The Leviathan's core pulsed in rhythm with Tony's own arc reactor — each beat echoing like a betrayal in his chest.
He stared, frozen, as the molten ribs parted further, revealing the unmistakable blueprint lines embedded into the alloy. His design. His technology. His ghost.
Pepper's light dimmed as she fell back, crashing to the ground, gauntlets smoking. Tony rushed to her side.
Her lips trembled. "Tony… it's your tech."
He held her tight, eyes never leaving the beast.
Obsidian stepped forward, cloak flaring, voice like oil. "Buried in the desert, you thought the Ten Rings were the worst of your sins. But this… this was your first forgotten child."
"No…" Tony muttered.
Flashbacks hit him like explosions — the prototypes, the rejected cores, the discarded AI fragments. He had buried them. Destroyed them. Or so he thought.
"I took your early failures and nurtured them," Obsidian whispered. "The scraps you abandoned — I gave them purpose."
The Leviathan roared — a horrifying sound that cracked rock and hearts alike.
Tony activated the last working pulse blaster on his right arm and fired at the reactor.
The beam ricocheted off.
Obsidian smiled wider. "Don't bother. It's coded to your neural signature. Your pain... only makes it stronger."
Steve climbed from the rubble, Natasha beside him. "Tony," Steve said, voice steady, "We need to shut this thing down before it spreads beyond the valley."
Tony's hands trembled. His voice cracked. "I'm not sure we can."
Obsidian stepped back into shadow. "That's the thing about legacy, Stark… it always comes back to finish what you started."
And then — the Leviathan moved.
Not toward them.
Up.
Its thrusters ignited, flames scorching the earth as it shot into the sky.
Destination: Earth's orbit.
Steve's eyes widened. "It's going for the satellite grid."
Natasha's voice was hollow. "It's going to shut down every defense system on Earth."
Tony looked at the stars, teeth gritted. "Then I follow it."