A storm raged in the silence of space.
The chains glowed with ancient runes, pulsing with sorcery older than reason. They wrapped around Tony Stark's armor like steel serpents, binding him mid-air in the ruptured Stark orbital station. Sparks hissed from his damaged chestplate, where Doom's last strike had almost pierced his arc reactor.
Tony's HUD glitched, flickering red warnings across his vision:[CRITICAL DAMAGE – Core Containment 52%][OXYGEN LEVELS DROPPING][MAGIC INTERFERENCE – SYSTEMS UNRESPONSIVE]
He could barely breathe.
Inside the helmet, sweat clung to his skin as he struggled against the invisible weight pressing in from all sides. His vision doubled. Doom's voice echoed in his ear, low and cruel.
"Even gods die, Stark. You just didn't know you'd be the first."
The mask of Victor Von Doom loomed closer from the shadows. His eyes, cold as glacier stone, studied the man he had impersonated for months. Behind him, a swirling vortex shimmered—a dimensional rift charged with chaotic energy. He wasn't just conquering Earth.
He was preparing to leave it… or consume it.
Tony's fingers twitched toward his right gauntlet. His nanotech was sluggish—barely holding form—but he initiated a pulse.
Come on, baby. One shot. One breath.
A faint click sounded. From under his gauntlet, a micro-laser flickered to life—a risky override designed in the last days of Endgame, never used.
He angled his arm—slightly, just enough to target the magical chain's rune node above his shoulder. He counted the beat of his slowing heart.
Three…
Two…
Fire.
A flash of light exploded. The rune cracked.
With a crackle of energy and a shuddering blast, one of the chains disintegrated. Stark's right arm dropped free, immediately blasting a repulsor to stabilize his falling body.
He dropped like a meteor into the station's interior—glass shattering, panels flying, warning sirens screaming.
Doom roared above, raising his hand. A vortex of emerald fire spiraled in his palm.
"You dare resist the fate I've written for you?!"
Tony slammed through a corridor wall, tumbling hard. He coughed inside the helmet, blood speckling the display. But he grinned through the pain.
"Fate doesn't write me, tin-face. I reprogram it."
From his forearm, a hidden needle extended. He plunged it into his neck.
Nanites surged.
The Godslayer Protocol—his last-ditch contingency—initiated.
His armor began morphing, shifting into a sleeker, darker form. Red lines traced across it like veins. The HUD cleared.
"Let's finish what you started," Tony whispered.
The ground trembled.
Behind him, a shadow moved—not Doom—but something worse.
A metallic footstep echoed.
He turned.
Eyes widened.
A mirror image of himself stepped out of the smoke. Not Doom in disguise. Not a clone.
Another Iron Man.
But corrupted. Violent. Alive.
His voice was Tony's… but twisted:
"You're not the only one who reprograms fate."
A dark Iron Man from another dimension. Doom's betrayal only the beginning. Tony's survival isn't the victory—it may unleash something far worse.