The dazzling light within the virtual lab solidified in Paul's pupils.
The cold, emotionless yet grave alarm sounded by JARVIS pierced the boiling fervor in his blood—kindled by the "Sword of Damocles"—like an icy needle.
The Ghost Protocol.
A near-legendary mode of network infiltration.
It wasn't a virus; it didn't corrupt. It wasn't a Trojan; it didn't steal.
It was more akin to a true ghost, silently seeping into the foundational logic of a system, becoming a shadow within shadows. It observed. It listened. Reflecting everything within its hollow, unseen eyes—without its prey ever realizing its presence.
Until it wanted them to.
This alarm wasn't triggered by JARVIS's detection. It was a strand of presence… deliberately leaked by the other party.
Like a hidden hunter in the dark forest, watching as Paul bared his fangs, then lightly snapping a single twig to declare:
"I see you."
It was a warning. And an arrogant display.
The fervor in Paul's expression vanished in an instant, replaced by a chilling calm—a silence as deep as frozen tundra.
No panic. No fury.
In a fraction of a second, his mind entered overdrive, torrents of data surging through the depths of his consciousness.
"JARVIS, trace the signal source. Perform quantum entanglement-based reverse mapping. Build a logical model of the adversary."
"Sir, the other party is employing discrete quantum ghost nodes. Physical location cannot be locked. Their logical structure… is self-annihilating. A complete model cannot be constructed. It is erasing its own traces."
"Stop."
Paul cut off JARVIS's futile attempts.
He knew. An opponent capable of wielding this protocol would leave no clues to grasp. It was like trying to catch the shape of the wind.
Their purpose wasn't an attack.
It was intimidation.
Meant to tell him: "Your secrets are laid bare before my eyes."
A coincidence?
Perfectly timed with the conception of his skyborne weapon?
There were no coincidences in this world.
Paul slowly closed his eyes, his thoughts sharper than ever in the darkness.
He didn't retaliate. That would be idiocy. Waging an information war against a ghost lurking in unknown dimensions would only expose more of his cards.
You want to see?
Then feast your eyes.
A frosty smirk curled at the corner of Paul's lips.
He reopened his eyes, his fingers blurring across the virtual keyboard.
Instead of touching any core data of the "Sword of Damocles," he pulled up an entirely new project.
"JARVIS, initiate the Proteus Protocol. Using all existing technological blueprints from my archives, generate thirteen thousand seven hundred and twenty-one highly realistic virtual projects. From fusion containment to bio-genetic encryptions, from warp drive theories to artificial intelligence self-evolution… Infuse them with randomized, conflicting data. Let them 'evolve' and 'iterate' through the digital ether like living entities."
"Sir, you mean to… create an informational smokescreen?"
"No." Paul shook his head, a cunning, almost maniacal glint in his eyes. "I'm building a false cosmos. One teeming with treasures… and traps. Let the ghost wander in it, until it's utterly lost."
He would drown this intruder under an ocean of data—where truth and deception became indistinguishable.
You love watching?
Here's a universe to keep your eyes occupied for centuries.
By the time you pluck the one fatal star from this false sky, my blade will already be hovering over your head.
Only after this did Paul turn back to the "Sword of Damocles" model.
The suppressed thrill in his veins reignited.
But now, it carried urgency—a silent weight, like a pair of unseen eyes watching from the abyss.
He inhaled deeply and plunged back into the digital ocean of absolute power.
Three days later.
In the virtual lab, Paul exhaled slowly as he studied the finalized schematic before him.
It was done.
The energy loss of high-energy particle beams passing through the atmosphere? Solved with an audacious "self-regulating magnetic dynamic compensation" theory.
The monstrous heat dissipation issue? Neutralized by a "void thermal exchange" module based on quantum tunneling.
And the centimeter-level targeting precision? A "Trinity" quantum-lock satellite triad ensured that no target on Earth could hide from its gaze.
This was no longer a weapon.
This was divine retribution.
"DUM-E."
"Here, Paul."
"The schematics are with you. Full access to Stark Industries' finest production lines, plus all permissions from my private facilities. I need four units. Fastest possible."
"Understood, Paul. Estimated production cycle: seventy-two hours."
With a nod, Paul exited the virtual space.
Massaging his temples, he pulled out his phone and dialed.
"Paul Stark here."
On the other end was the head of a space launch corporation—a connection Tony had secured.
"Ah, Mr. Stark! Your four 'multimedia communication satellites' have cleared final inspection. We can schedule launch anytime. Would you—?"
"Now." Paul's tone brooked no argument. "Fastest booster, optimal launch window. Cost is irrelevant."
——
Texas, Houston Space Center.
The massive launch vehicle stood upon its gantry, its pale hull gleaming under the sun.
Dressed in tailored casual wear and sunglasses, Paul sipped orange juice by the VIP observation deck's floor-to-ceiling window—every bit the wealthy heir on a tour. Surrounding him were eager corporate executives, gushing technical details.
None knew what lay inside the payload fairing wasn't some goddamn comms satellite.
But four blades capable of wiping any nation off the map in under three minutes.
Four Swords of Damocles.
"Ten. Nine. Eight…"
The countdown boomed across the facility.
Paul tilted his head up, watching the soon-to-be skyborne spear.
No excitement. No tension. Only profound serenity.
Like a chess player placing his most crucial piece upon the board's decisive square.
From this moment, Earth itself became a chessboard.
And all who walked upon it?
Mere pawns.
"...Three. Two. One. Ignition!"
The world shook as fire roared from the rocket's base, lifting it skyward in a crescendo of thrust—until it became a dwindling star against the blue.
Long after it vanished, Paul stood unmoving.
He knew.
History's rules had just been rewritten.
A sense of power, unparalleled, settled in his chest.
He was the one holding the sword now.
Then—
His encrypted phone buzzed.
An unknown caller.
Paul answered, eyebrow arched.
"Paul Stark?"
The voice was gravelly, authoritative. Instantly recognizable.
Nick Fury. Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.
"What can I do for you, Director?" Paul kept his tone neutral—as if expecting the call.
"We need your help." Fury wasted no words. "Word is, you've got tech for 'cryo-preservation pods.' Something about sustaining organic viability near absolute zero?"
Paul's pupils contracted.
So it begins.
The gears were turning.
He knew exactly what Fury wanted.
"Theoretically viable, but lab-tested only. Never on humans," he replied smoothly.
"We need it." Fury's voice left no room for refusal. "We found someone. A… friend who's been sleeping seventy years. Need to thaw him safely."
Captain America.
Steve Rogers.
Paul's pulse skipped.
A god-like omniscience swelled within—part exhilaration, part anticipation.
"Direct revival won't work," he said with clinical precision. "Seventy years in ice means micro-crystalline formations in cellular fluids. Rapid warming would rupture every membrane in his body. You'd get a fresh corpse, not a super-soldier."
Silence. Then—
"What do you need?"
"Transfer to my pods first. High-frequency oscillation shatters intracellular ice, while nutrient perfusion repairs cell trauma. Minimum twelve hours. Then—controlled rewarming."
Paul's words carried indisputable authority—an expertise beyond his era.
Precisely why Fury knew he was talking to the right man.
"Good. Get to D.C. S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ. Now."
"Address?"
The line died.
Paul pocketed the phone, turning back to the empty sky.
A slow smirk played across his lips.
Nick Fury—Earth's finest spymaster—was scrambling for a boy's help…
Unaware that in those very minutes, that same boy had just launched four world-ending satellites into orbit.
And when the truth came out?
The world would lose its mind.