The U.S. airbase in Afghanistan still bore the damage from Noah Vale's arrival. Cracks split across concrete walls and hangars, and dust still drifted from shaken ceilings.
Noah glanced at Tony Stark and said, "You were supposed to stay quiet these past few days. Instead, you got a little too comfortable."
Tony looked away for half a second.
That was fair.
At first, he'd kept his head down. Then his instincts had taken over. He'd started talking in the Interdimensional Chatroom, showing off, tossing out jokes, and eventually changing his display name to Playboy.
He hadn't exposed anything important—
—but now everyone in the chat knew Kana had been right.
Tony Stark really was Iron Man.
"You should be grateful you didn't ruin this completely," Noah said. "Now start asking for help."
Tony frowned. "What's the story?"
"You tell them your armor project was discovered," Noah said calmly. "Say the militants found out what you were building. They aren't killing you yet—but they're about to execute Yinsen to pressure you."
Tony nodded slowly.
"And then?"
"You ask for help," Noah said. "Not from the administrator directly."
Tony blinked. "Then who?"
"Deep Crimson."
Tony frowned. "I thought the administrator was the Overlord."
"He is," Noah said. "Deep Crimson is his alt. He uses that identity when he wants to get involved personally without dropping the all-knowing act."
That got Tony's full attention.
"So he's been hiding behind a second account."
"Exactly. He wants the mystique without taking risks under his main name."
Noah stepped closer and continued, "Ask the administrator first. He'll refuse. Then Deep Crimson will jump in and play the hero."
Tony let out a slow breath. "And I'm supposed to trust that?"
"You don't have to trust it," Noah said. "You just have to send the message."
Before Tony could reply, Noah wrapped him in a field of energy and hauled him up off the ground.
"Hey—what are you doing?"
"Getting us out of here," Noah said.
In the next moment, they shot into the sky.
"The desert," Noah added flatly. "If two people at this level fight seriously, this base won't survive. Personally, I don't care if the shockwave kills everyone here."
That shut Tony up.
Over the past few days, he'd spent enough time in the chatroom to understand the ranking system. The gap between tiers was absurd, and Level 4 was already well past human scale.
Fighting here would be a disaster.
So he stayed silent.
Far out in the Afghan desert, Tony focused on the chat interface and typed.
Playboy: Help. I need someone here now. @Overlord @Deep Crimson @Overlord…
Messages immediately began pouring in.
The Noble Blade: What happened?
Kana Kimishima: Did something go wrong at the camp?
Playboy: Yeah. They found out I was building the armor. Now they've surrounded me, and they're about to kill my assistant, Yinsen, to force me to cooperate.
Playboy: @Overlord @Deep Crimson, please help. Yinsen's about to die.
In his own world, the Overlord leaned back and smiled.
Just as expected.
With access to the chatroom, Tony Stark had gotten cocky. Of course he had. That arrogance had pushed him into making a mistake, and now he was desperate.
Perfect.
Overlord: I am occupied with matters beyond your world and cannot personally intervene. This is… unfortunate.
Right on cue—
Deep Crimson: It's fine. The administrator has greater responsibilities. I'll go.
Playboy: Great. Please hurry. They've already got a gun to Yinsen's head. If you save him, dinner's on me.
Noah glanced at Tony. "Good enough. Send the cross-world invitation. One slot only."
Tony did.
A portal request appeared in the chatroom interface, addressed to a single recipient.
The Overlord—under the identity of Deep Crimson—accepted it without hesitation.
In an instant, space twisted around him.
The next thing he saw was sand.
Endless sand.
And two men standing in front of him.
One was Tony Stark, looking entirely too healthy for someone supposedly cornered by terrorists.
The other—
Black-haired. Calm. Smiling like he'd been waiting for this all day.
Noah Vale.
Deep Crimson's expression changed.
Where were the militants?
Where was Yinsen?
Where was the trap he'd expected to walk into?
Then he realized—
This was the trap.
"Finally," Noah said, almost pleasantly. "I've been wanting to meet you."
His hand landed on Tony's shoulder. In an instant, Tony vanished, pulled into Noah's spatial field and out of the line of fire.
Deep Crimson's heart dropped.
Wrong. Wrong. This is bad.
He reacted fast—but not fast enough.
Noah was already in front of him.
The punch looked simple.
No flourish. No wasted motion. Just a straight right thrown from the waist—something any trained boxer could recognize.
Except this one hit with monstrous force.
It tore through the air at supersonic speed, carrying enough power to flatten everything in its path.
Deep Crimson barely got his arms up in time.
Crimson light exploded around his body.
In a split second, red scales spread across his skin, covering him in a hardened layer of protection.
Then the punch landed.
The collision sounded like a dragon roaring.
A shockwave ripped across the desert, blasting hundreds of tons of sand skyward and swallowing the battlefield in a storm of dust.
Deep Crimson was launched backward, carving a trench through the desert more than a hundred yards long before finally managing to kill the momentum.
His arms were numb.
That alone was enough to horrify him.
Then he laughed.
Not because he was calm—
Because he was angry.
He stood up straight in the swirling sand and glared at Noah.
"So that's your plan?" he said. "A sneak attack?"
His voice sharpened.
"You think a cheap trick like that was enough to kill me?"
He bared his teeth. "Doesn't matter who you are. You and Tony Stark are both dying here today."
His fingers lengthened as he spoke, nails sharpening into blade-like claws capable of raking through steel.
But then—
He stopped.
Something about Noah's expression had changed.
Not fear.
Not caution.
Annoyance.
Real annoyance.
Noah slowly clenched his fist.
"That was me testing you," he said.
His voice was quiet.
Cold.
"I wasted ten full days of my life preparing for this."
The air changed.
Deep Crimson felt it immediately.
The pressure rolling off Noah spiked so violently that his instincts screamed at him before his mind caught up.
Power flooded out of Noah's body in a burst far beyond the strike he'd just thrown.
Not a little more.
Not twice as much.
An order of magnitude greater.
Deep Crimson's pupils shrank.
Even from over a hundred yards away, the danger hit him like a blade pressed against his throat.
And beneath that rising pressure—
The desert itself began to shake.
He heard it then.
A deep, expanding rumble.
At first it sounded impossible.
Then he realized the truth.
It wasn't in his head.
The earth really was screaming.