There were already enough warnings blinking insistently in front of his eyes to make Tony squint and shunt them away as new ones continued to pop up. The remaining power level (critical) was the most stubborn, flashing big and red with every drop in percentage no matter how many times Tony dismissed it. It was only after he pushed himself onto his hands and knees and felt the sickening crunch under his palm, making him lift it with curious dread to see the shattered shells of a dozen beetles and their snotty, slippery guts sloughing down his wrist, that he actually took the time to examine the proximity alerts and the crawling, scuttling, squirming wave of bugs that covered his armor. He shuddered and heaved, tasting pennies and only spitting red into his helmet before trying to shake himself off. They looked like fucking cockroaches and they were everywhere, and more of them were still coming. Iron Man vaulted to his feet, stumbling back and crushing more under his boots, sending a rain of them to the floor while some still clung tenaciously to his suit.
Staring around wildly, he spotted Wanda still on the floor and the pruned wizard giving her some kind of geriatric shake down. What the hell was wrong with her? "Wanda, magic?" Iron Man tried to remind her, voice drowned out by a snap and spark from the armor that made him jump and slap his hands down his chest. Nothing should have been able to get through this armor, but the beetles were burrowing. With a growl, Iron Man flung his hands out, both covered in bug carcasses that cooked and smoked when he blasted the master at the centre of all of this torture. The repulsors flared away from him just like Iron Man had done, green tinged as they burst through the walls instead and showered the roiling carpet of scarabs with dust and debris. Warning: Power level critical.