"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.
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