Marvel Hunter - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The Merchant and The Mercenary

The air inside the mountain was different.

Outside, the desert night had been crisp, carried by the wind. Inside, the air was dead. It hung heavy and stagnant, tasting of diesel fumes, unwashed bodies, and the metallic tang of old blood.

Veer stood just past the threshold of the destroyed blast door, the twisted metal cooling under his fingers. He didn’t move immediately. He closed his eyes, shutting out the dim, flickering light of the halogen bulbs strung along the cave ceiling.

He focused inward, then outward.

He have En—the advanced technique that allowed a Nen user to extend their aura in a sphere to detect everything within it. But currently its range is just 1 meter diameter, which is not enough.

He was still relying on Zetsu and his heightened natural senses, amplified by the Zeno Zoldyck template.

In the darkness of his mind, he saw them.

They weren’t detailed images. They appeared as flickering candle flames in a void.

Forty-eight… forty-nine.

Forty-nine lives remaining in this labyrinth.

The flames varied in intensity. Some were steady and calm—likely sleeping. Others were erratic, flickering with the rhythm of elevated heart rates—fear, stress, or perhaps just the adrenaline of a card game.

Veer couldn’t identify who was who. A terrorist leader’s soul burned no differently than a hostage’s in this spectrum. He would have to verify visually.

He opened his eyes. The pupils had dilated, adjusting instantly to the gloom.

“Time to clean house,” he whispered.

He moved forward. The cave floor was uneven, carved from the living rock, but Veer’s boots made no sound. Silent Gait was becoming second nature now, a passive state rather than an active effort.

He passed the first alcove. Two guards were slumped in plastic chairs, AK-47s resting against their knees. Their heads were lolled back, mouths open in sleep.

Veer didn’t stop. He didn’t slow down. As he passed between them, his hands moved in a blur.

Crack. Crack.

He didn’t look back. The two flames in his mental map were snuffed out instantly.

He ventured deeper. The tunnel branched. To the left, the sound of low murmuring. To the right, silence.

He took the left.

The corridor ended in a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron bars. It wasn’t a high-security cell like the one that would hold a billionaire genius; it was a pen.

Veer frowned. He could sense multiple life signatures inside. Huddled together. Weak. The flames were dim, flickering as if in a strong wind.

He reached out and grabbed the iron padlock securing the bolt. With a pinch of his fingers—Claw active—he crushed the mechanism. The metal shattered like dried clay.

He swung the door open.

The smell hit him first. It was the scent of misery. Urine, fear, and despair.

Inside, huddled on dirty mats in the corner, were 18 women. They were a mix of locals in torn traditional garb and 7 women who looked European, likely journalists or aid workers who had vanished months ago.

When the door opened, they didn’t scream. They flinched. They curled into tighter balls, hiding their faces, expecting another night of horror.

Veer stood in the doorway, his silhouette backlit by the corridor lights. He looked at them, his expression unreadable behind the blood-soaked scarf.

For a moment, the assassin’s cold logic wavered. The Zeno template told him they were irrelevant to the mission. They weren’t the target. They were baggage.

But Paramveer Singh felt a surge of cold, white-hot rage.

He had killed over two hundred men outside without feeling a thing. It had been a job. But seeing this? This made him glad he had done it. It justified every snapped neck and crushed skull.

“You’re free,” Veer said. His voice was low, echoing slightly in the small space.

The women didn’t move. One of the Europeans looked up, eyes wide with terror. She saw the blood splattered across Veer’s chest, the dark stains on his hands. To her, he looked like a demon who had just crawled out of a bloodbath.

“Who… who are you?” she stammered in English.

“The janitor,” Veer said flatly. “I took out the trash. The way is clear.”

He stepped back, leaving the door wide open.

“Go to the entrance. Wait near the trucks. Don’t wander off into the desert.”

He didn’t wait for gratitude. He didn’t offer comfort. He turned on his heel and walked away. He had a hundred-million-dollar package to locate, and he was losing time.

Behind him, he heard the tentative shuffling of feet. The disbelief. And then, the gasps as they stepped into the corridor and saw the two dead guards.

Veer pushed the thought of them aside. He had to focus.

He navigated the winding tunnels, descending deeper into the mountain. The air grew warmer here, stifling.

Clang.

Veer froze.

Clang.

It was a rhythmic, heavy sound. Metal striking metal. It echoed through the stone, faint but distinct.

Veer tilted his head. It sounded like a blacksmith’s forge.

“Found you,” he murmured.

He picked up the pace. He encountered three more patrols in the deeper tunnels. They were awake, alert, likely guarding the prize.

They didn’t stand a chance.

Veer moved through them like a gust of wind. He didn’t use his hands this time; he simply moved too fast for them to track. A throat chop here, a shattered knee there, followed by a swift end. He was efficient. Brutal.

He turned the final corner.

There was a massive steel door, far heavier than the others. A small sliding viewport was set at eye level. Two guards stood in front of it, smoking, looking bored.

Veer stepped out of the shadows.

The guards jumped, reaching for their rifles.

“Who is—”

Veer crossed the ten meters between them in a single second. He grabbed their heads, one in each hand, and slammed them together.

Thud.

They collapsed.

Veer dusted his hands off. He stepped up to the door and slid the viewport open.

The room inside was a workshop. It was cluttered with tools, wires, missile parts, and blueprints scattered on tables. In the center, illuminated by a stark work light, two men were hunched over an anvil.

One was balding, wearing glasses—Ho Yinsen.

The other was unmistakable. Even with the grime, the bruises, and the desperate look in his eyes, it was him.

Tony Stark.

He was hammering a curved piece of metal—the chest plate of the Mark I.

Veer watched for a moment. It was surreal. He was watching a movie scene play out in real life. But something was off. The suit wasn’t assembled. It was just pieces. In the movie, they were almost done by the time the escape happened. Here, they were clearly weeks away from completion.

“Good thing I came,” Veer thought. “Or he’d be dead before he got the helmet on.”

He looked at the door. It was secured by a heavy electronic lock and a solid steel bolt on the outside.

“Open sesame,” Veer deadpanned.

He jammed his fingers into the gap between the door and the frame.

Claw: Max Output. Ren: Partial Activation.

Veer grunted, his muscles bulging beneath his tactical shirt. He didn’t slide the bolt. He didn’t pick the lock.

He pulled.

SCREEEEEEECH.

The sound was deafening. Metal screamed in protest as the steel frame warped. The hinges popped like gunshots—BANG, BANG, BANG—and the entire heavy door was ripped from the wall.

Veer tossed the door aside. It crashed onto the stone floor with a thunderous clang that shook the dust from the ceiling.

Inside the room, silence fell.

Tony Stark dropped his hammer. Yinsen grabbed a crowbar, stepping in front of Tony. They looked terrified.

Veer stepped into the light.

He looked like a nightmare. He was covered in layers of dried and fresh blood. His eyes were intense, framed by the black scarf. He didn’t have a gun. He just had his hands.

Veer looked at the man with the glowing circle in his chest.

“You Tony Stark?”

Tony blinked. He looked at Yinsen, then back at Veer. He looked at the door lying on the ground—a door that weighed at least five hundred pounds, which this kid had just peeled off like a sticker.

“That depends,” Tony said, his voice hoarse but retaining that trademark rapid-fire cadence. “Are you here to kill me? Because if you are, I’m actually Ho Yinsen’s assistant. He’s the billionaire. Terrible tipper, though.”

Yinsen lowered the crowbar slightly, confused. “English? You speak English?”

“I am the person who came to rescue you,” Veer said, ignoring the deflection. He glanced at the table full of scrap metal. “Is the suit ready?”

Tony stiffened. His eyes narrowed instantly. “Suit? What suit? We’re making… walkers. For the disabled. Very humanitarian.”

Veer rolled his eyes. “The flying metal suit, Stark. The one you’re building to blow your way out of here. Don’t play dumb. I can see the chest plate right there.”

Tony stepped forward, pushing Yinsen slightly behind him. “Who are you?”

“I’m Veer,” he said simply. “I’m a contractor. And right now, I’m your ticket out of hell.”

He walked over to the table and picked up a piece of the casing. He shook his head.

“It’s not finished,” Veer observed. “You can’t fly out in this.”

“We need more time,” Yinsen said, his voice trembling. “We just need—”

“You don’t have time,” Veer interrupted. “And you don’t need the suit. Let’s go.”

Tony looked at Veer’s empty hands. He looked at the blood-soaked clothes. He looked at the lack of a rescue team behind him.

“Let’s go? Just like that?” Tony scoffed, waving his hands nervously. “Did you miss the army of heavily armed psychopaths outside? What’s the plan? You going to ask them nicely to let us pass? Maybe offer them a coupon code for Stark Industries toasters?”

“There is no army outside,” Veer said calmly. “Not anymore.”

Tony paused. “What does that mean?”

“It means they’re dead,” Veer said. “Now move. I’m not getting paid by the hour.”

Veer turned and walked out of the cell.

Tony and Yinsen exchanged a look.

“Is he serious?” Tony whispered.

“He tore the door off, Stark,” Yinsen whispered back. “I think we should follow him.”

They ignore everything and ran after Veer.

The walk back through the tunnels was a journey into horror.

At first, Tony was skeptical. He expected an ambush around every corner. He kept checking behind him, grabbing a loose metal pipe as a weapon.

Then they saw the first body.

“Jesus,” Tony hissed, stepping over the guard with the twisted neck.

Then they saw the next two. Then three more.

By the time they reached the main cavern—the barracks area—Tony stopped talking.

The scene was apocalyptic.

Bodies were everywhere. Slumped against walls, lying in the middle of the path, draped over crates. There were no bullet holes. No explosions marks yet. Just… broken people.

It was silent. The only sound was the hum of the generators and their own footsteps.

“Did you…” Yinsen covered his mouth, his face pale. “Did you kill all of them?”

Veer didn’t stop walking. “Yes.”

Tony jogged to catch up, his eyes wide, scanning the carnage. “How? There’s no way. You’re one guy. Did you gas them? Did you poison the water supply?”

“I used my hands,” Veer said, pointing to the exit.

“Your hands,” Tony repeated, skepticism warring with the evidence before his eyes. “Right. You’re the Karate Kid on steroids. Look, Karate kid, whatever your name is—are you some kind of monster? A super-soldier experiment gone wrong?”

Veer stopped. He turned to face Tony.

The blood on his face made his smile look grim.

“No. I’m a poor, desperate mercenary who really likes the reward of one hundred million dollars on your rescue quest.”

Tony stared at him. “One hundred million? Is that what I’m worth? I’m insulted. I would have put it at five hundred, easy.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Veer said. “Obadiah probably set the price hoping no one would actually collect it.”

Tony froze. “Obie? What does Obie have to do with this?”

Veer realized he had slipped. He shrugged. “Just a guess. Corporate politics. Let’s move.”

They reached the mouth of the cave. The cool night air hit them.

Outside, the scene was even more striking under the moonlight. The entire valley was a graveyard.

Near the parked trucks, the group of women Veer had rescued were waiting. They were huddled together, shivering, but alive.

When they saw Veer, they stepped back instinctively. But when they saw Yinsen and the American with him, they realized it was real. They were actually leaving.

Tony looked at the women, then at the stockpiles of weapons surrounding the camp. Crates of Stark missiles. Boxes of repulsor tech. Launchers with his name stamped on the side.

“My weapons,” Tony whispered. “They have everything.”

He walked over to a crate marked ‘STARK’. He ran his hand over the cold metal casing.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Tony muttered. “This isn’t what I made them for.”

Veer walked to the nearest truck, a sturdy military transport. “Get in the truck. You drive, Stark. I assume you know how to drive a manual transmission?”

“I can drive anything with wheels,” Tony snapped, distracted. He turned to Veer, his expression hardening. “We can’t leave this.”

Veer opened the passenger door. “Excuse me?”

“The weapons,” Tony said, gesturing wildly at the valley. “We can’t just leave them here. If someone else comes… if the remnants of the Ten Rings come back… they’ll use them. We have to destroy it. All of it.”

Veer sighed. He rubbed his temples. “Stark, look at me. I am tired. I am covered in other people’s fluids. My mission is to extract you. Not to be your garbage man. Blowing this place up wasn’t in the contract.”

“I’ll pay you,” Tony said instantly.

Veer paused. “Go on.”

“Double,” Tony said. “I’ll double the bounty. Two hundred million. Just blow it to hell.”

Veer looked at Tony. The man was serious. This wasn’t about money for him; it was about redemption. It was the birth of Iron Man’s morality, right here in the dirt.

Veer grinned beneath his scarf. “Deal. But I want it in a separate transfer. Offshore account.”

“Done,” Tony said. “Now, do you have any C4? Or are you going to punch the missiles until they explode?”

“Get everyone in the truck,” Veer commanded. “Drive to the ridge. Don’t stop until you’re clear of the blast zone.”

“What about you?” Yinsen asked.

“I’ll catch up.”

Tony didn’t argue. He ushered Yinsen and the women into the back of the truck. He jumped into the driver’s seat, hot-wiring the ignition with practiced ease.

“You better not die, kid!” Tony yelled out the window. “I don’t pay ghosts!”

The truck roared to life and sped off towards the valley exit, kicking up a cloud of sand.

Veer stood alone in the center of the camp.

He looked at the missiles.

“System,” he thought. “How much aura do I have left?”

[Aura: 65%]

“Enough.”

He began to run. He gathered grenades from the fallen bodies of the terrorists. He found a crate of C4 in the command tent.

He worked with the speed of a blur. He rigged the ammo dump. He tossed grenades into the fuel depot. He placed a brick of C4 directly onto the missile.

He set the timer on the C4.

Thirty seconds.

Veer stood up. He looked towards the exit. The truck was already halfway up the ridge road.

“Ren.”

He didn’t hold back this time. He flared his aura. The purple energy erupted around him, casting long, dancing shadows against the canyon walls. The ground beneath his feet cracked under the pressure.

Power: 38 -> Boosted to 60.

He felt light as a feather.

He started to run.

Five seconds.

He was a streak of lightning cutting through the dark.

Four seconds.

He hit the base of the ridge. He didn’t climb. He leaped. He vaulted over boulders, clearing twenty feet at a time.

Three seconds.

The truck was nearing the crest.

Two seconds.

Veer saw the tailgate of the truck.

One second.

He pushed off the ground with everything he had, launching himself into the air just as the timer hit zero.

BOOM.

The world turned white.

Behind him, the valley floor disintegrated. The missiles sympathetically detonated, creating a chain reaction that looked like a miniature sun being born. The shockwave rippled outward, pulverizing the rock, vaporizing the tents, and erasing the Ten Rings base from the face of the earth.

The truck swerved violently as the ground shook.

Tony fought the wheel. “Holy shit!”

In the rearview mirror, a silhouette flew out of the fireball.

Veer landed in the back of the truck with a heavy thump. The suspension groaned, but held.

He stood up, steadying himself against the swaying of the vehicle. He looked back at the inferno. The flames reached high into the night sky, painting the desert in shades of orange and red.

The women in the truck were screaming and crying, holding onto each other. Yinsen was staring at the fire with a look of awe.

Veer knocked on the rear window of the cab.

Tony slid the window open, looking back. His face was illuminated by the firelight. He looked terrified, exhilarated, and impressed all at once.

“Did you get it?” Tony yelled over the roar of the explosion.

Veer sat down on a crate, leaning back against the metal siding. He pulled down his scarf, revealing a young, tired face with a smirk.

“Two hundred million, Stark,” Veer shouted back. “Don’t forget the tip.”

Tony laughed. It was a manic, hysterical laugh. “You’re crazy! You’re absolutely crazy! I love it! You’re hired! Security chief! Name your price!”

“Just drive!” Veer said, closing his eyes.

As the truck disappeared over the ridge, leaving the burning ruins of his first mission behind.

Veer smiled.

Iron Man was safe. The plot was preserved. And he was rich.

Not a bad start to a new life.