Jason communicated with the system and understood the meaning of his new title. Hammer God: Gain the love and recognition of all hammers and hammer-like weapons.
"Mystery solved," he muttered to himself. "This sneaky system must have a grudge against Thor!"
But the crucial issue was that before Odin's death, the title of Hammer God would only be useful because of one specific hammer!
The four-star gift package was just like the three-star package—not impressive enough!
"It's decided," Jason thought firmly. "From today on, I'll study a thousand ways to kill Nick Fury. The first diamond-tier gift package must reach five stars!"
After making this decision, he leaped from the mountaintop and soared into the distance like a wild goose.
The wind whipped across his cheeks while the sun's warmth caressed his back—the sensation of flight was incredible!
The vast landscape stretched beneath him in panoramic glory.
A feeling of pure arrogance swelled in his chest. After all, he was thousands of feet in the sky while everyone else was stuck on the ground below!
Russia, an old and dilapidated apartment building.
Jason had dressed in his finest suit specifically to meet his future chief and deputy chief scientists.
Knock, knock!
As his knuckles rapped against the wooden door, flakes of peeling paint drifted to the floor.
After a long moment, no one answered.
He remained patient and knocked again.
Finally, a disheveled, unshaven man with alcohol on his breath opened the door, glaring at him with vulture-like eyes. "Who are you looking for?" he demanded gruffly.
Jason offered a polite smile. "Hello, my name is Jason—"
"I don't buy insurance! Get lost!" The large man slammed the door shut.
The smile on Jason's face froze as he glanced down at his immaculate suit. Damn, have you ever seen an insurance salesman this handsome?
Can't you tell I have the aura of a soon-to-be billionaire?
He took a deep breath to center himself, then drove his fist into the door with a resounding BANG!
The door swung open again. The large man saw him and growled, "Go away! Try the apartment across the hall. Don't make me tell you a third time!"
He looked impatient and was about to slam the door again when Jason caught it with his hand. "Ivan Vanko, if you dare close this door in my face again, I'll shove your head so far up my ass you'll see what I had for breakfast yesterday."
The large man was shocked and furious, his face contorting with rage. He was about to lash out when he noticed something alarming—
The stranger's hand had sunk deep into the wooden door!
How is this possible? he thought, eyes widening. This was old ash wood. Though weathered, it was incredibly hard!
Seeing that the reckless man was suitably intimidated, Jason slowly withdrew his hand. "Young man, don't be so impatient! Who said I sell insurance? You're stuck in old-fashioned stereotypes! I might also be..." he paused dramatically, "...a real estate agent."
He strolled inside while delivering his joke.
The apartment was tiny, with clutter piled throughout the living room. A small TV sat in the corner, and on a camp bed lay a sick, gray-haired old man.
"Who are you?" Ivan demanded. "You're trespassing. Get out immediately or I'll call the police!"
"Shut up!" Jason fixed him with a glare, the vicious aura of the devil incarnate flashing across his face.
Ivan felt a chill run down his spine and found himself inexplicably unable to speak further.
The commotion had awakened the old man, and Jason sat down beside the bed.
"Anton Vanko, are you dead yet? If not, say something!"
Compared to his hot-headed son, the father was much calmer. "Who are you, and what do you want?"
"Jason. I've come a long way to give you a chance."
"What chance?"
"A chance to exact revenge on Howard Stark."
Anton Vanko raised his eyebrows and laughed, which quickly devolved into a coughing fit. "He is... cough, cough... dead."
Jason smiled coldly. "There's an old saying in the East: a son pays his father's debts!"
Anton stopped laughing and scrutinized Jason carefully from head to toe. "Who are you? Really?"
Jason smiled slightly and extended his index finger. A red light emanated from it, glowing brightly with tiny arcs of electricity dancing around the digit.
"I am Jason."
Anton looked horrified. He took a deep breath, his face turning solemn as he shook his head. "I don't have much time left. If you wish, take my son away—he's a genius far beyond my own abilities. He shouldn't waste his talent living such a poor, hopeless life. Please, treat him well!"
Jason glanced back at Ivan, whose expression had completely transformed, then returned his attention to Anton with a smile. "You're just ill, not dying. Don't worry—as long as Death hasn't claimed you yet, I can save you. I want both you and Ivan for my team!"
Deep in a cave, Tony Stark was exhausted, his face streaked with grime.
In recent days, the terrorists had grown increasingly panicked, as if something had gone terribly wrong. They were like rabbits with bloodshot eyes, constantly pressuring him to accelerate his work.
After several sleepless nights of inhuman torture, he had finally completed the iron armor.
In a corner beyond the cameras' view, Yinsen helped him don the armor piece by piece.
Footsteps approached from outside.
"Yinsen! Stark! Where are you? Stop hiding from the cameras!"
Neither man responded.
The guard lost his patience, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. BOOM! The acetylene tank positioned behind the door exploded instantly.
With the armor assembled, Yinsen tapped commands into the computer and initiated the power-up sequence.
The progress bar began to fill—painfully slowly.
Outside, footsteps and shouts grew closer, while the progress bar inched forward at an agonizing pace.
Yinsen pushed his glasses up. "Not enough time. We need more time!"
He glanced back at Stark. "I'll buy you some time."
Stark was stunned. "No! Follow the plan! Don't do anything stupid—"
But Yinsen had already snatched up the rifle from the floor and rushed out.
"Yinsen! YINSEN!"
Stark was frantic. Yinsen wasn't just his savior; he'd remained by his side throughout their captivity, helping him plan their escape. The last thing he wanted was for anything to happen to him!
The progress bar on the computer continued its slow crawl. Almost there... almost...
Several terrorists burst in, failing to notice the armor in the darkness.
Stark felt power surge through his body as the suit finally came online.
Rage consumed him. He stepped forward, swinging his armored fists left and right, sending terrorists flying across the room.
A sick feeling twisted in his gut. The fact that these men had breached his location meant that Yinsen...
FURY!
The despair of being attacked, the fear upon waking in captivity, the humiliation of being coerced, and the pain of watching companions die—it all flooded back!
Kill! Kill! KILL THESE SONS OF BITCHES!
His body trembled as he stomped forward, when suddenly a familiar voice reached his ears.
"Hi, Stark! Long time no see!"
Stark froze in confusion as the figure he'd dreamed about for days materialized before him.
The man waved casually. "Stark, you're rescued! Don't worry, I've killed all the terrorists. You're free now!"
Staring at the smiling face before him, Stark felt blood pooling in his chest, unable to circulate.
The feeling resembled returning from a two-week business trip, taking a hot shower, downing some medication, getting aroused... and then having your girlfriend's relatives show up unexpectedly.
If they weren't going to arrive early, they shouldn't arrive at all.
Yet here they were—just before the moment of climax.
The fury inside him threatened to explode, with nowhere to go.
Half an hour later...
Yinsen's face was a mask of horror. "Stark actually... mutilated them...!"
"It's fine, he's just moderately disturbed," Jason said with a wave of his hand. "Seriously speaking, he only dismembered the bodies and arranged the pieces neatly before burning them. I understand—he's been under extreme pressure lately."
Jason maintained his smile, but suddenly remembered Alessa. When she'd given him that poison, had she mentioned any potential side effects?
Damn, I forgot to ask.
"When Stark gets home," he thought, "I should introduce him to a good psychiatrist."
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