Chapter 5: Taking a Shot for Iron Man
It was the kind of situation where, if you escaped a tiger's den, you'd immediately find yourself strolling into a wolf's mouth.
And Ethan Miles… was oddly okay with that.
In fact, he grinned.
"Rich billionaire in a flying suit who could hire me for life? Yeah, I can work with this," he thought. Sure, the alien invasion was a problem, but unless a purple bald head in gold armor named Thanos showed up, this looked like an opportunity wrapped in a deathtrap.
Decision made, he drew both blades with a satisfying schwing.
Why dual blades? Well, in the last skirmish, he hadn't just unlocked some combat skills — he'd unlocked full-system specialization. And when you suddenly find yourself able to switch into "Berserker Mode" on command, it feels like a crime to only use one weapon.
God gave me two hands, Ethan thought. And what's more romantic than dual-wielding?
After all, the best things in life come in pairs — like kidneys, eyes… and balls.
Ahead, Iron Man and a squad of Chitauri were still trading fire. Several of the alien soldiers had used their comrades' suppressive blasts to creep within striking distance. They were about three meters from Tony, just about to swarm him.
Ethan spotted the opening.
And charged.
---
The ground cracked under his boots. The rush of wind roared in his ears. His previous bursts of speed had been inside cramped buildings, so he'd never fully felt the acceleration until now. Out here, the air screamed past him, and the bite of steel cutting through it was intoxicating.
Two seconds later, he was behind a Chitauri soldier. His boot landed on its spine with a crunch, bending it into a grotesque inverted V.
He hit the ground running — literally — and lunged for the next target like a wolf on raw meat.
Tony Stark's voice cut through the chaos over external speakers.
"Well done, pink-pants boy! You're the manliest gay guy I've ever seen. Woohoo!"
Tony's repulsors fired in a rhythm beside him, shoulder-mounted mini-missiles arcing overhead.
Ethan ignored the comment — mostly — and drove both blades through another alien with brutal precision. Combat prompts flashed in the corner of his mind's eye. Fatal Strike. Pursuit. Two quick slashes and the Chitauri dropped.
Something inside him surged.
Red light — his Rage — flared over his skin, licking at him like fire. And instead of burning out as he fought, the heat only intensified. His breath turned into a roar, his eyes narrowing into that dangerous predator's focus.
Gun barrels swung toward him. Ethan swung back.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down, Little Red Riding Hood!" Tony called, throwing a burst of repulsor fire to cover him.
From the aliens' perspective, Ethan might as well have been a mini-Hulk — but red, faster, and somehow angrier. Energy bolts slammed into him and he just kept coming.
He crashed into their formation like a wildfire.
Sweeping Strike. Cleave. Savage Slash. Execute.
Tony tilted his head inside the suit. "Jarvis, scan that kid for me."
"Sir, his heartbeat is highly accelerated, and his body surface temperature is abnormally high. Almost like a human torch."
"So… should I get him an ice cream or a fire extinguisher?"
Five or six more Chitauri fell in bloody pieces before Ethan stopped. The last one was split into four neat sections.
Tony winced. "Great. I won't be able to look at ketchup for a week."
---
The battlefield quieted in their little bubble for half a second.
Tony landed, faceplate lifting. He held up a hand — palm repulsor already primed, just in case Ethan was about to go full psycho and swing at him. "Hey, kid. You good? Need a hand? I'm Tony Stark."
"I'm not gay," Ethan said, voice low and edged, the last traces of Rage still burning in his eyes. "I'm a straight man of steel."
The delivery had enough weight that Tony almost bought it… almost. But the way this guy stood there, shirt in tatters, muscles cut and lean under the dust and grime — Tony couldn't help the slow, impressed whistle.
"Nice body," he said. And in his mind, he added: Definitely a gay. Probably popular, too.
Ethan caught the look. He knew the misunderstanding wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Fine. After this battle, he'd just have to get Tony to introduce him to some Victoria's Secret models to prove otherwise.
…Though come to think of it, that plan might make him look more bisexual.
---
It took him a minute to dial the Rage down, his breathing steadying. Questions about this weird "character template system" could wait — the battlefield wasn't exactly the place for deep introspection.
"You're just gonna stand there?" Ethan asked, sliding his blades away.
Tony shrugged, tilting his head. "Rather ask what you're planning next. You're good, but this isn't a one-man job. Maybe time to go home, get some orange juice from Mom?"
The tone was sarcastic, but the warmth behind it made Ethan smirk. Marvel's golden boy really did look out for people.
"Plan's simple: find a shirt, then get my juice. And enjoy the show." A ping in his head added: New combat skills unlocked — Giant Strike, Rage Strike.
"Too bad I didn't find a shield," he muttered. Protection spec was still locked. He suspected it required an actual shield, not, say, a manhole cover. And right now, the Protection spec wasn't a priority.
Tony flicked a two-finger salute and boosted away, diving back into the chaos.
---
The Battle of New York was dragging into its exhausting middle rounds. Thor was still swinging for the fences, Hawkeye's quiver was thinning, and even Tony's arc reactor was showing red on the HUD. The Chitauri, however, just kept pouring from the sky.
On the ground, Black Widow's sharp gaze locked on the energy beam stabbing into the sky from Stark Tower. She called to Captain America, "I've got a ride to get us up there. Can you hold the ground?"
Cap's reply was deadpan but teasing: "Your ride's a little vintage."
Natasha smirked. "This lady likes excitement cap." She sprinted, used Cap's shield as a springboard, and snatched a passing Chitauri skimmer like it was just another Tuesday.
Meanwhile, Tony was reenacting Fast and Furious: Space Invaders Edition between the skyscrapers. But in gaming terms, anyone zipping across the map that much was either hunting or being hunted. To the Chitauri, Tony was definitely the latter.
---
Down below, Ethan had just gutted another alien Hulk had conveniently thrown his way. He looked up, watching Tony in full flight with envy.
"Flying's gotta be the coolest—"
The thought cut short. Several Chitauri shots landed home. Tony spun out, smashing through one building, bursting from the far side, and slamming into the wall of another high-rise.
Jarvis's voice was calm as ever. "External armor integrity reduced by fifty percent. Multiple internal contusions detected."
Tony groaned. "Yeah, I noticed, thanks." He dropped toward the street, hard-landing and taking a second to breathe.
Then Jarvis's tone sharpened. "High-energy signature detected — rear left, fifty meters. Rapid approach from above."
Tony turned just in time to see a Chitauri leaping from a skimmer, weapon already glowing.
"Oh, crap."
---
The blast came.
And… nothing. No impact. No pain.
Instead, there was the heavy, sickening sound of a body hitting pavement.
Tony turned — and his stomach dropped.
Ethan lay there, smoking slightly from the hit, blood pooling under him. His lips trembled as if trying to form words.
Tony's voice cracked. "No… no, kid. Why? You'll be fine. You're gonna be fine, I promise. I promise."
He was already barking orders at Jarvis. "Get me the nearest med team — no, screw that, where's the closest hospital? Now!"
---
That's where the moment froze — the chaos of battle momentarily blurring around the stillness of one man lying in the street, and another kneeling beside him, armor scratched, voice urgent.
For a second, the war felt personal.
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