Chapter 55: Iron-man Reign

"It's Iron Man!"

All at once, hundreds of Iron Legion suits stationed around the venue activated, their weapons locking onto Aetheris as he landed on stage.

"This is bad," Aetheris muttered, scanning the tidal wave of metal closing in.

That guy Ivan, teaming up with that clown Hans, had really kicked the hornet's nest. Sure, Aetheris still remembered major villains like Thanos, Dormammu, and the Chitauri, but the minor characters from Earth? Those details had long since faded from memory.

After all, he'd watched those movies years ago. Who could possibly recall every detail?

Take Betty Ross, for instance—gorgeous, no doubt—but when he watched The Incredible Hulk, she barely left a mark.

It's like watching Ultraman. You remember Daigo and Gaia, but can you name anyone from the Victory Team? Let's be honest—probably not.

Originally, Colonel Rhodes was supposed to be here, but without access to the War Machine armor, he was nowhere to be seen. That left Aetheris standing alone in front of a hostile army.

"Iron Man!"

The reporters, already thrilled by the rows of armored suits, went wild. The barrage of camera flashes looked like an old-school machine gun lighting up the battlefield.

"Why are you always everywhere?!" Hans growled, scowling as his moment in the spotlight vanished.

"Security! Security!" he shouted at the guards.

"Shut up!" Aetheris snapped and slapped Hans so hard he went flying across the stage.

"That Russian Ivan—is he working with you?" Aetheris squatted beside Hans, whose face was now bloodied.

"Hmph! You think you're the only one with powerful tech?" Hans sneered. "Technology belongs to the world! You don't get to monopolize it!" He wore the expression of someone convinced they were a martyr—like those soldiers who once charged into battle with explosives strapped to their backs, like Doss at Hacksaw Ridge.

"I'm asking you one last time. Where is Ivan?" Aetheris raised his palm, where an energy beam was already crackling and building.

"He's in New York!" Hans gave up Ivan's location without hesitation.

Clack clack clack—

A mechanical rhythm echoed through the air. The suits on display whirred to life, their formidable presence now fully unleashed.

Hans froze. How the hell are these suits so advanced? They're even activating auto-defense mode just because I got hit?

"This is bad!"

Aetheris spotted a small missile streaking straight at him.

"Warning, warning! You have been weapon-locked. Evacuate immediately!" Paul's voice rang in his ear as alarms flashed across his visor.

Aetheris didn't wait. He snatched Hans with one hand and dodged the missile just in time.

The explosion left a massive crater in the stage. Hans trembled uncontrollably. He wanted to run, but Aetheris still held him aloft. With nothing to push against, he dangled helplessly while the Iron Legion began firing a full barrage at him.

Meanwhile, Slim sat in the control room of Hans Industries, fingers flying across the keyboard as he executed commands to the Iron Soldiers.

"Tony, there are too many civilians! Can you draw them away?" Natasha yelled, standing atop a chair for a better view.

From that elevated position, Aetheris could see her eyes flashing like twin headlights in the dark.

"Got it!" he replied. The energy thrusters under his feet flared, lifting him into the sky. Bullets chased after him, shattering the convention center's glass ceiling.

Shards of glass rained down like a storm. A heavyset man who failed to dodge was impaled by a jagged shard—literally turning into a "glass man."

Pepper screamed in panic. She had no idea where to run. The crowd was in chaos, and thanks to Hans's obsession with dramatic lighting, every spotlight was focused on the stage, leaving the rest of the audience in darkness.

It felt like being inside a movie theater after the film starts, but before the house lights go down—pure confusion.

In the shadows, people ran like headless chickens. Stampedes erupted in waves.

This so-called elite audience—government officials, military brass, financiers, and socialites—ditched their high status in an instant. What emerged instead was raw, desperate survival instinct.

A well-dressed man next to Pepper shoved her to the floor in an attempt to escape. Using her as a springboard, he tried to trample her on his way out.

Crack—

A sickening snap echoed through the air. The man howled and collapsed, clutching his leg.

Natasha had kicked him square in the shin with her heel, shattering his tibia. Her mission was to protect Pepper. Everyone else? Not her concern.

"Stay put. The firefight shouldn't reach the seating area," she said after a quick assessment. All the firepower was concentrated on Tony—in his Mark III Hellfire Armor—so she felt a little more at ease.

Suddenly, she spotted Hans. He was crawling away backstage, trying to escape unnoticed.

"There's our guy. Let's move."

She grabbed Pepper's hand and took off after him.

Back in the control room, Slim finished inputting his code and hit Enter.

"Deploy!"

Over a hundred Iron Soldiers rose from the ground like arrows released from a bow, thrusters igniting as they surged toward Aetheris.

With full thrust engaged, Aetheris shot between the towering buildings around Hans Industries. Behind him, over a hundred Iron Soldiers gave chase. The storm of artillery fire came thick and fast—ammunition was no object. But Aetheris dodged them all with precise, elegant maneuvers.

Rat-a-tat-tat—

Bullets tore through the buildings, causing explosions and showers of sparks. Shattered glass flew in every direction. Inside, curious New Yorkers who had crowded near the windows now scrambled for their lives.

One executive, mid-sip of his Camandino while admiring the aerial "fireworks," was torn in half by a 7.62mm round.

Back at the convention center, the land-based and amphibious Iron Soldiers—those unable to fly—stormed out on foot.

These steel behemoths didn't care about rank, medals, or net worth. To them, there was only one target: Iron Man.

"Ah—my leg!" a military rep screamed as he was caught in the stampede. One Iron Soldier crushed his left leg under its three-ton weight, reducing it to splinters.

His cries were short-lived. More Iron Soldiers stormed past, trampling his chest, arms, and skull. In moments, all that remained was a grotesque smear of blood and bone.

"What the hell is going on?!" Hans burst into the backstage control room, shouting at the operators.

"The software's been altered."

(End of Chapter)

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