In Marvel With Unique Skill Great Sage (MCU)

Thanks to Great Sage and the vast reserves of technical knowledge in his mind, the schematics weren't completely foreign.

Of course, understanding didn't mean mastery.

Some parts still felt murky, like an advanced textbook skimmed but not truly absorbed. For now, only Great Sage itself could claim to comprehend everything fully.

J.A.R.V.I.S.'s voice cut in abruptly.

"Mr. Echeverria, Mr. Stark left strict instructions not to alter his designs. I am obligated to enforce that order. Please refrain from interfering with the blueprints."

Lemu waved dismissively. "Don't worry about it. Just delete that directive."

"Understood. Directive deleted."

That easy?

Lemu smirked. Stark might trust J.A.R.V.I.S. with his life, but he'd clearly underestimated what an alien slime with a super-intelligent system could do.

His gaze returned to the holographic blueprints.

Why settle for someone else's work?

The more he looked, the more the design felt… lacking.

If I'm going to wear armor, it should be custom—something tailored to my exact specifications.

A suit with soul.

His eyes burned with excitement.

No more stalling. Let's get to work.

Lemu dropped into the nearest chair and cracked his knuckles.

"Great Sage, you're up."

"Fill in any gaps I don't understand."

'Understood.'

Lemu's fingers danced across the interface, his gaze fixed on the holographic blueprint of the Mark II armor.

He examined it for a long moment, nodding in mock approval—then, with a casual flick, dragged the entire schematic into the recycle bin and deleted it.

"Not bad. Modular mechanical design, easy to assemble and disassemble. Conservative, but overly simplistic."

It sounded like praise, but the subtle disdain in his tone said otherwise.

"I can do better."

His eyes gleamed as he began sketching over the hologram, ideas flowing effortlessly.

"Integrated structure for seamless assembly. Borrowing inspiration from that front-opening design Stark used in Age of Ultron… Add a stabilizing frame here, double-layered composite armor for reinforcement… And…"

Bit by bit, the framework for a new prototype suit emerged under his hands, taking shape with each stroke.

….

Meanwhile, in Afghanistan…

My name is Ten Rings Lieutenant. True to my title, I'm one of the leaders of the Ten Rings.

I've recently given myself a nickname—Hellhound.

Courtesy of Tony Stark.

He left me with a scorched patch across my right cheek, courtesy of one of his Jericho missiles.

The scar made my men fear me even more. They flinched at my orders and didn't dare breathe too loudly in my presence.

Surviving death three times over is a gift—a rare one at that.

Stark's missile didn't kill me. The explosion he set off didn't kill me. Even the U.S. military, drawn by the blast, couldn't finish the job.

My men managed to pull me out in time, though not without casualties. Nearly a hundred of us were sent scrambling like rats by a five-man U.S. squad.

At least they were competent enough to keep me alive.

The Americans spent an entire day combing through the rubble, clearly searching for Tony Stark.

Too bad for them.

Little did they know Stark had already escaped.

According to one of my sentries, Brown, Stark flew out of the flames wearing that monstrous iron suit—like a missile shooting into the sky.

I prayed he'd crash and die in the desert. That the sun and wind would dry his corpse into a husk.

Then I'd find him and preserve his body as the most prized addition to my collection.

But alas, there was no body.

After the U.S. forces pulled out, we combed the area following Brown's directions.

All we found were metal scraps, half-buried in the sand.

Fragments of his suit.

I recognized one piece immediately—the crude mask he wore during his escape.

I'll never forget it.

It was with these scraps that Stark deceived me—

Used my kindness against me. Lied about building missiles to create a weapon that wiped out my base.

Tony Stark—truly the world's most terrifying killer.

….

Back at Stark's Mansion…

Tony Stark had intended to pitch his new technology to the military, hoping for their support.

What he didn't expect was his best friend, Colonel James Rhodes, brushing him off.

Rhodes's only concern was for Stark to get his head checked and re-open the weapons division.

Stark's frustration simmered.

He wasn't crazy—at least not the way Rhodes seemed to think.

If there was ever a moment when he did lose his mind, it was probably yesterday—when he decided to keep Lemu Echeverria around.

And now, here was that same blue-haired menace, casually seated in his basement workshop, fingers flying over Stark's most precious schematics.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Stark's shout shattered the silence.

The door flew open, slamming against the wall as he stormed in, eyes ablaze with rage.

"Ward F! Step away from my designs right now before you break something!"

His heart practically seized as he spotted Lemu's modifications on the screen.

His baby—

His Mark II—

Lemu's hand was all over it.

Stark's glare could have melted steel.

You can't underestimate the fury of a mechanical fanatic when their designs are violated.

It's like discovering your thesis draft got wiped by a computer virus the night before submission, your week-long sketchbook turned into a tissue, or worse—finding out your new neighbor's surname is Wang.

"Your designs? Please."

Lemu didn't even bother turning around. His fingers continued dancing across the interface, sketching out intricate lines and annotations on the holographic blueprint.

"Your so-called designs belong in the trash heap."

Sharp tongue, loaded. Fire.

Stark's jaw tightened, ready to throw the little intruder out of his basement.

But then his eyes drifted to the projection.

Wait a second…

He froze mid-motion.

This… actually isn't half bad.

The rough sketches, the overlapping notes—it all carried a strange, chaotic brilliance. Stark's hand, originally raised to toss Lemu out, slowly lowered as his eyes locked onto the design.

Somehow, the kid had turned a mock-up into something interesting.