The sniper round cracked through the night.
Bent subtly off its original path, the bullet arced and struck the bald leader cleanly through the temple. He collapsed without a sound.
For half a second, the camp froze.
Then panic detonated.
Shouts. Wild gunfire. Men scrambling for cover. A few veterans tried to trace the shot by instinct, unloading suppressive fire toward the ridge they thought the shooter had used. Someone dragged out a rocket launcher and fired blind into the darkness.
None of it came close.
Rowan Mercer had already accounted for this reaction. The curved trajectory ensured every guess they made was wrong. From their perspective, the bullets were coming from everywhere.
He fired again.
And again.
Rounds curved in impossible lines, slipping past cover, striking throats, skulls, spines. Concrete barriers and scrap metal meant nothing. Every counterattack was erased before it finished forming.
Within minutes, the survivors broke and retreated into the cave.
To them, this wasn't a lone attacker. It had to be a unit. No single shooter could hit from every angle at once.
"That's enough," Rowan murmured.
He slung the rifle away, descended to the cave entrance, and raised a hand.
A dense curtain of smoke surged inward, swallowing the tunnel in seconds.
He drew his pistol and walked in.
Based on the chaos outside, fewer than ten inside would still be capable of fighting.
The pistol barked.
Each shot curved cleanly through the smoke, guided not by sight but by sensation. Fear gave people away. Sharp, animal panic was easy to track. He didn't need faces. He didn't need eyes.
Bodies hit the ground one by one.
The smoke blinded everyone, including him. The difference was that Rowan didn't rely on vision alone.
He moved steadily, methodically.
At his current level of capability, an ambush like this could wipe out a small military installation without injury. That advantage vanished the moment the situation reversed. A single missile would still end him.
That was why he stayed invisible. Why he erased trails. Why he never underestimated modern weapons, no matter what else he could do.
Power didn't make you immortal. It just gave you more ways to die if you got careless.
When the smoke thinned, Rowan stepped past the last fallen gunman and paused in front of the unconscious men sprawled on the floor, victims of earlier venomous bites.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
He pulled the trigger.
Pity was a luxury that got people killed.
At the deepest point of the cave, two guards stood watch before a reinforced steel door. They didn't get a warning.
The lock yielded to a quick spell, metal clicking open like it had been waiting.
Inside, a man with a makeshift mechanical arm snapped it up, aiming directly at Rowan.
"No need for that," Rowan said, holstering his pistol with an easy smile. "You're safe now. Everyone outside is gone."
Tony Stark hesitated, eyes flicking to the bodies slumped by the door. Slowly, he lowered the arm.
"I heard gunfire," Tony said. "Didn't know if it was help or a cleanup crew."
"Fair assumption."
"Did Rhodey send you?"
"I don't know a Rhodey," Rowan replied. "Let's talk after we're not standing in a death cave."
Tony exchanged a look with Dr. Farid. They gathered their things, grabbing rifles from the fallen guards as they passed. It turned out unnecessary. Beyond the door, there was nothing left alive.
Outside, Tony stared at the leader's corpse, the shattered skull unmistakable.
"You did all this," he said. "Alone."
It didn't make sense. One man, walking through a fortified camp, untouched.
Then Rowan raised his hand again.
Crates of Stark-manufactured shells and missiles stacked near the entrance lifted into the air, one by one, aligning neatly before floating back into the cave.
Tony went still.
"What are you?" he asked. "A magician?"
Rowan considered that, amused. "Rowan Mercer works. But magician isn't wrong. Might even be marketable someday. For now, we should leave."
They drove until the valley shrank behind them, until distance finally dulled the threat. Rowan triggered the explosives he'd gathered earlier.
The cave vanished in a single, rolling blast. Fire swallowed metal, stone, bodies, and surveillance equipment alike. Nothing remained to trace.
Out in the desert, Tony leaned back in the passenger seat and studied him.
"Why save me?"
Rowan stopped the jeep.
"Do you want the truth," he asked, "or a lie?"
Tony smiled faintly. "What's the lie?"
"The lie is that you're a once-in-a-generation genius," Rowan said, "and losing you would be a tragedy for humanity. So I risked my life for the greater good."
"That sounds flattering," Tony said, "but yeah. Fake."
"And the truth?"
"Your kidnapping tanked your company's stock," Rowan said plainly. "I saw an opportunity. Saving you lets me profit."
Tony laughed, genuinely this time.
"You're honest," he said. "I respect that."
Rowan didn't answer. He was listening instead, weighing reactions, measuring intent.
Some truths mattered more than others.