"...He pulled me out of a collapsing Humvee during the Bosnian Civil War. If it wasn't for him, I'd be dead in a ditch somewhere. We've known each other for over ten years, and my trust in him is absolute!" Tony was still rambling, his adrenaline-fueled talkativeness showing no signs of slowing down, even as the Mark III cut its engines and glided toward the landing pad.
"I know, Mr. Stark. You'd never have gone to him before the Mark II was even fully flight-tested, otherwise. A multi-billion dollar project, and you tell the guy who literally has a key to the entire air force arsenal," Leo countered dryly. "Weren't you even a little worried he'd leak the design to the Pentagon?"
"No way!" Tony declared with fierce loyalty. "Rhodey would sooner let me install a miniature arc reactor in his chest than betray my confidence. He's more family than friend."
The moment the Mark III's repulsors stabilized on the landing platform in Tony's basement workshop, Leo gave a visible sigh of relief. He barely waited for the all-clear before he waved his hands dramatically.
The silver armor, which hadn't suffered the structural fatigue the Mark III had, immediately responded to his mental command. It scattered into its individual plates, peeling away and stacking itself neatly into a shimmering pile against the nearest reinforced concrete wall.
"Phew, that's better. It's too restrictive to wear this thing for hours!" Leo stretched, the movement of his unarmored body luxurious by comparison. He walked over to the adjacent counter and poured himself a huge glass of cold water.
Tony, on the other hand, made his way to the large, circular experimental control panel, the Mark III now stationary. Eight custom-built robotic arms extended from the ceiling and floor, their various manipulators and tools whirring, ready to begin the complex disassembly process.
However, after enduring a direct tank shell, a missile detonation, and extreme structural stress at Mach 3, some of the smaller interlocking pieces of the armor had become damaged, twisted, and jammed, making the automated disassembly impossible.
"Jarvis, what's the holdup? Get this thing off me! It smells like burnt titanium and sweat in here!"
"Sir, I am detecting minor structural warping around the sternum locking mechanism, likely due to the kinetic impact. Forced disassembly is inadvisable without manual override on the outer plating. I require you to remain perfectly still," Jarvis reported, his voice a picture of British calm contrasting sharply with the chaos.
"Ah! Oh, that's tight! Ouch!"
Tony, exhausted and sore, was far from the ideal patient. He kept twisting his body, trying to preempt the robotic arms, hoping to take the lead in removing the armor. The resulting friction between the inner suit and his bruised skin only made things worse. He grunted and shouted with every movement.
Jarvis was, for once, genuinely stumped and slightly exasperated. "This is a tight-fitting design, sir. The more you struggle against the localized pressure, the more it will hurt. Please, remain static."
"Be gentle, J! This is my first time!" Tony wailed dramatically, even though he had been hit by a tank shell just hours ago.
Leo watched the entire hilarious scene unfolding from the side, trying to hide his laughter behind his water glass. Tony Stark, the invincible genius, reduced to complaining about a jammed zipper.
The distinct, rhythmic clattering sound of high heels echoed from the stairs next to the workshop.
A beautiful figure, Pepper Potts, appeared at the bottom of the flight, meticulously organizing a stack of three urgent legal documents in her hands. She looked up, intending to knock on the sliding workshop door—only to realize the door was gone.
She froze.
Through the massive, empty doorframe, she could see the gargantuan steel figure standing on the control pad, surrounded by frantic robotic arms, and the sight stopped her cold.
Leo's smile instantly vanished. He lowered his glass, watching the inevitable scene unfold.
Tony, his back to the door, was oblivious, still wrestling with the metallic straightjacket. "My design should allow for removal under all circumstances, J! Fix it!"
"Sir, the armor believes it is still protecting you, therefore it is refusing the command to detach."
"This can definitely be taken off! I need to be taken off!"
Upon first seeing the fully completed, high-tech Mark III, any observer would be struck by its aggressive beauty, its super-cool appearance, and its overwhelming sense of power. It was the epitome of technological warfare.
But Pepper didn't see a magnificent weapon. She walked up to Tony, her expression a mix of surprise, panic, and raw, immediate fear.
"Tony… what happened?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. She looked past the bright gold and red, scanning the damage.
"Are those… bullet holes?!"
Others only saw the glamorous public image—the playboy, the genius, the man who defied gravity. But Pepper saw the ugly truth: the severe hardship, the danger, and the self-inflicted wounds he endured behind the scenes. This realization must have been what fueled her protective loyalty and heartache.
Tony, caught in the act, was instantly embarrassed, though he tried to mask it with bravado. "Don't make a fuss, Pep. You've seen me in much worse shape before. This is just a little metal fatigue."
Pepper's eyes, however, held shock, anger, and a deep well of heartache. She wanted desperately to help, to pull him free, but faced with the impenetrable steel armor, she didn't know where to start.
Even Jarvis couldn't figure out the immediate fix. It seemed the rush to finish the Mark III had left it with one critical, minor flaw: a suit that wouldn't let go.
"Pepper, look, you need to go upstairs. I'm almost done here. I'm going to need you to patch me up when I come up, though."
Accepting his request, Pepper gave the steel figure one last, worried look before reluctantly turning and heading back upstairs.
Once she was gone, Tony called out, his voice now lower. "Hey! Leo! What are you laughing at, you heartless little genius? Hurry up and come help me take this thing off! I'm paying you to be useful, remember?"
Leo smiled faintly, the humor of the situation returning. He stood before Tony, clad in the two-meter-tall armor. In Leo's presence, despite the power, the genius, and the towering armor, Tony appeared utterly powerless, trapped by his own design.
Leo walked up, closed his eyes for a brief moment of intense focus, and gently placed a single finger on the Mark III's left shoulder pauldron.
Instantly, something profound happened. All the complex internal components of the Mark III were forcibly, yet delicately, unfolded. The hundreds of microscopic, octagonal bolts used to secure the armor were rapidly rotated in reverse, unscrewing themselves and floating silently into the air like metal motes. The complex tension and locking mechanisms that had seized were instantly released.
Then, just as quickly, the entire Mark III armor was reassembled. All the bolts tightened, the parts snapped back into their perfect fastenings, and the suit was restored to its original, gleaming state. Leo had stripped and rebuilt the suit in less than three seconds, without moving a single plate by hand. With a soft thump, the now-empty, intact armor stood silently on the platform.
Tony, now standing free in his sweat-drenched under-suit, stretched dramatically, feeling the sudden, blissful relief of weightlessness.
"Mr. Stark," Leo said, retrieving his glass of water with a wry smile, "I think the Mark IV needs a major upgrade, at least one that allows for the free, instantaneous disassembly of its armor by the user. Preferably one that doesn't require the aid of a precognitive mutant."
Tony stared at the intact, perfect Mark III beside him, then back at Leo, a bead of cold sweat trickling down his forehead.
"Leo, it's a good thing I met you first, kid. Your abilities are genuinely terrifying. Imagine if you were a bad guy." Tony rubbed his chest where the tank shell had hit. "Looks like I really need to accelerate the next iteration of my armor."
The prototype of the Mark IV instantly began to take shape in his rapidly working mind, but deep in his subconscious, another, more profound idea was beginning to emerge—something he was hesitant to face.
"Mr. Stark, I'll head back to my room now. You get some rest and let Pepper fuss over you. By the way, about that little Arc Reactor we talked about?"
Tony slapped his forehead. "Right, the payment." He turned around and started rummaging through a cluttered table, pulling out the small, bright, glowing reactor core from a reinforced drawer. He placed it carefully in Leo's hand.
"Don't forget the promise, kid. It stays put."
"I remember: I can't take it out of the room, and I can't reveal any of the technology inside. If it's not useful, I have to return it to you immediately," Leo recited. "By the way, Mr. Stark, did you rebuild a few? You seemed a little anxious about it back there."
"Just one. Why would I need so many? The more you have, the greater the danger. One is enough for me," Tony said, looking completely unconcerned and waving a dismissive hand.
"Mr. Stark, as I said before, it's always good to be prepared. If that little electromagnet in your chest ever fails, or if someone manages to physically remove the needle, you'll have a backup in case of emergency, right?" Leo pressed, trying to inject some caution into the genius.
Tony just laughed, a deep, self-satisfied chuckle. "I've designed this system to be foolproof, kid. Don't worry about my chest. Worry about your next algebra test."
Leo sighed internally, realizing the futility of arguing. Tony Stark was still the megalomaniac and narcissist who believed himself the smartest man in the room. He might be slightly more tolerant in front of Leo, but he wouldn't listen to Leo's every word. Even if Leo possessed miraculous precognitive abilities, Tony only trusted himself, just as he was unwilling to truly know more about the future.
Leo reluctantly went upstairs and returned to his room.
He looked at the two tons of gold-titanium alloy piled neatly against the wall, the Arc Reactor gently glowing in his hand, and the large box of high-calorie, nutritious field rations that he had prepared by his bedside—food he needed to fuel his cultivation.
He opened the inexplicable system panel in his mind while beginning to eat heartily.
Control Points: 99
Strength: 19
Defense: 19
Speed: 19
Spirit: 19
Pending Level Up: Need 1 CP to reach Level 20 on all attributes.
Skill: D-rank Metal Control, C-rank Body Enhancement
Enhancement (Physical):
Golden Eyes (100%)
Copper Skin (100%)
Steel Bars (99%)
Iron Bones (0%)
Derivative Skills: Golden Eyes of Truth (Unaffected by any abilities, sees through all illusions, enhances visual observation, and can metallize objects)
Immovable Golden Body (Greatly enhances defensive power; feet firmly planted on the ground; possesses unlimited stamina; body regeneration speed is increased; cannot be moved by external forces)
No matter how much I cultivate lately, I haven't made any measurable progress. The energy I absorb through conventional methods is immediately depleted, like pouring a ladle of water into a dry rice paddy—it has no effect whatsoever on raising my stats, Leo mused, chewing slowly. I am stuck at the threshold of Level 20.
Leo recalled the last time he had absorbed a powerful, uncontrolled surge of electrical energy. Although he was also greatly injured, it was undeniable that it had replenished his energy and driven his growth forward.
I need a high-density, stable, and sustainable power source to cross this barrier.
So, Leo instinctively took the reactor core from Tony.
Looking at the bright, humming little reactor in his hand, radiating enough power to light up a small city, Leo was filled with a mix of anticipation and profound dread. He knew the risk was immense, but the stagnation of his cultivation felt more dangerous.
He gripped the core tighter, preparing to execute a high-risk power transfer he had not attempted since his arrival on this planet.
Meanwhile, Obadiah Stane's private jet touched down outside the town of Gomila. His face was a mask of cold fury and calculating intent. He had seen the satellite footage, the scale of the destruction, and knew immediately the official story was a lie.
He was met by the leader of the Ten Rings—the bald man, Raza—standing amidst the smoking, unrecognizable wreckage of what had been his fortified armory.
Raza was no longer the arrogant warlord who had captured Tony Stark. He was a shell of a man, his eyes hollowed out by fear and hatred. His entire army had been decimated, his weapons destroyed, and his stronghold was now a crater of glass and melted metal.
The two bald men stood face to face, surrounded by the corpses of the fallen and the black, pungent smoke of burnt explosives.
Raza let out a short, guttural laugh—a noise of pure, broken irony.