Rise of the Devourer

Noah had been through some things over the years, but most of them were sharp and very present. Rebuilding himself was a tedious process, challenging in all the wrong ways, and required so much repeated trial and error for microscopic progress that he would have despaired if there’d been any other choice.

But it was this or die, so even as frustration at failure after failure mounted in his stubborn heart, he and Tony kept at it.

With the sheer quantity of high-grade mana flooding through him, anything less than exceptional was too weak to survive. But anything strong enough to withstand the environmental pressure was so far beyond Noah’s current strength that his spirit failed to register it as part of himself.

It was like trying to convince his body to treat a suit of armor as flesh and blood. He could wear it, move around in it, but it was heavy and awkward and decidedly not-Noah.

Which left him in the distinctly uncomfortable position of working to create a near-perfected peak physique capable of channelling insane quantities of mana safely… that for all intents and purposes would only end up being a golem puppet he pretended was himself. A mech suit wrapped around the only part of him to exist: his Dragon’s Heart and its veins.

Just call me a reverse Tony Stark, Noah thought when the realization hit him during one of the pauses after finishing with one mana crystal before moving on to the next.

Noah wants to be called Tony?

Noah chuckled. Or the mental amusement equivalent thereof. Different Tony. And then they got back to work.

Unlike most of his other times recreating himself, there was no all-consuming agony. Or perhaps his pain resistance was just that good by now.