A Red Dragon Lost In A Marvelous World

[Issei - New York ]

The city stretched out beneath Issei, a concrete and steel labyrinth humming with a million unknown lives. He sat hunched on the edge of the rooftop, legs dangling over the precipice, the wind whipping through his hair. The initial shock of his arrival was beginning to give way to a crushing sense of despair. He was trapped. Traded. Useless.

He clenched his fists, the memory of the dimensional trader's dismissive laughter echoing in his ears. "A parting gift, to ease your transition." What a joke. What possible gift could make this bearable?

Suddenly, a faint warmth spread through his left hand. He looked down, surprised. Embedded in the back of his hand, where moments before there had been only skin, was a small, intricate device. It was circular, no bigger than a coin, made of a cool, dark metal that seemed to absorb the light. Intricate, glowing green lines pulsed with a faint, rhythmic energy, mirroring the pattern, though far less complex, of the magic circle that had brought him here. It looked almost…organic, like a technological insect fused with his flesh.

He poked it tentatively. It didn't hurt, but it felt…alive. As he touched it, a wave of information flooded his mind, not as words, but as pure, instinctive understanding.

This wasn't just a trinket. It was a Dimensional Anchor and Adaptation Matrix, or DAAM for short. Its primary function was to subtly attune his physiology and energy to the ambient energies of this new universe. The Marvel universe, he now understood, operated on different fundamental principles than his own. Magic existed, but it was… different. The DAAM was designed to prevent his own powers from destabilizing in this unfamiliar environment, a crucial safety measure.

But that wasn't all. The DAAM also acted as a translator, not just of language, but of context. It subtly analyzed the world around him, providing information and insights directly into his awareness. It was like having a built-in, highly intuitive search engine and cultural guide, all processed seamlessly through his own senses.

He focused on a distant billboard advertising some kind of Stark Industries technology. Instantly, a stream of information flowed into his mind: Stark Industries: Multinational corporation. Primary focus: Advanced technology, energy, defense. CEO: Anthony Stark (Iron Man). Public Perception: Generally positive, but with significant controversy surrounding weapons manufacturing…

It was overwhelming, yet incredibly useful. He could understand the spoken language perfectly, even slang and idioms he'd never encountered. He could instinctively grasp the basic social cues and customs of this world, preventing him from making any immediate, catastrophic blunders. It was like having a sixth sense for navigating this alien reality.

A cynical part of Issei's mind recognized the irony. The "gift" wasn't an act of kindness; it was a safeguard. The dimensional trader, and his client, didn't want Issei accidentally destroying this universe before they could extract whatever "unique energy" they desired. He was still a tool, but at least now he was a slightly more informed tool.

He was about to delve deeper into the DAAM's capabilities when a shadow passed overhead. He looked up, startled, to see a figure descending towards him. A man, clad in a sleek, winged suit, with large, mechanical wings of red, white and silver, expertly maneuvering through the air.

[Avengers ]

Sam Wilson, the Falcon, circled the rooftop, his enhanced vision easily picking out the teenager sitting precariously on the edge. He relayed his observations back to headquarters via his comms.

"I've got visual on the target," Sam reported, his voice calm and professional. "He's… just sitting there. Doesn't look hostile, but Strange's readings are still off the charts. Energy levels are fluctuating, but trending upwards."

"Proceed with caution, Falcon," Captain America's voice crackled in his ear. "Remember, we need to de-escalate. No sudden moves."

"Copy that, Cap," Sam replied. He initiated his landing sequence, aiming for a spot a safe distance from the teenager. "Engaging empathic protocols."

Sam's suit was equipped with subtle, experimental technology designed to project a calming aura, a low-level empathic field intended to soothe and pacify. It wasn't mind control, more like… broadcasting good vibes. It was a Stark Industries prototype, still in the testing phase, but this seemed like the perfect opportunity to see if it worked.

As he touched down, wings retracting smoothly, Sam took a deep breath and focused on projecting a sense of calm, friendly reassurance. He approached the teenager slowly, hands held open in a non-threatening gesture.

"Hey there," Sam said, his voice carefully modulated to be soothing and non-confrontational. "Mind if I join you?"

Issei, startled by the sudden appearance, instinctively tensed, the DAAM flashing a warning: Potential Threat: Unknown. Capabilities: Flight, Enhanced Strength (Projected), Advanced Technology. Affiliation: Uncertain. But alongside the warning came another layer of information, a subtle feeling of… goodwill? The DAAM was interpreting Sam's empathic field, translating it into something Issei could understand.

He hesitated, caught between his ingrained caution and the surprisingly calming influence emanating from the winged man. The DAAM, however, was already subtly adjusting his physiology, dampening his fight-or-flight response, preventing a catastrophic overreaction.

"I… uh…" Issei stammered, still unsure how to react. He decided to play it safe. "Who are you?"

Sam smiled, a genuine, disarming smile. "Name's Sam. Sam Wilson. And you are…?" He left the question hanging, hoping for a name, a connection, anything to build a rapport. This was going to be trickier than he thought. The kid looked utterly lost, like a deer caught in headlights. And potentially more dangerous than a dozen Hulks, a small, worried voice reminded him. He had to tread carefully.

"I... I'm Issei," he managed to say, his voice still shaky. He tried to push down the rising tide of panic, but it was like trying to hold back a tsunami with his bare hands.

Sam kept the friendly smile plastered on his face, but internally, he was on high alert. The kid's energy signature was spiking again. Keep him talking, Sam. Keep him calm.

"Issei. Nice to meet you, Issei," Sam said. "So, uh... what brings you to this particular rooftop? Nice view, I guess, but there are probably more comfortable places to hang out." He gestured vaguely at the surrounding cityscape.

Issei didn't answer immediately. He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain some semblance of control. He needed… he needed Ddraig. Ddraig would know what to do. Ddraig always knew.

He closed his eyes, focusing inward, reaching out with his mind, his soul, towards the familiar presence that had been his constant companion for so long. "Ddraig?" he whispered, the name a plea. "Ddraig, are you there?"

Silence.

He tried again, louder this time, his voice cracking with desperation. "Ddraig! Partner, answer me!"

Only the wind answered.

The emptiness that met his call was a cold, crushing blow. It was a void where warmth and power and presence should have been. He felt… hollow. Abandoned. Truly, utterly alone.

The DAAM, sensing his rapidly escalating distress, pulsed frantically, attempting to compensate, to regulate his energy. But it was like trying to contain a supernova with a butterfly net. The very foundation of Issei's power, his connection to the Boosted Gear, the Welsh Dragon Ddraig, was gone. Severed.

A sob escaped his lips, a choked, broken sound. He didn't understand. Where was Ddraig? Was he… dead? The thought was unbearable.

His hand instinctively clenched, and a surge of raw, untamed power erupted. The air around him crackled with energy, the rooftop gravel vibrating beneath his feet. A crimson gauntlet, shimmering with draconic power, materialized on his left arm – the Boosted Gear, manifesting in its initial, unstable form.

"Boost!"

The voice that echoed from the gauntlet was not Ddraig's. It was a distorted, mechanical echo, the DAAM attempting to replicate the familiar call, but failing miserably. It was a hollow imitation, a cruel reminder of his loss.

"Boost! Boost! Boost!"

The power continued to build, exponentially, uncontrollably. The DAAM, overwhelmed, was now amplifying the energy instead of containing it. It was interpreting Issei's desperate, uncontrolled emotional surge as a request for more power, feeding the very fire it was supposed to be extinguishing.

Issei's vision began to blur, his awareness shrinking to a single, overwhelming point of pain and loss. He was losing control, slipping towards the abyss of the Juggernaut Drive, a berserk state that granted immense power at the cost of his sanity and, ultimately, his life.

Sam Wilson recoiled, his eyes widening in alarm. The empathic field was useless against this level of emotional turmoil. The energy readings were going off the scale. "Kid! Issei, listen to me! You need to calm down!" he shouted, but his voice was drowned out by the roaring surge of power.

He frantically contacted headquarters. "Code Red! Code Red! He's going critical! I repeat, he's going critical! We need immediate telepathic intervention! Now!"

[Xavier Institute - Cerebro Chamber]

Within the Cerebro chamber, Jean Grey, her brow furrowed in concentration, felt the sudden, overwhelming spike of psychic distress. It was like a scream in the void, a raw, unfiltered cry of anguish.

"Charles!" she exclaimed, her voice tight with urgency. "I've got him! He's on the verge of a catastrophic breakdown! His power… it's unlike anything I've ever sensed."

Professor Charles Xavier, seated in his wheelchair, his mind already linked to Cerebro's vast network, nodded grimly. He could feel it too – a tempest of raw, untamed power, fueled by unimaginable grief and despair.

"He's lost something… someone… precious to him," Xavier said, his voice strained. "His mental defenses are nonexistent. He's completely vulnerable."

"I can try to reach him, Charles," Jean said, "but his power… it's pushing back. It's like trying to wade through a hurricane."

"You must try, Jean," Xavier said, his voice firm. "If we don't intervene, the consequences could be devastating. Not just for him, but for the entire city."

Jean took a deep breath, focusing her immense telepathic power. She reached out across the distance, sending a wave of calming, soothing energy towards the source of the psychic storm.

[New York Rooftop - Moments Later]

Issei was barely aware of anything beyond the roaring in his ears and the crimson glow of the Boosted Gear. He was sinking, drowning in a sea of despair.

Then, a voice, gentle yet powerful, cut through the chaos. Issei…

It wasn't Ddraig. But it was… kind. Compassionate. Understanding.

Issei, breathe… Let go of the pain… Just for a moment…

The voice was like a lifeline in the darkness. He clung to it, desperately.

You are not alone, Issei… We are here…

Another presence joined the first, a calm, steady anchor in the storm. A mind, vast and wise, offering solace and support.

The relentless build-up of power began to subside, the crimson glow of the Boosted Gear flickering, dimming. The roaring in his ears faded, replaced by the gentle murmur of the wind.

His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the rooftop, unconscious. The Boosted Gear vanished, leaving only the small, dark device embedded in the back of his hand, pulsing faintly, a silent testament to the extraordinary events that had just transpired. The last thing issei was aware of was a warm embrace.