Iron Man Bleeding Edge Armor Novels & Stories

It was the heavy, intoxicating scent of pine and winter, but it was heavily laced with the metallic, iron stench of fresh blood. A massive, towering shadow loomed over the edge of the bed. Dominic had returned. He didn't light a candle; he didn't need to. His molten amber eyes glowed like twin coals in the pitch-black room, pinning her sleeping form to the mattress. His leather armor was splattered with crimson, his large hands stained with the blood of the rebels he had slaughtered at the border. He was a vision of pure, unadulterated death.

I’d always thought of him as the Captain America of these Avengers, but he obviously saw himself more as Iron Man. On his head he had a helmet. Not like a hat or down to his ears and neck, I mean covering everything. Other than a slit across his eyes, nothing was exposed. He drew his sword out of its scabbard. An arrow hit him on the chest and bounced off. Another hit him on the side of the head, and splintered into pieces. The helmet didn’t even have a scratch on it. “He can keep trying, but it won’t make a difference. First I’m going to kill you, then him.”

I charged in a brutal, unrefined rush, driven by the raw force of a predator defending its lair. The Apostle swept the space with its scythe of light. The silver energy edge sought my neck with speed that would have decapitated any common Alpha. I did not attempt to dodge. I raised my left forearm, armored with the core stone, and took the impact full force. The divine metal clashed against my obsidian‑hardened flesh with the din of a shattering bell. The blade carved a bleeding furrow but did not sever the bone; the earth’s density halted the celestial weapon dead.

"We have something for you. Something to make sure everyone knows exactly who they're dealing with." They set the cases down on the table. Silas clicked the latches and swung the lid open. My breath hitched. Resting in the foam was a suit of armor unlike anything I’d ever seen. It wasn't the dull silver of the guard or the black of the scouts. It was a deep, bruised crimson—the color of drying blood, polished to a mirror sheen. "It’s dark red," I whispered, reaching out to touch the cold metal of the breastplate.

"You want to know what I saw? If they hadn't shown up, your men would've dragged me away. Cora, I hope this is the last time you try to force me to do anything. If you ever do it again, don't regret it if I start using force against you." He walked out to his car parked in the compound, retrieved his pouch of silver needles, and returned. Ignoring everyone's stares, he crouched beside one of the bodyguards and inserted several needles into his neck. Moments later, the man's groans ceased as he slipped into unconsciousness. Cora rushed forward to stop Joseph. "What are you doing?" Joseph shoved her aside, sending her stumbling backward. He stared down at the bodyguards. "For the next two year

A great amount of it spilled out of the gash in her armor as well. Rezhathii’s armor was covered in little cuts and nicks, some of which trickled blood. Save for the one large gash, which poured it out instead. Her heart thundered in her chest as the fringes of her vision began to muddy.

The man exclaimed in surprise and tried to evade but it was too late as the deadly mouth of the beast clam shut. “Arrgggghhh!” The man in the silver armor screamed loudly, the fang cut deep into the man's flesh that didn’t have armor to protect, but the fang can’t tear through the armor that the man is wearing. Instead, it grazes at the armor heavily until the fire sparks out of it.

Peirce blinked turning to Jamal’s pregnant wife. “But…” He slowly stood up, staggered a little before gaining his ground then his teeth clenched, his fist tightly balled as rain dropped on him one after the other before it lightly showered while staring at Jamal. Suddenly many Inhumanes mounting their Kirin landed around them one after the other in their various vibrant armors imitating their glowing skin, out from the well crafted holes and markings on it.

The surrogate mask is heavy, but it's the only armor I have left. My fingers graze the back of my neck—the thin, raised line of scar tissue across my throat, and just above it, tucked into the coil of my hair, the Phantom Blade. A titanium needle, no thicker than a wire, its tip ground to a point that could part skin before a man could register the cold. As long as it's there, I am not a victim. I am a weapon with the safety still on. "Ms. Moore? This way."

Still, he firmly believed that I had to be alive, and he was going to find me no matter what. Suddenly, a stray bullet whizzed right past him, grazing his arm. Vernon felt a sudden sharp pain in his arm as blood began seeping out of his skin and into his clothes. Yet, he never stopped. He just gritted his teeth and continued moving forward. After what felt like an eternity, he suddenly thought he heard someone calling my name. He immediately looked up and saw that I was safe and sound and still in one piece while giving out orders to the medical personnel there.