Inside S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, the intelligence division had gone into overdrive.
The moment news broke that Tony Stark had been attacked and gone missing in Afghanistan, every available analyst was pulled in. Satellite feeds, intercepted communications, thermal scans—everything was being combed for clues.
At one of the central stations, Maria Hill reviewed a fresh report, her expression tightening.
"Director," she said, turning toward Nick Fury, "we've detected an unidentified object leaving New York. It's traveling at… Mach 3—no, closer to Mach 4."
"Mach 4?" Fury frowned, then immediately straightened. "Call Noah Vale. Now. Ask if that's him."
Hill nodded and signaled the team.
Fury turned toward the main display. "Track its trajectory. I want to know where it's headed."
Within seconds, a clean line appeared across the map.
No deviations. No hesitation.
A straight shot across continents.
They extended the projected path.
Afghanistan lit up at the endpoint.
"Director," Phil Coulson said as he lowered his phone, "Noah's not answering. We tried reaching out through his associates too—no luck. They're dodging the question."
Fury tapped his fingers lightly against the desk, eyes narrowed.
Since when did Noah have that kind of connection with Stark?
Flying halfway across the world to intervene… that wasn't casual.
After a moment, he exhaled. "Keep the intel division running at full capacity. As for that object—don't interfere. Whatever it is, it's probably heading for the same target we are."
Inside the Interdimensional Chatroom, the atmosphere was far more relaxed—at least on the surface.
A new member had joined after a long lull, and greetings flooded in.
But no matter what anyone said, there was no response.
It was like throwing messages into a void.
The Noble Blade frowned at the silence, absently rubbing his chin. Something about this felt familiar—and not in a good way.
The last time someone joined and didn't respond…
Well, that hadn't ended cleanly.
Kana Kimishima, meanwhile, stared at the name displayed in the chat.
Tony Stark.
It nagged at her memory.
Even though her world hadn't reached the era of modern superhero films yet, she'd still come across old comic publications. The name Stark—Howard Stark—rang a bell.
Her fingers moved quickly.
Kana Kimishima: Wait… are you Iron Man? Like—your dad is Howard Stark?
The chat paused.
The Noble Blade: How do you know details about his family?
Kana Kimishima: It's just a guess. The name matches a character from a comic series I've read. Probably a coincidence—there are plenty of people with the same name.
The Exorcist: I see.
Elsewhere, the Overlord stared at the conversation with growing irritation.
This was exactly why he preferred recruiting people from older worlds.
Modern ones came with too much context.
Too much chance of slipping up.
If this continued, the persona he'd carefully built might start to crack.
More importantly—
Tony still hadn't responded to a single message.
The Overlord's eyes narrowed.
If he's not answering… then he's probably already in Afghanistan.
High above that very country—
A thunderclap split the sky.
Noah Vale came to an abrupt halt, hovering in the upper atmosphere, suspended between layers of cloud.
Below him stretched a vast blanket of white.
He closed his eyes for a moment, reconstructing the terrain in his mind.
The ambush. The convoy. The missile.
If events were playing out the way he expected, Stark would be taken to a cave system somewhere in the desert—close enough to the attack site to allow for immediate treatment, but hidden from obvious detection.
That narrowed it down.
Strip away populated areas, and only a handful of possible locations remained.
"Good enough."
Noah angled downward.
Then he dropped.
The clouds shattered around him as he punched through, leaving a massive hole in their wake. Air screamed past his body as he accelerated toward the ground.
Inside a dimly lit cave—
A man worked frantically.
Ho Yinsen gripped a pair of surgical tools, sweat running down his brow as he carefully extracted fragments of shrapnel from Tony Stark's chest.
The larger pieces came out with difficulty.
The smaller ones…
Those would have to stay.
There was no way to remove them all without killing him.
Instead, Yinsen prepared a crude electromagnetic device—something that could keep the remaining fragments from reaching Stark's heart.
It was the only chance he had.
Then—
BOOM.
The entire cave trembled.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
Yinsen froze for a split second, heart pounding.
What was that?
Had something outside detonated?
Outside—
The desert had been violently reshaped.
At the center of it stood Noah.
Or rather—hovered.
Suspended in midair, untouched by gravity, he looked down at the crater beneath his feet—five meters deep, carved into the sand by his impact.
Around him, armed militants scrambled, shouting in confusion as they raised their weapons.
Noah barely spared them a glance.
"Tony Stark is here, right?" he asked in fluent Pashto, his tone calm.
Even as he spoke, his senses spread outward.
Sound waves bounced, mapped, returned.
Within seconds, the entire base unfolded in his mind—every structure, every tunnel, every heartbeat.
There.
A cave.
Several people.
One unconscious man on a table.
Target confirmed.
One of the militants stared at him, recognition dawning. "Y-you're Noah Vale—!"
"Wrong answer," Noah said flatly. "I've already found what I need."
A ripple of unease spread through the group.
"Open fire! Open—"
The command never finished.
The air screamed.
It wasn't an explosion in the traditional sense.
It was pressure—pure, overwhelming force—detonating outward in every direction.
For a fraction of a second, everything froze.
Then—
Hundreds of heads lifted cleanly from their bodies.
No resistance.
No warning.
Just a single, instantaneous cut delivered by forces they couldn't even perceive.
Time seemed to stretch.
Some of them were still conscious long enough to see it—their own bodies, still standing, headless, weapons slipping from limp hands.
Then the shockwave hit fully.
Sound returned in a deafening roar.
Weapons shattered. Supplies disintegrated. Flesh and sand were torn apart and flung outward in a violent storm of debris.
And just like that—
The entire encampment was erased.