Afghanistan.
Endless sun. Endless sand. And now, a carefully orchestrated disaster.
The convoy moved along a jagged mountain pass, dust curling into the air as Humvees rolled across the rocks. Tony Stark laughed too loudly in the lead vehicle, drink in hand, flanked by soldiers trying not to smirk at his jokes. The man had no idea what was coming.
But he did.
From a shadow far above on a craggy cliffside, the Monarch of Shadows watched.
Eyes glowing faintly, silent as smoke.
---
The Tipping Point
He hadn't planned to intervene in the Iron Man timeline so soon, but things were shifting. StarkTech was leaking into the black market weeks ahead of schedule. The Ten Rings were more coordinated than they should be.
Someone was accelerating events behind the scenes.
That wasn't acceptable.
If the future was a game of chess, this was the moment to move his piece.
He closed his eyes and whispered, "Driver. Position?"
"Cargo in place," came the low response in his mind. "Local insurgents intercepted Stark's path. All Ten Rings operatives. Gear supplied through our fake arms drop, as ordered."
"Good."
He didn't just let the kidnapping happen.
He staged it.
---
The Capture
The ambush began with an explosion—one he had arranged.
The front Humvee flipped sideways, metal shrieking as shrapnel tore through tires and armor. The soldiers fired wildly, but it was chaos—controlled chaos.
Within ninety seconds, Tony Stark lay bleeding on the dirt, eyes wide, shrapnel near his heart. Everything according to plan.
From the shadow of a broken Humvee, the Monarch watched a crude camera being shoved into Tony's face. Foreign voices demanded a message. A ransom.
The teen nodded once to himself.
Begin.
---
The Rescue That Never Came
That night, as SHIELD scrambled, as Obadiah Stane played his internal games, and as Rhodey yelled into phones, the Monarch slipped into the Ten Rings' compound like a whisper of death.
The shadows flooded through the narrow corridors of the mountain fortress.
He walked calmly, a phantom among killers. No need to kill them yet. Not until the timeline settled.
In the farthest cell, he saw him.
Tony Stark.
Weak. Bandaged. Frantic. Building something from scraps.
And beside him, Yinsen—the unsung savior.
The Monarch didn't enter.
Not yet.
He simply watched.
---
A Quiet Conversation
Later, deep in the night, as Yinsen slept, Stark approached the bars of his cell. He stared at the dark corner near the ceiling where the shadows were unnaturally thick.
"You're not one of them," Stark whispered.
There was no reply.
"But you're watching. I can feel it."
Still nothing.
Stark leaned in closer. "If you're here to kill me, do it. If not—then let me finish what I'm building. I have a debt to pay."
The Monarch said nothing.
But in the dark, he smiled.
---
The Rise of Iron
Three days later, the Mark I armor roared through the Ten Rings camp, flames billowing and bullets ricocheting. Screams filled the air. The suit was crude, loud, and hot—but it worked.
From a ridge above, the Monarch watched the escape, shadows swirling around him like a cloak. He did nothing to stop it.
He had already made his move.
One of the Ten Rings lieutenants, a man named Farid—ambitious, brutal, smart—was now his.
His corpse had been taken quietly during the escape. Now, it knelt in the Monarch's chamber.
---
[Shadow Soldier Created: Farid (Lv.3 – Strategist)]
Skills: Black Market Operations, Guerrilla Warfare, Language Networks
Title: Master of Regional Webs
Passive: +15% to Intel Collection, +10% to Subterfuge Missions in the Middle East
---
The web tightened.
---
Stark Returns
The media storm that followed was predictable.
Tony Stark, the prodigal genius, returned from the dead.
He canceled weapons manufacturing. Made enemies. Made headlines.
The world watched a man become legend.
The Monarch watched the spark of a new age.
And began preparing for fire.
---
SHIELD Watches Too
Back in New York, he stepped through the door of a new base—a penthouse apartment purchased quietly under an alias. Stark's stocks were rising fast. He now owned 4.2%.
Just a whisper.
But a whisper in the right ear could shape empires.
That night, as he stared at the glowing skyline, he felt it again—that pressure.
The air changed.
And Natasha Romanoff stepped from the shadows behind him, again.
"You know you caused this," she said.
He didn't turn.
"I corrected a deviation. Without me, Tony would've died or been turned into a puppet."
Natasha folded her arms. "You're not on any SHIELD database. No fingerprints. No DNA. Not even a birth record. It's like you never existed."
"I didn't," he said. "Not in this world."
She studied him. "So you're not from here."
Silence.
That was enough.
She exhaled slowly. "You're powerful. Dangerous. But not hostile—yet. Fury thinks you're a wild card."
"And you?"
She hesitated. "I think you're lonely."
That caught him off guard.
He didn't answer.
She turned to leave. "We'll be watching you."
He finally spoke. "You're not the only ones."
---
Doomsday Stirs
Later that night, in the quiet of his inner chamber, the Monarch knelt. He was shirtless, covered in blood from an earlier sparring match with Brickhand and two Shadows. Scars healed across his body within seconds.
And then the pain began.
It started in his spine.
Burning. Grinding.
Mutation.
His body arched. His fingers clawed the concrete. Shadow poured from his skin like smoke under pressure.
The system chimed in his mind.
---
[Doomsday Adaptation Triggered]
You have altered a foundational timeline event. Consequence Level: Moderate.
Stress on physical vessel: High.
Evolving…
Adaptation:
— Temporal Resistance (Stage 1) acquired.
— Allows perception of minor future events and resistance to multiversal bleed.
— Increases resistances to Chrono or Nexus disruptions by 18%.
---
The pain ebbed.
He sat up slowly, chest heaving.
The world looked… clearer.
Sharper.
Something out there had felt his actions. The multiverse had twitched.
For the first time since arriving here, he wasn't just watching the game.
He had made a move loud enough for the cosmos to hear.
And the board wasn't big enough anymore.
---