Awakening Kryptonian Bloodline In Marvel.

When the two armored figures entered the city, the monitoring team mistook them for Superman. Alarms blared as the emergency protocol was triggered, and reports were immediately sent up the chain of command.

That's why an elite formation of over a dozen fighter jets was deployed.

"But where did these things come from? Rhodey, did you authorize this?"

An Air Force lieutenant colonel slammed his hand on the table. "Two people in those suits are holding off our entire formation, and you're still saying it's just exoskeleton tech?"

Rhodey rubbed his jaw, visibly tense. "I'm comparing them to Superman, for God's sake. I work in weapons development—I know exactly what those things mean."

"But they really should be described as just armor?"

"Look at their tech: unknown, stable high-power energy source... ultra-durable, high-precision alloys... an anti-gravity system that shouldn't exist yet... and a seamless energy transfer system."

"These systems are at least a decade ahead of anything we have."

"If we had this kind of tech, the Pentagon could start drafting plans for global dominance tomorrow."

"What I don't get," he added, "is why someone with this kind of technology would bother building mechs. It's like someone wearing a tank to go fight with fists on the front line."

"And have you noticed?" he continued. "They haven't launched a single offensive move. What if they're actually friendly?"

Rhodey offered, "So why don't we try to communicate with them first?"

But General Ross—Air Force's top brass—cut in, stone-faced. "Friendly or not, we shoot them down first. We ask questions later."

"Wait, what's that? Another suit?" a colonel shouted, pointing at the projection screen.

All eyes turned to it.

Next to the red-and-gold armor, a silver-white suit had appeared.

"Goddammit, they're coordinated! Take them all down!" Ross barked, his mustache twitching.

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From a distance, Malrick saw the two armors dodging through a hail of bullets.

He accelerated, closing in on a battered and clearly frustrated Tony Stark.

"Tony, long time no see. You look like you just got back from an oil rig explosion."

"Ah!" Tony exclaimed from inside the red-and-gold armor. He twisted around and almost fired.

"Malrick?! Next time, try showing up like a normal person, not a freaking specter!"

He nearly lost balance midair. "Also—why the hell are you wearing my armor?!"

Malrick tilted his head. "Because you took mine, remember?"

Glancing back, he saw a dozen fighters closing in, their weapons lighting up the sky. Tracer rounds streaked past in overlapping arcs, boxing them in.

"I meant why aren't you in your usual spandex getup?" Tony said as he barely dodged a barrage.

"Do I look like I can walk around in that when people think I'm Superman? Not ideal for a social call."

Compared to Tony, Malrick dodged with ease—calm, efficient, controlled.

"But mainly, I'm here to show you how this hunk of metal is actually supposed to be used."

Tony scoffed. "What, you brought me the instruction manual for the Mark Armor? Perfect, I've been looking for that."

"There is no manual. So pay attention. I won't use my own powers—not even a little."

Malrick locked onto the fighter formation behind him and shouted:

"Jarvis, deploy ailerons!"

With a sharp hiss, the silver-white Mark II armor flared its wings and suddenly braked.

Jarvis, as always, responded instantly. No hesitation. Just precise execution.

The maneuver dropped Malrick straight into the center of the fighter formation.

"Hey! What are you doing?!" Tony yelled, spinning in midair to catch up.

The fighter pilots were equally stunned.

On the radio, the squad leader shouted, "Command, Target Three has just dropped into our formation. Requesting permission to shift fire."

"Approved. Engage immediately! Take him down!" came the prompt response from HQ.

"Attack! Attack! Attack!" the jets scattered into a combat spread.

Some surged forward, others dropped back, perfectly surrounding the Mark II like a practiced drill.

Though shocked at first, the pilots grinned once the formation was locked in. To them, the enemy had just handed himself over.

"Unit One, locked on!"

"Unit Two, confirmed!"

"Missile launch authorized!" the captain barked.

Dozens of missiles fired at once. A barrage of machine gun fire filled the air, cutting off every escape vector.

Malrick was encased in fire from all sides.

Dozens of warheads closed in, only seconds from impact.

But he didn't panic.

He cut power entirely.

The armor dropped into a free-fall arc—horizontal, not vertical—causing the incoming missiles to overshoot.

Though their tracking systems quickly adjusted, the brief disarray cost them speed. The swarm slowed to a third of its original pace.

"Follow him down!" barked the squad leader as the jets dove.

"Jarvis, engage intelligent tracking display," Malrick ordered, ignoring his superpowers completely. He was letting the Mark II do the work.

In seconds, the helmet HUD lit up, mapping every missile's trajectory and velocity.

"Perfect," Malrick murmured, kicking into a backward acceleration. The missiles chased him relentlessly.

They were now headed in the exact opposite direction from where Tony had been flying.

"Malrick!" Tony's voice cut in through the comms. "What the hell are you doing?! Calm down! We're technically invaders here—don't escalate!"

Their armors weren't registered. Their weapons were hot. By every metric, they were targets.

"I've got this. Just watch." Malrick's voice was steady.

He accelerated—but only enough to stay just ahead of the missile swarm.

Then, with impeccable timing, he veered aside.

The Mark II's thrusters flared briefly, slowing, then roaring to life again. He twisted midair, magnetizing to the side of a missile.

"Jarvis, initiate localized EM field. Stick to the casing—but don't detonate it prematurely."

The armor's soles ignited with a sharp flare.

Malrick shot forward, dragging the missile with him.

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