Tony Stark's face had gone completely pale.
He had never imagined that the armor he had poured so much effort into—the culmination of his genius, his pride—would collapse like this in its very first true battle. It wasn't just damage. It wasn't just defeat. It was complete dismantling, right down to the foundation of everything he believed about himself.
If he could rewind time, even for a second, he knew exactly what he would do.
The moment he saw that red monster… he would run.
No hesitation. No arrogance. No attempt to prove anything.
Just escape.
Regret gnawed at him, sharp and relentless. Anxiety followed, twisting tighter with every passing second, and beneath it all simmered resentment—toward the enemy, toward the situation, toward himself most of all. The emotions crashed together, overwhelming the mental defenses he had always relied on.
This wasn't just physical damage.
He had been broken.
The pain in his eyes—what remained of them—was unbearable, a void where sight once existed. When the darkness swallowed everything, Tony lost his final grip on control. His hands came up instinctively, covering his face as a broken sound tore from his throat.
He collapsed.
His body gave out beneath him, dropping heavily into the dirt and debris, his once-pristine armor now half-destroyed and stained. The man who had hovered above the battlefield moments ago, declaring victory, now lay curled and trembling like someone who had lost everything.
The contrast was brutal.
Just minutes earlier, he had stood over Doctor Octopus, confident and untouchable, treating him like a problem already solved. Now, he looked like a tragic joke—a performer who stepped onto the stage too boldly and got dragged off in humiliation.
Iron Man had fallen.
And it was ugly.
But Carnage didn't stop.
The crimson figure turned away from Tony without a second glance, as if the broken man no longer held any value. Instead, he walked toward Otto with slow, deliberate steps, his posture relaxed, almost casual.
"Dr. Otto…" Carnage said, his voice oddly light, almost childlike despite the violence he had just unleashed. "I am Carnage. I was sent to rescue you… by my master."
Otto blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. "Your master?" he repeated, confusion flickering across his face. "Who would send someone like you to save me? I'm a wanted man."
Carnage tilted his head slightly, as if recalling something. "He said… your work matters," he replied. "The endless energy you're developing will guide the future."
For a moment, Otto froze.
Then his expression changed.
"What…?" His voice softened, disbelief giving way to something else. "He… understands my research?"
The words hit him harder than any attack.
For so long, he had been labeled a criminal, a madman, someone who had gone too far. No one cared about what he was actually trying to achieve, no one listened when he talked about the potential of his work.
But now—
Someone did.
A faint, almost fragile smile appeared on his face, the bitterness that had defined him for so long easing just slightly. "I want to meet him," Otto said without hesitation, his voice filled with something close to excitement. "Take me to this person."
He had just agreed when his gaze shifted, falling back onto Tony's broken form.
The satisfaction wasn't complete.
Not yet.
Otto stepped forward, his expression hardening again as he approached the man who had nearly destroyed everything. Without warning, he drove his fist forward, slamming it hard into Tony's stomach.
"Bang."
Tony's body folded instantly, curling in on itself like a shrimp as the impact drove the air from his lungs. He couldn't fight back. He couldn't even defend himself. All he could do was endure.
The roles had reversed.
Moments ago, Tony had been the one dominating, pushing Otto to the brink, tearing apart his work, trying to erase him completely. Now, stripped of his power, he could only stand there and take it.
Otto exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving his body.
If it had been someone else—someone less restrained—the outcome would have been far worse. Otto wasn't a butcher. He hadn't wanted to hurt people. But that didn't mean he would simply forget what had just happened.
Carnage watched silently, then reached out and lightly tapped Otto's shoulder. "We should go," he said, pointing off into the distance. "People are coming."
Otto followed his gaze and immediately spotted movement—figures gathering, some in civilian clothes, others in uniform. The aftermath of the battle had drawn attention, and it wouldn't be long before things escalated further.
In his current state, staying was pointless.
His arms were damaged, his equipment destroyed. Fighting now would only make things worse.
Otto turned back to Carnage, nodding once.
The next second, the red figure moved.
Otto was lifted effortlessly, his body carried upward as if gravity had loosened its grip. In a flash, the two of them shot into the air, disappearing from the scene before anyone could react.
——
Not long after they left, the area began to fill.
Residents from across the surrounding blocks poured in, drawn by the explosions, the noise, the promise of something worth seeing. Manhattan had always been chaotic, a place where desperation and opportunity coexisted in uncomfortable harmony.
And where there was chaos—
There was profit.
"Look! It's Iron Man!"
"He lost… he actually lost!"
"Damn, there's blood everywhere… what happened to his eyes?"
Voices rose and overlapped, curiosity quickly giving way to something darker. Phones came out, some people pretending to call for help, others simply recording, laughter slipping through where concern should have been.
"Call the police… yeah, call them," someone said, though his tone made it clear he wasn't in a hurry.
"Isn't this the great hero?" another sneered. "Guess he's not so great now."
"Serves him right. All those rich guys deserve it."
Among the crowd, one man stepped forward, his eyes sharp and calculating. He didn't waste time on commentary. Instead, he crouched beside Tony's broken form, his hands already reaching toward the damaged armor.
There it was.
A piece of tech, gleaming even through the damage.
Expensive.
Valuable.
Without hesitation, he pried it loose with practiced ease, slipping it into his pocket in one smooth motion. Tony didn't react. There was no resistance, no sudden retaliation.
Nothing.
The man's confidence grew instantly.
This wasn't just anyone.
This was Tony Stark.
A billionaire.
A walking fortune.
And now he was helpless.
That realization spread through the crowd like wildfire.
More people stepped forward.
Then more.
Hands reached out, grabbing, pulling, tearing at the armor like starving animals descending on prey. Pieces came loose under the combined effort, each one snatched up greedily, each person convinced they had just struck gold.
It turned into a frenzy.
A feeding.
But they had forgotten one thing.
The armor wasn't completely dead.
"Click."
Systems flickered back to life.
Autonomous defense mode activated.
The next person who reached in was met with a sudden burst of force, sent flying backward as the damaged armor lashed out instinctively. Another followed, then another, each one thrown aside as the suit retaliated against the intrusion.
Screams replaced laughter.
"My leg—my leg!"
"My hand's broken!"
"He's attacking us! Iron Man's attacking people!"
The scene spiraled further out of control, panic layering over chaos as injured civilians staggered back, clutching wounds they hadn't expected to receive.
From a distance, Hawkeye saw everything unfold and immediately broke into a sprint. His bow was already in his hand, arrows drawn as he moved to intervene.
"This is getting out of control," he muttered, eyes locked on the crowd.
But before he could act—
A hand grabbed his shoulder.
"Stop."
The voice was firm, unquestionable.
Captain America stood beside him, his expression serious. "Have you lost your mind? We just started repairing our public image, and now you want to escalate things?"
"They're looting him!" Hawkeye shot back, frustration clear in his voice. "They're rioting—we're supposed to stop this!"
Steve didn't waver. "And risk civilians getting hurt by our actions? No. That's not happening."
"They're already getting hurt!"
"I've made my decision," Steve said, cutting him off. "Stand down."
Hawkeye's jaw tightened, but he didn't move.
Nearby, Black Widow watched the exchange in silence. Her expression gave nothing away, but her eyes tracked every detail, every shift in tone.
She understood exactly what was happening.
This wasn't just about civilians.
This was about power.
About influence.
And in a situation like this, choosing a side came with consequences.
So she chose neither.
She simply observed.
The Avengers finally stepped forward together, pushing through the crowd as the situation continued to deteriorate. By the time they arrived, the damage was already done.
Several people had managed to take pieces of Tony's armor.
But none of them had escaped unscathed.
They lay scattered across the ground, groaning, clutching injuries inflicted by the very thing they had tried to steal from.
Steve's expression darkened as he took it all in.
The chaos.
The fear.
The accusations already forming.
"Superhero? He's hurting people!"
"My legs—he broke my legs!"
"He attacked us!"
The narrative was shifting in real time.
And it wasn't in their favor.
Steve inhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay composed despite the growing weight of the situation. He had wanted to avoid this. He had hoped to steer things in a better direction.
But now—
There was no easy way out.
"We protect the people," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else, as he stepped forward to face the consequences.
.....
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