Chapter 28 – "The Weight of the Living"
The sky above Florida was bruised — purple clouds dragging themselves across a dying sunset. The air trembled with low thunder, not from storms, but from the hum of energy leaking from the ground below. The ruins still smoked behind Silva as he moved toward the edge of the city, each step echoing like a countdown.
The suit hissed as it recharged. Sparks glowed faintly along the gauntlets. He kept his hand clenched, feeling the Iron Fist's light burning inside him — a reminder of the power that both saved and cursed him.
The dead remember you, the whisper in his head said.
But the living will never forgive you.
He ignored it and pressed on.
Ahead, the old industrial yard loomed — skeletal cranes, rusted rails, and half-buried containers. It was silent except for the wind… until he heard something breathing inside the metal. Slow. Heavy. Familiar.
He stopped.
"Jared," he said softly.
A laugh answered him — deep, sharp, inhuman.
From the shadows, Jared stepped out. He was no longer the friend Silva knew. His body pulsed with red-black light, veins glowing like molten cracks through stone. His eyes were pits of shadow rimmed in scarlet. The air around him bent, distorting like heat waves.
"Silva," Jared said. His voice carried that same broken calm. "Still pretending you're the hero?"
Silva's fists glowed gold. "Still pretending you have control?"
Jared smiled, revealing teeth too sharp for any human mouth. "Control is for the weak. The Serpent showed me what freedom means — you destroy or you kneel."
The ground split between them as the first bolt of energy flashed — Jared moved fast, faster than before, slamming into Silva with a wave of kinetic force. The Iron Suit absorbed most of it, but the impact sent him tumbling across broken rails.
Silva landed hard, spun, and countered with a burst of golden light. The blast cracked the yard's concrete, lighting the cranes in silhouette. Jared shielded his face and laughed through the flare.
"Still using that same light?" Jared taunted. "Don't you know it's feeding me?"
Silva's eyes narrowed. "What?"
Jared raised his hand, and for the first time, Silva saw it — tendrils of dark energy reaching from Jared's chest, feeding off the golden sparks radiating from Silva's gauntlet. Every punch, every strike Silva threw… it was making Jared stronger.
The realization hit him like a blade. His power, his symbol of hope, was now a weapon against him.
Jared saw the fear flicker in Silva's eyes and pressed forward. "You think the Serpent only corrupts flesh? It corrupts purpose. Every hero who fights long enough becomes what they hate."
Silva gritted his teeth. "I'll never be like you."
Jared's smile widened. "You already are."
The ground shook again. Jared lunged — two dark blades formed from his wrists, clashing against Silva's glowing fists. Sparks burst like shattered stars. Their battle tore through the yard, bending steel and shaking the earth. Silva tried to control his breathing, each motion sharper, more desperate. He remembered Mr. Chennai's voice: "Balance your will, not your strength."
He pushed the thought forward, channelling his energy inward. Instead of attacking, he let the light sink deep into the Iron Suit's core, dimming its glow until only his heart pulsed. The darkness around Jared faltered.
"Running out of light?" Jared hissed.
"No," Silva whispered. "Learning how to use it."
He exploded forward — a silent strike, not with light, but pure force. His fist connected with Jared's chest. The impact sent a soundless shockwave through the yard, rippling the air like a bell. Jared staggered back, cracks forming along his skin where the dark veins met.
For a moment, Silva thought he'd done it — but then Jared's body began to knit itself back together, faster than before. His voice deepened, layered with something else — a second, older tone beneath his own.
"He sees you, Iron Fist," Jared said.
"He knows your name now."
The Serpent was speaking through him.
Silva backed away, his chest tightening. "If he knows my name, then he knows I'm coming for him."
Jared tilted his head. "And when you do… you'll find your mother waiting."
The world froze.
The air went silent — even the hum of the power lines died. Silva's heart seemed to stop. His mind raced, trying to reject the words, but Jared's expression told him it wasn't a lie.
"What did you say?" Silva's voice cracked.
Jared grinned, teeth glinting like knives. "You heard me. She made her choice. The Serpent doesn't need soldiers anymore — he needs anchors. And she—"
Before Jared could finish, Silva struck. The Iron Fist flared gold and white, blinding in its fury. The explosion of light consumed both of them, throwing shards of steel and dirt into the air. The yard erupted in fire.
When the dust settled, Silva was on one knee, his gauntlet cracked, the glow flickering weakly. Jared was gone — vanished into the haze, his laughter echoing through the smoke.
"You can't save her, Silva. You can't even save yourself."
The voice faded, leaving only silence.
Silva rose, staggering, clutching his side. His suit's diagnostics blinked red. Every breath came sharp, heavy with rage and disbelief. His mother… no. She couldn't be part of this. She wouldn't.
But the image of her bookshop flashed in his mind — the old clock she never let him touch, the one that always ticked a second too fast. He remembered once asking her why. She'd said: "Some clocks run ahead to keep us moving forward."
Now he wondered if that clock had been more than a family relic — if it had been something the Serpent planted years ago.
The storm broke above, lightning streaking across the bruised sky. Silva looked up, his eyes blazing behind the cracked visor.
He whispered to the wind, "If you touched her, Jared… if you touched her…"
The golden light in his fist reignited — no longer bright, but fierce, focused, deadly. He turned toward the city's heart, where the thunder grew louder. Somewhere in that darkness, the Serpent was waiting.
And somewhere, his mother might be calling for help — or whispering his name for another reason entirely.
Silva clenched his fist, feeling the hum of both light and shadow twist together inside him.
"Then I'll tear down heaven and hell until I find out."
He stepped into the storm, the Iron Fist glowing like a dying star.