Stark had just come in when he saw the utter mess on the sixteenth floor. Blazing flames were everywhere, along with the marks of sword strikes, and a huge crater had even been blasted into the floor.
In a scene like this, even the lights seemed dimmer than usual. Zost was lying nearby, one arm severed.
His clothes were in tatters, and even the black, heat-resistant soft armor personally made for him by Leo had been torn open with great difficulty by that rapier, revealing countless wounds beneath.
"Are you all right? Do you need me to send in a rescue machine?"
Stark flew to Zost's side, opened his faceplate, and asked him.
"I'm fine. I'll be recovered soon. Captain has already gone in after that guy. Go help him."
Zost struggled to climb to his feet. The wounds on his body were still slowly healing at a visible rate. Though they were no longer recovering as quickly as they had at first, the process was still over a hundred times faster than an ordinary person's.
Stark looked at the slowly churning red lava where Zost's right arm had been, and it immediately brought back some unpleasant memories.
Of course, Stark did not linger. Leaning forward, he shot straight into the room.
Zost, however, staggered toward another room.
"That bastard. I'll chop his head off with my own hands."
As soon as Stark entered the laboratory, he saw the two figures grappling in the middle of the room.
Rogers was being completely suppressed by the black-robed man. If he had not wielded the shield in his hand with such fluidity, things would have been far worse than the few wounds on his body.
Stark naturally did not hesitate. He thrust both hands forward, and two azure Repulsor Cannons shot out.