After Marcus collapsed, the high-frequency blade that had once been his right arm slowly began to revert to its original form. Yet what emerged wasn't a normal hand. His right arm was now charred black, the skin burned and brittle, releasing the acrid scent of scorched flesh. His fingers looked like they'd crumble into dust at the slightest touch.
Only when Marcus stopped moving did Tony Stark finally snap out of his shock. He ran a gloved hand across the deep gash carved into his armor and exhaled heavily, his pulse still racing. This was, without a doubt, the closest he'd come to death since becoming Iron Man. And that record, he thought grimly, wasn't likely to be broken anytime soon.
"Sir," Jarvis reported, "armor integrity at 87.3%. Chest plating has lost all kinetic resistance. You should be grateful that the attack missed your miniature Arc Reactor."
Tony glanced down at the faintly glowing blue circle embedded in his chest—the Arc Reactor, the tiny powerhouse that not only fueled his armor but also kept him alive. If it had been destroyed, both Iron Man and Tony Stark would have been reduced to ashes in seconds.
He chuckled softly, regaining his usual arrogance. "You're right, Jarvis. But I'd like to think I had everything under control."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, sir."
Tony sighed, brushing off the sarcasm. "All right, Jarvis. Plot a return course."
With that, he bent down, lifted Marcus's unconscious body into his arms, and ignited his thrusters. The roar of the repulsors filled the night as Iron Man shot upward, breaking through the clouds and soaring into the sky.
"Also," Tony added casually, "remind me what time the next party starts. I refuse to let tonight end on a bad note."
---
Marcus had no idea how long he was out—hours, days, maybe weeks.
When he finally regained consciousness, the first thing he saw was white. White walls, white ceilings, white furniture. His senses slowly came back to him—the soft couch beneath him, the faint hum of machines, and the rhythmic crash of waves outside the window.
He blinked, staring around. The place was massive, extravagantly decorated, and perched right on the edge of the sea. Through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, the ocean stretched endlessly beneath the morning sun.
There was only one man in New York who could afford such an oceanfront fortress.
Tony Stark.
And sure enough, not far away on another couch, the genius billionaire himself was sprawled out in a drunken heap, snoring loudly. The television blared in the background, playing late-night news, and the smell of alcohol—and something worse—hung in the air. A half-finished bottle of scotch rested on the floor beside him, next to a puddle of vomit.
Marcus stared at the scene in silence. This was the world's greatest inventor?
He briefly considered killing him right then and there. It would be easy—Tony was unarmed, defenseless, and unaware. But just as he tried to move, the system's message flickered across his vision:
[You have been injected with a high-dose compound by Tony Stark. Current status: Ability suppression active. Physical strength sealed. Motor control impaired.]
Marcus sighed. So much for that plan.
If he killed Tony now, without infecting him first, he'd lose a potentially invaluable ally in his mission to destroy the world. The man was a genius, a walking arsenal. Turning him into a sentient, obedient infected would make him the perfect tool for the apocalypse.
For now, Marcus decided to wait. He had time to think—to plan.
Since arriving in this world, he'd been fighting non-stop, barely able to breathe, let alone strategize. But if he wanted to destroy the entire Marvel universe, he'd need more than brute strength. He'd need a plan.
The first step: Evolve.
The injection that had turned him into a Special Infected had not been enough to make him a Virus Progenitor—the ultimate form of the zombie virus. He wasn't weak, but he wasn't at his peak either. The virus was known to evolve infinitely; somewhere, somehow, there had to be a way to push it further.
The second step: Infect Tony Stark.
Not just turn him into a mindless zombie—but into a sentient infected. Tony's genius was his greatest weapon. Even as a human, he'd nearly destroyed the world multiple times with his inventions. As an infected, his potential would be limitless. He could build weapons of mass destruction, engineer viral delivery systems, and accelerate the spread of infection across the globe.
If Marcus wanted to end the world, Iron Man would be his ideal partner.
The third step: Stay hidden.
If anyone discovered that Marcus was carrying the zombie virus, the world's heroes would descend upon him instantly.
And this was Marvel.
Here, even the "humans" could punch holes through buildings. And then there were the others—gods, mutants, monsters.
Hulk, with his limitless strength.
Thor, the literal god of thunder.
Magneto, who could rip the iron from your blood.
The Phoenix, who could unmake matter itself.
Even if the system had placed Marcus in the Marvel Cinematic Universe rather than the comics, that was small comfort. The film version was still filled with godlike beings capable of erasing cities from the map.
No, Marcus thought grimly. His existence had to remain a secret. The world wasn't ready to face him—and he wasn't ready to face the world.
Just as he was about to relax and gather his thoughts, the television suddenly cut to a breaking news report.
A female journalist stood in the middle of a cordoned-off New York street. Behind her, rows of military barricades and armed soldiers filled the frame. Their guns were raised, their expressions tense.
"Reporting live from Queens," the reporter said breathlessly. "Behind me, you can see that the U.S. military has sealed off this entire district. No civilians or journalists are allowed to enter. The same situation has been confirmed at other entrances to the borough. So far, there has been no official statement from the government regarding the cause of this lockdown."
She paused, pressing a hand to her earpiece. "This is Mary Jane Watson, reporting for The Daily Bugle. We'll bring you updates as they come."
Marcus froze.
Queens?
That was Spider-Man's home turf—the exact area where he and Marcus had fought the night before.
A cold chill crept down his spine.
"Damn it…"
He suddenly realized just how serious the situation had become.
_____
T/N:
Hello everyone! My Patreon is just $3 — a perfect opportunity to access advanced chapters and support.
🔗 patreon.com/user?u=79514336
Or simply search Translator-Sama on Patreon.