Wenwu closed in on Tony, ready to demonstrate a full display of bare-handed armor-crushing. Under his assault, Tony's suit was already crumpled, mangled nearly beyond recognition.
"Prepare to yield," Wenwu said coldly.
Instead, Tony launched upward, streaking into the sky as if merely stalling for time.
Wenwu didn't hesitate—his Ten Rings flared, streaking out from his arms to smash the fleeing Iron Man suit.
The suit shattered under their strike—yet in that very instant, a massive laser lanced down from high above, accompanied by a rain of warheads.
"BOOM—BOOM—BOOM!"
The rings hadn't yet returned when Wenwu's instincts screamed danger. He darted aside at full speed—too late. The beam carved into him, and the missile barrage engulfed him in explosions, flinging him across the arena.
The crowd gasped. Tony's armor had already been destroyed—so where had that attack come from?
The holo-screen replay revealed the trick: the suit Wenwu had destroyed was hollow, a decoy remotely piloted by J.A.R.V.I.S. The real Tony had been waiting all along, cloaked at near-stratospheric height. At the last moment, he had descended and unleashed the devastating strike.
When the smoke cleared, Wenwu dragged himself up—scorched, clothes burned away, no rings to shield him. He had been blasted outside the ring.
But instead of rage, his expression was calm—grimly satisfied he hadn't taken Tony's earlier gamble for three Dragon Balls in one bout. "Let's see how many suits you still have left. Next time, I won't spare a fraction of my power."
He returned to the stands, while Smith Dole stepped forward and raised Tony's arm.
"The victor of this bout—Tony Stark! Current Dragon Ball count: 4 to 3."
Cheers erupted from Pepper and Happy, though most spectators remained unconvinced.
Tina shook her head. "His luck's over. Wenwu won't give him another chance. Let's see how many suits he can still summon."
Ivan Vanko chuckled at Tony's tactics—remote-controlled decoys, just like his own ideas. Still, he wondered how many armors Stark could possibly call down, and glanced toward the sky.
Back in the stands, Xialing hissed, "Father, Tony Stark is shameless. Thank the heavens you didn't agree to his wager."
Wenwu accepted fresh clothes from one of his men, his voice sharp as steel. "I'll allow him no more tricks. Reviving your mother cannot be left to chance. The Dragon Ball Tournament has grown far beyond the first. Who knows what dangers the next will bring? This time, we must succeed."
Both Xialing and Shangqi nodded solemnly.
Pepper glanced at Tony, who sat deep in thought. Happy tried to praise his cunning strategy, but Tony brushed it off. He knew the truth—he had no fight left.
The Seraphim satellite overhead was empty of suits now. His gold-titanium armor could not withstand Wenwu's rings in a direct clash. His ploy would only work once.
What remained? Repulsors, one chest beam. Nothing more. To win three bouts in a row like this… impossible.
He thought grimly of his last resort: crashing satellites, armed with Arc Reactors and self-destruct failsafes, straight into the arena. It could level everything—including the audience. It was an option too dangerous to play.
The arena was restored. Eddie Brock's voice rang out:
"Next bout: Tony Stark versus Wenwu!"
Both men took their places once more. No new armor flew down for Tony this time; summoning another would be too conspicuous.
Smith Dole raised his hand. "Begin!"
Wenwu eyed Tony's cracked, scarred armor, peeling paint scorched black. "No new suit? Or is it waiting above again? Doesn't matter. I won't give you another opening."
(End of Chapter)
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