Chapter 23
Tony streaked through the clouds like a red-gold comet, the Quinjet keeping pace at his side. Inside, Natasha was quiet, watching the readings on her console, while Clint leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, visibly restless.
"Alright, listen up," Tony's voice crackled through their comms. "Before we go barging into Mount Doom down there, I'm gonna need to give the big guy a heads up. My armor can handle the heat. You two? Not so much."
Clint smirked, "So, you're saying our crispy barbecue special isn't on today's menu?"
"Exactly," Tony shot back, tone dry. "Stay put till I say otherwise."
The volcano loomed ahead, molten rivers glowing like veins of fire across its slopes. The heat shimmered the air, but Tony dove straight down without hesitation. The Quinjet hovered above, keeping its distance.
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Inside the volcano, the air was suffocating, thick with heat and smoke. Tony's sensors warned him about the extreme temperature, but his upgraded suit held strong. Below, he spotted what he came for.
Vulkan was submerged waist-deep in the pool of magma, massive hammer in hand, striking against a glowing piece of metal. Sparks burst with each impact, ringing like thunder in the cavernous forge. Even after seeing it before, Tony found himself staring in open admiration.
Every time… it's like watching a god sculpt reality itself.
Landing softly on a cooled obsidian platform, Tony stayed silent, giving the giant his space. The rhythmic hammering echoed for several minutes before finally ceasing. Vulkan straightened, rising from the magma, steam rolling off his towering frame. This time—mercifully—he wore pants, though Tony's mind briefly wandered, wondering what kind of fabric survives being bathed in lava?
But his train of thought derailed when he noticed Vulkan's gaze locked directly on him—or rather, on his armor.
Tony scratched the back of his helmet awkwardly. "Uh… yeah, so, it looked cool. I might've borrowed a few design cues. Don't sue me."
For a moment, Vulkan's expression was unreadable. Then a faint smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"You've adapted it well," the Forgefather said, voice deep and calm. "Astartes armor was never meant for mortal men, yet you have reshaped the idea into something your kind can wield. That is no small feat."
The praise hit Tony harder than he expected. For a man who'd lived on applause, stock prices, and headlines… it had been years since a compliment actually meant something. He felt a strange warmth under the armor, pride he hadn't tasted in far too long.
"Thanks, big guy," Tony said quietly, almost sheepish.
But Vulkan wasn't finished. His eyes narrowed slightly. "Who are the mortals circling above my mountain?"
"Oh—right." Tony perked up, realizing he'd left the others hanging. "That would be Natasha and Clint. Colleagues. They work with Fury—the one-eyed guy I mentioned? Runs an international defense organization called S.H.I.E.L.D. Big on acronyms, big on secrets. The whole 'protect humanity from threats it can't punch' deal."
Vulkan considered the words, gaze lifting briefly toward the ceiling as if he could sense the Quinjet above. He gave a slow nod. "A man who chooses to defend his people, even from the shadows, earns respect. Very well. They may come."
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Above, Clint drummed his fingers against the controls. "How long's he gonna be down there, writing love letters in lava?"
"Patience," Natasha replied without looking at him.
As if on cue, alarms blared on their console. The Quinjet lurched violently as the controls flickered, unresponsive.
"Uh, Nat? Not me this time!" Clint shouted, gripping the stick.
The jet tilted—but instead of plummeting, it was held steady, as though an unseen hand guided it. Slowly, unnaturally, the aircraft descended toward the volcano's heart. The heat inside should've fried them alive, but somehow the air remained tolerable, the hull untouched.
Both agents exchanged a wide-eyed look, panic fading to guarded calm.
And then they saw him.
Tony stood waiting on the obsidian platform, and beside him towered a giant of a man, magma still dripping from his skin as if it rolled off him like water.
"Yeah," Clint muttered under his breath, voice tight. "Guess we found our guy."
The Quinjet settled gently on the rock. The ramp hissed open, and Natasha and Clint stepped out, their eyes immediately drawn to the living mountain of muscle and fire beside Tony.
"Relax," Tony called, spreading his arms like a showman. "See? Safe and sound. Nobody roasted. You're welcome."
The two agents walked forward cautiously, their instincts telling them they stood before something far greater than human. And in silence, Vulkan watched them, his presence heavy as the mountain itself.
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