Barricaded within the walls of the Hub, I wasn't considering a foray into the city just yet. Whether it was paranoia or common sense, no longer mattered. It was simpler to order food delivery and, during the agonizing wait for the courier, immerse myself in the endless stream of recent news. I reflexively checked my phone. No missed calls from my hero contact, Gwen. No word from Peter. Silence from Blade, too, which was admittedly predictable. But what was happening in the wider world while I sat in the shadows?
The first headline made me curse under my breath.
"Something Went Terribly Wrong! Reed Richards' Star Expedition Crashes!"
"September 28: The Day Humanity Buried Its Dreams of Deep Space?"
"Space Race Over Before It Began? Analysts Predict Catastrophic Investment Flight from Aerospace Industry!"
"Shocking Secret: What Happened to Ben Grimm and Victor von Doom? Why Are They Being Hidden from the Public? We Publish the Full Truth About the Possible Deaths of Two Members of the Most Disastrous Expedition in Human History!"
Skimming through a dozen tabloid articles, I pieced together what had happened. Yesterday, around five in the evening, local time, Richards' high-tech shuttle, the nation's pride, made an emergency landing on the outskirts of New York, leaving behind a smoking furrow in the earth. Ben Grimm and Victor von Doom were immediately hospitalized under the strictest secrecy. Not a single photograph. Not a single frame. The paparazzi managed to capture only two figures on stretchers wrapped in sterile white medical cocoons. In Grimm's case, the stretcher was colossal, and the body hidden beneath the covering appeared massive and grotesquely deformed, immediately spawning a wave of insane theories online, from alien infection to a failed mass experiment. Reed Richards himself, with a haggard face and panic in his eyes, squeezed out a promise to hold a press conference within a week, then disappeared behind the walls of his institute.
There it was. The first truly global disaster on my watch. And it started with Doom. What comes next, according to canon? Silver Surfer as an appetizer and Galactus for dessert? Apparently, the local version of Doom would not just be a genius in stylish armor but a disfigured, mutated creature with a pile of psychological disorders stemming from what happened. A hellish cocktail. The second threat... I hoped it was still lost somewhere in the depths of space, and by the time it appeared, I could cobble together some conceptual disintegrator just to have some fun in the evening.
The food arrived. I devoured the cooling pizza while scrolling through every detail. Fisk Industries' market capitalization had almost completely recovered. Moreover, the board of directors officially announced that no rebranding was planned, claiming it was "in honor of the fallen titan's legacy." This pompous nonsense only strengthened my conviction that Kingpin was alive and pulling strings from the shadows. The intelligence agencies had also loosened their grip on information control, most likely deciding that Blade, that walking chaos, represented a far greater threat and focused their attention on him instead. He was an uncontrollable element, and it was simpler to deport him than to risk letting him kill the real Fisk.
Hydro-Man and Sandman. Both had gone underground as if on command. The last recorded robberies were last Saturday. After that, both vanished simultaneously. I didn't believe in coincidences like that for a second. It reeked of conspiracy, and I really didn't like it.
And then, the cherry on top. Hyperion had saved New York from a double threat: Abomination and, most interestingly, a rampaging Hulk. The carnage was stopped right in the middle of Manhattan, and the Green Monster's identity instantly became public knowledge. Bruce Banner. A respected scientist, a genius in nuclear physics and gamma radiation. Given the scale of destruction and the revealed identity, even the all-powerful S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn't cover for him. A show trial awaited the scientist in early October. Though I was sure this was merely a formality. What wasn't a formality, however, was Hyperion's power. To stop and subdue the Hulk! This, gentlemen, changed the rules of the game. I wondered if he worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. More likely, given his strength, S.H.I.E.L.D. now worked for him.
And I, against all this, was small fry. Even with my new suit, I barely ranked as solid mid-tier. I needed to force the issue. I needed to create Extremis, and for that I needed S.H.I.E.L.D.'s resources and laboratory. But before diving into this venture, I should conduct a full stress test of my creation.
A quick mental command, and the suit flowed obediently over my body. Another command, and it vanished into the digital inventory. Convenient as hell. In the training hall, I put it through a proper shakedown. Basic mobility tests, neural interface integration, everything passed without a hitch. The response was instantaneous, as if the armor had become a second skin. Wing modes ranged from smooth flight to complex maneuvering to deploying defensive shields from multiple vectors. The system executed commands with millimeter precision. The vibration gloves, oh, that was pure poetry. At maximum power, the mannequin simulating a human body didn't just break. It exploded into fragments, turning into a cloud of dust and polymer fibers. Meaning that a group of living targets would share its fate.
But this wasn't enough. Perfection had no limits. The first thing that came to mind was active camouflage. I could develop a special coating based on dynamic metamaterials and integrate micro-cameras across the entire surface. In real time, the cameras would scan the surroundings, and the central processor in the helmet would project the image onto the suit panels. I could make the very fabric of reality distort around me. Become invisible, like the Predator. The perfect means for infiltration and silent eliminations.
Next came sensory superiority. Total tactical dominance. I could integrate LIDAR, its pulsing invisible beam mapping the world around me, creating a three-dimensional map of the terrain even in pitch darkness. I'd add broadband EM sensors to see the invisible nervous tapestry of the city, including radio communications, active electronics, and cables hidden in walls. And to crown it all, acoustic sensors capable of filtering out urban noise and amplifying quiet sounds, so that a mouse's heartbeat behind five concrete walls would sound like a drum roll in absolute silence.
And finally... This was still in the realm of fantasy, but damn tempting. Fighting creatures on the level of the Hulk or Abomination required brute force. I imagined a modular, attachable powered exo-frame, a set of powerful servo drives based on electroactive polymers, artificial muscles, attaching to special ports on the arms, legs, and torso, or maybe even full‑fledged heavy armor, like the Hulkbuster. I could create it based on the Rhino exoskeleton I'd obtained. I even knew what I would call it: the Rhinobuster. It was ironic and symbolic, considering his demise. It was a Rhino killer, and in my case, a killer for those comparable to him in power. It would be a specialized module for boss fights.
Wait, stop. I caught myself. Grand upgrade plans were all well and good, but if I buried myself in blueprints and prototypes again, I'd drop off the radar for another week. And judging by the news feed, the world could turn upside down in that time. I needed to act, not prepare endlessly.
With a light sigh, I put my magnificent suit, which had fully justified all the effort I'd invested, into my inventory and was already heading for the base exit when it suddenly clicked. Gacha! I had 1200 OP in my account. It would be a sin not to test my luck. Maybe something would drop that would give me confidence before the upcoming negotiations with S.H.I.E.L.D. Opening the Forge of Creation tab, I gave in to a gambling impulse and spent 700 OP without hesitation. The system froze for a moment, then produced a result.
[Received information packet (Uncommon): Iron Blood Transformation (The Princess' Coffin). (Cost to unlock information packet: 800 OP)]
Ancient magical knowledge of a warrior clan allows the transformation of one's own blood into a unique, super‑strong magical metal called Iron Blood. It allows you to use your own body as a living forge and arsenal, forming weapons and armor from blood through force of will alone. Upon receiving the information packet, your blood will be saturated with magical essence. Your DNA will be rewritten to produce red blood cells carrying not only hemoglobin, but a magical catalyst.
Transmutation, not crystallization: At will, this catalyst triggers not a physical change but a magical transmutation process. Iron atoms in your blood do not simply arrange themselves into a lattice. They transform into a metaphysical material known as Iron Blood. It only looks like steel, but by its nature is much stronger, lighter, and more adaptive.
Magic, not volume: You don't need to lose liters of blood to create a sword. Magic operates on conceptual transformation. A few drops of blood on the skin can serve as an anchor for forming a complete blade that draws mass and energy from the surrounding space or your internal magical reserves. You lose magical energy, not blood.
I froze, reading the description over and over. This... this wasn't just knowledge. It was a full-fledged combat skill that altered the very essence of my body! The Forge could produce things like this! On the one hand, it was only an information packet. On the other hand, it promised immediate practical application once unlocked. This was broken! And I was only 300 OP short.
That settled it. Natasha and S.H.I.E.L.D. could wait a couple of hours. I needed this technology. Right now. That meant heading back to the laboratory!
I needed something quick, effective, and preferably useful in the immediate future. Given the devastating power of the vibration gloves, creating a non-lethal tactical module seemed like the natural choice. The ideal solution was a specialized tactical belt. Light, durable, fully integrated with the neuro-interface, and most importantly, without overloading the main suit, which I planned to modify anyway.
So, back to work. For appearances, nothing as primitive as a leather strap. I designed a high-tech segmented belt in a CAD program. As the base, I used a flexible strip of carbon fiber reinforced polymer. I attached anatomically curved plates of lightweight titanium alloy to it. The clasp was a powerful electromagnetic buckle. Each segment featured standardized modular ports. After fitting the 3D model to my waist with micron precision, I calculated the position of each module for maximum ergonomics and launched production. The CNC machine carved the titanium segments with jeweler's precision, while the 3D printer fabricated the polymer base and electronics housings layer by layer. Inside the belt, I built a power bus and data bus that connected through a single port on the lower back to the reactor and the suit's brain. Now each module on the belt received power and was part of the overall neural network.
The base was ready. Now for the payload. Grenades and one small device I'd just dreamed up. I'd start with that.
Grappling hook. An indispensable tool for fast movement through the urban jungle when deploying wings was impractical or downright impossible. A electromagnetic harpoon with a winch in a separate module resembling a futuristic pistol, mounted on the thigh. Housing, cable of ultra-strong carbon nanofiber, and high-speed winch powered directly from the reactor. Calculations showed this thing could yank me to the roof of a twenty-story building in a couple of seconds. The trick was having the reflexes not to splat myself against the wall on the way up.
Next: grenades.
First up, sticky foam. An idea shamelessly stolen from Gwen's webbing and SCP containment compounds. Inside the housing were two reservoirs of liquid polymer precursors separated by a thin membrane. The activation mechanism was borrowed from Blade's homemade gear. Simple pressure on the housing ruptured the partition. The components mixed, triggering a vigorous exothermic reaction. A special catalyst made the hellish mixture instantly expand by 150 to 200 times its volume, bursting outward and ensnaring the target with sticky, instantly hardening strands as strong as reinforced plastic.
Second, electroshock darts. For quiet, non-lethal takedowns at range. Each dart was a self-propelled projectile the size of a finger, equipped with a micro-capacitor and heat-seeking guidance. These predatory little vultures found their own targets, struck home, and discharged a high-voltage pulse that instantly overloaded the nervous system and dropped the opponent in their tracks. One of these should be enough even for a weak super-soldier. Sure, it could kill an ordinary person, but my targets weren't exactly paragons of morality and virtue. And anyway, knock on wood, I wanted to live peacefully, not go looking for adventures where I'd have to use this whole arsenal.
Third and finally for today, the multispectral smoke screen. My pocket black hole against any observation system. In technical terms, it was a multi-component pyrotechnic mixture. The first component created a dense white smoke cloud that blocked the visible spectrum. The second dispersed heated magnesium particles, creating blinding glare for thermal imagers. The third ejected a cloud of finely dispersed foil, dipole reflectors that made the screen impenetrable to radar and LIDAR. Ultimately, the grenade created a zone of absolute blindness where any opponent, regardless of their sensors, became a helpless kitten. And I became the master of the situation.
I hit my stride. The creative process consumed me completely, and I didn't stop until multiple prototypes of each new device, and, of course, a perfectly fitted tactical belt covered the workbench. A quick glance at the system interface confirmed I'd not just met but exceeded my quota. In total, 1,100 OP had flowed into my account. A nice surplus. I could try my luck in the Forge again, but first, the priority.
I froze in front of the interface and opened the Technologies tab. There it was, the entry promising something incredible. Iron Blood Transformation. I took a deep breath. Unlock. 800 OP. Confirm.
Pain.
This time, it didn't come from outside. It was born within. My own blood, every drop, every red blood cell, suddenly rebelled. I couldn't have imagined there was so much of it inside me, and now all of it had become liquid fire boiling through my veins. This wasn't just unpleasant. This was fucking torture. The sensations mounted like an avalanche. I didn't just want to scratch my skin; I wanted to tear it off, to get to whatever was burning underneath. I wanted to hit myself, to pound my body into submission against this internal inferno. Then the heat gave way to an icy cold that penetrated straight to the bone, only to explode a moment later into unbearable pain once more.
Those thirty fucking minutes stretched into eternity. I writhed in convulsions on the floor, whimpering through clenched teeth. I curled into a ball on the couch, then rushed around the laboratory seeking a cool tile. I dug my nails into my own flesh, trying to calm the hellish itch under my skin. But all agony is finite. The torture stopped as suddenly as it had begun, leaving behind echoing silence and ringing emptiness.
I lay on the floor, breathing hard, listening. The body was mine, yet it felt different, as if a new, barely perceptible hum resonated within it. In my head, information unfolded like files from an archive, giving me an intuitive, innate understanding of what I now possessed. Ancient blood magic.
What were its tactical capabilities? I sat up, slowly processing these new possibilities, and mentally organized them into three main modes.
First, offensive mode. I could form practically any melee weapon from blood that rose to the surface of my body. This was not merely sharpened metal. Weapons forged from Iron Blood possessed perfect internal structure without microcracks. They were 30 to 50 percent stronger than the finest hardened steel, held their edge forever, and, most amazingly, could be mentally reformed into another weapon type mid-combat. A sword from my forearm? Easy. Blood welled on my skin and instantly solidified, stretching into a deadly blade. Spikes from my knuckles? Done. Throwing knives straight from my palms? That would take practice, but the potential was enormous. Ideally, they would fly out at cannon speed. To test it, I couldn't resist trying, releasing three long metallic claws from my wrist with a predatory click, just like Wolverine. They sliced through my skin. I retracted them and felt no discomfort. The wounds healed before my eyes, and the claws themselves felt like a natural extension of my hand.
Second, defensive mode. This was Iron Skin. I could instantly strengthen my body, converting blood into armor. This worked both from within, creating a subcutaneous layer that strengthened muscles and bones to the hardness of concrete, and from without, forming solid plates. Such armor, according to the mental instructions, could withstand bullets from pistols and automatic weapons, as well as dissipate low-level energy and even magical attacks. This was an incredibly useful function, ranging from instantly generating a shield on my forearm to block a strike, to total reinforcement of the entire body for pushing through heavy fire.
Third, enhancing mode. A bit of a cheat, but no less wonderful for it. This was the key technique that didn't turn my blood into steel. Instead, through sheer force of will, I accelerated my blood flow to extreme speeds, saturating it with pure energy. This caused a temporary but incredibly powerful surge in my physical stats. For a couple of minutes, I got a huge boost to strength, speed, and reflexes, letting me move at the edge of human perception. A combat boost that turned my blood into high-octane fuel for my muscles and synapses. Ideal for a blitz attack or dodging a lethal thrust. The effect, though short-lived, felt stronger than my stimulants. This was already entry-level super-soldier territory!
Of course, there was a fly in the ointment. Everything had limitations, and this magic was no exception.
Energy consumption. The main resource wasn't the blood itself, but my magical energy. Prolonged maintenance of the transformation or frequent use of the boost caused severe exhaustion that could lead to me passing out.
Concentration. The transformation required constant mental control. Severe pain, a mental attack, or loss of consciousness would instantly interrupt it, and all the transformed steel would revert to liquid blood.
Vulnerability to anti-magic. This was magic. Inside an anti-magic field or near a suppressing artifact, my blood would become ordinary, and I would lose all these abilities.
Physiological limit. I couldn't turn my entire body into steel. Vital organs like my brain and heart had to keep functioning. At any one time, I could transform no more than 30 to 40 percent of my blood; otherwise, I'd go into systemic shock and die.
I could work with this. Moreover, this was even better than I could have imagined, because I hadn't even known the enhancing mode existed. Grinning, I looked at the clock. Almost six in the evening. I'd spent too much time in the laboratory. Passion was a terrible force.
"Okay, last spin for today, then definitely home," I decided. "800 OP left, let's roll."
System, Forge of Creation, minus 750 OP.
50 points remained in my balance, and before me, on the interface screen, the description of a new data packet slowly materialized.
//=================//