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*BRRRT! BRRRT!*
In front of the remaining S.H.I.E.L.D. agents' stunned eyes, the human-shaped "fighter jet" hovering overhead unfolded two Gatling cannons.
Then it opened fire again with no warning and with no hesitation.
A brutal hail of bullets ripped straight toward them, chewing up the ground and shredding anything caught in the open.
"Ugh!"
Several agents went down instantly, hit before they could even dive for cover. The scene was chaotic, too fast, too violent, and way beyond what any normal tactical training was built for.
"Watch out!" Hawekeye shouted.
He didn't bother trying to outgun the iron machine. Instead, he did what he always did best: made a split-second call and commit to it.
He fired an arrow up at the airborne Stane, then beat his wings hard and dropped like a diving hawk toward Coulson and Natasha.
*BOOM!*
The arrow detonated midair, but this time it wasn't a normal explosion. This time, a thick cloud of white smoke erupted outward, swallowing the humanoid fighter jet in an instant.
*Cough! Cough!*
A real, human cough echoed from inside the smoke. For half a second, it was almost funny, until you remembered the coughing thing was also a flying metal nightmare with missiles. With its vision blocked, the iron war machine wobbled, spiraled out of control, and slammed headfirst into a nearby building.
At the exact same moment, Hawkeye had already reached Coulson and Natasha. Without a word, he shifted fully into his animal form, grabbed both of them, and shot straight into the sky, vanishing in a heartbeat.
In complete animal form, Hawkeye was even faster than before, and now that they were outdoors, no longer constrained by tight interior spaces, his speed skyrocketed. In seconds, the three of them vanished into the distance.
"Clint, you're bleeding!" Natasha's voice tightened as she spotted dark drops falling from his talons. "You're hurt!"
Clint didn't answer right away, but the way his wings strained told her enough. In that last, impossible moment, he'd taken a hit while saving them. The only reason they were still breathing was because his final arrow had done its job and Stane had been thrown off just long enough for them to escape.
*BOOM! RUMBLE!*
Back at the crash site, debris erupted from the battered building. Concrete and metal burst outward, and from the wreckage, Stane rose, his armor folding, retracting, and reshaping until he stood in something closer to his human form again.
His face was dark with rage, twisted like he'd just watched someone steal his favorite toy. As he scanned the battlefield, he saw no sign of Hawkeye or the others. His expression grew even uglier.
"Damn you… Birdman," Stane muttered, voice low and cold. "You ran pretty fast."
"But next time… you won't be so lucky." He snorted, then fell silent for a moment as his gaze shifted, like he was calculating something inside his pretty little head, like a man deciding which domino to flick to topple the whole line.
A moment later, a decision settled in his eyes.
Stane immediately made a call. "Where's Stark right now?"
A voice answered immediately. "At his place in Malibu."
Stane's eyes narrowed. "Got it."
*Whoosh!*
In a burst of motion, his form reshaped again, metal folding and locking into place until he became a fighter jet once more. And then he streaked across the sky, a silver-and-black blur, cutting straight toward the Malibu coastline.
Yes, Obadiah Stane was going after Tony Stark.
But it wasn't just because he hated Tony so much that he couldn't wait another second to end him. Stane wasn't the type to lose control like that. He didn't do "blind rage."
He did math.
And right now, the numbers were telling him one thing: Tony had something he needed.
The miniature arc reactor.
Stane had just torn his relationship with S.H.I.E.L.D. into shredded confetti. Whatever "cooperative understanding" he'd been pretending to have? Gone. Burned. Buried. And while the Munch-Munch Fruit had turned him into a walking nightmare, there was one tiny problem no amount of power fixed:
He couldn't spend the rest of his life running.
Not Stane. Not the man who thought the world was supposed to make space for him.
He needed leverage. Something big enough to make even Fury's people stop and listen.
And Stane knew exactly what that something was.
Over the past few months, he'd "worked" with S.H.I.E.L.D. just enough to understand the truth: they wanted Stark technology badly. Not just because it was shiny, but because it was the kind of tech that could change the balance of power overnight.
A miniature arc reactor wasn't just an invention. It was a bargaining chip.
Once Stane had it in his hands, he'd have capital, real capital, to turn the tables. To negotiate from the top again instead of hiding in the shadows like some cornered criminal.
That, more than hatred, was what drove him toward Tony Stark.
*Fwoom!*
Stane's fighter-jet form cut across the sky like a streak of metal lightning. The coastline rushed beneath him, and within moments, the sprawling Malibu villa came into view, bright, expensive, and way too peaceful for what was about to happen.
"Tony…" Stane murmured, saying the name like a promise. He adjusted his angle and dove.
*CRASH!*
He smashed straight through the roof, and wood and glass detonated outward. The mansion's upper floor caved in as Stane tore a massive hole through it, slamming into the house with the kind of arrogant force that screamed: I don't break into places. I arrive.
"Tony! Come out!" His voice boomed through the ruined room as dust drifted down like dirty snow.
"Very impressive," Stane called, sweeping his gaze across the wreckage. "Sending agents after me. You really thought you were clever, didn't you?"
He took a step forward, metal plating shifting, the house groaning under his weight.
"But did you honestly think I wouldn't come looking for you?"
"Get out here, Tony!" he roared. "Face me like a man!"
"..."
There was no answer and no movement on the first floor.
Stane's smile tightened. He turned his head toward the staircase leading down, eyes narrowing with certainty. He knew exactly where Tony would be.
The basement.
*BOOM!*
The floor nearby exploded upward like the house itself had just decided, Okay, fine, we're doing this now.
A sleek crimson armored figure shot out of the hole and landed dead-center in front of Stane, boots grinding into shattered wood as he steadied himself.
It was Tony Stark.
The helmet retracted with a smooth mechanical hiss, revealing Tony's face, tight with rage, eyes blazing like he'd been holding this anger in a locked room for way too long.
"Stane," Tony snapped, voice sharp enough to cut steel, "you've got a lot of nerve showing up here."
"You've still got the nerve to stand in front of me?"
Tony had always seen Stane as an uncle. Not a perfect uncle, more like the kind who gave you expensive gifts and questionable advice, but still. They'd clashed over ideals, sure, and Stane could be stubborn as a brick wall… but Tony had respected him.
Trusted him...
And this man had tried to have him killed.
There were betrayals you could forgive. This wasn't one of them.
"I'm just taking back what's rightfully mine," Stane replied coldly, like the answer should've been obvious to everyone in the room. "I gave everything to Stark Industries. This should've been mine from the start."
His eyes swept over Tony's armor, lingering for a moment with something that almost looked like admiration.
"So this is your Devil Fruit ability," Stane mused. "The Arms-Arms Fruit, right?"
He gave a slow nod, mouth curling faintly.
"Turning it into this… not bad, Tony. You've always had strange ideas rattling around in that head of yours." He tilted his head, as if remembering old conversations. "That's why I hesitated so long before making a move on you."
Tony let out a humorless breath.
"Then I should thank you," he replied with a shrug, and for once, it wasn't just sarcasm.
Because if he hadn't spent that unforgettable week in a cave, if he hadn't been forced to build his way out with nothing but scraps and stubbornness, there wouldn't be an Iron Man suit.
Not this version, anyway.
"If you're grateful," Stane sneered, "then be a good boy and let me kill you."
And just like that, the "conversation" ended.
A Gatling cannon extended from Stane's armor with a grinding click and opened fire.
*RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!*
A brutal hail of bullets slammed into Tony like a storm.
*CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!*
Metallic impacts rang out in rapid succession as every round struck Tony's armor and ricocheted off, sparking harmlessly across the floor.
Tony didn't flinch; he didn't even step back.
"Is that all you've got?" Tony's voice dripped with contempt.
Then, without hesitation, he raised both hands and fired two repulsor blasts.
*SHING! BOOM!*
The twin blasts slammed into Stane, sending him flying backward in a violent tumble.
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Next Chapter: Arms-Arms Fruit: Evolution
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Next Next Next Chapter: I Am Iron Man!
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