Chasing the Wave
[This bonus chap is for getting 50 powerstones]
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The sky loomed dark and heavy, a vast, oppressive ceiling of churning clouds that twisted and thickened, suffocating the air. Each breath came sharp and cold, as though the storm itself sought to fill lungs with icy dread. Lightning cracked across the horizon, jagged streaks that tore the heavens apart for brief, blinding moments before dissolving into the swirling blackness. Among the chaos, towering tornadoes spun, shadowy cyclones that swallowed flashes of light whole.
Amid this cataclysmic fury, the cargo ship known as "Chasing the Wave" battled against the wrath of the elements. A sudden and violent squall hit the vessel with a ferocity that made its iron bulk shudder. The ship—a giant steel leviathan designed to endure the worst that the ocean could muster—was now a mere toy, tossed and spun by waves that towered like the walls of an ancient canyon. The ocean's roar was like a chorus of beasts, hungry and unrelenting.
Shipping containers, each weighing several tons, wrenched free from their moorings, sliding across the rain-slicked deck. With a series of metallic groans, they tumbled into the churning abyss below, swallowed whole by the ravenous sea. The wind carried the desperate cries of the crew, their voices thin and fragile against the roaring gale. A wave the size of a mountain surged forward, smashing into the side of the ship like a giant's hand, sweeping the lost cargo into oblivion.
Onboard, the captain and his crew fought a losing battle. Desperation marked every strained order, every frantic movement as they struggled to keep their vessel afloat. Yet the storm was beyond anything they had faced before, a nightmare come to life. Exhaustion carved deep lines into their faces, their bodies pushed far past their limits. Each new wave that crashed over the bow dragged them closer to the edge of hopelessness, as though the sea itself sought to claim them one by one.
And then, with a hideous, wrenching sound, the ship began to break apart.
The hull split as if a gigantic, unseen blade had slashed through it, cutting through steel and iron. Metal screamed as it tore, echoing through the storm with a sound that made the crew's blood run cold. The ship's bow twisted away from the stern, the two halves of the once-proud vessel drifting apart as seawater flooded in through the gaping wound.
Inside the wheelhouse, the crew watched in horror as the waters surged around them, rushing in through shattered windows and twisted seams. The cold, dark sea crept up to their knees, then their waists, then higher still, its relentless rise unstoppable. They clawed for breath, tried to keep their heads above the rising water, but the pressure of the sea against the only exit made escape impossible.
The cabin filled quickly, water pouring in until it reached the ceiling, sealing the crew inside a watery tomb. They struggled, thrashing against the inevitable, but their strength ebbed with each passing second. The cold of the water seeped into their bones, numbing their limbs. Some managed to hold their breath longer than others, but in the end, it made little difference. One by one, lungs burned and chests heaved until, at last, the seawater poured in, choking the life from them.
It seemed the sea would claim them all. But then, against all reason, the sinking stopped.
A strange stillness settled over the broken vessel, as if time itself had paused. The ship, which had been plunging toward the ocean floor, began to rise. Slowly at first, then with an impossible swiftness, it ascended, as though lifted by a hand too massive to comprehend.
In moments, the cabin broke the surface. Water poured out, rushing back into the stormy sea, leaving the crew gasping for breath and clutching at whatever they could find. The air was thick with salt and rain, but to them, it tasted like life. They blinked against the downpour, their minds struggling to grasp what had just happened.
Around them, the storm still raged, the sky dark and unforgiving, the sea thrashing beneath the relentless onslaught of the wind. Yet here they were, afloat in the shattered remains of their ship, saved from certain death by a power they could not understand.
But the mystery was not over. Even as the crew tried to steady themselves, they felt the broken ship shift beneath them, as if guided by invisible hands. Before their astonished eyes, the sundered halves of "Chasing the Wave" began to move toward each other, the jagged edges aligning like the pieces of a puzzle.
With a sound like a hundred thunderclaps, the ship began to fuse back together.
It was an impossible sight—steel bending and warping as if it were no more than soft clay, seams knitting themselves closed under a force that defied comprehension. It was as though some ancient, divine craftsman had taken the ship in hand and decided it was not yet time for it to meet the depths.
Then, a new light pierced the storm.
A beam of fire burst from beneath the waves, cutting a path through the darkness and rising into the sky. At its core was a figure, humanoid in shape, yet clearly not of flesh and blood. Its body gleamed with the sheen of polished metal, angular and imposing, encased in plates that glowed with a red-gold hue. The rain hissed and steamed as it struck the figure's heated surface, evaporating on contact.
The figure floated above the tumultuous sea, held aloft by jets of flame that erupted from its feet. The wind shrieked and howled, but the metallic figure remained unmoved, as solid and unyielding as a statue carved from iron.
The crew stared out through portholes, their mouths agape, their minds struggling to make sense of what they were witnessing. It was as if they had stepped into a myth, a tale told by old sailors on long, lonely voyages.
And then, the figure moved.
With a burst of speed, it launched itself across the ship's deck. A beam of brilliant, searing energy shot from its wrist, tracing a path along the jagged fracture that ran through the ship's hull. The air sizzled with the heat of the laser, the glow casting strange shadows across the rain-soaked deck. Steel melted and fused under the precision of the beam, welding the ship's halves back together as if the break had never occurred.
Within moments, the deed was done. The broken freighter, which had been on the verge of being swallowed by the sea, now floated whole once more, its hull sealed tight against the raging storm.
The crew could only watch, eyes wide, as the figure descended to the stern of the ship. It pressed its metal hands against the hull, and from its sides and feet, thrusters flared to life. Flames roared as the figure pushed against the ship, driving it forward through the stormy seas.
"Impossible," one of the crew muttered, his voice barely a whisper. Another simply stared, the only word in his mind slipping past his lips: "Damn."
Yet, as the figure continued its work, realization began to dawn. The ship had not surfaced on its own—it had been pulled from the depths, guided back into one piece, and now was being driven forward by this mysterious being. The impossible was made real before their eyes.
Charlie operated the Mark 43 armor, a specialized Iron Man suit designed to handle the crushing pressures and cold depths of the ocean. Unlike most models, which faltered underwater, this one thrived, its reinforced structure and enhanced thrusters giving it the power to accomplish feats beyond human capability.
The thrusters attached to the ship's hull, hidden beneath the waves, helped in the heavy lifting, their power combining with the suit's strength. Yet from the crew's perspective, it seemed as though this lone figure, this impossible, mechanical man, had pulled off a miracle with his own hands.
Charlie had been testing the suit's performance when he stumbled upon the ship in distress. The storm provided the perfect conditions for a rescue operation—an opportunity to push the suit to its limits while saving lives in the process. As a result, Iron Man had appeared in the midst of the chaos, turning a routine test into a legend.
News of the event spread like wildfire. Within hours, every corner of the globe buzzed with stories of a red-gold figure descending from the storm, wielding beams of light and welding a shattered ship back together. The sight was captured in shaky, rain-smeared videos, showing a metallic hero defying nature's wrath.
When the figure finally spoke, its voice crackled over the howling wind, carrying a tone of confidence and wry humor. It reassured the stunned crew, asking if they were safe, even cracking a dry joke about the weather—though no one was in any state to laugh.
But as the world watched the video, one question rose above all others. Someone on the ship found the courage to ask the figure what it was.
Its reply rippled through the internet, whispered in a thousand languages, spreading from the smallest fishing villages to the tallest skyscrapers:
"I'm Iron Man."