Chapter 516

When the illusion ended, Tony showed no dramatic reaction.

He simply sat at the table in silence, staring blankly ahead. The whiskey he’d poured for himself remained untouched beside him. Even the ice had melted.

Evenson eyed him warily.

Had he pushed Fear too far? Had he actually scared Tony senseless?

"How do you feel, Tony?"

"Huh?"

Tony blinked as though he’d just woken up from a dream. Several seconds passed before he finally looked over.

"What did you say?"

"I asked how you feel." Evenson rolled his eyes and repeated himself.

"Oh. How I feel..."

Tony finally remembered the drink sitting beside him. He picked it up, took a sip, then rolled his shoulders as he thought back to the illusion.

"It was pretty terrifying," he admitted. "But compared to something else, I still think..."

He turned toward Evenson, his expression utterly serious.

"Aunt Peggy is scarier."

"You know, that might hurt someone’s feelings, Tony." Evenson grinned. "I’ll be sure to relay your honest opinion to Ms. Carter."

"Don’t you dare."

Tony nearly jumped. He immediately set his glass down and waved both hands.

Then his expression sobered.

"But that illusion did make me realize something. Yeah, it’s over. The Battle of New York is over. But how am I supposed to explain that to myself?"

He stared down into his drink.

"Flying into a wormhole with a nuclear missile isn’t exactly something I can just shrug off because it happened in the past. Can I really tell myself it’s over and leave it at that?"

His voice dropped.

"The Battle of New York changed me."

"You’re still afraid of it," Evenson said bluntly. "Aren’t you? What happened in that illusion was what you were afraid of, wasn’t it?"

Fear couldn’t simply be invented out of thin air. Everyone feared something different, and those fears had to come from somewhere real.

Evenson had deliberately guided the illusion, but that didn’t make the fear any less genuine. Deep down, Tony had been terrified that he might not make it out of that wormhole in time. That the nuclear blast would swallow him whole.

"How could I not be afraid, man?"

After everything he’d been put through, Tony seemed to have given up on hiding it.

"I’m not Thor. I’m not a god! And I’m not you, either. You can use magic! You wave your hand and people turn to ash!"

"I can use magic?" Evenson gave a dry little laugh.

Then his expression changed.

"How many people do you think I’ve killed, Tony?"

Tony burst out laughing.

"Do you think I’ve killed fewer?"

He casually pointed toward the screen nearby.

The display immediately filled with photographs and personnel files.

"I’ve got records on everyone I’ve killed. Want me to pull them up?"

Tony poured himself another whiskey and walked over to Evenson, pressing the glass into his hand.

"I’ll bet I’ve killed more than you."

"And how did you feel when you killed them?"

Evenson took a small sip before setting the glass aside.

"Did it feel good?"

Tony gave him a look.

He wasn’t a psychopath. He wasn’t some battle-hardened soldier who had killed so many people that the act had become meaningless.

Maybe adrenaline had kept him from processing it at the time. But afterward?

Thinking about killing someone had never been pleasant.

"And you?" Tony took another drink. "How do you feel when you hurt someone?"

"Nothing."

The answer came instantly.

Evenson stood and set down his glass.

"I’m not numb because I’ve killed too many people. I simply never felt anything about it in the first place."

He paused.

"I don’t even remember the first person I killed. I don’t remember what the first person I injured looked like. I don’t even remember whether it was a man or a woman."

His voice remained matter-of-fact.

"It was as if I’d never cared in the first place."

"Seriously?"

Tony couldn’t quite believe it.

For most people, their first experience killing someone was burned into their memory. Tony certainly remembered his. He’d been desperate to escape captivity at the time, but even now he could still recall the face of the first man he’d killed.

"Of course it’s true."

Evenson nodded. He had no reason to lie about this.

"I’ve turned people to ash in an instant. I’ve tortured people to death with magic. I’ve stood there and watched someone dissolve into a pool of pus right in front of me."

He hesitated.

"Well..."

His brow furrowed.

"That one did bother me a little."

Tony raised an eyebrow.

"The smell was awful, and cleaning up the mess was a pain. But the actual act of killing him?"

Evenson shrugged.

"Still nothing."

Tony slowly lowered his glass.

"Congenital emotional deficiency?"

Some psychopaths felt no resistance toward killing. Some even experienced excitement or pleasure from it.

But according to Evenson, he didn’t feel any of that.

Killing someone apparently affected him less than figuring out how to clean the floor afterward.

"No."

Evenson’s gaze drifted away.

"The moment I learned magic, a piece of my soul was permanently lost."

Tony’s expression changed.

"My soul isn’t complete anymore. And because of that, when I die, I won’t go to Heaven."

He looked back at Tony.

"I won’t go to Hell, either. I’ll end up somewhere worse."

Tony stared at him for a moment.

"Well... that’s unfortunate."

And he meant it.

For perhaps the first time, Tony actually felt sorry for Evenson.

"That is the price I paid for power."

Evenson slowly walked toward him until they were standing face-to-face.

"Everyone pays a price for power. Me. Natasha. Hawkeye. Captain America."

He held Tony’s gaze.

"We all paid for what we became."

Then he asked the question that mattered.

"What did you pay?"

"Well, Thor didn’t."

Tony instinctively began backing away as Evenson advanced.

"He was born a god."

"Thor’s price was paid for him by his father and grandfather."

Thor had been born into godhood because generations before him had fought, built, and sacrificed to create Asgard and everything it represented.

A pretty enviable inheritance.

"But you, Tony?"

Evenson stopped in front of him.

"You’ve paid almost nothing."

Tony instinctively glanced down at his chest.

What about the arc reactor? Doesn’t that count?

Evenson clearly disagreed.

"Don’t look down there."

He tapped Tony’s chest.

"That device didn’t give you anything. The knowledge necessary to build the Iron Man armor was already in your head."

Evenson reached up and patted Tony on the head.

It was surprisingly convenient. Tony was just tall enough that a small lift of the hand did the trick.

"The injury in your chest didn’t give you the knowledge. It merely forced you to bring an idea you already had into reality."

Evenson lowered his hand.

"Other than that, what have you actually sacrificed?"

"Fine!"

Tony turned away and walked several steps, looking thoroughly fed up.

"I haven’t paid a price!"

He threw his hands up.

"And doesn’t that explain exactly what’s wrong with me?"

Tony spun around.

"You all paid a price and gained power. That power is inside you. It’s part of you."

He jabbed a finger toward himself.

"But me? I’m just an ordinary guy hiding inside a suit of metal!"

Evenson regarded him for a moment.

"Your reasoning is correct."

He walked over to one of the Iron Man suits and studied it carefully.

"But you’re missing one thing."

Knock. Knock.

Evenson raised a hand and rapped his knuckles against the helmet.

Then he turned toward Tony.

"Why are you hiding inside the armor?"