Bzzzt—
The last line of code in the cascading data stream fell silent. At the center of the virtual screen, an intricate, symmetrical golden rune pulsed with an arcane rhythm as it slowly rotated.
It resembled a miniature energy heart, flickering with every breath of power.
[Mana Genesis] — the rune was complete.
Paul's chest heaved, his eyes alight with unrestrained fervor.
He had done it.
He had actually done it.
After months of reverse-engineering and dissecting the [Strength Bestowal] rune from Mjolnir, he had finally extracted its core energy-generation logic and rebuilt it within his own scientific framework.
This was no longer an exclusive creation of Asgard.
This was Paul Stark's rune-tech.
With it, he had effectively constructed a perpetual engine—one that could "print" magic out of thin air.
"Sir."
The gentle electronic voice of BAIN interrupted his triumph.
"Per your instructions, the final simulation and reconstruction of the new [Harvest] rune have been completed. Success rate: 100%. The system has automatically archived it in the 'Rune-Tech Formula Library.'"
Paul whirled around, his gaze snapping to another screen.
A second rune hovered there—just as intricate, yet structurally distinct. If [Mana Genesis] was the "source," then this [Harvest] rune was the "pipeline," designed to precisely channel and direct the generated magic into a designated target—say, Pym Particles.
Three pillars formed the foundation of rune-tech:
1. The Mana Core — the energy supply.
2. The Rune Medium — the physical vessel.
3. The Rune Formula — the functional blueprint.
Now, he had the formula and the core.
Only the most formidable challenge remained—the medium.
Paul's eyes fixed on the fist-sized metal block suspended in an energy field at the center of the lab.
Uru.
A gift from Nidavellir. The core material of Mjolnir. One of the finest magical conductors in the known universe.
And one of the most infuriatingly unworkable substances to exist.
Its physical properties defied conventional processes—impossibly stable, impossibly dense. Standard cutting, melting, or forging methods were as futile as trying to move a mountain with a toothpick.
Only tools imbued with magic could leave even the faintest mark on it.
"BAIN, pull up the antimatter micro-engraving protocol." Paul's voice was hoarse—a mix of exhaustion and the electrifying tension of stepping into uncharted territory.
"Protocol retrieved. Warning: This procedure involves high-risk technology. Threat level: Annihilation-Class. Any minor miscalculation may result in uncontrolled antimatter annihilation."
"The higher the risk, the greater the reward, isn't that right?" Paul licked his cracked lips. "Activate Sublevel Three. Warm up the prism accelerator. Engage the antimatter containment array. We're going to build an atomic-scale gun—one that blasts the rune's shape into the Uru, one shot at a time."
A ludicrous, monstrously ambitious idea.
Using the universe's most destructive force to perform its most delicate craft.
"Understood, sir."
BAIN executed the command without hesitation.
A deep, thrumming hum reverberated through the underground facility as if a slumbering beast had awoken. Blue energy pulsed through the walls, and the air grew thick with the crisp, ozone-like tang of highly compressed power.
The vast subterranean machinery roared to life—all for the sake of forging a pen capable of etching into god-metal.
Paul stood before the console, arms crossed, watching the torrent of data on the screen.
Prism accelerator charging—70%.
Antimatter magnetic containment stability—99%.
Atomic gun trajectory calibration—complete.
Everything proceeded with flawless precision.
Victory seemed within reach—ripe for the taking.
Then, without warning, Paul's brow furrowed.
Something was… wrong.
His mind raced, replaying the entire process.
1. Use the antimatter atomic gun to carve [Mana Genesis] into the Uru.
2. Install the engraved Uru as the core to activate the rune and generate magic.
3. Use that magic to create more rune mediums.
A perfect loop.
Wait.
A loop?
Paul's pupils constricted. A cold sweat broke across his forehead.
He had just stumbled upon a flaw—a fatal, insurmountable paradox.
A deadlock.
To shape Uru, he needed magic.
But to get magic, he needed [Mana Genesis] carved into Uru first.
A chicken-or-the-egg dilemma of cosmic proportions.
Without magic, no mystical manufacturing was possible. The antimatter gun could only bombard the Uru with raw physics—utterly incapable of imprinting anything meaningful onto a magic metal.
It was like possessing the sharpest key in existence and the sturdiest lock… only to realize the lock's core had to be forged from the key itself.
"Goddammit!"
Paul slammed his fist onto the console, the machine's hum now mocking his hubris.
He felt like a desert traveler who, after months of brutal trekking, finally glimpsed an oasis—only for it to vanish into a cruel mirage.
That crushing drop from heaven into hell stole his breath.
Was this… the end?
All his work, all his effort—strangled by a single, immovable barrier?
No.
Never.
Eyes locked onto the 3D schematic of the antimatter containment array, Paul's mind spun faster than ever before.
Conventional methods failed. Magic wasn't an option yet.
What else?
What was he missing?
Antimatter… annihilation… energy…
Then—
A spark.
A blinding revelation.
His entire body seized.
"BAIN!" he barked, his voice trembling. "Abort the atomic gun construction!"
"Immediately calculate this: If we release a single positron—letting it annihilate one electron on the Uru's surface—would the resulting energy burst be enough to carve an atomic-scale etching no deeper than ten ångströms?"
Not using magic to shape the metal.
But using pure annihilation to blast a microscopic crater into the Uru.
Once? No.
A thousand times. A million.
Chiseling the [Mana Genesis] rune into existence through sheer, brute-force detonations.
Even the faintest trace, the weakest spark of magic—
That would be enough to jumpstart the cycle.
"Sir, this operation requires extreme precision. The slightest energy spillover could permanently damage the Uru's crystalline lattice," BAIN responded instantly.
"I don't need perfect. I just need a start."
Paul's hands shook with barely contained exhilaration.
He had found it—
The key to pry open the gods' secrets.
Crude? Yes.
Unpredictable? Absolutely.
But it existed.
"Execute! Target: Uru metal. Coordinates: (0.01, 0.01). Prepare for the first… ignition!"
Paul's eyes burned with reflected blue light, galaxies of data swirling within them.
He knew he was dancing on the edge of annihilation.
One misstep, and the abyss would swallow him whole.
Yet his gaze remained locked beyond the void—toward a new horizon.
A realm of infinite possibility.
All came down to this.