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Chapter 60 - Chapter 60: I am Iron Man

The coastal factory building blazed with harsh fluorescent lights against the night sky of Velkairos, its windows glowing like malevolent eyes. Inside, raucous laughter echoed off the concrete walls. The laughter was punctuated by the constant clink of beer bottles and streams of profanity that would make a sailor blush.

"Boss, we really struck gold this time," said a wiry man with sharp, rodent-like features, practically groveling as he addressed the figure lounging on the makeshift throne in the center of the room. His voice dripped with the kind of sycophantic tone that made the skin crawl.

The man they called "Boss" took a long swig from his bottle. The amber liquid caught the light as he swallowed. "Credit where it's due. Couldn't have done it without my boys." His words carried the false camaraderie of a predator acknowledging his pack. As he spoke, his meaty fingers tangled in the white hair of the young woman cowering beside him.

Tears carved silent tracks down her pale cheeks, but she didn't dare pull away. She had witnessed too much these past few days. She had seen other women, trapped by the same desperate circumstances, dragged away to fates worse than death after these monsters had their fun. The memory of their screams still echoed in her nightmares.

Tonight, it was her turn.

Terror locked her muscles in place, but beneath the fear burned a deeper desperation. Her one-year-old son was dying, and the money from this hellish bargain was his only chance at life. She had no education, no skills, and no family support. The child's father had vanished the moment he learned about the pregnancy. All she had left to sell was her youth, her body, and her dignity.

The gangsters' hungry stares crawled over her like insects, and she instinctively tried to shrink into herself, to become invisible.

"Why the hell are you hiding from me?" The boss exploded with sudden violence, his hand shooting out and his thick fingers clamping around her throat like a vise. He slammed her face-first onto the grimy table, scattering bottles and sending liquid splashing across warped wood.

"Easy there, boss! Save some energy for the real fun!" The rat-faced man's laughter sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

The woman's vision began to blur as oxygen became a luxury she couldn't afford. Her consciousness started to slip away like sand through fingers, darkness creeping in from the edges of her vision. Just as the world threatened to fade completely, the factory's main door exploded inward with a thunderous crash.

"What the fuck? Who's there?" The boss released his grip and spun toward the entrance, his hand automatically reaching for the pistol tucked in his waistband.

A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, clad in silver armor that absorbed and reflected the harsh factory lights. The suit was sleek and technological, and it was intimidating in a way that spoke of power beyond their understanding.

"Disgusting." The voice that emerged from the armored figure was calm and almost conversational but carried an undercurrent of revulsion that made the temperature in the room seem to drop several degrees. "You're even more repulsive than the reports suggested."

Azrael had always known that this version of the Ming Empire couldn't possibly match the peaceful façade of his previous world's history. But seeing this level of depravity firsthand and witnessing the rot festering in society's hidden corners still made his stomach turn. The intelligence reports had been clinical and factual; they hadn't captured the sheer malevolence radiating from these predators.

The man before him was Daniel, his primary target: He was a human trafficker who had built an empire of misery on the backs of the desperate and forgotten.

Daniel's eyes narrowed as he studied the armored intruder; his street-smart instincts kicked in, despite the alcohol. "You're a Lore Cardian, aren't you? What business do you have with me?" His tone attempted intimidation, but it couldn't quite hide the uncertainty creeping in.

"I need to borrow something from you," Azrael replied, his voice carrying the weight of absolute certainty.

Daniel felt a chill run down his spine. Some primal part of his brain recognized the aura of death surrounding this silver-clad stranger. "Look, just tell me what you want," he said, forcing false bravado into his voice. "If I've got it, it's yours. No need for any unpleasantness."

Azrael's helmet tilted slightly, and when he spoke again, there was almost amusement in his tone. "I want to borrow your head. Just for a little while."

The words had barely left his lips when a figure materialized in the center of the factory floor as if stepping out of thin air. The newcomer had green hair and held three katanas: one in each hand and a third gripped between his teeth, an impossible display of martial skill. The newcomer's presence radiated an aura of deadly competence that made even hardened criminals step back instinctively.

The timing was perfect. Azrael's newly crafted Zoro and Mark 3 cards were completely unknown, ideal for concealing his true identity during this operation.

Daniel's face cycled through confusion, then understanding, then raw fury. "You arrogant piece of shit!" he snarled. In response, crimson light exploded around him as his own card activated.

A seven-foot-tall demon materialized, brimming with muscle and malevolence, and wielding a wickedly barbed steel fork. Its eyes burned like coals in the dim factory light, and the temperature spiked as flames licked around its form.

"Zoro," Azrael said calmly and matter-of-factly. "End this quickly."

The swordsman shifted his stance, his muscles coiling like loaded springs as he prepared for combat. However, Daniel's reaction was unexpected. He burst into derisive laughter that echoed off the factory walls.

"What kind of joke is this?" he wheezed between guffaws. "A swordsman with a blade in his mouth? Are you here to entertain me before you die?"

His laughter cut off abruptly as Zoro's eyes went cold, and the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees in an instant.

"Ghost Qi: Nine Swords Style, Asura!"

The air in the factory thickened and writhed as an overwhelming presence erupted from Zoro. For a split second, Daniel swore he saw an impossible figure: a ghost with multiple arms and burning eyes standing behind the swordsman. The ghost radiated a malevolent power that made Daniel's knees weak.

"What the hell?" Daniel stumbled backward, cold sweat beading on his forehead as his survival instincts screamed warnings. But the vision vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the demon's roar as it launched a torrent of flames toward Zoro.

The remaining gangsters weren't idle. Those with cards summoned them in a panic while the others scrambled for weapons or cover. However, Azrael's Mark 3 armor came alive with mechanical precision. Shoulder-mounted cannons emerged and tracked targets with inhuman accuracy. Electromagnetic rounds tore through black iron-level cards like tissue paper, reducing them to dissipating energy in seconds.

The lesser criminals froze in terror, realizing the massive power gap they were facing.

Daniel watched his backup get eliminated and felt his confidence crumble. "It still depends on me," he muttered, but his voice lacked conviction.

Meanwhile, the demon's flames reached Zoro, and the superheated air made his green hair curl at the edges. The inferno was intense enough to melt steel—a killing move designed to incinerate opponents before they could close the distance.

But then Zoro spoke, and his voice cut through the roar of the flames like a blade through silk.

"Ittoryu: Iai, Uta Utashi Sonson!"

Daniel's world went silent. The flames didn't just stop; they parted, cut apart by something moving faster than comprehension. One moment, the demon was unleashing hellfire; the next, Zoro stood behind it, his katanas already sliding back into their sheaths with smooth, practiced motions.

The demon stood motionless for a heartbeat before blood erupted from its wounds. Its form dissolved into motes of light that scattered like dying stars.

"Impossible!" Daniel's voice cracked as the word was torn from his throat in disbelief. His bronze-level card—his ace in the hole, his guarantee of survival—had been cut down in a single exchange. The implications crashed over him like a tsunami of terror.

Either this swordsman was made of materials beyond his comprehension, or the man in silver armor was a silver-level Lore Cardian. Either way, it spelled his doom.

"Wait, wait!" Desperation made his voice shrill as he raised both hands in surrender. "If you let me walk away, I'll give you everything: my whole operation, all my assets, every penny I've got!" His eyes darted to the trembling woman. "She wanted this! She came to me willingly, I swear!"

The response was swift and merciless—a flash of steel that moved too fast to follow.

"The fact that she was willing is exactly what makes you disgusting," Azrael said quietly as Daniel's head separated from his shoulders. The crime boss's expression of shock was frozen in death.

"Don't move!" A new, high-pitched voice filled with terror made Azrael turn. One of the surviving gangsters had grabbed the woman and pressed a switchblade to her throat with shaking hands. "I'll kill her! I swear I'll do it!"

Azrael's response was measured, almost bored. A six-barreled minigun deployed from his shoulder mount with mechanical precision; the whir of spinning barrels filled the sudden silence.

The gangster had time to widen his eyes before high-velocity rounds punched through his skull and painted the wall behind him with gore.

"He should have just accepted death quietly," Azrael observed. Then, he turned his attention to the remaining criminals cowering throughout the factory. "Time to clean house."

The roar of the minigun filled the space as Azrael systematically eliminated every remaining threat. He felt no guilt or hesitation; the intelligence he'd gathered and the conversations he'd overheard confirmed that these weren't misguided criminals or desperate people making poor choices. They were predators who had chosen to build their lives on the suffering of others.

Eliminating them was a public service, and leaving no witnesses was simply good operational security.

When the gunfire finally stopped, the factory had become a charnel house. Bodies lay scattered across the blood-slicked concrete, and the acrid smell of gunpowder mingled with the metallic scent of spilled blood.

Azrael took a moment to center himself. This was his first time taking so many lives in such a short span, but his recent experiences had hardened him to violence. The work had to be done.

Now came the part he'd been looking forward to: looting the aftermath. Unfortunately, his hopes for easy wealth were quickly dashed. These criminals were surprisingly poor, carrying little cash and no valuable resources. In hindsight, it made sense. Who brings significant assets to an impromptu criminal gathering?

Azrael sighed inwardly. Unlike the protagonists in the web novels he'd read who got rich through post-battle looting, that wasn't working out for him in this world.

The woman was the only other living person in the factory. She desperately covered her mouth with both hands, trying to stifle the sound of her breathing. She pressed herself against the wall, trying to become invisible. She was terrified that any movement might draw the attention of the armored killer.

Azrael noticed her fear and shook his head. He could eliminate this potential witness to ensure complete operational security, but something in him rebelled against the idea. She was a victim, not a perpetrator.

He had the Invisible Breath Pearl to conceal his presence, and his Mark 3 armor had protected his identity throughout the operation. The risk should be manageable.

As he turned toward the factory exit, preparing to vanish into the night, a small voice stopped him.

"Sir, could you tell me your name?"

Azrael paused in the doorway, his silver armor gleaming under the harsh lights. Without turning around, he responded to the darkness ahead.

"I am Iron Man."

With that, he disappeared into the night of Velkairos city, leaving only questions and the promise that, in a world full of darkness, justice still had teeth.

...

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