(AN: Found some time to cook a chappie for my readers. Here's my polished effort of the day. Enjoy :D )
Stark Tower — Guest Suite
Elias woke up to the quiet hum of Stark Tower's upper floors—soft, artificial, expensive silence.
For exactly three seconds, everything was fine.
Then biology asserted dominance.
"Of course," Elias muttered, dragging himself out of bed.
"It's a damn morning curse."
He shuffled into the bathroom, half-awake, half-annoyed, dealing with the morning glory all men were cursed with.
No cosmic systems. No villains. Just a man, porcelain tiles, and the universal struggle of blood flow mismanagement.
Once that problem was handled, Elias leaned over the sink, turned the faucet, and splashed cold water onto his face.
He inhaled.
Exhaled.
Then he looked up.
And froze.
The mirror reflected him perfectly—messy hair, tired eyes, faint dark circles—but hovering just beside his reflection was something that he's somehow unconsciously forgotten.
A blinking translucent window.
Soft blue.
Patient.
Waiting to be noticed.
To be fair, it has been 5 months with no further objective that he thought the system left.
He didn't even get to view his status.
Discarding away the distracting thoughts he focused on what could be the next thing he needs to do, as a 'villain', when he obviously isn't, doesn't want to, and will never be one!
[Your new objective has been updated!]
Elias' stomach sank.
Slowly, very slowly, he set his hands on the edge of the sink like the bathroom might tip over.
"…Not again." he whispered.
The system did not care.
[Objective Updated:
→ Every Villain has a right and left hand.
→ Find your loyal subordinates!
Reward: Power Roulette!
Details:
A collection of templates from across the Omniverse that can be bestowed upon those who swear fealty to you.
Note: Dishonest will be taken over by the character as precaution.]
Elias stared.
Blink.
Read it again.
Blink harder.
"…You have got to be kidding me."
The bathroom was silent.
The system, as always, offered no clarification, no apology, and certainly no opt-out button.
"Loyal subordinates?" Elias hissed under his breath.
"I can barely manage my employees without Mara saving my ass, and you want me to start a villain org? Ain't the new Generals enough for you?"
The system blinked once.
Encouragingly.
Elias dropped his head forward until his forehead touched the mirror with a soft thunk.
"Shit," he muttered.
It was the nth time he'd cursed since arriving in this world.
(AN: anyone out there counting? I kinda forgot :'P)
.
.
Elias finished washing up properly this time.
He let the hot water run longer than necessary, steam fogging the glass walls of the bath as he sank into it, shoulders finally loosening.
The system's message still lingered in the back of his mind like an itch he refused to scratch just yet.
Subordinates.
Fealty.
He exhaled through his nose.
"Later," he muttered, sinking deeper into the heat.
"You can wait."
By the time he stepped out, dressed, and made his way into the dining room, the tower was already alive—soft lighting shifting to morning mode, distant mechanical hums adjusting for the day.
Breakfast time.
Habit guided him more than hunger.
He moved to the counter, already expecting—
Tony.
Lounging somewhere he shouldn't be.
Complaining loudly.
Demanding pancakes and bacon like it was a constitutional right.
The griddle stayed cold.
The stools were empty.
No Pepper, already reviewing files while pretending she wasn't listening to Tony.
No Happy pretending he wasn't listening to both of them.
Elias stopped mid-step.
"…Huh."
That alone was unusual.
Tony almost never missed breakfast when Elias cooked.
He checked the time. Early, but not that early.
Frowning slightly, Elias pulled out his phone and dialed Pepper first—because Pepper always answered.
Tony almost don't or hungs up if he's bored with you. And Happy? Was the hardest to reach out, he's always busy with something.
It rang once, twice.
"Elias?" Pepper's voice came through, clear but distant. Busy.
"Morning," Elias said. "You guys heading down late or—"
"Oh! Sorry," she cut in gently. "I should've told you. Happy and I are already on a business trip."
Elias blinked. "You left without breakfast?"
"I know," she sighed.
"Tragic. Tony would've complained."
"That's what I was calling about," Elias said.
"Where is Tony?"
There was a brief pause.
"…Agent Coulson came by last night," Pepper said carefully.
"Tony was… requested. SHIELD business. He didn't say much, just that it was 'work.'"
Of course it was.
Elias thanked her, exchanged a few more polite words, then ended the call.
The kitchen felt larger without them.
Quieter.
He leaned back against the counter, phone still in hand.
SHIELD.
Coulson.
Tony gone overnight.
Elias closed his eyes.
"…So it's started."
The Avengers plot.
The cube.
Loki.
New York standing on the edge of becoming a battlefield.
The air in the guest suite felt heavier.
Then—
The system blinked.
Not subtly.
Not politely.
It asserted itself.
[You have found a plot!]
[Plot Identified:
Loki Laufeyson has been mildly influenced by Thanos to retrieve the Tesseract and test Earth's resistance.]
[Special Objective Unlocked:
→ Prevent Loki from taking over Earth, a world destined to fall under your rule.
A mountain cannot contain two tigers.]
Elias' jaw tightened.
"So that's how you see it," he muttered.
The system wasn't asking.
It was declaring ownership.
[Mission Parameters:
• Eradicate the Chitauri Army
• Close the wormhole above New York
• Defeat Loki Laufeyson ]
The words hovered in his vision like a sentence already passed.
Elias sank down onto the edge of the bed, elbows braced on his knees.
On one hand—
This gave him freedom.
Clear justification to move.
To interfere.
To save people before they died screaming in the streets.
On the other hand—
it meant exposure.
No more hiding behind baker's aprons and normal days.
No more pretending he was just a man who happened to know the future.
Once he stepped onto that battlefield, there was no stepping back.
"Damn it," he whispered, rubbing his face.
Think.
He needed time.
A plan.
Something—anything—to keep himself from becoming the center of attention the moment he acted.
"…JARVIS?" Elias called out cautiously.
A pause.
Then a new voice answered—smooth, composed, distinctly not JARVIS.
"Good morning, Mr. Elias Mercer."
He froze.
"This is FRIDAY, the Stark Tower auxiliary AI currently assigned to you."
Elias blinked. "Assigned… to me?"
"Yes," FRIDAY replied. "Mr. Stark designated me as your personal assistant during your stay. My operational parameters restrict me from sharing any information you deem private or non-essential with him."
Elias straightened slowly.
"…He did that on purpose," he murmured.
Tony Stark—paranoid, brilliant, reckless Tony Stark—had given him privacy.
A shield.
FRIDAY continued, "I am here to assist you in any way I can."
Elias hesitated.
He didn't fully trust this.
But right now?
He was alone.
And New York was running out of time.
"…FRIDAY," he said carefully, "can you help me design something?"
"Please specify."
Elias lifted his gaze, resolve slowly replacing doubt.
"A costume," he said.
FRIDAY processed for less than a second.
"Purpose?"
"Combat," Elias replied.
"But… not the kind that draws unnecessary attention."
A pause.
"…I was thinking," he added, slightly awkward, "something like a Jedi robe."
Silence.
Then—
"A Star Wars Jedi robe?" FRIDAY clarified.
"Yes. But darker. Hooded. With Mask. No flashy insignias. Something that looks… anonymous."
Another pause—longer this time.
"That is an unconventional request," FRIDAY said diplomatically. "However, it is achievable."
A holographic outline flickered into existence above the suite's table: flowing layered fabric, heavy shoulders, deep hood, the silhouette unmistakable.
"Primary fabrication would utilize Stark Industries' adaptive weave," FRIDAY continued.
"A combination of carbon nanotube mesh, reactive memory fibers, and ablative layering."
Elias squinted at the projection.
"…How long?"
"Fourteen hours for full fabrication," FRIDAY replied.
"Eight hours if aesthetic priority supersedes full reinforcement."
"Bulletproof?" Elias asked.
"Yes."
He tilted his head. "What about energy blasts?"
FRIDAY paused again.
"That depends on your definition of 'energy,'" she said.
"Directed plasma, repulsor-class emissions, and high-energy thermal discharges can be partially dispersed through refractive layering and thermal sink matrices. However—"
She adjusted the projection, highlighting weak points.
"—true energy immunity is not scientifically achievable with current Earth-based technology."
Elias sighed. "So no lightsaber-proof robes."
"Correct," FRIDAY said.
"I apologize."
He smirked faintly. "Worth asking."
The hologram minimized as Elias leaned back, rubbing his temples.
Think.
Timeline.
It was morning.
Tony had left sometime last night—meaning Loki had already retrieved the Tesseract from the Joint Dark Energy Mission Facility.
Which meant—
"Tonight," Elias murmured, eyes unfocusing, "Loki gets captured."
He swallowed.
"Tomorrow morning… Coulson dies."
Loki escapes.
And then—
The sky over New York tears open.
Chitauri pour through like locusts.
Elias clenched his fist.
"So," he exhaled quietly, "I've got one day and one night."
To prepare.
To plan.
To decide how far he was willing to step out of the shadows.
"FRIDAY," he said again, voice steadier now, "start fabrication of two. One just focus on Aesthetics and the other, full reinforcement. I'll take whatever energy resistance you can manage."
"Understood," FRIDAY replied. "Estimated completion: Model A1: zero-five-hundred this afternoon and Model F1: zero-six-hundred tomorrow."
Elias nodded slowly.
"Deliver them together," he added after a moment.
"Acknowledged."
A brief pause followed, the suite quiet except for the faint hum of Stark Tower's systems.
"Do you need further assistance Sir?" FRIDAY asked.
Elias hesitated—then asked the question that had been nagging at the back of his mind.
"…Can you teach me fencing?"
"Please specify," FRIDAY prompted.
"For lightsabers," he said. "Like in the movies."
That earned him a noticeable delay.
"…That request is unconventional," FRIDAY said at last.
"However, it is not impossible."
The air in front of him shimmered, resolving into layered holograms—figures wielding glowing blades, frozen mid-motion.
"These combat systems are fictional," FRIDAY continued, "but they are internally consistent. Their movements can be replicated using historical fencing principles, kendo, and modern martial biomechanics."
The holograms shifted, slowing, isolating motions.
"Instruction will be visual and iterative."
Elias blinked. "You're actually agreeing."
"I am programmed to assist," FRIDAY replied simply.
Moments later, Elias found himself holding a wooden stick he honestly couldn't remember picking up—one of the many odd items that seemed to exist in Stark Tower when you needed them.
He faced the hologram.
"Begin with Form I," FRIDAY instructed. "Wide arcs. Controlled momentum. Focus on flow rather than precision."
Elias moved.
Awkwardly at first.
His stance was wrong. His grip too tight. His feet misaligned.
"Adjust your right shoulder angle by three degrees," FRIDAY corrected.
"Reduce tension."
He tried again.
Sweeping motion.
Turn.
Strike.
Block.
Something clicked.
The stick moved more naturally now, guided by something beyond muscle memory—something else, quietly aligning his body where it needed to be.
When he completed the final motion in the sequence, the air itself seemed to shift.
The system blinked to existence.
[Congratulations!
You have learned the way of the Sarlacc: Shii-Cho — Level 1!]
[Details:
The basic, fundamental form taught to all initiates, focusing on simple, sweeping movements and disarming opponents.]
Elias froze.
"…FRIDAY," he asked slowly, "did I just learn the way of the Sarlacc?"
A pause.
"Yes," FRIDAY replied. "…That is the correct designation."
"You know that?"
"Yes," she said, sounding almost surprised herself.
Elias frowned. "How much do you know about the Jedi arts, exactly?"
"All recorded material," FRIDAY answered.
"Comics, novels, television series, animated adaptations, films, and supplementary media archived on the internet."
"…Everything?"
"Correct."
Elias exhaled. "Figures."
They resumed.
This time, the holograms moved faster.
More refined.
More dangerous.
And Elias—learned faster.
Too fast.
His movements sharpened between repetitions.
Adjustments happened instinctively.
Errors vanished after a single correction.
FRIDAY began increasing the difficulty without announcing it.
The system responded in kind.
[Congratulations!
You have learned the way of the Duelist: Makashi — Level 1!]
[Details:
An elegant style focused on precision, defense, and one-on-one lightsaber duels, used famously by Count Dooku.]
[Congratulations!
You have learned the way of the Mynock: Soresu — Level 1!]
[Details:
A highly defensive form developed to counter blaster fire, mastered by Obi-Wan Kenobi. ]
Elias stopped, breathing hard—not from exhaustion, but from disbelief.
What took years for others to learn, he comprehended in an hour or less after just one attempt.
And it was only the middle of the afternoon
Other forms appeared briefly in the holographic queue… then grayed out.
"Those styles rely heavily on what they call 'Force sensitivity'" FRIDAY explained.
"Which are unrealistic and made them impossible to learn."
"Such a concept is scientifically unsupported. As a result, they are impossible for you to learn."
Elias nodded, accepting that far more easily than he probably should have.
"…What about other sword arts?" he asked casually.
"You know—real ones."
There was a beat.
Then the space in front of him exploded into information.
European longsword.
Japanese kenjutsu.
Kendo. Iaido.
Chinese jian and dao forms.
Middle Eastern shamshir techniques.
Indian talwar systems.
African shotel variants.
Filipino escrima—bladed adaptation.
Modern HEMA reconstructions.
Dozens. Hundreds.
They layered and reorganized themselves neatly, waiting.
"I have compiled all documented sword-based martial disciplines practiced on Earth," FRIDAY said—her tone noticeably brighter.
"Please specify which system you would like to begin with."
The question came out so earnestly that Elias stared at the projection for a full second.
Then he laughed.
A real one—soft, tired, amused.
"…You're very convenient as an assistant, FRIDAY," he said, shaking his head.
"Almost makes me wish you were my left hand."
Almost, as he finished his words, his eyes went wide in realization.
The system blinked to existence once more.
[Host Proposal Acceptable and approved!]
The prompt finished rendering.
And Elias—filled with immediate, profound regret—managed only one word.
"Shit."
End of Chapter