In the star-dusted arena of space, the arrival of Tony new suit was a paradigm shift.
Tony's battered Mark 45 was instantly swallowed by the colossal crimson armor. For a moment, he was plunged into darkness, the only sound the hiss of locking mechanisms. Then, Veronica's internal systems flared to life, bathing him in the cool blue light of a new cockpit.
"Alright, Jarvis," Tony said, a grim smile spreading across his face. "Let's dance."
Outside, Veronica Four-Arms Buster was a six-armed iron demon. With a roar of its thrusters, it launched forward, its six powerful mechanical arms swinging wide. In the next instant, they detached, flying out like rocket-propelled torpedoes. They weren't armed with explosives, but they didn't need to be. The sheer propulsion force accelerated the massive fists to hypersonic speeds, and they tore through the hulls of the Chitauri Leviathans like meteors through paper.
Six fists. Six kills.
The arms were gone, sacrificed in a single, devastating salvo.
"Actually, that makes eight," Tony quipped to himself. "Because I still have two feet." He couldn't care less about the cost. With his primary weapons expended, he re-engaged the thrusters, turning the now-armless main body of the Veronica suit into a multi-billion-dollar battering ram.
This was not the end of the fight, but it was the end for Veronica. After one final, desperate charge that shattered another Leviathan, Tony activated the core's emergency ejection, launching his smaller armor free as the Four-Arms buster's frame tumbled away into the void. At the same time, with Jarvis's aid, he gave one final command to his battered Iron Legion.
The remaining armors, their energy reserves depleted, dove into the thickest parts of the enemy swarm and activated their self-destruct protocols. A series of silent, brilliant flashes blossomed across the battlefield.
Tony gritted his teeth, watching the destruction on his monitor. "Who cares if I'm burning money?" he snarled. "I've got plenty!"
BOOM!
Deep inside the flagship Leviathan, the shockwave of a massive explosion ripped through the corridor. Steve had just reached the main control room when the entire wall blew inwards. The concussive force sent him staggering back as a figure was hurled from the breach, tumbling through the smoke and purple light. The body smashed through several more walls before finally skidding to a halt.
It was T'Challa.
T'Challa rose to his feet, seemingly unharmed. His vibranium suit had absorbed the worst of the impact. "Captain, be careful," he said, his voice a low, serious growl. "This one is no ordinary soldier."
As he spoke, heavy footsteps echoed from within the control room. A towering figure emerged from the dust, its massive battle axe casually slung over its shoulder. It was The Other, Herald of Thanos. Standing nearly three meters tall, its blue-gray skin was taut over corded muscle. The iron-blue plating on its cheeks was not a mask, but a natural, horrifying bone structure.
The Other glanced at the two Earthlings, its eyes filled with a mixture of contempt and amusement. "You… think you can stop the advance of the Chitauri?"
Steve immediately raised his shield. "We aren't stopping anyone," he replied, his voice firm. "We're defending our home."
The Other let out a dry, rasping sneer. Unlike the mindless soldiers he commanded, his intellect was sharp and cruel. "We represent the will of the cosmos," he proclaimed. "We are the antibodies, here to purge the virus that is your chaotic life. Thanos will lead us. He will flatten everything. It is destiny!" He spread his arms wide. "What can you possibly use to resist fate?"
Steve answered without a word. The vibranium shield flew from his hand, spinning directly at the herald's head.
The battle began.
CLANG!
With casual disdain, The Other swatted the shield out of the air with the back of his hand. He followed with a powerful kick, swinging the long-handled battle axe in a devastating arc aimed at Steve's head. The floor plates buckled under the force of the blow. Steve dove, rolling to the side to avoid the attack, but he wasn't entirely safe. The impact of the axe sent a shockwave rippling through the floor, knocking him off his feet.
T'Challa leaped forward, helping him up. Captain America exhaled sharply, the magnetic device on his wrist humming as it pulled his shield back to his arm. Against an enemy this strong, letting go of it was not an option.
"Together, Captain," T'Challa said, and then he was gone, a black blur streaking toward the towering alien. His claws flashed, aimed at The Other's right arm.
Steve was right behind him. Using the narrow corridor walls as a springboard, he dodged another axe swing and brought his shield crashing down on the side of the creature's head. The Other was rocked by the blow, but it seemed to do no real damage. The shield was strong, but Steve's own strength was dwarfed by the herald's.
T'Challa, however, found purchase. His vibranium claws raked across The Other's shoulder pauldron. At first, the herald ignored the attack, until the hiss of tearing metal filled the air. The nigh-indestructible armor plating had been shredded, and the claws dug into the flesh beneath, drawing blue-purple blood.
The Other looked at T'Challa with a flicker of genuine surprise. But it was only surprise. No matter how sharp, claws were still the weapons of a wild beast. He simply swung his shoulder, slamming T'Challa against the wall with enough force to crack it. The blow was powerful, yet he felt something strange. T'Challa's suit seemed to absorb the kinetic energy like rubber; none of the force he exerted seemed to have its intended effect. Instead, it felt as though it was being swallowed by the suit itself.
The Other grabbed T'Challa by the neck and tossed him away like a kitten. Then, he swung his battle axe in a violent, spinning throw. The axe tore through the air, but knowing the Panther's suit was unusual, he didn't aim for T'Challa directly. Instead, the axe head embedded itself deep in the wall just beside him, the angle of the haft and blade instantly pinning T'Challa by the neck and shoulder, trapping him completely.
As Captain America rushed to help, The Other charged him like a runaway chariot and threw a punch.
CLANG!
Steve raised his shield just in time. This time, The Other finally registered the absolute durability of the disc. His punch not only failed to budge Steve, but a jolt of pain shot up his own arm. He finally conceded that these Earthlings had some impressive trinkets.
"Is this what you rely on?" he snarled. Then, before Steve could answer, he swung his other fist, not at the shield, but at its edge. He caught it, and with a powerful twist of his body, wrenched the shield from Steve's grasp.
Captain America stared, dumbfounded. In all his years of fighting, from World War II to the present day, no enemy had ever just… stolen his shield. They might catch it, but they always honorably—or foolishly—threw it back.
The Other was different. He held the shield in his hand, then raised his foot for a final, crushing kick to Steve's chest.
It happened in a flash. Just as the blow was about to land, a red-and-blue figure shot out from a side corridor. Peter had seen the whole thing from a distance. The web-shooter on his wrist, guided by Karen's combat analysis, switched to high-pressure mode.
THWIP! THWIP!
Two strands of webbing, moving as fast as bullets, slapped onto The Other's chest. Hanging in the air, Peter pulled with all his might, and to everyone's astonishment, the multi-ton herald was yanked off his feet. Peter followed the momentum, swinging in to deliver a powerful punch right to The Other's head.
CRACK!
The blow landed squarely on the vibranium shield The Other was still holding. "Ow! My fingers! I think my fingers are broken!" Peter yelped.
"It is your neck you should be worrying about, insect!" The Other roared, twisting in mid-air. He slapped out with his free hand, a palm larger than Peter's head, and swatted him out of the air, smashing him through the ruined wall and into the main control room.
Peter felt his entire skeleton rattle. As he flew through the air, he quickly fired off a series of webs, creating a thick, elastic cushion that caught him just before he hit the far wall. The next moment, he used the recoil of the web, launching himself back toward The Other like a stone from a slingshot.
The herald raised a fist to swat the flying boy again, but Peter was no longer playing his game. In a breathtaking display of agility, his body twisted in mid-air, contorting in a way that defied physics. He dodged the punch and, in the same motion, landed on The Other's back, clinging to him like a spider.
"Ever wonder how a spider deals with its prey?" he quipped.
While scrambling all over The Other's body—one moment on his head, the next slipping between his legs—Peter began to spray a relentless stream of webbing. The herald flailed wildly, unable to grab the impossibly fast pest crawling over him. In just a few seconds, The Other was covered from head to toe in thick, white strands.
Peter plucked Captain America's shield from the now-immobilized herald's grasp, did a quick backflip, and landed lightly on the ground.
He tossed the shield back to a stunned Steve Rogers.
"Something like that," he finished.