Chapter 4: Suit's First Roar
The cavern's interior was a physical entity, heavy and corrosive. It clawed at Adam Reed's lungs with the caustic, acrid sting of burnt fuel and raw earth. Each breath was a desperate, gritty rasp, the metallic tang of molten iron sharp enough to burn his throat from the inside out. He stood trembling, the full force of his lingering physical exhaustion washing over him.
Fatigue weighed his limbs like lead weights, a deep, radiating ache from the chaotic Phase-walk misfire in the earlier tunnels. His Stamina was a critical 40%, the system's quiet, insistent hum a constant reminder of the energy he'd spent. But despite the ache, a cold, clean current of adrenaline surged, prickling his skin as if he were being charged by the cavern's overwhelming, electric tension.
The forge behind them suddenly erupted, its massive orange glow pulsing like a gigantic, hungry heart. It cast jagged, flickering shadows across the rough stone walls, which were scarred by years of desperate tool marks. The heat was not just warmth; it was a physical, searing wall that pressed against his face, standing in sharp contrast to the stone's damp, perpetual chill.
Adam's fingers twitched, a reflexive, anxious response. He found the frayed hem of his sleeve and began twisting the threads again, knotting the fabric under the immense nervous strain. His hazel eyes darted to every tiny creak, every distant, muffled shout, attempting to predict the inevitable breach. His heart hammered a frantic, uneven rhythm that struggled to keep pace with the forge's heavy, insistent pulse.
"Why this pressure? Why me, the useless appendage? The suit's our ticket, our only escape, but one wrong move, one misplaced spark, and we're ash. I have to hold this line, even if it kills me."
Tony Stark was now a silhouette, a man completely swallowed by the Mark I's crude, terrifying shell. The suit's bulk hulked under the weak, flickering overhead bulb, a monstrous shadow of human defiance. Tony's faint, familiar arc reactor hum was still audible, a small lifeline of humanity beneath the louder, shuddering groan of the Mark I's untested pistons. The metal scent was overpowering.
Yinsen stood to the side, maintaining a profound, unshakeable calm. His hands were steady as he adjusted his thin wire glasses, their lenses catching the forge's intense glow. He had resumed his soft humming—a lilting, almost absurdly gentle melody that cut through the fuel's stench and the metal's grinding like a whispered, desperate prayer.
"Why is he so calm? He's seen death. He carries the weight of his village in his gaze. Why does he trust me, a stranger, a walking time bomb, to be the final shield?"
The palpable tension of the space pressed against Adam's chest, a physical, suffocating weight. His true role in this nightmare crystalized: he was the sentinel, the guard for the spark, the desperate survivor who needed to ensure Iron Man was born.
"Why me? The fanboy playing sentinel. Great casting, universe. I hope my accidental power doesn't flatten my hero before the final scene."
He shifted, the iron chains clinking sharp and loud, a sudden, brutal sound that instantly drew Tony's attention through the visor slit. The iron bit painfully into his wrists as he took position by the cell door, his boots grinding grit into the stone. The cold of the earth seeped through his thin soles, a final, chilling grounding sensation.
"I'm on the door," he said, forcing the words past the tremor in his hands. His focus narrowed to an absolute point: he must be the essential gear in Tony's legend, not the glitch that caused the entire machine to seize up.
Tony's voice crackled through the suit's crude comm system, muffled by metal and the thick visor, but sharp with strain and anticipation.
"Firing up the main reactor, kid. Yinsen, clear."
A fractional pause, charged with the terror of a countdown.
"Step back—this'll be… loud."
"Why loud? It's not just a motor; it's defiance screaming free. It's the world's most advanced engine built out of scrap. The sound alone is going to give away our position to the whole mountain."
The ignition erupted. It wasn't a start; it was a primal, concussive roar. Massive sheets of flame and exhaust spewed from the hastily welded nozzles, shaking the cavern's very bones. The light was blinding, a white-hot, searing flare that instantly burned spots into Adam's vision.
The resultant wave of heat slammed into his face, forcing him to take a reeling step back. Sweat beaded instantly, cold and slick on his brow. The thick fuel's stench instantly choked his lungs. The suit's deep, guttural groan deepened further as the pistons began to cycle with terrifying speed, a monstrous, mechanical beast waking from a long slumber.
"This is it. The actual birth of Iron Man, not the scene in the movie. I'm standing in the goddamn script, and my hands are shaking from the blast, not just the fear. It's real."
Awe and a raw, intellectual dread crashed together, a sickening mix of emotions that made his heart pound with a bizarre, fanboy thrill against the cold, hard survivor's fear. He twisted his sleeve threads to a frayed, broken knot, the volume around him rippling violently with heat waves that stung his exposed skin like a thousand tiny, sharp blades.
[POV: Yinsen]
The massive, terrifying roar of the engine ignition made Yinsen flinch, but only inwardly. His focus was entirely on the boy, Adam.
The boy stood rigid, his head snapping back from the concussive force, his hazel eyes wide with a mixture of terror and unadulterated awe. His hands twitched and clenched, like a man desperately grasping for a control he knew was just beyond his reach. He wasn't afraid of the fire; he was afraid of himself.
"Why his fear? Why the paralyzing Guilt after the necessity of the last kill? He's more than he seems. The power is raw, primal, and absolute in his flinch. The guilt is profound in his gaze."
The residual heat from the forge, even after the suit's ignition, washed over Yinsen. He let his humming falter for a moment, watching Adam. The boy's defiance—his insistence on standing guard—was a strange mirror to Tony's reckless, brilliant genius. Both were chained by this place, yet both remained unbowed.
"He guards us, but who guards him from the power he wields? Power's chain binds tight, but it binds his soul first. He must live to break it and live freely."
Yinsen adjusted his glasses, the small, habitual movement a promise of continued calm, before turning back to his final checks on the suit's auxiliary systems, scraping chalk against the rough stone floor.
[POV: Adam Reed]
Tony's voice cut through the mechanical cacophony, strained but undeniably alive, the suit's growl a deep, rumbling battle hymn.
"Okay, Adam. Run the route again—make it quick. I need to know my exit points."
Adam moved closer to the suit, the radiated heat licking his arms like a furnace. The Mark I's shadow loomed massive and impossible, a testament to genius forged in captivity's gut. Its crude, silver-gray plates gleamed, a raw, terrifying promise of immediate, overwhelming action.
"Phase through here," he said, pointing to the narrow fissure he had scouted, his voice steady despite the deep ache in his limbs. The taste of dust coated his tongue and lips.
"Utility route's short, side door's clear. I pushed the guard earlier, cleared the explosives—they're unstable, a big bang waiting to happen, but it's our shortest shot. You have maybe thirty seconds from the moment you move before they surround us."
"Why risk it? Because my scout's intel is their only lifeline. I bled for this knowledge. My near-coma was worth knowing the weak points of this mountain."
Tony's nod was unseen beneath the thick helmet, but Adam felt the affirmation in the suit's mechanical posture, its focus a laser through the bulk. Yinsen was still scribbling on the stone floor with a piece of chalk, the quiet, repetitive rasp a fragile counterpoint to his humming. He was etching the escape's map in the dust, the visual plan of their final, desperate stand.
"Why his song? It's hope. It's a melody threading through the absolute chaos, holding us—three desperate men—whole against the storm. He's the reason this works."
The helmet dropped with a heavy, final clank, sealing Tony's fate and his focus. The suit's deep, guttural growl deepened further, the pistons grinding with terrifying speed. The mechanical beast was fully charged and ready to charge out into the desert.
A shadow flickered. It wasn't a ghost, but Guard D, rounding the corner of the corridor. His boots made a hard, desperate thud, instantly stopping. His eyes saucering at the sight of the hulking metal machine. His rifle snapped up in a practiced, urgent motion, the intent raw and absolute: stop the machine, kill the men. The sound of the metallic bolt sliding home on the rifle was deafeningly loud in the immediate vicinity.
"Why now? Right as the helmet drops? No time to think—act, save the spark. The fight hasn't even started, and they've found us. Raza's men are smarter than I thought."
Panic surged through Adam's veins. His will flared, the system's hum spiking sharp with ozone's sting. His focus narrowed instantly, desperately aiming for a non-lethal force, a fraction of his power, just enough to stall the inevitable attack.
[PUSH INITIATED. INTENT: NON-LETHAL STUN.]
The invisible force slammed into the guard's chest. Adam had dampened the power, turning annihilation into blunt trauma. The guard hurtled back, slamming into a stack of empty crates. Wood splintered with a sharp, sickening crack. His helmet rattled loudly against the stone, and the rifle clattered uselessly away. Dust swirled up in a choking, blinding cloud.
The guard groaned, a sound of agony but importantly, of life. He was out, broken ribs likely, but breathing. The Push had bought them perhaps five precious seconds. Adam's chest heaved, adrenaline still spiking, but guilt's claw was sinking deeper. His fingers trembled violently as they clutched his sleeves.
"One push, one immediate cost. I'm saving them, but I'm piling up scars on my soul. This tightrope walk is going to snap me in half."
"Why restrain? Because Guilt's at 30%. Another kill breaks the board. I can't become a weapon with no off switch, even in this desperate hell."
The system's grid flickered momentarily, the blue runes dancing, the familiar static prickling his skin. Its voice sliced through his consciousness with biting, unwelcome sarcasm.
[GUILT: +5%.]
[CLEAN HIT, PUSHER. GUILT'S STACKING—YOU'RE ONE SOB STORY FROM A FULL VILLAIN ARC. TRY PHASING OUT NEXT TIME, INSTEAD OF BREAKING BONES.]
The crash of the crates and the distinct metallic clank of the abandoned rifle was a siren call. Shouts outside instantly morphed to a charging, murderous roar. Boots began pounding like a storm's prelude—the Ten Rings were descending in force. The sound was loud enough to shake the dust from the ceiling.
Tony raised his massive, iron-cased fist, the suit's groan a sudden, terrible war cry that promised immense, brutal violence. His voice crackled sharp through the comms.
"Showtime, kid. Get ready. Stay sharp—or we're toast."
"Why fight? Because I'm Iron Man's shield. I have to guard the spark, the future. I have to carve my name in the legend so I'm not forgotten, so I'm not just a glitch in the background."
Adam's jaw clenched, the fatigue suddenly drowned out by the renewed surge of adrenaline. The cavern's chill bit into his bones, but the forge heat roared its final challenge. The fuel's stench was now heavy, thick, and metallic with the rising tang of fear and ozone.
He slumped, using the final few seconds to force his heart rate down. The metallic taste of the cave clung to the back of his throat, the suit's terrible, low growl pulsing, vibrating in his chest.
"I'm the shield, the wall, the force field. But who shields me from me? From the guilt? I don't know who I am anymore."
"Untouchable's a curse. I'm saving them, forging a real, human bond, but touch is still my fundamental enemy. I can't let them touch me, and I can't touch them to offer comfort."
Isolation's thread tightened, a cold, crushing weight. Survival's brutal tax justified the Push, justified every panicked action. The dust motes swirled madly in the forge's dying glow, like ghosts of the impossible choices he had made. The space of the cave of echoes was a battlefield now, the suit's roar pulling the horde, escape's crescendo crashing like a tidal wave, the tension alive with chaos's pulse.
MORE POWER STONES == MORE CHAPTERS
To supporting Me in Pateron .
Love [ Mavel : With Untouchable System ]? Unlock More Chapters and Support the Story!
Dive deeper into the world of [ Mavel : With Untouchable System ] with exclusive access to 35+ chapters on my Patreon, plus new fanfic every week! Your support starting at just $5/month helps me keep crafting the stories you love across epic universes like [ Game Of Throne ,MCU and Arrowverse, Breaking Bad , The Walking dead ,The Hobbit,Wednesday].
By joining, you're not just getting more chapters—you're helping me bring new worlds, twists, and adventures to life. Every pledge makes a huge difference!
👉 Join now at patreon.com/TheFinex5 and start reading today!