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Chapter 35: A War of Iron and Will
🕑 Added 2025-09-03 18:52:27 +0000 UTC“You… you want an apology?” Tony asked, his voice raw with disbelief. He was dying, betrayed, and his only hope for salvation was a twelve-year-old witch who was currently teasing him. “Fine. I’m sorry. I’m a narcissistic jerk. Now can you please hurry up? The man who tried to kill me is currently on his way to kill the woman I—the woman we both care about!”
Hermione’s teasing smile vanished, replaced by a cool efficiency. “Don’t worry,” she said, her voice suddenly calm and reassuring. “I care about Sister Pepper’s safety far more than you seem to. She’s not alone. She went straight to S.H.I.E.L.D. the moment she left your office. Coulson is with her. She’s safe, for now.”
She paused, then added a small, kind lie. “In fact, she’s the one who sent me. She was worried Obadiah might come back to finish the job. I didn’t expect to find you crawling on the floor like this. I really should have taken a picture.”
The news that Pepper was safe, and that she had been thinking of him, washed over Tony with a wave of profound relief that was so strong it almost buckled his knees. “Okay,” he said, a new, cold fire igniting in his eyes. “Good. In that case, it’s time to settle the score.”
He strode towards the automated gantry in the center of his workshop. “Jarvis, let’s suit up.”
The massive robotic arms whirred to life, a complex and beautiful dance of man and machine. They encased him in plates of gold and hot-rod red titanium, the clicks and hisses of the armor locking into place a symphony of imminent destruction. As the faceplate slid down with a final, definitive hiss, the playful, broken man vanished, replaced by the grim, determined visage of the Iron Man.
“Are you sure you don’t need my help?” Hermione asked, leaning against her broom, an impressed look on her face despite herself. The suit was, undeniably, a masterpiece.
“This is a fight between adults, kid,” Tony’s voice, now a synthesized, metallic baritone, came from the suit’s external speakers. “You go back to Pepper. Help Coulson keep her safe. That’s an order.” It wasn’t arrogance, not this time. It was a genuine, protective command. He had already dragged one child into his war today; he wouldn't do it again.
Hermione just pouted. The sky clears, the rain stops, and he thinks he’s invincible again. She remembered the man gasping for life on the floor just moments ago.
“Fine,” she said with a shrug. “But be careful. Try not to get blown up. It would be very inconvenient to have to explain it to Pepper.” With a final, sarcastic little wave, she hopped on her broom and shot up through the hole in his living room floor, disappearing into the night sky.
That kid, Tony thought, watching her go. Every time I talk to her, I lose ten years off my life. He couldn't understand it. She treated Pepper with such warmth and affection, but with him, every word was a sharp-edged barb. The thought that maybe, just maybe, Pepper was simply a more likable person than he was, did not occur to him.
The night sky above New York City erupted in fire and thunder. From the streets below, horrified citizens watched as two metal behemoths, one sleek and agile, the other a brutish, hulking monster, waged a private war amongst the skyscrapers.
On a rooftop a safe distance away, Pepper Potts stood beside Agent Coulson, her hands clenched into tight fists, her eyes fixed on the distant, fiery chaos. She had watched Hermione appear out of nowhere on her broomstick, a calm, silent specter in the midst of the city’s panic.
“I’m back,” the girl had said simply.
“Tony?” was all Pepper could manage to ask.
“He’s on his way,” Hermione had replied, her gaze fixed on the battle. “He wouldn’t let me help. Said he had to handle it himself. Men and their egos.”
Now, all they could do was watch. The sounds of the battle were a terrifying symphony of destruction—the high-pitched shriek of repulsors, the guttural roar of a minigun, the deafening crash of metal on metal, and the explosive boom of rockets.
“Tony, please be careful,” Pepper whispered to the empty air.
Coulson stood beside her, his expression grim, his hand resting on his sidearm. It was a useless gesture, he knew. S.H.I.E.L.D. had protocols for this kind of urban warfare, but they were all terrible options. With so many civilians in the area, their only choice was to contain the damage and pray that their guy won.
“I’m worried,” Pepper said, her voice trembling. “Can we get closer? I have to see what’s happening.”
“Miss Potts, that’s not advisable,” Coulson began, his tone professional but firm. “The risk of collateral damage is too high.” He wasn’t just worried about her; he was worried about the small, magically-powered child beside him. An injured or killed “wizard” would create a diplomatic incident of cosmic proportions.
Pepper turned her pleading eyes to Hermione.
Hermione nodded. “No problem.” She patted the back of her broom. “My Apparition is a bit spotty with passengers, so you’ll have to ride with me. Hold on tight.”
Coulson’s eyes widened. Apparition? Space jump? He made a mental note of the new magical terms.
Pepper didn’t hesitate. She clambered onto the broom behind Hermione. To her surprise, the moment she was seated, an invisible force seemed to lock her in place, holding her more securely than any seatbelt. With a powerful kick, they launched into the sky.
Coulson, his duty to protect overriding all other concerns, made a decision. “All agents, advance on my position,” he ordered into his comms. “We’re moving in.”
The feeling of flying on a broomstick was terrifying, exhilarating, and utterly surreal. The wind whipped through Pepper’s hair, the city lights a dizzying tapestry below, as they soared through the night, closing in on the battle.
And what a battle it was.
The Iron Monger, a clumsy, oversized, and brutally powerful version of Tony’s suit, was a walking engine of destruction. It tore a car in half and threw it at Iron Man, who dodged with acrobatic grace, peppering the larger suit with repulsor blasts that sparked harmlessly off its thick hide.
“I propped you up for thirty years, Tony!” Obadiah’s voice, a distorted, furious roar, boomed from the Monger’s speakers. “I built this company from the ground up while your father was off chasing girls and glory! It should have been MINE!”
“Tony’s power is failing,” Hermione said from the front of the broom, her voice calm and analytical, cutting through the chaos. “The Mark III’s reactor can’t sustain this level of combat. Obadiah’s is stronger, but his targeting systems are slow. Tony needs to exploit that, but he’s fighting with his heart, not his head.”
“ESPECIALLY YOU!” Obadiah screamed. A missile pod, as thick as a man’s forearm, rose from the Iron Monger’s shoulder and fired.
Tony tried to evade, but he was too close, his power levels too low. The missile exploded against his chest, and he was thrown backward through the air, his suit sparking and trailing smoke as he crashed onto the roof of a nearby building, dazed and vulnerable.
