Moments before the Extremis soldier detonated himself, Marcus had already kicked the man away and dove behind cover. Even so, shards of molten debris sliced through the air, embedding themselves in his flesh.
"Master, are you all right?" Thunder called out as she rushed in behind him, her voice laced with rare concern.
"Don't ask unnecessary questions, Thunder."
Marcus tore the jagged metal fragments out of his body one by one. Within seconds, the wounds began knitting themselves shut, the flesh sealing flawlessly under the virus's regenerative power. He exhaled slowly, shaking his head.
He had underestimated the Extremis soldiers. Their self-destruction ability wasn't just powerful — it was catastrophic. The explosion's force was enough to obliterate a heavy tank in a single blast.
It also made Marcus wonder — once he merged the zombie virus with Extremis, how devastating would his own suicide troops become?
"Thunder," he ordered, "avoid close combat. If their bodies start to glow red — retreat. Immediately."
Even as he spoke, a fresh wave of Extremis soldiers came charging at them. Their hands glowed like heated iron, radiating an unbearable heat. Marcus knew what would happen if they made contact — scorched flesh, melted bone.
'I've never been good at ranged combat,' he thought bitterly.
Extending his left arm, the flesh rippled and solidified into a gleaming silver longbow. In his right hand, three golden metal arrows formed between his fingers — sharp, sleek, and deadly.
Ordinarily, Marcus was no marksman. Without training, he'd probably miss even at point-blank range. But during his duel with Tony Stark, he had discovered a new application of his psychic control ability — something he called Mental Possession.
The principle was simple: through the psychic network that linked him with his infected lieutenants, Marcus could transfer fragments of their consciousness — their knowledge, skills, even reflexes — into his own body. Physical strength or superhuman powers couldn't be shared, but technique, instinct, and experience could.
And so—
Mental Possession: Hawkeye.
"Swish! Swish! Swish!"
The high-tensile bio-metal bowstring thrummed, and three arrows streaked through the air like lightning. Each shot found its mark — straight through the hearts of three charging Extremis soldiers.
The arrows' volatile bio-metal tips detonated upon impact, shredding their chests from the inside out.
Marcus didn't even pause. With his metalization ability, ammunition was infinite — as long as he had enough bio-energy, he could conjure as many arrows as he pleased. Arrow after arrow tore through the air, raining death with pinpoint accuracy.
"Not bad," he murmured with a satisfied grin. "Feels like playing a shooter with aimbot turned on."
On the other side of the field, Thunder fought in her own way. Sparks danced between her fingers as she hurled electrically charged daggers, each one wreathed in yellow arcs of lightning.
Her accuracy wasn't as flawless as Marcus's Hawkeye-enhanced precision — her blades rarely struck the heart. But precision wasn't her goal.
Every Extremis soldier struck by her daggers convulsed violently, collapsing as their limbs spasmed uncontrollably.
Even with their bodies rebuilt by the virus, their nervous systems still relied on bioelectric signals — and Thunder was the undisputed master of electricity. By short-circuiting their neural pathways, she could disable even the most enhanced of foes.
For her, every throw was a guaranteed takedown.
Within minutes, the Extremis squad was in chaos.
Their commander, a broad-shouldered brute whose molten veins pulsed with light, shouted in panic: "Damn it! More monsters! Fall back! Seal the doors!"
At his command, the soldiers began a desperate retreat, stumbling backward under the relentless barrage of arrows and lightning. They scrambled into the factory and slammed the heavy steel blast doors shut with a thunderous clang — trapping several of their own men outside.
Those unfortunates didn't live long enough to regret it.
"Looks like we've found our entrance," Marcus remarked, eyeing the massive metal gate. Its construction was clearly military-grade — designed to withstand artillery fire. Forcing it open would be a challenge.
But brute strength wasn't the only way to break through.
"Thunder," he said, "give me the device you confiscated from that mercenary."
She nodded and handed over a compact smartphone with an unfamiliar interface — a portable hacking unit taken from a fallen soldier.
Mental Possession: Tony Stark.
Marcus crouched beside the control panel and deftly detached its outer casing. His movements were fluid — precise. Two main circuits were stripped out and connected to the phone. His fingers danced across the screen as streams of data cascaded down its display.
"Beep—"
The long, drawn-out tone of a successful bypass echoed in the air. The massive door began to rumble open.
For Tony Stark, a man who once breached S.H.I.E.L.D.'s classified systems for fun, this kind of low-level security was child's play.
As the gate slid aside, rows of terrified faces came into view. Dozens of Extremis soldiers stood frozen inside, their glowing skin reflecting pure fear. The light from outside spilled across them like a spotlight exposing prey.
"They—they're inside! Run!"
The soldiers panicked. Most fled immediately, their discipline crumbling. A few diehards stayed behind to fight, charging with suicidal resolve.
It didn't matter. Marcus's blade and Thunder's lightning cut them down before they even reached striking distance.
Their fear was understandable — these "soldiers" weren't warriors. They were failed experiments and desperate volunteers: crippled men and women who had offered themselves up to A.I.M. for a chance at a new body. They'd gained strength, yes, but not courage — nor combat training.
Marcus sighed. "Pathetic."
He didn't bother wasting precious energy on them. There were still the two unidentified superheroes somewhere in the facility — and they were the real threat.
He stooped and picked up two discarded 9mm pistols from the corpses. The grips were warm from the fallen soldiers' hands.
Mental Possession: Winter Soldier.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Twin muzzles flared, alternating in rhythm. Every round found its target — each bullet piercing an Extremis soldier's heart with surgical precision.
Marcus advanced as he fired, calm and deliberate. Brass casings clattered to the floor behind him, and with every step forward, another enemy fell.
There was no hesitation in his movements, no wasted effort — only the cold, ruthless efficiency of a man who had spent seventy years as an assassin.
The precision of the Winter Soldier flowed through him now — and Marcus was untouchable.
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