I'd be releasing 5 Chapters daily till we reach 100 chapters.
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"Right now, I can't find any testing equipment strong enough to measure your full-strength punch!"
Tony paced, thinking quickly. "We'll have to switch tactics—use multi-dimensional data modeling to estimate an approximate value."
"What do you want me to do?" Malrick asked.
"Exerting force midair shouldn't be a problem for you, right?"
"Nope. I've got a bio-force field."
Tony adjusted the equipment and spoke through the comms.
"Then take off and push that iron pylon down—like Superman pushing an asteroid."
"This won't measure your raw punch strength, but we'll get a good read on your pushing force. We'll test punching speed after that, then let Jarvis run the numbers."
"Got it!" Malrick launched into the air, flipped over, and placed his hands against the reinforced steel.
"I'm about to start!"
Malrick's eyes focused, muscles flexed, and he pushed downward with full strength.
The data on Tony's screen jumped instantly—nine digits appeared in a flash. His heart skipped.
And the numbers were still climbing.
From the air, Malrick let out a shout as his force peaked. The readings finally stabilized, fluctuating slightly.
"That's enough!" Tony's voice cracked with excitement.
Malrick exhaled sharply. "Well? What's my thrust?"
Tony swallowed hard. "370 million kilograms... That's 370,000 tons. Jarvis estimates your single-arm strength falls between 140,000 and 190,000 tons."
"So high?" Malrick raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised.
It wasn't a small number. For reference, the early version of Superman in the DCEU was listed at about 800,000 tons—after absorbing sunlight for over 20 years.
Malrick had barely been "charging" for half a year.
And honestly, with this strength, he was practically untouchable on Earth.
"It's not enough," Malrick muttered, clenching his fist. "Earth's just a small pond. There are monsters beyond the edge. I've got a long way to go."
Tony, listening from his console, rolled his eyes.
He didn't even have the energy to clap back at the humblebrag. He just queued up the next test.
"Next: punching speed. Hit at the fastest speed your body and force field can handle."
Malrick nodded. "I usually keep the bio-force field active to contain shockwaves. I'll use the top speed that won't rupture it."
He stood atop the iron pillar and took a stance—waist coiled, hips twisted.
A clean, standard straight.
Even though it was thrown in midair, the speed was monstrous.
From a distance, Tony saw... nothing.
Malrick hadn't appeared to move at all.
But on the computer screen, a value blinked into existence.
"10,769 meters per second—close to Mach 32!?"
Tony stared. "Was that your max speed?"
Malrick frowned. "A bit slow."
"Technically, I could go faster—but if I exceed that, the force field shatters, and everything nearby gets leveled—like what happened in the garage this morning."
Tony blinked. "You can go faster…? That's already god-level."
"God?" Malrick shook his head. "That's just a starting point. As I grow, the force field will strengthen, and my max speed will rise too."
"Not enough?" Tony rubbed his temples. "Do you even realize what kind of damage that punch can do at this speed?"
Malrick shrugged. "Like a small meteor strike?"
Tony slapped his desk. "Jarvis, give him the numbers."
"Certainly, sir. Master Malrick—based on the model:
A punch at Mach 31, from a single arm, generates over 1.5 trillion Newtons of force in one second. That's equivalent to the explosive energy of 240 Hiroshima bombs."
Tony added, "Or about 3.6 million tons of TNT! And that's not even factoring in the tiny surface area of your fist, which means the actual pressure is way higher."
Jarvis continued, "Indeed. Master Malrick, functionally speaking, you are a mobile high-yield hydrogen bomb—with infinite ammunition."
Tony took a deep breath, reeling from the implications.
Who would've guessed the same kid who bickered with him daily was holding this kind of firepower?
"You still think you're not strong enough? Is this because I didn't protect you well enough as a kid?"
Malrick smiled faintly. "No, Tony. You've always been good to me. You even dragged me along when picking up girls."
But truthfully, Tony wasn't far off. As a child, the fear of being hunted by the TVA had left a deep psychological scar. The helplessness of that time had burned itself into his bones.
That fear had become fuel.
"What's the real reason, then? You jealous I was stealing all the girls, and now you want to crush me with brute strength?" Tony joked, trying to lighten the mood.
"Tempting." Malrick smirked and tapped his earpiece.
"Let's move on to the next test. There's still more to shock you."
Malrick ran through heat vision tests, freeze breath range, x-ray vision, flight dynamics...
Tony's reactions evolved—from awe, to horror, to borderline existential crisis.
To "You deserve to be punched into orbit."
But it wasn't entirely Tony's fault. Malrick had become the living embodiment of Versailles syndrome.
Heat vision at 6,000 degrees Fahrenheit with adjustable range and power?
Malrick called it "barely usable."
Freeze breath that could ice over miles in an instant?
X-ray vision that could see through anything—except lead?
"Flawed. Better to not rely on it."
By the end, Tony didn't even want to design weapons anymore—just find a size 42 boot and kick Malrick in the face.
"What's next?" Tony asked, slumped in his chair, sliding the mouse like a zombie.