Barricaded within the walls of the Hub, I was not yet considering a foray into the city. Whether it was paranoia or common sense no longer mattered. It was simpler to order food delivery and, in the agonizing wait for the courier, immerse myself in the viscous swamp of recent news. I reflexively checked my phone. There were no missed calls from Gwen's hero number and no word from Peter. There was also silence from Blade, which was admittedly predictable. But what was happening in the wider world while I sat in the shadows?
The very 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 and more serious articles, I pieced together the mosaic of 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. There was not a single photograph, not a single frame. Paparazzi managed to capture only two figures on stretchers wrapped in sterile white medical cocoons. In Grimm's case, the stretcher was of colossal size, and the body hidden beneath the covering appeared massive and monstrously deformed, which immediately spawned a tsunami 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. Devouring the cooling pizza, I continued scrolling, reading every detail. Fisk Industries' market capitalization had almost completely recovered. Moreover, the board of directors officially announced that no rebranding was planned, stating 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 services had also surprisingly loosened their grip on the information field. Most likely, they decided that Blade, that walking chaos, represented a far greater threat and focused on him. He was an uncontrollable element whom it was simpler to expel from the country than to try giving a chance to kill the real Fisk.
Hydro-Man and Sandman. Both, as if on command, went to ground. The last recorded robberies were last Saturday. After that, both vanished. Simultaneously. I did not believe in such coincidences at all. This reeked of conspiracy, and I really did not like it.
And then the cherry on top. Hyperion saved New York from a double threat, from Abomination and, most interestingly, from 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. could not cover for him. A show trial awaited the scientist in early October. Though I was sure this was merely a formality. What was not 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, I was small fry. Even with my new suit, I barely reached solid mid-tier. I needed to force events. I needed to create Extremis, and for that I needed S.H.I.E.L.D.'s resources and laboratory. But before getting involved in this venture, I should conduct a full stress test of my creation.
A quick mental command and the suit obediently flowed over my body. Another command and it disappeared into the immaterial inventory. Convenient as hell. In the training hall, I put it through a real examination. Basic tests for motor activity, integration with the neuro-interface, everything passed without a single glitch. Response was instantaneous, as if the armor had become my second skin. Wing modes ranged from smooth flight and complex maneuvering to deploying defensive shields from different vectors. The system executed commands with millimeter precision. The vibration gloves, oh, that was poetry. At maximum power, the mannequin simulating a human body did not just break. It exploded into fragments, turning into a cloud of dust and polymer fibers. Which meant a group of living targets would share its fate.
But this was not enough. There was no limit to perfection. The first thing that came to mind was active camouflage. I could develop a special coating based on dynamically changing 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 reality's very fabric distort around me. Become invisible like the Predator. The perfect means for infiltration and silent eliminations.
Next was sensory superiority. Total tactical dominance. I could integrate LIDAR, whose pulsing invisible beam would feel the world around, creating a three-dimensional map of terrain even in pitch darkness. I would add broadband EM sensors to see the invisible nervous tapestry of the city, including radio communications, operating electronics, and cables hidden in walls. And crown it all with 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. For fighting creatures at Hulk or Abomination level, brute force was needed. A modular, attachable power exo-frame. A set of powerful servo drives based on electroactive polymers, or artificial muscles, attaching to special ports over arms, legs, and torso. Or maybe even a full-fledged heavy armor, like the Hulkbuster. I could create it based on the obtained Rhino exoskeleton. I even knew what I would call it. Rhinobuster. Ironic and symbolic, considering his demise. Rhino killer, and in my case, killer for those comparable to him in power. A specialized module for boss fights.
Wait, stop. I mentally checked myself. Grand upgrade plans were all well and good, but if I buried myself in blueprints and prototypes again now, I would drop out of reality for another week. And judging by the news feed, in that week the world could turn upside down. I needed to act, not prepare endlessly.
With a light sigh, I put my magnificent suit, which had fully justified all the effort invested, into inventory and was already heading toward the exit from the base when it suddenly clicked in my head. 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 succumbed 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 allowing transformation of one's own blood into a unique, super-strong magical metal called Iron Blood. Allows using one's own body as a living forge and arsenal, forming weapons and armor from blood by 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 your volitional command, this catalyst triggers not a physical but a magical transmutation process. Iron atoms in your blood do not simply arrange 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 do not need to lose liters of blood to create a sword. Magic works on the principle of conceptual transformation. A few drops of blood emerging on the skin can become an anchor for forming a full-fledged blade that draws mass and energy from surrounding space or your internal magical power. You lose not blood but magical energy.
I froze, rereading the description again and again. This... this was not just knowledge. This was a full-fledged combat skill that changed the very essence of my body! The Forge could produce such things! On one hand, this was only an information packet. But on the other, it promised immediate practical application after unlocking. This was overpowered! And I was short a mere 300 OP.
That was it. Natasha and S.H.I.E.L.D. could wait a couple hours. I needed this technology. Right now. Which meant back to the laboratory!
I needed something quick, effective, and preferably useful in the near future. Given the devastating power of the vibration gloves, creating a non-lethal tactical module suggested itself naturally. The ideal solution was a specialized tactical belt. Light, durable, fully integrated with the neuro-interface and, most importantly, not overloading the main suit, which I planned to modify anyway.
So, to work. For appearance, no primitive leather strap. I designed a high-tech segmented belt in a CAD program. As a base, I used a flexible tape of carbon fiber reinforced polymer. Anatomically curved plates of light titanium alloy attached to it. The clasp was a powerful electromagnetic buckle. On each segment were standardized modular ports. Having fitted 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 grew 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 filling. Grenades and one small device whose idea had just been born in my head. I would start with it.
Grappling hook. An indispensable thing for quick movement in the concrete jungle when deploying wings was inexpedient or simply impossible. Essentially, an electromagnetic harpoon with a winch in a separate module resembling a futuristic pistol, with thigh mounting. Housing, cable of ultra-strong carbon nanofiber, high-speed winch powered directly from the reactor. Calculations showed this thing could pull me to the roof of a 20-story building in a couple seconds. The main thing was that my reaction would be enough not to smear myself against the wall in the process.
Next were grenades.
First, sticky foam. An idea brazenly borrowed from Gwen's webbing and SCP operative immobilization compounds. Inside the housing were two reservoirs with liquid polymer precursors separated by a thin membrane. The activation principle was borrowed from Blade's homemade devices. Simple pressure on the housing destroys the partition. The components mix, entering a vigorous exothermic reaction. A special catalyst makes the hellish mixture instantly expand in volume 150 to 200 times, bursting outward and ensnaring the target with sticky, instantly hardening strands as strong as reinforced plastic.
Second, electroshock darts. For quiet and non-lethal neutralization at a distance. Each dart was a self-propelled projectile the size of a finger, equipped with a micro-capacitor and heat signature homing system. These predatory little vultures found targets themselves, struck them, and discharged a high-voltage impulse, instantly overloading the nervous system and plunging the opponent into darkness. One of these should be enough even for a weak super-soldier. True, it could kill an ordinary person, but my targets were unlikely to be paragons of morality and virtue. And anyway, knock on wood, I wanted to live peacefully, not seek adventures where I would have to use all this arsenal.
Third, final for today, multispectral smoke screen. My pocket black hole for any observation systems. Technologically, a multi-component pyrotechnic mixture. The first component created a cloud of dense white smoke blocking the visible spectrum. The second dispersed heated magnesium particles, creating monstrous flare for thermal imagers. The third ejected a cloud of finely dispersed foil, or dipole reflectors, making the screen impenetrable to radars and LIDARs. Ultimately, the grenade created a zone of absolute blindness in which any opponent, whatever sensors they used, became a helpless kitten. And I became master of the situation.
I got into a groove. The creative process overwhelmed me completely, and I stopped only when several sets of each new device and, of course, a perfectly fitted tactical belt lay on the workbench. A quick glance at the system interface confirmed I had not just completed but exceeded the plan. In total, 1100 OP had dripped into the account. A pleasant surplus. I could try my luck in the Forge once more, but first, the main thing.
I froze before the interface, opening the technologies tab. There it was, the line promising the incredible. Iron Blood Transformation. I took a deep breath. Unlock. 800 OP. Confirm.
Pain.
This time it did not come from outside. It was born within. My own blood, every drop, every red blood cell, suddenly rebelled. I could not have imagined there was so much of it in me, and now all of it had turned into liquid fire boiling in my veins. This was not just unpleasant. This was fucking torture. The sensations mounted like an avalanche. I wanted not just to scratch my skin but to tear it, to get to what was burning beneath it. I wanted to beat myself, to pound on my body to somehow subdue this internal inferno. And then the heat was replaced by icy cold penetrating to the bones, only to explode a moment later with unbearable pain again.
Those fucking half hour 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 cool tile. I dug my nails into my own flesh trying to calm the hellish itch under my skin. But any agony is finite. The torture stopped as suddenly as it began, leaving behind echoing silence and ringing emptiness.
I lay on the floor, breathing heavily, and listened. The body was mine, but felt different. As if a new, barely perceptible hum had appeared in it. And in my head, like an unpacked archive, the information packet unfolded. It was an intuitive, innate understanding of what I now possessed. Ancient, blood magic.
What were its tactical and technical characteristics? I sat up, slowly comprehending the opened possibilities, and mentally divided them into three main modes.
First, offensive mode. I could form practically any melee weapon from blood emerging on my body. And this was not just sharpened metal. Weapons from Iron Blood had perfect internal structure devoid of microcracks. They were 30 to 50 percent stronger than the best examples of hardened steel, eternally held their edge, and, most amazingly, could be mentally reformed into another weapon type right in battle. Sword from forearm? Easy. Blood emerging on skin instantly solidified, stretching and taking the form of a deadly blade. Spikes from knuckles? Done. Throwing knives straight from palms? This needed practice, but the potential was enormous. Ideally they should fly out at cannon speed. For a test, I indulged myself, releasing three long metallic claws like Wolverine from my wrist with a predatory click. They cut through skin. I retracted them and felt no discomfort. Wounds healed before my eyes, and the claws themselves had felt like a natural extension of my hand.
Second, defensive mode. Justifying the name Iron Skin. I could instantly strengthen my body, turning blood into armor. Moreover, both from within, creating a subcutaneous layer strengthening muscles and bones to concrete hardness, and from without, forming solid plates. Such armor, according to the mental instruction, could withstand pistol and automatic weapon bullets, as well as dissipate low-level energy and even magical attacks. An incredibly convenient function, ranging from instantly creating a shield on the forearm to block a strike to total reinforcement of the entire body for breaking through intense fire.
Third, enhancing mode. Slightly cheaty, but no less wonderful for it. A key technique that did not turn blood into steel. Instead, by force of will I accelerated blood flow to extreme speeds, saturating it with pure energy. This caused a temporary but incredibly powerful surge in physical characteristics. For a couple minutes I received a huge bonus to strength, speed, and reflexes, allowing me to move on the edge of human perception. Combat boost turning my blood into high-octane fuel for muscles and synapses. Ideal for a blitz attack or dodging a lethal thrust. The effect, though short-term, by sensation exceeded my stimulants. This was already weak super-soldier level!
Of course, in this barrel of honey there was a fly in the ointment. Everything had its limitations, and this magic was no exception.
Energy consumption. The main resource was not the blood itself but my magical energy. Prolonged maintenance of transformation or frequent use of boost caused severe exhaustion that could lead to loss of consciousness.
Concentration. Transformation required constant mental control. Severe pain shock, mental attack, or loss of consciousness would instantly interrupt it, and all created steel would become liquid blood again.
Vulnerability to anti-magic. This was magic. In the zone of an anti-magic field or artifact, my blood would become ordinary, and I would lose all these tricks.
Physiological limit. I could not turn my entire body into steel. Vital organs, brain and heart, had to work. Simultaneously I could transform no more than 30 to 40 percent of blood, otherwise systemic shock and death would occur.
I could work with this. Moreover, this was even better than I could have imagined, because I had not suspected the enhancing mode existed. Grinning, I looked at the clock. Almost six in the evening. I had spent too much time in the laboratory. Passion was a terrible force.
"Okay, last spin for today, and definitely home," I decided. "800 OP left, let's roll!"
System, Forge of Creation, minus 750 OP.
50 points remained in the balance, and before me, on the interface screen, the description of a new information packet slowly materialized.