Marcus clawed his way out from beneath a pile of shattered bricks, coughing through the dust that choked the air. His body was covered in bruises and shallow cuts; even with his regeneration, he no longer had the energy to heal them. Every drop of bio-energy mattered now—if he wasted even a single percent, he'd lose any chance of survival.
There was one thing still in his favor.
Unlike Peter Parker, who had gained his powers through a genetic mutation—Tony Stark was a completely ordinary human. That meant Marcus's zombie virus should, in theory, have a 100% infection rate against him.
All Marcus needed was one hit.
One scratch, one cut, one tiny wound—just enough to activate Virus Touch. If he could infect Tony Stark, Iron Man himself would fall under his control.
One chance. That was all it would take to win.
But Tony's Iron Man armor was forged from a gold-titanium alloy, with durability beyond anything Marcus had ever faced. Even the 30mm Gatling cannon on an F-22 Raptor couldn't pierce that shell. Compared to that, Marcus's strength might as well be a child scratching a steel wall. His earlier claw strike had proven it—ordinary attacks wouldn't even leave a mark.
So what now? Another Gunslinger strike?
Impossible. He didn't have the bio-energy for it. That attack against Spider-Man had drained nearly everything. Besides, Gunslinger relied on speed, not raw power—it might hit fast, but it wouldn't penetrate Iron Man's armor.'
'Think, Marcus. Think!'
If he wanted to survive, he'd have to draw out every ounce of potential his metallic body had to offer.
---
"Kid, I've got to admit—you put up a hell of a fight," Tony said, stepping through the hole in the wall he'd just blasted open. His armor gleamed under the flickering lights as he landed with a heavy thud. "But you've got the worst luck in the world. You picked a fight with the smartest—and richest—man on the planet."
He shut down his thrusters and walked closer, the whir of servos echoing through the ruined building.
Marcus straightened slightly, forcing himself to breathe steadily. "Shouldn't you be checking on your spider friend? He didn't look so good."
Tony chuckled. "Don't worry, I already sent help. Jarvis, ETA on the med evac?"
"Seven hundred eighty-four meters, sir. Traffic is light. Medical unit is fully operational," Jarvis replied through the helmet.
Tony frowned. "Too slow. I should've installed a nitro booster in that ambulance. Next time it'll be me bleeding out waiting for a tow truck."
"Sir," Jarvis said dryly, "that would violate Section 126, Paragraph Four of the New York City traffic regulations—"
Marcus tuned them out. While the billionaire bickered with his AI, Marcus's mind was racing.
'Metallic transformation… it lets me reshape my body into weapons or tools. But does that make my attacks stronger?'
'No. Not enough to break through.'
'Extending or retracting the metal—like in my Gunslinger attack—creates speed, not destructive power.'
'Speed…'
Marcus froze. His eyes widened slightly as the idea clicked.
'Extension and retraction—what if I focus not on range, but on frequency?'
He stared down at his right arm, reshaping it into a blade once again. Then he began altering its length—extending, retracting, extending, retracting—over and over, faster each time.
The blade began to blur as it moved, vibrating so rapidly that it hummed like a jackhammer striking the air.
Frequency. That was it.
If the speed of each motion increased with bio-energy, then the frequency of those motions—the vibration rate—could also be controlled.
The oscillation grew faster and faster. Soon, the motion was invisible to the naked eye. The blade trembled violently, releasing a high-pitched whine that sliced through the air.
The sound sharpened, rising into a thin, almost ultrasonic hum. Dust and debris swirled around the vibrating weapon, caught in the miniature storm it generated. The once-silver blade began to glow, its surface heating until it shone red-hot—like molten steel.
High-Frequency Blade.
Marcus could feel the power humming in his hand. The vibration was so intense it distorted the air around it, the molecules themselves beginning to shear apart from the friction.
He raised the weapon, the hum now like a lightsaber's shriek, and roared—
"Let's see you block this, Stark!"
He lunged forward, slashing down with every ounce of strength he had left.
The vibrating blade cut into Tony's right shoulder, sparks bursting forth as metal met metal. The screech of energy and steel echoed through the building, and for a moment, it was like a welding torch had exploded between them.
White smoke rose as titanium vaporized under the friction. The glowing blade traced a perfect line across Iron Man's chest, cutting downward from shoulder to abdomen in a blinding arc.
The air filled with the hiss of liquefied alloy.
No material, no matter how advanced, was perfectly uniform. At the microscopic level, every substance had weak points—minute inconsistencies that could be exploited.
By applying thousands of high-frequency vibrations per second, Marcus had turned his blade into a molecular saw. The differences in vibration amplitude between particles weakened their molecular bonds, rendering even the hardest materials brittle.
This was why high-frequency weapons were feared as nearly unstoppable.
Even adamantium, said to be indestructible in this universe, would eventually shatter under such a strike.
And Iron Man's armor—impressive as it was—was no exception.
The red-gold plating split cleanly open, a molten groove stretching diagonally across Tony's chest. Liquid titanium dripped from the wound, glowing red like blood made of fire.
Marcus's lips curled into a grim smile. He'd done it.
The armor was breached.
Now all he needed was to activate Virus Touch—to infect Tony before the armor sealed itself.
He reached out—
[Warning: Remaining bio-energy below 1%. Forced system shutdown imminent.]
"No... no, not now—!"
His vision dimmed. The world spun.
A crushing fatigue crashed over him, like a wave smothering his consciousness. His limbs grew heavy, his thoughts sluggish.
'Just… one more second… one more hit…'
But there was nothing left to give.
His body went limp, the vibrating blade fading back into dull silver as his legs buckled.
He hit the floor hard, vision swallowed by darkness.
If he'd had just one more percent of energy...
Just one...
But this world had no room for what-ifs.
Only cold, brutal reality.
_____
T/N:
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