Vampires. That must be Blade the Daywalker.
Such Deaths were typical: combustion to ash. In Marvel only Blade hunts Vampires. Yet compared to Alucard's 'River of Death' ability, Marvel Vampires were weak, vulnerable to sunlight.
Unremarkable and useless.
Artoria dismissed them. If Ghost Rider or the Lord of Hell appeared, she might be interested, but these Vampires were not worth her time.
Forget them. Track Jarvis and find Tony.
Yes, master.
With Morgan gone, one headache was off her plate; now she could focus on her brother. He'd been missing nearly a week—who knew what trouble he'd stirred up? This world was chaos, and she prayed her butterfly effect hadn't deleted Iron Man.
"Hey, old-timer, how should you show up and set the place on fire?"
"Kid, your elder will always be your elder—feel it with your heart."
The man Artoria was grumbling about was right then in the club, swaggering through a DJ battle with an old geezer. Light makeup tinted his face; look closely and you'd spot the famous playboy forcing the DJ to spin. But the late-night crowd didn't care. Tony had disguised himself, and under the blinding lights nobody noticed the billionaire on stage.
"Old man, how old are you? You're keeping up with a guy who grew up on the dance floor. I'm in awe of your stamina—got a secret health recipe? Share it."
After the set Tony was gasping, while the old man wasn't even winded. Tony sighed—his body really was slipping; he couldn't even match the old guy's vigor. Time to take better care of himself. He used to brag about seven times a night; now he ran out of steam.
"Hah, kid, you're still green. Treat your body right and you'll be strong like me."
The old-tote perched the chubby orange cat Gu-gu on his shoulder, a smile flickering behind his glasses. He threw an arm around Tony like an old pal, cracked open an ice-cold beer, and delivered the words with senior swagger, then drained the bottle in one go—spurring Tony on.
"I never bow to anyone, old man. If you can drink me under the table tonight, I'll hand you a few million bucks—deal?"
Fresh off that DJ loss, pride-stung Tony ordered crates of beer for a Death-match drinking contest to reclaim his honor.
"You just talked about taking care of yourself and now you're courting Death—troublesome kid."
Unruffled, the old man stroked the kitten on his shoulder. The cat glared at Tony, ready to swipe, but settled down under a gentle pat, though its round eyes stayed fixed on him.
"Uh, sorry—no offense meant."
"Relax, I know you meant no harm. You just act first and think later. Judging by that, you're not married yet, are you?"
"...Right. I've got a beautiful, caring girlfriend and a smart, gorgeous sister—pretty much a happy family. Just haven't tied the knot."
Realizing his tone had been off, Tony apologized. The old man forgave him and they drifted into small talk. Tony, still incognito, kept it vague. Strangely, no one bothered their corner; the two just kept chatting.
"I've always felt like a failure as a big brother. I don't really know my sister. I want to understand her, but I can't, and I watch her grow stronger while I fall further behind. I've shirked what family owes her."
Beer after beer loosened Tony's tongue. He poured out the bitterness he normally would never voice, as if the old man were the confidant he'd always needed.
"You carry too much responsibility. How old is your sister?"
"She's in her twenties."
"She's not a child anymore. Taking everything on yourself is hurting her—'I'm doing this for your own good' damage. Time to let go. Girls are free birds; the sky is where they belong. Hold too tight and you'll break the wings they need to soar. Let go when it's time."
"..."
"I'd say you came here with your own reasons. Dodging family and familiar faces is your way of letting yourself breathe."
"Tony Stank, time to shoulder your duties and go back to the people who care about you."
The mangled name exploded in Tony's ears. His eyes widened as he stared at the old man beside him. How did he know? The surname was wrong, but the first name was spot-on. Whoever this geezer was, he sensed no threat.
"You know who I am? Why haven't we met? Who exactly are you?"
Curiosity clawed at Tony; the old man was a walking riddle.
"Don't you remember? I spun tunes at your birthday bash once.
Stan Lee."
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