Deep within the barren mountain ranges of Afghanistan.
The tail flame of the Jericho missile had just dissipated against the horizon.
Tony Stark brushed the sand and dust off his suit, preparing to climb into the Humvee.
“Great demo, Tony.” Colonel Rhodes punched him lightly on the shoulder with a smile.
“Those old brass heads in the military almost had their eyes pop out.”
“Of course it was a success.
It’s the Stark Industries trademark.” Tony put on his sunglasses.
“Tell them prices are going up by fifteen percent next year.”
The convoy left the military base, winding along the narrow canyon path.
Tony leaned back in his seat, his mind flashing back to the taste of the egg fried rice from last night and Shaun Vance’s calm, unbothered face.
“A ten-million-dollar piece of shit…” he chuckled under his breath.
Suddenly—
*Bang!*
*Boom!*
The Humvee in front blew up into a towering fireball.
“Ambush!” Rhodes screamed.
A hail of bullets poured down like a torrential rainstorm.
Tony was slammed to the vehicle floor by his bodyguard.
Through the shattered window, he saw armed insurgents wearing the Ten Rings emblem charging down the hillside.
A rocket struck the hood.
The shockwave shattered the remaining glass.
Tony felt himself launch into the air as the world turned into slow motion.
And then…
Agony.
He looked down to see a jagged, twisted piece of metal lodged deep in his chest.
It was a fragment from a Jericho missile, its edges still smoking hot.
Blood gushed out, warm and thick.
“Pepper…” He tried to speak, but only spat up bloody foam.
Darkness swallowed everything.
***
He had no idea how much time had passed before light flickered outside his eyelids.
Tony opened his eyes and saw a bearded old white man picking at his chest with a pair of tweezers.
“Hey!” Tony instinctively shoved the hand away.
“Pal, I’m not used to men touching my body.”
The old man recoiled in horror, the tweezers dropping with a sharp *clatter* to the floor.
“You…
you’re awake?!”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Tony propped himself up and looked around.
Rock walls, oil lamps, a crude operating table.
“Where am I?
A medical tent?”
“A cave.” The old man’s voice trembled.
“One of the Ten Rings’ strongholds.”
Tony remembered now.
The ambush, the explosion, his chest being…
He looked down.
His suit had been cut open, revealing a bowl-sized wound on his chest.
The edges of the flesh were grey and frayed, but strangely…
there was no blood flowing.
“My wound…?”
“You’re dead.” The old man interrupted him, his tone laced with utter bewilderment.
“Your heart stopped twelve hours ago.
Your pupils dilated, and your body temperature dropped to ambient room temperature.
By every medical definition, you’re a corpse.”
Tony froze.
“But I’m talking.”
“That’s the problem.” The old man picked up the tweezers like he was demonstrating a specimen.
“Look here.”
He nudged aside the muscle tissue in Tony’s chest.
Tony saw his own ribs, and behind them…
a motionless heart.
Dark red, torn open on the surface, completely still.
“It isn’t beating,” the old man said.
“The fact that you’re breathing is pure habit, a neurological reflex.
If you don’t believe me, try holding your breath.”
Tony gave it a shot, holding it in.
Thirty seconds.
A minute.
Three minutes.
Not a single shred of discomfort.
His lungs didn’t protest, and his brain suffered no hypoxia.
He let go of his control, and his breathing resumed automatically—though he didn’t actually need the action at all.
“Ever seen a zombie movie?” The old man let out a bitter laugh.
“When you woke up, I almost thought you were going to bite me!
Thank God your first word wasn’t ‘hungry’.”
Tony didn’t banter back.
He touched the edge of the wound.
It was cold, painless, like touching someone else’s flesh.
Then, he remembered.
The Revive-Revive Fruit.
A ten-million-dollar investment that could only be verified after death…
that “shit-flavored” investment.
“Shaun Vance…” Tony burst into laughter.
The sound grew louder and louder, echoing off the cave walls.
“You bastard!
It’s real!
You actually sold me the real deal!”
“What fruit?” the old man asked.
“Nothing.” Tony stopped laughing, his eyes lighting up.
“Listen, pal, what’s your name?”
“Yinsen.
Ho Yinsen.”
“Alright, Yinsen.” Tony pointed to his chest.
“As you can see, I’m currently in a living-dead state.
The good news is…
I seem to be immortal.
The bad news is, we’re locked up by terrorists.
Got a plan?”
Yinsen was baffled by this sudden jump in logic.
“They said you’re a genius engineer.
They wanted me to save you so you could build them a Jericho missile.”
“Bunch of idiots!”
Tony looked down at his wound, his finger tracing along his ribs.
Suddenly, a faint flicker of eerie blue light flashed deep inside the wound.
It was very weak, but undeniably present.
Tony narrowed his eyes and focused his mind.
The blue light flashed again, this time lasting for a full second, causing the ambient temperature around them to drop by several degrees.
“What is that?” Yinsen leaned closer.
“No idea,” Tony grinned.
“But it’s definitely cooler than sticking a car battery in my chest.”
He stood up and stretched his limbs.
His joints felt a bit stiff, but his strength was intact—if anything, he felt even stronger, mostly because he no longer had pain limiters holding him back.
“We need a plan.” Tony glanced at the pile of missile wreckage in the corner of the cave.
“Since they want weapons, we’ll build weapons.
Just not for them.”
“You’re going to fight back?”
“I’m going home.” Tony stared at his pale grey fingers.
“And while I’m at it, I’m going to ask that Chinese restaurant owner if the Fruit’s after-sales service includes ‘fixing a broken heart’.”
He walked over to the pile of wreckage, squatted down, and began dismantling the parts.
As his fingers touched the metal, that wispy blue glow flickered once more.
***
New York, 4:00 AM.
Shaun Vance stood bare-chested in his backyard, the moonlight illuminating the tight muscles of his back.
“Inhale—three, hold—two, exhale—four.”
His muscles contracted rhythmically, his skin taking on a dark, steel-grey hue.
He raised his right arm and swung his left palm down hard like a blade!
*Thump!*
A dull sound echoed, like wood striking solid iron.
The Iron Body state lasted for two seconds before dissipating.
“Still a long way off.” Shaun wiped away his sweat and prepared for the next round.
Right then—
[Ding!]
[Revive-Revive Fruit Synchronization Updated: 0.01% → 20%]
[Status Change: Synchronization target has completed “Death Activation.” Undead Physique (Basic) is now in effect.]
[Ability Branch Unlock Preview: Nether Summoning (0%), Revive Cold Energy (0.3%), Undead Will (1%)]
[Warning: Synchronization target is in an abnormal life state.
Some sensory feedback may be disrupted!]
Shaun halted his stance and looked toward the eastern sky.
“Eight hours early,” he murmured softly.
In the original timeline, Tony had been severely injured but survived.
Now, he had outright died and revived.
What did this mean?
How would the Ten Rings treat an “unkillable” prisoner?
Could Yinsen still act as his spiritual pillar like before?
Another prompt popped up from the system:
[Undead Vision Fragment Unlocked.]
[You can now receive random visual fragments during moments of intense emotional fluctuations from the synchronization target.]
Shaun closed his eyes.
A sequence of imagery flashed through the darkness:
A cave, an oil lamp, the terrified face of an old bearded man.
Tony looking down at his chest, where a faint blue light flickered within his open wound.
Then came Tony’s voice, laced with a wild, crazed laugh: *I’m gonna make those idiots who ambushed me pay what they owe…*
The vision faded.
Shaun opened his eyes, the corners of his mouth curling upward.
“Adapting pretty fast, Mr.
Stark.”
He walked back inside and took a cold shower.
As the water washed over his body, he intentionally sensed the newly added “chill” within him.
It was faint, like a breath of mist on a cold winter night.
He raised his hand and shifted his focus.
A needle-point dot of blue spark emerged at his fingertip, which he tapped against the edge of the sink.
*Crack.*
A thin layer of frost instantly coated the porcelain surface, melting five seconds later.
“Revive Cold Energy, lowest form,” Shaun observed the rising steam.
“Once Tony develops it further, how far will this ability grow?”
After drying himself off, he turned on the TV.
The morning news had already started broadcasting:
“…Stark Industries CEO Tony Stark has gone missing following an attack in Afghanistan.
The military has launched a search and rescue operation.
Stark Industries stock opened lower this morning…”
The shot cut to Wall Street, where the giant screen at Stark Tower flashed with red plummeting numbers.
Shaun switched off the TV and put on his only suit.
At 9:00 AM, Wall Street.
An account under “Daybreak Investments” was opened at Morgan Stanley, and Tony’s ten-million-dollar check cleared.
Shaun sat in a VIP room.
Before him, three screens displayed stock trends, news feeds, and the trading terminal.
His broker was a sharp, elite white woman in her twenties named Carl.
She wore an alluring OL pencil skirt outfit, her long, slender legs encased in sheer black stockings.
“Mr.
Vance, Stark Industries is fluctuating wildly right now.” Carl leaned over and pointed at the candlestick chart, showcasing a killer neckline.
“It opened down eight percent and is still sinking.
Are you sure you want to jump in?”
“Positive.” Shaun tapped the keyboard and placed his first buy order.
“But…”
“The core value of Stark Industries lies in its 6,473 defense patents, its long-term contracts with the military, and its global distribution network.” Shaun spoke calmly.
“Tony Stark is the face, but he isn’t the sole pillar.
The old foxes on the board know that better than anyone.
They will stabilize the market.”
Carl was taken aback.
“You know this company well?”
“I know human nature.” Shaun placed a second order.
“When panic selling happens, that’s the time to pick up bargains.”
On the screen, Stark Industries’ stock price continued to drop.
-10%, -12%, -15%.
A news alert popped up with the latest update: *Ten Rings claims responsibility for the attack, stating Stark is dead.*
The stock price instantly plummeted to -18%.
A commotion broke out in the trading floor outside.
Sweat began to bead on Carl’s fair forehead.
“Mr.
Vance, should we set a stop-loss?
Your position is already suffering floating losses!”
“Double down.” Shaun interrupted her, pushing two-thirds of his remaining funds into the trade.
“This is too risky!”
“Do as I say.”
Shaun hit the enter key, purchasing another batch of shares.
Account holdings: 0.48% stake in Stark Industries, valued at approximately $7.85 million, with an unrealized loss of $1.27 million.
Carl stared at the screen, her breathing hurried.
Shaun, however, stood up.
“That’s it for today.
If the stock drops to -25%, dump all the remaining reserved funds into it.
No need to ask me.”
“Where are you going?”
“Grocery shopping.” Shaun pushed open the glass door.
“My restaurant still opens tonight.
If you’re interested, Miss Carl, feel free to drop by and taste my cooking.”