Big Head looked utterly innocent, at least his expression suggested as much. Hong Fei shook his head and addressed the man standing before him.
"Stand up and speak!"
The man hesitated, then slowly rose to his feet, though he seemed ready to bury his head in his chest again. Hong Fei ignored the man's discomfort and got straight to the point.
"What's your name?"
"Trevor. Trevor Slattery."
"An actor?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Do you know what 'The Mandarin' means?"
Trevor's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Hong Fei's face, searching for any hint of emotion. But all he saw was calm indifference. After a moment of internal deliberation, he ventured cautiously, "I know a little, but that's only what he told me. Sir, I'm just an actor."
He gestured toward Killian, who lay motionless on the ground.
Hong Fei didn't spare Killian a glance.
"Hand over everything—text, audio, photos, videos. Big Head, you're responsible for collecting it all."
"Got it, boss. Anything else?"
"Simple. Film a video of him. Let the world see what kind of man this so-called Mandarin really is."
"Understood!" Big Head replied promptly.
Hong Fei turned his attention back to the matter at hand.
"Where are we with it now?"
Big Head stepped forward and handed him a tablet.
On the screen, Tony Stark stood before a crowd of reporters, his face a mask of barely contained fury.
"I have a little holiday greeting for him; I just came up with the wording."
He paused, his voice sharp and cutting. "I am Tony Stark. I'm not afraid of you because you're nothing but a coward. Now I'm ready, so wait to die. I'll kill you with my own hands!"
"This isn't about politics. This is personal. It's revenge. It has nothing to do with the Department of Defense—this is between you and me."
He leaned closer to the camera, his tone icy. "Let's have a fair fight. Here's my home address: 10880 Malibu. I'll leave the doors open for you."
Big Head chimed in, "This is yesterday's news footage. The night before last, Killian's men ran into Tony Stark's bodyguard during one of their operations. There was a clash, and a violent explosion at the Grand Theater killed a lot of people. Stark's bodyguard was seriously injured. That's why he's declared war publicly."
As he spoke, Big Head swiped the screen, bringing up a live broadcast.
The camera focused on Tony Stark's secluded villa in Los Angeles. Media helicopters circled overhead, their presence a clear indication that everyone was waiting for the next big story to break.
"Boss, Killian planned to retaliate against Stark today."
Hong Fei gave a slight nod.
"Go ahead and film the actor's video, then release it. And make sure the things I asked for are delivered first."
"Got it."
Two hours later, Big Head finished filming the video and broadcast it directly on television. The screen showed the once-terrifying terrorist leader, "The Mandarin," now kneeling in the center of the frame. Gone was his arrogance, replaced by panic and fear. A voiceover began.
"Honestly, I don't like appearing this way, even if it's just my voice. But I have to do this because someone insulted my team."
The screen shifted, displaying footage of the terrorist attacks carried out by the fake Mandarin.
"Do you know what kind of people do this? Those who hide behind justice or truth, rallying brainwashed fools to carry out indiscriminate attacks for their own interests."
"Don't get me wrong—this isn't about your country's politicians, though it might sound like it."
The screen returned to Trevor, kneeling and trembling.
"Take a good look at this man."
"You're all terrified of this man, but do you know who he really is? Has anyone bothered to check his background?"
As Trevor's dossier appeared in the screen corner, the details scrolled slowly for every viewer to see.
"Turns out he's just an actor. A washed-up one at that. Oh, and a former drug addict too."
"Started with weed, graduated to harder stuff. Sound familiar? I'm sure some of you can relate." The voice continued mockingly.
"For those obsessed with bloodlines, he's got British, East Indian and South African ancestry. Fun fact — he's actually from Liverpool. Feeling less scared now?"
"Don't celebrate yet. Yes, he's an actor, but he's not working alone. Those terrorist attacks didn't plan themselves."
The tone shifted to something more serious.
"By now you've probably realized this video exists to set the record straight."
"There is no Mandarin in this world. He's your collective nightmare. You invented him because deep down, you know what you're capable of. You're terrified others might do unto you what you've done unto them. Isn't that right, India?"
"But the Ten Rings? We're very real. I am the Ten Rings."
The declaration carried weight.
"We don't need some white guy pretending to be us. What we choose to do, we'll do ourselves. What we don't? Nobody gets to act in our name."
"Here's a free tip — the real attacker is one of your own. A white American currently on US soil. Consider this a courtesy notice — stop reporting about the Ten Rings and this fictional Mandarin."
"I know your game. You spin lies about others to hide your own ugly truths."
The voice hardened.
"Try that with us, and I'll personally give you an education you won't forget."
A sharp ding signaled the screen cutting to the Ten Rings emblem for three precise seconds before normal transmission resumed.
In the studio, the host gaped like a fish out of water.
Big Head scratched his scalp. "Boss, they won't admit the truth that fast."
"Obviously. That's why we made preparations."
The analysis came rapid-fire: "First, they'll never admit mistaking a D-list actor for a terrorist mastermind. Second, they can't stomach their intelligence failure — though to be fair, who'd connect Liverpool's finest to international terrorism? Third, the hardest pill — their own citizens attacked US bases. Finally, they can't even tell if this video's real, so they'll stall."
Master Hong saw the opportunity clearly. Time for a lesson titled "Fake News Has Consequences."
But first, there was a certain loudmouth Avenger to deal with.
......
That evening, Hong Fei headed for Los Angeles.
Driving along the coastline, an old tune popped into his head. He synced his phone to the car speakers. As the opening notes of "Theme from San Andreas" blasted through the cabin, he couldn't help grinning. Shame he hadn't played more GTA back in the day.
At the safehouse, Big Head's packages waited — two black rectangular cases. The larger one stood two meters long and half a meter tall. Hong Fei popped open the smaller case first. Inside lay a long-handled warhammer, its polished steel gleaming under the lights.
The hammer's bronze handle and head gleamed with intricate European designs, its massive surface adorned with angelic carvings on both sides that radiated an almost sacred aura. When the large crate opened, it revealed a set of gleaming silver plate armor—Tony Stark's newest opponent, courtesy of Hong Fei.
A true warrior never wastes an opportunity to grow. Even the smallest advantage matters—after all, every scrap counts. After acquiring Loki's "Phantom Illusion" ability, Hong Fei didn't just test its limits. He obsessed over how to wield it best. One solution? A change of identity.
These days, humans had dubbed him "Dragon King," slotting him neatly into their pantheon of so-called superheroes. The title suited him—heroics were convenient when saving the world. But if he kept acting like his usual, unrestrained self... Well. A fresh persona now and then couldn't hurt.
Take Killian, for instance. The man had ambition far beyond his competence, and his methods were downright vile. Those human bombs of his had already made him public enemy number one.
If Hong Fei stepped in now, outright? Unless he framed it as righteous justice, any meddling would tank his reputation. And reputation mattered—it greased the wheels for skills like "Deceive Time and Crowd," "Affable Smile," and "Beguile."
Hence, the occasional alias was non-negotiable. Hah. Master Hong had an image to maintain now.
Back to logistics: how to craft a new identity with "Phantom Illusion"? First, sift through his skill cards and pick the right ones for the role.
Next, plant a clone somewhere public, preferably in broad daylight. Meanwhile, Hong Fei himself would swap costumes and take the stage. This time, he'd chosen "Hammer Mastery" and "Enhanced Physical Resistance."
That's right, the role he played is an ancient profession with a long heritage, common in Western fantasy online games. If there was also a magic to summon holy light, that would be perfect.