The frigid winds of the Alps swept through Aosta Valley.
Sokovia's spired churches and weathered Romanesque arcades leaned and broke amid the smoke of war.
Hydra Fortress's massive stone walls were covered in cracks from the battle, its medieval towers half-buried beneath snow-covered rubble.
Icicles hung like teardrops from the edges of shattered stained-glass windows.
Fragments of Hydra soldiers' silver armor lay scattered across the streets, tangled among frozen sunflower fields.
Dark-red blood seeped through the scorched earth.
Like an Eastern European folk painting violently torn apart.
Tony's silver Iron Legion was still carrying out its orders.
The rescue team used lasers to cut through collapsed guesthouses, while mechanical arms precisely lifted out trapped civilians.
Blue light from their chest lamps swept across the terrified faces of children.
Legion robots sprayed firefighting foam over the burning altar in the church.
Banksy-style graffiti remained on the walls—
"Sokovia is never for sale!"
An elderly Orthodox woman knelt before a fallen statue, hanging a frozen soldier's dog tag from the remaining cross.
The chanting and the Legion AI's electronic announcement—
"The evacuation route has been opened."
—formed a piercing duet.
At the peak of the distant snowy mountain, a Quinjet sat silently.
The roar of its engines tore through the silence.
Clint lay inside the aircraft, his face deathly pale.
Agonizing pain and bitter cold surrounded him, torturing his nerves.
Beads of sweat rolled down from his brow.
Listening to the increasingly lively atmosphere on the other end of the communicator—
his mind stampeded wildly.
Taking a deep breath, he laboriously activated his communicator.
"I'm saying... did you guys forget... something?"
His voice was extremely weak.
That one sentence seemed to drain all his strength. After a bout of ragged breathing, he gradually lost consciousness.
"..."
"..."
"..."
Tony, Steve, and Natasha