"J.A.R.V.I.S., divert all remaining energy to the Arc Reactor — now!"
At the very instant Marcus's blazing blade was about to pierce Tony Stark's chest, the reactor at the heart of the Iron Man armor flared to life. A torrent of power surged through the core, condensing into a brilliant beam of pure energy — twice as wide and far more intense than Tony's usual repulsor blasts.
The high-frequency blade met the beam head-on. Blinding light and molten sparks exploded where the two forces collided, filling the underground chamber with a fury that rivaled a nuclear detonation.
Marcus gritted his teeth and pushed forward, inch by inch, against the overwhelming energy. The blade trembled violently in his hands, advancing a mere centimeter before Tony poured even more power into his reactor. The beam intensified, its heat melting the metal around it. Even though Marcus's bio-metal blade was forged from his hardest possible material, it could not endure such force for long.
"BOOM!"
The high-frequency blade shattered. The energy it had contained discharged all at once, unleashing a shockwave that tore through the lab. Both combatants were blasted backward, their bodies slamming into opposite walls and leaving deep, cratered dents in the concrete.
For a few seconds, the world fell silent — only the sound of debris crumbling from the ceiling broke the stillness. Dust hung in the air like smoke after a storm. Slowly, the haze began to clear.
Tony was the first to move. Protected by his armor, he emerged mostly unharmed, brushing off the rubble. As he flexed his arms and checked the suit's systems, he frowned — the flight thrusters refused to ignite.
"J.A.R.V.I.S.," Tony said flatly, tapping the side of his arm, "remind me to install a diagnostic routine for the propellant quality next time."
The AI replied with its usual calm. "Sir, that function would be redundant. You typically inspect your equipment manually before deployment. Your instincts are far more reliable than any sensor."
Tony sighed. "Well, consider today the exception. Looks like someone tampered with my fuel — wasn't you, was it, kid?"
Marcus, crawling out from the rubble, gave a faint smirk.
He had tampered with it. Earlier that morning, when the supplier delivered the crates of propellant, cleaning fluid, and fire-suppression foam, Marcus had taken a closer look. The two substances — the propellant and the foam — happened to be nearly identical in appearance: fine white powders. Marcus had quietly switched them.
By the time J.A.R.V.I.S. loaded the materials into the armor, four-fifths of what the AI believed to be propellant was actually fire-suppression compound. Only the surface layer was genuine, to avoid detection.
That was the real reason Marcus hadn't panicked earlier when Tony dominated the air. He knew the flight systems wouldn't last long.
Now, Tony Stark — the man who claimed to be a god — was firmly grounded.
Marcus rose to his feet, brushing the dust off his body. "You don't think it's funny," he said coldly, "that your so-called divinity still depends on propellant to keep it aloft?"
Tony chuckled, unbothered by the insult. His gauntlets clenched with a mechanical hiss, the servos inside his suit humming with power. He threw a few quick jabs into the air — each punch cracked like a gunshot, the sheer kinetic force splitting the air itself.
"I don't mind a good brawl," he said, raising his fists. "But I'm warning you — this is a fight you're going to regret starting."
[Remaining Bio-Energy: 30%]
Marcus could barely stand. His regeneration had consumed nearly all his reserves. Still, retreat wasn't an option. If he fell now, all his plans — all his progress — would die here.
"Some things," he said, raising his fists, "you only learn by trying."
The two men faced each other, silent but resolute.
A loose chunk of concrete tumbled from the ceiling, spinning as it fell — landing right between them with a sharp crack. The dust it stirred became a white haze, hanging in the air.
Then, as if on cue, both men charged.
Their fists met in the center of the room with an explosive clang.
"BANG!"
A shockwave rippled outward from the impact, sending dust and debris flying like a storm-tossed wave.
"BANG! BANG! BANG!"
The sound of metal on metal echoed again and again — a thunderous rhythm of relentless combat. Every clash of fists sent sparks bursting into the air like muzzle flashes. Marcus and Tony were locked in a brutal, point-blank exchange of blows, their movements blurring together — speed and power fusing into a storm of steel.
Tony grinned inside his helmet. "Not bad," he said between strikes. "Your hand-to-hand technique feels… familiar."
It was familiar — because it wasn't Marcus's own. His combat style came from someone Tony knew well: Hawkeye.
Through their mental link, Hawkeye had subtly synchronized Marcus's movements, lending him the reflexes and precision of a master combatant. And Marcus, with his bio-metal enhancements, had adapted them perfectly, merging Hawkeye's technique with his own inhuman strength.
That fusion allowed Marcus to hold his ground against Iron Man, even turning the tide little by little.
But Tony was far from finished.
"Impressive," he admitted, his tone shifting. "But not enough."
Without warning, his fighting pattern changed. The rhythmic strikes stopped — replaced by fluid, sweeping grabs. Marcus recognized the shift too late.
Tony had switched from a striking-based combat module to a grappling system.
In a flash, Tony caught Marcus's arm, pivoted his hips, and hurled him over his shoulder in a perfect Judo throw.
"THUD!"
Marcus hit the floor like a meteor. The ground cracked under the impact. His spine shattered in a dozen places, his ribs splintering like dry wood. The pain was so intense that his vision went black for a second.
Before he could breathe, Tony's armored elbow came crashing down — a finishing blow. Marcus rolled desperately to the side, narrowly avoiding the hit. The elbow slammed into the ground where he'd been, blasting a crater of dust and concrete shards into the air.
Gasping for breath, Marcus pushed himself up on one shaking arm, blood running down his chin. "Military close combat… judo… wrestling…" He spat to the side and glared at Tony. "How many fighting styles do you know?"
Tony straightened up, his armor gleaming in the dim light. "Me?" he said with a smirk. "All of them."
He raised his fists again, servos whining as the armor powered up for another strike.
"Or, to be precise…" he added, his visor flashing cold blue,
"…my suit knows them all."
____
T/N:
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