labour. Next, he clicked on the total balance of his system points, which appeared to be 28,248,120 points.
Every piece of knowledge he had recently gathered added to his growing power. Stark's designs, Wakandan innovations, the Super Soldier serum, even Pym Particles—if it existed in a computer or was written on paper, he had copied it. Within the Cult, this could make him a sage, a man who was the will of the Omnissiah itself.
Outside the Cult, though, he would be seen not as a scholar but as a thief—one who had plundered other people's hard work.
He leaned back, the servos in his armour sighing with a soft hydraulic exhale. "Time to buy some blueprints," he murmured, switching the interface from his points ledger to the system shop. First purchase: an STC for a medical bay—ten million credits. Then a handful of weapon blueprints, because it never hurts to have new ways to blow things apart.
After closing the system interface, he spread the Scarab schematics across the table and methodically evaluated armament configurations that would prevent his team from being overwhelmed in the other world.
He weighed unconventional options—Pym Particle for compact firepower, miniature machine gun for sustained suppression, or the usual Gauss weaponry—but adding them would demand a new Scarab made with vibranium and more enchantments to stabilise the weapon; without vibranium and mystical reinforcement, the Scarab would be a one-time expendable.
As he considered these options, he received a notification from Lily. She had completed her work and encountered Tony Stark outside the facility, wanting to talk to him.
He stared at the notification for a long second, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table. The man had an uncanny talent for appearing precisely when he was not needed.
"Fantastic," Luthar muttered. "The last thing I needed today was a conversation with a walking ego wrapped in gold-titanium alloy."
He closed the schematics and straightened, the faint hiss of his armour's servos echoing through the chamber. "Send him to the meeting room," he told Lily through the comms.
"Ok," came her crisp reply.
As he made his way toward the meeting room, the rhythmic thuds of his boots reverberated against the metal floor. He couldn't help the faint smile hidden beneath his mask. Did he come here to talk or to pick another fight? With Stark, there was rarely a difference.
The doors slid open. Inside the room, Tony Stark stood there in his bulkier armour—its heavy plating gleaming under the lights. It was a kind of suit built for war rather than conversation.
Luthar's gaze lingered for a moment before he spoke. "You could've come without that tin shell. It's not like it can actually protect you from anything meaningful."
Tony's helmet retracted with a mechanical whir, revealing his usual smirk. "You sound like a jealous woman who is annoyed because others have better dresses."
"Jealous?" Luthar stepped closer, his armoured fingers tapping lightly on Tony's chestplate. "Someone is living in delusion. Maybe you forget what I said: no matter what type of upgrades you do, I will always be able to crush your armour."
Tony arched a brow. "You know, for a guy who lives in a furnace, you've got a real attitude problem."
Luthar ignored the jab and moved toward the table, the faint glow of system screens reflecting off his mask. "Let's skip the useless talking, Stark. Why are you here?"
Tony's grin faded slightly. "I've noticed lots of scientists around the world have gone missing. People who were on classified projects. And given your hobby of picking up people, I figured maybe they're working for you now."
Luthar's tone was mild, almost amused. "Why would I waste my time on those idiots? If I need someone intelligent, I should just kidnap you—it would be less troublesome since you already have experience in getting kidnapped."
Hearing this, Tony wanted to say he also had experience in blowing up the heads of his kidnappers, then remembered he didn't get the chance to kill them. Since he couldn't find a perfect reply, he decided to get to the main point. "I know you are doing lots of construction on Mars, which needs engineers—lots of them. And if you want to make it habitable, you would need lots of scientists,"—he gestured vaguely—"who can help you. So you are the prime suspect for those missing scientists."
Luthar tilted his head. "Shouldn't you already know? I assumed your friend Fury was keeping you in the loop. How am I sending agents to figure out about disappearances?"
Tony blinked, confusion flashing across his face. "Fury? He didn't tell me anything about disappearances. It's just something that I noticed myself."
The faintest hum of amusement came from Luthar. "Interesting. Looks like he is keeping you in the dark again, since he was receiving reports from Natasha and should know I am not behind these disappearances, since I am also deploying agents and my drones to figure out who is behind the disappearance of the scientists."
Tony's jaw tightened, but curiosity quickly replaced irritation. "That's new. Didn't think you would care about missing scientists."
Luthar leaned back, arms crossed. "Curiosity, Stark. As I already have eyes around the world, it's quite interesting that somebody can build labs and kidnap scientists while avoiding my surveillance."
Tony arched an eyebrow inside the heavy armour, his tone dry as sandpaper. "Surveillance everywhere, huh? What's next—cameras in people's washrooms?"
He paused just long enough for the jab to land, his smirk widening. "Be careful, since some people really like their privacy."
The air between them thickened into silence, and both men lost themselves in separate streams of calculation. Tony might have come seeking answers, but Luthar could already sense it—someone was preparing a catastrophe. And in a world like Marvel, filled with brilliant yet reckless villains, it wouldn't be surprising if the next global crisis began with the help of these scientists.
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