Gale Step. In the original Warcraft III mechanics, it was an Orc Blademaster's bread and butter. It cost 75 Mana, had a five-second cooldown, and lasted for twenty seconds of pure, unadulterated invisibility. Back in the game, it also gave a massive damage boost to the first strike out of stealth. In the real world, the System had trimmed that part away.
Honestly? Rosen didn't care.
In reality, there are no HP bars hovering over people's heads. If you're invisible and you drive a blade through someone's neck or take their head off, they're dead. You don't need a "+40 damage" modifier for a decapitation. Even a cosmic heavy-hitter like Thanos would probably agree—aim for the head, and the math does itself.
For Rosen, the sheer utility of a twenty-second invisibility window was the real prize. It was his get-out-of-jail-free card. No more shelling out ten grand for single-use potions.
He didn't stick around Fisk Tower to see the fallout. After slipping out of the vault, he found a shadowed stairwell, waited for the coast to be clear, and triggered Blink.
ZAP.
He reappeared nearly half a mile away, tucked behind a dumpster in a dark alley. He reached down and scooped up a small mechanical frog—another "eye" he'd planted earlier—and tucked it into his pouch. Then, he hit Gale Step again.
As the cool, ghostly energy wrapped around him, he vanished into the night, leaving the chaos of Hell's Kitchen behind.
By now, the sirens were screaming. NYPD cruisers were screaming toward Fisk Tower from every precinct in Manhattan. The city was awake, buzzing with the kind of frantic energy that only follows a high-stakes heist at a billionaire's headquarters. It was going to be a long, sleepless night for the Kingpin's men, but Rosen was already gone.
Rosen's apartment wasn't far. It was a sleek, high-end unit in a luxury high-rise just a block outside the grimy borders of Hell's Kitchen.
Before his transmigration, a place like this—with floor-to-ceiling windows, a concierge, and a monthly rent that could buy a decent mid-sized sedan—would have been a pipe dream. But with the System, money was just a number. And since he viewed Hell's Kitchen as his personal high-volume ATM, it only made sense to live within walking distance of the "bank."
He didn't use the front door. He used Blink to skip the lobby entirely, appearing right in the middle of his living room. According to the building's high-tech security cameras, he hadn't left his apartment all night.
He stripped off his black tactical gear, feeling the sweat-chilled fabric peel away from his skin. He tossed the clothes into his System storage, grabbed a quick shower to wash off the smell of the vault's recycled air, and practically dove onto his plush, King-sized bed. The sheets were high-thread-count Egyptian cotton, and they felt like heaven against his tired limbs.
"Okay," he whispered, staring up at the ceiling as his heart finally began to slow down. "Let's see what the haul actually bought me."
He pulled up the skill interface. As he tallied the results of his thirty-eight spins, a mix of pure joy and mounting frustration washed over him.
"Seriously? Am I just destined to be Maiev Shadowsong's twin brother or something?"
He groaned and rubbed his temples. He'd hit the jackpot on The Watcher's skill set, but with one glaring, annoying catch. Both Fan of Knives and Shadow Strike had been drawn three times each. They were maxed out. Even his Blink—the skill he called Flash—had been drawn again, bringing it to Level 2.
He was one level away. Just one more draw of Blink, and he'd have all three of the hero's basic skills maxed. That was the trigger for the Ultimate: Vengeful God.
In the games, people didn't pick The Watcher much because she was a micro-management nightmare. But in the real world? Her ultimate was terrifying.
Vengeful God: Summon an avatar of pure retribution. This entity is immune to all magic, cannot be controlled or dispelled, and continuously summons invincible spirits from the fallen on the battlefield to tear enemies apart.
The Vengeful God was stronger than a Level 10 hero. Its only weakness was a three-minute duration... which just happened to be the exact same as its cooldown. If he unlocked it, he could theoretically have an invincible, magic-immune killing machine by his side at all times.
"So close," Rosen muttered, staring at the level-two Blink icon. "System, you're definitely capping me on purpose. You just want me to go back for more cash."
He took a deep breath, calming himself. "Whatever. It's just a matter of time now."
He moved on to the rest of the list. Out of the thirty-eight draws, he'd landed twenty-two distinct skills. All of them were practical, but a few stood out as absolute game-changers.
Gale Step was already a favorite. Combined with Blink and his natural Shadow Fade, he was officially the hardest man on Earth to catch.
Then, there was Radiance Aura (the System's version of Brilliance Aura) and Divine Shield.
As an Agility-based hero template, his Mana pool was... well, it was a bit shallow. Most of his new skills were "Active," meaning they required a burst of Mana to use. Right now, he was like a Ferrari with a two-gallon gas tank. He had all this power, but he couldn't keep the engine running for long.
Radiance Aura was the solution. It was a passive pulse that regenerated his Mana automatically.
The problem? It was only Level 1. A measly 0.75 Mana per second.
"This is why I should've bought that Staff of Antonidas," he sighed, recalling the item in the Special Store.
The staff offered +30 Intelligence, which would have added 450 points to his max Mana. Plus, it came with a Level 3 Radiance Aura, pumping out 2.25 Mana per second. With that kind of recovery, he could spam skills all day.
"I've got three days until the store refreshes," Rosen mused. "Getting another three hundred million might be tough, but I can probably squeeze a few tens of millions out of the city if I work for it."
He even considered selling the staff later. Items from the System weren't soul-bound; he could give them to others. He thought about the mages at Kamar-Taj, but then he remembered the movies.
"Wait," he chuckled, remembering a conversation between Doctor Strange and Wong. "Those guys are actually broke. They'd probably try to pay me in ancient scrolls and 'enlightenment.' No thanks."
If he was going to fleece anyone, it was going to be Tony Stark. Stark was the ultimate cash cow, and Rosen had a feeling the billionaire would pay through the nose for a stick that granted infinite energy.
But the real crown jewel of his haul was Divine Shield.
In Warcraft, it was the Paladin's invincibility bubble. In the Marvel Universe, the System had added a specific, sobering footnote to the description:
Note: Only effective against attacks below Single-Universe level.
Rosen didn't know whether to laugh or cry. On one hand, being immune to anything below "Universal" meant that even if Thanos managed to get his hands on the Infinity Gauntlet and did his famous snap, Rosen would be fine. The Gauntlet, as powerful as it was, usually capped out at the Single-Universe level.
On the other hand... "Single-Universe level" implied there were things above that.
He thought about the entities lurking in the cracks of reality. Dormammu, the Lord of the Dark Dimension, was a multi-universal threat. If that guy decided to show up, a golden bubble wasn't going to do much more than look pretty while Rosen got deleted.
"Still," Rosen said, stretching his arms over his head as he felt the heavy weight of sleep finally taking hold. "For a kid who was worried about getting into community college a week ago... being immune to a galactic genocide isn't a bad upgrade."
He closed his eyes, the data of thirty-eight skills finally settling into his subconscious. He had the money, he had the power, and he had a city full of "ATMs" waiting for him.
Life in the Marvel Universe was finally starting to look pretty good.