Chapter 376

"Bucky?? How are you here?!" Steve shouted, frowning, then suddenly realized—he rolled sideways, dodging Bucky's charge. Peter rose into the air and called out: "He's controlled! Captain, stay away from him!"

"Snap out of it! Bucky Barnes, you're not Hydra!" Steve swung his arm hard, hurling his shield. It whistled past Bucky's ear—missing, brushing only his hair.

Stark, hovering over the southeast battlefield, let out a derisive "tch" and said to Steve: "Remember what you told me about how you dealt with Hydra? Now that it's your friend, you've forgotten all of it?"

Steve's expression twisted, but finally he said: "Help me subdue him. We'll deal with everything else later."

Stark snorted. Two missiles locked onto Bucky's form, spiraling through the air trailing thick smoke. Steve reached out: "No! Wait! Don't use missiles! He… you'll kill him!"

"He's a criminal. A Hydra agent. Look at his movements—he's trying to kill you, and all of us! Steve, are you asking me to hold back so you can watch us get slaughtered?"

"No, I didn't mean…." Steve's arm began trembling. He winced—everything had come too suddenly.

Though he'd learned from Hydra's computers that Bucky had become an experiment, his mind had pictured a broken, emaciated victim, imprisoned and tortured—not this powerful, agile killer wielding daggers, leaping to strike him.

His reason told him Stark was right: if he held back now, everyone could be in danger.

Don't forget—two other suspected Hydra agents are still out there. If all three unite, the Avengers will struggle to contain them. If we don't give everything now, someone will die.

Steve, caught in the chaos of battle, had no time to think. His Adam's apple jerked violently; his whole upper body shook. He still tried to reason with Bucky.

Seeing Steve's hesitation, Stark's rage boiled over. He unleashed lethal weapons at Bucky on the ground—smoke and fire erupted together.

"The Invincible Evil God"

Stark abandoned tactics, venting pure fury. Even without his army of suits, his upgraded Iron Man armor, fully powered, could overwhelm everyone on the field. Even Strange had to dodge with teleportation spells, unable to face Stark's barrage head-on.

Steve swung his arm through the air, coughing from the dust. When the smoke cleared, he saw a massive crater before him—Bucky was fleeing along its edge, but a missile caught him. Steve screamed: "No!!"

"No? You say 'no' to the death of Hydra—the very enemy you spent your life fighting?!" Stark's voice grew colder. His emotions unraveled; humanity faded from his tone, replaced by mechanical coldness.

Peter shouted from the side: "Stop arguing! We need to unite—this isn't something words can fix!"

No one listened. Matt and the mutants had been driven out of the central battlefield by Stark's bombardment. Only Stark, Steve, Strange, Grant, Peter, and Bucky remained.

Bucky, blasted by the missile, crashed to the ground. The agony brought him a fleeting moment of clarity. He coughed twice, blood spilling from his mouth.

Steve saw his movements—and memories flooded his mind: countless times on battlefields, smoke-choked, blackened trenches, him and Bucky both bleeding, filthy, bruised, bumping fists in silent relief after surviving another hell.

His chest heaved uncontrollably. His arm trembled. His senses sharpened—every grain on his shield's grip transmitted through his fingertips to his brain. Too much input overwhelmed him—he couldn't escape the nightmare.

The gold-and-red armor behind him, backlit by the sun, blazed like a second sun. For the first time, Steve felt the crushing sorrow of standing where he was being judged.

Inside the armor, Stark shook his head, trying to calm himself. But every time he saw Bucky, fury surged in his chest. He could never let the man who killed his parents live in peace.

As both men stood frozen, Bucky had already recovered. That flash of clarity wasn't enough to break the brainwashing. He seized the moment—lunged forward with all his strength, charging straight at Steve.

The dagger gleamed coldly. As it sliced through the air, Steve braced for pain—but instead, a cry pierced his ear: "Ugh!!"

Spider-Man's scream echoed like thunder. Stark and Steve both stared, eyes wide, as Bucky's dagger pierced Peter.

The massive blade drove into his left shoulder, nearly severing his arm. Red fluid desperately repaired his body, but Peter arched like a boiled shrimp, screaming, clutching his shoulder with his right hand, veins bulging.

Steve stared, dumbfounded, as Peter had thrown himself in front of him—taking Bucky's blow. Stark's roar came from above: "PETER!!!!"

But Stark was high in the air, too far. Bucky, missing his target, turned instantly on Peter. His bloody dagger neared Peter's throat—Peter, writhing in pain, couldn't move.

As Bucky raised his dagger, a figure roared from the side, tackling him around the waist, slamming him to the ground. The star-spangled shield crashed against Bucky's neck—he screamed, then collapsed.

Steve gasped for breath. The chaotic thoughts finally cleared. Exhausted, he rose and walked toward Peter. Before he could reach him, Stark landed, blocking his path. A dark cannon barrel aimed at Steve. Stark's voice was ice: "Step back. Stay away from him. You're Hydra's accomplice."

"If you hadn't protected this damn Hydra killer, Peter wouldn't be hurt! You nearly killed him!"

"I didn't… I didn't expect…" The thick stench of blood reached Steve's nose. He couldn't speak. Slowly, he knelt, letting his shield clatter onto the rocky shore.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Old nightmares churned again in his mind. The air grew thinner—no longer enough to fill his lungs.

Peter's fallen form merged with the fallen comrades of the past. The executioner had changed—from evil Hydra to his old friend Bucky. Reality and illusion twisted together. Steve could no longer tell them apart.

"It's always like this…" His voice scraped from his throat: "Always like this. I couldn't save them. They died right before me… Always. Never an end."

Stark saw Steve's bloodshot eyes. He took two deep breaths, finally calming. He looked around—at the cratered wasteland he'd torn apart. He guided his armor down slowly, watching Steve from afar. His voice was like wind that had never changed on this shore for years.

"…Captain America, do you know? The funniest thing is—the generals who only want to profit from war told you: you can save the world. You can save anyone…"

"They didn't believe it. But you did."

He looked at the strong man kneeling before him—the shield in his hand still bright, gleaming, as if untouched by the seventy years since.

Yet this old man, asleep for seventy years, remained trapped in that war era, bound by the greatest, most ridiculous lie ever spun for him.

To Stark's disbelief, in this moment, he felt a pang of sympathy—because he, too, had been seized by those screaming about justice. But unlike Captain America, he had choices—he had Pepper, he had Obadiah. Steve had nothing.

He had only passion, diving headfirst into a darkness he'd never clearly seen, becoming the ash beside the wheel of history—a madman clinging to a justice no one else recognized.

In that instant, Stark understood why Steve cared so deeply for his last comrade. Perhaps Steve needed something—anything—to prove his pursuit wasn't empty, that his and his generation's sacrifices had another witness, not just a hallucination in his own mind.

He wanted someone to tell him: they had succeeded. Even if the story began as hollow lies, countless lives had been given. They shouldn't be forgotten, swept into the dustbin of history.

Stark flew to Peter's side, tended his wounds. When Peter's breathing steadied, Stark didn't rise. He trudged slowly through the rocky shore to the sea.

Noon had passed. The light dimmed. The distant lighthouse groaned low and heavy.

Stark thought: everyone from that era carried the same trait—as if repeating their stories and legends ten thousand times never tired them. Howard was the same.

Perhaps they simply didn't want the people and events in their stories to be forgotten—just as they didn't want to be forgotten themselves.

A rustle came from behind. Stark turned. Steve staggered to his feet, shaking his head as if still trapped in a vision. His blurred gaze fixed on Stark's vivid armor—his expression dazed.

"I'm sorry…" Steve shook his head again, blinked open his eyes.

"You should say it to him." Stark turned toward Peter. Peter lay face-down, blood soaking half his suit.

"I'm saying it to you too," Steve lowered his head. "As team leader, I made a tactical error. I didn't subdue him immediately. Otherwise, none of this would've happened…"

"You know it, then." Stark turned back, staring at his gauntlet—the cannon ports blackened from overheating.

Slowly, he curled his fingers into a fist, whispering to himself: "It's tragic enough to blame the weapon. But to defend it? Even more tragic."