Marvel: Death Knight

Morning sunlight had yet to illuminate the small courtyard of the villa in New York when Garus rose early, beginning his daily routine of rigorous training.

Swinging his sword in calculated strikes and thrusts, sprinting laps around the yard—these were his most basic drills, yet he performed them with unwavering focus.

Unlike a true Death Knight, who possessed an inexhaustible reservoir of stamina, Garus would eventually grow fatigued. That was the downside of not being undead. Still, he cherished the strain; it made him feel alive.

By the time he had trained himself into exhaustion, the sun had climbed high into the sky. Only then did he stop, satisfied.

Even great power requires control, and mastering control demands relentless practice of the fundamentals. General Turalyon, his former mentor, had instilled this philosophy in him, demanding thousands upon thousands of repetitions each day. It had become second nature to Garus.

Thinking of Turalyon filled him with regret. Back then, he'd been separated from his squad while fleeing from trolls, unable to rejoin his comrades before they crossed through the Dark Portal. If fate had been kinder, he would likely be leading the Army of the Light against the demons in the Void alongside his mentor.

But there was no use dwelling on it. He might never return to Azeroth, his homeland. Stranded in this strange world, he often felt like an outsider who would never fully belong.

Now, in the afternoon, Garus lay lazily on his bed, flipping on the television.

"Good afternoon, this is New York Global News. We are live near Stark Tower, where, as you can see behind me, two robots are locked in a fierce battle. It's unclear where these machines came from or whether they are products of Stark Industries. Could this be a malfunction?"

The broadcast snapped Garus to attention. He sat up, his expression tense.

He had believed this battle wouldn't happen. After all, he'd saved Tony Stark—and the first Iron Man armor should still have been intact. Logically, the U.S. military should have recovered it.

Wait. He recalled something. During their raid on the terrorist base, Tony had destroyed his Mark I armor. But perhaps it hadn't been completely obliterated.

Garus's gaze returned to the screen. One figure, agile and clad in crimson and gold, was undoubtedly Tony in his Mark II Iron Man suit. The other was bulkier and more imposing, clearly an upgraded version of the Mark I—the Iron Monger, piloted by Obadiah Stane.

Between the two, Garus found himself drawn to the raw power of the Iron Monger's design, though its appearance was admittedly crude.

"Oh my god!"

On screen, the reporter narrowly dodged a car that flew past, capturing the terrified face of the driver gripping the wheel in sheer panic.

"Boom!"

The car crashed to the ground, its fuel tank igniting upon contact with nearby flames. The resulting explosion sent a massive fireball into the sky, leaving the driver unmistakably dead.

"The situation here is dire," the reporter continued breathlessly. "Several cars are trapped on the road, and the large robot is recklessly throwing vehicles. Many are already dead or injured. Where the hell are the police?"

Panicked drivers abandoned their vehicles, fleeing in all directions amidst screams and chaos. The camera footage shook violently before cutting abruptly to the studio.

At that moment, Garus heard the system's voice echo in his mind:

[System Mission Released: Difficulty Level B. Objective: Eliminate the Iron Monger mech and its pilot, Obadiah Stane. Reward: 10,000 exchange points.]

Excitement surged through him. A new mission! Garus jumped to his feet, hurried out the door, and flagged down a cab heading toward Stark Tower.

The normally busy roads were now in complete gridlock, filled with honking cars and frustrated drivers.

"Damn it, what's going on? I have a meeting to get to!" shouted a man in a suit as he stepped out of his car, glaring at the unmoving line of vehicles.

"Hey, officer! What's happening up ahead?"

A group of drivers surrounded a motorcycle cop trying to pass through, bombarding him with questions.

"There's been an incident," the officer replied curtly. "This road is closed. Now move aside—I have work to do."

Seeing the endless line of cars, Garus sighed. He should have anticipated this. Waiting here was futile. If the fight ended before he arrived, there'd be nothing left for him to do.

He tapped the cab driver's shoulder. "Let me out here."

"Alright," the driver grumbled, accepting the fare with a look of resignation. "What a day to be stuck in traffic."

Garus stepped into a nearby alley, ensuring no one was watching. With a flick of his wrist, he donned his full rune-etched armor and summoned his Deathcharger.

Subtlety was no longer an option. He had points to earn.

"Old friend," Garus said, patting the undead steed's neck. "Let's ride into battle once more."

The Deathcharger whinnied in excitement, rearing up on its hind legs before charging forward like a bolt of lightning.

Bounding over cars and leaving dents in their roofs, Garus ignored the startled exclamations and curses of drivers in his wake. His focus was singular.

The explosions grew louder as he approached the battlefield. Over twenty minutes had passed since the news report. He hoped the fight wasn't over yet.

The battle had cleared a large area in the heart of the city. Not a single civilian or reporter remained, the danger having driven them all away.

In the center, Tony's Iron Man armor was clearly struggling. The flickering light of his arc reactor betrayed its dwindling power. He relied solely on agility to evade Obadiah's relentless barrage of missiles and gunfire.

Garus's Deathcharger vaulted over a 20-meter-wide obstacle, bringing him closer to the action.

"Hey, Tony!" he called out.

"Bang!"

Tony's momentary distraction proved costly. Obadiah's mech struck him square in the chest, sending him flying.

"Sir, armor damage at 40%. Arc reactor power at 10%," Jarvis reported in his ear.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Tony snapped. "But telling me doesn't fix it. Can't you see I'm a little busy here?"

Garus smirked. "Tony, looks like you could use a hand."

Obadiah paused, turning to face the newcomer. He opened the Iron Monger's faceplate, sneering. "Kid, I don't know who you think you are, but stay out of this. And for the record, riding a weird horse doesn't make you some noble knight."

Garus rolled his eyes. "Weird horse? This is an Acherus Deathcharger, you ignoramus."

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