There are only four Guardians stationed in New York City.
And tonight, two simultaneous infernos have erupted.
The students in the logistics center held their breath, tension hanging thick in the air.
Abandoning one site might seem tactically sound—but these are the Guardians. They don't abandon anyone.
Everyone silently wished for a miracle.
A miracle arrived.
"Leave the other location to me."
A voice echoed from the loudspeakers across the entire Chaldean logistics hub.
Then, a red-gold figure flashed across the central monitor.
It was Iron Man—Tony Stark.
"YES!"
"Legendary!"
"Iron Man's here!"
Cheers exploded across the logistics center.
There was nothing more morale-boosting than watching a hero take flight toward danger. For those trapped by fire and despair, this was the spark of salvation.
"I've already dispatched New York's fire brigades and instructed them to divert patrols across Manhattan," Tony said, sounding uncharacteristically calm. "There will likely be more fires tonight."
"The criminal behavior analytics division has submitted their preliminary profile," reported the Minister of Logistics. "The perpetrator is male, with pronounced pyromaniac and violent tendencies. Exhibits narcissistic delusions and thrives on attention. Analysts believe this string of arson incidents is a direct provocation—potentially against a specific Guardian. They expect follow-up actions."
The arsonist—a pyrokinetic identified as Price—had long been a low-priority entry in SHIELD's anomalous abilities index. His abilities were classified as low-threat.
But this was no longer accurate.
SHIELD's pre-dissolution evaluations had been rigorous. Something had changed after its fall—something had awakened within Price.
"Provocation?" Tony muttered as he reached the second fire zone. "Then he should've come straight at me or one of our strongholds—why target civilians? Coward."
His voice carried an edge of fury.
Even if the Guardians arrived in time, innocent lives were already being threatened. Watching civilians suffer at the hands of someone abusing their abilities—that was unforgivable to a true hero.
What Tony didn't know was that Price was targeting him specifically.
Elsewhere, at the under-construction Stark Tower 2.0, the skyline shimmered with light from the towering cranes and scaffolding.
To construct a building several hundred meters tall in mere months, even Stark Industries had to push its limits. The structure couldn't use a traditional frame system—but Tony had bottomless funds. Nearly 1,800 workers worked in triple shifts around the clock. Even now, nearly 700 workers labored through the night.
Not long after Iron Man's figure streaked through the air, a massive, overweight man emerged from the shadows across the street.
Price—the wanted pyrokinetic.
"Finally… finally, it's time."
His beady, fat-shrouded eyes locked onto the steel skeleton of Stark Tower with venomous hate.
He loathed Tony Stark with every fiber of his being.
But more than that, he wanted to be him.
If not admired—then feared. If not cheered—then cursed.
"Bring the tanker," he said into a burner phone.
His power wasn't in generating flame—it was in controlling it. Fire answered his will, dancing to his commands, shaping itself into serpents or wings or whips. All he needed was fuel.
And now, he had plenty.
The construction site lit up with the sudden rise of flames.
"Emergency update! The arsonist's been sighted!"
Inside Chaldea's logistics command, chaos surged. Dozens of comms channels opened at once. The moment Stark Tower ignited, two more blazes erupted across Midtown.
There was no doubt—Stark Tower was the real target.
Even as Iron Man and Chaldea agents raced to the other sites, the inferno at Stark Tower surged with unnatural speed.
Within minutes, the entire site was engulfed. Fire surged like a tide. Flaming coils spiraled upward, visible even from the lower blocks of Manhattan.
High above, Price stood atop a crane, arms spread, as construction workers cowered in small pockets amid the blaze.
Police helicopters hovered overhead—but no one dared act. Not when a tanker truck full of fuel was parked next to nearly a hundred workers.
The fire circled them—controlled, menacing, waiting to devour.
One wrong move, and every worker would be incinerated.
"This guy's insane!" Peter Parker whispered, fists clenched in disbelief.
The worst villain he'd dealt with before was a school bully.
Now he was witnessing someone willing to threaten hundreds for attention.
In contrast, Harry Osborn's eyes shimmered with dark excitement.
He understood what was happening. Price was waiting—for Iron Man, for a Guardian, for the world to watch.
"I am the Lord of Fire!" Price bellowed. "Lord of Fire!!"
Flames curled around him like serpents, illuminating his grotesquely grinning face. For the first time in his miserable life—he was the center of attention.
Meanwhile, Shen He observed the scene from atop a nearby building. With him were Qi Mu Nanxiong and Jeanne d'Arc, all clad in Chaldean robes.
"Qi Mu, what are you seeing?" Shen He asked, voice calm.
"I'm seeing the entire structure consumed. People are dying," Qi Mu replied, adjusting his glasses.
What Qi Mu saw was the future—if no one intervened.
A news chopper swooped in overhead, filming Price as he posed grandly. The broadcast spread across the world.
Shen He frowned slightly.
He hadn't expected a minor villain with butterfly-wings-level threat to create such chaos.
And yet… the greater the villain's performance, the more room for Chaldea's might to shine.
"The more powerful the enemy appears, the more we stand out when we save the day," Shen He whispered with a smirk.
"Master," Jeanne asked, "when do we intervene?"
Her divine sight could see the clusters of terrified workers trapped by flame.
"Wait," Shen He said calmly. "Qi Mu is ready."
Flames were a perfect target for psychic manipulation. They required oxygen, had no form, and could be disrupted by precision air manipulation. As long as the mind could control airflow, the flames could be extinguished.
Shen He wasn't worried. In fact, he appreciated the theatrics. It gave Chaldea more footage for global credibility.
Across the city, millions were watching live.
At last, Iron Man arrived.
The red-gold armor glinted against the flames as Tony descended.
The panicked workers calmed, and hope surged in the hearts of onlookers.
This—this was what it meant to be a superhero.
Tony hovered before Price, scanning the scene with Jarvis.
The workers had been deliberately scattered into separate pockets. If Price lost control—or simply chose to kill—Iron Man couldn't save them all.
"Sir, Mr. Shen has arrived," Jarvis said.
Tony exhaled. Thank God.
He didn't know why Shen He hadn't acted yet, but if Chaldea was here, there was still hope.
And so the world watched, holding its breath, as fire raged and heroes prepared to move.
"Tony Stark!"
Price raised his head, his eyes locking on the figure clad in red and gold armor standing a short distance away. His voice trembled with a mixture of rage and anticipation.
What fueled his excitement even more was the news chopper hovering nearby—its camera lens aimed directly at them.
"You—"
Tony hovered closer, his mechanical servos humming lightly. His visor retracted with a click as he studied the man before him.
"You're seriously this fat, and yet you made it up here?"
Price clenched his fists, taking a deep breath to restrain the flames licking the edges of his self-control. His voice dropped low, trying to cloak the fury in a shroud of bitterness.
"Don't you remember me, Stark? I'm Price. Price!"
The reporter gasped softly into the mic. The airwaves crackled with potential scandal—this wasn't a random confrontation; there was history here.
"This is targeted. There's no way this is a coincidence."
Tony tilted his head, his expression amused but puzzled.
"Price? Sorry, I don't— To be honest, if I had met someone shaped like a beach ball in a hoodie, I'd remember."
"How can you not remember?!" Price's voice rose, echoing against the steel and concrete of the rooftop. "I sent you emails! Letters! Threatened to make you regret it—regret taking Mary from me!"
"Wait—hold up," Tony lifted his hand. "Mary? You mean like... a pet? A dog?"
"Don't play dumb!" Price's voice shook with betrayal, and his words blared live across every major news channel. "You seduced my girlfriend! Lured her into your bed! I swear, I'll make you pay!"
Pfft—
Countless viewers choked on their drinks. Memes were already spawning in comment threads.
Even Shen He, watching from a distance, widened her eyes.
Did Tony Stark really put a green hat on this many people?
Tony's smirk faltered. Sure, he'd always had a reputation—but now, seeing the seething mass of jealousy personified in front of him like a sentient rage balloon? Even he felt awkward.
Price took Tony's silence as guilt. His posture straightened, voice filled with twisted pride.
"So, you do remember. Now—get out of your armor. Kneel. Kneel before me, King of Fire! Let Mary see you humbled, and she'll return to me!"
Tony stared, blank-faced.
As a billionaire genius playboy, he'd dealt with his share of emotional exes. But never quite like this.
"Look, man." Tony raised a repulsor-gloved hand, aiming at Price. "I don't know which Mary you're ranting about. Do I regret it if she left you for me? Maybe. But if you're threatening innocent workers to make a point, then I suggest you stand down—now."
"You still don't get it!" Price's fury erupted, and flames exploded upward, dancing like serpents around him.
"Last chance, Stark! Kneel—or these workers die!"
"No," Tony's voice dropped an octave, suddenly calm. "I do care."
He turned abruptly, addressing a hidden angle, his voice sharp.
"How long are you going to watch without doing anything?"
The camera, catching his gaze, whipped to follow the direction—and zoomed in.
On the rooftop of a nearby high-rise, three figures stood silently. Two wore black hoods. One did not.
The third was Shen He.
Her pale features were unmistakable.
"Let's move," Shen He murmured to her companions.
In the blink of an eye, the trio vanished—then reappeared beside Tony, hovering effortlessly in the night air.
The crowd watching from screens all over the world erupted in chaos. The woman from previous supernatural events—and two new unknowns?
They were Chaldeans.
Price's expression darkened, but he remained confident. Surrounded by flame, hostages in hand, he spat defiantly.
"Chaldeans? Just Stark's new errand boys."
Shen He's brow furrowed. But she forced herself calm—this man wasn't worth the emotional strain.
"Tony may be a sleazebag and a walking scandal generator," she said evenly, "but he doesn't steal girlfriends. Regardless, that's not why we're here. You've endangered civilians. We're suppressing your powers and handing you over to the authorities. You're looking at multiple charges—arson, terrorism, hostage-taking."
"Criminal charges?" Price laughed coldly, flames flaring up higher. "This is my stage now!"
He raised his arms dramatically.
Nothing happened.
The fire around him… paused. Frozen. Like caged serpents in mid-slither.
No longer under his control.
Confusion twisted across his face.
Then everyone noticed the slight movement of Qi Mu Nanxiong's hand, his expression calm and unshaken.
"Actually," Shen He exhaled softly, "this is our stage."
A sharp wind howled across the rooftop.
Qi Mu's fingers twitched.
Instantly, the flames, once frenzied, obeyed. They spiraled upward in a vortex of fire, roaring as they twisted around one another, the gust lifting the blaze into the night sky.
Even viewers at home could hear the wind tearing through the screen.
The fire—Price's fire—was no longer his.
It danced to another's tune.
His eyes widened in disbelief as the vortex climbed, illuminating the clouds overhead, painting the city in a golden-orange glow.
It looked almost cinematic.
Too beautiful to be real.
"Tony," Shen He said, shaking her head. "He's all yours."
The three Chaldeans vanished without warning, their figures flickering into nonexistence like mirages under moonlight.
For a moment, it was as if they'd never been there.
Except for the scorched sky, the stabilized construction site, and the silence that now hung over the rooftop like a verdict.
Their appearance had left no destruction—but a lasting impression.
The world would debate what they had witnessed. Skeptics would argue. Governments would whisper.
But the narrative had shifted.
The Chaldeans weren't just rumors anymore.
And by the time the Battle of New York arrived, their legend would eclipse even the Avengers.
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