Tony Stark fell silent, waiting for Solomon to continue. The venom in Solomon's voice, the hatred and bitterness squeezed through his teeth, was palpable—even Tony could feel it. He already knew the answer—a brutally cruel one.
"If half the population is lost, Earth's organizational structure and public services will collapse. Three and a half billion is just the base number—more will die from famine, slaughter, disease, and riots. What I'm doing now, starting a war, isn't cruelty. It's kindness. What Kamar-Taj taught me above all else is the weight of life. I know life is priceless, but I also know life has never been equal. I've never felt joy over the power I've obtained. In truth, I endure the torment of my conscience every moment of every day. I am overwhelmed, but I must keep going, because this is the only way to save half of humanity. We have no choice. Sometimes, you kill to save. I understood that when I was twelve. I will never forget the first time innocent blood stained my hands. I will never forget their expressions as they faced death. But I'll also never forget how many people would've died if I hadn't killed them."
"It was in autumn," Solomon said, taking another drag. He looked up, staring at the cold light blooming from the ceiling fixture as if it were the moon from years past. Tony Stark, to his surprise, saw sadness on his face—a look he had never seen on Solomon before. Until now, Solomon had always been decisive, cold, arrogant, and rational. "I still feel like I can smell the burnt teak flooring in that house. The stench of blood—mine and theirs—mixing together. Can you imagine? A twelve-year-old child dragging a leg torn apart by a shotgun, enduring pain that could drive a person mad, baring his teeth like a dying beast and viciously fighting to the death."
"You've never told us about this." Tony was stunned beyond words. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"It's not something to be proud of. Kamar-Taj gave me a duty—reach into the filth and pull out whatever glimmer of humanity I could. I had to kill the enemy. I couldn't let more people die. That was my mindset then, and it's the same now. Even if the survivors don't understand, it doesn't matter. This is my responsibility: to save humanity, to ensure the continuity of human order—no matter the cost. Their survival is the highest form of praise I can receive. You've never been a warrior, Stark. You're just an ordinary man forcing himself to act like one. And you'll collapse under the weight of it."
Tony looked up and asked, "Why are you telling me this?"
"Have you read about the Robespierre faction during the French Revolution?"
"You know I don't care about history."
"History repeats itself—only the wise learn from it. I was taught from a young age to study history and use it as a basis for judging the evolution of society." Solomon raised an eyebrow. "I doubt you've heard Maximilien Robespierre's Final Speech, have you? You don't need to go to Oxford for it—I'm sure MIT has a library."
Tony shrugged.
"The enemies of the Republic say I am a tyrant! If I truly were, they would be groveling at my feet. I'd shower them with gold, pardon their crimes, and they would sing my praises. If I were a tyrant, the dethroned kings wouldn't denounce Robespierre—they'd support me with their guilty hands. We would be allies. Tyranny needs tools. But what road do its enemies follow? The grave—and immortality! What kind of tyrant is my protector? What faction do I belong to? I belong to you! Which group, since the Revolution began, has exposed so many traitors, crushed and eliminated them? That faction is you—the people. Our principles. I am loyal to that faction, while every modern thug forms alliances to oppose it!"
Solomon's expression grew vivid, as if he were delivering a speech in the National Convention. "They allied against me, against those who share my principles. As for my life—I have long cast aside life and death! I leave behind a terrifying testament for those who oppress the people. Only one whose mission nears its end can speak without fear—and that is the grim truth: You will die!"
"That's not a method worth promoting," Tony sighed. "We live in a civilized society now."
"This self-deceiving civilization is just a façade. Beneath it, the law of the jungle remains—strong devour weak. This rule is applied by the powerful upon the powerless without hesitation. On this planet, or across the entire universe, it's the same. Asgard is on the brink of collapse. From now on, only weak humanity stands alone before the cosmos. You used to be powerful. You still are. That's why you can't see how the weak survive. Go take a walk through the civilian zones in Afghanistan, and you'll see how wrong you are. I've been saving lives there for years—but I can never keep up with how fast Western armies slaughter civilians. Someone must pay the blood price. Only then can the powerful be deterred, and peace be bought for the weak. The gene-modified soldiers you saw on TV? They were selected from jihadist groups and U.S. troops stationed in Afghanistan. I let them live—so they could atone."
"You should know that violates the most basic scientific ethics."
"How ironic—an American lecturing me about bioethics. Let me educate you. Tyranny is merely a means. Its ultimate purpose is to destroy itself. That day will come—when my mission ends. You didn't make Afghanistan better. You think closing down military production left behind a vacuum no one would fill? Unchecked capital is a beast—one that feeds on blood and souls. I am trying to end my own power. You're extending yours—feeding that beast. Dr. Ethan's hometown is gone. I found survivors in graves and jihadist camps, victims in meat grinders and slaughterhouses."
From the look on Tony Stark's face, it was clear he hadn't known any of this. As he looked at the images Solomon handed him on a tablet, he could hardly believe what he saw.
"Your crimes have never been forgiven, Stark. You're just moved by your own gestures. This photo… Charlie Spencer was one of the prices paid. He was just unlucky. Even in front of his mother, I'd say the same: If sacrificing him could save ten others, I'd sacrifice him; nine others—I'd sacrifice him; even two—I wouldn't hesitate. Until the value of one life equals his, I will keep sacrificing. In the face of the whole, Charlie Spencer is insignificant. But I will still remember his sacrifice. I will remember how much blood is on my hands. And every night when I dream, it will tear me apart."
Solomon didn't give Tony time to catch his breath. But neither did he continue his accusations. His tone softened, and a subtle trace of compassion flowed from his eyes. The atmosphere around them relaxed.
"Do you remember when I said you'd have a daughter? It's true. Among trillions of possible timelines, there's at least an 80% chance you'll have a daughter named Morgan. She'll even use Captain America's shield to go snowboarding. Go raise your child. I will make sure she survives the apocalypse—that's a promise I make to you on my honor." He added, "Humanity will endure. Your bloodline will study science in the Martian Foundry. She'll continue your work—and perhaps do it even better. Stay off the battlefield. I don't want to stain my blade with a friend's blood. If I face you, I won't show mercy. Because your life cannot be weighed against 3.5 billion others."
"What about you?" Tony felt as if Solomon were radiating a martyr's light—a heat and glow born from ideals too lofty for ordinary people to understand. "Will you keep going?" he asked. "You've already seen how your story ends, haven't you?"
"My Lord?" a Battle Sister standing in the cabin hesitated, asking, "Are you all right?"
"I've left behind mercy. That's enough. Head for Latveria. We need to prepare for the next war." Solomon shook his head—though it was unclear who he was speaking to. "There's no turning back now. We have to keep going, no matter the cost."
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