Marvel: I am Iron Man

War zone, a base of the Ten Commandments gang.

Amir pushed open the door, and sunlight shone warmly on him through the swirling dust. He walked out of the dormitory and down the corridor, where the jihadists along the way bowed respectfully to him.

Amir is the highest-ranking military commander at this base and also holds a significant position within the Ten Rings.

He walked into the operations center, his sharp eyes sweeping around, and asked, "Where is Hassan? I haven't seen him or his troops today."

A burly, dark-skinned man stepped forward, stood ramrod straight, and saluted. His name was Khalil, the intelligence chief of this base.

"Hassan has gone to the occupied territories and is spreading his teachings," Khalil said. "He hasn't returned yet. But he's been gone quite a while, he should be back soon. If you wish, I can summon Hassan right now..."

"No need."

Amir waved his hand, a chilling smile spreading across his steely face.

"The capture of Hook village was not easy either; Hassan and his troops contributed a lot," Amir said. "It's only right that he enjoys the fruits of victory."

Hassan was one of Amir's top generals. Two days ago, they had just captured the village of Hook and established a camp there.

The so-called propagation of doctrines is just a nice-sounding way of putting it.

Ostensibly, this is the Ten Commandments' propaganda campaign to spread their doctrines and garner public support for their holy war in the occupied territories.

However, as everyone knows, in practice, this often involved soldiers burning, killing, and looting in the occupied territories. They would enslave men as laborers and abduct women for their pleasure. Ransomware raids on every household to seize food and property were commonplace.

Wherever the Ten Commandments swept through, the people suffered terribly, leaving not a single grain of rice behind.

Amir walked to the window. Sunlight shone on his face through the dusty windowpane. He gazed into the distance, his eyes sweeping across the thriving camp and onto the occupied territory he had conquered. He felt a surge of power, his heart pounding with excitement, and a profound sense of satisfaction welled up within him.

Amir always believed he was born extraordinary. He thought he had military skills, talent, and was born to do great things.

But this is just the beginning, a starting point.

Just two days ago, he met an extraordinary businessman in the war zone, an arms dealer. But this man was unlike any other arms dealer the Ten Rings had ever met in the war zone, because what he sold was by no means ordinary goods.

The merchant's name was Ulysses Crow. He claimed to have access to a "magical metal," a material said to be capable of changing the world.

Klaus said he could procure something like that for Amir if the price was right. With this, he could go further, rise higher, and achieve a greater position within the organization...

...No, it's not impossible that they might even break away from the organization and start their own business.

Amir grew increasingly excited as he thought about it, and for a moment he even felt that the dazzling sunrise was rising just for him...

boom!

At the moment of the explosion, Amir was lost in his kingly dream. He was completely unprepared, only vaguely feeling a blinding trail of flame flash across his retina, as if something had swooped down and landed in the center of his camp.

The flames, like a monstrous beast opening its blood-red maw, devoured metal, concrete, and shredded human remains. Black smoke rose from the inferno, twisting into mushroom-shaped monsters that rampaged through the camp, carrying the stench of sulfur and acrid burning.

The bulletproof glass in front of Amir shattered with a loud crash, and shards flew like hailstones, cutting his face and drawing blood.

He instinctively raised his hand to shield himself, but felt an invisible giant wave crashing down from afar. The air was compressed into solidity, like a heavy hammer slamming into his chest.

Amir's body was thrown away by the force like a kite with a broken string, his back slamming heavily against the wall behind him, his ribs groaning from the unbearable strain.

Intense tinnitus dominated his hearing, and everything before his eyes was a blurry double image.

It took Amir a while to force his dizzy body to stand up. As his hearing gradually returned, he began to hear people shouting and yelling around him, which was quickly drowned out by the gunfire, artillery fire, and explosions from the camp outside.

What happened? Were we attacked?

By whom? The military?

The first thing that comes to Amir's mind is naturally the US military, the world's number one troublemaker—they are there wherever there is a war, and the only difference between them and terrorists is that they have bigger fists.

But what about radar? Don't we have radar?

It's just a toad; if you poke it, it should jump, right? The other side is practically slapping us in the face, so why is the radar acting like it's dead, not reacting at all?

He struggled to find a gun, got up and peered out of the shattered window, trying to figure out who had launched the attack.

Then Amir froze.

Before peeking out, he imagined the commotion must be from an army, and a well-equipped and powerful one at that. But he never expected that what he saw in the burning camp would be...

...is one person.

The red-gold shell pierced through the flames, the flames licking the matte armor.

The soldiers in the camp had begun to fight back, bullets raining down like a storm, yet only sending tiny sparks flying off the armor. The bullets bounced off the surface the instant they hit it, the clanging of metal against metal echoing like a string of rapid wind chimes.

The steel figure simply waved his hand casually. Beams of deadly light shot from his palms, each beam melting several holy warriors in its wake.

The shoulder mechanisms of the armored soldiers snapped open, and miniature guided munitions shot out like projectiles, creating crisscrossing trajectories in the air. Within fractions of a second, a large number of soldiers fell.

Amir couldn't believe his eyes.

He watched as his most elite army was slaughtered by this single man as easily as cutting melons and vegetables.

He saw that the thing could melt through steel and destroy a turret with a single swipe of its hand. It was clearly some kind of energy weapon, and as far as Amir knew, the last time he had heard of such an energy-projecting weapon was in a science fiction movie.

He also saw that the terrifying thing had been hit by a heavy tank in the camp. The tank's main gun blasted the small body away, seemingly a direct hit.

But it was of no use.

That thing took a direct hit from their heavy tank, but it simply used its hand and foot thrusters to perform two agile somersaults in the air before stabilizing itself in mid-air by stepping on the flames of its thrusters.

Amir's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

The agility displayed by the red-gold iron man's series of high-difficulty aerial acrobatic maneuvers was enough to completely shatter Amir's military views of the first half of his life.

But even putting aside this incredible mobility, what's with this defensive capability?

This thing took a direct hit from a tank's main gun, then casually did two somersaults and floated into the sky, seemingly unharmed.

Is this reasonable?

If this thing is a suit of armor, then even if the armor can withstand that shot (which is already quite outrageous), what about the people inside?

The people inside can take a tank's face and be fine? Superman, huh?

In short, it's unscientific.

Although this thing looks like a technological creation, exuding a futuristic technological aura, it is completely unscientific from head to toe.

But that's nothing compared to what's to come.

Amir then saw the thing casually raise its hand, almost contemptuously, its right fist clenched, and its arm held out horizontally.

A hidden mechanism on the forearm of the metal arm opened, revealing a tiny launching mechanism.

Inside was a miniature missile, a tiny missile that looked less than the length of a normal person's palm, lying on an equally tiny internal launcher.

If Amir hadn't seen it in this setting, he probably would have thought that a missile of this size would be some kind of well-made model toy.

Then he saw the small, exquisite contraption being lit on the shelf, its tail trailing black smoke and flames.

With a whoosh, the missile struck the camp's heavy tanks.

boom--