The spearhead glowed brighter, humming with charged energy as the armored figure leveled it toward the broken remains of the billboard. Smoke still curled upward in waves from the wreckage where Alexander had last been seen, blanketing the street in an eerie silence.
Natasha aimed her pistol without hesitation, sliding across broken pavement to take cover behind a flipped car. Her breath was shallow, every muscle tensed. Her finger rested against the trigger, but she didn't fire yet—not until she was sure.
Tony hovered several feet off the ground, suit dented and scorched from earlier hits. His arc reactor pulsed faintly in the gloom, casting a blue sheen over his armored chest. His HUD was lit up with alerts—six enemies, one designated priority unit, no sign of Alexander. Every targeting protocol screamed danger. He didn't need the tech to tell him what was obvious.
"Stand down," Tony said, his voice echoing from the helmet's speakers, sharp and authoritative. "This isn't your fight."
The tall figure didn't flinch. Its response was wordless.
Then, in a single, fluid motion, it hurled the spear.
Tony's jets flared as he blasted a full-power repulsor at the projectile. The impact shifted its trajectory, deflecting it just enough. The spear smashed into the wall of a nearby building, embedding itself deep into the structure. The stone cracked like dry ice, bricks raining down in chunks.
"Hostile confirmed," Tony muttered. "Let's play rough."
The five armored soldiers charged as one.
Natasha sprang up, firing in controlled bursts. Her shots hit the advancing figures and scattered like sparks from a grinder. The bullets weren't doing damage, but they slowed the march, forced them to shift formation.
Tony accelerated into a dive, his shoulder colliding with one of the soldiers mid-stride. The force of the blow sent the enemy crashing into a streetlamp, snapping it clean off. But the soldier was already scrambling to its feet, unfazed.
"Nat, move!" Tony shouted, swerving left to draw fire away from her.
He opened his shoulder compartments and launched a barrage of micro-missiles. The street erupted in sparks and smoke. Two enemies were knocked backward, rolling across the pavement. One didn't get up.
Natasha took the opening. She dashed between two of the units, dropped into a roll, and slid under an arc of blue energy fire. She sprang behind a crumbling concrete column just as another blast scorched the spot she'd just vacated.
Then the earth groaned.
A deep, echoing rumble shook the street. A pulse of energy rolled outward from the center of the crater.
The smoke thickened, swirling into unnatural patterns. Every soldier, every hero, paused. The tension was electric.
From the fractured concrete, the shadows began to ripple.
First like mist.
Then a spiral.
Then fire.
Black flame.
Alexander rose slowly, his silhouette emerging from the swirling storm of shadow. He looked changed. Reborn.
His coat had been obliterated. In its place was armor—jagged, sleek, and alive. It wasn't forged. It grew. Tendrils of shadow flowed along his arms and shoulders, shaping into gauntlets that shimmered with dark energy. His hair clung to his face, soaked and matted. His eyes—no longer just violet—now blazed with a silver hue, like lightning trapped in an abyss.
Tony hesitated midair. "Uh… was he always able to do that?"
Natasha, crouched behind cover, lowered her pistol an inch. "No. That's new."
Alexander's fists clenched. Shadows snapped and hissed around him.
The lead enemy turned to face him. Its head tilted, red optics adjusting as if recalculating.
"You're persistent," Alexander said. His voice was low, distorted—layered with something deeper. Something darker.
No response.
He flicked his fingers.
The ground buckled as a surge of shadow blasted outward from his body. It was raw and violent.
Two soldiers were ripped off their feet, smashed into street lamps that shattered on impact. Another was seized by a clawed tendril and yanked beneath the pavement with a shriek of twisting metal.
Natasha's mouth parted slightly. "He's alive."
Tony chuckled dryly. "And really not in the mood."
The priority unit stepped forward. The spear flew back to its hand like it was summoned by gravity itself.
Then it charged.
Alexander didn't wait.
He lunged, and they met in the middle of the ruined street like gods in a thunderstorm.
Spear clashed with blade—an abyss-forged sword extending from Alexander's gauntlet. The collision lit up the entire block. The shockwave cracked a delivery truck in half and sent a burst of wind through every alley.
Blow after blow rang out like war drums.
Alexander moved faster now—faster than he'd ever moved before. The armor didn't just protect him. It responded to him. Each swing, each pivot, was enhanced, fluid, precise.
But the enemy was worse.
Every strike of its spear was cold, calculated, brutal. It didn't waste a single movement. It was adapting—mirroring Alexander's attacks with mechanical efficiency.
He was forced to one knee, blade locked against the spear.
The enemy leaned in, its voice sharp and artificial.
"Subject designated: Shadow anomaly. Termination required."
Then its chest began to glow.
Energy surged between its armor plates, building rapidly. Blue fire burst from its seams.
Alexander's eyes narrowed.
The shadow armor pulsed in response.
A sound like thunder split the air as both figures moved—
End of Chapter 70
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