[Marvel : The God Of Punishment] Chapter 61 - 65

Chapter 61: Judgment Day Arrives

"Yeah... uh, yes..."

Perfect! Just as expected.

Jason suppressed a smile. Even Apple products had backdoors—how could Stark resist embedding one in his masterpiece?

The next steps unfolded smoothly. After spending a few minutes extracting detailed instructions on accessing this backdoor, Jason silently departed.

It wasn't that he didn't want to rescue Stark immediately. Ironically, the billionaire was probably safer in captivity for now. The world outside had descended into chaos, making this cave with its basic provisions seem almost peaceful by comparison.

Over subsequent nights, Jason continued his lethal game with American forces.

His relentless campaign dramatically accelerated the military's consolidation strategy. Numerous small and medium outposts were abandoned, their personnel relocated to Bagram base.

The "fat chicken" was growing plumper by his own design.

During this period, the U.S. military assembled specialized hunter-killer teams comprising elite Delta Force, Army Rangers, Green Berets, and even Navy SEALs.

They established elaborate traps, waiting patiently for the Death Devil to appear.

When Jason obliged them, they were utterly dumbfounded.

The entity proved impervious to water and fire, invulnerable to conventional weapons. It could tear apart a Humvee with bare hands and kick a tank as if it were a tin can.

The once-invincible American military received a severe education in humility.

Admiral Glenn, the ranking commander in Afghanistan, locked himself in his quarters, his hair reportedly turning white overnight.

He contemplated requesting presidential authorization for withdrawal, knowing such a move would permanently tarnish his legacy.

In desperation, he turned to the Vatican for assistance.

O great Christian Pope, merciful and loving shepherd, please save your lost lambs!

When Jason's surveillance revealed that senior military officials were seeking a Vatican priest to perform exorcisms, he recognized the moment had arrived.

Push too hard, and even a cornered dog will leap over a wall.

On a particularly dark, windswept night, he stealthily approached the weapons arsenal near the original test site.

This installation housed nearly a thousand personnel.

Based on established patterns, the U.S. military had deemed this location an unlikely target for the "Death Devil."

Furthermore, conventional wisdom held that the "devil" never employed weapons.

But that night, sentries at the arsenal witnessed a scene that froze their blood—

Through the darkness, the massive, twin-horned devil, radiating an aura of death, approached with measured steps.

In hands previously used only to tear flesh, it now carried a vehicle-mounted M2 Browning heavy machine gun!

A long ammunition belt trailed behind, connecting to an enormous steel ammunition box.

"Holy shit!"

The mere sight destroyed any impulse to resist among the guards on duty.

Their single collective prayer: Devil, please leave enough of our bodies for identification.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!

The long-silent M2 erupted in thunderous fury. A stream of tracer fire cut through the night, bisecting both personnel and fortifications with mechanical precision.

The Death Devil had evolved.

At Bagram base, phones in the tactical operations center rang incessantly.

The communications officer, after answering the initial call, immediately ordered wake-up alerts for the Intelligence Director, Bureau Chief, and Base Commander.

The situation had escalated beyond containment.

When Admiral Glenn arrived, the room was already packed with anxious personnel.

"Where's the phone? What's happening? I want a direct report!"

Everyone stared at him in stunned silence.

The communications officer whispered, "The connection was severed minutes ago..."

Glenn froze momentarily before the officer played the recorded transmission.

"Help! Help! The devil is coming—" Gunfire erupts "—he's here!"

"Jesus Christ, he's got... a gun—" More gunfire "—oh God! Oh fuck fuck FUCK! He's coming—"

"Please remain calm. Where is your commanding officer?" The operator's voice remained professionally steady.

"Calm?! Sir? The commander just took a 12.7mm round through his skull! His brains are all over my uniform, and you want me to stay calm?!"

The operator maintained composure. "I've alerted both the local commander and base leadership. Describe the current situation."

"Gunfire intensifies It's... it's a slaughterhouse. Bodies everywhere... Send everything you've got! We can't stop him... Explosion The tanks can't even touch him... Oh God, I just made eye contact with—"

Transmission terminated

"Hello? Hello! Are you still there? Respond!"

The recording ended.

Admiral Glenn turned to Intelligence General Pulver, disbelief etched across his features. "Didn't your analysis indicate it wouldn't attack large base?"

Pulver's expression contorted in anguish, his lips trembling. "The universe... is fundamentally unpredictable."

He approached a computer terminal, connected his phone, and drew a steadying breath.

"One of my officers at the arsenal transmitted an image before he was killed. Let's examine it."

The photograph appeared on the massive wall display.

It showed the familiar Death Devil—but with a horrifying new dimension.

The entity carried an ammunition box on its back while cradling an M2 Browning heavy machine gun in its arms. Its face bore an unmistakable expression: a predatory grin as it unleashed destructive firepower.

Admiral Glenn's body visibly shook. "Demons can operate heavy weapons? You're telling me this NOW?"

Silence engulfed the tactical operations center.

Who could have anticipated that a demonic entity would demonstrate proficiency with modern military hardware?

The military had expedited authorization for surveillance satellite repositioning. Live imagery of the arsenal appeared on the central display.

Darkness shrouded the distant mountains, with only the arsenal itself illuminated by muzzle flashes and raging fires—a perversely beautiful tableau of destruction.

Admiral Glenn clenched his jaw, roaring furiously: "Where are our ready-alert pilots? Get them airborne immediately! Load the heaviest ordnance available—I want this thing obliterated!"

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "We have two GBU-43 thermobaric weapons in inventory, correct? Mount them on bombers NOW. I want that thing vaporized!"

Everyone present shifted uncomfortably, weighing the implications.

The GBU-43 "Massive Ordnance Air Blast"—colloquially known as the "Mother of All Bombs"—represented nearly the apex of conventional destructive capability, second only to nuclear weapons. With a lethal radius exceeding 600 meters, it would annihilate all life within its blast zone.

After deployment, recovery operations at the arsenal would be unnecessary—no survivors could possibly remain.

Pulver hesitated before speaking. "Sir, deploying thermobaric weapons might be excessive—"

Before he could finish, Glenn fixed him with a blood-shot glare of such intensity that Pulver immediately fell silent.

Seeing this exchange, others abandoned any thought of protest.

Glenn surveyed the room contemptuously. "I'll assume full personal responsibility for the consequences of this action. My only priority now is ensuring that devil's destruction!"

Following his commands, three aircraft on ready-alert scrambled with 500-pound conventional bombs. Meanwhile, ground crews began the complex process of preparing the GBU-43.

The thermobaric weapon weighed several tons and required a specialized transport aircraft for delivery, necessitating additional preparation time.

Despite Jason's seemingly unstoppable rampage through the arsenal, his efficiency had limitations.

In a facility housing nearly a thousand personnel, he had eliminated approximately three hundred. The remainder either concealed themselves throughout the base or fled beyond the perimeter.

He proceeded directly to the secure weapons storage area, easily locating the two Jericho missiles.

With superhuman strength, he dragged them to the warehouse entrance, then accessed the launch system through Stark's backdoor.

After a sequence of precise inputs, he designated Bagram base as the target coordinates.

A series of electronic acknowledgments sounded—beep, beep, beep...

WHOOSH!

Twin missiles ascended skyward, tracing elegant arcs through the night before orienting toward their programmed destination.

Chapter 62: Justice from Heaven

Jason gazed at the brilliant light illuminating the night sky and exhaled with relief. The plan was complete.

Now, all that remained was to wait for the harvest.

He jostled the massive ammunition box behind him, noting it was still half full. No sense in wasting good ordinance.

"Might as well use it all," he muttered to himself as he resumed firing.

Rata-tat-tat...

The two missiles launched from the arsenal were instantly detected by the radar systems at Bagram Air Force Base.

The operators stared in disbelief at the rapidly approaching trajectories on their screens, their worldviews shattering once again.

It was bad enough that this devil wielded a machine gun with superhuman precision, but missiles too?

How outrageous could one devil be?

Given the short distance between the arsenal and Bagram base, they had less than two minutes to respond, making long-range interception virtually impossible.

Their only hope lay with the short-range interceptor missiles and the Phalanx defense system.

Meanwhile, two Jericho missiles soared above the cloud layer.

Bathed in moonlight, they gleamed with silvery brilliance, their fuselages proudly displaying the words "Made by Stark Industries."

By chance, they crossed paths with three fighter jets, passing each other at a distance of several hundred meters.

The missiles continued toward their destination as the onboard computer lowered their altitude and adjusted their flight path.

Below lay Bagram Air Force Base, its lights blazing and sirens wailing.

Dive. Deeper.

With ample fuel reserves, the missiles continued to accelerate, soon breaking the sound barrier and approaching Mach 2.

Suddenly, several flashes erupted from the base as interceptor missiles launched skyward, racing toward them with mutually assured destruction.

But the Jericho missiles were Stark's masterpieces. With an elegant flick of their tail fins and a twist of their bodies, they created distance between themselves and the interceptors.

Even when the interceptors detonated, the shrapnel couldn't touch them.

Closer. Almost there.

More than a dozen Phalanx arrays within the base opened fire simultaneously. The hail of bullets was so dense that not even a fly should have been able to pass through.

But just as the Phalanx systems unleashed their fury, the outer shells of the Jericho missiles peeled away.

Layer upon layer of submunitions dispersed like deadly blossoms raining from heaven.

The dense defensive fire stopped some, but most broke through the barrage.

In the war room, everyone went cold, frozen in shock at the sight.

Glenn sighed. So it was the Jericho missile. There would be no escaping tonight.

Outside the window on the runway, a massive C-130 was taxiing. In just seconds, it would take off with the GBU-43 "Mother of All Bombs" in its belly.

Unfortunately, seconds were all they had left.

The sky was peppered with submunitions, glowing like the embers of a magnificent but fatal fireworks display.

Glenn cast one final glance at his personnel. "Everyone, it's been an honor serving with you..."

"BOOM!"

A violent, unprecedented explosion engulfed the entire Bagram base.

Some would later say that on that night, divine punishment descended upon Afghanistan.

All invaders trembled, and all criminals were annihilated.

The next morning, when support troops arrived from other bases, they found only scorched earth.

It was as if God had finished smoking a cigar and extinguished it there, leaving behind a charred circle hundreds of meters in radius.

This, of course, was courtesy of the GBU-43.

The mid-air detonation had left no survivors at Bagram Air Force Base.

The morning breeze was cool as Jason sat atop a mountain, observing the devastated arsenal base from afar.

Those three fighter jets from the previous night hadn't even had time to drop their payloads.

As they'd reached the arsenal, they'd lost all contact with Bagram Air Base, then witnessed a blinding explosion in the distance. They had no idea what had happened.

Without orders from command, they couldn't bring themselves to bomb an arsenal where their comrades might still be fighting to survive.

After circling the base twice, they were forced to return, only to discover their home base was gone—reduced to smoldering ruins.

After a brief discussion, the three pilots reluctantly flew to other bases.

The arsenal they'd abandoned had resisted for dozens of minutes amidst massacre and flames before finally falling silent.

As the sun rose, Jason reviewed the night's harvest.

His most significant gains were two kill streaks: the first from the Jericho missiles' submunitions, resulting in two hundred kills; the second from the GBU-43 explosion, yielding three hundred consecutive kills.

He'd also acquired dozens of gift packs of various tiers.

Among them, the most valuable were a three-star gold gift package and a four-star platinum gift package.

He couldn't help but lament that his first platinum gift package wasn't even five stars! The chances of obtaining something truly exceptional were significantly reduced.

But "reduced probability" didn't mean "impossible."

Having a habit of saving the best for last, he decisively opened all the gift packages except the platinum one.

After a series of system prompts, a long list of rewards appeared.

He gained a total of 595 free attribute points, and four skills: Archery Mastery, Sword Mastery, Hacker Mastery, and...

Skilled in Postpartum Care for Sows!

Jason remained unfazed. The system's eccentricity was perfectly normal—it would have been strange if it hadn't thrown in something absurd.

Fortunately, the gold gift package provided an incredible ability: Flight!

His eyes lit up with excitement.

"Looks like I won't be hanging around with you earthbound chickens anymore," he smirked.

However, upon closer examination, he discovered that the maximum speed of [Flight] was only 150 kilometers per hour.

"Damn, that's barely better than a chicken with a jetpack!" he muttered.

Though useful for showing off, if he wanted efficient transportation, he'd be better off buying a decent car!

Even so, Flight would compete with Dragon chi for priority when he obtained his next ability upgrade card.

Next, he allocated his attribute points.

Considering he might rarely have such an opportunity to obtain so many attribute points at once in the near future, he decided to prioritize combat power.

For defensive attributes, since he'd obtained the Vibranium Soft Armor and planned to wear it constantly, his defense combined with the armor was already formidable.

He only added a symbolic dozen points, bringing it to exactly 300.

The same applied to will attributes. With [Soul Defense], his mental safety was guaranteed, and he didn't need particularly high will attributes.

He increased this lightly to 280 points.

His original constitution was only 203 points, but with a wave of his hand, he raised it directly to 300.

The remainder went to strength and speed, which had the most obvious impact on combat effectiveness. Strength: 540, Speed: 419.

His speed and strength had increased dramatically, multiplying his combat power several times over.

With his current speed, he could move like a shadow warrior in combat, reminiscent of Quicksilver himself.

Ordinary human eyes simply couldn't track his movements.

Finally, only the platinum package remained.

Jason stood up facing east, toward the rising sun, and clasped his hands together. "Jade Emperor, Queen Mother, Tathagata Buddha, and the Ten Kings of Hell, bless me!" he proclaimed half-jokingly.

He opened the gift package.

[Congratulations on receiving the reward: Title: Hammer God.]

Immediately, the system name column changed.

[Name: Jason, AKA: Hammer God.]

"What the hell?" he muttered. "Hammer God? Seriously?"

Chapter 63: Stark Is Holding It In

Jason communicated with the system and understood the meaning of his new title. Hammer God: Gain the love and recognition of all hammers and hammer-like weapons.

"Mystery solved," he muttered to himself. "This sneaky system must have a grudge against Thor!"

But the crucial issue was that before Odin's death, the title of Hammer God would only be useful because of one specific hammer!

The four-star gift package was just like the three-star package—not impressive enough!

"It's decided," Jason thought firmly. "From today on, I'll study a thousand ways to kill Nick Fury. The first diamond-tier gift package must reach five stars!"

After making this decision, he leaped from the mountaintop and soared into the distance like a wild goose.

The wind whipped across his cheeks while the sun's warmth caressed his back—the sensation of flight was incredible!

The vast landscape stretched beneath him in panoramic glory.

A feeling of pure arrogance swelled in his chest. After all, he was thousands of feet in the sky while everyone else was stuck on the ground below!

Russia, an old and dilapidated apartment building.

Jason had dressed in his finest suit specifically to meet his future chief and deputy chief scientists.

Knock, knock!

As his knuckles rapped against the wooden door, flakes of peeling paint drifted to the floor.

After a long moment, no one answered.

He remained patient and knocked again.

Finally, a disheveled, unshaven man with alcohol on his breath opened the door, glaring at him with vulture-like eyes. "Who are you looking for?" he demanded gruffly.

Jason offered a polite smile. "Hello, my name is Jason—"

"I don't buy insurance! Get lost!" The large man slammed the door shut.

The smile on Jason's face froze as he glanced down at his immaculate suit. Damn, have you ever seen an insurance salesman this handsome?

Can't you tell I have the aura of a soon-to-be billionaire?

He took a deep breath to center himself, then drove his fist into the door with a resounding BANG!

The door swung open again. The large man saw him and growled, "Go away! Try the apartment across the hall. Don't make me tell you a third time!"

He looked impatient and was about to slam the door again when Jason caught it with his hand. "Ivan Vanko, if you dare close this door in my face again, I'll shove your head so far up my ass you'll see what I had for breakfast yesterday."

The large man was shocked and furious, his face contorting with rage. He was about to lash out when he noticed something alarming—

The stranger's hand had sunk deep into the wooden door!

How is this possible? he thought, eyes widening. This was old ash wood. Though weathered, it was incredibly hard!

Seeing that the reckless man was suitably intimidated, Jason slowly withdrew his hand. "Young man, don't be so impatient! Who said I sell insurance? You're stuck in old-fashioned stereotypes! I might also be..." he paused dramatically, "...a real estate agent."

He strolled inside while delivering his joke.

The apartment was tiny, with clutter piled throughout the living room. A small TV sat in the corner, and on a camp bed lay a sick, gray-haired old man.

"Who are you?" Ivan demanded. "You're trespassing. Get out immediately or I'll call the police!"

"Shut up!" Jason fixed him with a glare, the vicious aura of the devil incarnate flashing across his face.

Ivan felt a chill run down his spine and found himself inexplicably unable to speak further.

The commotion had awakened the old man, and Jason sat down beside the bed.

"Anton Vanko, are you dead yet? If not, say something!"

Compared to his hot-headed son, the father was much calmer. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

"Jason. I've come a long way to give you a chance."

"What chance?"

"A chance to exact revenge on Howard Stark."

Anton Vanko raised his eyebrows and laughed, which quickly devolved into a coughing fit. "He is... cough, cough... dead."

Jason smiled coldly. "There's an old saying in the East: a son pays his father's debts!"

Anton stopped laughing and scrutinized Jason carefully from head to toe. "Who are you? Really?"

Jason smiled slightly and extended his index finger. A red light emanated from it, glowing brightly with tiny arcs of electricity dancing around the digit.

"I am Jason."

Anton looked horrified. He took a deep breath, his face turning solemn as he shook his head. "I don't have much time left. If you wish, take my son away—he's a genius far beyond my own abilities. He shouldn't waste his talent living such a poor, hopeless life. Please, treat him well!"

Jason glanced back at Ivan, whose expression had completely transformed, then returned his attention to Anton with a smile. "You're just ill, not dying. Don't worry—as long as Death hasn't claimed you yet, I can save you. I want both you and Ivan for my team!"

Deep in a cave, Tony Stark was exhausted, his face streaked with grime.

In recent days, the terrorists had grown increasingly panicked, as if something had gone terribly wrong. They were like rabbits with bloodshot eyes, constantly pressuring him to accelerate his work.

After several sleepless nights of inhuman torture, he had finally completed the iron armor.

In a corner beyond the cameras' view, Yinsen helped him don the armor piece by piece.

Footsteps approached from outside.

"Yinsen! Stark! Where are you? Stop hiding from the cameras!"

Neither man responded.

The guard lost his patience, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. BOOM! The acetylene tank positioned behind the door exploded instantly.

With the armor assembled, Yinsen tapped commands into the computer and initiated the power-up sequence.

The progress bar began to fill—painfully slowly.

Outside, footsteps and shouts grew closer, while the progress bar inched forward at an agonizing pace.

Yinsen pushed his glasses up. "Not enough time. We need more time!"

He glanced back at Stark. "I'll buy you some time."

Stark was stunned. "No! Follow the plan! Don't do anything stupid—"

But Yinsen had already snatched up the rifle from the floor and rushed out.

"Yinsen! YINSEN!"

Stark was frantic. Yinsen wasn't just his savior; he'd remained by his side throughout their captivity, helping him plan their escape. The last thing he wanted was for anything to happen to him!

The progress bar on the computer continued its slow crawl. Almost there... almost...

Several terrorists burst in, failing to notice the armor in the darkness.

Stark felt power surge through his body as the suit finally came online.

Rage consumed him. He stepped forward, swinging his armored fists left and right, sending terrorists flying across the room.

A sick feeling twisted in his gut. The fact that these men had breached his location meant that Yinsen...

FURY!

The despair of being attacked, the fear upon waking in captivity, the humiliation of being coerced, and the pain of watching companions die—it all flooded back!

Kill! Kill! KILL THESE SONS OF BITCHES!

His body trembled as he stomped forward, when suddenly a familiar voice reached his ears.

"Hi, Stark! Long time no see!"

Stark froze in confusion as the figure he'd dreamed about for days materialized before him.

The man waved casually. "Stark, you're rescued! Don't worry, I've killed all the terrorists. You're free now!"

Staring at the smiling face before him, Stark felt blood pooling in his chest, unable to circulate.

The feeling resembled returning from a two-week business trip, taking a hot shower, downing some medication, getting aroused... and then having your girlfriend's relatives show up unexpectedly.

If they weren't going to arrive early, they shouldn't arrive at all.

Yet here they were—just before the moment of climax.

The fury inside him threatened to explode, with nowhere to go.

Half an hour later...

Yinsen's face was a mask of horror. "Stark actually... mutilated them...!"

"It's fine, he's just moderately disturbed," Jason said with a wave of his hand. "Seriously speaking, he only dismembered the bodies and arranged the pieces neatly before burning them. I understand—he's been under extreme pressure lately."

Jason maintained his smile, but suddenly remembered Alessa. When she'd given him that poison, had she mentioned any potential side effects?

Damn, I forgot to ask.

"When Stark gets home," he thought, "I should introduce him to a good psychiatrist."

Chapter 64: Stark: I Didn't Do Anything

The raging fire engulfed the entire cave.

Stark methodically burned all the corpses along with the weapons and ammunition produced by Stark Industries outside the cave entrance.

In the brilliant flames, he felt a sense of purification and transformation washing over him.

Watching his expression, Jason knew that Stark Industries' weapons division could not escape its fate of being shut down.

Next would come the critical moment to test his market operation.

Stark would return, causing stock prices to soar, then he'd announce the closure of the weapons division, sending those same stocks plummeting.

There would be only a few hours in this period to capitalize on the market shift.

The three men departed in an old convertible jeep. As for Stark's improvised armor, it was too cumbersome to transport, so they burned it after use.

The sun blazed overhead as the vehicle plowed through the yellow sand, kicking up massive dust clouds.

Stark didn't react until his face was completely coated with sand. "Fuck, you're going to rescue me in this piece of junk? Even if there's no attack helicopter available, couldn't you at least bring a Hummer with air conditioning?"

Jason shook his head and sighed. "Stark, you don't realize how dramatically the world has changed while you were in that cave. The U.S. military stopped looking for you ages ago. If it weren't for me, even if you'd escaped, you'd have died in the desert."

Stark was stunned. "What happened?"

"Judgment! Stark, your American military has undergone a brutal trial!"

"What are you talking about?"

"A few nights ago, divine punishment descended from heaven. Two major U.S. military bases were reduced to rubble, with three thousand soldiers dead. The scene was horrific—hell on earth!"

Jason clicked his tongue dramatically. "Rumor has it that when President Freeman learned of this, he whipped himself with a belt in anguish. After watching the live footage, Vice President Barden trembled uncontrollably, reportedly wetting himself. The Pentagon has labeled that day as the 'Day of Mourning,' and they're seriously considering withdrawing all troops from Afghanistan. The American forces here have become cowards, like frightened children, never leaving their bases. All their supplies are delivered by the Afghan National Army."

Stark was bewildered. It's only been a few days since I was captured, and American power has already collapsed?

"Who could possibly destroy two major U.S. military bases simultaneously? Have the Russians gone insane, or has China finally made its move?"

Jason caught Stark's solemn expression in the rearview mirror and shook his head. "They say it was a devil—eight feet tall with a leopard's head, round glowing eyes, a hideous face, and a voice like thunder. It's truly baffling what the American soldiers could have done to provoke such a creature. Tsk, tsk!"

Stark was momentarily speechless.

A few hours later, they passed by the Bagram base and witnessed the devastation firsthand. The shocking reality jolted Stark out of his confusion.

Could this truly be the beginning of America's decline?

Upon reaching Kandahar International Airport, Stark contacted Pepper Potts, chartered a private jet, and departed immediately.

News of his survival spread like wildfire throughout New York.

Stark Industries' stock, which had been in free fall, suddenly soared as if injected with adrenaline. Everyone recognized that the genius's return meant Stark Industries would survive this crisis!

Jason had instructed David yesterday to sell all their short positions, generating an enormous profit. He'd invested $120 million and transformed it into $540 million!

With a casual wave of his hand, Jason converted all the profits into Stark Industries stock.

On the flight back to New York, he instructed David to prepare to sell these shares after they peaked, then short them again.

Today might be a day of wailing for American investors, but for Jason, it would be a day of unprecedented prosperity.

The plane gently touched down at Kennedy Airport. As the door opened...

What the hell?

Jason's eyes widened at the sight of heavily armed agents surrounding the aircraft. What happened? Have I been exposed? Did they find a body in some church backyard?

Wait—is that Sitwell? SHIELD is here too?

"Mr. Stark, I'm a CIA agent. We suspect you're the perpetrator behind the Day of Mourning. Please cooperate with our investigation..."

"Mr. Stark, FBI. We believe you're responsible for the Day of Mourning incident. Please come with us..."

"Mr. Stark, Department of Homeland Security. We have reason to connect you to the Day of Mourning. We need your cooperation..."

"Mr. Stark, Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. We believe there's a significant connection between you and the Day of Mourning. Please assist our investigation..."

Among the intimidating federal agents stood a young officer in an NYPD uniform. Seeing the aggressive posturing of the federal agents, he visibly shrank back.

But quickly gathering his courage, he stepped forward. "Mr. Stark, New York Police Department. Please cooperate with my investigation as well..."

Looking at the heavily armed contingent clearly divided by agency rivalries, Jason was stunned. What the hell?

Stark was equally shocked. Fuck!

Yinsen stood frozen. What's happening?

Jason leaned toward Stark. "Uh... personal suggestion: cooperating with the NYPD might be your best option!"

Stark turned and glared at him before addressing the assembled agents angrily. "Dear agents... and officer, I demand to know why you're detaining me. What possible connection could I have to this 'Day of Mourning'?"

The agents exchanged glances before Sitwell finally stepped forward to explain.

"Mr. Stark, according to our intelligence, the Bagram Air Force Base was attacked with Jericho missiles! There were three missiles produced for the demonstration. One was used during the presentation, leaving two. According to military records, your... incident... occurred before control of the remaining missiles could be officially transferred to the military. That makes you the only person capable of launching those weapons!"

Stark was livid. "My 'incident'?! I was kidnapped and imprisoned in a cave by terrorists! They tortured me daily while none of you incompetent agents could find me! Now that I've finally escaped on my own, there's an issue with military equipment, and you're here to accuse me? Is there any justice left in this world? FUCK!"

"Mr. Stark, the Jericho missile system was personally designed by you. It's difficult to imagine anyone launching those missiles without your authorization or override codes!"

Stark's face contorted with rage as he shook his fist. "I'm exceptionally intelligent. If you couldn't crack my security protocols, that just proves your inadequacy, not my culpability!"

He spun around and pointed at Yinsen. "I was imprisoned for weeks, all that time with him! Yinsen is my witness!"

After he finished speaking, the agents exchanged meaningful glances. Suddenly, one stepped forward. "Mr. Yinsen, we suspect you may also be connected to the Day of Mourning. Please cooperate with our investigation!"

"FUCK!"

Stark's face flushed crimson as he exploded with fury. "You shameless clowns! You parasites living off taxpayer money! I'll sue every last one of you! I'll spend a billion dollars to ensure you never work again! You'll all—"

Chapter 65: Thunder Plus Armor, Is There Any Success?

The agents exchanged bewildered glances after Stark's verbal assault.

If there weren't so many witnesses present—and if they weren't concerned about their professional reputations—they would have certainly resorted to more aggressive measures.

"...I spent days mourning at the ruins of Bagram Base, only to come home to this outrageous treatment! Military personnel have died, and you—you're the cancer of this country!"

"Enough, Stark. Cease the profanity."

A commanding voice cut through the chaos.

The distinctive figure that caught Jason's attention approached in his iconic black long coat. All agents immediately parted to make way for him.

Nick Fury held a stack of documents in his hand. "The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division has completed its investigation. The two Jericho missiles were not launched through standard protocols. There was an inconspicuous vulnerability in the control system that the perpetrator exploited to launch the missiles. I believe this... backdoor-like weakness wasn't intentionally created. Is that correct, Mr. Stark?"

Stark's face flushed as he gritted his teeth, enunciating each word clearly: "Absolutely not!"

Fury turned to address the assembled agents, raising the documents in his hand. "Everyone, here is relevant evidence regarding the vulnerability in the Jericho missile control system. It also contains proof that Stark was indeed imprisoned throughout this period, which you can verify independently. I see no justification for his arrest at this time."

The agents looked at one another. Some began reviewing the documents, while others contacted their superiors to relay the new information.

Eventually, the crowd dispersed.

Fury approached Stark with a grim expression. "Tony Stark, we need to discuss—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Stark collapsed backward onto the tarmac.

Fury, Sitwell, and the other remaining agents panicked.

Jason's eyes widened. Damn, did Stark's anger literally kill him?

Pepper, who had finally been granted access to Stark, rushed over with tears streaming down her face. The medical team that had been on standby hurried to the scene.

Fortunately, after examination, they determined he had merely fainted from extreme stress.

His physical condition had deteriorated significantly during captivity, and the emotional confrontation had pushed him beyond his limits.

Poor guy, Jason thought. A seriously injured captive finally makes it home, only to be surrounded and interrogated by government agents. When had playboy Stark ever endured such an indignity?

Seizing the moment of chaos, Jason grabbed Yinsen's arm. "If you don't want to be detained by SHIELD, come with me!"

Still shaken by the agent's earlier threat, Yinsen nodded quickly.

Jason took advantage of the commotion, pulling Yinsen toward the perimeter. They reached the wall, and with a powerful leap, Jason vaulted over it with Yinsen in tow. They slipped quietly beyond the airport grounds and hailed a taxi.

"Yinsen, I heard your family was lost in the war?" Jason asked once they were safely away.

Yinsen's expression darkened. "Yes."

Jason nodded thoughtfully. "I own a pharmaceutical company developing new medications to benefit humanity. If you're willing, I'd like you to join my research team. I guarantee your work will save thousands of lives. I can also provide substantial funding to your hometown to support the local population."

Yinsen was momentarily stunned by the offer.

Jason continued, "Additionally, I promise to use my influence to end the war in Afghanistan as quickly as possible."

Yinsen looked shocked. "You have the power to influence the highest level of the U.S. government?"

Jason smiled enigmatically. "Well... in a manner of speaking. My actions certainly impact their decisions."

"As long as the war in my homeland ends soon, I'm willing to do anything!" Yinsen declared fervently.

"You're a great man, my friend!"

Jason escorted Yinsen across the Hudson River to New Jersey, which was separated from New York by the waterway.

Alexandra owned a large, secluded manor there that had been converted into Jason's scientific research facility.

Dr. Karen was currently working there, conducting experiments with vampire blood.

After introducing Dr. Yinsen to her, Jason proceeded to the adjacent laboratory.

Anton and Ivan wore white lab coats as they studied drawings and images on computer screens.

They were reviewing the schematics of the Mark I armor and the Arc Reactor that Jason had obtained from the cave.

Seeing him enter, Anton quickly stood up and sighed. "I'm not in Tony Stark's league. Although Howard and I invented the Arc Reactor together, I never imagined such advancements were possible. That he completed this in a cave is truly remarkable!"

"Tsk!" Ivan kept a toothpick between his lips and responded dismissively. "He just has unlimited resources, so he always gets first access to the latest scientific developments. Father, you've been isolated from the scientific community for decades—naturally, you've fallen behind."

Anton was furious, pointing an accusatory finger at his son. "You disrespectful boy! Remove that toothpick from your mouth and show some respect to our employer!"

Jason waved his hand indifferently. These minor squabbles didn't concern him. What mattered was how much value this father-son duo could provide.

"So, do you understand the design schematics for the Arc Reactor and this armor?"

Anton and Ivan exchanged knowing smiles, and Anton shrugged. "Whenever you need it, boss, we can build it for you! However, I wouldn't recommend such crude armor. I can design something far superior—capable of flight, stealth, underwater operation—anything you desire!"

"Excellent."

Jason nodded approvingly. He had initially estimated that Anton and his son combined might equal roughly 0.5 Starks.

Now he was reconsidering—perhaps they were closer to 0.6 or even 0.8?

He took a deep breath and spoke solemnly. "I have two assignments for you. First, use the Arc Reactor technology to create a super-bomb. The more powerful, the better. At minimum, it should surpass conventional nuclear weapons and rival hydrogen bombs!"

Anton and Ivan exchanged alarmed glances.

Ivan abandoned his nonchalant demeanor, swallowed nervously, and asked cautiously, "Uh... Boss, are you planning to... destroy the world? Who provoked you to this extreme?"

Jason smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, I have no intention of detonating Earth. You'll understand my purposes in due time."

The two scientists looked at each other before nodding reluctantly.

Anton asked, "What's the second assignment?"

"Armor. I need the most powerful armor in existence!"

Anton nodded in understanding. "I see, boss. Don't worry, Ivan and I will utilize our expertise to create the most formidable armor possible, guaranteeing that you'll—"

"No, you misunderstand," Jason interrupted.

What?

Anton and Ivan stared at him blankly.

Jason's lips curled into a smile as his body suddenly levitated. Silver lightning crackled around him like dancing dragons!

"I need you to design an Armor specifically for me!"

Holy shit!

Witnessing their boss floating in mid-air surrounded by electrical energy, Anton and his son felt their knees weaken.

Jason retracted his powers and, noting their stunned expressions, snapped his fingers to bring them back to reality.

"This armor needs to provide massive electrical energy, so a single Arc Reactor won't suffice! I want six! It must be imposing yet agile, capable of supersonic flight, deep-sea diving, and ideally space—ah, remember to address the high-altitude icing problem. Most importantly, it requires substantial defensive and offensive capabilities..."

As Jason enthusiastically outlined his vision, Anton and his son accepted the daunting assignment with resigned expressions.

After some discussion, Ivan raised a critical concern.

The primary challenge in creating such powerful armor would be acquiring suitable materials.

Jason had anticipated this obstacle.

Initially, he had considered vibranium, but it was prohibitively expensive.

Purchasing it was impossible.

Stealing it? He didn't even know Wakanda's location yet.

The African continent was vast, making the search for this elusive metal impractical. So his attention shifted to another exceptional material: adamantium!

If his information was correct, a small reservoir remained at Stryker's base.

Though insufficient for full adamantium armor, strategically reinforcing critical components would qualitatively enhance the entire suit's defensive capabilities!

Meanwhile, he had instructed David to locate the vibranium dealer named Ulysses Klaue.

Once they identified Wakanda's location, they could appropriate several tons of vibranium.

He smiled confidently at Anton and his son. "Begin designing the armor. I'll secure the materials."

Jason was about to leave when he suddenly smacked his forehead. "I almost forgot—this armor must be capable of generating a Faraday electromagnetic cage using lightning. That's absolutely crucial!"