Tony was methodically dismantling the drone swarm, his movements precise and efficient, when Ivan Vanko saw his opening. The drones had successfully occupied Tony's attention—exactly as intended.
Ivan burst from beneath the ocean's surface like a breaching whale, water cascading off his silver armor. His plasma whips activated mid-flight, crackling white-hot energy coiling around each forearm. With practiced precision, he lashed out, and one whip wrapped around Tony's torso in a constricting spiral.
The plasma current surged through the connection, seeking vulnerable points in Tony's armor—joints, power conduits, control systems. These whips had been devastatingly effective in Monaco, overwhelming Tony's previous suit's defenses.
This time, nothing happened.
The adamantium alloy simply absorbed the energy. No system interference, no warning indicators, no effect whatsoever. Tony might as well have been wearing rubber insulation.
The remaining drones pressed their attack, closing in from multiple angles while Tony was theoretically restrained. Their weapons systems lit up, preparing to fire at point-blank range.
Tony's voice rang out, sharp and commanding. "Duck!"
Ivan's combat instincts overrode his confusion. He dropped his altitude immediately.
A brilliant red beam erupted from Tony's forearm—not the repulsor technology they'd been using, but something else entirely. A focused laser, intensely concentrated, the kind of weapon that turned matter into plasma on contact.
The beam swept horizontally in a perfect arc.
Every drone caught in its path was bisected instantly. Their top halves separated from their bottoms with surgical precision, cross-sections glowing white-hot from the superheated metal. Power cores died. Systems failed. The destroyed machines tumbled toward the ocean like mechanical rain.
Ivan stared at the carnage, then at Tony's extended arm where the laser had originated. If he hadn't dropped when commanded, that beam would have cut through his gold-titanium alloy armor like tissue paper.
He deactivated his whips and let them retract. "I surrender."
The admission was matter-of-fact rather than bitter. Ivan was a pragmatist above all else. "Your armor's material—why didn't my plasma whips interfere with your systems this time? They've always worked before."
Tony's faceplate retracted, revealing his satisfied grin. He patted his chest plate with audible clanks. "Adamantium alloy. The real stuff, not that secondary garbage the military uses."
Ivan's eyes widened slightly. He filed the name away for immediate research. Adamantium—he'd never heard of it, which meant it was either incredibly rare or incredibly classified. Probably both.
Smith had been watching from his position above the combat zone, but Tony's casual mention of adamantium sent his mind racing.
Adamantium. In this universe.
The implications cascaded through Smith's thoughts like dominoes. Adamantium's existence meant Weapon X probably existed. Which meant Wolverine, probably.
More importantly, real adamantium was virtually indestructible. It could withstand temperatures up to 500,000 degrees Celsius without melting. Hulk in his most enraged state couldn't break it.
Which meant Tony had just gained an enormous defensive advantage. Even Smith's current power level—which had grown substantially—would struggle to damage that armor through brute force alone.
Unless Tony got secondary adamantium, Smith thought hopefully. The military did develop a cheaper, weaker version to reduce costs. But would Tony accept inferior materials?
The uncertainty was troubling. Smith had been operating under the assumption he knew which universe he inhabited—likely the MCU, with some variation with the combine stuff he saw from Wanted, John Wick and Underworld maybe other movie. But adamantium's presence meant he could rule out several possibilities while opening up others.
It might be a fusion. A new merged timeline where elements from multiple Marvel realities coexisted.
"Smith!" Tony's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Stop daydreaming. It's our turn to spar now."
Smith refocused on Tony, assessing his friend's confidence. "Do you want to reload ammunition first? Recharge your systems?"
Tony's grin widened. "No need. The infrared laser isn't a one-time weapon anymore. I've upgraded the power distribution system—I can fire it multiple times before requiring a cooldown." He rolled his shoulders, armor servos whining softly. "I'm ready when you are."
The casual mention of a repeatable laser weapon system made Smith's expression grow more serious. That changed the tactical equation significantly. "Alright then. Let's begin."
Ivan immediately withdrew from the center of the combat zone, his repulsors carrying him to the cliff overlooking Tony's beach. He settled onto a rocky outcropping, eager to observe. He had questions—so many questions—about his armor's performance, but those could wait.
His flying speed was inferior to Tony's. His weapons systems were outclassed, especially the laser technology. The material science gap was enormous—he'd never even heard of adamantium alloy before today. And his financial limitations meant he couldn't afford to build every drone with gold-titanium alloy, which was why Tony had destroyed them so easily.
But watching Smith fight Tony? That would provide valuable data about the absolute upper limits of combat capability. If Ivan was going to improve, he needed to understand what peak performance actually looked like.
On the improvised battlefield, Smith looked at Tony and spoke with unusual gravity. "Tony, I'm not holding back this time. Fair warning."
Tony's laugh carried genuine excitement. "That's exactly what I was hoping for."
Smith stopped restraining his energy.
Power erupted from his core like a detonating star. White ki flames roared to life around his body, surging and crackling with barely contained force. The ocean beneath his feet responded to the pressure—water swirling into a vortex, pushed away by the sheer presence of Smith's aura.
The pressure wave expanded outward. It struck Tony and Ivan like a physical blow, making their armor's structural supports creak under the strain. The sensation was primal, instinctive—every combat instinct screaming that they were in the presence of something vastly more powerful than themselves.
Inside their respective suits, warning began blaring.
Tony's combat power scouter began smoking. Sparks erupted from its housing. The device's display flickered wildly, numbers climbing impossibly high before the entire unit exploded in a shower of sparks and melted components.
Ivan's scouter failed identically, shorting out with a burst of acrid smoke that filled his helmet before the internal air filtration cleared it.
Both men stared in shock at their ruined equipment.
"Your combat power..." Tony's voice came out stunned, barely above a whisper. "It exceeded five hundred points. The detector couldn't even measure it before it failed."
Tony had known Smith was powerful—his previous measurement had shown over 150 combat power, which was already superhuman. But 500-plus? And that was just where the detector had maxed out before exploding. Smith's actual power level could be even higher.
Neither Tony nor Ivan could have guessed the truth: Smith's combat power, when operating at full capacity, had reached 1,300 points. Months of training in the gravity chamber, sparring with John Wick, refining his ki control under Korin's guidance—all of it had compounded into exponential growth.
Smith moved.
One moment he was hovering twenty feet away. The next instant—no perceptible transition—he was directly in front of Tony, fist already in motion.
The punch struck Tony's abdomen with apocalyptic force.
BOOM.
The sonic boom was deafening, a thunderclap that echoed across the entire beach. The sound was physical, visceral—the kind that made bones vibrate and inner ears struggle to maintain equilibrium.
Tony shot backward like a missile, his trajectory perfectly horizontal, his body rigid inside the armor as inertial dampeners fought desperately to keep him alive. He covered three hundred yards in under a second, his form blurring from sheer velocity.
On the cliff, Ivan's mouth fell open behind his faceplate. His entire body tensed involuntarily.
If I'd been arrogant enough to challenge Smith directly, he thought with absolute certainty, that single punch would have obliterated the Blue Dynamo armor completely. I would be dead before I hit the water.
But even as that terrifying thought settled in, another observation struck him: Tony's armor was still intact. The adamantium had absorbed a blow that should have liquified everything inside the suit, and the armor showed no visible damage.
What kind of material can withstand that?
Tony's consciousness was a white void of shock and disbelief. He'd expected Smith to be fast—but not that fast. Not speed that completely overwhelmed his and JARVIS's combined processing power.
His suit's repulsors fired at maximum output—all four limbs burning reactor energy at emergency levels. The thrust finally arrested his backward momentum a quarter-mile from the impact point. Tony hovered in place, his entire body trembling from adrenaline and residual shock.
"JARVIS," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "What was Smith's approach speed?"
The AI's response was clinical, precise, and absolutely terrifying.
"Sir, Mr. Doyle achieved instantaneous acceleration to Mach 20. His closing speed exceeded six miles per second."