Tony twisted his neck with a cracking sound, glanced at his white leather shoes, and said,"My shoes look a little dirty. What should I do about it?"
Victor's lips trembled twice before he crouched down, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and said,"I'll wipe them for you."
"Huh?"
Tony pulled his foot back, letting Victor's hand swipe at the air."My shoes are expensive. You can't wipe them with your hands. You have to lick them clean with your tongue."
Humiliated, Victor raised his head and said,"Tony, don't push me too far."
Tony shrugged toward the men beside him."He says I'm pushing him too far. Am I?"
The members of the Skyburst Gang gave Victor a cold stare and burst out laughing."No."
Tony bent down and said,"Either you lick them, or you die!"
Looking at the man who had once been the second-in-command of Stark Industries, a high-society elite basking in prestige, Victor lowered his old face, placed both hands on the ground, and crawled forward. Tony felt a surge of vindictive pleasure."Well, well, I tell you to lick and you lick. Pathetic. Look at him, he's just like a dog."
When Victor had licked even the dog feces stuck to Tony's shoe soles clean, Tony led his men out of the golf course. Left behind were a broken Victor and one of his Mexican subordinates, huddled together for comfort. Heavy rain poured down outside. Victor raised his head to the sky and roared,"Ahhh!"
If I, Victor, do not avenge this, I swear I am no man!
Bang!
Water splashed everywhere as a black figure crashed down beside the kneeling Victor like a cannonball.
Rainwater from the soaked turf splattered across Victor's face, and the Mexican beside him jumped in fright. Both of them hastily wiped their faces and opened their eyes.
They saw that on the chest of the shadowy figure, a triangular halo was flashing with light.
The Mexican still had no idea what was happening, but Victor recognized it instantly. With a scream, he sprang to his feet and bolted without hesitation.
From Aetheris's descent to Victor's escape, the entire sequence took no more than two seconds.
That alone showed how deep a scar Aetheris had left on Victor's fragile mind.
"What's wrong, Uncle Victor? You see your dear nephew and don't even say hello? That's awfully rude, isn't it?"
Aetheris shot into the air, trailing Victor at a distance of ten meters.
Victor looked back, terrified, and cried out as he ran,"Don't come any closer!"
At that moment, he regretted not injecting himself with another dose of the enhancement serum.
He regretted not listening to Norman Osborn's advice to stay away from New York.He regretted not killing that damned Tony Stark in one decisive move back then.But most of all, he regretted his betrayal. If not for his greed and ambition, he and Tony might still be close partners, not enemies. He would not now be a beaten cur, forced to lick the shoes of a New York thug.
Seeing Victor, once his would-be killer, now fleeing in disgrace, Aetheris suddenly found the thrill gone. He raised his palm and fired.
The blast struck Victor squarely in the back. With a scream, his bulky body shot forward like a shell, carried by his own running momentum for more than ten meters before slamming heavily into the ground.
Aetheris landed beside him. Rain continued to fall as Victor struggled to rise. Though his body had been enhanced, the blast had hit him dead in the center of his back. His internal organs were likely badly shaken.
Blood seeped from the corner of Victor's mouth. He forced himself to roll over and lay on his back on the golf course lawn. Aetheris looked down at him from above.
Victor's muscles ached all over, his strength completely gone. He could only lie there like a dying dog, tongue out, gasping for breath as rain poured across his face.
The moment he saw Aetheris, he felt a strange relief. At least he no longer had to run.
In recent days, he had lived under another's roof. Though Sam had been polite on the surface, behind his back neither he nor his men saw Victor as anything but a beaten cur. All they wanted were the technologies Victor had smuggled out of Stark Industries.
Aetheris stood over him, calm and detached, looking at the man who had once been an untouchable magnate the secret hand behind Iron Man in the movies.
Without Victor, Iron Man would never have been born.
Had Victor not hired the Ten Rings to ambush Tony Stark, Tony would never have created the prototype armor that began it all.
The growth of every hero owes much to the struggles against villains. For that, Aetheris was grateful to Victor.
But sympathy? That he had none.
Every adult must take responsibility for their choices. Since Victor had chosen to stand as his enemy, Aetheris was justified in using any means necessary to destroy him.
Defeat simply meant he was outmatched.
Looking at the fallen man, Aetheris said,"Any last words?"
"Give me a clean death."
Victor's voice was hoarse, carrying no trace of longing for life.
What he had endured tonight was too much. He had come to New York certain of victory, convinced a local gang would pose no challenge. Yet after surviving countless storms, he had capsized in this gutter.
To be trampled by Tony, a man he once thought beneath his notice, and forced to lick his shoes he had tried to endure it, like the King of Yue lying on firewood to steel himself for revenge. But having escaped one wolf's den, he had run straight into a tiger's jaws.
He could only sigh: fate had abandoned him.
Now trapped here, it was Heaven that had doomed him, not his own lack of will.
Aetheris nodded. In his hand, the energy cannon glowed with blinding light."Victor, rest in peace. Don't forget to take a message to my old man in the underworld. Tell him to bless me when I face Thanos."
He whispered the last part so only he could hear.
Boom!
The energy blast pierced Victor's skull, passed through, and gouged a massive crater in the lawn beneath him. Thus fell Victor, a titan of his time.
In the original story, Victor had also died by Iron Man's hand. But because of Aetheris's crossing, he had lived several months longer.
At first, Aetheris had intended to give him a chance.
But there are no "ifs" in this world, and no medicine for regret. He was like a thornbird.
There is a legend of a bird that sings only once in its life. Its song is more beautiful than any other creature's, but to sing it, the bird drives its body into the longest, sharpest thorn.
As it dies, transcending its pain, its song eclipses the voices of both skylark and nightingale.
(End of Chapter)
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