Chapter 3: Shattered Rage

Inside the maze of halls within the Pentagon, some minutes before the invasion of the Iron Fist, a squad of handsome, solid, battle-hardened All-American Marines stood on duty.  Then suddenly alarms had blared, sirens wailed, commanders ordered, and Marines obeyed.  Each one battle-trained and tested, brave, strong, and fast.  Before their Sarge opened his mouth to shout battle orders, they were already on the move, scrambling to hoist their M-16s, adjusting helmets and their kevlar body armor.  Their Sarge, Sgt. Mason, a large barrel-chested man could barely contain the swelling burst of pride at his men.  Each one part of a well-oiled machine.  Consulting his wireless, he shouted orders to the Corporals, and his men burst into a dead run as one.  Several tons of beefy 100% All-American soldier-muscle answered the call, as the unit of brave men burst onto the scene. They were just in time to see Iron Fist outmuscle Captain America, blasting him into the wall.  Iron Fist had ruptured his full-nelson, and gave the stunned superhero a taste of the kind of power he was facing.

The squad was momentarily overcome with shock. Captain America was the very symbol of what they fought for, a true red-blooded American hero, invincible, strong, brave, stoic.  He was invincible.  Bullets could not pierce his skin, no being alive could match his strength.  They all knew of his origins, of the SSS, and how the other members of the experimental group had died, leaving only Captain America.  His reputation, the aura of untouchability and invincibility was suddenly shattered by the grisly scene unfolding before the shell-shocked soldiers, their horror peaking as Captain America's shield shattered in two by the unbelievable skill and power of the monster Iron Fist.  They could barely stand to watch their hero, the Invincible All-American Defender of Liberty thrown to the ground, mounted, then punched in the face with those grisly, brutal, deadly gauntlets...  now covered in red hero blood.  The spray of blood from the shattering of the superhero's nose spattered into Sgt. Mason's face and a drop landed on his tongue.

Suddenly, as if the taste of his hero's blood woke the Sarge up from a dream, Sgt. Mason saw the hero-smashing wicked battle gauntlet, dripping the blood of the mighty Captain America, lift up, fist poised.  Sgt. Mason could make out every muscle suddenly pop into full definition on the body of the Iron Fist.  Sculpted, striated, chest heaving with power.  The villain was....  a god.  A god of vengeance and destruction, come to destroy their hero. Power, skill, savage fury, primal dominance radiated from his being in waves that wrenched at the stunned Sgt, drawing him to his knees to pay homage to the sheer perfection of the terrible warrior-villain.  But Sgt. Mason clung fiercely to his faith in Captain America, fiercely to his belief that the good guy always wins.  Captain America had taught him that.  Sometimes though, he might need a little help.  No way in hell some wierdo dressed in black with fancy gloves was gonna hurt their hero.  Suddenly, consumed by a fiery righteous fury, he yelled, his barrel chest expanding, his muscles striating, and charged, unloading his M-16 into the back of Iron Fist.  The heavily buffed dangerous fighter only smiled, the bullets bouncing off his skin.

Captain America, lost in a haze, didn't yet have a clue, but he saw that smile, and something inside him trembled....  that wasn't fear was it?  Meanwhile, Sgt. Mason charged on, a battle-hardened, fearless modern soldier, trained to kill his enemy without mercy.  He focused on his foe, his terrible rage giving him a burst of adrenaline-powered strength.  He saw the bullets had no effect, but that didn't matter.  All that mattered was distracting him from Captain America long enough to let their hero do his thing, and finish this creep.   He bravely let forth a battle-yell, and swung his M-16 like a steel club at the still-unmoving back of the Iron Fist.

It happened so fast...   One moment Sgt. Mason was the epitome of a righteous warrior, the next..., well the next moment, the Iron Fist had bent forward just slightly, and the M-16 whistled over his head.  Planting his body on one hand, he twisted around, pivoting on his gauntlet.  In the next moment, his fist slammed deep into the rock-solid iron-hard soldier-trained muscle gut of Sgt. Mason.  The  hard concrete muscle simply shattered, along with Sgt. Mason's rage.   Sgt. Mason, as everything started to turn black, he looked down in horror to see puke spewing from his ruptured gut, the muscles, tight and tense, literally shattered by a single blow.  The puke spewed all over the groaning tightly muscled form of Captain America.  The squad fell silent transfixed momentarily by the image of Sgt. Mason puking, then toppling onto the downed hero.  Something broke deep inside the warrior, his very core desecrated and shattered, he fell forward, broken, defeated, in a daze as his body tried to deal with nearly being impaled by the Iron Fist.  

Iron Fist ROARRRED, and mounted the downed Marine.  The muscle-beast, the Iron Fist, moved with deadly, powerful awesome grace and muscled purpose.  Every striation in his bicep flexing, mesmerizing the onlooking troops, the Iron Fist slowly reached down and unzipped his crotch.  Without any self-conciousness at all, the massive rock-hard member of this paragon of masculine power and aggression fell forward.   Smiling cruelly, he bent down and whispered something in Sgt. Mason's ears.   Sgt. Mason looked dumbfounded, then screamed, “CAPTAIN AMERICA..  NO DON'T LET HIM..”   But too late, even as the dazed nearly KO'd hero recovered and started to rise, the amazing muscle of the Iron Fist dropped onto the downed Marine, pinning him on top of the quivering, recovering muscle of Captain America.

Holding Captain America by the side of the head, he fired off a brutal shot into the face of the massively muscled, buffed out superhero, defender of America.  It CRUNCHHHED into his face, and a spray of blood spattered out, mostly into Sgt. Mason's face.  The battle-hardened Sgt. tried to master his terror, but the pain as suddenly Iron Fist shoved his exposed cock through the G.I issue Marine trousers up into the ass and deep inside the destroyed Marine was too much for the broken man.  He screamed right in the All-American hero's face.  The scream touched Captain America's rage deep and true, his rage, his need to defend his brothers awoke in him anew, but he was helpless.  He had to eat his rage unable to risk hurting Sgt. Mason. 

He was privvy to a terrible show.   As Iron Fist raped Sgt. Mason harder and harder, the Marine broke utterly, crying like a child.   His eyes went lifeless, then suddenly as Iron Fist unloaded deep into the Marine's broken guts, he whispered three words in the Marine's ears, only three: “I love you.”  The shock of hearing those words in this situation dumbfounded the massive muscle hero, the defender of Liberty, Captain America.  Everything froze, and Captain America was transported back, back in time to where his brothers, the other super soldier candidates … to where they … what had happened … what did he remember...  those words, while being raped.  

And then he remembered, but refused to believe his memory.  He remembered himself fighting his brother Rick in the super soldier program, destroying him physically, dominating him, then he remembered taking his ass in victory, just like Iron Fist did to Sgt. Mason, and just like that he remembered the rush, the release, and the love, the amazing, nurturing bond of warrior to warrior love.   The amazing, healing, uplifting sense of being one with his fight-brother.   Captain America wept now, broken, truly broken from the heart to remember the depth of his love for his brother, the long nights, the long days spent training as warriors together.  And in time, they had all grown to bond one another in battle, each bonded to the other in the fight, the aggression exchanged between them used to forge a mighty loving brotherhood.  From this first love, it expanded to include them all.   He couldn't understand how to reconcile this reality with what the morals and ethics of his nation taught him, but he learned not to question, and he learned that this must be a special case that no one else could know.  His cognitive dissonance took it's cue from how  the authorities pretended not to see how each of these warriors took lovers with one another in a natural process that is part of being warrior brothers, and now he remembered the next part, the memory that had been suppressed for so long...  He remembered now waking up in a small room.  He remembered this room was full of his brothers.   He remembered the order...  “FIGHT!  FIGHT UNTIL ONE MAN IS STANDING”  shouted out over the loud-speakers.   He remembered screaming with the others, WHAT THE FUCK?  NEVER!  These were his brothers, his lovers! 

But suddenly, they looked at each other.   Orders were orders, and somehow he felt, almost against his will, the fight lust building beyond his ability to control.  He never remembered who threw the first punch, but he convinced himself it was him.  The fight recollection was a blur, just a blur.   He remembered the end though, he remembered that he was standing over his defeated brother Rick.   All the others were dead, but Rick.  His hand was raised, ready to kill his brother, ready to finish him like the others.  But all the rage, the anger, the terror could not force him to do it.  Could not.  He was tasered into unconciousness, when he awoke he saw the face of the general in charge cutting his brother Rick's throat, and he saw the blood trickle as the general muttered, “good riddance you faggot...”  And then he knew only whiteness.  He was treated with drugs, shock therapy, terrible games of hypnosis and brain-washing until the memory of that incident was deeply suppressed.  His amazing strength and stamina he remembered, came from conquering his brothers, not from the secret solider serum as he had been brainwashed into believing.  Until now.

He came back to reality to see the Iron Fist stand up, throw back his head and ROAR!!!  “DOGS!!  BITCHES!!!  FUCKING BASTARDS!!  SLIMEBALLS!!  RAPISTS!! MURDERERS!!  THUGS!!! COWARDS!! HOW DARE YOU CORRUPT THIS BOND!!! HOW DARE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS, YOU SELF-RIGHTEOUS PIECES OF SHIT CORRUPT THIS SACRED, ANCIENT SPARTAN WARRIOR-BOND!!”  He held Sgt. Mason who was crying, not in shame any more, not in defeat, but in freedom, a freedom deep and profound.   What was going on?  Who was who?  Captain America, his massive military fight trained muscle shook and trembled as he tried to make sense of what was happening.   And then he wept...  the mighty hero, invincible in battle, unable to accept defeat, unable to let go of his terrible self-blame, wept like a broken child.  He looked up into the face of the terrible warrior staring down at him.  And this warrior …   Iron Fist was weeping with him.  His tears were falling onto Captain America, the hero, the defender of American Truth and Justice was weeping like a broken child.  Iron Fist, the avenging devastator, the UFC fight champion, the conqueror and leader of an organization secret and shadowy, the terrible fighter, the avenging god of destruction was weeping with him.   His tears and sobs tore through the super macho fighter as he laid aside Sgt. Mason, still weeping in the ecstasy of freedom, and picked up the bleeding, broken Captain America.   With a gentleness and consideration that again surprised the onlooking dumbfounded Marines, he began to hold Captain America up in a bearhug, and started to lower him on his cock.  The brave All-American hero, the paragon of virtue, did not resist, wanting this more than anything.  

Suddenly, a team of elite Navy SEALS rushed on to the scene.  Each one a trained commando, each one deadly, each one the very epitome of a hard-bodied action hero.  The leader of the SEAL team looked over the scene.  He saw the signs of anal intercourse all over Sgt. Mason.  He saw the tears, and he saw the look of wonder and freedom on Sgt. Mason's face.   He saw something happening that was forbidden by every code he had sworn too, something had occurred that must not happen.   He lifted his gun, without thought and pointed it not at the Iron Fist, but at Sgt. Mason.  He fired the trigger, but Pvt. Armstrong had followed the actions of the SEAL.  He saw the look on his face, and the smooth way the SEAL lifted his gun.  Some deep sense told him this was wrong, and his love for his Sgt., the man who had befriended the young, cocky, well-muscled Marine grunt in a way unbefitting a Sarge to a Pvt, screamed “NOOOO” and lept, catching the bullet in his shoulder, piercing him right through the muscled deltoid, but saving his Sarge, who would have taken it in the head.

Then, all hell broke loose.   The young Marine, Pvt. Armstrong, screamed in rage, and the rest of the Marine Squad, still not sure what was happening, but aware that the SEALS tried to kill their beloved Sarge, reacted on instinct, turning their M-16s on the SEALS, incapacitating half the SEAL team with an uncanny opening barrage.  Somehow, the bullets pierced massively muscled SEAL biceps, thick muscle thighs, and even a few in their ridged, concrete abs, but all of the wounds were non-lethal.  The Marines then took cover against the awesomely gifted SEAL commandos as they returned fire, injuring three quarters of the opposing Marines with their opening barrage, piercing thick Marine beef, tatted biceps, battled hardened buff warrior muscle, but again without any lethal shots.  

The leader of the SEAL team felt ice form in the pit of his gut, this was becoming a shit fest real fast.   His remaining battle-capable, buff warrior jock commandos took cover, and he entered that cold place of apathy and disconnection which his training told him was how you must be to kill the enemy, and turned on the Marines, now the enemy.  

Meanwhile, Iron Fist was lost to all this, in the throes of forging the warrior-bond with Captain America.  He penetrated deeply into the unresisting hero, and the need of both to be together was so strong, he unloaded his warrior-cum quickly and deeply into the crying hero.    He whispered, “I love you, Steve Rogers.” into Captain America's ear at the height of his impassioned release.   The hero exploded inside, bonds of fear, of terror, of apathy, of righteous wrath, burned away in the flames of those words.  He experienced true freedom...  the freedom to once more love his brothers in the way he desired to, in the way he needed to, to balance the aggression of being a warrior, flooded through him.  

A bright clean fire, a fire of love and wrath, of terrible desire held down and falsely misused exploded in his chest.  He got up on his feet, and together Captain America and the Iron Fist turned to face those SEALS.    “Game's up boys.  Your vile secret is out now.   Captain America is FREE!  Let's see whose side he's really on!” said Iron Fist, giving those SEALS a look just this side of mayhem.    Captain America's eyes shone with purpose, cleansed and true.  His being radiated a power and a love for his brothers that both included even the SEALS, stunning them with it's intensity and unexpectedness.  A few of them broke just at the look he gave them, putting down their weapons and weeping.  The others chose to fight.  It was not a good choice.  

The Warrior-Bond was free now, free from the corruption of the misguided, terrified bastards who ran the military of Captain America's home nation.  Their greatest secret, the misuse of the warrior-bond to not only bind the soldiers to their leadership, but also the vile corruption of it used to break their enemies manhood and will to fight, the greatest source of their control and power over the soldiers of the hypocritical nation was broken.  

Now, it was time to teach men what this bond was really meant for. 

Now, it was time to teach men how to be warriors instead of soldiers.

Now, it was time to teach warriors how to be both gods and men.

…

To Be Continued in another Story