Marvel: Age of Hero Chapter 4: REally ?

REally ?

I'm going to be honest, I didn't expect this novel to lose to Harry's Mother, but hey, that's how the voting turned out. And that's okay! It doesn't an this story lacks value or that I'm going to abandon it. It just ans that if one day I wake up bursting with ideas for the winning novel, I'll make the most of them.

If at so point I end up writing three chapters in one day for Harry's Mother and that cuts into the ti I spend on this story, I'm sorry… Democracy has spoken! 😆 But I still promise to keep a steady pace here. My goal is to write daily chapters, though if needed, I might adjust it to four per week.

That said, since this story is still in its early stages, there's nothing to worry about right now. I've got tons of ideas for the beginning and I don't plan on leaving them hanging. Let's go all in! 💪📖

...…..

Owen grabbed his gear without wasting a second.

In less than ten minutes, a military vehicle drove him to the airbase, where a plane awaited with engines already roaring.

Upon arrival, Colonel Jas Rhodes was waiting at the foot of the boarding stairs. Without any formalities, he handed him a file as they climbed aboard.

"Anthony Stark was kidnapped over five hours ago," Rhodes said tensely. "We lost his trail. The soldiers guarding him are dead. No clear traces left... only chaos and silence. We had no choice but to reach out to General Nathaniel Hawthorne. They say he's got a soldier... perfect for this kind of mission."

Owen flipped through the file calmly, unhurried, though his eyes scanned every detail with surgical precision. Blurred images, escape trajectories, intelligence guesses. Everything pointed to a calculated ambush. Clean. Too clean.

A billionaire weapons supplier, kidnapped without a trace right under the military's nose... it was a direct blow to the system's pride.

"Tell them to take off. And bring a terrain map," he ordered as he began changing. He was still wearing the clothes he'd left ho in.

Within five minutes, he was dressed in his combat suit. He checked his gear with thodical precision. The flight would be short—the aircraft was private and optimized for speed. He had just a couple of hours to prepare.

anwhile, Rhodes watched him from the other end of the plane. Owen moved through the cabin like he was warming up, stretching muscles, making quick and controlled movents. He even threw a few punches into the air, as if asuring his strength.

"What are you doing?" Rhodes asked, frowning.

"asuring my strength. What else do you think I'm doing?" Owen replied without stopping.

Rhodes sighed skeptically.

"I thought I asked for the best..." he muttered, as if questioning his own choice.

"And you did. Or so every mission report says. I'm also a colonel, if you care... and I earned that rank by infiltrating five enemy-held bases full of 'friendly' folks planning to set off illegal fireworks in the busiest parts of the country. You? How'd you get your stars?"

"Graduated with honors from the Air Force. Tactical expert and—"

"And buddy of the genius who sells tech to the governnt. I know. Now, if you'll excuse , I'm cheerfully adjusting to my body."

The serum had been injected the day before. He could feel his strength growing by the second. His reflexes were sharper, his hearing picked up whispers beyond the cabin, and his eyes cut through shadows like smoke.

He didn't need tests—he felt it in every fiber of his being.

He was the living embodint of the Bioadaptive Field Theory: adapt, evolve… and surpass limits.

Though for Owen, evolution wouldn't take generations. It would happen in one. In him.

A soldier seated near Rhodes leaned toward him and murmured in a low voice:

"Sir... with all due respect, sotis soldiers or bounty hunters act... weird. It's a defense chanism. I rember one who wouldn't stop cracking jokes right after wiping out half a drug cartel. I guess it's their way of staying sane."

Rhodes gave a slight nod but didn't respond.

On the other side of the plane, Owen paused for a mont. He had heard every word, but said nothing.

Just smiled slightly. The comnt had triggered a mory… or maybe a comparison.

"As long as he's as good as they say, I won't complain," Rhodes finally said, casting a quick glance at Owen.

The plane landed in Afghanistan at nightfall. A vehicle awaited. Owen climbed in without a word. The drive led straight to the last known location of Tony Stark.

They offered to resu the search from the last known trace, but Owen declined imdiately.

"It's better to start from scratch," he said.

They arrived at the site. The charred remains of vehicles still smoked in the sand. The scent of gunpowder and twisted tal lingered.

Owen stepped out and approached the wreckage. He examined every angle, every mark. His gaze seed to pierce through the rubble.

"It's been hours. The wind probably erased almost everything," Rhodes said, unfolding a tablet with satellite images. "We think the attack ca from these points, based on how the vehicles moved afterward. Look here… this one moved east after the explosion. Most likely, the impact ca from this sector."

"Do you have the map I asked for?" Owen said without looking away from the wreckage.

Rhodes nodded and handed him a digital map showing the region and nearby villages.

"They've already been searched," he clarified. "No signs of him in any of them."

Owen studied the map in silence, then marked different sectors.

"This'll be a long job."

"How long do you estimate?" Rhodes asked.

"A month?"

Rhodes looked at him, puzzled.

"Are you asking ?"

"What I an," Owen replied, eyes fixed on the horizon, "is that I'm not going to stop until I find him.

And I will.

Even if I have to turn over every grain of sand in this damn desert."

He muttered the last part under his breath, too quietly for Rhodes to hear.

"After all, my future depends on that idiot."

"He'll be fine," Owen said firmly, eyes still on the digital map in front of him. "He's a tech genius. If he's been kidnapped and there hasn't been any ransom demand, it ans they need him alive. Probably for one of the weapons he's developing."

He paused briefly, as if ntally reconstructing the profile of his target.

"And knowing him—an egocentric with a god complex and an above-average IQ—he's probably trying to save himself before giving them what they want. I'd bet anything he's already building a giant robot out of scrap tal and chewing gum," he added, with a calmness bordering on indifference. "But that'll take ti… more than a month. So he's most likely buying ti however he can."

Rhodes looked at him with a mix of surprise and suspicion.

"You talk like you know him."

Owen shot him a quick, almost amused glance.

"To rescue people like him, you have to think like them. I like to be prepared for when they do sothing stupid while I'm escorting them... like trying to steal a weapon and nearly getting turned into Swiss cheese," he said dryly. "Yeah, that's happened. More than once. That's why I need to think ten steps ahead of them."

Then he turned toward the vehicle.

"Let's go. We'll start with this area."

...….

Weeks went by. Most of the search parties returned empty-handed. Even the military began to pull back.

Everyone but one.

Owen didn't give up. Backed by Stark Industries, he had more than enough resources to keep investigating. But beyond that, there was sothing personal in his eyes. A silent, almost dangerous determination.

He spent the entire month living in a tent in the middle of the desert. He woke up before dawn. Trained with an almost obsessive intensity. By the third day, the scorching heat no longer affected him. His body adapted.

And it did so in a supernatural way.

Constant exposure to the harsh environnt tuned his body like a machine built for survival. He no longer needed water as frequently. His legs grew so strong he could cover vast distances in record ti. Unfortunately, he lacked the proper equipnt to work his arms, leaving him slightly unbalanced... for now.

But what improved the most were his senses.

After a few weeks, his hearing was so precise he could detect footsteps, voices, or hamring from hundreds of ters away. His sense of sll could easily identify the exact spices in military rations, even when covered in sand. His eyesight was so sharp he could pick out a single grain of sand among millions on the ground. Even his taste could deconstruct the ingredients of a ration without actually tasting it. And his touch… it was so sensitive he could count the grains of sand in his palm with a gentle stroke.

"This is gonna be a pain in the ass when I get back to the city," he muttered one day as he dusted off his jacket.

"What did you say?" asked Rhodes, fully covered in a protective cloak against the sun—unlike Owen, who wore only his military helt, calm and relaxed.

"Quiet," Owen cut him off suddenly, tense.

Rhodes looked at him seriously.

"What is it?"

Owen raised a hand.

"Shhh..."

He focused, fine-tuning his hearing. A dull, tallic sound, very distant.

Hamring.

It wasn't nearby, it was hundreds of ters away… maybe more. But it was there.

A slight smile appeared on his face.

"Looks like I found the golden baby," he said, imdiately jumping into the vehicle and instructing the driver to turn east.

Rhodes didn't understand how he could be so sure, but he didn't ask. He had learned not to.

After several minutes of silent driving, they reached a zone where, at first glance, there was nothing… until a silhouette appeared in the distance. Hidden among the dunes, camouflaged, but clearly active.

"You found it?" Rhodes asked, incredulous.

"Yeah. And we're not alone," Owen murmured, looking through his tactical binoculars. His enhanced vision allowed him to see clearly the ard n, the missiles, the sensors. It was a full base, and it was loaded to the teeth.

A single poorly placed shot… and the whole place would go up in flas.

"We wait until nightfall to attack. Call the others," Owen ordered without taking his eyes off the target.

Rhodes nodded and stepped aside to use the satellite phone, contacting the teams deployed in the sectors Owen had previously marked. Thanks to Stark Industries' financial support, they had hired several professional bounty hunters.

As night slowly fell over the desert, Owen remained still, like a shadow among the dunes. Silent. Lethal. Watching. Calculating.

He was having fun.

Though he wouldn't admit it out loud, deep down, he knew he never truly wanted to stop being a soldier. If he had really wanted out, he would've done more than just leave a folded resignation note on the old general's desk.

No.

Owen had always told himself—and others—that he was only a soldier because the world was dangerous and he needed to defend himself. But that was also a lie.

The truth was harsher. More visceral.

He liked combat. He liked feeling the adrenaline biting at his nerves, the roar of gunfire tearing through the air, the surgical precision within the chaos. It wasn't a need. It was a desire.

And now, with a reinforced body, with senses sharper than any wild animal's, with the strength to snap bones like dry twigs—the ga had changed.

He wasn't just a soldier anymore. He was a predator on the hunt.

And this ti, it wasn't just about enemies with rifles. Now he could go after those damn caped bastards who played god, who destroyed cities with a smile on their faces.

Now, he could fight them one-on-one.

And he had no intention of stopping.

What kind of idiot would co to this universe just to hide?

No one.