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Chapter 125 Obadiah Stein's Metamorphosis
🕑 Added 2025-10-15 12:57:17 +0000 UTCNew York, Stark Industries Building.
The former military weapons manufacturing department had now been converted into Obadiah Stane’s private laboratory.
Inside, a team of scientists worked nervously. Multi-functional robotic arms clanked and rotated as they assembled massive steel components, gradually forming a colossal piece of machinery.
“How’s my War Machine coming along?”
Obadiah Stane, dressed in a sleek black suit and wearing a grim expression, stepped into the lab. His cold gaze fell on the towering metal figure in front of him — a four-meter-tall steel monstrosity that radiated pure intimidation.
Beneath the massive frame, the scientists of Stark Industries busied themselves, hurriedly installing weapon systems into the armor.
“Sir, the weapon systems have been installed, and the flight power module is complete,” one of the engineers reported. “However, this armor is far too heavy. There’s no way we can make it move using our current power sources.”
The speaker — Bloomfield Barnett, a talented MIT graduate who had participated in the development of the Jericho missile — frowned deeply. Despite his genius in weapons design, he was utterly stumped by Stane’s demands.
“Just follow my orders, Mr. Bloom,” Stane said coldly. “I’ll handle the rest. Oh, and this mecha… shall be called the Iron Monger.”
His gaze darkened as it lingered on the circular groove embedded in the armor’s chest — the placeholder for an Arc Reactor.
The surrounding scientists exchanged uneasy glances. None of them could understand what Stane was thinking. The armor was a masterpiece of engineering, but without a power source, it was nothing more than dead weight.
In their eyes, Stane’s plan — to move a war machine weighing tens of tons with a single circular energy core — was nothing short of madness.
“Do as I say,” Stane barked suddenly, his sharp eyes glinting with danger. “Any questions, Mr. Bloom?”
Feeling the killing intent in Stane’s tone, Bloom swallowed hard and wiped the sweat from his brow.
“N-no, sir. Understood.”
“Good,” Stane replied with a thin, cruel smile. “Now… let’s see what kind of masterpiece my dear nephew Tony Stark has created.”
His eyes gleamed with venomous intent. It had been a week since his return from the Middle East, and while Tony Stark partied every night with supermodels and cover girls, Stane had been secretly constructing the Iron Monger armor — plotting how to steal Tony’s miniature Arc Reactor.
“Tony probably still hasn’t realized that I was the one who ordered his kidnapping,” Stane muttered darkly. “That means I still have time.”
Even though he felt time slipping away, Stane remained patient, determined to finish his armor before taking what he needed from Tony — by force, if necessary.
Meanwhile, at Tony Stark’s private villa…
Allen sat before a massive holographic display, observing a live feed of Obadiah’s secret laboratory. The Iron Monger appeared larger and more menacing than the version he remembered from the movies.
“The stage is set,” Allen said with a faint smile. “Now we just need the villain to make his move. Only a powerful enemy can bring out my full strength — and make Iron Man’s name echo across the world.”
With a wave of his right hand, the current feed shrank, and another holographic screen expanded before him.
In the video, a golden-red armor descended from the sky, landing in a small Middle Eastern town controlled by a brutal terrorist organization. This group had been infamous for their cruelty — beheading the men and subjecting the women to fates worse than death.
Boom!
The armored figure crashed into the ground, sending dust and debris flying. In the midst of the smoke, the golden-red armor raised its right arm.
“Magnetic field activated. Weak magnetic pulse online,” J.A.R.V.I.S. announced within the suit.
An invisible force rippled through the air. The terrorists’ weapons wrenched out of their hands and flew toward the Iron Man armor, clustering together magnetically.
Clang! Clang!
With a flick of Allen’s wrist, the weapons rotated midair, their muzzles turning toward the stunned terrorists.
Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta!
Through the visor, targeting data filled the HUD — dozens of red outlines locking onto enemies one by one. The guns, controlled through the magnetic field, opened fire simultaneously.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Terrorists fell one after another. Every bullet hit its mark — hearts, heads, throats. In seconds, dozens lay dead in the sand.
Boom!
A missile emerged from the armor’s right forearm, streaking through the air before striking a tank and blowing it sky-high.
“Jericho missile locked… launching.”
The voice of J.A.R.V.I.S. echoed again. A mini Jericho missile rose from the suit’s shoulder, splitting into dozens of smaller warheads that struck armored vehicles with deadly precision.
Rumble!
In under a minute, the entire terrorist force — hundreds strong — was annihilated. The town was finally liberated.
“Sir, the mission is complete,” J.A.R.V.I.S. reported. “Military satellites have captured the entire operation.”
Allen leaned back in his chair, a cold smile forming on his lips.
“This should get the world’s attention,” he murmured. “Iron Man has officially entered the stage.”
“J.A.R.V.I.S., activate stealth mode.”
“Understood, sir.”
Before Allen’s eyes, the golden-red armor shimmered and turned transparent, vanishing from sight entirely.
“Perfect,” he said, nodding in satisfaction. “The optical cloaking module works flawlessly.”
This stealth module, one of Allen’s own inventions, rendered the armor invisible under any conditions — a testament to his growing genius. And it was just one of many powerful upgrades he had created for his evolving line of Iron Man suits.
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