Two blocks away, tucked in a shadowy corner, a beat-up Ford pickup, one of millions just like it in New York, sat quietly by the roadside.
Ash whistled as he strolled up to the vehicle, casually tossing the metal case wrapped in his coat onto the passenger seat. He circled around for a few more blocks, then slipped into a random bar for a shot of vodka. Only after confirming he wasn't being tailed did he finally meander back toward home.
Double-crossing a gang? That kind of stunt required caution.
If word got out, things could get ugly fast. Ash had no interest in spending every day watching his back for some pissed-off Russian thug with a sniper rifle. Not that he was scared, just didn't want the headache.
***
New York City. Queens. 33rd Street.
Construction barriers, red and white, fenced off large sections of the street under repair. The remaining narrow lane was jammed with bumper-to-bumper traffic. Unlike the glamorous towers of Manhattan, this place was a relic of the '80s and '90s—worn-down buildings stacked with identical windows like an old, moldy waffle.
Both sides of the cramped street were crammed with cluttered shops: music stores, bookstores, Italian delis. As the early morning sky began to pale, Ash abandoned the stolen pickup, tucked a brown paper bag under one arm, and navigated through the maze of vehicles until he reached an unremarkable little shop tucked into a corner.
Behind a rust-stained iron gate, the store window was crammed with bizarre junk—wooden clocks, broken gramophones, dusty film cameras, alarm clocks, torn-up books, junk that looked like it belonged in a landfill.
Taped to the glass was a scrap of gridded paper with a scrawled, almost illegible string of English letters. Below it, in Chinese characters, were the words:
Ash's Antique Shop.
As he stepped through the door, a rusty brass bell gave a hoarse clang. From above, the flap of wings echoed through the shadows. A sleek, two-foot-long black hawk let out a sharp cry and swooped down from its perch, landing gracefully on Ash's arm.
Its eyes were fierce, its talons sharp as iron. A small metal case hung around its neck, gleaming under the dim light with a mysterious, ancient sheen.
"Good boy."
Ash ran a hand through the bird's glossy feathers, smirking. While he was out, the messenger hawk kept watch over the shop. Through its eyes, Ash could monitor everything happening inside.
Both walls of the shop were lined with shelves stacked with oddities and refuse. Dead center stood an oak counter, its display case murky with age. Behind it, the wallpaper had long since peeled away, revealing a discolored, crumbling wall peppered with uneven black picture frames. The photos inside were so caked in grime they were practically indistinguishable.
Ash stepped through a side door behind the counter. He tapped several of the frames—top, bottom, left, right—in a practiced sequence. With a grinding ka-chunk, a one-meter-thick steel wall slid sideways, revealing a hidden passageway.
Two flights of folding stairs led down to a sealed, dark red metal door. Behind it lay a warm, well-lit underground chamber, filled with priceless artifacts and gleaming loot: weapons, armor, gold, silver; it all sparkled under the soft lights.
He collapsed onto a leather sofa with a satisfying plop, sending out a fart-like squeak. Pulling a cigarette from his coat, he lit up, exhaled a thin trail of blue-gray smoke, and stared at the metal case on the table. A gleeful smile tugged at his lips.
"Time to see what our dear Vladimir left us tonight."
The case's combination lock clicked open beneath Ash's trained fingers, no harder than unhooking a bra.
The instant the lid opened, Ash's pupils turned gold. A gasp slipped from his lips.
Half the case was packed with tightly bundled stacks of old $50 bills. The other side contained twenty bricks of drugs, a crimson velvet pouch, and a thick glass tube the size of a forearm, holding three rugged black stones.
Opening the velvet pouch, Ash poured out a stream of polished diamonds. Each gem was masterfully cut to international standards, scattering rainbow light under the ceiling lamp.
"O~ Ma God~!" Ash whistled, practically drooling as he held one up to his eye. "So many diamonds. Our poor Russian friends are going to cry themselves to sleep tonight."
The shimmer was hypnotic. Ash's eyes gleamed with greed as he carefully inspected each diamond like a dragon counting its hoard.
"System," he murmured, "appraise everything."
[Valuation complete.]
[Rare Minerals: 52 diamonds — 520 gold coins.
Chemical Goods: 20 bricks — 10 gold coins.
Unknown High-Density Metals: 3 units — 1,200 gold coins. Sell now?]
The cold, mechanical voice echoed in his mind.
Ash froze. He already knew the system was a crooked one.
The first time he ever tried to sell something to the System, he'd learned just how stingy it could be. Ten gold coins for a diamond?! What a joke. The more he sold, the worse the exchange rate became. And the drugs? Worthless.
But those three black stones being worth more than the diamonds? That caught him off guard.
He reached for the tube holding the stones. As soon as he gripped it, his hand tensed, the weight was surprising. He had to use ten times the force he'd expected just to lift it. He brought it closer for inspection.
Pitted and dull, the stones looked ordinary, like three ugly walnuts, but each weighed over twenty pounds.
"The density's insane… at least ten times heavier than regular steel," Ash muttered.
The system's resale prices were infamously brutal. Even gear purchased from the system would sell back at half value. If it was willing to pay 1,200 gold for these stones, then their true worth had to be at least 2,500.
He made a quick decision.
With a flash of green light, the diamonds vanished from the table. His heart ached as he watched the bottom of the translucent system panel jump from 1,721 to 2,361 gold coins.
A 500-coin gain. Not bad. Especially in this over-inflated economy where most loot was now worthless.
He opened the system panel.
Four icons glowed in the transparent panel:
[Shop — Buy or sell items using Gold Coins.
Skills — Unlock and upgrade active or passive abilities.
Attributes — View and enhance Strength, Agility, Intelligence, Health, and Mana.
Gamble — Spend coins to draw random rewards. High risk, high reward.]
A former hardcore DOTA player, Ash, just a punk kid ten years ago, had instantly recognized the gear from the canonical items: the "Miracle Tree" and "Quelling Blade."
Too bad his child body back then couldn't handle the load. Only two years ago, after finally becoming an adult, did he gain access to his system and start his path toward greatness.
Ash Ward was now twenty years old. He stood at 180 centimeters, his frame lean yet athletic—every movement carried the effortless grace of someone who knew how to fight and had done so often. His skin was pale white, almost porcelain under the right light, giving him an edge of sharp contrast against the grimy backdrop of the city.
His long blond hair framed his sharp features, brushing just past his shoulders. There was something untamed about him, way his eyes held just a little too much defiance, the way he carried himself like someone who didn't care for rules. A natural bad boy, no doubt. The type who'd look just as comfortable holding a cigarette as he would a blade.
Ash had memorized every item, skill, and stat in DOTA by heart. He thought this system would make him untouchable… until he saw a news article about Tony Stark.
Only then did Ash realize where he was: the Marvel Universe, where superpowers ran rampant and aliens were common. His dreams of domination quickly cooled.
Now, sitting on a pile of 2,000 coins, Ash resisted the temptation of the skill and gambling templates. They were expensive that he couldn't afford. Instead, he selected the Attribute Template.
[Race: Human
Attribute Enhancement: Level 1
Strength: 8 (Normal adult male: 5)
Agility: 12.5 (5)
Intelligence: 13 (4)
Health: 200
Mana: 130
(Note: Below 10 health, mobility is lost. Below 10 mana, unconsciousness occurs.)
Skill: Wind Walk — temporarily enter stealth. First strike deals bonus damage.
Mana Cost: 50
Cooldown: 15 seconds
Level 1: 30 bonus damage, 1-second delay to enter stealth, 15-second stealth duration.]
Ash selected [Attribute Enhancement Level 2.]
Two thousand coins disappeared in an instant.
Green light flared over his body. Power surged through his veins, and a booming voice echoed in his soul. A torrential wave of heat swept through him, igniting every muscle.
Crack! Pop! Snap!
His bones groaned and joints cracked like fireworks. Ash felt like he could leap over a building. His mind sharpened. Every nerve felt alive.
[New stats:
Strength: 10
Agility: 17
Intelligence: 17]
Compared to Marvel's absurdly overpowered heroes, Ash's base stats still looked pitiful. But his growth rate? That was what mattered. With 4.5 agility and 4 intelligence growth per level, he was elite—top-tier among all DOTA heroes. Even his 2-point strength gain wasn't bad.
Still, the idea of being a tank made him cringe.
He thought of Luke Cage, bulletproof, built like a bulldozer, strength fifty times a normal man's.
"What a perfect meat shield. Dammit! Why don't I get a shot of super serum, gamma rays, or a radioactive spider bite?"
He glanced bitterly at his meager strength stat.
Of course, he was just whining. Even if those chances landed in his lap, only a fool would take them.
The DOTA system was slow, expensive, and greedy—but it was safe. Compared to experimental drugs and cosmic accidents? No contest. Those odds weren't even nine-to-one. They were a death sentence.
He stored the mysterious black stones into the system's inventory. Definitely worth keeping. As for the metal case, he sold it back to the shop. Worthless—but now, even the last trace of evidence had vanished.
Then Ash spent the next hour training. Simple routines. Testing reach, balance, control. Attribute boosts were one thing. Actually learning how to wield that power was another.
Every punch. Every dash. Measured. Calibrated. In battle, the tiniest misstep could cost everything.
Ash took training seriously. This was his life now. All he wanted was simple: gold, women, and a long, comfortable life in this insane world.
But power was the price of survival.
And after Tony Stark's press conference last year, where that smug bastard announced to the world, he was Iron Man, Ash's urgency only grew. That moment had triggered the Marvel Cinematic Universe.
The chain of wars had already begun.
Dripping with sweat after ten full sets of training, Ash suddenly froze. He grinned, turning his head.
"Looks like we've got a customer," he said softly. "Better be something worth my time… beauty."