Tony Stark stood up, grunting. He felt worse than he had at the prom. That was an achievement because then he'd drunk a barrel of infernal booze on a dare filled with vodka, rum, tequila, whiskey, beer, champagne, and anything else that contained alcohol. His father, Howard Stark, seeing his son after a binge, then shook his head and, looking at him with pity, remained silent. And that's quite an achievement! Thoughts of his father spoilt his mood, for soon after that drink, they had quarrelled, and then his father and mother had been in a car crash, and he had become an orphan. An orphan with a twelve billion dollar company to inherit. And, to his credit, he did not squander this fortune, although he tried his best but also multiplied it.
True, this is due more to his genius in terms of the technical part rather than economic. If not for the board of directors, especially Obadiah Stein and Pepper, he would have gone to the world a long time ago. By the way, Tony now understood why the spirit had chosen the merger. It was precisely because of its genius. The spirit didn't have a full-fledged personality as people understood it, no motivation, no cunning or wit. Give him the task of opening a door, and he would chisel at it, even if digging or jumping over a wall was much easier.
Moreover, the spirit's knowledge was impersonal, just information, so he had no desires other than survival. But many other things made Stark feel like he had been eaten and shat on by a hippopotamus. The thing was, merging with the spirit and rebuilding his body required energy. Which he didn't have enough of. That's why he was as thin as a prisoner of Auschwitz, his body ached even when it shouldn't, and his head was cracking at the seams, threatening to spill its contents across the desert.
But there was a silver lining. The reactor had been squeezed out of his chest, the shrapnel had dissolved into his body, even though it defied all the laws of physics, and his fractures and internal injuries had healed. Which was also incredible. But the damn spirit was right; if there were entities that could block the memory of the entire world, almost destroying it, then magic and miraculous healing were just a small thing, unworthy of attention.
- Mmm, water," he opened his eyes as he felt the pleasant touch of the liquid. And it turned out that not only was Tony half buried in the sand, but there was a fennec brazenly pissing on him! - You bitch, I'll have you for shawarma!
Twitching, Tony almost howled in pain. The spirit patched him up, but not completely. Running his hands over his arms, more carefully this time and trying not to speak again as he tore his lips dry from dehydration, he fumbled with his hands for the reactor. He shouldn't have left it behind because if it fell into the hands of the terrorists, it would be no good to anyone. But the strange thing was that he felt better when he grabbed the arc reactor. Much better! The answer was found in the spirit's memory, which was not available to him all at once, but was opened as needed. This was good because he could have gone mad from the amount of information downloaded by a certain Vladimir Pierce, the unknown contractor who had sent the spirits to travel the world.
He had knowledge of martial arts, magic and artefact creation in many different directions, information on surviving in almost any world that wouldn't kill you instantly, techno-magic, and a database of an entire galactic civilisation called the Proteans! It wasn't just some piece of technology but a fundamental physics system with theories, formulas, schematics, and instructions. In addition, the spirits had undergone initial magical training in the bodies created for them, so they could use magic immediately. By the way, the human brain cannot withstand such a volume of information. However, the spirit mind does not store information on a "physical" medium; it is in the soul. That's why Stark couldn't realise all the information at once; he had to access "a remote server".
"No, this is all nonsense, nonsense! Pre-mortem or I've got sunshine on my head!" - Stark convinced himself. However, he could not help but test the knowledge he had gained. And did he have a choice? The terrorists' base was destroyed, but reinforcements could not fail to come to them. Sooner or later, someone will find out about his escape and start looking for him. And Jinsen, the doctor who saved his life twice, the second time at the cost of his own, has instructed him not to waste his gift. At the thought of this man who had become his friend, Stark squeezed the reactor harder, causing it to warp slightly, but he didn't notice.
Calming down, Tony decided to activate a skill available to all mind-spirits. True Vision. As soon as he thought about it, it was as if some reflex was triggered, and the world bloomed with aura colours. Everything around him, except for himself and the reactor, was ablaze with an aura of red-orange colour. Knowledge suggested it was fire and solar mana. He was rather dim, indicating exhaustion, and glowed with a tattered aura of many colours. The reactor glowed white brightly with light mana with a dash of lightning mana and neutral mana. This made sense since the electromagnetic radiation of different spectra created the reactor.
- You're a wizard, Tony," Stark grinned as he thought he'd lost his mind.
He grimaced again because of his cracked lip. But if he was going to go crazy, he had to go completely and wholeheartedly, as he liked. The golden mean is not for him. If to drink, to unconsciousness, if to dance, then to fall, is to create a nuclear reactor in the basement, then to stick it in his chest. He didn't like half-measures. The first enchantments he wanted to use were the creation of water. And the analogues of these enchantments were available in a wand, rune, and word forms. Unfortunately, he didn't have a magic wand, nor was it supposed to be possible to find one. Drawing runes on the sand was dangerous; therefore, only the verbal form remained.
- O great Enki, grant ... - Stark began to read in a chant in Sumerian's spell of water but lost his way. - Oh, I hope Pepper doesn't see this! Oh, great, Enki.
It didn't work the first time. The second time he managed to take the incoming mana from the reactor and channel it into the spell. It was familiar if you didn't think about it. But Tony did think about it, and the enchantment was wasted again. On the third time, he did pull himself together, and... he was splashed with a dousing of water.
- Pfft, at least I washed a little," Stark spat out in surprise.
There was only one problem - nothing to pour the water into. It was not only dangerous to return to the base, but there was still fire and exploding ammunition. There was no guarantee that he would find any surviving containers there. So he had to recite the spell three times with his mouth open and up to quench his thirst. It made him feel cooler. After that, Tony looked at the sun setting and, having determined north by spirit knowledge, set off there, avoiding the roads. He might have been thrilled to be a mage, but the situation was not conducive to joy. He needed to survive and make it to the nearest American base. And not run into any terrorists.
During the night, it began to get cold. His clothes, which had not dried out completely, were now a disadvantage rather than a plus. The reactor poorly lit the way, but somehow Stark did not lose his direction, literally feeling where he had to go. The problem was more the insane hunger that began to torment his body. He reached the nearest large rock and scratched out a food matrix with sharp metal armour. Pouring in mana, something similar to a burrito, only the tortilla was thinner, appeared before him with a pop in a dim white glow. Taking a bite, without thinking about whether the food was poisonous or not, so hungry was he, Tony nearly choked on his saliva. The juicy tomato, crunchy cucumber, smoked fried chicken and mayonnaise, and kefir sauce seemed so delicious that he almost cried. Then he remembered what matrix he had used:
- Is this the legendary shawarma? You're really worth it! - Stark said, trying to chew the food of the gods for as long as possible. However, he could have been better at it, as he was incredibly hungry.
Licking his fingers and licking the sauce, Tony suddenly heard a squeak nearby. Looking closer, he saw a fennec looking at him curiously and squeaking.
- You want some too, pisser? - He still remembered how that animal had pissed on him. - I won't give you anything! I want more!
The runes were intact, just a little melted. So with more mana, Tony could enjoy another elbow-sized shawarma, enough for two or three people.
- Weeeee," the fox squealed, coming closer and looking at him with his huge eyes.
- Okay, here you go.
Tony Stark has a heart, too, somewhere in his chest. I guess. So, breaking off a piece, he tossed it to the fennec, who promptly dragged it off somewhere.
- Well, not a word of thanks! You could have said thank you, you pissant!
After the meal, I was very sleepy. But it would be rash to sleep in the open, and the cold had not gone away. And in this case, there were spells, mostly wand charms. But there were also rune matrices. One of them he decided to use. Drawing in the weak light of the reactor was not easy, and he wanted to sleep badly. But waking up with piss in his face or being eaten was even less desirable, so he had to spend an hour drawing another rune circle. How they worked, and why Stark tried not to think about it. Magic was just breaking his whole worldview... But it was working, and that's what mattered! After he infused mana, which this time required a lot more, a hiking backpack appeared in a flash of light in front of him! An overstuffed camping backpack with a tent, a ladder, utensils, a burner, and a sleeping bag strapped on!
- Oh, Pierce, you son of a bitch! - Tony couldn't help but admire Vladimir's cunning.
He had already respected him in absentia for the shawarma, and now he was ready to pray. Instead of making a matrix of each item separately, he made a matrix of everything needed for the trip! It took another half an hour to set up the single tent - he had the knowledge but no experience, to change his clothes for the cleaner, camouflage ones he had in his rucksack, and to go to bed, hanging a lamp in front of the entrance to scare away the animals. And if terrorists saw him? Oh well, such was his fate. He didn't have the energy, time, or desire for the muggle circle.
***
It wasn't the rising sun that woke Stark or even the Afghans finding him. No, it was the sound of his own stomach. Tony had been up all night with the reactor in his hands, and he was feeling much better by morning. His lip was healed, not to mention the many sore wounds and abrasions. Apparently, the changes to his body were continuing, and it needed food, water, and energy. This time he had normal work, so after filling them with water, he boiled a wok over a gas burner, threw in some tea and sugar in his rucksack and made two more shawarma. I wanted to make a third one, but the circle could have been better. Yesterday's familiar fox didn't come back to him. Apparently, he had had enough and was sleeping. Oh, and they're nocturnal animals.
"Fine! Fuck you! I wasn't expecting you at all, you walking shawarma!" - thought Tony, annoyed and offended, as he packed his tent, sleeping bag and other belongings back.
He found making a new one easier than putting it back up again. It was too tightly packed. So he did, returning the wasted supplies. It would be easier to walk light, but he didn't know if there would be a hard surface along the way. And to his surprise, the huge rucksack weighed almost nothing to him. Either he was stronger, or the backpack was "magical", too. Tony was leaning more towards the former. And the heat and cold didn't feel so bad anymore. The new knowledge said he was being turned into a modified half-titan with adamantium muscles, bones, ligaments and skin, which was even cooler than Captain America. Not that it stopped him from being human, but in this situation, firstly, there was nothing he could do. And secondly, as a human, he was already dead. So the only thing left to do was to accept it and look for the positives, of which there were many.
Strong skin, great strength, and the ability not to breathe, eat, or drink. The ability to survive in space, under immense pressure, temperature or cold. It's like Superman on minimums. But all this, of course, is when the changes are finally completed and consolidated. However, even now, Tony was running and not getting tired, limited only by the speed of mana infusion from the reactor. He would immediately weaken without it, so he held on to it like a drowning man to a string. He had already tried to let go of it and nearly passed out from exhaustion.
Towards noon the houses and smoke became visible on the horizon. Reaching a small village of a couple of dozen houses took another hour. They looked like crooked and slanting rectangles made of sandstone and dung, or clay, if there was any. The roofs were wooden with mounds of the same clay. When Tony first came to Afghanistan, he thought the troubles of these people were because they were stupid and lazy barbarians who didn't want to work. However, Jinsen told him how things really are. Yes, like everywhere else, there are dumb and lazy people here, but for the most part, people here are simply not educated or allowed to work honestly. As a result, their options are either to grow opium poppies, to go to the Ten Rings, or to grow extremely capricious saffron, which is crazy to collect and process. And Stark had brought weapons that would fall more often on the heads of civilians than criminals.
As he walked, he thought about it for a long time. His first inclination was to give up making weapons when he returned. But after thinking and gaining knowledge of the spirit, he decided that would be foolish. Weapons would be produced one way or another. The same Humvee, for example. We could switch from offensive weapons to defensive weapons. ABMs, body armour, tank armour, active defence systems. You won't be able to use them as an offence, but far fewer American soldiers will be killed. And what kind of psychological attack? When you see that all your shells do not leave a scratch on the enemy, you will stop beating your head against the wall. Besides, you can gradually transfer the company to peaceful rails - electric cars, flying flyers, arc reactors on a large scale, new computers, instruments and many other things you can pull out of the protean base. But the key word is gradual. Introducing new technology takes a lot of time and, more importantly, money. Even more, than he already had. In truth, all thought slipped out of Stark's mind as he got closer.
A dozen terrorists in two pickup trucks were dragging screaming and sobbing people out of their homes. A resisting man was shot dead by a bearded Afghan man with a Kalashnikov rifle. A woman tried to rush to her husband, but she was kicked back, and the Mujahid started pulling down his trousers with a nasty grin on his face. He shouted something to two more men, and they began to hold the kicking burqa-clad woman by her arms and legs.
Tony shuddered and clenched his hands into fists. He'd never considered himself a champion of justice and laughed at so-called heroes. Still, now he couldn't look at what was happening indifferently. He remembered how Jinsen had been killed, how the soldiers of the convoy had died defending him to the last, how he had been beaten and bound to make weapons. Anger and fear clouded his eyes, but his mind remained cold. On one of the pickup trucks, a sentry stood behind a large calibre machine gun and looked around. Increasingly, though, his eyes were fixed on the undressed woman. Stark realised that if he ran away now, he would have no respect for himself. This woman would be in his dreams for the rest of his life.
So, reading the water creation charms, the only ones he knew, he launched them in the opposite direction from where he was. The splash of water caught the sentry's attention and a few other soldiers, some of whom went that way. Tony, shifting the reactor into his breast pocket and dropping his rucksack, ran out of the house's shadow with all his might. He almost stumbled himself, so unexpected was the speed. However, when he stopped to think about it, it was as if his body was doing everything for him. Jumping into the back of the truck, he grabbed the gunman's chin with his left hand and his forehead with his right. A sharp movement, a nasty wet crunch - and the sentry, who turned out to be a very young man, fell to the ground with a surprised and disbelieving expression that looked straight behind him.
Stark was in shock, it was the first time he had killed a man, yet his body continued to act as efficiently as possible, as if on automatic replaying hackneyed reflexes. Tony wasn't being controlled; it was just that the downloaded memory was finally starting to show itself in practice. Taking the machine gun, which turned out to be an ancient KPVT, off the safety, Tony started firing as if in slow motion. He felt no recoil and held the machine gun so tightly that he bent two of the grips. That's why the bullets didn't fly in all directions but hit the Taliban. One bullet, the cartridge longer than Stark's palm, flew into the head of a middle-aged Afghan who was turning, tearing it apart like a watermelon. Another one hits the shoulder of a second man, tearing off his arm. Here it hits the rapist in the neck, tears off his head and then hits the groin of the next one. On the thirtieth bullet, the machine gun jammed, and two Afghans were still alive and hiding behind the houses. Taking advantage of this, they, shouting something about Shaitan, threw a grenade at him, which Stark intercepted in mid-air and sent back. With a shout, the Taliban tried to leave cover, except only one managed to do so. The other flew away from the blast, already dead. The last Afghan, shouting "Allahu Akbar", ran out and fired a whole line at Tony. However, Stark could not dodge the bullets as fast as he was now, having taken three in the chest. The pain was as if he'd just been hit hard, though, and without waiting to see what else the terrorist would come up with, he punched him in the face. Just dented the front of his skull inward.
That's when the weakness hit Stark. He was panting, his legs shaky, and his muscles burning. Looking at the holes in his camouflage shirt, he saw bruises and bruises turning purple. It hadn't been as easy for him to take bullets to his skin as he'd thought, and his ribs were aching. But definitely easier than the average person. Looking around, he saw the corpses he had mutilated and vomited. After wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he tried to get closer to the villagers, but they looked at him with unbelievable horror. As if being in the hands of terrorists would be a better fate for them than being saved by him.
- What the hell did I save you guys for? Ungrateful pricks.
The truth is, Tony knew the answer. He was saving them for himself. So he could look in the mirror without shame and disgust. Suddenly someone tugged on his arm, and when he looked round, he saw a girl in a black dress and a white scarf. She was between ten and eleven years old and holding out a doll to him. It was crooked, slanted, stuffed with straw and obviously not made in a factory but with her own hands. Tony took it, smiled, and pulled out of his pocket a crumpled business card with his number on it. He handed it to the girl, took the dolly, walked over to the abandoned rucksack, put it on, and walked off to the second surviving pickup. The girl was almost immediately dragged to her by the women; it was worth it for him to move farther away. Looking at the doll, Tony felt something change in himself. Something had broken down to make way for something new. Because the girl had scars. Very specific scars from his, Stark's, weapon. It's been a long time since he cried. It's time again.
***
The terrorist's old Toyota had a working sat nav and a map with notes. Tony didn't know the language, but logically, the nearest major city occupied by the Americans was Changcharan, about forty-five miles away. Just in case, he ripped off the machine gun in the back of the truck with his bare hands. It was both satisfying and terrifying at the same time. You squeeze a girl like that in a passion and break her. And whether he was compatible with ordinary women was also an unanswerable question. Not that he wanted to become a father... Fuck it. He's alive. He'll complain about being bulletproof and super strong!
There were no more adventures on the road. A reliable old car took him to the nearest American checkpoint without problems. He did not get to the checkpoint, two APCs blocking the road, two shooting positions filled with sandbags and three patrolmen standing on the road, but he got out early. A little to the side was a house converted into a DOT with concrete slabs and the same bags.
- Freeze! Who's that guy?! - One of the patrolmen took Tony in his sights.
- I'm Tony Stark! Whoever gives me a phone to call, I'll give him ten grand!