Marvel: I am the bastard son of stark (Remade)

Tomura sat in the dimly lit chamber, the weight of Kurogiri's presence heavy in the air. The black-purple mist swirled lazily around his wounded arm, the faint yellow eyes of his fallen friend flickering in and out of sight. He leaned back against the cold stone wall, his body still recovering, though his mind raced with plans.

"Kurogiri," Tomura muttered, breaking the silence.

The mist coalesced slightly, a faint hum of acknowledgment filling the room.

"There's a cave," Tomura continued, his voice low but resolute. "Near the outskirts of Kyoto. I hid something there... an armour. If things ever go south, I'll need you to take me there. Can you do that?"

The mist pulsed, a silent agreement. Tomura exhaled deeply, closing his eyes.

For the next few days, he remained confined to the room, his body gradually mending under the care of the Hand Clan. The tension among the ranks was palpable; whispers of his actions during the trial spread like wildfire. Yet none dared to confront him directly.

It was during one of these quiet moments that a television broadcast caught his attention. The flickering screen displayed news from Gotham City—a shadowy figure dressed in a cape and cowl was terrorising criminals in the dead of night.

"They're calling him... Batman," the reporter announced, her voice tinged with a mix of fear and intrigue.

Tomura's eyes narrowed. He barely had time to process the news when the screen shifted to Queens, New York. A new vigilante, clad in red and blue, was seen swinging between skyscrapers, saving lives with impossible agility.

"Spider-Man," the reporter said.

Tomura smirked faintly. "Looks like the world's getting crowded with caped crusaders."

Midnight's Call

Days later, Tomura was deemed fully healed. He hadn't wasted a moment of his recovery; his mind had been busy crafting a plan, one that would see the Hand Clan dismantled from the inside.

When the moon hung high in the sky, casting its pale glow over the compound, Tomura made his move. Silent as a shadow, he crept through the halls, his blade hidden beneath his cloak. The first of the Hand's high-ranking officials fell without a sound, his throat slit before he could raise an alarm.

One by one, Tomura eliminated his targets, moving with deadly precision. But as he reached the final chamber, an alarm was triggered. The compound erupted in chaos, the air filled with shouts and the sound of footsteps.

"Tomura!" a voice roared from the shadows. "You dare betray the Hand?"

Tomura turned to see a sea of Hand ninja pouring into the room, their weapons gleaming in the moonlight. There were hundreds—no, thousands.

He gritted his teeth, raising his hand. The scars on his palm glowed faintly as his Decay ability surged to life. With a single touch to the ground, a wave of destruction spread outward, disintegrating half of the advancing forces in an instant.

But the remaining ninja didn't falter. They pressed forward, overwhelming him with sheer numbers. For every ten he struck down, another twenty seemed to take their place. Tomura's breath grew laboured, his movements slowing.

"Kurogiri!" he shouted, desperation creeping into his voice.

The black-purple mist erupted from his wound, enveloping him in a swirling vortex. A portal opened beneath him, and before the remaining ninja could land a fatal blow, Tomura vanished.

The Cave

Tomura stumbled as he emerged from the portal, his body bruised and bloodied. He found himself in the mouth of a cave, the air cool and damp. He steadied himself, taking a deep breath before venturing deeper.

At the heart of the cave, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight, stood a suit of armour. Its polished silver surface gleamed, the intricate details of its craftsmanship exuding an aura of power. The nameplate at its base read: Silver Samurai.

Tomura approached it, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch the cold metal. He could feel the weight of its history, the battles it had seen, the lives it had taken.

"Perfect," he muttered, a dangerous glint in his eye.

He donned the armour, piece by piece, its weight settling over him like a second skin. The helmet clicked into place, and for a moment, he stood still, letting the transformation sink in. The Silver Samurai was reborn.

The Minor Base

Armoured and rejuvenated, Tomura made his way to a minor Hand base located deep in the mountains. His goal was clear: to erase all evidence of his existence within the clan.

The base was lightly guarded, the Hand having diverted most of their forces to track him down. Tomura moved through the shadows, dispatching the guards with ruthless efficiency.

In the central chamber, he found what he was looking for—a file bearing his name. He opened it, his eyes scanning the contents.

Subject: Tomura Stark

Parents: Tony Stark and Aiko Nakamura

Tomura froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He clenched the file tightly, his mind racing. Tony Stark—his father? The name was familiar, though the details eluded him.

Anger flared within him. Whatever connection he had to this man, it didn't matter. He threw the file to the ground and set it ablaze, watching as the flames consumed the paper.

Heading to New York

With the evidence destroyed and his enemies none the wiser, Tomura stood at the entrance of the base, the Silver Samurai armour gleaming in the pale light of dawn.

"Kurogiri," he said, his voice steady.

The mist swirled around him, forming a portal. Tomura stepped through without hesitation, his destination clear.

"New York," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Let's see what this Spider-Man and the rest of the world have to offer."

The portal closed behind him, leaving the Hand Clan none the wiser to the storm that was heading their way.