Bant withdrew his arm, shaped sharp and straight like the barrel of a spear. The blow had landed cleanly.
Tony Stark's entire body convulsed, the metal armor twitching as a harsh electric surge crackled through its circuits. The lights on his helmet flickered twice before fading into a lifeless black.
A heavy metallic crash echoed through the factory floor as Iron Man collapsed. The glowing arc reactor embedded in his chest still emitted a faint blue shimmer, but now there was a small fractured dent on its surface, as though someone had struck it with a mining pick.
"Sir, the arc reactor has sustained damage. Energy is leaking."
Even through the war-suit, Bant could hear JARVIS speaking. Cold, composed, clinical.
But Tony understood the severity before the AI finished reporting.
The arc reactor was not just the power core of the Mark III armor. It was what kept Tony alive. Shrapnel fragments were embedded deep inside his chest cavity, microscopic metal shards that would travel into his heart if not for the electromagnetic field generated by the reactor.
Bant's strike had fractured its external shell. It was not destroyed and the energy supply was not fully compromised, but the containment breach meant the palladium core inside had begun to leak toxins at a dangerous rate.
Only a few seconds passed, but Tony's palladium poisoning had already worsened drastically.
JARVIS acted immediately.
"Reducing power output. Prioritizing life support to slow the progression of poisoning."
Tony's chest felt tight. His breath grew ragged, metallic-tasting nausea rising sharply from his stomach.
"Calling Miss Potts."
"No."
Tony intercepted the command instantly. He forced his voice through the dizziness, cutting the connection.
He had no idea what Bant was, what he wanted, or how far he would go. Bringing Pepper here was unthinkable.
Bant tilted his head, watching Tony's condition shift. His tone was calm.
"Now you can see how much time you really have, Tony Stark."
He was not planning to finish Tony. Killing him served no purpose. However, his attention shifted to the Mark III armor. His eyes lingered on it for several seconds, evaluating, measuring, calculating.
"This is worth studying."
The thought surfaced cleanly.
He could already imagine Flashstar examining every joint, every actuator, every power relay. There were lessons to learn here. Useful ones.
With no hesitation, Bant began disassembling the suit.
If most people gained superhuman abilities in this world, the first thing they would do was steal wallets or intimidate local gangsters. But Bant was different. He was robbing Iron Man.
Though to be fair, Tony had been planning to capture him first. In fact, he had openly intended to dissect him "for research."
Compared to that, taking a suit was almost merciful.
Bant moved fast. His hands blurred. In an instant, he had detached one of Tony's armored arms.
"What are you doing?" Tony yelled, panic sharp and unfiltered.
The armor was shut down now, meaning Tony's vision inside the helmet was limited to a thin, narrow slit. He could no longer see Bant, but he could feel the exposure. One of his arms was no longer protected by steel and composite plating. It was bare. Vulnerable. Human.
He felt like a sealed can being pried open.
"Time is money, Tony. You cost me several minutes. I need compensation."
Bant continued dismantling the armor piece by piece. The outer plates fell away, followed by joint systems, then servo mechanisms. In less than ten seconds, he had opened the helmet.
A wave of sour, acidic stench hit him in the face.
Bant staggered back, gagging.
"Oh, come on. You threw up inside the helmet? That is disgusting."
Tony had vomited when his inner ear collapsed from the rapid acceleration and impact. And now the heated containment inside the armor had amplified the smell into something indescribable.
The image was pitiful.
The reality was revolting.
Bant stared at the helmet in his hand, the same way a person might stare at a jar of chili oil spilled across their fingers. He did not want to drop it. It was valuable. But touching it made his skin crawl.
He shook his arm sharply, and the mess splattered back onto Tony's face.
Tony inhaled slowly, expression dark and stormy. His hair was wet. His vision swam. He looked humiliated.
"And whose fault do you think that is?"
"Yours," Bant replied simply. "I warned you not to interfere."
He accelerated his movements, tearing away the armor with effortless precision.
"I am going to need to disinfect this entire suit. Probably soak it. Maybe in detergent. A lot of detergent."
Tony clenched his jaw.
"I have a better suggestion. Stop touching it."
"Quiet."
One quick punch silenced him.
In less than half a minute, the Mark III was fully stripped. The pieces formed a small hill of gleaming metal. Bant slung the pile over his shoulder. The weight was massive but inconsequential to him.
He spoke lightly, almost casual.
"Call your girlfriend, Tony. If you do not want to walk back to your tower. Otherwise, tomorrow, your picture is going to be on every news headline in the city."
With that, Bant stepped away.
But something peculiar happened. None of the scattered screws or components fell behind him, despite his speed. Everything stayed attached, held together as though suspended in an invisible field.
Bant realized it only after he was already running.
Flashstar had always possessed a kinetic stabilization field to prevent high-speed rescue victims from being torn apart. But this was stronger. More precise.
"Unless Flashstar inherited something from Spider-Man. Bio-electric adhesion."
His excitement sparked.
If his alien transformations could stack his original abilities, then the potential was far beyond what he imagined.
He stopped only long enough to search the armor for any tracking devices. At his top speed, he could check hundreds of thousands of micro-points in less than a second. Sure enough, he located a small beacon.
He crushed it.
Then he hid the armor. Research could wait. To properly analyze this, he needed to become Techrunner, the inventor-form of his alien abilities. For now, he had school.
He crossed the city in the span of ten seconds. Easily avoiding every camera. He slipped into the school restroom, waited for the bell, and allowed red light to sweep over him.
The Flashstar form dissolved.
He was Bant Parker again.
The hallway bell chimed at that exact moment.
Bant sprinted into the classroom at the last possible second.
The homeroom teacher stared at him, expression cold.
"Perfect. Just in time."
"No," the teacher replied flatly. "Bant Parker, you are late."
So why is it that the fastest one in the world is always the one arriving last?