Before diving into the Marvel world, Rudra D. Raja Wyllt, the Chaos King, had a wild idea. "Why rush? Let’s buy so ti—literally."Grinning, he strode into his Chaos Den in the Forbidden Forest, where his enchanted pod humd. Dobby saluted, and Ragnarok, his black-and-gold dragon, lounged nearby, eyeing a squirrel suspiciously.
Raja hopped into the pod. "MAYA, comnce soul sleep. Destination: In Ti movie world. Let’s conquer the Ti World!"
MAYA’s voice crackled. "Ti World? You’re already immortal, Master. This is just showing off."
Raja enter at year 2169, Dayton’s gritty ghetto zone, where humanity stopped aging at 20, their left forearms sporting digital clocks counting down from one year. Run out? You die. Ti was currency—pay for coffee, rent, or bribes via arm contact.
Dayton’s poor scraped by with hours, while New Greenwich’s elite hoarded centuries.
Raja materialized near a dive bar, his Chaos Watch cloaked as a ti clock. Spotting Will Salas, a 28-year-old factory worker and this world’s hero, Raja smirked. "Ga on."
Inside the bar, Raja claid a corner table, using telepathy to keep nosy drunks at bay. His eyes locked on Henry Hamilton, a 105-year-old New Greenwich playboy flashing a century on his clock.
Henry, drunk and suicidal, bought rounds for fawning bar girls. Will, chatting with a tipsy friend, noticed a gangster eyeing Henry’s ti.
"That dude’s gonna get cleaned," Will muttered, heading to warn him.
Will leaned in. "Man, I don’t know you, but flaunting that century here? Gangs’ll kill you for it. Run."
Henry, sloshed, just flirted with a giggling blonde. "Live a little, kid!" Raja stifled a laugh. This guy’s a ss.
The bar’s vibe shifted as the Minuten gang stord in, led by Fortis, a young thug with a s bad tattoo. Patrons scattered. Will slipped out, watching from the shadows.
Fortis lood over Henry. "Nice clock, stranger. Let’s ti-fight for it. I’m just a poor 75-year-old."
Henry stamred, fear sobering him. Raja’s voice cut through from his table. "Why don’t we ti-fight? Let the suicidal geezer spectate."
The gang spun, stunned. They hadn’t noticed Raja, his telepathy keeping him invisible in their minds. Fortis snarled. "Who the fuck are you?"
Raja stood, sauntering over, shielding Henry. "Just a guy who hates bullies. Let’s dance." Fortis roared, and the gang charged.
Raja moved like a demi-god on energy potions, dodging fists and snapping wrists. In seconds, the Minuten were a groaning heap. "Amateurs," Raja sighed, dusting his hands.
He glanced at the back door. "Oi! Jaw-on-the-floor guy! Get over here!"
Will, sweating, crept in. Raja grinned. "My clock’s not active yet. Steal their ti—your reward for helping this drunk." Will, ecstatic, drained the gang’s clocks, leaving them five minutes each. "Killers don’t get rcy," he said, gaining 30 years. "Thanks, man!"
Raja waved it off. "Don’t thank yet. and this sad sack need a place to crash. Got room?"
Will nodded. "Gotta pick up my mom from the factory first. Co with." Raja hotwired Fortis’s Ford Taurus, using telepathy to lull Henry into thinking they were buddies.
Henry dozed in the backseat as they sped to the factory. Will found his mother, Rachel (looking 20, courtesy of genetic locks), and surprised her with 10 years of ti. Her jaw dropped. "Will, how—?"
"Later, Mom. Ho first." Raja’s heart skipped, eyeing Rachel’s curves. Hello, milf goddess.
At Will’s cramped apartnt, they celebrated Rachel’s birthday with cheap wine. Will explained the bar fight, making Rachel gasp. "You fought the Minuten?" Will, drunk, passed out beside Henry.
Raja and Rachel stayed up, the air crackling. "So, mystery man," she said, "what’s your deal?"
Raja BSed smoothly. "Henry’s bodyguard, New Greenwich. Low-key gig." They swapped stories about Dayton’s grind and Greenwich’s paranoia.
Raja’s flirt ga was relentless. "Rachel, you’re a vision. Fifty years young, but damn, you’re stealing my ti." She blushed, giggling like a teen.
As she headed to bed, Rachel threw him a sultry glance. Raja caught the signal, following her. He cast a soundproof charm on her room, hugging her from behind. "Bold move, staring like that," he whispered, kissing her neck and squeezing her breast.
She moaned, lting. They stripped, Rachel’s eyes widening at Raja’s demi-god physique. "Holy shit,"she gasped, stroking him. "You’re... wow."
That night, Raja unleashed his Lust, making Rachel climax like a fireworks show. She indulged his wildest fantasies, leaving him grinning. "Lost count of the nuts," he panted. Rachel, spent, mumbled, "Best birthday ever."
Co morning, Raja freshly nutted a morning load in Rachel’s mouth left with brainwashed Henry hit New Greenwich. At Henry’s sleek penthouse, Raja scanned him with his Chaos Watch, decoding the ti-clock tech. "Captured ti feeds cells directly. Neat."
In one night, he replicated it, syncing his 5000-year lifespan to his watch. "five millennia to play with. Nice."
Hacking the world’s system, Raja crafted a VIP Indian identity: Rudra D. Raja, vistor from India. That evening, he strutted into a casino in a pitch-black-and-gold suit, designed by Elysium’s Jessica Delacourt for her coronation.
Heads turned, none more than Sylvia Weis, a 27-year-old heiress and daughter of ti-loan tycoon Phillipe Weis. She checked him out, blushing.
Raja approached, charm dialed to eleven. "Hello, I’m Rudra D. Raja from India, world explorer, friend-maker. Your na, gorgeous?"
Sylvia, flustered, smiled. "Sylvia Weis, Phillipe’s daughter. An Indian in Greenwich? Rare." She led him to the casino floor, introducing her father, who was deep in Ti Poker with his cronies.
Phillipe, seeing Sylvia’s smitten look, tested Raja. "Care to gamble, kid?"
Raja grinned, reading their minds. Without glancing at his cards, he bet big, winning 2000 years in a landslide. "Beginner’s luck," he winked, his lifespan now 7000 years.
Phillipe and Sylvia, floored, invited him to their mansion. Raja played coy, then accepted.
At the Weis estate, Raja’s wit and "20-year-old" reveal stunned the family over dinner. "Just got my clock," he said, dodging their shock.
Sylvia showed him to his guest room, blushing when he teased, "No bed-sharing tonight?" She fled, giggling.
Sylvia’s parents debated marrying her to Raja. Sylvia, eavesdropping, snuck into his room at midnight, naked.
Raja, already aware, pulled her close, kissing her fiercely. "Naughty heiress," he growled, making her squeal as he worked her curves. The night was a blur of pleasure, servants gossiping by dawn.
At breakfast, Sylvia’s mother smirked at her daughter’s glow. Phillipe whisked Raja to golf with his elite pals. "My daughter’s smitten," he said en route. "My wife wants you as a son-in-law. What’s your ga?"
Raja smirked. "Sylvia’s mine, Phillipe. No bush-beating. This world’s stagnant—immortality killed progress. The poor will rebel for ti soon."
Phillipe frowned. "Rebellion? Explain."
"On the course," Raja said. "Your buddies’ll want in." eting Phillipe’s cronies, Raja laid it out: hoarded ti breeds envy in the ghettos. "Give hope. Space exploration, jobs, progress—let the masses reach the stars." The elites, floored by his clarity, nodded.
Phillipe threw a mansion party, introducing Raja as his future son-in-law. In a secret eting, Raja unveiled blueprints: AI, robots, VR, flying cars, lunar colonies. "Normalize ti for the poor, secure the elites," he said. The tycoons, dazzled, invested in his vision.
Over a decade, Raja built a tech empire—space stations, flying cars, lunar bases—becoming Earth’s unofficial king. He revealed his otherworldly origins to Sylvia, who gaped. "You’re... an alien?" "Nah," he grinned, "just extra-dinsional."
MAYA anchored the In Ti world to Elysium’s hub. Raja took Sylvia to Elysium, introducing her to Jessica Delacourt. They vacationed for a week, Sylvia awestruck by the station.
With a 100,000-year lifespan (thanks to ti hacks), Raja prepped for his next leap. "Marvel world, here I co."
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