"Lee, how did you know I was in danger?"
Having swapped in his first-gen Arc Reactor and feeling the crisis pass, Tony finally exhaled, staring at Leon Ragnell in disbelief.
"I sensed your ki. It dipped—looked like you were in trouble, so I came to check," Leon smiled.
"Ki?" Tony blinked.
Leon chuckled. "Obadiah Stane stole your Arc Reactor."
"I'll handle it!" Tony pushed himself up.
"He stole the fourth-gen Arc Reactor," Leon said lightly. "With your Gen-1, you really think you can match that?"
As he spoke, Leon rolled his shoulders, loosening up. "Let me."
The moment the words fell, Leon's body rose from the floor.
One blur—and he vanished from Tony's sight.
Tony drew a deep breath, summoned his Mark III, and blasted toward Obadiah's position.
...
Stark Industries—sub-basement.
There was nothing "high-tech" about the chamber—only the choking tang of machine oil. Obadiah Stane stood alone before the Iron Monger, carefully seating a diamond-shaped Arc Reactor into its housing.
A hulking, brutal, violence-made-metal killing machine.
Over four meters tall, slabs of special-alloy armor overlapped across its body in cold, gleaming plates.
Obadiah had poured in endless effort, pilfering Tony's original Mark I schematics and folding in wreckage recovered from the Ten Rings to reverse-engineer his "ultimate trump card"—
Iron Monger.
Staring up at the steel behemoth that could shred a small army, he sneered inwardly.
If Stark Industries wasn't selling weapons, were they supposed to do charity?
The instant the Arc Reactor locked in, he felt it—terrifying power roaring to life. The Iron Monger's output blew past his expectations.
Whoosh!
A figure dropped from above.
Obadiah frowned. A man… flying?
Then recognition clicked. Tony had been spending time with Leon lately; he'd even skimmed some of Leon's tech papers and knew Tony had invested in Leon's Makino Tech. He just hadn't expected… that this guy could fly.
"Obadiah," Leon flexed his fists. "Do you want me to beat you to death, or are you going to crawl out nicely on your own?"
"Die," Obadiah growled.
The Iron Monger's palm snapped up at Leon—then its fingers spat lances of light, each a full ten centimeters across.
Clearly, a knockoff of the Dodon Ray.
BOOM!
Smoke billowed.
High overhead, Tony felt his heart lurch.
Truth was, he was worried about Leon.
A fourth-gen Arc Reactor could level all of New York. Obadiah had no idea how much power he was swinging around—if he let it rip without restraint… could Leon tank it?
Tony knew Leon was strong. He just didn't know how strong.
Then—
Tony saw something that left him stunned.
Leon's ki flared. The numbers JARVIS fed him made Tony's scalp prickle.
According to JARVIS, that small surge of power could squash Tony like an ant. And that was Leon barely leaking a fraction of his strength.
The smoke thinned.
Leon stood there, unharmed.
Obadiah froze.
Th-this…
"Never heard the rule? 'Lots of smoke means no damage,'" Leon grinned. His figure flickered—and in the same heartbeat he was right in Obadiah's face, driving a straight punch forward.
Obadiah swung back.
CRACK!
Something impossible happened—his steel forearm crumpled inward, and in the next instant the entire arm went dead.
"Th-this… this is human strength?" Obadiah shook.
Leon casually lifted a hand—
And tore the whole arm off.
Obadiah yanked up the Iron Monger's remaining arm and opened fire. Lasers and beams raked the space where Leon had stood as he forced the suit backward, trying to open distance.
Too terrifying.
That wasn't a man.
When the barrage finally ended, Obadiah glanced at the impact zone. Half the building looked like it had been planed flat.
"Pathetic. You've got a reactor that strong, and that's all you can do with it?" Leon's voice whispered at his ear.
Obadiah jolted, eyes jerking sideways—Leon was already behind him, and he had no idea when he'd gotten there.
No.
Horror swallowed him.
This was beyond anything he understood.
Then he heard the wet crack of metal being wrenched apart. His proud Iron Monger split open like a toy in Leon's hands.
Utterly, completely outmatched.
He felt like nothing more than a plaything in the other man's grip.
(End of Chapter)
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