"…Holy shit."
The words slipped out before Elias realized he'd spoken them aloud.
The girl flinched slightly and looked up at him.
"Huh?"
Elias blinked, then let out a short breath.
"Sorry. Just—thinking out loud."
She studied him for a second, then frowned faintly.
"You know… I don't even know your name."
He paused.
That was true.
In everything that had happened, introductions hadn't exactly come up.
"I'm Eli," he said after a moment.
It felt easier than giving his full name.
Simpler.
Safer.
She nodded. "Diane."
The way she said it was quiet but firm, like she was grounding herself by saying it out loud.
Diane adjusted the jacket around her shoulders and glanced down the street.
"My place is just a few minutes from here."
"Alright," Eli said.
"Let's go."
They started walking.
Their pace was slow—not because of distance, but because neither of them was in a hurry anymore.
The danger had passed, but its echo lingered in the air, making every step feel heavier than it should have.
Eli kept his eyes forward.
The system followed him anyway.
It unfolded in his vision as he walked beneath the streetlights, translucent text floating calmly over the dark pavement.
[LEVEL INCREASED]
His steps slowed almost imperceptibly.
[LEVEL: 3 → 4]
Eli exhaled through his nose.
So it really did count.
Not just the fight.
Not just the control.
The choice.
Another line appeared.
[EXPERIENCE STATUS:
2 / 4]
Only halfway.
He didn't know whether that was reassuring or unsettling.
The interface continued.
[INVENTORY EXPANDED
Slots: 14 → 16]
"So, it really is 2 slots per level. Wonder if it will change as it goes higher." he muttered quietly.
Diane glanced at him again.
"You okay?
"
"Yeah," Eli replied easily.
"Just tired."
She accepted that without question.
The system shifted again.
[SKILL UPDATE
APPRAISAL
Level: 4
Upgrade Applied:
• Basic information accuracy increased
• Additional detail accessible
Disposition Categories:
• Friendly
• Neutral
• Hostile
• Victim
• Enemy
• Slave ]
Clearer information.
Less room for guessing.
Eli didn't like how naturally he was getting used to that.
Then the final reward appeared. The one which made him say the poop was somehow holy.
[NEW SKILL ACQUIRED
OBLIVIATE
Type: Memory Alteration
Effect:
• Selective removal or modification of memories
• Precision dependent on intent and focus
Restriction:
• Alterations are permanent unless reversed by equal or greater means ]
Eli's jaw tightened slightly.
Memory.
Not coercion.
Not pain.
Just… erasure.
He kept walking, keeping his expression calm, even as his thoughts churned.
Diane walked beside him, unaware of the glowing interface only he could see—unaware of how close her home was, and how complicated things had just become.
The system finished consolidating.
[STATUS
Name: Elias Mercer
Level: 4
Designation: Villain (Unclassified)
Abilities: —
Skills:
• Appraisal (Level 3)
• Unforgivable Curses
– Avada Kedavra
– Crucio
– Imperio
• Obliviate
Inventory:
Slots: 16
Status: Empty ]
The interface stabilized.
No commentary.
No guidance
.
Just facts.
Eli lifted his gaze toward the quiet residential street ahead.
Diane's home was close now.
And for the first time since the system appeared—
He wasn't worried about what it wanted.
He was worried about what he was going to do next.
Eli stopped walking.
"Diane," he called softly.
She turned to him, eyes still red, posture stiff as if she were afraid the ground beneath her might give way.
"Yeah?" she answered.
He took a slow breath.
"I owe you an apology," he said.
Her brows drew together.
"For what?"
Eli raised one finger.
"Obliviate."
The word was spoken gently—almost regretfully.
There was no flash of light, no dramatic shift.
Diane blinked once, swayed slightly, then steadied herself.
Her eyes refocused, confusion briefly flickering across her face.
She looked around.
The alley was gone.
She was standing alone on a quiet residential street, just a few meters from her own house.
The lights were on.
The front door was closed.
Everything looked… normal.
Her heart raced.
What just happened?
Memory filled the gaps smoothly.
Police lights.
Voices shouting.
Hands pulling her free.
The thugs were apprehended.
She remembered crying.
Remembered running.
Running because she couldn't breathe.
Because she couldn't stand being looked at.
Because she needed to be home.
Diane staggered forward and knocked on the door.
Her parents answered immediately.
Questions came in a rush—why her clothes were wrong, why she was shaking, why her face was streaked with tears.
She told them what made sense.
That the police had arrived in time.
That the men were arrested.
That she panicked and ran before the officers could escort her home.
The only thing she failed to address? Her clothing.
It was forgotten though.
Why?
Her parents were furious.
Terrified.
Relieved.
They held her, afraid someone might take her away from them.
And the night ended with Elias watching from afar until they all went inside.
He didn't get to watch the full drama though, he went home with a regret for doing that to the innocent yet he eas relieved.
But that was better than more regret plus panic. Then exposure. Then all hell break lose and he would definitely bcome a true villain.
.
.
.
Another month passed.
Peace returned as if nothing had ever disturbed it.
Mercer's Hearth thrived.
Customers came and went, laughter filling the warm space just as reliably as the scent of fresh bread.
Regulars returned.
New faces appeared.
Life kept its steady rhythm.
Aunt May still stopped by with Peter.
Peter still insisted that his favorite pastry tasted better here than anywhere else—something about how it wasn't just sweet.
Eli never argued.
He just made sure it was always fresh when they came.
Then, one afternoon, the bell over the door chimed—and the room felt different.
The man who entered was broad-shouldered, thick-necked, with a presence that didn't quite fit the cozy bakery.
He looked around like someone unused to small spaces, his expression cautious but curious.
Eli recognized him immediately.
Happy Hogan.
Eli stepped out from his usual corner and approached.
"Welcome," he said warmly.
"I'm Elias—owner of the place. Let me know if you need anything."
Happy looked surprised, then nodded.
"Happy Hogan."
They shook hands.
Conversation started easily enough—comments about the smell, the neighborhood, the place being quieter than expected.
Then Happy said,
"This shop was recommended to me."
"Oh?" Eli replied.
"By someone you know?"
Happy smiled faintly.
"Someone I trust."
He hesitated, then added,
"Work's been… strange lately."
Eli listened as Happy talked.
With Tony Stark active as Iron Man, there wasn't much left for a bodyguard to do.
Tony was either locked inside his house for days or flying across the city in armor.
Hard to guard someone who could outrun jets.
"Feels like I don't really have a place right now," Happy admitted.
Eli nodded thoughtfully.
"I might have something for that," he said.
He recommended a pastry—one he'd created specifically for lifting the spirit.
Not rich.
Not heavy.
Just warm, grounding, familiar.
Happy ordered it, along with his usual drink whenever he's in establishments such as this.
Instead of passing it off to his staff, Eli prepared it himself.
That earned a few curious looks from his employees—quiet murmurs exchanged behind the counter.
Eli glanced their way.
"Focus on your stations," he said calmly.
They immediately did.
He set the plate and drink in front of Happy and stepped back.
Happy took the first bite.
His shoulders relaxed.
The next bite came quicker.
Then another.
A smile crept onto his face without him realizing it.
The drink paired perfectly, washing the sweetness down in a way that made everything feel… easier.
When the plate was empty, Happy blinked.
"Huh," he said.
"Didn't even notice."
He looked up. "I'll take two more."
Eli handled everything personally—even the payment.
As Happy stood to leave, he paused.
"I'm recommending this place," he said. "To Pepper. And to Tony."
Eli smiled. "I appreciate that."
He walked Happy to the door, held it open, and watched him leave.
The bell chimed softly.
The bakery returned to its gentle rhythm.
.
.
.
Time moved forward.
By late 2009, the world looked unchanged on the surface.
Tony Stark was still Iron Man.
Still smiling for cameras.
Still attending the meetings he needed to attend and vanishing when he didn't.
To the public, nothing was wrong. There were no headlines, no whispers, no signs of weakness.
But Tony Stark knew.
Every day, the palladium in his chest poisoned him a little more.
Only he felt it—the fatigue that came faster, the way his hands sometimes shook after long hours in the lab, the faint metallic taste that never quite went away.
Every failed experiment made the truth heavier: nothing he tried was working.
For Elias, life settled into something almost ordinary.
Happy Hogan's visits grew more frequent.
Sometimes he came alone.
Sometimes Pepper Potts joined him.
Once, Pepper stopped by herself, quietly ordering something light before returning to work.
Other times, the two of them sat together, enjoying a moment where they didn't have to think about Iron Man, corporations, or impossible expectations.
Elias never pried.
He just baked.
And when night fell—when the city revealed its darker habits—Elias adapted.
He didn't seek out his victims, they simply presented themselves to him.
Despite changing his routes multiple times, they still find their way into his life.
The pattern though, it's always on his way home at night after closing the shop.
Either way.
Confessions came first.
Imperius stripped away lies and excuses, forcing criminals to speak the truth: what they had done, how many times, who they had hurt.
Elias listened.
He judged.
Those he deemed beyond redemption were made to confess everything—to the authorities, in detail, without omission.
Crimes stacked upon crimes, charges layered so heavily that parole was impossible.
They would rot in prison, forgotten, exactly where they belonged.
Others were different.
Their memories were altered—not erased, but redirected.
A subtle rewriting that nudged them toward becoming better versions of themselves, without ever knowing why they'd changed.
Obliviate was clean.
He was meticulous.
No fingerprints.
No camera footage.
No witnesses.
DNA was trickier.
He didn't spit.
Didn't bleed.
Didn't touch more than necessary.
Hair was harder—he couldn't control that entirely.
He told himself it wouldn't matter.
Or maybe he had just jinxed himself?
Either way, the results were undeniable.
Crime around his neighborhood dropped.
Not enough to trigger reports.
Not enough to draw attention.
But enough that people felt it. Neighbors talked about quieter nights. About how safe it felt to walk home after dark.
About how things just seemed… better.
Elias remained what he had always been.
A baker.
.
.
.
The takeout order came one evening without warning.
Pepper and Happy picked it up together, the scent already escaping the neatly packed boxes as they entered one of the Stark Industries building here in NYC.
They stepped into Pepper's office to find Tony already there—leaning against her desk, arc reactor glowing faintly through his shirt.
His expression was sharp but tired, eyes darker than usual.
His gaze snapped immediately to the bags in their hands.
"What's that?" Tony asked.
Pepper didn't even look at him.
"Mine." Hiding it behind her.
Tony frowned.
"That's not an answer."
"It helps me focus," she said calmly.
"You're not touching it."
Tony scoffed and turned his attention to the second bag.
"And that would be…?"
Happy hesitated.
Tony took it anyway.
"Hey—" Happy started, already too late.
Tony opened the box.
He was supposed to be taking a break.
Just a short one—from another failed attempt at synthesizing a new element combination.
Nothing worked.
Nothing even slowed the inevitable progression.
All he could do was drink that awful concoction that delayed the poison without curing it.
He lifted the spoon.
One bite.
He froze.
Then another.
The room grew quiet as he kept eating, slower at first, savoring the taste, then faster—as if afraid it might vanish if he stopped.
The tension in his shoulders eased without him realizing it.
Pepper smiled knowingly.
Happy crossed his arms, the corners of his mouth twitching.
Both of them understood Tony, since their very own first reactions wasn't too far from his.
With a resigned sigh, Happy slid his drink across the desk.
Tony took it without looking.
"Thanks."
The plate was empty before anyone noticed.
Tony leaned back, an unmistakable dissatisfaction settling on his face the moment it was gone.
"…Where did you get this?" he asked.
Pepper and Happy answered at the same time.
"Mercer's Hearth."
And somewhere in New York, a baker pulled fresh bread from an oven—unaware that Tony Stark had just taken his first step toward finding him.
End of Chapter 4