"I am—"
Coulson stepped forward, mouth open.
"Save it, Coulson. I remember you." Tony's helmet snapped up. "Stark Tower, tomorrow. You get me. They get their night back."
He nodded toward Luke and Jessica—no cameras, no files.
Coulson opened his mouth again.
"Phil~" Steve roared in on the Harley, shield strapped tight. "They're with me. Report's mine. Fury gets it from me."
Luke smirked; Steve had just adopted them on paper.
Tony's jaw tightened. "We good about Bucky?"
"I forgave him," Tony muttered. Revenge tasted like ash.
Steve's shoulders dropped. "Your old man was my friend. I'm sorry."
"Drinks later," Tony said. "My place. Wear something less patriotic."
Jessica hooked Luke's arm. "Playboy, wire the compensation. And no, I don't date tin men." She whispered hot in Luke's ear: "Take me home. Bring whiskey."
Luke vanished with her in a blink.
Steve coughed. "She's taken."
"I asked when they're leaving for vacation," Tony deadpanned, pointing at the finger-shaped dents in his armor. "I like my neck un-snapped."
Coulson waved agents toward the dented Iron Monger. "Press conference tomorrow, Mr. Stark. We'll script it."
"That suit's Stark property," Tony snapped. "Tell Homeland my lawyers are bored."
"Delivery within the hour," Coulson promised.
Steve grinned. "Buy this old fossil a bourbon?"
"Tower rooftop. Don't be late, soldier."
Tony fired thrusters, dragging Obadiah's broken tin can home like a busted toy.
…
Hell's anteroom stank of copper and rot.
Talric's greatsword stood planted, mirror-clean despite the gore crusting his skin.
Wayne and Rorschach wheezed behind a rat the size of a Buick—spine severed, fur singed, pride shredded.
"I lost count after twenty deaths," Wayne rasped.
Rorschach stared at the twitching corpse. One rat. One. And it had toyed with them.
Talric yanked Shame's Burden free. "Eyes up. The Sin King comes."
Air turned to syrup. Breath tasted of bile. Soil bled black.
Whispers—filthy, formless—crawled inside their skulls.
Wayne's knees knocked. Become fear? Laughable. Fear was a tide that drowned thought.
Rorschach's wings flared white-hot. "SIN!" Orange flame roared up his arms.
Wayne straightened, trembling but unbroken. "So that's fear."
Talric's gaze softened—worry, not scorn. "Hold fast."
The horizon split.
A mountain of flesh and shadow rolled forward, bone wings blotting the sky. Azmodan's belly sloshed with gluttony; black gauze draped armor thick as city walls.
"Have you tasted TRUE PAIN?"
The ground liquefied into tar. Wayne and Rorschach sank to their chins.
Talric's muscles exploded outward—colossal phantom rising to match the demon.
"AZMODAN, FUCK YOUR MOTHER!"
SHAME'S BURDEN smashed down.
Avalanche. Glacier shatter.
Frost screamed across the mire, flash-freezing the sludge. Talric scooped the rookies and leapt—three heartbeats later they stood outside the gate, blizzard howling behind them.
Mission done. Half-strength phantom or not, no dead ancestor fights a Hell King alone.
…
Elder Sanctuary
Bul-Kathos sat before the Cube, wings of courage blazing gold.
"You never warn them," Volusk drawled from his broken throne.
"Saviors are tragedies," Bul-Kathos said. "Aidan. Leoric."
"Wake the mad king. Crown, scepter, pauldrons—yours."
"He's paid enough."
Footsteps echoed—Talric returning. Training resumed.
(End of chapter)
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