"I'll trade you the Dragon Ball for Killian," Selene said. "And you'll owe me a favor."
Tony's first instinct was that the math didn't quite work — Killian wasn't worth a Dragon Ball, on any reasonable valuation. But the favor changed the equation. A favor from Tony Stark, uncapped and unspecified, was worth considerably more than whatever Killian represented to her in the moment.
"He's yours," Tony said. "And the favor — agreed."
He directed the suit holding Killian to cross the courtyard, then had it open at the seams and step away, leaving Killian standing free.
Killian straightened up and looked around at the assembled faces. He settled on Selene with an expression somewhere between dark amusement and genuine bafflement. "I never expected to be worth more than a Dragon Ball to anyone. That's a strange feeling."
Selene didn't spend time on him. "Chen Haoran. He's yours."
Chen Haoran, whose fire resistance made him effectively immune to anything Killian could project at operating temperature, looked at the assignment with the mild expression of someone who'd been handed a task he didn't fully understand but would handle competently.
Selene reached into her windbreaker, closed her fingers around the Dragon Ball, and covered the distance to Tony in a single unhurried step. She held it out.
"Keep it safe this time. I hope you get what you're after."
Tony stepped out of the Mark 42, took the ball from her hand, and tucked it into his jacket alongside the other one. For a moment, the weight of both felt improbable. "I'm not leaving anything to chance this time."
From across the courtyard, Killian watched the exchange. His voice came out flatter than before — the performance stripped away. "The ones who already have everything seem to keep getting more. And the ones who don't..." He trailed off.
Wesley turned and hit him across the back of the head without breaking stride. Not hard enough to matter to someone running Extremis. Hard enough to make the point. "You're not a victim. Count how many people you burned to ash with that program. You earned exactly where you are."
Killian said nothing after that. He'd run the logic himself and reached the same conclusion — the Paragons had taken him alive for a reason, which meant he wasn't scheduled to die today. That was enough to work with.
The manor's main entrance opened and Shang-Chi came through it, moving a step ahead of the man he'd recovered from inside. Trevor Slattery, still slightly dazed, blinking at the courtyard damage with the disoriented expression of someone who'd had a very confusing evening. The actor who had played the Mandarin, now reduced to his actual dimensions: a middle-aged man with no tactical value and a complicated story to tell.
"Got him," Shang-Chi said.
"Then we're done here." T'Challa pulled off his helmet and activated his wrist unit. A signal went up. Somewhere above the cloud cover, a Paragons transport broke through and began its descent, landing lights cutting down through the haze.
The team assembled around their two prisoners with practiced efficiency. As the boarding ramp lowered, Selene paused at the top and looked back at Tony and Xialing standing below.
"Safe travels." The ramp closed behind her.
The transport lifted immediately, thrusters cycling up fast, and was gone into the overcast sky within seconds.
Tony watched it go and then opened his arms to the remaining suits overhead. One descended and assembled around him, the panels clicking into place in sequence, until he was standing in a full upgrade from the battered Mark 42 he'd spent the night in.
He looked at Xialing. "Send me your banking details. I'll arrange the transfer when I'm back in New York."
Xialing nodded. Tony's remaining suits gathered the damaged Mark 42 between them in a loose formation and followed him up into the sky.
The courtyard went quiet.
Xialing stood in the middle of the wreckage — scorched stone, shattered tile, the residual heat shimmer from Extremis burn marks still rising off the walls — and looked around at her people. The Ten Rings operatives stood in the silence, waiting.
She pulled out her phone and called her father.
"Dad. It's settled." She walked slowly toward the manor's perimeter as she talked. "The Mandarin who used our name and the man behind the whole operation — both captured. The Paragons took them out. The mastermind was Killian — he actually had a Dragon Ball on him, but Shang-Chi didn't get to it. Their captain Selene secured it, then traded it to Tony Stark."
She paused, listening.
"The spectator spots — I don't need to ask Smith's organization. Tony already promised me two. Me and Shang-Chi." Another pause. "How I got them? I backed Tony's play on taking Killian's ball. That was the deal."
Wenwu's voice came back measured and warm. "You handled this exactly right. I'm very confident leaving the Ten Rings in your hands. Keep it up."
Xialing felt the words land somewhere she didn't usually let things land. She thanked him, hung up, and gestured for the team to move out.
Somewhere over the Atlantic, Tony got Pepper on the line.
"I'm sorry for everything, Pepper. It's over now. All of it."
Her voice came back tight with relief. "Did you get him? The Mandarin?"
"Here's the part you're not going to believe," Tony said. "There is no Mandarin. He's an actor. A hired face. The real architect behind everything was Killian — and before you ask, yes, that Killian. The Paragons have him in custody. You'll see the whole story on the news soon enough."
A silence on the line. Then, quietly: "Oh my God. Him."
Tony heard movement. He imagined Pepper looking at someone in the room with her — and he knew exactly who was in that room.
"Where are you?" he asked.
"Smith Doyle's base. He insisted — said if the Mandarin wanted leverage against you, I was the obvious play. He wasn't wrong." A lighter note entered her voice. "Happy's out of the treatment pod, by the way. Fully recovered. He's already complained about the decor."
Tony laughed, and it came out more raw than he'd intended. "Tell him I'm on my way. Both of you, stay put."
He ended the call and leaned back in the suit, watching the clouds pass below him. Two Dragon Balls sitting against his chest. Killian in Paragons custody. Happy walking around under his own power.
Not a bad night, all things considered.
Eddie Brock was already on the phone by the time Selene's call finished.
"Secretary Ross." Eddie kept his voice easy, the way he always did when the numbers were moving in his favor. "The Mandarin situation is resolved. Both him and the man behind the operation are in Paragons custody right now, in transit."
Ross laughed — a short, satisfied sound. "I have to say, your turnaround time is remarkable. The President told me personally: bring in the Mandarin and the proposal passes. I'll get him on the line tonight and set up the press access."
"I'll have cameras at Red Ribbon's entrance when the transport lands," Eddie said. "Let the public see who handled this. Let them see what the Paragons are."
After he hung up, Eddie sat quietly for a moment with the particular stillness of someone watching a long-running play finally reach its final act. Then he started making calls — media contacts, logistics, communications staff — working through the list with the focused energy of a man who understood that the moment after a victory was where you decided what the victory was actually worth.
The Paragons were about to become something official.
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