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Chapter 120 The Death Of Tony Stark
🕑 Added 2025-10-12 14:02:03 +0000 UTCDing, ding, ding—
In the depths of a dark cave, the sound of hammering echoed clearly.
At this moment, Tony Stark had long lost the luxurious suit he once wore. Now, he was dressed in nothing but a sweat-soaked white vest.
Standing under the dim light, Tony’s face was covered in grime and sweat, but his eyes still gleamed with a determined, almost defiant brilliance.
He was in a life-and-death predicament, but his mind — that of a true genius — was blazing with ideas. He knew time was running out.
The leader of the terrorist organization had ordered him to build the Jericho missile within two weeks. More than half that time had already passed, yet instead of a missile, Tony had secretly begun building something else — a steel suit that could bring him freedom.
But the situation was worsening by the day. To make matters worse, Dr. Yinsen could no longer keep up with Tony’s pace in constructing the armor. As a doctor, Yinsen’s technical understanding had reached its limit.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
The rhythmic clanging continued. In that dark, decaying cave, Tony Stark’s hammer struck again and again with fierce determination. He knew no one could save him — this was his battle alone.
His hands never trembled. His eyes were sharp and focused, radiating with the light of brilliance and resolve. Trapped behind bars, he refused to break. Only in such a desperate situation could Tony Stark’s genius truly shine.
Behind him stood a half-finished steel suit — crude, bulky, yet full of promise. An old, flickering computer constantly refreshed streams of data as Tony turned between hammering metal and recalibrating the code.
Day after day passed.
Tony’s once soft, carefree body began to harden. Muscles formed where there were none before. The playboy of yesterday was being forged into something new — something stronger.
Dr. Yinsen remained by his side, helping where he could. Though he could not grasp the details of Tony’s creation, he was in awe of the man’s sheer brilliance — a light as dazzling as the sun itself.
And then, finally, the day came.
At dawn, Tony Stark tightened the final bolts on the steel armor. It was crude and heavy, but it was freedom.
When the terrorists realized what Tony was doing, it was already too late.
Rat-a-tat-tat!
Bullets rained down like a storm, ricocheting off the metal plating as the first Iron Man strode out from the dark prison. Flames of vengeance burned in his heart.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Grenades exploded. Fire consumed everything. Like a beast unleashed, Tony tore through his captors — a living embodiment of his own genius and rage.
Behind the mask, his eyes were cold. The frivolous playboy had been reborn as a warrior.
“F***! What the hell is this tin can?”
The bald leader of the terrorist cell froze in terror. His dream of domination shattered before his eyes.
“You idiots! Shoot him down! Tear that metal monster apart!”
Gunfire erupted again, but the bullets merely bounced off the armor, leaving shallow dents.
Tony raised his right hand — a burst of flame roared from the flamethrower, engulfing more than twenty terrorists in an instant. Their screams echoed briefly before being swallowed by fire.
BOOM!
The flames reached the ammunition depot. A chain of explosions followed, shaking the cave. Tony’s expression remained cold as jets of fire from his boots lifted him toward the surface.
The fire of vengeance had been lit.
Before his escape, Tony had learned a painful truth — Yinsen was already dying. The cancer in his body had spread beyond hope.
Yinsen met his end with dignity, buried beneath the same flames that consumed the terrorists — and Tony’s old self.
“Phew… it’s finally over.”
High above the desert, Tony hovered for a moment, eyes closed, mourning his fallen friend and savior.
But he didn’t yet realize — his trial wasn’t over.
BOOM!
The suit suddenly overloaded, exploding midair. The armor shattered, and Tony plummeted into the desert below.
“Ugh… the shock absorption still needs work…”
Gasping, Tony lay flat on the scorching sand, utterly exhausted. He was about to close his eyes when a blurry figure appeared in the distance.
Hope surged within him. He forced himself up and waved frantically. Whoever it was, they weren’t part of the terrorist group — he had wiped them all out.
But as the figure drew closer, Tony’s expression shifted from relief to dread.
“Original Iron Man, Tony Stark… you finally made it out.”
The voice was calm — too calm.
Tony’s blood ran cold. “You’re… Allens? And what did you just call me? The original Iron Man?”
He instinctively stepped back, but there was nowhere to go. Only endless sand.
“I will always remember you… original Iron Man, Tony Stark.”
Allens’ tone was almost gentle as he looked at the broken armor behind Tony. Then he raised his hand — and Tony’s body froze in place, completely paralyzed.
“F***! I can’t move! Allens, are you the one behind all this? What the hell do you want from me?!”
Fear and fury mixed on Tony’s face. He had escaped one nightmare only to fall into another.
“Shapeshifting.”
Allens whispered, and before Tony’s horrified eyes, his form twisted and changed — until another Tony Stark stood before him, identical in every way.
Now, even the real Tony couldn’t tell the difference.
“I’m you now,” Allens said with a smile. “Iron Man, Tony Stark.”
His voice, his tone, even his expressions — all were perfect.
Then, with a flick of his hand, a psychic blade formed — shimmering and deadly. Slowly, deliberately, Allens pressed it against Tony’s head and began to cut.
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