Awakening Kryptonian Bloodline In Marvel.

The silver-white armor and the army green missile seemed to fuse into one.

Both accelerated in unison, drawing a wide arc through the sky and temporarily pulling ahead of the other missiles. The rest of the swarm lost tracking precision, scattering in all directions like a disrupted hive.

That was Malrick's signal—the primary missile was about to detonate.

He mentally counted the seconds, then released his grip from the armor's external plating, shifting clear of the missile just in time.

"One, two, three... bang!"

He surged forward with a burst of acceleration.

Boom!

The missile he'd been riding was struck by several others and exploded prematurely. The blast created a shockwave that scattered the remaining missiles and triggered a chain detonation mid-air.

Fire and debris rained across the mountains along the west coast. Smoke and flame spread across a radius nearly a kilometer wide, cloaking the sky in a thick haze.

Inside the fighter formation, the pilots were stunned. They couldn't believe what they had just witnessed—how the Mark II armor had danced through their most advanced missile system with such ease.

But they didn't have time to process it.

Even the strong upper winds couldn't immediately clear the massive smoke cloud. The jets barreled into it blindly.

"Target lost! Repeat, target lost!" the squad captain reported.

"Accelerate! Get above the smoke and reacquire the target! He must not escape!" came the command from HQ.

But Malrick had no intention of fleeing. Instead, he turned and flew straight into the aftermath of the blast.

"Jarvis, based on their speed and direction, give me simulated flight paths."

A burst of light flickered across the HUD. In the smoky chaos, dozens of possible trajectories were projected in real-time.

Malrick made rapid calculations in his head, then dove into the smoke, targeting one of the flight paths.

"Jarvis, prepare for a hard turn."

Just as the words left his mouth, a fighter jet burst out of the smoke directly in front of him.

Malrick reacted instantly. The Mark II flared its thrusters, braking hard before twisting upward into a sudden climb. The fighter pilot, startled, widened his eyes in panic but managed to respond, pulling up and slamming the weapon bay open. A burst of machine gun fire ripped through the sky.

"Unit 13 has reacquired the target! I repeat, Unit 13 has reacquired the target!"

"Engage! Take him down!" the captain ordered.

Bullets hammered against the Mark II's plating, jarring Malrick inside the suit. He stabilized quickly and accelerated.

The pilot of Unit 13, now emboldened, pushed his engines to the limit and gave chase.

But just as quickly, Malrick pivoted midair.

Before Unit 13 could adjust, another fighter emerged from the smoke right in front of him.

"Shit!"

The pilot tried to pull up, but it was too late.

The bottom of his aircraft scraped violently against the upper fuselage of the incoming jet. The high-speed collision shredded both planes.

Flames and black smoke erupted immediately.

Unit 13's pilot wrestled with the controls before finally ejecting as his engine failed.

"Unit 13 is down! Pilot ejected safely!" came the alert from his parachute's beacon.

But the second jet wasn't so lucky.

Its cockpit had been obliterated. The pilot inside was unconscious, slumped forward and helpless.

Malrick caught the wreckage just in time.

Seeing something was wrong, he turned sharply and flew to the wreck, pulling the unconscious pilot free and activating his emergency parachute before the aircraft plummeted into the forest below.

Meanwhile, the pilot from Unit 13 drifted through the air under canopy, watching both planes fall. He glanced at his comms—no distress signal from the second jet.

"Unit 7 collided with me. No signal on his end. He might be under attack—requesting immediate rescue! Mayday! Mayday!"

His voice was full of urgency—far removed from the bold confidence he'd displayed just moments earlier.

From above, more fighters peeled away from their formation, diving toward the crash site in response to the distress call.

Malrick, observing the scene, let out a breath and smirked slightly.

"Well, I guess that concludes our little exhibition."

He glanced down at the pilot he'd just saved, then triggered the parachute release on his armor.

"Good luck, buddy."

With that, he turned toward Los Angeles and sped away.

The command center, tracking the Mark II's retreat via satellite, was helpless.

"He's escaping!" Ross slammed his fist on the console. "Get me another air squadron, now!"

"It's too late, General," Rhodey said flatly. "Based on his acceleration profile, there's no chance we'll catch him now."

"Damn it!"

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Malrick and Tony regrouped and flew side-by-side back to the beachside mansion.

With the speed and maneuverability of their suits—and Jarvis jamming satellite eyes when necessary—it was easy to avoid tracking.

"I didn't use any weapons," Malrick said casually as they cruised along the coast. "Just like you asked—no direct conflict, no casualties."

He glanced over. "But after watching my little performance, do you feel properly humbled?"

That was the real reason he'd come along—to show off in front of Tony.

But he also respected Tony's request. Given his ties to the military and how public his identity might soon become, Malrick had followed the plan carefully. No aggression. And in the end, he'd even saved a pilot.

Tony was silent for a moment.

"It was… impressive."

Jarvis had streamed all of Mark II's telemetry directly to him during the flight. He'd seen every precision maneuver, every perfectly timed action. Malrick's control over the suit was levels beyond his own.

He hadn't even imagined the armor could be used like that.

After all, he was still a rookie at this—barely a few flights in.

Still, pride refused to back down.

"You definitely used your powers. No way you pulled that off without them," Tony insisted, grasping at straws.

"I didn't use a thing," Malrick replied smugly. "Jarvis can confirm."

"Indeed, sir," Jarvis chimed in. "Master Malrick was operating purely on suit functionality. No abnormalities in power signatures were detected."

Tony knew it. But he wasn't ready to concede.

"You still took down two jets. That's hardly peaceful."

"I didn't fire a single shot. I didn't even throw a punch. If they crash into each other chasing me, that's not my fault," Malrick said with a grin. "You wouldn't be this hard on yourself."

Tony threw up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. My dear Malrick, since you put on a show and saved a pilot, I'll admit—this round goes to you."

"Appreciate it," Malrick beamed. "Keep practicing and you might catch up someday."

"But what was that about dinner?"

Tony's expression suddenly shifted. "Don't tell me you didn't make anything. I'm starving—I could eat every cheeseburger in Los Angeles right now."

Malrick looked sheepish. "Yeah… didn't get around to that. Right after the strength test, I went to bail out a certain Iron Man. No time for cooking."

Tony groaned. "Then order takeout."

"Gladly. While we wait, maybe now's a good time to tell Rhodey that you're the Iron Man who just triggered a full-blown military alert."

"Why should I tell him? That blows my cover!"

"With your flair for drama, you'll be outed in no time anyway. Better to tell him first—get him on your side."

Tony paused. "…You've gotten a lot better at this. When did you start thinking like that? Picking it up from all those girls you used to flirt with back in school?"

"No, I learned it while dragging you away from some random woman you tried to bring home."

"Then I guess I owe you. Thanks… I think."

Their laughter drifted across the waves.

As the sun dipped low over the ocean, the orange sky reflected off the water like autumn leaves. In its golden glow, three armors soared together toward the coast—returning to Stark's mansion.

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