The shrill HISS of the hydraulic press screaming to life was the new heartbeat of the cellar. Alex didn't just hear it; he felt it in his bones, a primal rhythm of creation under duress. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes, but his gaze was locked on the crude steel rack being slowly, inexorably flattened and shaped under tons of pressure.
Forty-five minutes. Stane. Armed personnel.
The Arc Core, pulsing a steady, reassuring blue against his chest, was a furnace of power. It didn't just give him energy; it sharpened his mind, pushing his Engineering Proficiency to its limit. He saw the steel, not as a solid mass, but as molecules waiting to be manipulated. He saw the optimal curves for ballistic deflection, the minimal thickness for protection without sacrificing too much mobility.
He wasn't building a suit. He was building survival.
The first piece was a heavy chest plate, roughly rectangular, contoured to cover the Arc Core. He used a welding torch—a powerful, industrial model he'd "borrowed" from Tony's neglected workshop—to attach thick leather straps. The smell of burning leather and melting metal filled the air.
Next, forearm bracers. Crude, like medieval gauntlets, but reinforced with layered steel. He envisioned the repulsor technology Tony would soon develop. The Arc Core gave him the power for it, but he needed a conduit. He found some high-grade copper piping and began bending it with surprising ease, his augmented strength and precision a direct gift from the System.
[Threat Update: Obadiah Stane's vehicle has entered restricted airspace. Estimated Arrival: T-minus 10 minutes.]
Ten minutes. Alex slammed the final bracer onto his left forearm, securing it with heavy-duty zip ties. He'd built a crude, single-shot energy projector—a focused blast of raw Arc Core energy channeled through the copper piping. It was dangerous, volatile, and his only weapon.
He barely managed to strap a crude face shield—a thick piece of polycarbonate from an old welding mask—onto his head before the world exploded.
A deafening CRASH from above signaled their arrival. Not the roof. The side of the mansion. Stane wasn't waiting for the front door.
The Purge
The cellar access door, a heavy oak barrier, shuddered violently. Then, with a splintering groan, it burst inward, torn from its hinges.
Three figures, silhouetted against the dim light of the mansion corridor, entered. They wore tactical gear, wielded silenced assault rifles, and moved with practiced, lethal efficiency. Behind them, a larger, more imposing silhouette stepped into view.
Obadiah Stane. He wasn't in his Iron Monger suit yet, but his presence was equally chilling. He wore a heavy overcoat, and his eyes, cold and utterly devoid of warmth, fixed on the pulsing blue light on Alex's chest.
"Well, well, Alex," Stane rumbled, his voice thick with malicious curiosity. "Tony always said you were just a phase. Guess he was wrong. You found something, didn't you, boy?"
Alex stood his ground, the Arc Core radiating warmth against his skin, the heavy steel chest plate feeling like a meager shield against the incoming storm. His heart was hammering, but his System-enhanced mind was running probabilities, calculating trajectories.
"It's over, Obadiah," Alex said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "Tony knows. SHIELD knows."
Stane laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Tony is making weapons for terrorists. SHIELD is a few hundred miles away. You, however, are here. And that… that little toy on your chest belongs to me." He gestured with a curt nod. "Take it."
The three armed men spread out, raising their rifles. The cold glint of their muzzles was Alex's only warning.
[Threat Imminent. Hostile Engagement Confirmed. Utilize Arc Core energy to incapacitate.]
Alex didn't wait. He activated his crude repulsor. A blinding FLASH of pure blue energy shot from his left gauntlet, a raw, unfocused beam that screamed with power.
It wasn't elegant like Tony's. It was a sledgehammer.
The beam slammed into the closest gunman's chest, not with an explosion, but with an intense kinetic force that sent him flying backward into a rack of wine, shattering bottles in a cascading shower of glass and liquid. He hit the stone wall with a sickening thud and didn't move.
Stane blinked, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "Interesting. The kid has teeth."
The remaining two gunmen opened fire. Alex ducked behind an overturned barrel, the heavy thuds of bullets impacting the stone sending chips flying. He felt a sharp sting in his right shoulder—a ricochet. Pain flared, but his mind stayed clear.
He wasn't fast enough to dodge bullets. He needed to incapacitate them.
The System-guided Engineering Proficiency kicked in. Overload the cellar's power grid.
He focused the Arc Core's energy, not into another blast, but into a subtle, precise pulse, feeding it directly into the mansion's main power conduit that ran through the cellar wall.
The entire cellar flickered. Then, with a massive CRACKLE, the main fuse box exploded, plunging the entire room into near-total darkness. The emergency lights, dim and red, cast long, dancing shadows, disorienting the gunmen.
"What the hell?!" one of them yelled, their targeting lasers sweeping wildly.
Alex seized the moment. He burst from cover, his heavy, crudely armored form an unstoppable force in the low light. He slammed his armored left gauntlet into the head of one gunman, the steel-on-helmet impact sounding like a gong. The man collapsed.
The last gunman, recovering, managed to get a shot off. It hit Alex's chest plate. The impact was brutal, staggering him, but the steel held, protected by the Arc Core's subtle energy field.
Alex roared, the power of the Arc Core surging through him. He grabbed the gunman's rifle, twisted it from his hands, and used the butt of the weapon to knock him unconscious.
Aftermath and a New Threat
Silence. The only sounds were Alex's ragged breathing, the persistent hum of the Arc Core, and the slow, steady drip of shattered wine onto the stone floor.
He had won. But he was hurt. The ricochet in his shoulder throbbed. He leaned against a wine rack, pushing his makeshift face shield off.
Stane hadn't moved. He stood there, unphased, a predator watching its prey. He slowly clapped, a soft, chilling sound in the darkness.
"Impressive, Alex. Very impressive. You just killed three of my best men, damaged my property, and proved you're a bigger nuisance than your brother. This changes things."
Stane slowly pulled something from his overcoat. It wasn't a pistol. It was a device. A portable EMP emitter.
[Threat Level UPGRADED to EXTREME. The EMP will disable the Arc Core. Host is vulnerable.]
Alex stared at the device, his blood running cold. An EMP. It would shut him down. All his power, all his ingenuity, gone in a pulse. He was still too weak, too unrefined to protect against that.
"I need that tech, Alex," Stane said, his voice now devoid of any pretense. "And I'll take it directly from your chest. Consider this your final lesson."
Stane smiled, a cold, predatory baring of teeth. He activated the device.
A blinding FLASH of white light filled the cellar, followed by an agonizing, internal SCREAM from the Arc Core. The blue light on Alex's chest flickered, dimmed, and then died. The power was gone. His enhanced senses, his strength, his intuition—all vanished, leaving him dizzy and disoriented, his raw, unaugmented body suddenly overwhelmed by pain and exhaustion.
He stumbled, falling to his knees as Stane advanced, a cold, metallic gleam in his hand.
[WARNING: Arc Core Offline. Host is defenseless. Immediate extraction required.]
Alex dimly heard a new sound, cutting through the ringing in his ears: the distinct THUD-THUD-THUD of a heavy helicopter landing directly on the mansion's helipad above.
No. Not Stane's chopper. That was a different sound.
A new shadow fell over the cellar door, a figure far taller and more imposing than Stane, silhouetted against the now-total darkness of the mansion above.
Stane hesitated, looking up. "What the...?"
Alex, barely conscious, looked up too. The new figure had no gun, no tactical gear. Just an incredibly large, muscular frame and a weapon that looked like an oversized hammer.
No. It can't be.
The figure stepped into the red glow of Alex's dying emergency lights. It was a man, impossibly broad, clad in ancient, alien armor, his face a mask of Nordic fury.
[Threat Level: UNKNOWN. Entity Detected: Thor Odinson. Context: Timeline Divergence. Host is in immediate danger of collateral damage.]
Alex's mind, reeling from the EMP and the shock of seeing an actual god, could barely register the System's warning. He was powerless, at the mercy of Stane, and now caught between two titanic forces.
CLIFFHANGER for Chapter 5:
Stane, enraged by the interruption, snarled, "Who the hell are you?"
The golden-haired giant, Thor, glared down at Stane, Mjolnir vibrating in his hand. "You threaten a child. You disturb the peace of Midgard. You face the wrath of Asgard!"
Stane cursed and lunged for Alex, intending to take his prize before the Avenger could interfere. But Thor was faster. His hammer, Mjolnir, glowed with an ancient power.
Alex, barely able to lift his head, watched in stunned horror as Thor raised his hammer, not at Stane, but directly at the cellar floor. The next blow would flatten them all.