"Whoa—Mr. Stark! Iron Man! You're my idol! Can I get an autograph?"
Peter's excitement was off the charts the moment he saw Tony—so much so that he almost threw the car he was still holding.
"Hey—hey! Easy there, kid! You're holding a car, remember? I'd rather not die flattened under my own fan."
Tony quickly backed up, hands raised in alarm.
"It's like this, Mr. Stark! I was planning to smash this guy with it. What do you think? Wanna try it yourself?"
Peter rambled so fast his words tumbled over one another. He even offered Tony the chance to "test out" what it felt like to crush someone with a car.
Tony's helmet faceplate couldn't hide the long line of exasperation forming on his brow. This kid's either sleep-deprived or insane.
Meanwhile, Abomination's struggling was growing more and more violent, the thick web cocoon creaking under the strain. Gwen was working frantically to patch the tearing gaps.
"Would you two lunatics shut up already?!" she snapped. "He's about to break free over here!"
Neither of them seemed remotely aware of the situation—one holding up a car, the other in a damaged suit of armor, chatting like they were on a coffee break.
Tony cleared his throat. "Alright, pajama boy, toss that car at his face. I'll take it from there."
Peter grinned under the mask, nodded, and with a smooth heave sent the car soaring through the air—straight toward Abomination's head.
"CURSED INSECT!!!"
Abomination's muffled roar shook the walls. The webbing around him began to rip apart, strands snapping like steel wires under strain.
"JARVIS, route all power to the chest arc reactor."
"Understood, sir. Power levels are stable. You may fire at will."
The car struck home with a deafening crash—and in that same instant, Tony's chest reactor flared to life.
A blazing beam of energy erupted forward, striking the airborne vehicle dead center. The heat was enough to melt steel and vaporize concrete.
BOOOOOOM!
The explosion swallowed the street. Flames rolled skyward, glass shattered for blocks around, and even the nearby buildings shook as if the ground itself had turned to thunder.
Every eye turned toward the blast—including General Ross, who stood surrounded by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.
"No! No, you can't do that! Damn you, Tony Stark!" Ross shouted, face red with fury. "That was U.S. military property! You're destroying government assets—you're committing treason!"
He was trembling with rage and disbelief. His "masterpiece," his precious super-soldier, had just been obliterated. Along with it went his research, his funding, his future—and his reputation.
Chinatown lay in ruins, and the blame would all land squarely on him. His general's insignia might as well already be stripped from his shoulders. If he was lucky, he'd be exiled to some godforsaken outpost overseas.
Tony ignored him. He ran a scan over the smoking crater—no life signs detected. Only then did he relax.
Abomination was gone for good.
But Hulk was far from calm. The explosion had reignited his fury, his skin pulsing with energy, eyes glowing crimson with rage.
"HULK!! Can you stop for one second?" Lucas shouted, stepping forward. "Don't make me pull out my big move on you!"
Hulk was like an uncontrollable child—a massive, furious, impossible-to-reason-with child. Logic and words meant nothing to him. He was pure instinct, pure anger.
And the only language he understood was power.
Hulk tore free from the last vestiges of his bindings, slamming his fists into the ground in a frenzy. Cracks spidered across the street like shattered glass.
"ROOOAAARR!!"
With a roar that shook the heavens, he charged—each step demolishing cars, storefronts, and chunks of pavement.
"You asked for it, Hulk!"
Lucas's Divine Armament flew from his hand, spinning through the air like a comet. It arced once, gleaming with power—and shot straight for Hulk's chest.
Hulk swung to swat it aside—only to have the blade pierce through his shoulder cleanly, the impact sending him crashing to the ground with a thunderous boom.
"Zodiac Meteor Shower!"
Lucas spread his arms wide. Ten black vortices appeared in the air around him, swirling like miniature black holes.
From within them emerged blazing red meteors, each one seething with destructive energy.
In the crowd, Ross froze mid-breath, eyes wide in shock and—disturbingly—gleeful excitement.
"This… this power…"
His mind raced. Lucas's strength dwarfed both Hulk and Abomination combined. If only he could harness it—study it—control it. Imagine a whole army of such super-soldiers under his command!
The thought consumed him. He'd already begun scheming how to use "national security" as leverage—to coerce Lucas into compliance. If necessary, he could threaten his family, his friends—whatever it took.
Natasha, watching him, instantly read the malice in his eyes. Disgust twisted her features.
This bastard never learned. Even now, he was plotting to leash a monster stronger than any bomb.
But beneath that disgust was genuine concern—not for Ross, but for Lucas. She knew Lucas's soft spots: his friends, his loved ones. If Ross dared to touch them, he'd unleash a storm that would burn the world.
She pulled out her comm and contacted Nick Fury immediately, reporting everything Ross's expression had betrayed.
Fury believed her without hesitation. No one in S.H.I.E.L.D. read people better than Natasha Romanoff. When she said someone was planning something—she was always right.
"Motherf—! That damned warmonger," Fury snarled over the comms. "How the hell is he still breathing after Chinatown? He's really planning to screw with Lucas? Does he want his grave dug up?"
There were lines you didn't cross. Even Fury knew that. Ross, blinded by arrogance, clearly didn't.
"Natasha," Fury ordered, voice low and lethal, "tell that bastard if he lays a single finger on Lucas, he'd better prepare for his entire family to go down with him."
He hung up immediately and dispatched agents to guard George's family around the clock. If Ross so much as made a move, Fury would have him buried before Lucas even found out.
Natasha relayed the warning word for word to Ross. Her tone was cool, deliberate. "Don't even think about it. If you make a move on Lucas, no one in America will be able to save you. Not even Tony Stark will stand with you then. Your only way out will be death."
Ross merely scoffed. To him, America threatened others—no one threatened him.
Natasha's final words were icy: "Then do as you will—and die by your own hand."
She turned away, disgusted. Some people were born to dig their own graves.
Above them, the sky flared crimson.
Dozens of blazing meteors tore through the clouds, screaming toward the earth—each one locked onto the roaring, green giant below.
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