Afghanistan.
A land of chaos and anarchy, ruled by bloodshed. In this place, kidnapping and death were as common as shifting sand in the wind.
It was in this lawless desert that Tony Stark—a billionaire industrialist—became a prisoner of war, and achieved something impossible in his life.
With extraordinary ingenuity, assistance, and the sacrifice of a brave friend, Tony managed to build the prototype of all prototypes: the Mark I suit.
The suit was crude, heavy, and far from perfect—but it worked.
With it, he burned down the weapons depot, destroyed everything, and launched himself into the sky, leaving chaos behind.
For a moment—brief, but victorious—he flew above the ruined landscape. A man… had been reborn.
And then—something happened.
In less than a second, something appeared and slammed into him with tremendous force.
WHAM…!!!
Tony's body, along with the Mark I suit, was thrown through the air.
And whatever it was, stayed with him.
Both fell together, locked in the same brutal pull of gravity.
Until finally, the desert welcomed them with a "warm embrace," like a mother who had lost her child.
The air whipped violently around them, sending warm sand into the sky.
Fortunately, it was only sand—not asphalt or hard ground—or neither of them would have lived long enough to notice the difference.
{Note: Lol~ 🗿}
***
Meanwhile, the atmosphere at Kamar-Taj remained calm, yet disciplined.
In the central training ground, many aspiring Masters of Mystic Arts trained diligently, their movements synchronized and precise.
The area radiated a simple yet ancient charm, with architecture rich in history. Pagodas, bell towers, and meditation halls were scattered like relics of a forgotten era, infused with mystical elements.
Each student wore a Sling Ring on one hand, while the other drew circular motions in the air.
In front of them hovered bursts of orange-golden magical energy, roughly the size of a basketball, slowly rotating in place.
Not far from them, a tall dark-skinned man with a stern expression walked among the students, his hands clasped behind his back.
His voice was firm and authoritative, echoing across the training ground.
"Mastering the Sling Ring is essential for traversing locations through portals. Without it, you cannot hope to use even the most basic Mystic Arts."
At the edge of the crowd stood the Sorcerer Supreme, the Ancient One, observing quietly.
Her movements were calm, her eyes sharp like a hawk watching the prospective students, her patience akin to that of a master sculptor.
She was not only evaluating their progress, but also assessing the teaching abilities of the senior students.
The Ancient One wore a clean, simple deep-orange robe, its modesty concealing her true status.
In her left hand, she held an old folding fan, its design timeless and unchanging.
Following behind her was one of her more eccentric disciples—a young man with unusual hair: short on the sides, with braids tied at odd angles, giving him the appearance of an unconventional monk.
Suddenly, the Ancient One stopped walking. With a snap, she closed her fan and shifted her gaze toward a distant point, as if looking beyond reality itself.
Her expression remained calm, yet serious.
Her disciple hesitated, then stepped forward and bowed slightly.
"Is something wrong, Master?"
The Ancient One waved her hand dismissively, though with a tone that suggested there was no need for concern.
"There is something," she said calmly, almost contemplatively. "That has just pierced through the dimensional barrier."
A pendant-shaped eye on her necklace rotated briefly, emitting a faint flash of green light.
Almost at the same moment, the disciple straightened immediately, ready to act.
"Should I investigate it?"
"No," the Ancient One replied, calm and firm. "I will handle this myself."
Her eyes glowed green for a brief moment—the influence of the Time Stone contained within her necklace.
As if piercing through the veil of space and time, she saw a young man… and a faint smile appeared on her face.
"An interesting visitor…"
***
The vast, seemingly endless desert stretched beneath an unforgiving sun, merging into jagged horizons in the distance.
Scattered patches of withered grass were barely visible, leaving only barren land and suffocating silence.
Amid the scorching heat, a strange sight appeared—a helmeted head protruding from the sand, the rest of its body completely buried.
The figure was still.
Unmoving.
Apparently unconscious.
Because if it weren't… its signature sarcastic remarks would have already been heard by now.
Not far away, Kuro sat with his body slightly hunched, grimacing as pain spread through his entire frame.
"System… why did you randomly set my spawn point in the sky?" he complained irritably. "And in the middle of a desert?! ARE YOU SERIOUS?!"
His body ached.
"Ugh… why does my head and back hurt…" he continued, letting out a slow sigh. "Even my left arm feels broken… even though I used reinforcement magic…"
Ding!
[Host did not set appropriate coordinates. System assigned a random location.]
Kuro stared at the screen blankly.
He fell silent for a moment, trying to steady his breath.
"If I remember correctly… I crashed into something…" he muttered. "But what was it?"
Slowly, he turned his body, shifting his gaze toward the figure buried in the sand.
Silence.
The desert wind blew, shifting grains of sand little by little, revealing the armored suit more clearly.
And at that moment—Kuro froze.
He recognized the design.
Very clearly.
"Wait!?"
A shocked expression immediately appeared on his face.
"Don't tell me…"
His gaze sharpened toward the buried figure.
"…I just crashed into Iron Man?"
A brief pause.
"…No—wait, I mean, Tony Stark?!"
He crawled closer, then carefully opened the helmet.
The face inside looked pale.
"Is he dead…?" Kuro muttered, his tone slightly tightening.
Without waiting, he brought the fingers of his right hand under the man's nose—checking for signs of life.
Several seconds felt long.
"…Hah."
Kuro let out a relieved breath.
Still alive.
His breathing was weak, but clearly there.
Tony Stark was still alive.
Kuro looked at him for a moment, then shifted his gaze to the body still buried in the sand.
"I should probably get him out now…" he muttered softly.
He tried to move his body, but pain immediately shot through him.
His left arm was broken.
His entire body still felt like it had been hit by a truck.
Forcing himself to lift something that heavy…
was clearly the most idiotic choice.
Kuro let out a long sigh.
"…Having a fragile body is troublesome," he murmured.
A brief silence—then Kuro snapped his fingers.
Instantly, the space beside him rippled with a gray color, like the surface of disturbed water.
Thud.
From it, someone fell and landed sitting in the hot sand.
"IT'S HOT—!?"
Xu Fu immediately panicked the moment she emerged from the Gate of Babylon, instinctively lifting herself from the sand as if she had just been thrown into hell.
She looked left and right, her expression a mix of confusion and trauma.
"…Is this… hell?" she muttered weakly. "Good grief… I knew my Master was like a devil, but… I didn't expect this…"
Kuro stared at her flatly, expression unchanged.
To be honest, besides bringing Kama, he had also brought Xu Fu into his storage.
The abandoned mana crystal production facility wasn't a problem—its system was fully automated, and the supplies he possessed were already more than sufficient.
On top of that, with his personal skill Zen of Joy, his resource needs were stable for the foreseeable future.
Though, in return, he would need to be more "consistent" in maintaining the stability of that skill's effects.
Kuro let out a small sigh.
"Xu Fu," he called flatly.
The girl immediately turned.
"Pull that out."
Kuro pointed toward the half-buried figure in the sand.
Xu Fu stared at him for a few seconds, expression blank—then sighed heavily.
"Why don't you do it yourself, Master," she said as if it were obvious. "I'm a Caster, you know? Physical labor isn't my specialty."
"My left hand is broken," Kuro replied calmly. "and my whole body hurts. Even moving slightly feels like I'm about to fall apart."
Silence.
Xu Fu narrowed her eyes.
"…Annoying," she muttered softly.
She glanced at the figure buried in the sand, then back at Kuro—as if weighing something—before clicking her tongue.
"Fine," she said flatly. "Don't die before I finish my job."
Reluctantly, Xu Fu brushed the sand off her clothes and raised her hand—preparing to use magic to pull the buried body out without directly touching it.
Prana began to gather at her fingertips.
But then—she stopped.
Her expression shifted.
"…Huh?"
Xu Fu frowned, staring at her own hand.
The flow of her magic felt… strange.
Not gone—and not blocked either.
Her spell was still forming.
The formula was intact.
But the result felt slightly "off," as if the world itself was responding to her magic… yet in a different way than it was supposed to.
___
Author's note:
Haha~ How about I put Kuro in the Marvel Cinematic Universe first.
Of course, not the 616 Timeline, just close by.
So Tony Stark is there.
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