A black Chevrolet Suburban sat hidden in the shadows of the street corner.
The engine hummed at idle, sending a faint vibration through the chassis.
Midtown High’s school bell had just rung, and the entrance was buzzing with noise.
Peter Parker was surrounded by a crowd of hormone-fueled teenage boys, flustered as he tried to explain that he hadn’t taken any “Asgardian steroids.”
Taking advantage of the chaos, Leon opened the car door and slid into the back seat, which smelled of cold air conditioning and new leather.
“Is this how efficient you guys are?” Leon skipped the pleasantries and got straight to the point.
From the driver’s seat, Phil Coulson handed back an encrypted tablet.
On the screen was a high-definition freeze-frame of the lawn in front of the Parker home.
The three “ice sculptures” instantly frozen by liquid nitrogen had already been moved to special containment units.
As the camera zoomed in, every detail of the monsters’ skin texture was visible under the blue light.
The dark red stratum corneum was not a natural growth, but looked more like hideous scars left behind by severe burns.
Thick, black goo trickled out from the cracked fissures.
“Our field technicians experienced severe auditory hallucinations after coming into contact with the samples,” Coulson said in a flat tone, as if announcing that his lunch sandwich had gone bad.
“This biological structure completely defies current biological knowledge.
Even at minus one hundred and twenty degrees, cellular activity hasn’t dropped to zero.
Mr.
Parker, we need your eyes.”
Leon swiped his fingertip across the screen, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Across his retina, a waterfall of red data streamed down instantly.
[Tactical Analysis Module: Activated] [Target Reconstructing…] [Surface Analysis: Human Genome (Severely mutated / Oscorp serum characteristics)] [Deep Origin Analysis: High-dimensional Dark Energy Residuals] [Composition Analysis: Sulfur, soul fragments, contract curse] [Conclusion: Monstrous hybrid of technology and the occult]
Leon’s pupils contracted slightly.
Norman Osborn.
The lunatic was even more impatient than he had anticipated.
In the original storyline, the Green Goblin just flew on a glider and threw bombs.
But in this seemingly scrambled reality, Norman was clearly unsatisfied with technological power alone; he had knocked on a door that should never have been opened.
“This isn’t a mutation.” Leon tossed the tablet back onto the front passenger seat and sank back into the soft upholstery.
“It’s magic.
You can think of it as energy from a different dimension.”
“Magic?” Coulson raised an eyebrow.
In SHIELD’s archives, that word was usually classified under “delusions of the mentally ill” or “unexplained high-level physical phenomena.”
“Don’t look at me like you’re reading a fairy tale,” Leon said, turning his head toward the passing scenery outside, his voice cold and hard.
“Can’t you smell it?
That stench of sulfur is oozing right through the screen.
Norman Osborn isn’t just doing biochemical experiments—he’s conducting sacrifices.
These ‘sweepers’ are both failed experiments and offerings.”
Coulson fell silent, his fingers tapping an unconscious rhythm on the steering wheel.
“The Director won’t like this report,” Coulson sighed.
“Against tech-based enemies, we have guns and artillery.
But magic…
that goes beyond SHIELD’s conventional firepower.”
“That’s your problem,” Leon said indifferently.
“I provide the diagnosis, not the cure.
In exchange, you cleaned up the garbage outside my house, so we’re even.”
“Speaking of exchange…” Coulson suddenly adjusted the rearview mirror, locking his gaze onto Leon through the glass.
“Since the crisis at the Parker house is temporarily resolved, SHIELD has a tricky assignment we’d like your help with.”
“I have final exams to study for.”
“Cut the act, Mr.
Parker.
Your IQ is high enough to get into MIT with zero effort.” Ignoring Leon’s excuse, Coulson pulled up another classified file.
“It’s a missing person case.
Or rather, a kidnapping.”
A face familiar to the entire world appeared on the screen: a neatly trimmed goatee, cynical tinted sunglasses, and a tailored suit worth more than an average person’s life.
Tony Stark.
“The military has turned Afghanistan upside down and come up empty-handed,” Coulson said gravely.
“Colonel Rhodes is going insane, and Stark Industries stock is plummeting every day.
Without Tony Stark, that company is just a second-rate arms dealer.”
Leon looked at the photo, his eyes as calm as stagnant water.
“And?”
“We need you to go find him,” Coulson laid his cards on the table.
“You have that super-fast alien form, XLR8, plus abilities to sense your surroundings.
If we drop you in the area where he was last seen, you could haul him out even if he were in Hell.”
It was a reasonable request.
With XLR8’s speed, searching that entire desert would only take tens of minutes.
SHIELD had calculated everything down to the last detail: saving Tony Stark wouldn’t just earn them a massive favor from Stark Industries, it would leave the genius owing SHIELD his life.
“I refuse.”
The answer was crisp and uncompromising, without a hint of hesitation.
Coulson froze.
He had expected Leon to negotiate terms, demand money, or ask for privileges.
He hadn’t expected a rejection this absolute.
“Mr.
Parker, this is Tony Stark.
If he dies at the hands of terrorists—”
“He won’t die,” Leon interrupted Coulson.
Turning his head, his sharp gaze seemed to pierce right through Coulson’s professional mask.
“Do you know what kind of man Tony Stark is?
Even if he’s hailed as a genius, right now, at his core, he’s just a merchant selling death.
He’s had it too easy his entire life—fast cars, beautiful women, idolized by everyone.
If I haul him out now, he’ll just see it as an unlucky vacation.
Once he returns, he’ll go right back to throwing wild parties, selling Jericho missiles, and being the same egomaniac.”
A cynical smirk curled the corner of Leon’s lips.
“Some people need to be shattered first.
They have to be thrown into the mud, ground down in despair, before they can be rebuilt into who they truly are.”
A dead silence fell over the car, broken only by the faint hum of the air vents.
Coulson studied the high school student through the rearview mirror.
His file listed Leon Parker as mild-tempered and friendly.
But right now, Coulson felt a chill run down his spine.
This teenager’s definition of a “hero” was far more extreme and ruthless than even Nick Fury’s.
Coulson asked in a deep voice, “What if he doesn’t make it?”
“Then he doesn’t deserve to,” Leon replied.
Leon leaned back into the seat, closing his eyes as if discussing a trivial matter.
“If he can’t even crawl out of a broken cave, then he doesn’t deserve a place in this world that’s on the brink of collapse.
SHIELD doesn’t need a Stark who only knows how to write checks.
And neither does the world.”
Coulson opened his mouth, but ultimately said nothing.
He realized he had no way of forcing the boy.
“Fine,” Coulson conceded.
“I’ll report back to the Director as stated.
‘Let him rot in the desert to get an education’—is that the gist of it?”
“Word it however you like.”
The car pulled up near the Parker residence.
Leon pushed the door open.
With one foot out, he paused and looked back.
“Instead of worrying about that arms dealer, you’d better station more people to watch the underground labs at Oscorp Tower.” Leon pointed at the tablet.
“That sulfur smell…
tell Fury that physics might soon be inadequate.
He’d better start flipping through ancient Vatican texts or looking for those legendary sorcerers.
That is, if you can even find them.”
*Slam.* The car door shut firmly.
Watching the teenager walk away with his backpack, Coulson let out a bitter laugh.
He picked up his communicator.
“Sir, Plan B failed.
The target refuses to rescue Stark…
the reason given is that Stark needs to be ‘forged anew.'”
Silence stretched on the other end of the earpiece for a long moment before Nick Fury’s signature low, gravelly voice came through.
“…The kid is even more ruthless than I thought.
Do as he says.
Withdraw the search teams and maintain satellite surveillance only.”
***
On the other side of the planet, in Afghanistan.
There was no air conditioning here, no leather seats.
Only endless sand, suffocating heat, and despair.
Deep within a dark, damp cave, firelight flickered.
*Clang!
Clang!
Clang!*
Heavy metallic impacts echoed through the crude “workshop.” Every strike sounded like a war drum beating against the heart.
Tony Stark was stripped to the waist, sweat mixed with black motor oil trickling down his scarred muscles.
The electromagnet embedded in his chest, glowing with an eerie blue light, was his sole lifeline.
The hands that had once held only champagne glasses and expensive pens now tightly gripped heavy tongs, positioning a glowing red piece of missile casing onto an anvil.
Nearby, Ho Yinsen kept a nervous eye on the cave entrance, holding a crude welding torch.
“How much longer?” Yinsen asked in a hushed tone, terror in his eyes.
“Soon…” Tony’s voice was hoarse, blood seeping from his cracked lips.
The playful arrogance of his past was entirely gone.
In its place was the desperate, wild determination of a trapped beast.
Each blow of the hammer was doing more than shaping metal; it was forging a soul.
Just as Leon had said, only in the crucible of hellish torment, in a desperate battle for survival, would the playboy die.
And Iron Man would be born.
A crude, heavy, silver-gray piece of armor pulsing with raw, primal power was gradually taking shape in the firelight.
The Mark I.
***
Forest Hills, Queens.
Leon pushed open the front door.
The atmosphere inside was both cozy and strange.
Aunt May was busy in the kitchen, humming an unfamiliar tune, completely oblivious to the fact that she had nearly been turned into monster food just hours ago.
Meanwhile, Peter sat on the living room sofa, holding a pink sticky note.
He was grinning foolishly at the ceiling like his brain had short-circuited.
“Hey, Romeo,” Leon tossed his backpack onto the sofa.
“Lose your soul?”
Peter snapped back to reality, scrambling to hide the note behind his back as a blush rushed up to his ears.
“W-What Romeo?!
Don’t talk nonsense!
This is…
this is physics notes Gwen gave me!
Yeah, physics notes!”
“Oh?
Physics notes written on scented pink paper?” Leon pulled a can of Coke from the fridge and smirked.
“Does it also say ‘Thanks for the adrenaline’ at the bottom?”
Peter blushed even deeper.
After stuttering for a while, he gave up resisting, slumped onto the couch, buried his face in a cushion, and let out a muffled groan.
“God…
today was crazy.
Leon, do you think she thinks I’m a freak?
Even though your excuse was terrible…
what if she actually checks a medical textbook?”
“Relax.
A woman in love loses half her IQ, even if she’s top of the class.” Leon patted his adoptive brother’s shoulder.
Watching Peter obsess over every little detail, Leon felt a subtle trace of envy in the back of his mind.
Simplicity was nice.
No worrying about demons from Hell, no worrying about Norman Osborn’s conspiracies.
Just worrying about whether a girl liked him back.
“Instead of stressing over that, you should think about what to wear for your next date,” Leon laughed, turning to go upstairs.
“Just don’t perform any more bare-handed baseball catches.”
Back in his bedroom, he locked the door and pulled the curtains tight.
The smile on his face vanished completely.
Walking over to the window, Leon raised his wrist.
The Omnitrix’s green dial glowed faintly in the dim room.
Norman Osborn’s “sweepers” had given him a very bad feeling.
Magic.
It was one of the trickier areas in the Ben 10 system.
Because the Omnitrix itself was ultra-high technology, most alien heroes had no special resistance to magic, and some were even vulnerable to it.
But there was an exception.
Leon gently rotated the dial.
The holographic projection flickered, finally stopping on a chilling figure: a ghostly creature wrapped in gray bandages, bearing a single eye.
Ghostfreak.
An Ectonurite.
Capable of becoming immune to physical attacks, possessing others, scaring souls, and most importantly, absorbing energy and turning it into its own power.
“If that energy comes from a hell dimension…” Leon looked at the terrifying projection, his eyes darkening.
“Then I’ll use a ghost to deal with demons.”
He needed to become stronger.
Relying on his current unlocked alien roster wasn’t enough; he had to unlock more DNA samples.
Leon cast his gaze toward the West, looking halfway across the globe as if he could see the man hammering iron inside that cave.
“Tony Stark…”
“The moment you crawl out of Hell…”
“Be sure to have the ‘points’ I need ready.”