It was, without a doubt, a display of Tony Stark's signature extravagant flair. The entire Avengers Tower had its optical camouflage systems activated, making the rooftop look like a transparent dome. From below, it seemed you could stare straight into the pitch-black night sky, where delicate white snowflakes drifted down in serene beauty.
By the time Stark stepped into the grand hall, nearly every Avenger was already present — the Fantastic Four, Falcon, Colonel Rhodey, Black Widow, and Hawkeye. Even Thor had made a rare appearance.
Thor, having finished dealing with the aftermath of Loki's schemes in Asgard, had returned to Midgard. This time, his primary mission was to recover Asgard's most fearsome stolen weapon — the Destroyer. But for now, he had the chance to join the Avengers' gathering, even bringing along a cask of what he proudly claimed was a "vintage Asgardian brew" from two centuries ago.
Most of the team, however, looked at the tankard with polite suspicion and didn't dare to take a sip.
Tonight, Stark's mood was visibly sour. After exchanging a few perfunctory words with the group, he drifted alone to a wide sofa, staring blankly at the floor as if lost in thought. Even Rhodey, his closest friend, couldn't draw more than a handful of words out of him.
This was… unnatural — wildly unlike the Tony Stark everyone knew.
Reed Richards, wineglass in hand, plopped himself down beside Stark with enough force to rattle the cushions. But even that didn't snap Tony out of his "meditative" trance.
"Not much energy tonight?" Reed asked, setting a glass of wine down in front of him.
"If you'd gone seventy-two hours without sleep, you wouldn't have much energy either," Stark muttered. He didn't touch the wine, leaning back heavily into the couch instead.
Reed frowned. "That's not all, is it? Ever since you got back from Asgard, you've been… off. This has to be about something that happened there. So, what exactly went down?"
About ten days ago, the Avengers learned of Stark and Thor's off-world trip to Asgard, and how they had played a role in thwarting Loki's latest scheme. But both men had been vague about the details, brushing over their encounter with Loki and avoiding any specifics. Since then, Tony had practically locked himself in his lab, rarely coming out for anything else. Reed knew this wasn't just jet lag — something significant had happened.
"Nothing happened," Stark said flatly.
"I already asked Thor. He said you did amazingly well, that you were—"
"—an outstanding corpse on the battlefield." Stark cut him off with a dry laugh. "Really, a trip to be proud of. I was useless out there."
Normally, those words were ammunition Stark aimed at others. Tonight, he turned them inward, his voice tinged with genuine self-loathing.
Reed stayed quiet, watching him carefully. After a moment, he said, "So you took a hit to your confidence. Now you're burying yourself in the lab, trying to invent something spectacular to prove you're not as useless as you think?"
A hit to the confidence… yes. And not just once.
Ever since building his first arc reactor, Stark had believed Iron Man technology would be humanity's path to peace. He thought that by putting on the suit, he could solve any problem. But reality — cold and merciless — had shattered that illusion over and over again.
First, it was the Kree's advance scout droid. Then came a massive alien army. After that, the so-called "perfect organism," Aldrich Killian. Next, a cosmic being named Galan — known by the terrifying title "Devourer of Worlds." Then came the Atlanteans, rising from the ocean depths. And, of course, there was the rampaging Hulk inside Avengers Tower.
Each event had carved away at his confidence, proving just how many flaws his armor still had. The suit couldn't solve everything — not by a long shot.
Oh, and how could he forget Ultron? The creation that was meant to solve problems had instead become one itself — a persistent, haunting nightmare. Ultron had escaped from Stark's own armor systems and even stolen Asgard's most powerful weapon — the Destroyer.
And then there was him… the one called the Black Devil. Same technological foundation, same concept of powered armor — but somehow his suit was hundreds, no, thousands of times more advanced than Iron Man's.
"Tony," Reed said, brow furrowed, "you're locking yourself into a dead end. No matter how strong you are, you can't carry the entire world on your back."
Stark let out a bitter chuckle, standing abruptly. "And yet… I've seen a man in armor who could. His suit made mine look like a child's toy."
His voice had risen — enough for others in the hall to turn their heads. Realizing this, Stark swallowed whatever he had been about to say next, shot Reed a glance, and strode out of the gathering without another word.
Right now, he needed power. Tremendous power.
And the Avengers… desperately needed it too.
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