Wandering Tech-Priest in Multiverse TPM Chapter 143 The Quiet Before the Arms Race

The lab's air carried the low thrum of scanning arrays winding down, their spectral beams fading from the chamber's vaulted arches. Holo-displays floated before Luthar, each projecting layered diagrams of Freya and Hephaestus—skeletal fras, divine-core readings, and energy waveforms—all marked in dense machine script.

"Your integration into this universe is stable," he said at last, optics flicking between the data streams. "No environntal incompatibilities. No lingering corruption. Your divinity remains intact."

Freya arched a brow. "So we're safe?"

Luthar's voice stayed level. "Safe… enough. But understand this — if you are killed here, you will not return to the heavens. There is no soul-transfer chanism in this world for you. Death here ans no more restarting, and there are plenty of demons and gods who would be very interested in your souls. Your afterlife could beco… unpleasant."

The words settled like lead. Hephaestus folded her arms, gaze sharpening. "And you can't do sothing about that? A way to send us back to our world?"

"I do not have a functioning soul-transfer device," Luthar admitted. "It could be made, but it will take ti. Until then, do not die. And if you are in danger, use the machine device and return imdiately."

Freya leaned forward, smile faint and unreadable. "Then perhaps we should see what kind of dangers this world has to offer."

Luthar's optics narrowed. "If you wish to go outside, take soone with functional knowledge of this world—Lily or her assistant. And ensure your escort does not run away halfway through; she is still… not entirely obedient."

Freya waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry. Nobody runs away from ." Her lips curved in a sly smile. "So… are you planning anything interesting while we're here?"

Luthar's gaze shifted to another hovering display, this one showing the rust-red curve of a barren world. "Transforming Mars," he said simply. "Terraforming, atmosphere generation, infrastructure. But it will require an imnse number of machines before I can begin."

Freya's smile faltered. She studied the projected wasteland—a lifeless plain under a pale sun—and sighed. "That's boring."

"That depends on the person," Luthar replied coolly. "And I also need to prepare for the future—one where heroes and villains will cause… considerable trouble."

Freya leaned back, unimpressed. "Call when the interesting part starts. For now, I'll take Lily and her assistant for a tour. Might as well learn the local customs before all this excitent arrives."

She turned, her silken cloak catching the light of the holo screen, and left without another word.

The lab grew quieter without her.

Hephaestus finally stepped closer, eyes lingering on the rotating model of Mars. "So… how exactly are we going to transform this planet?"

"We'll start with orbital fabricators and automated mining fleets," Luthar said. "If you're willing to use your power, we could finish building all the machines in a month."

A slow smile touched the goddess's face. "I don't mind. But are you sure you want my help?"

"I don't mind," Luthar replied. "If I do it alone, it will take five years—which would be a rather… wasteful use of ti."

Without another word, Luthar and Hephaestus began issuing commands as fabrication sequences humd through the lab's infrastructure. Screens filled with resource calculations, schematics, and deploynt titables—the first tangible steps toward crafting a forge world had begun.

Over the next several weeks, the lab beca a constant thrum of activity. The two worked in tandem—machine logic aligning with divine intuition—to create modular mining rigs, atmospheric processors, automated tunneling systems, and orbital fabrication stations. Each piece was designed not for beauty, but for endurance: machinery capable of running for decades without maintenance, extracting Martian ore and shaping it into habitable infrastructure.

They tested fabrication lines in vacuum-sealed bays, launched prototype drones into low orbit, and stress-tested atmosphere generators in containnt fields. By the end of the second week, the central storage hangars were stacked with finished modules awaiting deploynt. By the fourth, the first fully functional orbital station was assembled in high orbit—a silent skeletal ring that would oversee Mars' transformation.

While Luthar's forge-world plans advanced in secrecy, the outside world was shifting.

In the public eye, Tony Stark's dominance over advanced armour technology was suddenly challenged. News outlets buzzed with reports that Anton and Ivan Vanko had unveiled a new line of weaponised exosuits—arc reactor–powered, sleek, and frighteningly efficient. The announcent alone sent defence committees into ergency etings, but the real panic ca when whispers spread that the Vankos were negotiating directly with the Russian military.

The prospect of a foreign power mass-producing next-generation armour sent politicians into a frenzy. Talk shows speculated about a new arms race; military analysts warned of destabilisation. Stock markets rippled with uncertainty. And through it all, Stark Industries' share prices wavered under the weight of constant dia pressure.

By the third week, the tension had reached a breaking point. Tony found himself dragged into high-level etings, asked to comnt on whether Stark Industries could match the Vanko designs. The truth—that their exosuits were dangerously competitive—was sothing he wasn't eager to admit. And then ca the inevitable call from S.H.I.E.L.D.

The eting was quiet, the blinds drawn in a secure conference room. Fury leaned forward across the table, one eye fixed on Stark.

"I know you think this isn't your problem because you didn't build their suits," Fury began. "Wrong. That's your legacy—stolen from your father's work. If Vankos starts mass-producing armor for the Russian military, every hostile nation on the planet will want one. You'll be watching your tech tear the world apart."

He slid the data pad across the table. "If you don't want mass casualties, you'll have to build suits for us. I'll provide the best candidates. Both sides keep control—no one uses them without joint authorisation. And if you can finish the new elent your father was working on, you'll have an edge they can't touch."

Tony didn't touch the data pad. He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. "So you want to hand over my tech and just… trust that you won't strip it for parts and start mass-producing knockoffs?"

Fury's expression didn't change. "You think we need your designs? Stark, we've been building weapons long before you were born. What we don't have is your reactor's efficiency. Without it, the Vankos still have the edge. I'm offering you a way to make sure you decide when that tech is used—and by whom. Otherwise, the governnt will take your tech, and they won't need a reason. National security is all the excuse they need."

Tony crossed his arms. "Before we talk about this, I want to know how they got an arc reactor in the first place."

"Anton Vanko co-designed the first arc reactor with your father," Fury said. "He knew the principles. What he didn't have was the ans to make it stable, compact, and producible… until recently. That's why we're here—because the Russians are ready to integrate this armour into their military."

Tony exhaled slowly. "They've got the tech, and they're building enough of it to cause an international migraine. Got any other bad news?"

Fury leaned back, almost casually. "Actually, good news for you. Your father left behind more than just blueprints. He discovered a new elent—cleaner and more powerful than palladium. He couldn't synthesise it with the tech of his ti, but you could. If you build it, you'll have an energy core the Vankos can't match."

Tony's eyes narrowed. "And you just happened to leave this out of our past conversations?"

"Not the right ti," Fury said simply. "Now it is. Because if we don't move first, Stark, they will. And when they do, we'll be looking at a world where the people with the best tech… aren't the good guys."

Tony drumd his fingers on the table, the hum of tension hanging in the air. "Fine. I'll look into it. But if we're doing this, I get the final say on any deploynt. No exceptions."

Fury gave a faint, knowing smile. "We can work with that."

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