In Marvel With Unique Skill Great Sage (MCU)

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But before he could catch his breath, the culprit behind his crash was already repositioning for a second shot.

A T-72 tank, stationed on the town's main road, adjusted its aim—

The barrel slowly tracked upward, preparing to fire another missile.

These ragtag terrorist gunners were laughably slow, though.

Lemu and Stark had chatted for nearly a full minute, and they still hadn't gotten the turret aligned for a second shot.

Stark wasn't about to give them the chance.

Raising his left arm, a compact missile launcher unfolded from the Mark III's gauntlet.

With a sharp whine, a small missile shot forward—

Directly toward the tank's turret hatch.

It was the same high-explosive model Lemu had handed to that kid earlier.

And as everyone knew—

A tank's weakest point is always its top armor.

BOOM!

The missile struck home, penetrating through the hatch before detonating inside the vehicle's confined space.

A brief flash, a violent eruption—and then the entire turret was blown clean off, sent flipping several meters into the air.

A deafening explosion shattered the battlefield as the tank's turret was violently ripped apart.

Molten fire poured into the exposed interior, igniting the remaining ammunition stores.

A second detonation followed—far more powerful than the first.

With a thunderous roar, the entire tank erupted, sending a massive fireball spiraling skyward like a grotesque firework display.

The surrounding terrorists reeled in shock, their instincts momentarily overridden by sheer panic.

Then—

Like disturbed vermin, they scrambled out of cover, weapons raised, desperately trying to retaliate.

Some sprayed gunfire toward Stark, their rifles and machine guns spitting rounds ineffectively at his armored frame.

Others rushed toward the nearest rocket launchers, hoping to down their aerial predator before it was too late.

But Stark didn't intend to give them that chance.

With a sharp thrust, the Mark III ascended, plasma jets roaring beneath his feet.

Raising both hands, he unleashed twin plasma beams, cutting through the battlefield like surgical scalpels.

Their target?

The terrorists' open-air munitions stockpile.

These fools had learned nothing from his escape through the canyon.

Everywhere he looked, ammunition crates lay scattered like a careless farmer's harvest of potatoes and sweet potatoes.

It was as if they wanted to die.

And so he obliged.

The entire stockpile ignited, setting off a chain reaction of explosions.

A titanic firestorm consumed the town, turning the landscape into an inferno.

The shockwave rippled outward, roaring flames devouring everything in their path.

Buildings collapsed, barriers were obliterated, and those unfortunate enough to be caught in the blast radius were instantly incinerated, their bodies reduced to ash and bone fragments.

A colossal mushroom cloud bloomed, reaching toward the heavens.

The sheer force of the explosion sent shockwaves rolling outward, shaking the very earth.

Within the firestorm, Ghost-1 and the Mark III remained unscathed.

Lemu stretched out his hand, his fingers slicing through the surging heat and flames, yet grasping nothing.

He could feel the sheer power of destruction, but there was no satisfaction in it.

Not really.

Without lingering, the two armored figures ignited their thrusters, piercing through the firestorm, leaving behind two streaking contrails against the smoldering sky.

As they soared through the air, something caught Lemu's attention.

His visor display zoomed in, auto-locking onto a distant convoy.

The image sharpened—

A charred, half-burned face stared back at him from across the kilometers.

It was him.

The leader of the Ten Rings cell that had once captured Stark.

A nameless, pitiful footnote in history.

Lemu recognized him instantly—

A pathetic, foolish man who had, despite having Stark in his grasp, somehow managed to let his greatest prize slip away.

A walking tragedy, doomed to be a pawn in Obadiah Stane's schemes.

Some creatures simply weren't meant to think.

Even among non-humans, there existed a hierarchy of intelligence.

Lemu turned away, disinterested.

There was no need to intervene.

According to the original trajectory of history, this man would soon be disposed of by Stane anyway.

A stepping stone was most useful when left in place.

But beyond that, Lemu had no attachment to "preserving" history.

He didn't care whether events unfolded as they originally had or if he reshaped them entirely.

What mattered was his own benefit.

But… The images wouldn't stop flashing in Lemu's mind.

The endless stream of refugees, their faces etched with despair.

The rotting corpses, strewn like discarded dolls across the war-torn land.

The charred ruins, whispering tales of destruction and lost futures.

And above all—

Those brown eyes.

Lemu let out a soft sigh, his grip on the controls tightening.

'Great Sage, hack into U.S. military satellites. I want 24/7 surveillance on that man.'

『Acknowledged.』

If that wretched insect somehow managed to survive, then Lemu would cross mountains and seas to finish the job himself.

That… would be our private little romance.

As expected, trouble awaited on their way back.

Flying over California's airspace, their presence triggered U.S. military response.

Two F-22 Raptors scrambled to intercept, streaking across the sky like predatory falcons.

Lemu didn't bother with the formalities.

With a sharp maneuver, Ghost-1's plasma thrusters ignited, propelling him into the clouds like a phantom.

He was gone before the pilots could even react.

Stark, however, wasn't as lucky.

Caught in the military's crosshairs, he had to play cat-and-mouse with the Raptors for a while.

Luckily, Colonel Rhodey ran interference, helping him slip away before things got ugly.

Both armors had radar-resistant coatings, making them difficult to track—

But the glaring heat signature from their plasma thrusters was impossible to hide.

Flying too low only made them easier to detect.

It was a lesson worth remembering.

….

The next morning.

Inside an extravagant private mansion, nestled deep within California's elite neighborhoods—

A man sat alone in the grand living room, watching the morning news.

Obadiah Stane dressed in comfortable loungewear, a thick golden chain hung prominently around his neck, giving him the air of an old-school crime boss.

The fireplace crackled, casting flickering shadows across his face.

The flames danced, reflecting the storm brewing in his mind.

On screen, the news played:

"A series of powerful explosions rocked Afghanistan last night, devastating a known Ten Rings stronghold. U.S. military officials have reported sightings of unidentified aerial objects in the area—"

Obadiah's expression darkened.

Yesterday, Stark came to confront me…

Today, this.

It felt like a slap in the face, a brutal reminder that his hold on Stark was slipping.

For years, he had believed he had already won.

He had outmaneuvered Stark, kept him chained within his own company, all while pulling strings in the shadows.

But now—

Stark had been hiding a hand all along.

Obadiah let out a slow exhale, his fingers tapping against the armrest.

His mind worked through the possibilities.

Then, after a long silence, he picked up his phone.

Dialed a number he hadn't used in a while.

When the line connected, his voice was calm, deliberate, calculated.

"Get in touch with our friends in Afghanistan."

"…Find out if he's still alive."

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+10 chapters on patreon.

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Cyberpunk x David with System on patreon.

Yoriichi x Akame Ga Kill on patreon.

Naruto(characters) x Fate Holy grail war on patreon.

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If you want to read 10+ chapters ahead and unpublished fanfics you can check out my patreon or just take a visit.

[P].[A].[T].[R].[E].[O].[N]

http://patreon.com/Kazuma_trash