Marvel Hunter - Chapter 1
Chapter 1: The Freelancer and The Dragon
The heat in Afghanistan was not merely a temperature; it was a physical weight. It pressed against the cracked windowpanes of the shabby hotel room, radiation seeping through the glass to bake the stagnant air inside. The ceiling fan, a rusted relic of a bygone era, spun with a lethargic, rhythmic clack-whir-clack that sounded less like a cooling mechanism and more like a death rattle.
Paramveer Singh sat on the edge of a mattress that smelled faintly of old tobacco and dried sweat. He didn’t move. He barely blinked. To an observer, he would have appeared catatonic, a young man broken by the harsh environment.
He was a striking figure, though perhaps not for this specific corner of the world. His skin was a brownish, a shade that could almost blend into the local demographic, yet the geometry of his face—the high cheekbones, the sharp jawline, and the grooming of his stubble—marked him as an outsider. His clothes screamed it.
While the locals wore loose perahan tunban to mitigate the desert heat, Veer wore a fitted black tactical t-shirt that clung to his frame and heavy cargo trousers tucked into combat boots. He looked like what he was supposed to be: a mercenary. A gun for hire.
But Veer wasn’t looking at the dusty horizon of Gulmira village. He wasn’t tracking the heat haze shimmering off the sand dunes. He was staring intently at a point in the empty air, roughly two feet in front of his nose.
To the rest of the universe, there was nothing there. To Veer, a semi-transparent, holographic blue interface floated silently, defying the laws of physics.
—
[Template: Zeno Zoldyck]
[Synchronization: 23.3%]
Aura: Lv16
Power: 18 (Physical Strength Equivalent: ~9 Tons)
Affinity: Emitter
Abilities: Electric Resistance Lv3, Poison Resistance Lv3, Healing Factor Lv1
Skills: Assassin Mode Lv1 (0%), Snake Awaken Lv1 (0%), Silent Gait Lv1 (0%), Rhythm Echo Lv1 (0%)
Nen Techniques: Ten Lv1(84%), Zetsu Lv1(43%), Ren Lv1(0%), Gyo Lv1(0%), In Lv1(0%), En Lv1(0%), Shu Lv1(0%), Ko Lv1(0%), Ken Lv1(0%), Ryu Lv1(0%)
Hatsu: Dragon Lv1(0%)
—
Veer let out a long, controlled breath, the sound hissing through his teeth. He swiped his hand through the air, dismissing the screen. It vanished into motes of light that only he could see.
“23.3 percent,” he muttered, his voice raspy from the dry air.
It had been one month. One month since he had woken up in this body, in this hotel, in this world that was decidedly not the one he had been aiming for.
The plan—or rather, the cosmic roll of the dice—was supposed to send him to the world of Hunter x Hunter. It was a dangerous world, yes. People died there like flies during the Hunter Exams. Monsters roamed the Dark Continent. But compared to where he was now? Hunter x Hunter was a playground.
He was in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. The MCU.
This was a universe where Norse gods walked the earth as superheroes. It was a reality where a purple alien warlord was currently drifting through space, planning to wipe out half of all existence with a snap of his fingers. It was a world where Celestials gestated inside the planet’s core and multidimensional conquerors viewed timelines as snacks.
“God, I’m screwed,” Veer whispered, rubbing his temples.
He stood up and walked to the window, placing a hand against the hot glass. Below, the village of Gulmira was quieting down as the sun began to dip. Shadows stretched long and purple across the sand. It looked peaceful, but Veer knew better. This was the epicenter of a storm that was about to birth the age of heroes.
His survival depended entirely on the System, but even that was a double-edged sword.
The System was generous, yet cruel. It granted him the template of Zeno Zoldyck, the legendary assassin and former head of the Zoldyck family. Zeno was a monster in his own right—a man who could level buildings with dragons made of aura.
But there was a catch. The System gave him the potential and the raw stats, but not the experience.
When he merged with the template, he didn’t suddenly download sixty years of assassination experience. He didn’t instantly know how to murder a man with a playing card or how to suppress his presence until he was invisible. He got the hardware, but he had to write the software himself.
He looked down at his hands. They were trembling slightly. Not from fear, but from the sheer, contained energy buzzing beneath his skin.
Power: 18.
In System terms, that meant he could deadlift 9 tons without using a scrap of aura. That was absurd. He could pick up a city bus and throw it. He was already physically stronger than Captain America, arguably approaching the lower tiers of Asgardian strength.
But strength without control was just a bulldozer without a driver.
“Ten,” he whispered.
He closed his eyes and focused. He visualized the pores of his body, the invisible nodes that leaked life energy. He commanded them to open, and then, instantly, he commanded the energy flowing out to halt, to wrap around him like a warm, fluid suit of armor.
It was the basic defense technique of Nen: Ten.
This is definitely good. Plus problem is that this defence right now can’t stop bullet like other Nen user can do it.
Take for example his current aura shield is make of foam. The higher level he reach, the more compressed it became. Plus the consumption and wastage of aura will also decrease.
Ten Lv1 (84%).
“Almost there,” he grunted. He was close to level it up.
But Ren? The explosive output of aura? He hadn’t even touched it yet. And Hatsu—the actual special abilities like Zeno’s dragons—was a distant dream. He had the raw mana pool of a grand wizard but only knew how to cast a spark.
He turned away from the window and looked at the tactical gear laid out on the bed. A combat knife, a radio, a glock with two spare magazines, and a scarf.
He was Paramveer Singh now. The previous owner of this body was a mercenary. A bottom-feeder in the world of private military contractors.
In his previous life, Veer had been a fan of freelance work—graphic design, coding, working from home in his pajamas. He had quickly realized that being a mercenary in USA was just the violent version of the gig economy.
You had no health insurance. No job security. You spent months waiting for a contract, eating through your savings, hoping for a war to break out so you could pay rent. If you weren’t famous—if you weren’t a Blackwater elite or a Taskmaster—you were invisible.
The previous Paramveer had been starving. He had taken shady jobs, forged identities, and smuggled goods just to keep the lights on. He was a criminal on paper, though a desperate one.
The new Veer? He hadn’t killed anyone. Not yet. The idea of it made his stomach churn. But he was about to walk into a terrorist base, and he doubted they would accept a polite request to surrender.
“One hundred million dollars,” Veer said aloud, the number tasting sweet and impossible on his tongue.
That was the bounty.
A month ago, Tony Stark, the Merchant of Death, the CEO of Stark Industries, had vanished during a weapons demonstration in Afghanistan. The world was in a panic. Stark Industries stock had plummeted.
Obadiah Stane was running the show back in Malibu, playing the grieving friend, while secretly grinning behind the scenes.
But Stark Industries had issued an open contract. Find Tony Stark. Bring him home.
Reward: $100,000,000.
It was the largest bounty in mercenary history.
It had turned Afghanistan into a circus. Every gun-toting lunatic, every private militia, and every desperate freelancer from here to Madripoor had descended on the region. The intelligence reports suggested over fifty thousand mercenaries were currently scouring the desert, tearing apart caves, bribing villagers, and shooting each other over false leads.
They were looking for a needle in a haystack. After all, Afghanistan is a huge country filled with deserts.
But Veer didn’t need to search. He had something better than satellite imagery or local informants. He had the plot.
He knew exactly where Tony Stark was.
He knew about the Ten Rings. He knew about Raza. He knew about the cave tucked away in the canyons near Gulmira. He knew that right now, a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist was hammering away at a crude metal suit, might be forging his escape.
Veer had been in Gulmira for ten days, scouting, listening, and waiting. He had watched the Ten Rings trucks moving in and out of the canyon passes. He had confirmed the location.
Tonight was the night.
If he waited any longer, Tony might break out on his own. If that happened, Veer would lose the money. Or worse, the butterfly effect of Veer’s mere presence might have changed something. Maybe the suit malfunctions. Maybe Yinsen dies too early. Maybe Tony catches a stray bullet during the escape.
If Tony Stark died here, Iron Man would never exist. The Avengers would never form. And when Thanos eventually arrived, Earth would be nothing more than a pebble in his path.
“I have to save him,” Veer rationalized, tightening the laces on his combat boots. “For the world. And for the bank account. Mostly the world. But the bank account is a close second.”
He picked up the black scarf and wrapped it around his head, covering his mouth and nose, leaving only his eyes visible. He looked into the cracked mirror. He didn’t look like a hero. He looked like one of the terrorists he was about to fight.
It was a dark irony.
He checked the time on his cheap digital watch. 19:45.
The sun had fully set. The desert night was setting in, bringing with it a rapid drop in temperature.
Veer moved to the window. He didn’t plan on using the door. This village might be filled with spy.
He slid the window open. The wind howled softly, carrying grit.
“System,” he thought. “Status check on Aura.”
Aura: 100% Capacity.
“Good.”
He needed every drop.
Veer climbed onto the window ledge. He was on the fourth floor. A fall from this height would break the legs of a normal man. For him? It was a hop.
He didn’t hesitate. He stepped off into the void.
Gravity took hold, yanking him down. The wind rushed past his ears.
Impact in three, two…
He didn’t roll. He didn’t try to break his fall with technique. He simply landed.
THUD.
His boots hit the compacted sand of the alleyway behind the hotel. The ground cracked slightly under the impact, spiderwebs of fissures spreading out from his heels. His knees bent only an inch to absorb the force.
He stood up straight, brushing a speck of dust from his tactical pants.
“Durability check passed,” he murmured.
Now came the hard part. The base was twenty miles out, deep in the rocky terrain. A car would be too loud and would attract attention from the Ten Rings patrols. Walking would take too long.
He had to run.
He took a deep breath, closing his eyes again. He reached into the core of his being, finding that reservoir of life energy, the Nen that Zeno Zoldyck wielded with such terrifying grace.
“Ren.”
It wasn’t a whisper this time; it was a command.
Inside his body, the floodgates opened. Unlike Ten, which was a gentle shroud, Ren was an explosion. He pushed his aura outward, forcing it to surge through his muscles, his bones, his blood.
If anyone with the ability to see aura had been watching, they would have seen a violent, volatile eruption of purple energy flare up around Veer.
He almost like Saiyan powerup.
But the power… the power was intoxicating.
Veer felt his muscles engorge with energy. The 9-ton limit of his physical body shattered.
Ren Active. Strength Multiplier applied. Estimated Lifting Capacity: 15 Tons.
15 tons.
He felt light. He felt as if gravity had simply decided to stop applying to him. The fatigue of the day vanished. The fear in his gut was replaced by the adrenaline of absolute superiority.
He crouched low, his fingers grazing the sand.
“Let’s go get the billionaire.”
He pushed off.
BOOM.
The sound was like a grenade going off. The sand where he had been standing exploded backward in a massive cloud, digging a crater two feet deep.
Veer was already gone.
He was a blur in the moonlight. He tore through the outskirts of Gulmira, moving so fast that he was nothing more than a gust of wind rattling the shutters of the mud-brick houses.
When he hit the open desert, he really let go.
He ran with a stride that devoured distance. Each step propelled him thirty feet forward. He didn’t run like a track athlete; he ran like a predatory animal, low to the ground, his movements economical and terrifyingly fast.
A Toyota Hilux mounted with a machine gun was patrolling a ridge a mile away. The driver, a bored insurgent smoking a cigarette, saw a streak of dust rising in the valley below.
“What is that?” the gunner asked, squinting into the dark. “A motorcycle?”
“Too fast for a motorcycle,” the driver muttered. “Maybe a missile?”
Before they could focus their eyes, the dust trail had already curved around the mountain and vanished into the canyons.
Veer ignored the burning in his lungs. He ignored the sand whipping against his exposed eyes. He focused entirely on the map in his head and the burning sensation of Ren consuming his stamina.
He had maybe twenty minutes before his aura reserves dropped to dangerous levels. He had to reach the caves, deactivate Ren, recover using Zetsu, and then infiltrate.
The wind roared in his ears, but through the noise, he started to laugh. It was a breathless, manic sound.
For a month, he had been terrified. He had been mourning his old life, afraid of the cosmic horrors of the MCU. But right now, tearing across the Afghan desert faster than a sports car, feeling the strength of aura flowing through his veins, he realized something.
He wasn’t just a witness to this world anymore.
The canyon walls loomed ahead, jagged teeth silhouetted against the stars. The Ten Rings base was just beyond the ridge. Tony Stark was in there.
Veer skidded to a halt at the base of the cliff, the friction turning the sand to glass beneath his boots. He looked up at the sheer rock face, two hundred feet of vertical stone.
He didn’t look for a handhold. He simply crouched, channeled the aura into his legs, and jumped.
He soared upward, a shadow against the moon, rising to meet his destiny.
The slow game was over. It was time to change the plot.