Iron Spider Infinity War Suit Novels & Stories

There was only the mist, the terrifying silence, and the ghost of the man who had built my nightmare. "Look at you," CEO Vane said, his voice cutting through the silver quiet without the aid of a comms-unit. He stepped down from the ramp of the black interceptor, his "Void-Suit" shimmering with a fluid, white-gold lattice that looked like it had been spun from the crust of the cracked moon. "Still clutching that broken piece of iron. Still pretending that a scrapper’s blade can cut through the fabric of reality, #3."

The hum of the helicopter’s blades echoed through the valley as we boarded. I wore a tailored, charcoal-grey suit with a silk lavender blouse that matched the hidden glow of my eyes. Around my neck, a high-collared scarf of pure spider-silk protected my secret. Pamela sat across from me, looking lethal in her Silver Pack security uniform, her burgundy wolf humming with anticipation.

Then Isora came out next, and I stopped breathing for a second. She was wearing a black leather hunt suit. The leather clung to her like a second skin, black as midnight, built for war. I had gotten it for her yesterday, after she left my mom. The suit hugged every curve of her body, from her shoulders to her tiny waist to her hips to her thighs. It was made for movement, for fighting, for killing.

After moving the curtains, I cursed at my mate, Zaliver. The room had metal blinds. Like literally, metal blinds that were closed and bolted to the frame so I wouldn’t try to jump out, I guess. It kind of reminded me of Iron Man, but I somehow doubted that the wolf god had time to sit around and watch Tony Stark be a billionaire, playboy—whatever. I tilted my head at the strong shield-like blinds. Were these already here even before I got in?

“Mr. Stark.” He turned around with his swivel chair. And damn, when would I ever get used to seeing his beautiful face without getting thrilled. He wasn’t wearing a suit, but a black leather jacket, a white undershirt, blue jeans, and a pair of tactical boots. He had his hair trimmed to the side, longer on the tip, and brushed up. Was he going somewhere? “Audrey,” he called, his voice smooth and refined, warming up my senses again. My stomach filled with butterflies.

He's not dressed like the others, wearing a tailored suit instead of combat gear. With a chilling smile, he locks eyes with me. "Ah, Alpha, I've been waiting for you." Pyro stands still panting heavily, his fur clothed in blood and human flesh, he growls as his gaze pierces deep into the man. This man knows who I am. How?

Regal rubbed his temples in frustration. " Toys? Who told you these are toys? " Tess furrowed her brows. She looked offended. "E-er it's nothing, carry on haha carry on." Regal was instantly intimated by the authority she emanated. "These are power suits, I got them custom- made and tested by the best. Damn Alfred is good, years of being his apprentice riding go to waste." Tess muttered the last past to herself gingerly as she caressed the weird looking vests. "Call the representatives of the man of war and the shadow assassins. We need to go over the war strategy." Tess ordered with a smile on her face.

Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised since everything in the VR world was surreal. What confused me was that the armor hadn’t been listed in the designs. His armor was very fitting for him. There was a bit of a bad-boy charm, while still retaining his mature disposition. Although he wasn’t wearing a suit, in a sense, his new attire could be considered a suit of a sort. Luka was dressed in all black, with a few silver accents over various parts of his outfit. It consisted of a black trench coat, made of soft leather. The front collar of the coat folded back, with a silver and black design of a wolf on both flaps.

I want to see him see it. The video shows our apartment, the one we're sitting in now, but from two years ago—you can tell because the wall behind the couch is still that terrible beige we painted over last spring. Alexander is standing on the couch cushions in his Spider-Man pajamas, the ones that are too small now, the ones I couldn't bring myself to throw away. He's wearing a cape made from my good bath towel—the navy blue one—safety-pinned at the neck. The pin is crooked. It's always crooked because he insisted on doing it himself.

The power radiating of him is so potent that i fight the urge to gag. My gaze locks with shiny black leather loafers. I trail them upwards, coming into contact with a crisp black three piece suit- definitely Brioni- not failing to notice how the outfit looks custom made to fit that huge expanse of a chest and bulging arms, but it's the face i see that makes me gasp. Jet black hair, the same colour as his whole outfit, sit messily on his head. The sharpness of his jawline, the proud look and those slits for eyes.