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"Release that girl!"
"No killing!"
"Take this!"
From the moment he knocked out those two soldiers, Mark had scarcely had a moment's rest.
Each time he encountered injustice or danger, he found himself compelled to intervene. Even when his rational mind warned against it, his body seemed to act on its own.
By this point, Mark was thoroughly convinced that these impulses were a direct result of the loaded protagonist template. He knew himself well. He was not, by nature, someone imbued with a strong sense of justice, nor did he harbor any particular fondness for combat.
It was now clear that the protagonist template came with both advantages and disadvantages.
The benefit was obvious, he could instantly gain the immense strength and abilities of the character whose template he had drawn. However, the downside was less convenient. During the duration of the template's activation, he would also partially inherit that character's personality and behavioral inclinations.
"Almost there," he muttered.
In order to minimize delays, Mark had deliberately chosen remote paths through the city, reducing the number of events or people he might encounter. Eventually, his efforts bore fruit, and he reached the outskirts of the city, far from the most heavily bombarded areas.
Unfortunately, the one-hour limit on the protagonist template was nearly exhausted.
"You've got to be kidding me. Not again!"
Just as Mark was sprinting across the rooftop of a building, poised to exit the city, a micro-missile suddenly descended from the sky, targeting a two-story residential house not far ahead. He could clearly see a terrified couple peering out from a second-floor window.
"Goddamn it!"
Without hesitation, Mark drew the red Power Pole from his back and leapt toward the house. With a mental command, the pole extended midair. With a single powerful swing, he struck the missile and diverted it before it could impact the structure.
He landed on the balcony of the house just seconds later.
"Oh my God!"
The middle-aged couple, who had witnessed the entire spectacle, from Mark leaping into the air to deflecting a missile with a staff gaped in disbelief at the boy standing on their balcony.
But before they could even begin to recover from the shock of their miraculous survival, their expressions changed once again. This time, to horror. From the opposite direction, another missile approached. This one was even larger and more destructive.
Given its size, a direct hit would likely obliterate the house completely. Not only would the couple perish, but anyone else too in the building will.
Mark also saw the incoming missile and recognized the danger immediately. Even with Goku's formidable physique, he doubted he could withstand the impact of such a powerful explosive.
Without hesitation, he clasped his hands together and began gathering energy.
"Kame… hame… haaaaa!"
He unleashed the signature technique of the Turtle School. A massive wave of concentrated energy erupted from his palms and collided with the incoming missile.
BOOM!
With a thunderous explosion, the missile was vaporized into oblivion.
"That should do it," Mark muttered as he retracted his hands, preparing to leave the area and resume his escape.
But before he could take a step, a wave of dizziness overtook him. His body, previously overflowing with strength, now felt utterly feeble. Darkness claimed his vision, and he collapsed.
"Damn it… time's up," he thought just before losing consciousness.
What he had not anticipated was the significant backlash upon the expiration of the protagonist template.
The middle-aged couple, who had been awestruck by the Kamehameha that had saved their lives, saw their young savior collapse on their balcony. Alarmed, they rushed forward, lifted him up, and carried him hastily into their basement.
Disoriented. Weak. Tired.
Mark gradually began to regain consciousness. His eyelids fluttered. Then, a voice, young, feminine, gentle and full of concern, reached his ears.
"Are you ok?"
Then another voice spoke more masculine
"Hello, thank you, thank you very much…"
Mark responded instinctively, beginning to answer them in his native tongue out of habit before abruptly realizing how odd he must sound. He opened his eyes at once.
In front of him were two children, a boy and a girl, each around ten years old, both staring at him with confused expressions.
"What are you saying? We don't understand you," the girl replied, tilting her head quizzically. She then turned to the boy beside her and asked,
"Do you know what he's saying?"
The boy quickly shook his head.
Although the siblings had been learning English by watching DVDs with their parents, Mark's jumbled response had clearly puzzled them.
"Oh, I'm sorry. That was my mistake," Mark replied, quickly regaining composure. He looked around the room and then addressed the children in English. "May I ask who you are? And where exactly am I?"
In his previous life, Mark had worked as a foreign trade salesman. Though the pay had been modest, he had developed solid English-speaking skills.
His final memory was of firing a Kamehameha to destroy a missile before collapsing. Now, he needed to gather information. The children were his only lead.
"I'm Wanda Django Maximoff. You can call me Wanda," the girl said.
"I'm Pietro Django Maximoff. Just call me Pietro," the boy added.
After completing their introductions, the siblings answered together, "This is our home's basement. Mommy and Daddy went out to get food. They told us to stay here."
"Pietro… Wanda… siblings… wait a minute," Mark thought, a sudden unease creeping over him.
Tentatively, he asked, "Do you know what country this is?"
"Sokovia," they responded in unison after exchanging a brief glance.
Hearing the answer, Mark's stomach dropped.
'It really is the Marvel Universe. I've somehow transmigrated into Marvel.' The urge to curse nearly escaped his lips.
Though not a hardcore fan, Mark had seen most of the Marvel films and several of the series. He hadn't read the comics, but his knowledge of the cinematic universe was more than adequate.
The children's names might have been a coincidence, but the mention of Sokovia, a fictional Eastern European country that didn't exist in the real world confirmed it beyond doubt.
'Marvel. Of all places.'
This was not a safe universe by any stretch of the imagination. With its vast multiverse and near-constant existential threats, entire universes could be wiped out as collateral in cosmic conflicts.
Even in the main cinematic universe, the one he was likely in, chaos, war, and catastrophe were always just around the corner.
"I just have to survive," he muttered with a weary sigh.
Truthfully, were it not for the inherent danger of the Marvel Universe, Mark might not have minded transmigration.
His previous life had not been particularly fulfilling. His parents had divorced early and remarried separately. Each had new families and children. Mark had long since become an emotional afterthought in both homes.
So in a sense, life in any world was just life. It made little difference where he was, as long as he was alive.
"I guess saving Scarlet Witch's parents was actually a pretty decent opening move."
He glanced at young Wanda, clad in a red jacket. A small sense of relief washed over him.
This girl would grow up to be one of the most powerful beings in the multiverse. A true titan. If he could establish a good relationship with her now and maintain it, his chances of long-term survival would improve exponentially.
Provided, of course, that Wanda did not fall into darkness.
But given that he had now saved her parents from death, it was likely that her tragic path would diverge from its original trajectory. With a happy childhood, the odds of her succumbing to despair and rage would be significantly reduced.
The question now was how to survive in this world.
Mark was, for the moment, in the body of an eleven- or twelve-year-old with no official identity or legal protection. His "cheat," the character template system, was powerful but came with strict limitations: one hour of use, followed by significant side effects and a twenty-four-hour cooldown.
After speaking with the two innocent children and gathering some basic information, Mark began to formulate a plan.