The Magus In Marvel

At his home, Alexander Pierce moves through his dimly lit kitchen, the low hum of the refrigerator the only sound in the otherwise silent space. He grabs a glass, fills it with ice, and pours himself a drink. The clink of ice against glass is sharp in the quiet. As he turns back, he spots a figure seated at his kitchen table.

The Winter Soldier sits still, unmoving, his gun resting ominously on the table. His expression is unreadable, eyes dark and distant.

Pierce exhales slowly, swirling the drink in his hand before offering, "Milk?"

The assassin remains silent, his gaze never shifting.

Pierce doesn't seem bothered by the lack of response. He simply nods, taking a sip. "The timetable's moved up. Our window is closing fast. We don't know how, we don't know who, but—" he sets the glass down with a soft clink, locking eyes with the Soldier. "They already cost us Zola. Fury, Romanoff, and Barton disappeared at the same time. That's no coincidence."

His fingers drum lightly against the tabletop before stilling. "Whether they were responsible or not, we can't afford to take chances. I want confirmed kills in ten hours. No loose ends. No slip-ups. If they survive…" he leans in slightly, his tone sharpening, "you'll wish you hadn't."

The Winter Soldier doesn't acknowledge him. He simply stands, picks up his weapon, and walks out without a backward glance.

.............

Across the country, in Tony Stark's Malibu house, the atmosphere is anything but relaxed. The Avengers, along with Rin and Fury, gather around a table scattered with files, holographic projections glowing in the dim lighting. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife.

Fury's voice is low, serious. "Zola's death might have tipped them off, but the intel we pulled from his systems? That still gives us the advantage. Now, we deal with the names on that list."

Natasha folds her arms, scanning the floating data in front of her. "It's not that simple. A lot of these people have serious pull in the political world. They're deeply embedded in the system. If we move too soon, they'll vanish before we can touch them."

Tony leans back in his chair, exhaling. "That's where I come in. J.A.R.V.I.S., start sorting through the data. Flag anything that can be dumped into the public eye. I want every dirty secret out in the open—ruin their reputations before they even realize what hit them. Oh, and make sure our lawyers are ready to keep them from wiggling out of this. We hit them where it hurts."

J.A.R.V.I.S. responds smoothly, "Processing, sir. I estimate a ninety-two percent probability of a media crisis within the next hour."

Clint raises an eyebrow. "That's promising. So, what's next?"

Fury opens his mouth to answer, but J.A.R.V.I.S. suddenly cuts in with an urgent alert.

"Sir, incoming projectiles. Multiple hostiles detected. Impact in five—"

A deafening explosion tears through the space, the shockwave powerful enough to turn the room to rubble—if not for the shimmering, petal-like shield that materializes just in time. The barrier, a perfect imitation of Rho Aias, glows faintly before fading, revealing Rin, her expression set in a scowl.

She exhales sharply, dusting herself off. "Seriously? Again? Do you have any idea how much this costs me? Casting that shield just once is worth a small fortune, and I've already had to do it twice since coming here!"

Tony smirks despite the situation. "Relax, short-stack. As long as I'm around, money's not your problem. Consider it covered."

She shoots him a glare, but before she can fire back, Steve steps forward, his voice steady. "Stay focused. Who's attacking us?"

They turn toward the cliffside, where a masked figure stands, lowering a still-smoking rocket launcher. Most of the team doesn't recognize him. Rin does.

Her expression hardens as she glances at Tony, then back at the figure. When she speaks, her voice is quiet, but resolute.

"That's the Winter Soldier."

That's all Tony needs to hear. His mana-enhanced Iron Man armor snaps into place, glowing arcs flaring as he steps forward. Before anyone else can react, he lifts a hand to stop them. "This is my fight. Stay out of it." His voice leaves no room for argument.

Then he launches himself forward, no hesitation, no holding back. The man who murdered his parents just declared war, and Tony intends to finish it. The battlefield becomes a blur of motion and chaos. Repulsors ignite as he collides with the Winter Soldier, sending them both crashing through the shattered remnants of the mansion's exterior. The impact propels them down the rocky incline toward the beach below, neither willing to yield.

The Winter Soldier recovers first, twisting midair and slamming his arm into the ground to slow his descent. As soon as his boots touch the sand, he pivots sharply and fires his sidearm—three shots, clean and precise. Tony barely tilts his head in time, the bullets pinging harmlessly off the nanotech plating forming over his face. He doesn't bother returning fire. Not yet.

Instead, he lets momentum carry him forward, his armor shifting and reforming to maximize speed. In a flash, he's on The winter soldier, landing a heavy blow to his midsection that sends the assassin skidding backward. Before he can recover, Tony follows up with another strike, then another—each one fueled by rage, by grief, by the ghost of his mother's last breath.

the assassin absorbs the hits, barely flinching. Then, with a sudden burst of strength, he catches Tony's fist mid-swing, his metal fingers clamping down like a vice. He yanks Stark forward and delivers a brutal headbutt, momentarily staggering the billionaire. The hesitation is all he needs. He sweeps Tony's legs out from under him and, in a single fluid motion, drives a boot into his chest, pinning him down in the sand.

Tony grits his teeth, his arc reactor flaring. "Not bad," he growls. Then, his armor shifts—nanites dispersing, reforming, wrapping around The Winter Soldier's ankle. With a sharp yank, he flips the soldier off balance, sending him crashing onto his back. Tony is on him in an instant, one hand gripping The Winter Soldier's throat while the other morphs into a gleaming, jagged-edged blade.

For a moment, he hesitates, Maria Stark's face flashing behind his eyes, his grip tightening with the memory of her murder. But then another image surfaces—Rin. Her unwavering stance, her sharp words, the promise to stand by him no matter what. And yet, Tony knows her too well. She would never let this go unchallenged. If Bucky's identity were revealed, she would take the full weight of Steve's wrath, bear the blame entirely on herself, and let it break her rather than let Tony carry the burden alone.

His blade retracts. The tension in his grip loosens. Instead of delivering a final blow, he shifts his stance, recalibrates his priorities. In one swift motion, his gauntlet releases a controlled energy pulse, knocking the Winter Soldier unconscious.

The battlefield stills. Breathing heavily, Tony looks down at the man before him—the assassin, the killer, the victim of Hydra's control. His emotions are a tangled mess, but one thing is clear: ending this here and now isn't the answer. Not when the truth still remains buried in shadows.

With a sigh, he hauls the Winter Soldier onto his shoulder and flies back toward the others. As he lands, the team watches him in stunned silence. He drops the unconscious soldier at Steve's feet and, without a hint of explanation, simply states:

"He's all yours."