"Right, business first."
Tony nodded, raising his right arm as the repulsor in his palm began to gather a blinding white light.
"Let me open the door for them—Stark style."
He was about to fire when Henry beat him to it.
"Too slow."
Henry said it casually, then—right in front of Tony and Yinsen's stunned faces—he clenched his fist and threw a lazy punch.
KRA-KOOM!
The massive iron door, welded from multiple steel plates and built to withstand small explosions, caved inward, warped and twisted, then exploded apart in a spray of metal shards!
Outside, a group of terrorists who'd just assembled, weapons ready, froze in shock—momentarily forgetting to pull their triggers.
Yinsen gaped, feeling his worldview get smashed and rebuilt in the span of a few minutes. First a man in black armor fell from the sky, now that same man had just punched through a steel blast door. Is this the deluxe package of things I get to witness? Do I need to buy a V.I.P. ticket first?
Tony stood there, stunned. He slowly lowered his arm, and the glow in his palm winked out. When did this guy get so non-human?
"Hey!" Tony shouted, half-annoyed, half-offended. "That was supposed to be my highlight! You know you just stole my scene, right? And could you at least be a little more graceful? That was pure brute force—zero technique!"
"Come on, bro—time is money, efficiency matters." Henry shrugged and shot him a cheeky grin.
"Let me guess—you're jealous because I'm stronger than you?"
"Jealous of you, the barbarian who only knows brute force?" Tony scoffed.
"This is technology, it's art! Arguing with you would just make my brain full of nacho cheese."
Outside, the terrorists finally snapped out of it. Their leader screamed in Arabic and gave the order to open fire.
RAT-TAT-TAT!
A hailstorm of bullets erupted from the cave mouth and poured toward the two of them like an iron rain!
"Warm-up's over." Henry cracked his neck and said to Tony, "You take the tanks and the RPGs. I'll deal with the small fry. Let's see who's faster."
"Deal. Man's bet." Tony didn't back down.
"Loser scrubs the lab for a month!"
No sooner said than done—Henry vanished like a black streak, launching himself into the metal storm and straight into the enemy ranks.
He moved so fast the terrorists couldn't track him with the naked eye. All they saw was a black blur darting through their lines. Every flash of movement left in its wake the sound of bone snapping and the howl of someone being torn apart.
Bullets struck him and didn't even spark—just clanked and fell away. He was a rampaging T. rex charging through a flock of sheep: every punch landed with crushing force.
One terrorist took a hit to the chest and was sent flying like a cannonball, crashing into a row of comrades. A pickup truck trying to sweep him with a heavy machine gun was grabbed by Henry—he caught the bumper with one hand, hoisted the whole vehicle overhead, then threw it like a toy at another firing position.
His style was simple, brutal, beautiful: no flashy moves, no energy beams—just absolute strength, speed, and defense.
"My god!" Tony watched the one-sided slaughter, broadcasting his commentary over the comm. "You're basically a walking Gundam. This is ridiculous!"
"Now you see who the real meathead is," Henry said, calm and almost playful. He plucked an incoming RPG rocket like one would pick up a banana, then flicked it back. It detonated on a distant slope in a massive fireball.
"Don't get cocky!" Tony snapped, but he wasn't slow to act. His boots blasted flames, propelling him upward out of the cave.
"Miss me, boys?" he called, spreading his arms. Weapon bays on his shoulders and arms opened. Dozens of micro-missiles screamed out like a swarm, hitting the tanks and armored vehicles parked farther away with deadly accuracy.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Explosions rocked the valley. The whole canyon shook.
"Now that's art!" Tony crowed.
"Careful—your art nearly blew out my eardrums," Henry chided from nearby.
The brothers hovered side by side over a battlefield of carnage and burning wrecks. Tony tried to play it cool, but there was awe under the exhaustion. How long had it been since they'd actually fought together like this?
"Quick and clean," Henry said. "I'm starving. Cheeseburger?"
"Agreed. The air here sucks." Tony nodded.
In the next instant, they dove back into the fray like two meteors. Henry handled the close-in assaults, leaving trails of afterimages as he tore anyone who came close to shreds. Tony provided ranged suppression with his palm repulsors and chest cluster cannon, methodically taking out enemy positions.
Their teamwork was seamless, as if they'd rehearsed a thousand times.
One terrorist leader, seeing these two like gods of war, panicked. He threw down his gun and tried to jump into a jeep and flee. The moment he yanked a door open, a black boot crashed down from above, stomping the vehicle into an iron pancake.
Henry looked down at him, expression icy.
"Going somewhere, friend?"
Meanwhile Tony finished off the last stubborn tank. He landed by Henry's side and eyed the ruined heap of metal with a smirk.
"You couldn't be a little gentler? That was a limited-edition jeep—you just flattened it. Wasteful."
"Couldn't very well let it block my way," Henry shrugged.
The fight was over. They stood in the center of the wreckage: burning vehicles, smashed weapons, lifeless enemies strewn about.
"All right, that's a wrap." Henry dusted the nonexistent grit from his hands.
"Home. Food."
"Agreed." Tony's faceplate retracted, revealing a tired but exhilarated grin.
"But you owe me an explanation for this superpower. I want details—every last one. Also, that counts as my win. Heavy weapons score more—common sense."