Rex could feel it—the limit.
Energy surged through his body in violent waves, pushing every nerve and muscle past what they were meant to endure. The power pouring into him from the Ark reactor wasn't just overwhelming—it was tearing him apart from the inside out.
His skin began to split in fine cracks, faint lines glowing under the pressure like fractures in glass about to shatter.
But he didn't stop.
"Come on…" he muttered through clenched teeth, forcing his body to hold together for just a little longer.
Then it happened.
In a single instant, the lightning wrapped around him erupted outward. Countless silver dragons roared into the sky, streaking upward like a storm given form, charging straight into the descending rain of cluster bombs.
It looked like two armies colliding.
One born of steel and destruction.
The other, forged from pure energy and will.
They met head-on.
"Boom! Boom—boom!"
The explosions detonated in rapid succession, chaining together into a massive shockwave that spread across the sky with Rex at its center. Fire bloomed in every direction, turning the entire night over New York into a burning sea of red.
From every street, every building, every rooftop, people rushed outside or pressed against windows, drawn by the sheer scale of what was happening above them.
The sky itself seemed to be on fire.
Rex hovered in the middle of it all, acting as the conduit between the Ark reactor and the heavens. Electricity surged through him continuously, filling the air with blinding arcs of silver-white light.
Every bomb that fell was intercepted.
Every single one.
To the people below, it looked like the most spectacular fireworks display in history.
Only it wasn't celebration.
It was survival.
Pepper Potts stood frozen among the crowd, her eyes locked on the figure surrounded by lightning. Even through the chaos and the glare, she recognized him.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Down below, Tony Stark watched the same scene, but his focus wasn't on the explosions or the sky.
It was on Rex.
The sheer power on display left him shaken, but more than that, something else surfaced—something that had been buried in the back of his mind for a long time.
A thought.
One he had dismissed before.
But now, it refused to go away.
After returning from Afghanistan, he had investigated everything he could about the Day of Mourning. He had dug deep into every record, every rumor, every fragment tied to the so-called Death Devil.
And there was one detail he couldn't ignore.
The timing.
That entity had only appeared during the period when he was trapped in the cave.
And when he narrowed it down even further…
It lined up almost perfectly with the moment Rex had arrived in Afghanistan.
Coincidence?
Or something more?
Tony's gaze hardened as he stared at the man in the sky—the one who had just saved half of New York.
The question lingered.
Rex, of course, had no idea what was going through Tony's mind.
Right now, he was focused on something much simpler.
The mission was complete.
Almost.
There was just one small problem.
His lightning… might have accidentally clipped a fighter jet.
He frowned slightly at the thought.
Not my fault. They got too close.
After the final explosions faded, the sky was left filled with falling debris. Shrapnel rained down across the city, glowing faintly as it cooled in the air.
It looked dangerous.
But by some miracle, it caused no casualties.
Slowly, Rex began to descend.
As he came down, he noticed something else. People everywhere were pointing cameras at him—phones, camcorders, anything they had.
Recording everything.
His identity… wasn't hidden anymore.
But that didn't bother him.
Not now.
From the moment he had started thinking about building something bigger—about forming a team, about stepping into the spotlight—he had already accepted this possibility.
A shadowy figure couldn't lead.
Mystery only bred suspicion.
But now?
Now he had a title.
"Million Savior."
That alone was a shield stronger than most weapons. Anyone who wanted to move against him would have to think twice, three times, a hundred times.
And combined with his strength…
It was insurance.
More than that, it was influence.
With this kind of public support, even the X-Men wouldn't be able to ignore him.
He smirked slightly.
Didn't the professor say they'd step up when disaster struck?
Where the hell were they now?
As he landed, the system notification followed.
In addition to the title, he had received a gold-tier reward.
Obadiah, thrown and shattered by his earlier attack, hadn't survived. As a gold-level target, his death pushed Rex's progress forward—from five to seven.
Rex opened the reward without hesitation.
The result wasn't impressive.
Luck wasn't on his side this time.
Thirty-two attribute points.
He dumped all of it straight into strength without a second thought.
Simple.
Direct.
Effective.
When he looked up again, he found Tony staring at him—serious, focused, almost studying him.
Rex raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Tony shook his head. "Nothing."
Rex shrugged, letting it go, then grinned. "Hey, Stark. You want a nickname?"
Tony blinked. "What are you talking about?"
"How about this," Rex said casually. "I pass the name Iron Man to you."
Tony paused.
The words echoed in his mind.
Iron Man.
For some reason, the name hit him harder than expected. It felt… right. Familiar, almost.
Which was strange.
He didn't usually like hand-me-downs.
"From now on," Rex continued, smirking, "you're Iron Man the Second. Better than 'Canned Man,' right?"
Tony's expression darkened immediately. "I have never been called Canned Man."
Rex spread his hands innocently. "That's what they're saying on TV. Not my fault."
Tony scoffed. "Someone paid for that."
Rex blinked, feigning surprise. "Hey, no accusations without proof. He could sue you for that."
He patted Tony on the shoulder.
"If you're going to use the name, though, remember to pay me royalties."
Then he turned, already walking away.
"Alright, I'm done here."
Tony didn't respond.
He just stood there, looking up at the now-empty sky.
"Is it really over…" he murmured.
…
The next day, at the beach villa, every television channel told the same story.
Tony flipped through them, one after another, but it didn't matter.
Every screen showed the same image.
A small church.
Inside, standing beneath a cross, was Rex—dressed in priest's robes, calm and composed under a storm of flashing cameras.
The space was packed beyond capacity. Reporters filled every inch of the hall, while even more crowded outside, spilling into the street.
And beyond them—
People.
Ordinary people.
Holding flowers.
Calling his name.
It didn't feel like a press conference.
It felt like a concert.
Under the lights, Rex spoke with ease.
"…My mother always told me I was destined for greatness," he said smoothly. "Even as a child, I stood out. At two, I shared my fruit with classmates. At three, I broke a water jar and saved—"
Pepper, passing by, stopped in her tracks.
Curiosity lit her expression as she watched.
"Is that… true?" she asked quietly.
Tony didn't even hesitate.
"Of course not," he snapped. "He's spinning stories. And people love it."
He crossed his arms, annoyed.
"Honestly, he makes a pretty convincing priest."
On screen, Rex reached his conclusion.
"Ladies and gentlemen, everything I've experienced has taught me one thing," he said, voice steady. "Life isn't about how long you live—it's about how well you live."
"I'm just an ordinary person who was given something extra. And with that, I choose to stand with you."
"I will continue to protect the world, to maintain peace, and to save lives."
"No matter what happens… that will never change."
The response was immediate.
Cheers erupted from every direction.
"You're my god!"
"Father, I want your child!"
The entire city seemed to be celebrating him.
…
At S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, the mood was very different.
Nick Fury stood in front of the screen, watching the same broadcast, his jaw tight and his fist clenched.
He had seen this man before.
On the plane that brought Tony back.
But in the chaos that followed, he had disappeared—and Fury hadn't thought twice about it.
Now?
Now it was different.
"Who the hell is this guy?" Fury growled, slamming his hand against the table.
Phil Coulson stepped forward, expression uneasy. He glanced briefly at Clint Barton before speaking.
"Sir… we've encountered him before."
Fury's eyes snapped toward him. "Hell's Kitchen?"
Coulson nodded.
"At the time, I thought he was just a civilian. But after further investigation…" He hesitated, then continued. "He's connected. Closely."
"To who?" Fury demanded.
"Devil Face. And Iron Man."
Clint added quietly, "Or maybe… he is both."
Fury's gaze turned cold.
"That explains why I can't stand him," he muttered. "Same feeling I get from that Iron Man."
He turned to Maria Hill.
"Assessment."
Hill didn't hesitate.
"He's extremely dangerous," she said. "We don't know enough about his capabilities to even begin forming a containment strategy."
"And right now," she added, "he's a public hero. Acting against him would be… a mistake."
Fury considered that, then nodded.
"Coulson," he said. "Take Sitwell and Rumlow. I want constant surveillance."
"Dig up everything."
"Secrets. Crimes. Anything."
His voice hardened.
"I have a bad feeling about him."
…
In the White House, the President sat alone, watching the same broadcast.
His face looked tired, lines deeper than they had been days ago.
Too much had happened.
Too fast.
But as he stared at the man on the screen, a thought formed.
Could this man defeat the devil?
Could he make America strong again?
His gaze drifted to the photos on his desk—images of Obadiah's Iron Monger armor and Tony's Mark III suit.
Those… were easier to control.
The thought lingered.
Then—
Gunshots.
Agents burst into the room.
"Mr. President! Assassin! We need to move—"
Too late.
A figure appeared.
Blue-skinned.
A tail curling behind it.
The creature moved like a storm, tearing through the agents before they could react. Bodies dropped one after another, defenses collapsing instantly.
The President stood frozen, despair crashing over him.
Not again.
The President of the United States… dying in office.
....
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