Marvel's Strongest Mage

The video Justina brought could, at best, confirm Daniel's true identity—but even if it were posted online and went viral, Daniel wouldn't need to lift a finger. Government agencies would swoop in and wipe every trace of it clean.

And even if they failed to suppress it in time—or if Justina had other copies—the consequences of his identity being exposed? Let it be. In this new era, things weren't like before. Ever since Tony Stark stood on a podium and declared to the world, "I am Iron Man," the public had begun to warm to the idea of superhumans walking among them.

And more importantly, Daniel was affiliated with the U.S. military. That connection made him untouchable—at least for now.

"I didn't mean to threaten you," Justina said, pushing her phone back across the table. "The person who recorded that clip was a friend of mine. I swear there are no backups. This is just… my way of showing good faith. If you help me get through this crisis, Hammer Industries will be at your disposal. Whatever you want in the future, we'll do everything in our power to make it happen."

Daniel stared at her for a long second, then laughed—a slow, amused chuckle that was anything but warm. After the laughter faded, he leaned in slightly, interest flickering in his sharp eyes. "You've got guts. I'll give you that."

He tapped a finger against the table, voice dropping an octave. "You're right. People like us only care about power. And power—real power—requires more than just raw talent. It takes resources. Equipment. Infrastructure. Allies. So yes, I need external support to keep evolving."

Then his expression hardened.

"But how do you guarantee you can give me that support? Your father's going away for a long, long time. He's not walking free. Not after what happened."

Daniel didn't sugarcoat it. If they were going to talk business, then he'd talk in cold, hard truths. This wasn't about saving Hammer Industries from collapse—if Justina wanted his help, she needed to prove she could rebuild it, run it, and turn it into a resource he could use.

And that couldn't happen if she was just a scared heiress clinging to her disgraced father's legacy.

Daniel was blunt: "Justin Hammer's done. Finished. People died at the Stark Expo. Someone has to take the fall. Ivan Vanko is already dead, so all fingers point to your dad. No jury in America is letting him walk."

The words hit Justina like a blow to the chest. She had come in with a sliver of hope—that maybe Daniel could do something, anything, to get her father released.

But now she understood. That door was shut. Permanently.

Only Hammer Industries remained. And if she wanted to protect that, she had to act without illusions.

"I did some digging before I came here," Justina said, steadying herself. "Technically, the government froze all our bank accounts, yes. But Hammer Industries stockpiled raw materials for an expansion of the Iron Soldier program. The new production lines are ready. The workforce has already been recruited and trained. All we need is capital. Once the soldiers are produced and sold, the funds will cycle back in. The company can recover."

Daniel raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"No, they won't let that happen. The government's not going to allow even one more Iron Soldier out of your factories. Not only that—they're going to seize the reactors, the blueprints, everything. And they won't just lock it in some vault. They'll burn it. Vaporize it. You can't make what doesn't exist anymore."

Justina's lips tightened. But she hesitated—and Daniel caught it instantly.

That pause told him everything.

"You've already found a buyer, haven't you?" he said, voice low and sharp.

Justina flinched.

Daniel leaned back. "You might be able to restart production without triggering alarms. You might even succeed in making a sale. But that buyer can't step into the light. Which means this entire deal is buried under layers of deniability and risk. You're threading a needle in the dark."

He studied her again.

"Even if you manage all that—why me? Why should I help? I have other options. Other companies. Other tech. Other people. Why should I waste time on a sinking ship captained by the daughter of a disgraced arms dealer?"

Justina opened her mouth to respond, but Daniel raised a hand to silence her.

"You don't understand just how deep this mess goes. It's not just the press or Stark Industries breathing down your neck. The military's furious. The CIA and FBI are watching every move. And S.H.I.E.L.D. is in play."

He saw the confusion flash in her eyes.

"You don't know what S.H.I.E.L.D. is, do you? Think of it as the love child of the FBI and the CIA—only with a much longer reach. During World War II, they were the Strategic Science Reserve. Today, they're everywhere. And they think your father's tech is a threat to global security."

Daniel gave her a moment to absorb the weight of it.

"And it's not just S.H.I.E.L.D. The FBI, the CIA, the anti-terrorism task force… even the White House and Congress are involved now. So whatever promises you're making, whatever future you think you're building, the price I'd have to pay just to keep you afloat? It's not worth the return."

Justina had turned pale.

She had thought she was desperate before. Now she realized she had been naïve. Completely out of her depth.

Daniel stood, walking toward the stairs. "You have two choices," he said, pausing halfway up. "One, go home and file for bankruptcy. Two, find someone else stupid enough to get tangled up in your mess."

He started walking again, then added, without looking back, "You can stay here for the night. But when I come downstairs, I don't want to see you."

And with that, he disappeared upstairs.

Daniel didn't sleep like a rock. He passed out like a man who'd burned himself empty.

Last night had taken a massive toll. The spell he'd cast—something beyond even advanced battlefield magic—had drained over 70% of his mana. A second casting under those conditions could've killed him outright. He needed rest. Mental and magical.

But with Earth's sluggish magical field, even recovery was an uphill crawl.

Still, twelve hours later, when the sky had already begun to darken, Daniel finally stirred. He rolled out of bed, feeling human again, and padded downstairs—only to find the living room empty.

Justina was gone.

He smirked. Smart girl.

She'd clearly realized she couldn't use him, not like she planned. Maybe she'd try elsewhere. Maybe she'd go down swinging. Either way, Daniel wasn't interested in being someone's stepping stone.

He grabbed dinner from a fast-food joint on the corner, then pulled out his phone and skimmed through texts.

Sunil Bakshi had done his part flawlessly. Their plan was working.

Hammer Industries stock had crashed as soon as the market opened. Trading had frozen within the first hour. Two more days and the company would be dead in the water—shares worthless, reputation in ashes.

That's when Daniel would strike.

Once the market declared it terminal, he'd start buying. Quietly. Ruthlessly. Piece by piece. When the final hammer dropped, he'd own enough to trigger a hostile takeover—or liquidate it entirely and pick the bones clean.

Corporate collapse was messy. But it was also wildly profitable—if you had the stomach for it.

And Daniel did.

As he approached his building, arms full of groceries, the noise of the evening crowd surrounded him—honking cars, neighbors chatting, footsteps clicking down concrete stairs.

He turned the corner to his unit… and stopped cold.

Standing outside his door were two figures.

One was Justina.

The other, a man in his forties, sharply dressed, steel-gray hair at the temples, briefcase in hand. A lawyer, no doubt. Anyone who'd lived in New York long enough could spot the type instantly.

Justina had changed.

Gone was the rebellious daughter of the night before. Her gray-blue hair was now a sleek blonde—was that her natural color, or freshly dyed? Her nose ring was gone. Her outfit was business-formal: blazer, skirt, heels. The transformation was… impressive.

"You in court today?" Daniel asked, lifting his grocery bag casually.

"They're moving fast. Jury selection starts Monday," she replied. Her voice was calm, but there was a flicker of steel beneath it. "Let's talk inside."

Daniel unlocked the door without a word and led them in. Justina glanced at the lawyer, who subtly shook his head—no traps detected. She followed.

Inside, Daniel headed for the dining table and dropped the groceries. "All right," he said. "What'd your father offer?"

Justina flinched. He'd hit the mark.

She'd seen her father. He had one card left, and she was here to play it.

"My father is transferring twenty percent of Hammer Industries to you," she said, sliding the documents across the table. "Right now, he holds fifty. If you accept, you'll have control."

The lawyer opened the briefcase, produced the official share transfer agreement, and slid it toward Daniel.

Daniel scanned the documents, then leaned back.

A moment passed.

Then he pushed them away.

"I'm not interested in this pile of scrap paper."