In the underground base, stark white lights shone down on the rough hull of the Iron Monger.
Obadiah slammed the second-generation Arc Reactor onto the workbench, the clatter of metal making every engineer look up.
“I’m giving you three days.
I want a replica.”
The chief engineer’s hands trembled as he accepted the reactor.
The scanner whirred to life, a blue beam passing over the glowing blue ring.
One second.
Two seconds.
The data screen suddenly scrolled wildly, and the line graphs exploded into a brilliant sea of light.
“This…
this is impossible…” The chief engineer’s eyes went wide.
“A cold fusion field stability coefficient of 9.8?!
The highest our prototype ever reached was 3.2!”
A young engineer leaned in to look and gasped.
“Miniaturized magnetic field confinement layers…
a three-tier nested structure!
My God, how did he cram all this in here?”
“The energy conduit layout is practically a work of art…”
“Look at the phase adjustment module!
So harmonic resonance can be used to offset thermal degradation!”
Exclamations of awe rang out one after another.
Standing in the shadows, Obadiah clenched his fingers into fists one by one.
It was happening again.
Thirty years ago, a casual sketch Howard Stark drew on paper took Obadiah’s team three months to analyze.
Now, something Tony built on a whim left this group of top engineers looking like they had witnessed a miracle.
“Mr.
Stane!” The chief engineer turned around excitedly.
“With this prototype, two weeks…
no, ten days!
We can make the first replica!”
“What about mass production?”
“One month!
As long as the production line is adjusted, twenty a month won’t be a problem!”
The muscles on Obadiah’s face twitched.
“And improvements?
I want a version better than the one in Tony’s chest.”
The laboratory instantly fell silent.
The engineers exchanged uneasy looks.
The young engineer whispered, “Just understanding this design already…
takes time.
To improve it…
it might take years.”
“Useless.”
Just then, an alarm blared.
The main screen flickered to footage of the base plaza.
A silver Audi R8 smashed through the barricade, its tires screeching against the concrete.
The car door pushed open.
Tony Stark stepped out, carrying King Arthur’s longsword in his hand.
Obadiah’s pupils contracted.
Impossible.
He clearly remembered the sensation of the blade slicing through the cervical vertebrae, the arc of the head flying off.
Yet the man on the screen…
was unequivocally Tony Stark.
“Install the reactor into the Iron Monger!” Obadiah roared.
“Now!”
The engineers panicked.
A mechanical arm grabbed the reactor and aligned it with the recess in the Iron Monger’s chest.
*Click.*
An eerie blue light flared, and the mech’s eyes instantly ignited with a crimson glare.
Obadiah climbed into the cockpit, and the moment the hatch sealed, a surge of overwhelming power rushed through his entire body.
He laughed.
A deep, suppressed laugh that had been pent up for years.
“Initialize weapon systems.”
“Preheat Gatling guns.”
“Load micro-missiles.”
System prompts chimed one after another.
Obadiah looked at the monitoring screen.
Tony had already reached the entrance of the base, dragging his longsword along the ground and leaving a trail of ice.
“Tony, since you’re not dead, then as your uncle, I’ll just have to kill you one more time.”
He licked his lips.
Then he slammed the control stick forward.
The thrusters behind the Iron Monger spewed streams of fire, and the frame shuddered.
The securing chains snapped taut.
Impatiently, Obadiah yanked the levers, forcing the mech’s arms to exert full force.
*Crack!
Boom!*
The chains burst apart, sending shrapnel flying in all directions.
A severed chain swept across the engineers’ workspace.
Screams echoed.
Flesh and blood splattered.
Obadiah didn’t even glance back as he went full throttle on the thrusters.
*BOOM!*
The Iron Monger smashed through the reinforced concrete slabs overhead—one floor, two floors, three floors…
Debris rained down like hail.
The surviving engineers below scattered in utter terror.
At the Stark Industries Central Plaza, Tony stood holding his sword, the Audi R8 headlights illuminating half his face.
Opposite him, the Iron Monger slammed to the ground with a thunderous crash, shattering the pavement beneath it.
A distorted voice came through the loudspeaker: “My dear nephew…
what kind of monster are you?”
Tony didn’t answer.
He raised his sword, pointing the tip directly at the mech’s chest, where his reactor was embedded.
“That’s mine,” he said.
Obadiah laughed loudly.
“It’s mine now!”
The Iron Monger raised both arms, and the Gatling gun barrels began to spin.
*Whirrr—*
Muzzle flashes burst forth.
A barrage of bullets tore through the air, instantly engulfing Tony.
*Thwack-thwack-thwack!*
Bullets riddled his suit, punching through flesh and leaving ghoulish holes.
Yet there was no blood.
Tony looked down at his chest.
Frost was crystallizing around the edges of the bullet holes.
“This suit was expensive,” he actually quipped.
Obadiah froze.
The cockpit display showed the vital sign scan results: No heartbeat, no body temperature, no metabolic activity.
Yet the target was still standing.
“What…
what are you?!” Obadiah’s voice trembled.
Tony finally looked up.
In those eyes, there was no anger, no sadness—only a cold, eerie blue.
“A ghost who finally saw his family for who they really are,” he said softly.
“Obie, do you know what ghosts are best at?”
He slowly raised the longsword.
Along the blade, chilling air began to condense into visible frost patterns.
“Taking people where they belong.”
He swung the sword down.
There was no earth-shattering explosion.
Only cold.
Endless freezing air surged from the blade’s tip, coalescing and shaping itself in midair.
It formed a ten-meter-tall, translucent spectral phantom.
A giant scythe.
A black robe.
Hollow eye sockets.
…The Grim Reaper.
The phantom roared silently and lunged at the Iron Monger.
Obadiah pulled the triggers wildly—missiles, bullets, flames…
firing every weapon he had!
Yet the attacks passed straight through the phantom as if passing through thin air.
The freezing air clung to the armor’s shell.
The cockpit temperature plunged.
The monitors frosted over.
Obadiah’s breath fogged up his visor before rapidly freezing into solid ice.
“No…
NO!!!”
The last thing he saw was the flashing red alarms on his console before every indicator light died, frozen solid into ice crystals.
*Crack.* Silence.
Under the moonlight, the Iron Monger had turned into an ice sculpture.
Glowing a translucent, icy blue, Obadiah’s terrified, distorted face was still visible inside.
In the next second, fissures appeared on the surface of the ice.
The cracks spread.
*BOOM!*
The entire mech shattered into countless ice crystals, raining down like a hauntingly beautiful storm in the night sky.
In the center of the plaza, only a single human-shaped ice sculpture remained.
Obadiah Stane, forever frozen in his final moment of sheer terror.
Moments later, the screech of brakes shattered the quiet.
A SHIELD convoy surrounded the plaza, and agents rushed out with guns drawn.
Pepper was the first to run toward Tony.
Her high heels slipped on the icy ground, nearly making her fall.
“Tony!”
When she saw the dense cluster of bullet holes riddling his body, her eyes instantly turned red.
A pink spherical domain expanded outward.
ROOM.
The bullet slugs were pushed out by an invisible force, and the wounds healed at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Yet Pepper’s hands were trembling.
She looked up at Tony’s face; it was frighteningly calm.
“Are you okay?” her voice faltered.
Tony didn’t answer.
Instead, he raised his left hand.
Trapped in the blue glow of his palm was a miniature, frantically struggling soul.
Obadiah’s soul.
“Death is not the end, my dear uncle,” Tony murmured.
“We have all the time in the world to settle our score.”
Pepper looked at the wailing soul, a chill running down her spine.
This was her Tony.
And yet…
he felt like a complete stranger.
“Mr.
Stark.”
Phil Coulson stepped closer, his expression grave.
“We need to talk.
Regarding your…
abilities.”
Tony turned his head, his glowing blue eyes fixing on him.
“Tell Fury if he wants to talk, he can come himself.”
He paused, then gestured to the ice crystals scattered across the ground.
“Bill me for the cleanup.”
With that, he took Pepper’s hand and turned to leave.
Phil Coulson opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself, ultimately signaling the agents to stand down.
At the exact same time, inside Dragon Pavilion Chinese Restaurant, Shaun Vance was wiping down a glass.
*Ding!* The system prompt suddenly rang in his mind.
[Revive-Revive Fruit Synchronization Rate: 55% → 90%]
[Warning: Ability approaching awakening threshold]
[New Branch Preview: Netherworld Realm (Unactivated), Sovereign of the Dead (Unactivated)]
Shaun paused.
90%?
A 35% jump in three days?
He pulled up the other data:
Pepper Potts (Op-Op Fruit): 12% → 15%
Carl Miller (Mirror-Mirror Fruit): 7% → 9%
Natasha (Chop-Chop Fruit): 0.5% → 3%
The disparity was massive.
“Tony Stark…” Shaun muttered under his breath.
“You really are the best investor.”
Resilient mind.
Life-altering trauma.
The speed at which someone like that developed a Fruit was tenfold that of an ordinary person.
“Perhaps,” his wiping movement slowed down, “it’s time to find more top-tier candidates to invest in?”
Just then, the bell above the glass door chimed.
A couple walked inside.
The woman was lively, linking her arm through the man’s.
“Matt, my coworker recommended this place!
She said the egg fried rice is to die for!”
The man wore sunglasses and held a white cane, dressed in a sharp suit.
He tilted his head slightly, a gentle smile at the corner of his lips.
“Sounds great, Karen.”
Shaun looked up, a faint smile touching his thoughts.
Daredevil, Matt Murdock.
The protector of Hell’s Kitchen, the benchmark of Marvel’s street-level heroes.
Who would have thought he’d walk through the door like this?