Most powerful Hunter in Marvel Universe - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Desert’s Witness

The ceiling fan rotated with a rhythmic creak, its blades cutting through the thick Afghan heat with minimal effect. Paramveer Singh—Veer to anyone who’d bothered to learn his name—sat cross-legged on the narrow bed, his gaze fixed on something beyond the grimy window. Beyond the cracked glass, the desert stretched endlessly, a canvas of burnt ochre and amber that seemed to swallow the dying light of day.

To any observer, he might have appeared to be just another foreigner lost in contemplation, perhaps overwhelmed by the alien landscape or the weight of whatever business had brought him to this forsaken corner of the world. His clothes—practical cargo pants, a dark fitted shirt, and sturdy boots—marked him as someone who didn’t belong to the village below. Yet his skin, sun-bronzed and rich in tone, could have easily allowed him to blend with the local population. It was this peculiar duality that often worked in his favor: foreign enough to be overlooked as a stranger, familiar enough not to draw immediate suspicion.

But Veer wasn’t contemplating the desert’s beauty or mourning his displacement from home. His brown eyes, though seemingly focused on the horizon, were actually fixed on something far more extraordinary—something impossible, something that would have shattered the worldview of any ordinary person who might have glimpsed it.

A translucent screen hovered in the air before him, invisible to all but himself, its blue-tinged interface displaying information that would have seemed like science fiction to most, but was all too real to him.

—

Template: Zeno Zoldyck (23.3%)

Aura: Lv16

Power: 18

Affinity: Emitter

Ability: Electric Resistance Lv3, Poison Resistance Lv3, Healing Factor Lv1

Skill: Assassin Mode Lv1(0%), Snake Awaken Lv1(0%), Silent Gait Lv1(0%), Rhythm Echo Lv1(0%)

Nen Skill: 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 released a long, weary sigh—one of countless sighs that had escaped his lips since that fateful day one month ago. One month since his entire existence had been upended, since he’d found himself thrust into a reality he’d only ever experienced through a screen, munching popcorn in the safety of his theater seat or sprawled on his couch at home.

The system. That’s what he’d taken to calling it, for lack of a better term. It had arrived with him, or perhaps it was more accurate to say it had brought him here. The details were fuzzy, lost in the chaos of displacement and the terror of suddenly finding himself in a world that operated on entirely different rules than the one he’d known.

He’d expected—if such a word could be applied to the absolute impossibility of his situation—to find himself in the world of Hunter x Hunter. After all, that’s what the system seemed designed for, with its templates drawn from that universe, its careful cataloging of Nen abilities and skills. It would have made a twisted kind of sense, to be dropped into a world where the system’s powers actually belonged.

But no. Reality, or whatever passed for it now, had a crueler sense of humor.

He was in the Marvel Universe. The Marvel Cinematic Universe, to be precise, though that distinction offered cold comfort. True, the MCU was tamer than its comic book counterpart, where reality-warping entities casually reshaped existence and cosmic beings played chess with galaxies. But “tamer” was a relative term when you were talking about a universe where aliens invaded New York, where artificial intelligence went rogue and tried to drop cities from the sky, where a purple titan could literally snap his fingers and erase half of all life.

“Could be worse,” Veer muttered to himself, a phrase he’d repeated like a mantra over the past month. “Could be in the comics continuity. Could be dealing with Galactus. Or Phoenix. Or—”

He stopped himself. That path led to spiraling anxiety, and he couldn’t afford that. Not tonight. Not when he was so close to potentially changing his circumstances from ‘desperate mercenary scraping by’ to ‘man with enough money to actually prepare for the coming storm.’

Because that was the thing about knowing the future—or at least, knowing one possible version of it. Veer knew what was coming. Alien invasions. Evil robots. Civil wars among heroes. Titan warlords with a god complex and a genocidal philosophy. And that was just in the next decade or so.

The knowledge sat in his mind like a lead weight, pressing down with the burden of awareness. Should he try to change things? Could he? Would his actions make things better, or cascade into something far worse?

For now, he’d settled on a simpler goal: survive. Survive long enough to get stronger. Survive long enough to maybe, just maybe, make a difference when it truly mattered.

But survival required resources. And resources required money.

Which brought him to Afghanistan, and the peculiar profession he’d inherited along with this body.

Mercenary. The word still felt strange in his mind, laden with connotations of moral ambiguity at best, outright villainy at worst. The previous owner of this body—the original Paramveer Singh, if such a distinction even mattered anymore—had been one. Not the elite kind, not the sort who commanded armies of soldiers or took contracts from governments and mega-corporations. No, he’d been a freelancer, scraping together jobs where he could, building a reputation one small contract at a time.

Veer had inherited not just the body but the baggage: multiple identities scattered across several continents, a network of contacts in the grey and black markets, and a skill set focused on things he’d never imagined himself doing. The memories were there, accessible but distant, like recalling a movie he’d watched rather than experiences he’d lived.

He hadn’t killed anyone. Not since becoming… himself? Taking over? Merging? The metaphysics of his existence gave him a headache when he thought about it too hard. The previous Veer had blood on his hands—the memories confirmed that much—but this Veer, the one who’d arrived from another world entirely, had managed to avoid adding to that tally.

The system helped with that. God, did it help.

Veer dismissed the status screen with a thought and flexed his hand, feeling the potential thrumming just beneath his skin. According to the system’s cold calculations, he could lift eighteen tons. Eighteen tons. The number was absurd, superhuman in the most literal sense. And when he activated Ren, channeling his aura in the specific way the system knowledge had taught him, that number jumped to thirty-three tons.

He was, by any reasonable metric, a superhuman. Not on the level of the Hulk or Thor—not even close—but far beyond any normal human. That power was what gave him the confidence to even attempt what he was planning tonight.

The system’s mechanics were straightforward, even if the implications were staggering. Every day, his merger percentage with his current template increased by 0.1%. Just one-tenth of a percent, a crawl toward completion. He’d started with 20% as a “novice gift”—the system’s term, not his—which had given him immediate access to a fraction of Zeno Zoldyck’s legendary power.

Zeno Zoldyck. Even in his original world, the name had carried weight. One of the most feared assassins in the Hunter x Hunter universe, a man who’d spent over six decades honing his craft to absolute perfection. And Veer had been granted a template based on him, a framework that let him tap into that incredible potential.

But there was a catch. Wasn’t there always?

The template gave him the raw numbers—the aura capacity, the physical capabilities, the inherent resistances. But it didn’t give him the skill. Zeno’s decades of experience, his tactical acumen, his mastered techniques—those remained locked away, or more accurately, simply absent. The system provided the building blocks: basic Nen techniques like Ten and Zetsu, fundamental abilities like Silent Gait and Rhythm Echo. But they were all level one. Bare foundations that he’d have to build upon himself.

It made a cruel kind of sense. How could sixty years of training be condensed into a simple merger? The system gave him the potential, the capacity, but actualizing that potential was his responsibility.

Veer had spent the past month training obsessively, pushing his new body to its limits, trying to level up his skills even marginally. The results had been… modest. His Ten skill, the most basic of Nen techniques that created a protective aura around his body, had reached 84% of level one. Progress, certainly, but the system’s leveling curve seemed designed to humble him. He suspected that reaching level two would require as much effort as a normal person would need to master the skill entirely from scratch.

The other skills lagged further behind. Zetsu at 43%. Everything else sat at a stubborn 0%, waiting for him to figure out how to even begin developing them properly.

Still, even with his limited mastery, he was dangerous. Impossibly strong. Faster than any normal human. Resilient enough to shrug off injuries that would hospitalize regular people.

It would have to be enough. Because tonight, he was going to do something monumentally risky.

Veer stood up from the bed, his joints popping softly as he stretched. The hotel room—if such a generous term could be applied to the cramped space with its peeling walls and questionable plumbing—had been his base of operations for the past ten days. Ten days of careful reconnaissance, of listening to local gossip, of tracking movements in and out of the village, of slowly, painstakingly piecing together information that would confirm what he already knew from the plot of a movie.

Tony Stark was somewhere near here. The genius billionaire philanthropist playboy—though that last title would probably be retired soon if things went according to the original timeline—was being held captive by a terrorist organization called the Ten Rings.

The news of Stark’s kidnapping had sent shockwaves through the world. Stark Industries, desperate to recover their golden boy, had done something unprecedented: they’d posted an open contract. Find Tony Stark, bring him home safely, and receive one hundred million dollars.

One hundred million dollars.

The number was staggering, life-changing, the kind of money that could set someone up for multiple lifetimes. It was also the kind of number that attracted every mercenary, bounty hunter, and opportunist within a thousand-mile radius. Veer’s sources suggested over fifty thousand individuals had descended on Afghanistan, all chasing the same prize.

Fifty thousand people, scattered across a country, searching for one man. The odds of success for any single person were astronomical. Most would never even get close. Many would run out of money and give up. Some would die in the attempt, caught by hostile forces or simply victims of the harsh environment.

But Veer had an advantage that none of them possessed.

He knew where to look.

Not because of superior intelligence gathering or extensive connections in the region. No, his advantage was far simpler and far more impossible to explain: he’d seen the movie. He knew the plot. He knew that the Ten Rings’ base was located somewhere near Gulmira village. He knew that Tony Stark was alive, building something revolutionary in a cave while pretending to construct weapons for his captors.

It was cheating, really. Having knowledge of future events, of story beats that hadn’t fully played out yet. But Veer had long since made peace with the ethical implications. In a world where gods walked among mortals and cosmic entities toyed with reality itself, having a bit of foreknowledge seemed like the least unfair advantage one could ask for.

The real question—the one that had kept him awake more than one night—was whether he should interfere at all.

In the original timeline, Tony Stark escaped. He built the Mark I armor, blasted his way out of the cave, and returned home to begin his transformation into Iron Man. That transformation was crucial, not just for Tony but for the entire world. Iron Man became a founding member of the Avengers. Without him, how would the Battle of New York turn out? What about Ultron, who, ironically, Tony had helped create? What about the conflicts to come?

By rescuing Tony early, Veer might prevent some of the trauma that shaped the man into the hero he’d become. Would a Tony Stark who never built the Mark I armor still become Iron Man? Would he still have the same revelation about his company’s weapons being used for evil? Would he still dedicate himself to protecting the world?

The variables were endless, the potential butterfly effects staggering.

But one hundred million dollars was one hundred million dollars.

And more importantly, Veer rationalized, Tony being rescued by a friendly party was probably better than him having to fight his way out. Trauma was trauma, whether it came from building weapons for terrorists or being dramatically rescued. At least this way, Tony wouldn’t have to kill anyone in close quarters combat. That had to count for something, right?

Besides, Veer needed the money. Desperately. Surviving in the Marvel Universe required resources. Equipment. Information. Safe houses. The ability to move when necessary, to disappear when things got dangerous. And things would get dangerous. They always did in this universe.

He moved to the window, looking out at the village below as the sun continued its descent. Gulmira was a small settlement, the kind of place that might have been peaceful in another life. Now it sat in the shadow of forces far beyond its inhabitants’ understanding: terrorist cells, international conflicts, and soon, the first stirrings of the superhero age that would define the coming years.

Veer had spent his days here carefully, maintaining his cover as just another mercenary passing through, another face in the crowd of opportunity-seekers. He’d made discrete inquiries, purchased information from local sources, and slowly triangulated the location of the Ten Rings base. Three days ago, he’d found it—a compound carved into the rocky hills just north of the village, defensible and remote.

He’d spent the subsequent days observing from a distance, using his enhanced vision and the basic Gyo technique to spot details that normal eyes would miss. Guard rotations. Supply deliveries. The comings and goings of various personnel. And yesterday, he’d seen something that confirmed everything: a delivery of car batteries and electronics components, exactly the kind of materials that Tony Stark would need for his covert construction project.

Tonight was the night. His reconnaissance was complete. His plan, such as it was, was ready. All that remained was execution.

Veer turned from the window and began his preparations. He pulled on a black tactical jacket, checking that the various pockets contained what he’d need: basic medical supplies, a sat phone for the extraction call, some local currency in case he needed to grease palms. He had no weapons—no guns, no knives. They’d be useless to him anyway. His body was the weapon now, his fists capable of punching through concrete, his legs able to carry him faster than any vehicle could navigate the desert terrain.

He pulled a black cloth mask from his pack, the kind that would cover the lower half of his face, and a pair of dark goggles. Not much of a disguise, but enough to prevent easy identification. The last thing he needed was his face plastered across international news broadcasts.

As he made his final preparations, Veer felt the familiar flutter of nervousness in his stomach. Despite his superhuman abilities, despite his knowledge of how things should play out, this was still incredibly dangerous. The Ten Rings were well-armed, experienced fighters. And while Veer’s strength and speed gave him a massive advantage, he wasn’t invulnerable. A lucky shot could still kill him. His Healing Factor was only level one—enough to recover from minor injuries faster than normal, but not enough to shrug off bullets like some heroes could.

He took a deep breath, centering himself. He activated Ten, feeling his aura wrap around his body like a second skin, invisible but present. It would provide some protection, enough to keep minor impacts from doing damage, though he’d need to be careful about sustained gunfire.

The sun had finally set, plunging the desert into the rapid darkness that came to such climates. The village below sparked to life with scattered lights, generators humming to provide electricity to those who could afford it. In the distance, the compound would be similarly illuminated—lights on guard towers, inside buildings, creating pockets of visibility in the vast darkness.

It was time.

Veer moved to the window and opened it slowly, checking the street below. Empty, as he’d expected. The hotel room was on the second floor, an easy drop for someone with his capabilities.

He pulled the mask and goggles into place, then climbed onto the windowsill. For a moment, he paused, looking out at the desert one more time. Somewhere out there was Tony Stark, brilliant and vulnerable, unaware that his rescue was about to arrive from the most unlikely of sources.

“Please don’t let me mess this up,” Veer whispered to the universe, to whatever force had brought him here, to anyone who might be listening.

Then he jumped.

He landed in a crouch, his enhanced muscles absorbing the impact without strain. The thud of his landing seemed loud in the quiet night, but no one appeared to investigate. Veer straightened and activated Ren.

The change was immediate. His aura, normally invisible even to his own eyes, flared briefly around him—a phenomenon only someone trained in Nen would be able to perceive. More importantly, he felt his power multiply. His already impressive strength surged, his body thrumming with energy. Thirty-three tons. He could lift thirty-three tons right now. The knowledge was intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure.

Veer oriented himself toward the north, toward the compound he’d identified. It was roughly five miles away, hidden in the rocky hills. To a normal person, even a fit one, that was a significant trek through difficult terrain in the dark. To him, it would take minutes.

He set off at a run, and the world blurred around him. His speed wasn’t superhero-level—he wasn’t the Flash or Quicksilver—but it was far beyond human norm. His feet pounded against the sand and rock, each stride covering far more ground than should be possible. The wind rushed past his face, and he had to consciously focus to navigate the terrain, using his enhanced perception to spot obstacles before they became problems.

The desert at night was a different beast than during the day. The temperature had already dropped significantly, the heat that baked the sand during daylight hours fleeing rapidly into the clear sky. Above him, stars blazed with a clarity he’d never seen in his old world, unpolluted by light or atmosphere. It would have been beautiful if he’d had time to appreciate it.

As he ran, Veer’s mind churned through the plan once more. Get to the compound. Assess the situation. Locate Tony Stark. Neutralize any threats—preferably non-lethally, though he wasn’t going to risk his life or Tony’s for that principle. Extract Stark. Get far enough away to call for pickup. Collect the reward.

Simple. Direct. About a dozen things could go catastrophically wrong, but when had that ever stopped anyone?

The compound came into view sooner than expected, lights glowing against the dark hillside like a beacon. Veer slowed his approach, not wanting to rush in blindly. He found a position behind a large boulder about two hundred yards from the perimeter and crouched down, studying the layout.

The compound was larger than he’d estimated from his distant observations. Multiple buildings clustered together, connected by walls and fencing. Guard towers at the corners, searchlights sweeping the surrounding area in lazy arcs. He could see figures moving—guards on patrol, perhaps two dozen visible from his position, though certainly more inside the buildings.

This was it. The point of no return.

Veer closed his eyes briefly, centering himself one final time. When he opened them, his gaze was steady, determined.

Time to become a hero. Or at least, time to rescue one.

He took a deep breath, tensed his muscles, and burst into action, hurtling toward the compound like a missile with a very specific target in mind.

The desert night was about to get very loud.