With a thunderous crash, Tony Stark—clad in his Iron Man armor—plummeted from the sky and slammed into the street. The ground split and shattered under the impact, sending cracks spiderwebbing across the asphalt. His armored body tumbled and skidded across the pavement in a series of uncontrolled rolls before he finally ground to a halt.
Hot on his heels came another suit of armor—bulkier, heavier, and twice the size of Tony's. Painted a dark, gunmetal gray, it bore a massive arc reactor on its chest that glowed ominously.
A single glance was all it took to grasp the situation.
The gray armored giant held the overwhelming advantage.
"They're here."
At that moment, Senju Haruto was sitting at a small outdoor restaurant with Kaguya, enjoying some street food.
As someone who had crossed into this world, Haruto naturally remembered exactly where the battle between Iron Monger and Tony Stark was supposed to take place.
The massive Iron Monger armor piloted by Obadiah Stane was built from the wreckage of Tony's original Mark I suit, the crude armor Stark had forged in a cave. Tony's current red-and-gold armor, the sleeker Mark II, had solved the icing problem at high altitudes and was built from lightweight titanium alloy. In terms of both speed and strength, it was superior to Iron Monger.
But Tony was still being forced back, completely suppressed.
The reason was simple: before activating Iron Monger, Stane had stolen the brand-new arc reactor Tony had designed. To protect Pepper, Tony had been forced to slot the old reactor—the outdated one he had built in captivity—back into his chest.
That left him with far less power than his opponent.
"Tony!"
Watching Stark stumble and stagger under the onslaught, Stane felt an indescribable rush of satisfaction.
Stark Industries was a legacy he had built together with Tony's father, a lifetime of effort and ambition. And yet, Tony had returned from the Middle East and, without warning, shut down the weapons division—the very heart of their profits. The decision had caused the company's stock to plummet and cost them a fortune.
And what in this world was more lucrative than legally sanctioned weapons sales? Nothing.
Stane's resentment was doubled by jealousy—jealousy of Tony's brilliance, his youth, and his father's legacy. The Starks had always carried themselves with an air of superiority, looking down on everyone else.
"You know what's funniest about all this?" Stane sneered, his voice booming through Iron Monger's external speakers.
"A man who shut down the weapons division… the one person who hates weapons the most… ends up creating the greatest weapon in the world!"
As he jeered, Stane raised Iron Monger's massive arms, revealing an array of cutting-edge weapons developed by Stark Industries.
In his eyes, this suit was strong enough to annihilate an entire army. And the irony—that the genius who despised weapons had created such destruction—was delicious.
He leveled his weapons at Stark and opened fire without restraint.
Both men knew the truth: if Tony chose to flee into the sky, the ones who would suffer would be the innocent people behind him.
Even so, Stane couldn't help but feel a trace of regret.
Yes, he had acquired the Mark I wreckage and stolen Tony's reactor to bring Iron Monger to life. But compared to the mysterious man who had once turned ordinary firearms into mechanical lifeforms, Iron Monger's technology still fell short.
That was why, upon hearing of that mysterious figure, Stane's first instinct had been to track him down. But his search turned up nothing.
In the end, Iron Monger was the best he could manage.
Still… Stane was convinced the armor's raw power was not inferior to those mechanical lifeforms. Their true advantage lay in numbers, not quality.
And if he could mass-produce Iron Monger?
Then the world itself would fall into his hands.
The thought alone sent a thrill of excitement racing through him. But first, there was one loose end to tie up.
Tony Stark.
"Die, Tony! And on your gravestone, I'll make sure it reads: Here lies the arms dealer who invented the world's most powerful weapon!"
With a guttural roar, Stane activated the massive Gatling gun mounted on Iron Monger's shoulder. Its barrels spun with a metallic whine before unleashing a torrent of blazing gunfire.
Da-da-da-da-da!
The bullets, each thicker than a man's finger, hammered into Stark's armor in a relentless storm. Every round left a dent or scar across his suit's surface. They weren't lethal on their own, but they left him pinned down, unable to counterattack.
If Tony lacked the heart of a hero, he could have simply taken to the skies and escaped the barrage.
But the risk of collateral damage weighed heavily on him. Gritting his teeth, he held his ground.
Meanwhile, J.A.R.V.I.S. analyzed the damage in real time. The results weren't encouraging.
"Why the hell haven't you run yet?" Tony snapped suddenly.
For out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something bizarre—one of the nearby restaurants still had customers sitting calmly, enjoying their meals as if nothing were happening.
Did they think this was a movie? Special effects?
These were real bullets!
Then again, this was New York. Shootouts weren't exactly rare.
But just as Tony reached his breaking point, he turned his head—and nearly lost his balance mid-step.
From the restaurant behind him, a young man with sharp eyes and a tall, lean figure rose slowly from his seat. His movements were calm, deliberate.
He lifted one hand and made a small gesture toward the glass window.
And in an instant, the entire floor-to-ceiling pane vanished into nothingness.
Tony's heart skipped a beat. He knew that face. He could never forget it.
Haruto.
It was him—the same man who had broken into his house with magic.
The same man who had once saved his life with sorcery.
And the same man who had transformed weapons into mechanical lifeforms, wiping out the entire Ten Rings gang.
But… what the hell was he doing here?
Coincidence? Or something else?
Tony's throat tightened. Every instinct told him this man was a walking mystery.
Before he could dwell further, J.A.R.V.I.S. made the call: Stark's armor could no longer withstand the hail of gunfire. Forcing the servos to disengage, it sent Tony tumbling aside.
The next wave of bullets tore past where he had been—straight toward Senju Haruto.
Stane's laughter boomed. To him, it meant only one thing: Tony was finished. His armor had reached its limit. The kill was his.
But before he could press the attack, something impossible happened.
The bullets—dozens of them—froze midair.
Suspended, motionless.
The sight stunned Stane.
What… what the hell?
He blinked rapidly, half-convinced it was some kind of visual illusion. But second after second passed, and the rounds hung there, frozen in space, neither moving forward nor falling.
"What… what the hell is going on?"
For the first time, Obadiah Stane was completely at a loss.
...
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