Ninja of Marvel World - Chapter 8

Chapter 8: The Viper in the Valley

The bus rattled and groaned as it pulled into the outskirts of Gulmira. The suspension had given up the ghost a decade ago, meaning every pothole in the dusty road was transmitted directly into the spines of the passengers.

Karan stepped off, his boots sinking into the fine, silt-like dust that coated everything in this region. The air was dry, scorching, and smelled of burning trash and diesel fumes.

He adjusted his pakol cap and wrapped his scarf tighter around his face, leaving only his eyes visible.

“Room,” he said to the proprietor of a mud-brick building that functioned as a hotel. He spoke in flawless Pashto, the words rolling off his tongue with the correct local inflection thanks to the System’s language pack.

“Two dollars,” the man grunted, eyeing Karan’s dusty tunic.

Karan placed a ten-dollar bill on the counter. “And water. Clean water.”

He was given a key to a room that was little more than a concrete box with a cot and a bucket. But it had a lock, and for tonight, that was luxury.

Karan locked the door and checked his digital watch.

8:00 PM.

He hadn’t exercised in two days. The flight, the detention in Spain, the travel—it had all eaten into his routine.

“The Quest resets at midnight,” Karan muttered, stripping off his tunic. “I have four hours to make up for lost time.”

He dropped to the floor. The concrete was cool against his palms.

[Daily Quest: The Road of Youth]
Progress: 0%

He began.

Pushups first. His body, now humming with the vitality of a Level 25 Genin, moved like a piston. One, two, three.

He didn’t need to cheat anymore. The rubber bands were gone. Now, it was about speed and endurance.

Sweat began to pool beneath him. The heat of the room was stifling, turning the small space into a sauna. But Karan welcomed it. The heat kept his muscles loose. The Jugo bloodline drank in the ambient natural energy, recycling his fatigue into stamina.

By 10:00 PM, he had finished the calisthenics.

He drank the entire pitcher of water the proprietor had provided, then started running in place, high knees, driving his feet into the floor with rhythmic thuds.

11:55 PM.

[Daily Quest Completed!]
[Reward: 100 EXP, 10 Points]
[Trait Activation: A-Rank Talent (x8 Multiplier)]
[Total: 800 EXP, 10 Points]

Karan collapsed onto the cot, his chest heaving.

[Level Up!]
Level 25 -> Level 27.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling fan that spun lazily, wobbling on its axis.

Five minutes later, the alarm on his watch beeped.

00:00 AM.

[Daily Quest Reset.]

Karan groaned. A deep, soulful sound of exhaustion.

“Right,” he said, forcing himself to sit up. “No rest for the wicked. Or the greedy.”

He started again.

The second set was harder. His muscles were repaired by the bloodline, but the mental fatigue was real. The repetition was mind-numbing. But he thought of the 100 million dollars.

By 3:30 AM, he was done.

[Daily Quest Completed!]
[Total Reward: 800 EXP, 10 Points]

[Level Up!]
Level 27 -> Level 29.

Karan sat on the edge of the bed and summoned his status.

—

Name: Karan Malhotra

Ninja Level: 29 (5/465)

Status: Genin

Bloodline: Jugo (Passive Regen, Nature Affinity)

Affinities: Wind, Lightning

Talent: A-Rank

Skill: Chakra Control Lv2, Body Flicker Lv1, Sensing Technique Lv2

Jutsu: Transformation Lv1, Clone Lv1

…

Points: 35

[Quest]

[Mall]

—

He stood up and walked to the small, cracked mirror hanging over the basin.

The reflection staring back wasn’t the scarecrow that had woken up in the hospital a week ago.

His shoulders were broad. His chest was defined, the pectoral muscles hard and compact. His arms were corded with functional, lean muscle—the kind a swimmer or a gymnast possessed. His face had lost all traces of gauntness; his jawline was sharp, his eyes clear and bright with chakra-enhanced vitality.

He looked like a warrior. He looked like someone who could survive this desert.

“Level 29,” Karan whispered. “280 Chakra. That’s 280 snakes. Or nearly three kilometers of Body Flicker.”

He washed the sweat off his body with the remaining water in the bucket, dressed in his local garb, and sat in meditation to recover his mental energy until dawn.

—

The sun rose over Gulmira like a hammer, smashing the coolness of the night into oblivion.

Karan walked through the market. He wasn’t looking for people. People lied. People had agendas.

He was looking for the locals who saw everything and said nothing.

He found a camel tied to a post, chewing lazily on some dry hay.

Karan approached it, focusing his intent through the Jugo bloodline.

Friend… water…

“Did you see men with guns pass through here?” Karan projected the thought, an image of AK-47s and trucks.

The camel blinked its long eyelashes.

Loud sticks… smelly smoke… go that way…

It nudged its head toward the northern dunes.

“Thanks,” Karan muttered.

He continued walking until he reached the edge of the town. There, foraging in a pile of refuse, was a dog. It was an Afghan Kuchi dog—large, shaggy, with ears that had been cropped close to the skull. It looked hungry and fierce.

Karan crouched down.

The dog growled low in its throat, baring yellow teeth.

Go away… bite…

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Karan sent the thought, accompanied by a wave of calming nature energy. “I’m looking for the men who come here with gun.”

The dog froze. Its ears perked up. The aggression melted into a heartbreaking whine.

Master? Master gone. Loud men took. Master smell gone.

“I can bring him back,” Karan promised. “But you have to show me where they went. Can you smell them?”

The dog sniffed the air. It looked at the horizon.

Smell… yes. Oil. Blood. Dust.

“Lead the way,” Karan said. “I’ll follow.”

The dog didn’t hesitate. It turned and began to trot into the desert.

Karan pulled his scarf up and followed.

—

Twenty kilometers is a marathon. In the sand, under the Afghan sun, it is a death march.

But not for a ninja and a desert-born dog.

They moved at a steady pace. Karan used a technique he had read about but never practiced—channeling a tiny amount of chakra into his lungs to maximize oxygen efficiency, keeping his body temperature regulated against the searing heat.

The dog, whom Karan had mentally named ‘Sheru’, was relentless. It tracked a scent trail that had to be days old, invisible to Karan but bright as a neon sign to the canine.

Hours passed. The sun climbed to its zenith.

Finally, the terrain changed. The rolling dunes gave way to jagged, rocky canyons. The earth turned from yellow to a harsh, burnt orange.

Sheru stopped. He lowered his body, his hackles raising.

“Bad place. Loud sticks here.”

Karan crouched beside the dog. He looked ahead.

Nestled in the V-shape of a massive canyon was a camp. Tents, trucks with mounted machine guns, and men patrolling the perimeter. And behind the camp, the dark, gaping maw of a cave system.

“Good boy,” Karan whispered. He poured some water from his canteen into his hand for the dog to lap up. “Stay here. Hide behind this rock. If I don’t come back by sunset, run home.”

Sheru looked at him, then curled up in the shadow of a boulder.

Karan turned his attention to the camp.

He closed his eyes and clasped his hands together.

Sensing Technique.

During the two days of boredom in the Spanish quarantine hangar, Karan had done nothing but practice extending his senses. He didn’t have a Byakugan, but the Jugo lineage gave him a unique affinity for life energy.

He expanded his field of perception.

100 meters… 200 meters… 500 meters.

The world transformed in his mind’s eye. The rocks and sand faded into grey static. Living things flared like embers in the dark.

He saw the guards. Two at the gate. Four patrolling the perimeter. Hundreds sleeping in a tent.

He pushed his senses further, into the cave.

Static… static… flare.

The cave was deep.

In the front section, he sensed a cluster of violent, jagged energies. The terrorists. Drinking, cleaning weapons.

Deeper in.

A cell. He sensed twenty distinct signatures. They were huddled together. Their energy felt weak, terrified.

He shifted his focus to the adjacent tunnel.

A heavy steel door. Behind it… two signatures.

One was burning bright, frantic, a mind working at a million miles an hour.

The other was calm, steady, like a dying candle.

Tony Stark and Ho Yinsen.

“Found you,” Karan whispered, opening his eyes.

He checked the perimeter guards again.

“Time to clean house.”

Boar → Dog → Bird → Monkey → Ram.

“Summoning Jutsu.”

He didn’t summon a hundred. That would be a stampede. He summoned ten.

Ten white snakes materialized in the sand. They were the color of bone, perfectly camouflaged against the light stones.

“The perimeter guards,” Karan commanded. “Silent. Fast. Kill.”

The snakes vanished into the rocks.

Karan watched from his vantage point.

The guard at the eastern ridge was lighting a cigarette. He never finished it. A white blur struck his ankle. He slapped his neck, confused, then his knees buckled. He slid down the rock face, silent.

[EXP Gained: 100]

The guard on the western ridge was urinating against a bush. He grabbed his throat and fell forward.

[EXP Gained: 100]

One by one, the sentries fell. No alarms. No gunshots. Just the wind howling through the canyon.

Karan stood up. The outer shell was cracked. Now for the meat.

He spotted the body of the nearest guard. He moved with Body Flicker, a blur of motion crossing the open ground in a second.

He dragged the body behind a rock.

Transformation Jutsu.

Karan’s form wavered and shifted. He grew three inches. A beard sprouted on his face. His clean tunic turned into dirty camouflage fatigues. An AK-47 (an illusion, but it looked real enough) appeared in his hands.

He was now the dead terrorist.

He walked out from behind the rock and strolled casually toward the cave entrance.

Other terrorists passed him. They nodded. He nodded back.

“Hot today,” one grunted.

“Always hot,” Karan replied in Pashto, not breaking stride.

He entered the maw of the cave.

—

The temperature dropped immediately. The sunlight was replaced by the flickering orange glow of electric lanterns strung up on the jagged walls.

The smell hit him. Gun oil. Unwashed bodies. Spices. And beneath it all, the metallic tang of fear.

Karan navigated the tunnels. His sensory radar was pinging constantly.

Resting Quarters. He walked past a cavern where a dozen men were playing cards. He marked it.

Weapons Storage. Crates of Stark Industries missiles. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

He went deeper.

He reached the heavy iron door of the workshop.

Two guards stood outside. They looked bored.

Karan didn’t slow down. He walked right up to them.

“Raza wants to see you,” Karan said.

“What?” The guard on the left frowned. “We are on shift.”

“He said now,” Karan shrugged.

As the guards looked at each other, confused.

Before they could raise their rifles, two white snakes shot out from Karan’s sleeves—summoned directly onto his body.

They struck the guards in the neck.

The guards gargled, their hands clutching at the bite marks, and collapsed.

[EXP Gained: 200]

Karan dragged their bodies into the shadows.

He looked at the iron door. There was a small sliding viewport. He didn’t open it yet.

He turned to the tunnel on the left. The prison cells.

He walked quietly to the barred gate.

Inside, twenty women were huddled on filthy mats. Their clothes were torn. Their eyes were vacant, staring at nothing. They had been broken by weeks of abuse.

Karan gripped the bars. He felt a surge of genuine anger, not the calculated detachment of a gamer. This was the reality of the world he had entered.

He couldn’t leave them here while he extracted Stark. If a firefight broke out, they would be collateral damage. Or worse, hostages.

He stepped back.

He bit both thumbs this time. He poured chakra into his palms.

Summoning Jutsu: Multiple Hidden Snakes.

Poof. Poof. Poof.

The cave floor came alive. A hundred white snakes materialized, a writhing carpet of scales.

The women in the cell gasped, backing away against the far wall, terror reigniting in their eyes.

“Listen to me!” Karan whispered sharply, his voice carrying authority. “They are mine. They won’t hurt you.”

He turned to the snakes.

“Go and Kill everyone who holds a gun. Leave no one alive.”

The snakes hissed in unison—a sound like steam escaping a pipe. They flowed away from him, a white tide of death surging back up the tunnel.

Karan waited.

Ten seconds later, the screaming started.

It wasn’t a battle. It was a panic. Gunshots echoed wildly, bouncing off the cave walls, but they were shooting at shadows on the floor.

AHHH! HELP!
WHAT IS THIS?!
THE SNAKES!

The screams were cut short, one by one.

[EXP: +100]
[EXP: +100]
[EXP: +100]

The notifications scrolled past Karan’s vision so fast they blurred.

Two minutes later. Silence returned to the cave.

Karan looked at the women. “The bad men are dead. Wait here.”

He turned back to the iron door.

He slid the heavy bolt back. It groaned, protesting the rust.

He pushed the door open.

—

Tony Stark was hammering.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

He was wearing a dirty tank top, his muscles slick with sweat and grime. The Arc Reactor in his chest glowed with a cool, blue light, the only clean thing in the room.

Ho Yinsen was standing by a table, mixing chemicals in a bowl.

When the door opened, both men froze.

Tony raised the hammer, his posture shifting defensively. Yinsen grabbed a makeshift shiv he had hidden under a rag.

They expected Raza. Or a guard coming to beat them.

Instead, a teenager walked in. He was wearing local clothes, but he looked too young, too clean, and completely unarmed.

Karan wrinkled his nose.

The smell inside the cell was atrocious. It was a cocktail of soldering fumes, ozone, stale sweat, and the unmistakable stench of the bucket in the corner that served as their latrine.

“Oh God,” Karan muttered, covering his nose with his scarf. “You guys need some ventilation.”

Tony lowered the hammer slightly, squinting. “Who the hell are you? The pizza delivery guy? You’re late.”

“Tony,” Yinsen warned, stepping forward. “Careful.”

Karan looked around. He saw the Mark 1 armor.

It was… pieces. A leg here. A chest plate there. It wasn’t assembled. The software wasn’t loaded.

“You’re building something interesting,” Karan noted, looking at the blueprints scattered on the table.

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “You speak English. Who are you?”

“I’m a mercenary,” Karan lied effortlessly. “My name is Karan. Stark Industries put a bounty on your head. One hundred million dollars for your safe return.”

Tony let out a dry, hacking laugh. He dropped the hammer on the anvil.

“One hundred million? Is that all? I’m insulted. I’m worth at least five hundred.”

“Well, what can I say? I don’t mind extra reward,” Karan shrugged.

“Now, are we going to stand here discussing your net worth, or do you want to get out of this hole?”

Yinsen looked at Karan, then at the door. “The guards? There are Hundreds of them.”

“They’re dead,” Karan said simply. “Or dying. I cleared the path.”

Tony looked skeptical. “You? You look like you’re twelve. What did you do, bore them to death with algebra?”

Karan sighed. “I poisoned them. Look, do you want to live or not?”

Tony looked at Yinsen. They shared a look—a silent conversation between two men who had resigned themselves to death and were now being offered a very confusing lifeline.

“We go,” Tony said. He grabbed the stack of blueprints. “But we’re not leaving the suit.”

“Leave it,” Karan commanded. “It’s heavy, it’s slow, and it’s not finished. If you drag that scrap metal, you die. I’m getting paid for you, Stark, not your science project.”

Tony hesitated. He touched the metal chest plate lovingly. It was his masterpiece. His escape plan.

“Tony,” Yinsen said softly. “He is right. Life first.”

Tony gritted his teeth. “Fine. But I’m taking the design.” He grabbed a design, and push it into the fire.

“Let’s go,” Karan said.

He led them out into the hallway.

Tony and Yinsen stepped out, blinking in the dim light.

And then they stopped.

The floor was moving.

A carpet of white snakes was slithering back toward Karan, having finished their grisly work in the upper caverns.

“What the—” Tony jumped back, colliding with Yinsen. “Snakes! Hundreds of snakes!”

Yinsen gasped. “By the Prophet…”

The snakes stopped at Karan’s feet, coiling obediently.

“Relax,” Karan said, waving a hand. “They’re with me. They’re the ‘poison’ I mentioned.”

Tony stared at the snakes, then at Karan. His genius brain was trying to process the data and failing.

“You… you control snakes?” Tony asked, his voice high and incredulous. “What are you? Some kind of mutant? A circus act?”

“I’m the guy saving your ass for them,” Karan said. He turned to the other cell.

“We have to take them too,” Karan said, pointing to the women.

Tony looked at the terrified women in the cell. His expression softened. The arrogance vanished.

“Yeah,” Tony nodded. “Yeah, we do.”

Karan unlocked the cell door. The women rushed out, but stopped screaming when they saw the snakes.

“Follow the snakes,” Karan ordered loudly in Pashto. “They will lead us out. Do not touch the dead bodies.”

He turned to Tony.

“Stay close to me. If you see anyone with a gun who isn’t dead yet… well, you won’t. But duck anyway.”

Karan began to walk.

A teenage ninja, a billionaire genius, a doctor, and twenty refugees, escorted by a legion of white vipers, began the long walk toward the sunlight.

As they passed the Resting Quarters, Tony looked inside. He saw the bodies. Hundreds of them. Purple. Twisted.

He looked at Karan’s back.

“Remind me to give you a bonus,” Tony whispered to Yinsen. “And to never piss him off.”