The United States dared not utter a word. This time, the global situation had left even the most powerful nations silent and still.
Everyone understood one simple truth — the Sanctuary could change the world at will. If they wished, they could seize control of the Earth overnight.
There was no longer any point in resistance, no need for pride or scheming. The gap between them was too vast — so vast it was beyond repair.
Modern weapons?
Shells, missiles, fighter jets — none of it worked on demons. Even worse, Saints could destroy them with ease.
To put it bluntly, humanity still struggled to conquer nature, while Saints could reshape it with a mere thought.
Even the proudest leaders had to accept reality. What use were conspiracies or secret alliances? If they angered the Sanctuary, the consequences would be catastrophic.
In the past, humans had always believed that death was final. Heaven and hell were mere legends to most.
But now, with demons proven real and the gates of hell literally opened, death had lost its comfort. It was no longer an escape — it was a threat.
Who could guarantee that after dying, their soul wouldn't be seized by the Saints and cast into hell for eternal torment?
They couldn't win. They didn't dare rebel. The only option left was to submit — or, better yet, cooperate.
If they played their cards right, maybe they could even gain some benefits as loyal allies.
After all, the Sanctuary's technology and products were beyond belief.
Take the portal system, for example — a network that could instantly connect any two points in the world, stable and efficient. Such technology alone could transform the global economy overnight. The toll revenue alone would be astronomical, not to mention its military and social implications.
And then there was the Sky City Project — a concept that combined anti-gravity, atmospheric sustainability, and ecological recycling into a single floating metropolis. The very thought made the world's scientists drool. Even if they couldn't build Sky City itself, the spinoff technologies alone would be worth fortunes.
But nothing attracted the world's attention more than the Sanctuary's medical advancements.
Their achievements in genetic engineering were revolutionary.
Based on the super gene serum, the Sanctuary's scientists had refined human DNA to perfection — creating a line of genetic serums that could heal, enhance, and even extend life.
Some nations had even begged for samples of Golden Blood — a rare substance rumored to be key to creating the next generation of the serum.
Though the advanced versions were strictly guarded, even the older generations of the gene serum could enhance physical condition and prolong life. Every world leader, billionaire, and general wanted it.
So, one after another, nations lined up to negotiate with the Sanctuary.
Trade requests flooded Madripo Port like snowflakes. Cargo ships, envoys, and delegates arrived daily.
Desperate smaller nations — those stripped of resources and crushed by poverty — even offered to sell themselves outright.
"We pledge our loyalty to the God King! Our nation will join the Sanctuary!"
They weren't joking. Compared to starving under global exploitation, surrendering to the Sanctuary looked like salvation.
After all, the people of Kosovia and Madripo Port lived in peace and prosperity. Even the lowest citizens had homes, cars, food, and healthcare. Disease was rare, lifespan was long, and welfare abundant.
Once, the United States had been idolized as the land of dreams. Now, that title belonged to the Sanctuary.
Even many American citizens quietly longed to move there.
The Sanctuary's influence was global, and its expansion unstoppable. The administrative offices in Madripo Port worked around the clock to handle new trade agreements and immigration requests.
Leon and Ophelia stood side by side, overlooking the glittering skyline they had built.
Both felt immense pride — but for Ophelia, it was more than pride. It was power.
Her Small Universe, the inner cosmos of her soul, surged with energy. Her growth had become exponential.
If Leon hadn't made it clear that his true ambitions lay beyond Earth — among the stars — Ophelia would have already begun unifying the planet under the Sanctuary's banner.
Just a few thriving cities had fueled her rapid advancement. If she commanded billions of people, she would ascend to the heavens themselves.
She once joked that when her power surpassed Leon's, she would "teach him a lesson." Her rebellious streak amused him — though it took him over a month to subdue it.
After that… the rebellious serpent became much tamer. For now.
But deep down, the spark of defiance still lingered, waiting for its moment.
While the world was in a frenzy of submission and ambition, one man quietly worked alone in his seaside villa in New York.
Tony Stark had returned.
For a full month, he secluded himself in his underground lab, pouring his brilliance into a single goal — creating the first generation of the Mark series armor.
Unlike the bulky exosuits of old, this new design would be sleek, agile, and perfectly fitted to the human body.
After witnessing both demons and Saints firsthand, Tony understood that size meant nothing. Massive armor was a liability — slow, clumsy, and easy to crush.
What mattered was speed, mobility, and adaptability.
He envisioned an armor that combined flight, firepower, flexibility, defense, and endurance — something capable of battling even superhuman beings.
The challenge, of course, was the power source.
A system capable of sustaining supersonic flight had to be small, light, and incredibly efficient.
The solution came from his own company — the Arc Reactor.
Through sheer genius and sleepless nights, Tony managed to miniaturize the massive reactor into a compact, wearable core.
Once the power source was stable, the rest fell into place — propulsion systems, internal sensors, and an advanced AI-assisted control system.
After countless tests and adjustments, the first-generation Mark I armor stood proudly before him — two meters tall, one hundred kilograms, gleaming in polished silver.
Its structure was divided into three layers: inner skeletal frame, mechanical exoskeleton, and external armor plating. The helmet was airtight, equipped with oxygen supply and a retractable visor.
Sensors embedded throughout the armor fed data to a holographic display interface, while micro-missile ports, retractable ailerons, and automated assembly systems added versatility.
Pressure and shock absorption systems stabilized the pilot's vitals during high-speed maneuvers — ensuring survival even during a free fall.
Neural-linked control was achieved via brainwave readers, combined with voice commands and retina tracking, allowing seamless synchronization between pilot and armor.
When the final adjustments were complete, Tony stood before the gleaming suit, heart pounding with excitement.
"J.A.R.V.I.S., initiate assembly."
"Right away, sir."
Mechanical arms moved in perfect coordination, attaching each piece of armor to his body.
Within moments, Tony Stark became Iron Man.
The holographic HUD flickered to life before his eyes. System diagnostics complete. Power levels optimal.
Tony grinned. "Let's take her for a spin."
With a blast of blue-white energy, the Mark I's thrusters ignited. The armor lifted off, hovering, then shot out of the underground tunnel and into the sky — a silver streak against the clouds.
"Whoo! Yeah!" Tony shouted with exhilaration as he soared through the air, looping and rolling like a child with a new toy.
He broke the sound barrier, flew out over the ocean — until frost began forming on the armor at high altitude.
At 26,000 meters, the cold seized the systems. The Mark I froze, the engines sputtered, and Tony nearly plummeted before regaining control and landing safely.
The test was a success — but the icing issue would need fixing.
Back in his lab, Tony was already sketching solutions when J.A.R.V.I.S. interrupted:
"Sir, you have visitors."
Moments later, Tony entered the villa's main hall — only to find two unexpected guests waiting for him.
One was a tall, bald man in a black coat and eyepatch.
The other — a stunning woman with short platinum hair, wearing a red jacket and jeans.
Natasha Romanoff.
Leader of the Avengers.
Tony knew her well enough — her image was no secret among the elite. The Avengers were a public mystery, often discussed and quietly feared.
But seeing her here, in his house, meant only one thing.
The Avengers wanted him.
Tony smirked, grabbing a bottle from the bar. "Well, this just got interesting."
End of Chapter)
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