Stark could barely lift his head. His exoskeleton armor was wrecked—systems fried, mobility compromised—but his eyes still locked on the figure standing before him.
Black Devil... How the hell is he here?
Could it be... the old man from before had been Gene in disguise?
Killian was just as stunned. He stared at the advancing figure in pitch-black armor, expression caught between confusion and disbelief.
He was riding high—drunk on the euphoria of his so-called perfect evolution. And now? Another armored fool thought they could stop him?
His battle with Stark had filled him with confidence. In his eyes, this new guy was just another snack—another toy to tear open.
Killian roared, body arching like a crimson torpedo, and shot forward—fist blazing with molten fury.
When Killian saw Gene raise an arm to block, a sneer tugged at his lips.
What a joke. Didn't you see how I just wrecked Stark?
Gene caught Killian's punch with one hand. Just held it there like it was nothing.
The heat, the force—none of it seemed to matter. Gene's armored palm crushed Killian's fist with mechanical precision.
The sound was sickening. Killian's eyes went wide.
He didn't hesitate—his left arm morphed into a blazing sword, and he slashed his own right hand off, escaping Gene's grasp. The severed hand hit the ground and melted through it.
Killian stared at the dark armor now, face far more serious.
But even as he watched, a new hand was already forming—grown from bubbling red magma under the desperate virus's influence.
"Damage to armor: 0.1%," reported Gene's neural network calmly.
This was Gene's first real combat test in the field, and he was curious—just how much power did this armor hold?
Of course, this was still the pre-Infinity Stone version.
Killian wasn't backing down. His expression turned grim, but his fists kept flying. He advanced with brutal speed, fists slicing the air and leaving fiery trails behind.
Each punch cracked the air with shockwaves. Fiery afterimages carved streaks across the sky.
His feet were like anchors, rooted to the ground. Killian's whirlwind of attacks crashed into him—and did nothing.
If Gene hadn't been using this as a field test for his suit, he would've ended this in a single blow.
But Killian was too far gone. He refused to believe it. He had become the perfect being! How could he lose to a "steel coffin" ?
He screamed. The flames on his body surged. His entire form lit up like a dragon of fire.
He flew past Gene with explosive speed, air trembling in his wake.
The temperature around them skyrocketed.
Even from a distance, Stark could feel the suffocating heat. His suit's cooling system struggled to keep up. His mouth was dry, his vision blurring.
But he couldn't look away.
What kind of tech is this… that can stand unfazed in five thousand degrees?
And still—Gene stood firm.
Every one of Killian's attacks was parried, absorbed, or ignored. Gene moved like a ghost, a wall, a machine god.
The fight stretched on—nine hundred rounds of brutal strikes.
Finally, Killian spotted what he thought was an opening.
He launched into the air, twisting his body. All his remaining strength poured into one final whip kick, scorching the air with heat and speed.
Direct hit—right to the side of Gene's head.
Gene's head tilted slightly.
Killian's expression collapsed. From arrogance to confusion to pure disbelief.
He had thrown his whole soul into that kick—and it had done nothing.
Nothing but make the guy tilt his head.
It was as if he'd just bitten into a year-old piece of rotten meat.
Then Gene slowly turned his head back.
"My turn," he said coldly.
The palm cannon ignited. A blast of brilliant azure energy surged out—two beams slamming into Killian's chest like twin freight trains.
Killian flew backward, slammed into the ground with enough force to leave a crater.
"Holy sh*t. That's just… that's cheating," Stark muttered, half-laughing in disbelief.
Half of Killian's face was gone. A giant hole gaped in his chest.
By any normal standard, he should've been long, long dead.
But Gene's neural network chimed in again:
"Life signs detected — still strong."
Gene narrowed his eyes.
This guy's like a cockroach.
From the crater, Killian rose again.
Red lava-like fluid surged across his body, slowly repairing his injuries.
"You can't kill me!" Killian howled, proud of his invincibility.
"Oh?" Gene tilted his head. A strange magic sigil formed in his palm.
Five golden chains burst from the void—wrapping around Killian's limbs and neck, yanking him into the air like a human marionette.
He hung suspended in the shape of a giant "X", struggling violently.
"Old Mo," Gene said, amusement in his voice, "looks like I need your help again."
A hole tore open in the air—swirling with infernal energy. A wave of icy hellfire surged out, burning with the power to reduce worlds to ash.
Within the flames, a furious voice echoed:
"You dare—damn Earth sorcerer—!"
The rift snapped shut. Mephisto's voice cut off mid-rant.
"Wait, what the hell was that?!" Stark gasped.
Before he could say another word, Gene vanished—disappearing into a streak of golden light.
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