Marvel x Genshin: Mavuika, The Sun Goddess Rules Asgard — Chapter 97

Chapter 97: Relief and Freedom

The day Howard and Maria left, the weather was beautiful.

The sky was a vast, clear blue, with only a few wisps of white cloud drifting leisurely across its expanse. Tony drove them to the airport in one of his sleek sedans, and Mavuika followed on her motorcycle, a quiet, powerful presence in their wake.

Inside the bustling terminal, Howard and Maria pulled their simple suitcases. They had decided to travel light; anything they needed, they would simply buy when they arrived.

“First stop is Greece,” Maria said, her eyes sparkling with an anticipation that made her seem years younger. She clutched a colorful travel guide in her hand. “The Acropolis in Athens, the blue-domed churches of Santorini, the ancient palaces of Crete… we plan to stay for at least three months.”

“And then maybe Italy,” Howard added, the lines of stress that had been etched around his eyes for decades seeming to have vanished. A genuine, unburdened smile graced his lips. “Or the south of France. We don’t have a specific plan. We’ll just go wherever the wind takes us.”

Tony watched them, an unfamiliar pang echoing in his chest. Growing up, the Howard he knew was always serious, perpetually busy, a man crushed under the weight of his responsibilities. But this man, this old man about to begin a grand adventure, looked so… free. So happy.

“Remember to call,” Tony said, his voice softer than usual, the customary layer of sarcasm stripped away. “Just to let me know you’re still alive. Haven’t gotten yourselves lost on some deserted island or been knocked out by a particularly potent local wine.”

Howard laughed, a deep, hearty sound that filled the space between them. He clapped a firm hand on his son’s shoulder. “We’ll be careful. You too, Tony. Managing the company isn’t easy. Don’t work yourself to death.”

“Me?” Tony’s eyebrow shot up, a flicker of his usual bravado returning. “I’m Tony Stark. I can run the company, design a new generation of weapons, fix Mavuika’s motorcycle, and still attend three parties a week. This is nothing.”

A crisp, automated voice announced their flight over the terminal’s loudspeakers. The moment had come. Howard and Maria hugged Tony tightly, a long, lingering embrace. Then they turned to Mavuika, wrapping her in a warm hug as well before finally taking their suitcases and heading toward the boarding gate.

At the corner, just before disappearing from view, Howard looked back. He raised a hand, waving one last time at Tony and Mavuika.

Then, he was gone, swallowed by the crowd.

After a moment of silence, Mavuika and Tony turned to leave. They walked out of the airport, the brilliant sunlight spilling over them. Tony slid into the low-slung driver’s seat of his sports car, while Mavuika mounted her motorcycle.

The roar of two powerful engines starting up echoed almost simultaneously. Then, the two vehicles peeled away, heading off in different directions.

In the weeks and months that followed, life shifted into a new rhythm. Tony, having fully inherited the Stark Industries empire, and Fury, armed with the explosive knowledge of HYDRA’s infiltration, both found themselves busier than ever.

Tony’s world became a whirlwind of board meetings, high-stakes negotiations, and critical decisions. He restructured the company from the ground up, pushed forward ambitious new projects, and handled a relentless gauntlet of media interviews. All the while, he had to fend off the endless stream of opportunists and rivals trying to either profit from his new position or cause him trouble.

Fury’s work was even more intense, conducted entirely in the shadows. On the surface, he remained the same reliable, senior S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, handling routine internal investigations and security assessments with stoic professionalism. But in secret, he was fighting a silent, desperate war. Every day was a battle of wits: analyzing mountains of data, tracking down phantom leads, and carefully screening personnel, trying to identify the cancerous cells latent within the massive body of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Only Mavuika was truly free.

She had a place to stay; the villa Howard had given her was now her home on Earth. She spent her days rearranging the rooms to her liking and planting new, exotic flowers in the garden, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the muted tones of Asgard.

She had her Flamestrider, and if she ever found herself short on cash, she could simply enter a few races. She competed irregularly, without a set schedule, but every appearance caused a sensation. Professional racing teams hounded her with lucrative contracts, sponsors begged her for endorsements, and Hollywood producers even tried to lure her into action movies.

Mavuika politely declined them all, one by one. She accepted only the prize money, which was more than enough to live on comfortably.

And if her vehicle ever broke down, she would find Tony during one of his rare moments of free time to fix it. Life was simple. Life was good.

…

Bucky Barnes stood before the window of an old apartment in Brooklyn, his gaze fixed on the pedestrians hurrying along the street below.

The apartment wasn’t large—just two bedrooms and a living room—and the decor was simple, but it was carefully clean. The furniture was all new, though he had deliberately chosen understated, almost spartan styles. Outside the window, he could see a corner of the East River. On good days, the sun would scatter fragments of liquid gold across the water’s surface.

Eight months had passed since the night that changed everything.

Eight months ago, he was still HYDRA’s weapon, the Winter Soldier. He had no memory, no self, only missions and killing.

Now, he was Bucky Barnes, an ordinary tenant living in Brooklyn. At least, that was the story on paper.

Howard and Tony had fabricated a new identity for him: James Buchanan, a retired soldier medically discharged from the army, now working as a part-time technician at a local auto repair shop. The file was flawless. It contained service records, medical certificates, and even a few carefully forged, blurry “old photos,” all crafted by the technical wizards at Stark Industries.

“You need time, Bucky,” Howard had told him before he left, his eyes filled with a deep understanding and a deep, unspoken apology. “For decades, you’ve been controlled, used. Now it’s time to get your own life back. You have to live under an assumed name for now, but at least… you are free.”

Freedom.

Bucky looked down at his left hand. The silver-grey metal of his arm reflected the morning light with a cold, sterile luster. This arm was the proof, the brand of those dark years that he could never escape.

Every morning when he woke, Bucky had to spend several long minutes just reorienting himself—confirming who he was, where he was, and what year it was. The memories of being brainwashed, frozen, and reawakened for missions were like a shattered mirror, the fragments sharp, chaotic, and dangerous.

Sometimes, he would dream of those missions. He would see the faces of the people he killed, the destruction he caused. He would wake up drenched in a cold sweat, gasping for air, his heart hammering against his ribs. The terror would only subside when he felt the unyielding cold of the metal arm, confirming he was truly in his Brooklyn apartment and not in a HYDRA cryogenic chamber, waiting for his next command.

To help stabilize his condition, Tony and Mavuika would visit him occasionally. The official reason was to “check the operational status of the mechanical arm,” but in reality, it was more like a visit between friends.

Howard and Tony had, in fact, seriously considered using Bucky as bait to draw out HYDRA.

The plan was dangerously tempting. Bucky was one of HYDRA’s most valuable assets; his disappearance must have sent shockwaves through their upper echelons. If he were to suddenly appear in public, HYDRA would surely spare no expense to either retrieve or eliminate him.

Tony had even drawn up a detailed plan during a late-night discussion. “We can arrange for Bucky to ‘accidentally’ appear in a public place, let the HYDRA informants inside S.H.I.E.L.D. discover him. Then we set a trap and wait for them to take the bait. Fury can mobilize the agents he trusts, I’ll set up a perimeter of monitoring and defense systems, and Mavuika can be the final insurance policy…”

But Howard had vetoed the plan without a moment’s hesitation.

“That isn’t fair, Tony,” Howard had said, his voice low and firm. “Bucky has been through too much. He was brainwashed, controlled, and used as a weapon for decades. Now that he’s finally escaped, we’re going to push him right back into danger? Let him become bait again? A target?”

“But he has a responsibility—” Tony had tried to argue.

“His responsibility has been fulfilled,” Howard interrupted, his tone leaving no room for debate. “During World War II, he risked his life for his country and paid for it by falling off that cliff. For the decades that followed, even though he was controlled, his body and his hands still bore the trauma of those missions. Enough, Tony. What he needs now is peace. He needs time. He needs to relearn how to live as an ordinary person.”