55. The night is the master's domain.

“Who are you? Come out, come out!”
The steel soldiers were firing wildly, while Ivan Vanko roared at the top of his lungs.
The entire biodome was in utter chaos, riddled with bullets. Ivan’s shouts made his head spin from oxygen deprivation, and his neck was cramping from constantly whipping around to search for his enemy. His nerves were stretched to the breaking point.
Yet, no matter how hard he searched, he couldn’t find where the figure in the darkness was hiding. He didn’t even know if it was one person or several.
Finally, as he teetered on the edge of collapse, Ivan realized he’d been a fool.
The one lurking in the shadows, though unseen, had a clear goal—he must be here to rescue Iron Man and War Machine. All Ivan had to do was…
Rat-tat-tat!
Two steel soldiers nearby swung their weapons around and opened fire on Iron Man and War Machine, riddling their already battered armor with sparks and flying shards of metal.
“This time, you’ll have to show yourself! You want to save them, don’t you? I’ll force your hand—you didn’t see this coming, did you?”
Ivan exulted inwardly, only to see several batarangs whistling through the air, piercing the reactors of the steel soldiers who hadn’t switched targets, as if the mysterious attacker didn’t care at all about Ivan’s strategy.
Meanwhile, the two soldiers strafing Iron Man and War Machine continued their gleeful assault.
Ivan: “…”
Tony Stark: “…”
James Rhodes: “…”
So, this guy isn’t here to save anyone; he just wants to make trouble for the steel soldiers, choosing targets at random, regardless of whether they’re hurting Iron Man or War Machine.
Clang! Clang!
While Iron Man and War Machine awkwardly danced in place, dodging bullets as if avoiding raindrops, two more batarangs flew out, taking down the pair of soldiers attacking them.
It wasn’t that the shadowy assailant had changed his mind—those two were simply the last steel soldiers standing.
In less than a minute, through ghostlike movements and never-missing batarangs, that unknown attacker had single-handedly taken out more than twenty steel soldiers.

The sight made Tony Stark’s skin crawl.
He glanced down at himself, then at War Machine beside him, and finally at Vanko in the distance. A sudden question arose in his mind.
Why did everyone insist on placing the arc reactor in the chest, and leaving it exposed?
For Tony, it was a necessity due to his own condition—the arc reactor had to be there to protect his heart, and its placement helped him fire his chest-mounted cannon.
War Machine’s armor was inherited as is, and the scientists behind him—especially the incompetents at Hammer Industries—lacked the skill to redesign it.
But why did Vanko also mount his reactor in his chest? Did he not realize what an obvious safety hazard that was? One small batarang, and the whole system could be destroyed. Would you really send soldiers like this into battle?
It was practically a death sentence from a thousand miles away.
With unmanned soldiers, it wasn’t as bad. But if a real person were inside and the reactor got hit midair, the best-case scenario would be surviving with half their body paralyzed.
An exposed chest reactor was a massive security risk. Tony sincerely recommended that War Machine and Vanko consider a redesign.
As for himself, it didn’t matter.
For others, it was a weakness; for him, it was a symbol, a mark of confidence.
Even if he had gone from being the hero to being rescued by one, Tony Stark’s self-assurance remained intact.
Opposite him, Vanko’s whips had already extended to six or seven meters, crackling in his hands as he glared around, teeth clenched.
“Who are you?! Come out! Come out! Stop hiding in there and keeping silent—I know you’re there! Come out, come out, come out!”
Just as his frenzied howls echoed, that deep voice sounded again.
“I’m out now. So what?”
Su Ye, clad in the Batman suit, appeared inexplicably behind Vanko. Even Tony Stark and James Rhodes, who had been watching intently, hadn’t noticed when he got there.
“Rhodey, did my eyes just play tricks on me?” Iron Man raised his steel hand to rub the visor of his mask.
Beside him, War Machine did the same. “I guess Ivan’s electrified whips must have thrown off our vision. That’s the only reason we missed his approach.”

They exchanged a glance and nodded in unison. “Exactly, that must be it!”
Vanko turned to face the Batman behind him, the tension on his face melting away.
It’s the unknown that breeds fear—a faceless assassin, even without inflicting much harm, can cause panic. But once exposed in broad daylight, no matter how many tricks he has, the threat he poses diminishes.
At least now, Vanko’s legs had stopped trembling.
“So it’s you, you bastard, trying to—”
From Vanko’s tone and expression, someone might have expected a lengthy monologue, playing to the villain’s penchant for grand speeches.
But he was cut off halfway as he unleashed his five-strike lightning whip attack—a clear sign of a tactically savvy, if unscrupulous, fighter.
The electrified whips danced in a dizzying blur, lashing furiously toward Batman. The electric light illuminated Batman’s armor, the heat from the current making the very air shimmer.
Earlier, Vanko had used this technique to handle Iron Man and War Machine at once; now, focusing on Batman alone, he was certain to make things just as impossible.
At least, that’s what he thought. What he didn’t realize was that, to Batman, his attacks were riddled with flaws—no better than those self-proclaimed masters who claim to knock people over without touching them.
Batman stepped forward, his body moving in odd, unpredictable jerks. Each step seemed neither fast nor exaggerated, but he dodged every attack with ease, rapidly closing the gap between them.
Throughout, Vanko’s whips lashed about like a 3D hologram—dazzling and spectacular, but never so much as brushing Batman’s cape.
Vanko was a living example of “all bark and no bite”—a flurry of action, but no results.
Watching Batman draw closer, clear anxiety spread across Vanko’s face.
“What is this footwork? How can you dodge my attacks so easily? Are you a demon?”
Batman snorted softly. “If that makes me a demon, then you truly know nothing of the power of darkness.”