Marcus hadn't expected Killian to actually pick up the Adamantium katana and wield it as his own weapon. It reminded him of those superhero movies where, if the villain got hold of Captain America's shield, they'd usually "graciously" toss it back instead of running off with it. Apparently, that kind of courtesy was reserved for heroes—not monsters like Killian.
Still, Marcus had finally cornered his target. Two syringes filled with glowing orange-red liquid hung securely at Killian's waist. Miraculously, the vials had survived the earlier explosion without so much as a crack. It seemed even the virus's containers were products of advanced technology—fortunate news for Marcus. That meant he could fight without worrying about destroying what he came for.
He drew his carbon-steel alloy blade, its surface gleaming with a cold reflection of his own eyes—sharp, calm, and unyielding.
No matter what, those two vials of Extremis Virus would be his.
"Drop your weapons and put your hands where I can see them! Now!"
A group of port security guards arrived at the crash site, pistols drawn and voices tense. For ordinary people, the sight before them should've been terrifying—a burning SUV and a man wreathed in flames standing tall beside it—but they were New Yorkers. In a city constantly attacked by aliens, mutants, and gods, seeing a man on fire barely cracked the top ten weirdest things they'd witnessed.
Courageous, yes. Wise? Not so much.
Without a word, Killian hurled the red-hot wreckage of the SUV toward the shouting guards. The molten steel scattered midair, splashing across their bodies like liquid death. In seconds, the men were reduced to charred skeletons, their bodies consumed by a heat no human could possibly endure.
Marcus seized the brief distraction. He sprinted forward, closing the distance in a blur, and slashed downward with his carbon-steel blade—aiming straight for Killian's skull.
But Killian wasn't slow to react. He swung the Adamantium sword, now glowing bright red from his superheated hands, to intercept.
Don't let the blades touch!
Marcus instantly read the danger. The Adamantium blade, charged with Killian's thermal energy, could easily destroy his own weapon—and him along with it. He shifted his strike at the last moment, letting his attack pass harmlessly over Killian's head while narrowly avoiding contact with the molten edge.
It was the right decision. The carbon-steel sword wasn't built for durability; its strength lay in its unique property of suppressing regenerative abilities. Against a normal weapon, it was formidable—but against Adamantium, especially one turned into a blazing plasma cutter, it would have shattered instantly.
He had saved the blade—but put himself in grave danger.
The missed attack left his guard wide open. Killian didn't hesitate. With one fluid motion, he drove his foot squarely into Marcus's abdomen.
The impact was explosive.
Marcus's body was launched backward, crashing through a car windshield and skidding along the ground, dragging the entire vehicle several meters before it came to a stop. Every bone in his torso screamed in protest, several fracturing under the sheer force of the blow. Worse still was the heat—his abdomen was scorched black, a charred footprint burned deep into his flesh, so hot that the skin and muscle had melted enough to expose glimpses of the organs beneath.
A normal human would've been vaporized. Even with Marcus's enhanced body, he barely clung to consciousness.
But the pain only made him grin. Because just before the kick had landed—within the fraction of a second before impact—he'd hooked his blade under Killian's belt and flicked one of the Extremis vials into his own hand.
"Gotcha."
His entire body ached, but the rush of victory drowned it out. The Extremis Virus was his now.
If Killian could achieve this level of power with his crude methods, Marcus could only imagine the potential once it was fused with the Zombie Virus and enhanced by Stark's genius. Evolution, regeneration, mutation—the possibilities were limitless.
But Killian wasn't about to let him dream.
Having monitored Marcus's battles before, he knew this man wouldn't die so easily. With a snarl, Killian raised the Adamantium sword high and brought it down in a blazing vertical arc. The red-hot blade sliced cleanly through the wrecked car, its metal frame splitting apart like butter.
But the car's interior was empty.
Killian's eyes darted downward—and there it was: a half-open sewer hatch beneath the car. His hand instinctively went to his waist and froze. One vial was missing.
"FUCK!"
His rage erupted like a furnace. If earlier Marcus had merely been an annoyance—a persistent fly—now he was the one thing Killian truly despised: a thief.
No insult burned deeper for a scientist than seeing his life's work stolen before his eyes.
Killian kicked open the sewer hatch and jumped in after him. The round metal cover, still glowing from the heat of his body, melted midair before splattering onto the concrete as a pool of molten iron.
---
Marcus stumbled through the dark, foul-smelling tunnels below, blood dripping steadily from his wounds and leaving a crimson trail behind. Every breath burned his lungs, but he pressed on. He knew Killian wouldn't just let him escape. He needed time—time for his regenerative factor to mend his shattered body, time to recover enough strength to fight back.
And truth be told, Marcus wasn't planning to run. He still wanted that second vial.
Then he heard it.
"YOU BASTARD!"
Killian's enraged voice bellowed down the tunnel, echoing through the walls. The temperature spiked instantly, the air shimmering as waves of heat rolled in from behind. A thick cloud of white steam followed his voice, devouring the dim light ahead.
The chase wasn't over.
__
T/N:
Hello everyone! My Patreon is just $3 — a perfect opportunity to access 55+ advanced chapters and support the translation.
🔗 patreon.com/user?u=79514336
Or simply search Translator-Sama on Patreon