The thick fog that filled the sewers wasn't natural—it was steam. The intense heat radiating from Killian's body had instantly vaporized the wastewater flowing beneath his feet. With a surface temperature reaching several thousand degrees, even standing near the water's surface was enough to boil it dry. From the moment Killian leapt down into the tunnel, the entire area had become a suffocating cloud of white mist.
Within that fog, visibility was almost zero. Even objects a few meters away appeared only as blurred silhouettes; smaller things disappeared entirely. If Killian could've deactivated his heat output, he might have preferred to fight under clearer conditions. But once the Extremis Virus pushed his body temperature to maximum, there was no easy way to cool down.
This environment was dangerous for him—it gave his enemy the perfect cover.
Was this what Marcus had intended all along? To lure him down here, into a place where the very heat that made him powerful would betray him? In the choking steam, Killian's burning body glowed like a beacon in the dark—an easy target—while Marcus could vanish completely into the mist.
Even realizing this, Killian's confidence didn't waver. His regenerative ability made him practically unkillable. He sneered, his voice echoing through the tunnel.
"Stop hiding, coward! Come out and face me!"
'Better a coward than a corpse,' Marcus thought grimly, crouched in a narrow side passage, letting the fog cloak him.
From their earlier clash, he'd seen enough to know that Aldrich Killian wasn't just another villain—he was a monster. This was the same man who, in the movies, went head-to-head with Tony Stark's entire Iron Legion. Even Marcus's true body might not win a head-on fight against him. Without the mutated regeneration factor he'd stolen from Deadpool, he wouldn't have lasted more than a few seconds.
This wasn't fear—it was strategy.
Killian had no reason to flee from anyone, not even the approaching Avengers.
The only thing that gave Marcus any real chance was the weapon in his hand—his carbon-steel alloy katana, the very blade designed to suppress regenerative abilities. He'd already confirmed during earlier battles that the metal worked against the Extremis Virus. One clean strike would end Killian permanently.
The problem was getting that strike in.
Killian was too strong, too fast, and too angry to make mistakes.
As Marcus plotted in silence, Killian crouched and examined the ground. His eyes glowed through the steam, spotting faint, dried blood patterns on the concrete—droplets that had evaporated in the heat, leaving faint rusty stains leading deeper into the tunnel.
A twisted grin spread across his face. "Got you."
He followed the trail slowly, each step echoing in the tunnel like the footsteps of death itself.
Marcus's wounds had mostly healed by now, but even so, a direct confrontation was suicide. He made his decision instantly—retreat first, strike later.
He broke from hiding and sprinted deeper into the sewer. His sudden movement didn't escape Killian's notice. The fiery man grabbed a half-meter-long steel rod from the grate, pressed it against his red-hot Adamantium sword, and swung.
The steel melted instantly, launching forward as a crescent of molten metal, a burning slash of liquid fire. It sliced through the fog like a blade of light and struck Marcus's right shoulder, carving a deep gash down to the bone.
The wound ignited, forcing Marcus to smack at the flames with his other hand, trying to keep the fire from giving away his position.
Killian had aimed for his leg—but the attack had been slightly off. Still, it was enough. The brief flash illuminated Marcus's escape route through the haze.
"Nowhere left to run!" Killian roared.
The flames along his feet surged brighter. With each step, the thrust of the fire pushed him forward like rocket boosters, propelling him faster and faster. Within seconds, he was practically flying through the tunnel.
Marcus realized too late that there was no outrunning him.
"I've got you!"
Killian's fiery figure burst through the mist just as Marcus reached a narrow junction blocked by an iron grate. By now, Marcus's right arm was gone—severed by the earlier molten strike, leaving only a shredded stump.
Killian didn't hesitate. With a single blazing swing of his Adamantium sword, he cleaved through Marcus's left leg, sending him crashing to the ground.
"Die, insect!"
Rage contorted Killian's face as he raised his glowing blade high above his head and brought it down in a killing arc—aiming to split Marcus cleanly in half.
It was over.
Or so he thought.
Marcus, lying bloodied on the ground, smiled faintly—a cold, knowing smile.
Killian froze mid-swing. His entire body trembled as pain erupted through his chest. He looked down in disbelief.
A blade—Marcus's carbon-steel katana—had pierced straight through his back, the bloody tip emerging from his chest.
He staggered, eyes wide. "Wh… what…?"
Turning his head, Killian's gaze followed the length of the blade until it reached its source—
A severed arm, wedged between the iron bars behind him, clutching the katana's hilt with a death grip.
Even as realization dawned, more questions flooded his mind. Why wasn't his regeneration working? How had Marcus managed this? When had that arm—his arm—been placed there?
But before he could think further, his strength vanished. His body went limp, collapsing face-first into the filthy water.
Marcus exhaled slowly, his grim satisfaction hidden beneath exhaustion.
This victory was the product of one of his greatest habits: test before trust.
When he had first acquired Deadpool's mutated regeneration factor, Marcus hadn't simply relied on the system's description. He'd run countless experiments on himself, and in doing so, discovered something the system hadn't mentioned—an evolved trait that separated super-regeneration from standard healing.
Severed limbs could remain biologically active—for a short time.
His "lost" arm hadn't been cut off by Killian at all. Marcus had torn it off himself during his escape, hiding it behind the grate while the fog concealed his movements. He'd timed everything perfectly—his sprint, Killian's pursuit, the angle of approach—so that when Killian charged past, the detached arm could strike from behind.
And it had.
The carbon-steel blade, the bane of regeneration, plunged into Killian's unprotected back—precisely where his heart should have been.
The hunter had become the hunted.
The strong had fallen to the weak.
All in a single breath.
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T/N:
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