The steel door crumpled like aluminum foil under Leon's palm.
Tony's protest died mid-sentence as muzzle flashes painted the corridor crimson. Three dozen AK-47s roared in symphony, their copper-jacketed rounds forming a metallic hailstorm.
"Showoff," Leon muttered.
Bullets flattened against his corneas like gnats hitting windshield glass. He caught one between thumb and forefinger, the still-smoking projectile warped into a miniature sculpture of its shooter's terrified face.
Through the gunpowder haze, terrorist #47 would later swear he saw the devil's eyes ignite.
Twin ruby beams lanced through smoke. The thermal cut left molecular edges sharper than Damascus steel – twenty-three men toppled in perfect halves, their bisected bodies sliding apart with the precision of deli-sliced meat.
"Allahu Akbar!" The surviving commander's prayer emerged three octaves too high. "Fall back! Use grenad—"
His orders dissolved as Leon materialized inside the weapons cache. The stench of burnt cordite mixed with voided bowels as he moved through the ranks. Elbows became bone shrapnel. Skulls popped like overripe melons under casual flicks of wrist.
Tony emerged from the cave mouth to a scene from Bosch's nightmares.
The Mark I's servos whined as he gestured at the carnage. "Could've left some for the suit's maiden voyage."
Leon tossed a still-beating heart over his shoulder. It splatted against the cave wall with wet finality. "You want fireworks? Fine."
He crouched, palms slamming earth.
The ground rippled like liquid. Rock formations liquefied into glassy waves that swallowed Humvees whole. A fuel depot three klicks away detonated in sympathetic eruption, its mushroom cloud blooming like some hellish desert flower.
When the tremors subsided, only wind whistled through gun barrels warped into modern art sculptures.
"Still prefer your popgun armor?" Leon brushed silica dust from his hair.
Tony's faceplate retracted, revealing an expression torn between awe and petulance. "That's... excessive."
"Efficient." Leon nodded at the smoldering crater where the terrorist compound once stood. "No witnesses, no loose ends."
Eisen emerged pale but steady. "What about the Ten Rings' backers? Their supply chains..."
"Already handled." Leon's eyes glowed faintly as satellite coordinates scrolled across his retinas. "Stane's offshore accounts just transferred to UNICEF. His mistress is emailing incriminating documents to the NYPD as we speak."
Tony's bark of laughter echoed across the cleansed battlefield. "Remind me to never let you plan my birthday party."