The battlefield was no longer a military exhibition; it was a grotesque playground for a group of people who defied every law of physics Steve Rogers had ever learned. After catching his breath, Steve stood behind the curved arc of his shield, watching the "next generation" of heroes systematically dismantle the Iron Man Legion. It was humbling, terrifying, and deeply confusing.
He watched Peter Parker and Huang Liang—the two boys in the colorful spandex—moving with a synchronized fluidity that made the robots look like they were wading through molasses. They weren't just fighting; they were weaving. Thick strands of high-tensile webbing crisscrossed the air, binding the drones into giant, metallic cocoons. The drones roared, their servos whining as they tried to overcome the sticky restraints, but the boys were already on to the next target.
Then there was the "Tuxedo Trio." Jack and Lisfisk moved with a cold, professional lethalness that reminded Steve of the commandos he'd led in the Ardennes, but their "Gun-Fu" was something else entirely. They didn't just fire; they danced. Every bullet found a weak point—a hydraulic hose, a sensor array, a neck joint. Beside them, Zhong Qiang stood with his feet planted firm, his forehead beaded with sweat as he extended his hands. He wasn't touching the drones, but the air around them seemed to thicken. He was pinning them in place with sheer mental pressure, turning the high-tech weapons into stationary targets for his teammates' marksmanship.
"It's not just a brawl," Steve muttered, his tactical mind analyzing the synergy. "It's a combined arms operation... but they're the only 'arms' they need."
A sudden wave of heat washed over him, followed by a bone-chilling frost. He turned to see John, whose hands were a blur of flickering orange and crystalline blue. He was grabbing drones by their chest plates. One moment, the metal would glow cherry-red from intense heat; the next, John would hit it with a blast of liquid nitrogen levels of cold. The thermal shock was devastating. The Hammer-grade steel didn't just crack—it shattered like glass, the internal circuits popping and hissing into silence.
But the real shock came from the back of the hall.
A thunderous roar shook the foundation of the building, and for a moment, Steve thought a building had collapsed. Then, he saw him. A massive, jade-skinned behemoth—the Hulk—was currently using an Iron Man suit as a very expensive, very noisy club.
Steve blinked, noticing something strange. "Is he... wearing pants? High-tech pants?"
Bruce Banner had finally solved the "exhibitionist" problem. After months of research and the looming threat of Betty Ross (who now had her own She-Hulk form to manage) seeing him in a state of undress, Bruce had commissioned a set of hyper-elastic, unstable molecule trousers. The Hulk was now decent, though he didn't look happy about it. He seemed to find the snug fit of the purple fabric annoying, and he was taking out his fashion-related frustration on every piece of Hammer technology within reach. With every stomp and every haymaker, another drone was reduced to a pancake of scrap metal.
"The world hasn't just changed, Logan," Steve said, a hint of awe in his voice as he prepared to launch his shield again. "It's been rewritten. What kind of monsters are these?"
"They aren't monsters, Steve," Logan grunted, lighting a fresh cigar amidst the smoke. "They're just the new neighborhood watch. Try to keep up."
In the dark safety of his command bunker, Ivan Vanko was no longer laughing. He stared at the mosaic of monitors, his face pale and slick with sweat. He had expected to fight a billionaire in a suit. He had expected to fight the police. He had not expected a brigade of mutants and gods to show up and treat his life's work like a clearance sale.
"Trash! All of it is trash!" Vanko hissed, his voice cracking with rage. "That idiot Hammer! He told me New York was empty of these freaks! He said they were all locked up or hiding in the New Hope State!"
Vanko realized his drones were being systematically erased from existence. If he didn't act now, he would have nothing left to show for his father's legacy. His eyes turned dark, filled with a nihilistic resolve. If he couldn't win the war, he would ensure no one survived the peace.
"You think you are so special?" Vanko whispered to the screen, his fingers flying across the mechanical keyboard. "Let's see how your 'Kung Fu' handles a nuclear-grade thermal runaway."
He entered the final override code: Execution Protocol 0-0-0.
Back at the Expo, the remaining drones suddenly stopped their erratic movements. They stood perfectly still, their optical sensors fading from red to a blinding, pulsating white. A high-pitched, oscillating whine began to emanate from their chest cavities—the sound of an Arc Reactor being pushed past its containment limits.
"What is that?" Steve asked, stepping back as a drone in front of him began to glow with an intense, sickly light. "Did they run out of juice?"
Logan scratched his head, looking at the glowing breastplates. "I don't speak robot, Steve, but usually, when things get that bright and make that noise, they're about to become a very loud problem."
"It's a self-destruct!" Tony's voice boomed from above, his HUD flashing red warnings. "Everybody out! Now! These things are essentially dirty bombs! If they all go off at once, they'll level three blocks!"
The panicked evacuation threatened to turn into a stampede again, but Huang Wen stepped forward, his expression remarkably calm. He looked at the forty-plus glowing drones and sighed.
A total explosion would be a disaster, not just for the property damage, but for the PR nightmare. He couldn't let New York become a crater on his watch. He thought about using the Dream Butterfly Escape to teleport the suits away, but there were too many, and their stabilization was too volatile. He needed a different approach.
He drew a deep breath, reaching into the well of power he'd cultivated. He didn't use the flashy spatial spears or the crushing telekinesis. Instead, he channeled the essence of the Ice and Fire technique he'd taught John—but at a level that was pure, primordial cold.
"Everyone, stay behind me," Huang Wen commanded.
He swung his left hand in a wide, sweeping arc. A wave of blue, crystalline energy erupted from his palm, expanding like a frozen shockwave. It wasn't just cold air; it was a conceptual freeze.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The sound was like a thousand mirrors breaking at once. As the wave hit the drones, the glowing white light in their chests flickered and died. The extreme, supernatural cold instantly sapped the thermal energy from the reactors, locking the atoms in place before they could reach the point of no return.
It was the same vulnerability Tony had discovered in his Mark II during the "icing problem" in his first flight, but multiplied by a thousand. Ivan Vanko, in his rush to build an army, had completely neglected thermal insulation for the reactor cores. Within seconds, the entire Iron Man Legion was turned into a collection of motionless, frost-covered statues.
"How... how is that even possible?" Colonel Rhodes asked, staring at the frozen army from the safety of the VIP seats. "He just... turned off the explosion?"
Tony Stark landed beside Huang Wen, his armor covered in a thin layer of frost. "Okay, that's just cheating. I spent three months working on de-icing systems, and you just use it as a weapon. Remind me never to buy you an ice cream cone."
Huang Wen ignored the banter. His eyes were fixed on a security camera mounted high on the wall. He reached out with his mind, tracing the digital signal back through the cables, through the local servers, and across the city's fiber-optic grid.
"Almost forgot," Huang Wen murmured. "The man behind the curtain is trying to make a run for it."
He raised a finger, pointing it toward the camera. He didn't fire a physical projectile. Instead, he used the Space Spear ability to "punch" through the dimensions, connecting his will to the coordinates of the sender. With a precise Acupuncture Point Strike delivered through the spatial rift, he paralyzed the target miles away.