Smoke curled through the broken cavern like a serpent, hiding the scorched rubble and the groans of injured heroes beneath its choking veil.
Tony's HUD glitched. Static buzzed in his ears. "Friday... come on... talk to me."
Nothing.
His armor was dented, blackened by Leviathan's molten breath. His left repulsor flickered weakly, the power core overworked and on the verge of shutdown. And still, he stood — his eyes locked on the blazing beast that had just wiped out half the cliffside with a single strike.
Across the battlefield, Steve's shield was buried in stone. Natasha limped, her side torn and bleeding. But she kept moving.
Then — silence.
A low hum grew beneath the silence.
Not from Leviathan.
From Pepper.
She stood tall amidst the ash, hair dancing in the static-charged air, energy radiating off her like a second sun. Her gauntlets pulsed with golden-white fire, veins glowing. Her pupils were now rings of light.
Tony staggered forward. "Pep, don't—this isn't you."
Her voice, layered and strange, replied, "It's the only way to stop this."
"No," he said, stepping closer, hand outstretched. "You stop this. Not the power. You."
But it was too late.
Pepper launched skyward — a streak of blinding light — and slammed into the Leviathan's chest, cracking its molten plating open. It let out a shriek of fury and pain.
Then… it paused.
Its red eyes dimmed.
And it spoke — in a voice not its own.
"STARK… YOU CANNOT KILL WHAT YOU HELPED BUILD."
Tony's blood ran cold.
"What did you say?"
The Leviathan's chest split open — and embedded within the mechanical ribcage was a reactor core.
A Stark reactor.
His reactor.
"Impossible," he whispered.
Obsidian's laughter echoed from the shadows. "Your legacy forged this monster, Stark. And now… it will end you."