Marvel: The Villain Chapter 376 Last Stand Of A Soldier

Tony wasn’t naive. The moment their first conflict erupted, he had severed Steve’s access to the nano-suit. There was no logic in letting an opponent use a weapon you had gifted them.

Without the suit, Steve couldn’t fly, but the Hulk’s leaping ability was a force of nature. Over short distances, he was nearly as fast as an Iron Man rig.

BOOM!

Steve sank into a deep crouch and launched. The force of his liftoff sent spiderweb cracks through the concrete of the landing pad. As he streaked through the air toward the forest canopy, a massive shadow eclipsed him.

Steve looked up to see the Hulkbuster mid-flight. It had predicted his trajectory and swung a piston-driven fist downward.

"GET BACK!" Steve roared. His massive right arm swelled with corded muscle as he swung with everything he had.

CRASH!

Fist met iron in a collision that leveled the surrounding trees with a visible shockwave. Steve was hammered back into the dirt, skidding several meters and nearly toppling over. The Hulkbuster was knocked back a dozen yards, its internal servos whining.

In a single exchange, it was clear: they were evenly matched in raw power.

But the Hulk’s strength wasn’t a fixed number; it scaled with rage. Seeing his path blocked while his friend was being hunted, Steve’s fury began to boil over. His red skin turned a deeper, more violent crimson.

BOOM!

The earth shattered as Steve lunged again, aiming directly for the Hulkbuster’s chest-mounted Arc Reactor—the source of its power. If he could crack that, the behemoth would become a hollow shell.

But Jarvis was a perfect pilot. The Hulkbuster caught Steve’s charge, trading blows in a flurry of sparks. Suddenly, the machine’s right arm emitted an ominous grinding sound. Metal fatigue set in, and the forearm twisted into a mangled mess of wires and scrap under the pressure of Steve’s grip.

Steve landed, white steam hissing from his burning skin. He had reached a state of fury he had never experienced—a clarity where his strength tripled, but his reason was being squeezed into a tiny corner of his mind.

Jarvis analyzed the sudden power spike. He realized the Hulkbuster couldn’t win a war of attrition. But his mission wasn’t to win; it was to stall.

The machine’s weapon pods clicked open. A swarm of micro-missiles erupted, trailing ribbons of white smoke.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!

A series of saturated strikes turned the forest into a landscape of fire and obsidian smoke. When the dust settled, a massive silhouette still stood. Steve raised his arm, a single, powerful sweep of his hand creating a gust of wind that snuffed out the surrounding fires.

"What..." Even the AI seemed to falter. He had seen candles being snuffed out, but never a forest fire being extinguished by a single hand-wave.

Steve’s skin was dripping with a dark fluid—blood. Even his thick hide had limits. He looked up at the hovering machine, his eyes glowing a predatory red. The last shred of Steve vanished.

Bucky... saving people... none of that mattered now.

He just wanted to tear this metal toy into atoms.

"Heh. Plan successful," Jarvis’s voice whispered through the suit’s internal speakers as he banked high, drawing the red monster further away from Tony’s position.

*

Miles away, Bucky was a blur moving through the undergrowth. As a Hydra operative, he was a master of unconventional environments. Even with the damp soil and tangled roots, he moved with the grace of a mountain lion.

But two legs, no matter how enhanced, couldn’t outrun a jet engine.

The roar of thrusters filled the air above him. Tony locked onto Bucky’s thermal signature and dove, repulsors charging. Bucky knew he couldn’t outrun him anymore. He spun around, deciding to make a stand.

ZAP!

A golden beam of energy streaked down. Bucky rolled mid-air, the bolt vaporizing a massive oak tree behind him. Before he could regain his footing, Tony was on him, leading with an armored fist.

Bucky caught Tony’s wrist with his metallic arm. The impact sent Bucky skidding back twenty meters, but he held on.

"ARGH!" Bucky roared, his hydraulic fingers tightening. The nano-armor at Tony’s wrist began to groan and deform.

The arm was a masterpiece of Hydra engineering, but Tony’s armor was the pinnacle of human science. The creaking sound wasn’t the suit breaking—it was the nanites rapidly shifting to reinforce the stress point.

Bucky’s desperation turned to horror as he realized he couldn’t even scratch the paint.

WHAM!

Tony fired a point-blank repulsor blast into Bucky’s chest, sending him crashing into a tree trunk. Bucky slumped to the ground, gasping for air. He was weak from the surgery, his coordination still hazy. Running ten kilometers and taking a direct hit had left his body feeling like it was made of glass.

He struggled to his feet, digging his fingers into the dirt, staring at the armor descending before him. Bucky raised his fists in a defensive stance—the last stand of a soldier.

Tony retracted his faceplate. His eyes were bloodshot and hollow. "Do you even remember them?" He asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

Bucky looked at him, the weight of a thousand murders in his eyes. "I remember... everyone."

Tony’s lip curled. "Good. Then you won’t mind this."

Tony raised his hand, and a thin, crimson laser ignited. With a casual flick of his wrist, the beam sliced through Bucky’s shoulder like a hot knife through butter.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Bucky collapsed to his knees, clutching the cauterized stump where his silver arm used to be. The pain was a living thing, gnawing at his nerves.

"Don’t... don’t kill me," Bucky wheezed, looking up at Tony. "I was a puppet... I wasn’t in control..."

"My father begged you for my mother’s life too," Tony said. "What did you do for him?"

Tony didn’t wait for an answer. He slammed a fist into Bucky’s face.

THUD.

Bucky hit the dirt, blood spraying from a jagged gash across his cheek. He tried to clear his head, only for another iron fist to connect. Tony was mirroring the video—three hits to the face, each one fueled by thirty years of suppressed grief.

By the third hit, Bucky’s face was a pulp of gore and bone. Tony reached down, his fingers locking around Bucky’s throat, and slammed him against a tree.

"The one thing I can’t forgive," Tony whispered, "Is that you strangled her. You looked her in the eyes and you took her breath away."

The image of his mother’s smile flashed in Tony’s mind, and his grip tightened. Bucky kicked and clawed with his remaining hand, trying to pry the iron fingers loose.

In a final act of a dying man, Bucky lunged with his two fingers, aiming for Tony’s eyes.

Tony didn’t even blink. The nano-suit’s emergency protocols detected the threat and instantly encased his head in steel.

CRACK.

Bucky’s fingers struck the reinforced plating and snapped like dry twigs.

"Hmph," Tony growled. The last spark of mercy vanished. He flexed his armored hand with a violent jerk.

CRUNCH.

The sound of the windpipe and vertebrae shattering echoed through the silent woods. A geyser of hot blood sprayed from Bucky’s mouth, coating Tony’s HUD in a visceral crimson.

Tony let go. Bucky’s body hit the mud with a wet thud.

Tony retracted his helmet, gasping for air as if he were the one being strangled. He sat down on a fallen log, staring at the corpse of the Winter Soldier.

He had done it. He had avenged them.

Every cell in his body was screaming with a dark, electric triumph. It felt better than any drug, any drink, any victory he had ever known. He had no regrets. If he had to choose a thousand times, he would kill the assassin every single time.

Minutes later, a blood-soaked Steve arrived, having literally torn the Hulkbuster apart with his bare hands. He had reverted to human form, following the trail of destruction.

"You finally made it," Tony said without looking up. "You’re late."

"Where is he?" Steve asked, his voice trembling.

Tony tilted his head toward the base of the tree.

Steve turned. He saw Bucky. He saw the missing arm, the pulverized face, and the horrific wound in the neck. The world went silent. His brain buzzed with a deafening static. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t remember his own name.

Steve stood there like a statue. Time had lost all meaning.

Finally, Tony stood up, his tone cold and impatient. "Don’t look at me like that. I know he was your friend."

Steve turned his head slowly. His eyes were glowing a faint, dangerous red.

Tony didn’t flinch. He spread his arms. "If you want a round two, I’m game. But I’d suggest you run. Between the forest fire and the dead guards at the White House, the military is going to be here in ten minutes. Unless you want to kill them too."

Steve didn’t move. His fists remained clenched, his teeth bared like a cornered animal. His heart was being hammered by two opposing forces—his love for the brother he just lost, and his respect for the friend who just became a murderer.

He thought of the nights spent drinking and talking with Tony. He thought of the trust he had placed in the man. And he realized that Tony had just used the most brutal way possible to tear his heart out.

Is this world even worth saving? Steve wondered.

He didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. He turned around, picked up Bucky’s severed metal arm, and gathered the broken body of his best friend into his arms.

Without a single glance back at Tony, Steve Rogers walked into the darkness of the forest.

Tony watched him go. The high of revenge was beginning to fade, replaced by a sudden, chilling emptiness. He realized there was a hole in his chest that no amount of blood could ever fill.

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