Yes—what Iceman had sealed within that massive glacier wasn't Marcus. And it wasn't an empty Iron Man suit either.
It was Wolverine.
Marcus's deception had been perfectly executed.
During those chaotic moments when smoke and fog covered the battlefield, Marcus struck decisively. In a single exchange, he had beaten Wolverine into submission and trapped him inside the Iron Man armor. The tactic wasn't new—it was one he'd borrowed from Tony Stark himself. Years ago, Stark had once imprisoned Aldrich Killian in a suit and detonated it; Marcus merely took the same principle and reshaped it into his own style.
Using his Metallization ability, Marcus molded the armor around Wolverine's half-healed body, while a burst of Bloodflame propelled him outward, simulating the force of an explosion. To anyone watching, it looked as if Marcus had been thrown back, while the "armored Marcus" emerged from the smoke to continue fighting.
It was a flawless illusion built on timing, chaos, and instinct.
Iceman, seeing the figure encased in silver armor, never questioned its identity. Why would he? In the heat of battle, no one stopped to analyze the dimensions of a suit. Marcus had even adjusted the arms and plating to hide Wolverine's claws, making the deception complete.
And thus, Iceman unleashed his full freezing power—his proudest, most absolute ability—against his own comrade.
He had frozen Wolverine alive.
By the time realization struck, it was far too late.
"You—! You—!" Iceman's trembling voice cracked as he pointed at Marcus, rage and guilt twisting his expression. But no words came. His mind was blank.
Marcus didn't bother answering. He simply raised his adamantium katana and lunged.
Iceman reacted instinctively, his body liquefying in a shimmer of frost and vanishing beneath the thin layer of water on the ground.
But Marcus already understood his power—and its fatal weakness.
Yes, Iceman could merge with water molecules, using them to phase in and out of locations. But that didn't grant him control over the water itself. Once submerged, he was no longer a fighter—he was a passenger. A helpless current waiting to be boiled.
"Let's end this," Marcus muttered coldly.
He reversed his grip on his blade—and slashed open his wrist.
Blood poured out in thick, forceful streams, propelled by his metallic circulatory control. The crimson fluid sprayed across the ground, merging with the shallow puddles and spreading rapidly in all directions. Within seconds, the battlefield's reflective surface turned into a dark, glimmering sea of blood.
The diffusion was immediate. Every drop of water—every molecule—was tainted red.
"What's he doing?" Iceman whispered from beneath the surface, frowning as he sensed the change. "Does he think bleeding into the water will stop me?"
He scoffed inwardly. He's only making it easier for me.
Iceman had already confirmed that Marcus couldn't summon enough heat to vaporize all the water at once. His plan had been simple—stay submerged, strike from below, and exhaust Marcus until he burned himself out. The man's suicidal act of bleeding out made no sense.
What he didn't realize was that Marcus wasn't trying to destroy the water.
He was arming it.
From beneath the crimson surface, Iceman sensed the faint tremor of energy—something spreading, something awakening.
Then he saw it.
A spark.
A tiny ember of Bloodflame flickered to life between Marcus's fingers. It was no larger than a candle flame, quiet and deceptively calm.
Marcus whispered, "Burn."
He tossed it into the bloodstained water.
Fwooom!
The instant the spark touched the surface, the entire lake ignited. The reaction was instantaneous and total—flames roared outward in every direction, devouring the battlefield in a storm of scarlet fire. What had been a pool of water moments ago was now a crimson inferno, boiling, seething, screaming.
The Bloodflame surged across the entire flooded plain, painting the world in red.
Everywhere Iceman had merged, every molecule he occupied—was burning.
The pain hit him all at once.
"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!"
He erupted from the flaming water, his crystalline body melting and cracking, steam hissing from every joint. He tried to reform his icy shell, to smother the fire with sheer cold—but it was useless.
Because the ice that made up his body had formed from Marcus's blood-contaminated water.
Every flake, every shard, every molecule was laced with the essence of Bloodflame.
The moment it met air, it ignited.
Now, Iceman himself had become a walking pyre—a massive, living torch of frozen fire.
"AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" he screamed, stumbling forward as his body collapsed in melting chunks. His movements were sluggish, desperate, pitiful. With his last strength, he shaped one arm into a half-melted ice blade and lunged toward Marcus, striking feebly.
Marcus caught it effortlessly with his sword, stopping the attack cold.
He didn't bother countering. There was no need.
From the moment his blood had entered Iceman's body, the battle was over.
Unlike beings like Sandman, whose elemental transformation was complete, Iceman remained—at his core—a mutant, a human who merely became ice. And that meant once he lost consciousness, he would revert to flesh.
As the Bloodflame devoured the last traces of his icy form, Iceman's scream finally faltered. His body melted, then re-solidified—flesh, bone, and blood returning for one final moment.
He collapsed to his knees before Marcus, his human form restored—charred, burned, trembling—before slumping lifelessly onto the scorched ground.
The crimson fire flickered across the puddles, then slowly died down, leaving only steam, silence, and the faint scent of iron.
Marcus lowered his sword, his expression unreadable.
Another mutant down. Another obstacle reduced to ash.
And around him, the battlefield glowed with the reflection of dying Bloodflame—
like the beating heart of hell itself.
_____
T/N:
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