THE GOD OF MISFORTUNE

In Zyx’s small room in a small Korean town near Seoul, the soft glow of the moonlight that filtered in painted the worn wooden floor in shades of silver. As he lay on the borrowed bed, the sudden warmth of Jihye’s home stood in stark, almost painful contrast to the icy fear that was settling deep in his chest. Two months had passed since Luis’s death and two months since his own fall from the sky. That meant the Ascension Royale was hurtling towards its three-month mark, the grim threshold when the Diamond-Class monsters would begin their dreadful ascendance across every continent—each one, if the old divine whispers were true, capable of devouring entire landmasses. He had to prepare. Not for divine approval, but for the fragile, kind humans like Jihye and Min-jun who deserved saving. He needed to become a bulwark, a strength beyond what even the gods imagined.

He slipped from the bed, the familiar ache in his newly human body a dull, constant thrum, a reminder of his utter frailty. He brought up his system tab, the ethereal screen shimmering before him in the moonlight. He scrolled through blueprints, from flimsy Scrap Tier trinkets to the elusive Celestial Gear. The Curse Mark was a double-edged sword: it slashed costs by a staggering 99.9%, making even a Divine Artifact theoretically within reach. But it was a cruel jest. Any item he, Zyx, wore or used directly would have its stats similarly crippled, reduced by that same crushing 99.9%. A weapon for nothing, that did nothing. He needed a loophole.

"Useless," he muttered, running a phantom hand through his suddenly heavy, human hair. He required an extension, a vessel that avoided the curse’s pernicious hold on his newly discovered mortality, rather than him exercising the power.

Then a bright, sharp idea pierced the darkness of his mind. Exo-suits. Mechs. Luis had spoken with such passion about "Iron Man," about formidable external suits. Luis had been an Engineer, the creator. What if he didn’t just wear a suit as a mere second skin, but instead, piloted it? A separate entity, a living weapon, a robot that followed his every command, untouched by the divine blight that clung to him. A robot wouldn’t suffer from a god’s curse. It would simply be.

He closed his eyes, channeling what remained of his divine insight, focusing it, melding it with the fragments of Engineer knowledge he’d inherited from Luis. He pictured it, piece by gleaming piece: a sentient exo-mech, light-years beyond Luis’s rudimentary EXO-MASKED design. This wouldn’t just be armor; it would be a true Iron Man suit, a mobile fortress. He poured every wild sci-fi dream Luis had ever harbored, every whispered thought of ultimate power, into the raw blueprint taking shape in his mind.

The system tab shimmered, transforming. The monstrous specifications of his ultimate weapon glowed before him:

[INFINITE CONSTRUCT: AEGIS PRIME (Mk. I)]

TYPE: Sentient Exo-Mechanized Combat Platform (Pilot Required)

HP: 1,000,000

ATTACK: 10,000

DEFENSE: 10,000