The night sky shook with thunderous explosions.
One after another, blasts ripped through the air, echoing across the city like rolling drums of war. Windows rattled, car alarms wailed, and countless bystanders looked up in alarm, wondering if some terrible disaster had struck.
But at the heart of the chaos stood only two figures.
One was encased in sleek red-and-gold armor, battered yet unyielding. The other towered like a steel giant, its hulking frame bristling with weapons, eyes glowing with murderous light.
Obadiah Stane had gone mad. He knew that if he failed to kill those before him tonight, his entire life's ambition would come crashing down. His empire, his secrets, his carefully constructed plans everything would burn.
And so, there was no retreat. No compromise.
He would kill Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, and anyone else who dared stand in his way.
Tony was forced into a desperate dance. The Mark II armor granted him speed and agility, and in terms of technology it was vastly superior. But the truth gnawed at him: the Mark II had never been designed as a weapon of war.
When he forged it, his vision was of protecting the world, not of dominating battlefields. His dream had been to save lives, not to destroy.
Now, pitted against the Iron Monger a machine strengthened with heavy armor, oversized weaponry, and brutal killing intent that dream seemed like a fragile shield.
A deafening crash split the air as Obadiah swung his massive steel fist.
Tony dodged left, thrusters screaming, but he was too late. The blow caught him across the chest and hurled him through the air like a ragdoll. He slammed into the ground with a teeth-rattling impact, sparks showering as his armor scraped against the concrete.
Gritting his teeth, Tony forced himself upright. His lungs burned, his vision blurred. Every instinct screamed that this enemy was far more dangerous than anything he had faced before.
"This thing… is tougher than I thought," he muttered under his breath.
From a distance, Agent Phil Coulson watched the battle unfold with wide eyes. His professional instincts analyzed every movement. The Iron Monger looked heavy, clumsy even, but its destructive power was undeniable. Against ordinary soldiers, it would be unstoppable.
In contrast, Tony's suit was leaner, faster, more advanced in many ways but it was never meant for protracted war. That mismatch created the gap they were now seeing.
Coulson's mind flickered with dangerous possibilities. If S.H.I.E.L.D. had access to technology like this…
The thought sent a shiver down his spine. They were tasked with facing superhuman threats mutants, enhanced soldiers, even monsters born from scientific accidents. The Hulk came instantly to mind, a towering green reminder of science gone awry. If S.H.I.E.L.D. could deploy mechanized armor like Iron Man's, their missions would succeed far more often.
But even as he imagined it, he shook his head. That was a problem for another day.
The urgent question now was simple: How do we stop this monster before it kills us all?
Tony roared and launched himself back into the fight. He darted around the Iron Monger's side, using his thrusters to leap onto the larger machine's back. Grabbing at the armor plating, he wrenched hard until metal screeched and tore away.
For a fleeting second, victory seemed within reach.
But Obadiah snarled inside the cockpit, his massive hands closing on Tony like steel traps. With brutal force, he slammed Tony down into the pavement, leaving a crater where his body struck.
The Mark II groaned under the abuse. Cracks split across its armor, energy readings on Tony's HUD dipped lower and lower.
Obadiah's laughter echoed through external speakers, cruel and triumphant.
"Tony Stark! It ends here!"
"Tony!" Pepper's panicked voice carried over the din.
Obadiah's cold eyes locked onto his fallen opponent. "Your father stole my future. You tried to steal it again. Tonight, both debts are repaid."
Tony's breath came ragged. His HUD warned of energy reserves dipping below fifteen percent. He didn't have long before the suit went dead.
I can't lose… not like this.
Forcing himself to his knees, Tony clenched his fists. He would fight until the very last spark.
But just as Obadiah moved to strike the finishing blow, a new sound cut through the battlefield.
A low, thunderous roar of an engine.
The growl of a motorcycle.
All eyes turned as Nolan Locke rode into view, his bike screeching to a halt beside Pepper. Removing his helmet, he revealed a calm, faintly mocking smile.
"Tony," he said lightly, "is this really the best you can do?"
Tony's face darkened beneath his cracked visor. "Nolan… this isn't the time for your jokes."
Obadiah's gaze snapped toward the newcomer, his voice dripping with venom.
"Another fool who wants to die."
Nolan's eyes slid over the Iron Monger with a calculating gleam. He wasn't looking at Obadiah. He was assessing the machine itself.
"Obadiah, it seems you poured a fortune into building yourself a toy," he said. "A very big toy. But still just that a toy."
The insult landed like a slap.
This suit had cost Stane untold sums, forged from the finest alloys and powered by stolen genius. He had stolen Tony's designs, twisted them, and enhanced them with raw brutality. And now this arrogant brat dared to call it useless?
Obadiah's voice rumbled with fury. "I'll show you the power of this toy!"
With a roar of hydraulics, the Iron Monger charged forward.
But Nolan didn't flinch. He simply raised his hand slightly.
In that instant, shadows moved.
Several figures leapt over Nolan's shoulder, landing between him and the advancing giant.
The ground trembled as steel met steel.
Terminators T-800 combat models charged into the fray.
The clash was apocalyptic. Iron Monger's colossal strength met the relentless mechanical power of the Terminators. Sparks exploded, bullets tore through the night, and the battlefield lit up like a storm.
Obadiah growled as he realized brute force wouldn't be enough. He primed his shoulder cannons, missile bays opening with a hiss.
But before he could fire, streams of heavy-caliber rounds hammered into his armor, throwing him off balance. Gatling guns roared, shells clanged against his plating, and his targeting systems scrambled.
He fired anyway, missiles streaking wildly into the sky, detonating harmlessly against buildings and empty lots.
Eight Terminators advanced as one, their coordination flawless, every movement directed by the Red Queen AI. Four closed for melee, clinging to the Iron Monger's frame and tearing at its joints like mechanical predators. The other four laid down relentless suppressive fire.
The Iron Monger staggered under the combined assault. Its massive bulk, once an advantage, now worked against it.
Obadiah snarled, forcing the thrusters online. Flames erupted from the suit's back as he sought to take to the skies.
If he could gain altitude, he could rain destruction from above. Then they would all see who truly ruled the battlefield.
Nolan's eyes narrowed.
"Red Queen. Ground him. Now."
"Yes, sir," the AI responded coolly.
In an instant, the Terminators tightened their grip. Four clung to the Iron Monger like iron leeches, their weight overwhelming its flight systems. The engines sputtered, flames choking out.
Obadiah's scream of rage filled the night. He tried to shake them off, but the Terminators dug in mercilessly.
Bullets shredded the machine's joints. Sparks rained. Armor peeled away under mechanical claws.
One Terminator was blasted apart in the chaos, but it didn't matter. The others closed in, relentless, unfeeling, unstoppable.
The Iron Monger staggered, collapsed to one knee, and then under the crushing weight of machine precision was torn apart piece by piece.
Metal shrieked as its arm was ripped free. A leg buckled. Panels shattered.
At last, the monstrous war machine lay in ruins.
The cockpit hissed open, smoke billowing. Obadiah, drenched in sweat and fury, glared out.
Nolan stepped forward, his smile cool, his voice calm.
"Your big toy," he said, "was useless after all."
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