"This woman—can she fly?"
Watching 2B leap and soar into the air, even Viper, Hydra's serpent-tongued leader, was stunned.
As one of Hydra's top operatives, she prided herself on her extensive knowledge. She was no stranger to high-tech flight apparatuses—Hydra had developed plenty of them herself. But equipment was equipment, no matter how advanced. Even the most streamlined designs left visible traces. Take Tony Stark's Iron Man armor: for all its sophistication, the moment he took off, bright energy flames still erupted from his palms and boot soles—impossible to conceal.
Yet the woman before her—2B—showed no external gear at all. No thrusters, no exhaust, nothing. She simply launched herself upward, weightless as a feather caught in a breeze. Her ascent was so fluid, so unnaturally graceful, it bordered on eerie.
That was what made Viper ask, genuinely curious: "This woman—can she fly?"
"Why, is that weird?" Loren shrugged, sounding utterly indifferent.
"Isn't it strange?" Viper's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Of course it's not strange. As long as she's my woman, she can fly. Didn't you fly a few times yourself just now?"
"..." Viper fell silent.
"Hey, you're actually willing to talk to me calmly now? Looks like that training session worked!"
Noticing Viper had stopped fighting him, Loren smiled and reached out, gently lifting her chin with his fingers.
"Women, you should smile more—you'll look even more beautiful. Frowning all day trying to look tough? That'll just give you wrinkles. Look at your face—so beautiful! How old are you anyway? Some old witch?"
Loren studied her with sudden curiosity. After all, in the Marvel multiverse, characters varied wildly across realities—ages shifted, experiences diverged, and even genders flipped. He honestly had no idea how old this version of Viper was.
Still, judging by her smooth, collagen-rich skin, she couldn't be that old. Unless, of course, she'd taken the same youth-preserving serum Natasha Romanoff used in another universe—but even then, it wouldn't matter. If she had the body of a young woman, he wasn't picky!
"You—! You're the old witch! I'm twenty-seven!"
The moment Loren called her an "old witch," Viper bristled with indignation. But then she remembered how thoroughly he'd just humiliated her in their fight—and bit back her anger. She had no desire to be reduced to tears again.
"Twenty-seven? That's practically a young woman! No wonder your skin's so smooth!"
"You—!" Viper flushed, at a loss for words.
The guy in front of her looked barely eighteen, yet his tone and mannerisms were straight out of a vintage gangster flick. The jarring contrast left her both flustered and furious. He'd go from casual banter to flooring the gas pedal in seconds—and the worst part? She couldn't resist him. Because the moment she pushed back, he'd start throwing punches… and nobody could withstand that.
Just as the two stood chatting by the shattered hole in the VIP room wall, a grenade suddenly hurtled toward them at high speed.
Loren's brow furrowed. In one swift motion, he seized the solid wood desk beside him and hurled it forward.
The desk collided with the grenade midair.
BOOM!
A violent explosion ripped through the air. The force shattered the desk into splinters, sending debris scattering like shrapnel across the sky.
Such a scene once again shocked Viper, who stood beside him.
"You know," she said, "that solid wood desk weighs at least several hundred pounds."
Yet at this moment, it seemed weightless in Loren's hands—and he tossed it aside as if it were nothing.
Such terrifying strength rivaled that of the Winter Soldier, the very weapon created by their own Hydra organization.
"How many secrets are you hiding in that body of yours?"
Viper looked at Loren with a complicated expression and couldn't help but ask.
"Want to know?" Loren's face lit up with a hint of pride. He gave her a slightly childish look and added, "Then kneel down and submit to me—from now on!"
"Don't even think about it," Viper shot back. "If you want me to submit to you, you might as well just kill me."
"Oh? You think I can't do it?"
Without another word, Loren grabbed Viper by the throat and lifted her into the air like a helpless chick.
Viper immediately began to struggle, her legs thrashing wildly as she choked, certain she was about to die—
—but then Loren abruptly released her. She crashed heavily onto the floor, gasping for breath, her face pale with fear.
"Isn't the feeling of being on the brink of death excruciating?" Loren said coolly. "If I wanted, I could make you relive that sensation forever.
For me, a quick death is a reward—not a punishment.
Killing you outright would be too kind. No… I'd rather make your life worse than death itself.
It doesn't matter if you refuse to submit now. I've got plenty of time to break you. So just… bear with it."
"You lunatic! You're a devil!" Viper's eyes brimmed with despair at his words.
She hadn't expected the man before her to be so terrifying—his nature more unpredictable than the weather itself.
One moment he seemed almost friendly; the next, he'd attack and torture someone over a single word.
There was no logic to it—just pure madness.
"You're only realizing this now?" Loren smirked. "Too late."
With a playful grin, he raised his hand and struck Viper on the neck.
She felt a wave of dizziness and collapsed, unconscious.
"Tifa," Loren called out, "come up and take this woman back to the manor. I'm going to see what's happening over at 2B."
After giving the order, he strode out of the banquet hall, frowning.
Based on his understanding of 2B, ordering her to kill Iron Monger shouldn't have been difficult.
Yet more than a minute had passed—and grenades were still flying. That was far too slow!
As he stepped outside, a massive steel arm plummeted from the sky and slammed into the ground right in front of him.
Judging by its size, there was no doubt: 2B had severed Iron Monger's arm.
Sure enough, when he looked ahead, he saw a colossal steel mecha lying motionless on the ground—
the Iron Monger, built from the original Iron Man suit.
Not far away, Iron Man himself had also fallen.
Tony Stark was struggling to rise, wincing in pain—but after several failed attempts, he finally collapsed, unconscious.
Half of his armor was shattered beyond recognition—clearly 2B's handiwork.
The Iron Monger fared even worse.
One of its mechanical legs had been cleanly chopped off, leaving the hulking machine tilted awkwardly on the ground.
Yet Obadiah Stane, piloting the Iron Monger, refused to surrender.
With his only remaining arm, he kept launching grenades at 2B.
2B's expression darkened. Moving with the speed of a rabbit, she effortlessly dodged the barrage.
Then, the adamantium Miao Dao in her hand flashed like silver lightning.
Clang!
In an instant, the mecha's last arm was sliced off as easily as tofu.
A furious, guttural roar erupted from the wreckage—Stane's final act of defiance.
But 2B didn't flinch. She stepped onto the Iron Monger's chest, raised her blade, and prepared to send Stane to hell.
Just then—something utterly unexpected happened.
A strand of translucent spider silk shot through the air, latching onto the Iron Monger's frame.
With a sharp tug, the massive machine was yanked away—narrowly escaping 2B's killing blow.
Following the trajectory of the web, Loren spotted a masked figure in black tights hanging upside down from a telephone pole nearby.