[Marvel : The God Of Punishment] Chapter 56 - 60

Chapter 56: The First Battle of New York: A Gift

Thunder crashed into Daredevil once more, scattering the black energy enveloping him. Looking closer, Jason could see that tendrils of darkness still clung to Daredevil, anchoring the demonic force to his body.

Jason's mind focused, and the dragon chi within him shifted instantly.

A sphere of golden-green light gathered in his palm, radiating vitality. His expression hardened with determination as he drove his fist forward!

The transformed dragon chi surged into Daredevil's chest. The possessed vigilante released an unearthly scream as extraordinarily dense black energy erupted from his body. The darkness writhed and convulsed, desperately trying to reclaim its host.

Kingpin, now back on his feet, noticed the phenomenon. He roared with fury and charged forward!

In that critical moment, Jason converted every ounce of energy in his body into pure electrical power, unleashing it without restraint!

Amid the violent tempest of lightning, he stood like a god incarnate on earth. The electrical storm not only blocked Kingpin's approach but prevented the black energy from reconnecting with Daredevil.

At the epicenter of this maelstrom, Daredevil slowly regained consciousness.

He remained disoriented for only a moment before his eyes filled with despair. Gazing at the burning city around them, he whispered, "What have I done?"

"You've become a criminal, Matt Murdock," Jason answered grimly.

"You know my name?" Daredevil's head snapped up in surprise. "You're... Iron Man? No—Hell’s Butcher!"

Jason nodded, his expression tinged with solemnity. "Matt, I'm going to kill you."

According to the system, after the demonic force expelled from his body, Daredevil is classified as a silver-tier target.

The electrical barrier was gradually weakening. Kingpin would break through at any moment.

Daredevil offered no resistance. He glanced at the black energy still straining to reach him, closed his eyes, and nodded in acceptance.

"The evil spirit attaches not just to the body, but to the soul," he said quietly. "It radiates outward constantly, contaminating everything it touches. But once it's completely dispersed, the corruption ends."

"Thank you. I understand."

Jason immediately crouched down, drew back his right arm, and channeled his strength. "I'll send you on your final journey."

His fist compressed the air like a pneumatic hammer.

BOOM!

Blood and flesh scattered across the pavement, mingling with the debris!

Without the enhancement of the black energy, Daredevil's physique simply couldn't withstand the impact of Jason's five-ton strike.

The electrical storm dissipated.

The black energy flashed and enveloped the broken remains on the ground, but at this level of destruction, even the demonic force couldn't revive him.

"NO!" Kingpin bellowed with rage. "What have you done? He was the perfect vessel! There are no others like him in this world!"

Kingpin rushed toward Jason with murderous intent, but in the next second, something extraordinary happened!

The black energy surrounding Daredevil's remains suddenly pulsed and shot directly into Kingpin's body!

In an instant, Kingpin's attack halted mid-stride.

CRACK!

The red ghost mask shattered. Kingpin clutched his head and screamed in agony before collapsing to the ground.

"Haha... hehe... hehe!"

An inhuman voice emerged from his throat.

He rose slowly, his eyes transformed into bottomless pits of darkness, wisps of black vapor seeping from them.

"Those pathetic old fools actually tried to seal away my consciousness! They died far too easily! They should have been roasted in hellfire for seven days and seven nights, then slowly carved into a thousand pieces!"

The entity fixed its pitch-black gaze on Jason, making a sound of appreciation. "Tsk, tsk... such perfect chest muscles, powerful thighs, and magnificent masculine features... Those blind old fools! They never realized that your body is the ultimate vessel in this world!"

Jason glanced at his system display as the possessed Kingpin regarded him with undisguised hunger: Platinum-tier target!

So this is the Beast's complete form? Jason thought grimly. After all this fighting and even sacrificing Daredevil, we're back to square one? Dammit, was Daredevil's death for nothing?

The Beast lunged at him. Jason met the attack head-on. They clashed with such force that the air rippled around them, dust and debris swirling in their wake.

This incarnation of the Beast was undeniably powerful—far stronger than the possessed Daredevil. But perhaps due to limitations of Kingpin's physical form, its raw strength remained slightly inferior to Jason's enhanced capabilities.

Still, Jason faced a seemingly insurmountable problem: expelling the complete version of the Beast from Kingpin's body would be extraordinarily difficult. Even with his dragon chi at maximum output, success wasn't guaranteed.

Dammit! Is the universe determined to prevent me from saving New York? One crisis ends only for another to begin. Are the lives of New Yorkers just cosmic playthings?

His gaze fell on the high-voltage cables he'd torn down earlier. With the earthquake's destruction, the power grid had long since failed.

Maybe I could find a power plant and finish him with an overwhelming electrical surge? Worth attempting...

Jason gritted his teeth, steeling his resolve. His eyes narrowed as he abandoned all restraint, channeling every remaining drop of dragon chi into one explosive burst.

Double the power!

BOOM!

His fist punched clean through the Beast's torso. Before the entity could recover, Jason delivered a devastating kick to its knee.

CRACK!

Left leg shattered.

CRACK!

Right leg destroyed.

Just as Jason reached to grab it by the collar, he sensed a disturbance.

Wisps of black energy were converging from all directions, floating through the air toward them.

The Beast, collapsed on the ground, laughed maniacally. "If I hadn't been forced to cross that magic circle, I wouldn't be so weakened! I don't need the bodies of insects like you anyway!"

Its voice dropped to a menacing growl. "But you don't seriously believe this represents the limit of my power, do you?"

A massive surge of black energy erupted from Kingpin's body, merging with the darkness gathering from the surroundings. Together, they formed a grotesque floating head with a single protruding horn.

"Become my perfect vessel," it commanded, "and I will lead you to conquer this world!"

Jason studied the enormous, malformed head hovering before him. His eyes reflected not fear but genuine curiosity.

"It seems you've never actually seen this world," he remarked casually. "You're just looking for a strong body, right? While my physique is impressive, there exists an even stronger form on this planet. A true behemoth with emerald flesh who can slam gods into the ground hard enough to leave craters!"

The dark entity hesitated. "Little mortal, don't attempt to deceive me! No amount of muscle can overcome a god!"

"You're painfully out of your depth. This planet is overflowing with wonders—gods, monsters, and forces beyond your comprehension. Every nightmare imaginable has walked this earth before you."

He stepped forward, eyes blazing.

"Little Beast… you chose the worst possible world to invade."

The black head quivered with rage. "How dare you! I will devour your soul!"

The darkness surged forward, enveloping Jason. At the same moment, Jason made his move—delivering a final devastating blow to the abandoned body of Kingpin.

BOOM!

"Hahaha! You're surrounded by my essence!" the black energy exulted as it wrapped around Jason's form.

"Hahaha! Kingpin is finished, and there's no one left for you to possess!" Jason countered, laughing at the darkness engulfing him.

The Beast's manifestation froze in confusion. What manner of creature was this? Was he actually sacrificing himself for justice?

Sensing something amiss but unable to identify the threat, the entity opened wide its maw and bit down on Jason—not attacking his physical form but striking directly at his soul.

To the Beast's shock, the bite was met with unexpected resistance. It felt as though its teeth had clamped down not on a human soul but on impenetrable stone.

"How is this possible?" it shrieked.

Jason shrugged nonchalantly. "Just kidding! Did you really think I'd waste time here with you if I didn't have [Soul Defense]? The game changed long ago!"

The Beast refused to concede, biting and hissing at Jason from every angle, but its efforts proved futile.

"Alright, what else can you do besides drooling all over me?" Jason waved dismissively. "You've had your turn attacking—now it's mine to counter!"

"What?!"

As the black energy fully enveloped Jason's body, he received a system prompt:

[System has detected a gift from the Beast. Do you wish to extract it?]

Extract.

"No! What is happening?!" The Beast's manifestation screamed in terror as an unknown force began to engulf its entire being.

It struggled desperately but couldn't break free!

"No! This is impossible! You cunning insect, this cannot be happening—"

[Congratulations on receiving the Beast’s gift: Demonized Body]

CLANG!

As the Beast vanished, something fell from the dissipating darkness—a single horn.

Jason picked it up, and an unfamiliar system notification sounded:

[Congratulations on obtaining: Beast Horn - Dimensional Teleportation Key]

Teleportation key?

Chapter 57: The First Battle of New York: The Belated Arrival of the Ancient One

Jason quickly discerned the horn's function through the system.

Teleportation!

According to his theory, although the Beast had arrived on Earth through the Hand's summoning ritual, it had prepared a contingency plan by creating this teleportation device.

However, since Earth was protected by mystical barriers, the Beast Horn couldn't create a direct passage from the Beast Dimension to Earth. Instead, it had to route through the Hell Dimension.

The Hell Dimension maintained a closer connection to Earth and could use certain methods to bypass the Sanctum's watchful eye.

The system easily decoded the method for using the horn.

Additionally, Jason had just received the [Demonized Body] gift from the Demon God, meaning he could fully utilize his new demonic powers to activate the Beast Horn!

He now had the capability to travel to Hell or even the Beast Dimension!

Of course, while Hell might be an option, venturing into the Beast Dimension would likely result in a swift and brutal death at the hands of the Beast's true form.

Yet just because humans couldn't safely go there didn't mean certain things couldn't be sent...

As these thoughts raced through his mind, a fiery spark suddenly materialized before him. It spun rapidly, expanding into a circular portal.

A bald woman in yellow robes stepped through.

Jason's expression shifted subtly. He gripped the Beast Horn in his right hand and concealed it behind his back. With a thought, black scales sprouted across his hand, muscles bulged beneath his skin, and razor-sharp claws extended from his fingertips, transforming into a demonic appendage.

The horn glowed faintly in response.

Maintaining a neutral expression, he addressed the newcomer. "Did the Ancient One forget her responsibilities? You're late."

The Ancient One regarded him thoughtfully before shaking her head.

“Set aside your tension. I mean you no harm.”

"Tense? Me? I'm the hero who just saved New York. I've performed a great service!"

The Ancient One sighed. "A few months ago, several creditors unexpectedly appeared at our doorstep. Since I had nothing to offer and their interest rates were exorbitant, I had no choice but to visit their establishments and negotiate with them... amicably. I didn't anticipate being away for so long, and regrettably, I've neglected certain matters here."

Jason's eye twitched at this explanation.

If you don't pay your debts, creditors show up at your door, and you pay them a "friendly visit" to negotiate...

It sounded remarkably like the plot of a yakuza film, but coming from this enigmatic bald woman, it took on an entirely different meaning.

The truth was likely that someone had borrowed against her will and refused repayment, so the creditors confronted her, followed her home, and things escalated from there.

The Ancient One, oblivious to Jason's internal musings, surveyed the destruction around them. "You've managed to resolve the situation. Rather impressively, I might add."

She extended her hand, and tendrils of black energy floating in the air—remnants of the Beast's power—gravitated toward her palm. With a single gesture, she annihilated them completely.

The distant sounds of chaotic shouting and inhuman roaring gradually subsided.

She glanced at the wary Jason and continued, "You needn't worry. Your fate is intertwined with this world now. I have no intention of interfering with that."

"Even though I'm not originally from this universe?"

"Destiny charts its own course. Those who try to rewrite it inevitably suffer the consequences. Once your vision extends beyond space, time, and even the multiverse itself, you'll understand—life and death, good and evil, existence and nonexistence—they're all impartial facets of reality. I require no aid, nor could I bear the burden of more."

Jason frowned in confusion. "Then why continue protecting this world?"

"Force of habit," she replied simply. "I'd like to relinquish this burden, but the responsibility I've assumed requires a successor."

Jason's eyes brightened. "Me! Choose me! Aren't I a one-in-a-million genius? I want to become the Sorcerer Supreme!"

The Ancient One's lips curved into a slight smile as she shook her head. "As I said, fate has predetermined its course. It cannot be forced."

Jason sighed in disappointment, then his eyes gleamed calculatingly. "Well, considering I did you a favor by destroying the Beast, perhaps you could offer a small token of appreciation?"

The Ancient One raised an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"

"How about a few scrolls from the Book of Cagliostro?"

"No."

"A copy of... the Book of Vishanti?"

"No."

Just as expected.

Jason had anticipated these rejections, which is why his first two requests weren't his actual goal.

"Fine, then I want to learn your technique for dealing with creditors!"

The Ancient One fell silent momentarily before responding, "Very well. However, you're currently too weak—failure to repay such debts would prove fatal for you. Return when you've grown sufficiently powerful, and I'll teach you... how to borrow properly."

With those words, she departed.

Jason exhaled in relief, a surge of excitement rising within him. The Ancient One's borrowing methods were legendary! Once he mastered them, he could borrow from every deity in the cosmos!

After the Ancient One's departure, Jason began searching for survivors, with Wade naturally being his first priority.

Wade wasn't difficult to locate—the arrow protruding from his knee made him rather conspicuous.

Thankfully, he was still alive. Jason channeled the last remnants of dragon chi in his body to stabilize Wade's heartbeat.

Phew, that was close. I really wouldn't have wanted to explain this to Vanessa.

Next came Blade. Despite his unconscious state, his half-vampire physiology kept him well out of danger.

Then he found Black Widow, followed by Ward and Rumlow. He would have felt genuine remorse if any of them had perished. Curiously, despite thorough searching, he couldn't locate Nick Fury anywhere.

What happened? He was definitely knocked unconscious right here. How could he have vanished?

What Jason didn't realize was that when Fury regained consciousness, he had witnessed Jason defeating the Beast. Rather than celebrating the victory, Fury had quietly crawled away from the scene.

At that very moment, he was huddled in a secluded corner, struggling to catch his breath.

The battle was finally over, but at tremendous cost.

Agent May had died in combat. Coulson had lost an arm. Clint Barton had lost an eye.

The Big Apple had suffered catastrophic losses.

The unexpected earthquake had driven most citizens outdoors, right into the path of the Beast's corrupting influence.

Everyone affected became irrationally aggressive, violently unhinged. The panic and terror caused by the earthquake had shattered their psychological defenses instantly.

"Welcome to Free America—where gunfights are a daily routine"—that phrase couldn't begin to describe the chaos that ensued.

Looting, destruction, arson, and murder swept through the streets. New Yorkers experienced firsthand what the people of war-torn regions endured: literal hell on earth.

Without intervention, the entire city would be in mourning by morning.

As Fury prepared to leave the area, he noticed a brilliant light appear on the horizon—something entering the atmosphere from space.

Hmph, another latecomer. That cosmic do-gooder who's never around when Earth needs him, always too busy protecting alien civilizations.

One hour later, on a heavily guarded luxury yacht docked at a small Staten Island pier, Vanessa, Jamse Wesley, and their associates had been waiting anxiously.

Finally, Wesley received a call. After ending it, his expression darkened. "Madam, it appears the Boss won't be joining us."

"Why not?"

"He's... gone."

"Who did it?"

"Iron Man... or Hell’s Butcher."

Vanessa closed her eyes, swaying slightly.

A commotion erupted on the quarterdeck; someone had apparently received the news, triggering an argument.

"Why should we go to Los Angeles when our boss is dead? Let's return to our own territories!"

"You treacherous bastard! You'd betray him so quickly?"

"The boss is dead!"

Vanessa approached with Wesley at her side. Everyone recognized their authority and fell silent, though their expressions remained conflicted.

Vanessa addressed the bearded man who had suggested disbanding, her voice deceptively gentle. "You were all Wilson's most loyal associates. He valued each of you greatly. Why would you abandon him now?"

"If there was any chance the boss could return, I wouldn't leave. But he's gone—who will lead us now?"

"I will," Vanessa stated without hesitation.

Her answer shocked everyone present.

The bearded man chuckled dismissively. "You? On what authority?"

"This authority."

BANG!

A gunshot echoed across the deck. The bearded man stared in disbelief at the woman who had just put a bullet through his forehead, then collapsed heavily onto the polished wood.

Vanessa stood calmly, a delicate pistol gripped in her hand.

"Now, does anyone else wish to leave?"

The remaining men swallowed nervously.

Wesley, suppressing his own shock, quickly stepped forward. "Everyone, the boss had contingency plans already in place. Los Angeles is merely our first destination. I believe Madam is more than capable of restoring our former glory! Even with the boss gone, I strongly advise against defying his wishes!"

They exchanged uneasy glances but remained silent.

Under the starlit sky, the yacht cut through the waves, white foam occasionally splashing onto the deck.

On the bow, Vanessa gazed out at the vast, dark ocean ahead, still clutching the pistol.

"You promised I would never need to use this gun again. You broke your word."

She kissed the weapon before hurling it into the churning sea. "I swear, one day, I will return!"

Her vow dissipated into the night wind.

Behind her, despite having witnessed this lady's ruthlessness firsthand, Wesley frowned with concern.

He had studied Hell’s Butcher's file a hundred times and understood the rate at which Jason evolved.

Could mere mortals ever truly threaten someone like him?

Chapter 58: Target: Afghanistan

Several days had passed since that fateful night, and a pall of grief still hung over New York City.

Just as Jason had predicted, the crematoria had been operating around the clock, thick smoke continuously billowing from their chimneys.

Jason himself had been extraordinarily busy.

Hopewell Sanctuary was packed to capacity for days on end, filled with people desperate to atone for their sins.

He had been so overwhelmed that he'd resorted to issuing private indulgences on God's behalf.

He did this not for profit, but to comfort the terrified populace.

The hellish scenes they'd witnessed had shaken everyone to their core. Many believers questioned whether God had abandoned their city.

Jason reassured them passionately: "Have no fear! God will never abandon His faithful followers!"

He held the Bible aloft, his voice ringing out: "Where the Bible is, God is present!"

The congregation echoed his declaration: "Where the Bible is, God is present!"

Hopewell Sanctuary's reputation soared in the aftermath.

Despite his hectic schedule, Jason still made time to see Wade off.

Although Wade had sustained serious injuries during the battle, his external wounds had healed after treatment in the Fraternity's regenerative pool.

David had located Smith, the broker for the mutation laboratory.

Jason, David, and Vanessa gathered to bid Wade farewell as he prepared to undergo the procedure.

Wade gazed intently at Vanessa, his expression unusually sincere. "Vanessa, you have to wait for me. I promise I'll return. And don't you dare fool around with other men while I'm gone—I don't want to end up on the Murray Show holding someone else's baby when I get back!"

Tears welling in her eyes, Vanessa punched his chest. "You jackass! Just don't die in there!"

Wade clutched his chest with exaggerated pain. "Ouch! You hit me so hard! You're murdering your husband..."

Standing behind them, Jason and David exchanged eye-rolls at the couple's dramatics.

"Ahem!" Jason cleared his throat pointedly. "That's enough nonsense. You'll have plenty of time to talk for three days straight when you get out in a few months."

Wade snorted derisively. "When I get out, we'll be talking for a lot longer than three days!"

Jason rolled his eyes, glancing toward Smith who waited impatiently nearby. "Get going. Don't keep him waiting too long."

Wade pulled Jason a few steps aside and lowered his voice. "Are you absolutely certain the healing pool can't save me?"

"Of course I'm sure. It only works for injuries, not disease.

Don't worry—how many times have I told you? You're not going to die! Didn't Vanessa promise to love you no matter what you became? What are you afraid of?"

Wade fell silent for a moment, then gritted his teeth. "I'm warning you—if I end up with a third eye in the middle of my forehead, I'm going to stare you to death with it!"

Jason waved dismissively. "Yes, yes, whatever you say. Just remember to hide the tracker. After the mutation, as soon as you activate it, I'll come running to get you out."

Wade clenched his jaw in frustration. "You know they're going to strip-search me, but you still want me to bring a tracker? Where exactly am I supposed to hide it?"

Jason glanced downward meaningfully. "I think you've found quite an effective hiding spot."

"You absolute squid!"

As Wade climbed into Smith's car, Jason received a notification that a $3,000 broker's fee had been deposited into his account.

Well, well. Smith is remarkably reliable.

Jason smiled at Vanessa. "Come on. I promised Wade I'd take good care of you. You're coming home with me tonight."

Upon returning to Hopewell Sanctuary, they found two people waiting quietly by the entrance—one man and one woman, one heavyset and one slender.

The moment Jason saw them, he realized that what he'd been anticipating had finally happened.

What puzzled him, however, was why Pepper Potts and Happy Hogan had come to see him specifically.

Jason invited Pepper to sit in the church's back garden.

She twisted her fingers nervously. "Father, I... you..."

Jason waved his hand casually. "Has something happened to Stark?"

Pepper looked startled. "How did you know?"

Jason shrugged. "Why else would you come to me?"

Pepper fought to control her anxiety. "You're... Iron Man, aren't you?"

Jason didn't answer directly. "Who else did Stark tell besides you?"

"No one!" Pepper insisted. "He hasn't told anyone—not even me!"

She paused briefly. "Before he left, he suddenly called me to his office and gave me a sealed envelope. He said if anything happened to him on this trip, I should open it. That's how I just learned the truth."

Jason nodded thoughtfully. So Stark was still being discreet about the information.

But are you already considering me your backup plan so soon?

"So why come to me? Or rather, what does Stark want you to do?"

Tears suddenly welled in Pepper's eyes. "Please... save him!"

"First, tell me exactly what happened."

Pepper recounted the story, matching what Jason already knew from his former life.

Although this information remained classified, it wouldn't be long before the world learned about Tony Stark's capture.

Jason frowned. "I don't even know where he is. How am I supposed to save him?"

Slap!

Pepper placed a card on the table. "Here's fifty million dollars as a reward."

Jason's eye twitched. "This isn't about money. I genuinely don't know how to locate him..."

Slap!

Another card joined the first.

"The total is one hundred million dollars. All we ask is that you commit yourself fully to the mission. The outcome, as you say, is in God's hands."

Jason was momentarily speechless.

Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse?

After seeing Pepper off, Jason began his preparations.

In truth, even if it weren't for Stark's rescue, he'd been planning an extended journey to confirm certain theories.

He needed to arrange his affairs at home first.

Hopewell Sanctuary would be managed by David, who was better suited to administrative work than fieldwork, along with Wade's girlfriend Vanessa. They would handle the indulgences and daily operations without issue.

Meanwhile, David would continue providing intelligence support remotely.

Fox and the others would maintain the Fraternity's operations.

Alessa, Elektra, and Alexandra had been lying low recently. The Hand had suffered a devastating blow and internal tensions were high.

Although Alexandra had rapidly transferred assets overnight, she'd only managed to secure tens of millions so far.

Jason had invested this money, along with some of the Fraternity's liquid funds, in Stark Industries stock.

He had also founded a pharmaceutical company called "Future," and once additional funding was secured, he planned to officially hire Dr. Karen, the researcher studying vampire blood.

This would allow them to analyze the formula of the Fraternity's healing pool and develop revolutionary new medicines that would take the market by storm.

Recovering from near-fatal injuries overnight? Such breakthroughs would transform medical science as the world knew it.

It was easy to envision a vast medical empire rising from these foundations.

Before departing, Jason finally acquired the treasure he'd been coveting—Kingpin's vibranium armor.

The material had been drawn into ultrafine filaments and interwoven with other high-tech threads.

While it couldn't match the protection offered by solid vibranium plate, its defensive capabilities far exceeded those of the best military-grade bulletproof vests on the market.

Thanks to Kingpin's enormous size, after alterations, Jason not only got a vibranium vest but also a pair of vibranium shorts.

Combined with his own enhanced defensive attributes, he had little to fear even when charging into artillery-filled battlefields!

Beyond rescuing Stark and turning a profit, this mission offered opportunities for further upgrades.

Terrorists certainly qualified as legitimate targets. And speaking of targets...

By the way, would the U.S. troops in Afghanistan qualify as "guilty" too?

Chapter 59: Upgrade Paradise

"Clang, clang..."

In the dim, cavernous chamber, Tony Stark, his face streaked with grime, hammered methodically at a large iron plate.

He was acutely aware of the surveillance camera monitoring his every move from the shadows.

Reflecting on his ordeal over the past several days, he had only one assessment: utterly brutal!

One moment he'd been sipping champagne and posing for photos, the next—ambushed and abducted!

Having a gaping hole carved into his chest and being forced to forge weapons for terrorists was beyond barbaric!

Fortunately, he had a contingency plan—to construct a primitive but effective suit of armor.

Beyond this immediate strategy, another hope sustained him in the darkest moments.

Iron Man.

Surely, for the money if nothing else, he would come... right?

On impulse, Tony had slipped two bank cards into the envelope he'd left for Pepper. Now he second-guessed himself—was one hundred million too modest an offer?

He should have included more!

Tony recalled a saying: "The greatest tragedy in life is when a person dies with money still in their account."

If he perished here, he'd leave far too much unspent wealth behind!

Iron Man, wherever you are... hurry.

Jason had arrived at Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan several days earlier.

His cover identity: a professional tracking specialist contracted by Stark Industries to assist in locating their missing CEO.

After two days of accompanying military search parties, he'd found no trace of Stark—but had noticed something telling. The soldiers seemed to merely go through the motions, displaying little genuine commitment to finding the billionaire.

This indifference extended beyond the grunts to the senior officers as well.

When one of their major defense contractors had been attacked, they projected an image of all-out effort while subtly dragging their feet.

Given the overwhelming might of the U.S. military, if Stark's convoy had been ambushed, air support should have arrived within minutes.

The terrorists might have been able to kill Stark, but abducting him without detection seemed implausible.

The most likely scenario: Stark's godfather, Obadiah Stane, was colluding not only with the Ten Rings terrorists led by Raza but also with high-ranking military officials.

Unlike Stark, Obadiah was deeply integrated into the vast American military-industrial complex—one of their own.

Initially, personnel at the air base had regarded Jason's arrival with suspicion.

However, when they observed him seemingly putting in minimal effort and frequently slacking off, tensions dissipated. They recognized a kindred spirit, or so they thought, and camaraderie quickly developed.

But Jason's objectives diverged sharply from theirs.

They wanted Stark to die at the terrorists' hands. Jason needed Stark to complete his transformation and return triumphant.

After all, if Stark didn't return as the hero destined to become Iron Man, Jason's investment strategy would collapse.

Despite his apparent indolence, Jason had been anything but idle. From the moment he'd stepped off the transport plane, he'd been stunned by what his unique perception revealed:

The entire base was teeming with potential target!

Numerous bronze-tier officers, a significant number of silver-tier commanders, and even several gold-tier generals.

He'd fallen asleep each night with his pillow dampened by anticipatory saliva.

Each morning, he lamented the same dilemma—there were simply too many targets. With thousands of personnel stationed at such a massive installation, even dual Gatling guns would prove insufficient.

An opportunity this rich presented itself only once. Hasty action would be catastrophic. This required meticulous planning.

Under cover of darkness, while the base slumbered, Jason stealthily rose from his bunk. Dressed entirely in black, he navigated around surveillance cameras and patrol routes to infiltrate the facility's classified sectors.

His objective was straightforward: maps.

Detailed cartography of U.S. military deployments throughout Afghanistan, along with intelligence on armed factions and terrorist strongholds identified by American forces.

Days earlier, he had surreptitiously planted advanced micro-eavesdropping devices in the offices and conference rooms of several key figures at the base.

While searching for the maps, he'd intercepted numerous fascinating communications.

For instance, in an effort to "revitalize Afghanistan's cashmere industry," the military had allegedly spent $600 million airlifting nine specialized goats from Italy—animals that ultimately ended up as elaborate feast centerpieces. To "support" the Afghan National Army, $9 million had been allocated for dark green forest camouflage uniforms, later discovered to make soldiers exceptionally visible targets in Afghanistan's predominantly desert terrain.

He'd also intercepted a telephone report from a senior CIA official boasting that thanks to their agents' efforts, opium cultivation in Afghanistan had increased more than twentyfold since the American invasion.

Production had reportedly reached over 4,000 tons, constituting more than half the global supply.

The official praised how effectively this had eroded the Afghan people's resolve and physical health, weakening resistance. Next, the CIA planned to invest in extraction of ephedrine from local plants, ensuring every Afghan family would have employment opportunities—and access to narcotics at every meal.

Additionally, Jason uncovered disturbing mentions of "Red Wedding" operations, "Entertainment Shooting Teams," and "Justice from Heaven" airstrikes that had reportedly obliterated entire villages.

Murder, bombardment, rape, unlawful detention, drug production and trafficking—the complete spectrum of atrocities.

Their actions thoroughly justified their classification as "target."

Taking advantage of the deepest hours of night, Jason successfully accessed the base commander's computer, downloading defense maps and intelligence reports.

After an extensive search through the armory colonel's office, he finally discovered classified information that made his eyes gleam with anticipation.

The following morning, Jason dramatically altered his previously lackadaisical demeanor, vocally condemning the military's inadequate search efforts for Stark.

After a heated confrontation, he stormed off the base.

This departure generated minimal concern—after all, he was merely a tracking specialist, easily replaced.

One hundred kilometers from Bagram Air Base.

A U.S. military checkpoint stood at a strategic traffic chokepoint and crucial transportation node, staffed by more than a dozen soldiers.

They even had a tank.

In the late hours, the personnel on watch struggled against drowsiness. This had been designated a secure zone with no armed engagements reported for several months.

"Meowww!"

A piercing feline screech split the night air.

Ryan, manning the checkpoint, jolted awake. He glanced at the private who was similarly dozing beside him and delivered a sharp kick.

"Damn it! Stay awake!"

The private reluctantly opened his bleary eyes, looked at Ryan, then suddenly widened them in terror, his entire body convulsing as though he'd witnessed something supernatural.

Ryan cursed irritably. "What the hell are you staring at?"

The private pointed a trembling finger behind Ryan. "G-ghost... there's a ghost..."

Ryan felt a chill crawl up his spine.

He turned around hesitantly and, in the meager light, beheld—

A demonic figure towering over two meters tall, covered in black and blue scales, with muscles like steel cables, dagger-like claws, and obsidian eyes. Two additional eyes on its head regarded him with a predatory tilt!

Dear God... what manner of monster is this?

Before Ryan could process the thought, those terrible claws had already seized his head.

CRACK!

His skull burst like an overripe melon.

Private Gan attempted to flee, but his legs betrayed him. He tried to scream, but his throat produced only a strangled croak.

The demon approached, its fist lashing out with impossible speed. THUD!

Gan experienced the curious sensation of flight, reminiscent of his childhood days running beneath the setting sun...

Jason flexed his wrist experimentally. This was his first field test of the [Demonized Body].

The results were satisfactory. While his physical attributes weren't significantly enhanced beyond his normal capabilities, he could now emit the black energy.

This dark force could corrupt minds, triggering manic and violent emotional states.

It was also extraordinarily corrosive, capable of eating through steel in seconds.

Most importantly, the demonic transformation completely masked his human aura.

Beyond providing him with combat advantages, when he eventually ventured into Hell or the Beast Dimension, he wouldn't immediately be identified as human.

The impact of launching Private Gan through the air seemed to attract attention; movement erupted from the barracks.

Jason hesitated no longer and strode forward with purpose.

Chapter 60: Devil's Legend, Terror Spreads

Within moments, no survivors remained at the checkpoint.

The M1A1 Abrams tank positioned in the center of the compound proved utterly useless.

Jason tossed several grenades into the ammunition depot and vanished in a blur of motion.

Seconds later, a massive explosion obliterated the entire outpost.

That same night.

In an abandoned factory on the city's outskirts.

CIA agents conducted a transaction with local Afghan operatives.

The agents tossed several stacks of crisp green currency across the table. In return, the Afghans produced a duffel bag filled with neatly packaged "brick-shaped" parcels.

Both parties maintained a practiced efficiency—minimal conversation, the exchange completed in seconds.

Just as they prepared to depart, the single bare lightbulb illuminating the space shattered, struck by a projectile from the darkness.

"You backstabbing sons of bitches!" one agent shouted. "Trying to rob United States government agents? You're signing your own death warrants!"

"No, sir, we didn't—"

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Chaos erupted—shouts, screams, pleas for mercy. When emergency lights finally activated, the lead agent spat contemptuously at the bodies sprawled across the floor.

"Pathetic. You think you can double-cross Americans? You're not nearly ruthless enough. Let's move out!"

As he turned to leave, he noticed a shadow passing through the periphery of his vision. Simultaneously, he realized one of his companions had vanished.

What the hell?

The remaining operatives immediately went on high alert, weapons raised, scanning the darkness.

Whoosh!

Another man disappeared.

What the fuck is happening?

"Open fire! Shoot anything that moves! Kill the bastard!"

BANG! BANG!

Gunfire erupted throughout the abandoned factory.

If anyone had been listening carefully, they would have noticed the distinct pattern—shots from six weapons became five, then four, then three...

Until silence fell.

Deep within a hidden cave, terrorists celebrated.

They had just completed an attack against civilian targets.

"Hurry up and contact Mossad! Tell them to wire the payment, or we'll take our services to MI6. They've been eager to work with us!"

Before they could place the call to claim credit, an uninvited guest breached their sanctuary.

Blood and carnage followed.

Only in their final moments did they comprehend the true agony of exsanguination, the genuine terror of mortality.

The legend of the Death Devil or Marg Sheytaan began spreading across the land.

Bagram Air Force Base.

A collection of senior U.S. military officials gathered in Afghanistan reviewed surveillance footage.

The screen displayed intelligence on the "Marg Sheytaan" who had rapidly gained notoriety—photographs and video clips captured by chance.

When a clear frontal image appeared, collective gasps filled the room.

A devil?

"I consider myself a strict materialist," one officer objected. "I question the authenticity of this footage. How could an actual devil exist in our world?"

Another nodded in agreement. "Though I'm a devout Christian, I refuse to believe some supernatural entity is responsible for these massacres. Perhaps it's some type of advanced combat suit or armor?"

General Pulver, Director of Intelligence, rose with a grave expression. "I'm afraid this entity is quite real, gentlemen. We have substantial evidence confirming its existence. Denying this reality is not a prudent approach."

The conference room fell silent.

"Jesus Christ," someone whispered. "Is this God's punishment upon us?"

"Impossible! We're God's chosen people—white Anglo-Saxons. Why would God punish us?"

The sole Black general in attendance fixed the speaker with a pointed stare but remained silent, conscious of his junior rank.

Admiral Glenn, the ranking commander of U.S. forces in Afghanistan, clapped his hands for attention. "According to intelligence reports, the Death Devil isn't exclusively targeting American forces. Let's avoid unfounded speculation. I've assembled you here to formulate a response strategy. Pulver, share Intelligence's assessment."

"Yes, sir!"

General Pulver stood. "Ladies and gentlemen, based on our analysis of available data, we've developed several theories. Since U.S. military personnel, CIA operatives, Afghan National Army units, and various armed groups have all been targeted, we believe the Death Devil isn't specifically focused on American forces, but rather on all groups sharing a particular... characteristic."

"What characteristic?" someone demanded.

Pulver hesitated. "Possibly... guilty."

"What?"

"I emphasize 'possibly,'" Pulver clarified quickly. "In areas where the Death Devil has operated, some Afghan National Army units were attacked while others were spared. Similar patterns exist among local militias. In one documented case, the entity infiltrated an Afghan National Army base, eliminated half the personnel, then departed without harming the remainder. Comparing victims with survivors, we've identified potential commonalities..."

"That's preposterous! No American servicemembers have been spared. Are you suggesting all U.S. forces are guilty? That's absurd! What about our cooks, clerks, and technicians who've never left the base—are they guilty too?"

Silence descended on the conference room.

Finally, someone sighed. "But they are foreign soldiers occupying another nation's territory..."

No one responded immediately.

"So we're all guilty?"

"This isn't the devil's jurisdiction—it's God's!"

"Kill it! Find a way to destroy this thing!"

"The sanctity of American military power and white hegemony cannot be violated. Unleash everything—aircraft, artillery, armored divisions. We're the most formidable fighting force on Earth!"

Admiral Glenn rapped his knuckles sharply against the table. "Gentlemen! I convened this meeting to develop actionable strategies. Neutralizing this threat is clearly our priority. The question is: how do we accomplish this?"

Pulver quickly interceded. "Based on current intelligence, we believe this Death Devil may not be as formidable as initially assumed. Regarding U.S. forces, it has never engaged medium or large base more than a hundred personnel. It primarily targets checkpoints, guard posts, and temporary outposts manned by dozen or fewer individuals. It appears to possess extraordinary reconnaissance capabilities, allowing it to detect and intercept many impromptu operations. Therefore, to minimize casualties, I recommend consolidating dispersed personnel immediately. They can temporarily redeploy to Bagram or other major bases. As for neutralizing the Death Devil, we can form a specialized hunter-killer team based on its observed behavioral patterns..."

Jason listened to the live broadcast as the generals debated strategies for his elimination.

These commanders likely never imagined that the Death Devil's primary intelligence-gathering method was simple—eavesdropping.

After years of unchallenged dominance in Afghanistan, they had grown complacent. Electronic surveillance wasn't even on their radar of concerns.

The U.S. military wasn't alone in its fear of the "Death Devil." Various armed factions throughout Afghanistan trembled at the mention of the entity.

During his recent campaign of systematic elimination, Jason had accidentally encountered a terrorist cell affiliated with the Ten Rings.

They were subordinates of the bald commander, Raza—the same man who had orchestrated Tony Stark's abduction.

Talk about serendipity.

Jason eliminated most of them, while the few survivors fled in terror to seek protection from their leader.

Soon, they unwittingly led him directly to the cave where Stark was imprisoned.

Under cover of night, when the guards were at their most fatigued, Jason silently infiltrated the compound.

Several layers of iron gates blocked his path, but he came prepared.

Alessa, the poison master, had equipped him with several specialized chemical compounds.

By igniting one particular vial, the resulting vapor would induce profound unconsciousness in anyone who inhaled it.

He successfully reached a massive iron door and peered through its small observation window. Inside, Stark slept soundly, soft snores escaping his lips.

A smile curved Jason's mouth. The key to my payday is right in there.

With a practiced eye, he identified electrical wires running from behind the door toward a distant monitoring station.

After a quick analysis, he located the surveillance system and attached a small device designed to freeze the video feed on a specific frame.

The timing was perfect—late night, with both Stark and his fellow captive Yinsen sleeping. Guards would not question their lack of movement.

Jason deployed the sleep-inducing compound for both men, deepening their natural unconsciousness before slipping into the chamber.

He extracted another vial and waved it beneath Stark's nostrils.

This specialized hallucinogen, when combined with the earlier sedative, could compel subjects to unconsciously reveal secrets during sleep.

"Stark," he whispered, "did you build a backdoor into the Jericho missile system?"

The Jericho—Stark's devastating cluster bomb demonstration for the military.

Three prototype units had been created. One was expended during the demonstration; two remained sealed in a nearby U.S. military arsenal close to the demonstration site.

Now that would make for an exciting payday.

The firing procedure for such a weapon would undoubtedly be complex, requiring multiple authorization codes and command confirmations.

Unless...