In Marvel With Unique Skill Great Sage (MCU)

Stark shut his eyes tightly, trying to ignore the stinging sensation as sweat mixed with the grit of sand and seeped into the cracks of his dry, sunburnt skin. His mouth was parched, and every time he licked his cracked lips, he tasted the faint tang of blood.

They had been wandering the desert for nearly two hours now, with no sign of rescue.

….

Meanwhile, in the Valley of Wreckage…

The Ten Rings leader groaned as he regained consciousness.

Flames roared all around him, and the stench of burning metal and flesh choked the air. His ears rang violently, and his face was a nightmare of pain—his right cheek felt as though it had been branded with a red-hot iron.

Blinking through the smoke and the searing agony, he surveyed the scene. His base, once his stronghold, was reduced to rubble and corpses, a sea of twisted metal and fire.

For a brief moment, relief flickered in his chest—he had survived the missile. But as he took in the devastation, despair clawed its way into his heart.

The bitter memory returned with full force.

Months ago, he had accepted a lucrative contract to attack a U.S. military convoy. What he hadn't anticipated was capturing someone infinitely more dangerous than he could have imagined—Tony Stark, the infamous genius arms dealer, also known as one of America's deadliest weapons in human form.

Because his employer had failed to pay the full bounty, he had made the fateful mistake of keeping Stark alive. A gesture of "mercy," he thought at the time.

Now, staring at the carnage that had unfolded in the blink of an eye, he realized it was a mercy he would never forgive himself for.

Staggering through the wreckage, the leader fell to his knees amidst the smoldering ruins of his men and equipment. His screams of rage and grief echoed through the desolate valley—a chorus of anguish that blended with the howling desert wind. His once-proud visage was now twisted, monstrous, like a demon dragged out of hell, yet his desperation was that of a beaten, starving dog.

….

Back in the Desert…

Tony Stark and Lemu trudged onward, their bodies battered by the merciless heat.

The sun blazed overhead, casting distorted mirages across the horizon. Neither had food nor water, and each step felt heavier than the last.

Stark's legs were unsteady, his footsteps uneven as he pressed forward. Occasionally, he shielded his eyes with his hand, scanning the distance for any sign of help—a military patrol, a passing vehicle, anything.

Lemu, meanwhile, seemed unnaturally calm, his fur-lined coat miraculously unruffled by the oppressive heat. If Stark wasn't so distracted by his own suffering, he might've found it infuriating.

Finally, Stark broke the silence, his voice hoarse and cracked. "You're… not thirsty?"

Lemu raised an eyebrow, as if the question were beneath him. "I don't need water."

Stark grunted bitterly. "Convenient. Must be nice being you."

"Not really," Lemu replied nonchalantly. "But I'll admit, it has its perks."

Stark didn't respond. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, the flicker of hope that had once lit his eyes dimming with each step.

For all his wit and brilliance, even Tony Stark couldn't outthink the desert. Not without help. And right now, that help was nowhere to be found.

The desert stretched endlessly before them, its vastness interrupted only by the occasional patch of scraggly weeds and the shifting contours of the sand dunes. Somewhere out there, a U.S. military base should be stationed. Logic dictated that the military would have already deployed helicopters to investigate the blast site, expanding their search radius outward.

Yet, as the sun sank lower toward the western horizon, the skies remained eerily empty. By Stark's own calculations, the delay made no sense. Helicopters could cover this distance quickly; their absence was troubling.

The air was growing cooler with the approach of evening, but Stark knew better than to feel relieved. If rescue didn't arrive before nightfall, they'd face a bitterly cold desert night—a trial that could push even the strongest to their limits. Worse, the darkness would severely hamper any ongoing search operations.

Humans and slimes, however, did not share the same struggles.

For Stark, this was a harrowing survival ordeal—dehydration, exhaustion, and injury weighing heavily on him with each grueling step. For Lemu, it was little more than an extended stroll.

The desert, while majestic at first glance, quickly grew monotonous. Sand stretched endlessly in every direction, punctuated only by the occasional tuft of dried grass. The wind, carrying fine grains of sand, was an irritant, stinging the skin and clouding the air.

But none of this seemed to faze Lemu. His inhuman physique, combined with his natural resistance to heat, left him unaffected by the sweltering temperatures. Stark, on the other hand, was visibly deteriorating. Two hours of relentless sun exposure had taken a heavy toll on the man who had already endured months of captivity and torture. His face, pale and gaunt, seemed to grow more lifeless with every step.

Lemu cast a sidelong glance at Stark, a flicker of concern crossing his otherwise calm demeanor.

In the desert, the lack of water was a death sentence. For the average person, dehydration could claim a life in as little as one to three days, depending on the severity of the conditions. And Stark wasn't just any person—he was injured, his reserves already critically low.

Water…

In a barren wasteland like this, the sources of water were painfully limited: plants, animals, underground reserves, or the atmosphere itself.

Plants and animals were virtually nonexistent in this part of the desert. Underground water? Completely out of reach without tools.

That left the air.

Lemu's eyes narrowed as an idea took shape in his mind. He absentmindedly twirled a lock of his long hair—something he had developed a habit of doing since gaining this human form.

The air was made up of countless molecules, including water vapor. If he could control airflow, it stood to reason that he could compress the air to condense water, or even separate water molecules directly from the surrounding gases.

"Great Sage," Lemu thought, addressing the voice in his mind, "is it possible to extract water molecules from the air?"