The massive suit loomed over Tony Stark's crumpled body like a metal giant from hell. Its servos whined and hissed, releasing small jets of steam as the villain slowly lowered his weapon. The voice that came from deep within the armor was distorted, heavy, and dripping with menace.
"Tony Stark..."
The words echoed across the decimated battlefield.
"You wanted to stop making weapons, right? Such noble intentions. Such wasted potential." He let out a dark chuckle. "And yet, before your death, you managed to create the best weapon yet. How... poetic."
Tony tried to move, but his body wouldn't respond. Pain shot through every nerve. The Mark III had taken too much damage. Too much. He could barely keep his eyes open.
He raised his massive arm cannon, the barrel glowing with deadly intent as it aimed directly at Tony's arc reactor. Point blank. No chance of survival.
This was it.
But then... the Iron Monger paused.
It was like he suddenly remembered something important—some crucial villain checklist he hadn't completed yet. And with the most ridiculous, over-the-top dramatic flair imaginable, he lifted his visor.
The face underneath was twisted with vindictive satisfaction.
"I want you to see who kills you, Tony."
Meanwhile, hidden in the shadows far from the battle, Elric stood watching the entire scene unfold. His expression was completely blank. Speechless, really.
This guy...
Elric shook his head slowly.
He's more of a classic villain than actual classic villains. Like, textbook level. Does he not realize what he's doing?
Talking nonsense just to give the hero time to prepare a comeback? Check.
Monologuing instead of finishing the job? Check.
Opening his weak spot—literally exposing his face—so the hero could exploit it?
Big check.
You deserve to lose, buddy, Elric thought, barely holding back a snort. You're basically asking for it.
But honestly? That wasn't his problem. He wasn't here to play hero or judge someone's villain technique. He had his own agenda.
His gaze shifted, locking onto the glowing arc reactor embedded in the Iron Monger's chest. The soft blue light pulsed rhythmically, beautiful and powerful.
Elric's eyes narrowed, and in the next instant, he activated his doujutsu.
His pupils shifted, glowing faintly in the darkness.
And just like that—blink—the arc reactor vanished from the Iron Monger's chest.
Inside the massive metal suit, the villain's voice dripped with sick satisfaction as he stared down at the helpless Tony Stark.
"Tony... it will be my pleasure to kill you."
His finger tightened on the trigger.
He pulled it.
...
Silence.
Nothing happened.
No explosion. No blast. No roaring destruction.
Just... nothing.
"What—?"
The entire suit went dark. The HUD flickered out. The servos stopped whining. Every system, every function, every ounce of power—gone.
Without the arc reactor, the whole thing became nothing more than a glorified 15th-century suit of armor. Heavy, useless, and absolutely stuck.
"What the hell?! What's happening?!"
Panic laced his voice as he frantically tried to reboot the systems. But there was no response. No power. No anything.
Tony had squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable rocket bombardment, waiting for the pain, the heat, the end.
But the impact never came.
Seconds passed.
Still nothing.
Confused, Tony cracked one eye open.
The Iron Monger was frozen in place, completely still. Steam hissed from the joints, but the suit itself wasn't moving. It was just... standing there. Like a statue.
Tony blinked. Then blinked again.
What... what just happened?
He didn't know. He didn't care. This was his chance.
Gasping for breath and seizing the opportunity with everything he had left, Tony shouted with all his strength:
"Pepper! Do it now! NOW!"
From somewhere above, Pepper's voice crackled through the comms, shaky but determined.
"Okay—okay! I'm doing it!"
BOOM—!
BOOM—!
Massive explosions erupted from beneath the arc reactor platform, tearing through the armored suit like it was made of cardboard. Fire and shrapnel ripped upward in a violent chain reaction, engulfing the Iron Monger in a roaring inferno.
The shockwave sent debris flying in every direction.
Tony shielded his face as best he could, feeling the heat wash over him even from several feet away.
When the smoke finally began to clear, the Iron Monger was nothing but a smoking, mangled heap of twisted metal.
It was over.
Tony slumped back against the ground, chest heaving, barely conscious but alive.
Alive.
He let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh.
"Holy... shit..."
Far from the chaos, tucked safely within the folds of his own pocket dimension, Elric stood alone in the quiet darkness. He opened his hand.
There, resting in his palm, was the glowing arc reactor. The soft blue light illuminated his face, casting gentle shadows across his features.
A slow, satisfied smile spread across his lips.
Finally...
This was what he'd been waiting for. The key piece. The power source he needed to move forward with his plans. And now it was his.
But even after securing the arc reactor, Elric didn't leave immediately. He could have. Probably should have. But honestly? He wasn't in a rush.
Sure, he enjoyed living alone in the forest—hunting his own food, training in solitude, doing whatever he wanted without anyone bothering him. It was peaceful. Comfortable.
But even doing things you like gets boring when you do them every single day.
So he decided to indulge himself a little before heading back.
Just a little break. I've earned it.
A small restaurant nearby had been abandoned during the chaos. Everyone had already fled when the fighting broke out—smart move, honestly. The place was completely empty now.
Elric walked inside casually, hands in his pockets, looking around with mild interest. His eyes drifted toward the counter where a hot plate of food still sat waiting. A burger, fries, and a drink. Barely touched.
Someone left in a hurry.
He picked up the burger, examined it for a second, then shrugged.
Waste not, want not.
He grabbed the plate and quietly took a seat by the window, settling into a booth with a perfect view of the street outside. The restaurant was warm, quiet, and weirdly peaceful considering everything that had just gone down a few blocks away.
Elric took a bite of the burger and nodded approvingly.
Not bad.
Outside, the aftermath of the battle was still visible. Wrecked cars. Shattered glass. Smoke rising in the distance. And now, rolling down the broken street, several sleek black sedans appeared—S.H.I.E.L.D., arriving to quarantine the area and clean up the mess.
Elric watched them with casual disinterest, chewing slowly.
Right on schedule.
Inside one of the black vans, Natasha Romanoff—codename Black Widow—sat reviewing mission reports on a tablet. The operation had been... messy. But successful. Stark was alive. The threat was neutralized.
That's what mattered.
A female agent sitting beside her suddenly lifted her head.
"Ma'am, look over there."
The agent pointed toward the restaurant beside them.
Natasha followed her finger, glancing out the window.
Sitting calmly by the window of the empty restaurant was a lone young man. He looked maybe nineteen, twenty at most. Dark hair, casual clothes, completely relaxed posture. He was eating—just sitting there, munching on a burger like the entire world outside had absolutely nothing to do with him.
The chaos—the wrecked cars, the emergency lights, the smoke still lingering in the air—none of it seemed to register to him. He didn't look scared. Didn't look shocked. He just... didn't care.
"I'll finish the report," the agent said, already pulling out a notepad. "Probably just a homeless kid who wandered in. Can you tell him to leave? We need to secure the area."
Natasha said nothing for a moment, her sharp green eyes narrowing slightly.
Homeless?
She doubted it. Not with that look. His posture was too relaxed, too confident. His age didn't match the profile either—too young to be a vagrant, too clean to have been living on the streets.
But more importantly... his face.
She had seen faces like that before. Many times, actually, during her years in the field. Faces that belonged to people who possessed power—or at least believed they did.
Nick Fury had that look. Always calculating, always three steps ahead.
Dreykov had it too. Cold. Ruthless. Certain of his control.
But this kid's face was different.
Confident, yes. But also... indifferent. Detached. Like he was watching the world from behind a glass wall, completely separate from everything around him.
Too calm. Too aware.
It was unsettling in a way she couldn't quite put into words.
Curiosity—maybe instinct—kicked in. Natasha set down the tablet and opened the van door.
"I'll handle it."
"You sure?" the agent asked, surprised.
Natasha didn't answer. She was already stepping out onto the empty street.
The area was eerily quiet now, with only shattered cars scattered around and the distant sound of cleanup crews working in the background. The restaurant stood out like a bubble of normalcy in the middle of a warzone.
Natasha walked toward it, her steps silent and measured. She reached the door and pushed it open.
The bell above the entrance jingled softly.
Inside, the young man didn't react. Not even a glance. He just kept eating, completely absorbed in his own little world.
Interesting.
Her curiosity ticked upward another notch.
Crazy? Someone who wandered out of a mental institution during the chaos?
No—that didn't fit either. Those eyes weren't the eyes of someone unhinged. They were sharp. Clear. Focused.
They were the exact type of eyes a dangerous, unpredictable person would have.
Which somehow made them even more unsettling.
Still, her interest hadn't faded. If anything, it was stronger now.
Natasha walked directly up to his table and stopped, standing right in front of him.
"Excuse me."
Her voice was polite but firm—professional.
The sound finally broke through Elric's concentration. He paused mid-bite, burger still halfway to his mouth, and slowly looked up.
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