Tony returned to his section after the conversation with Smith, his mind already cataloguing the tactical modifications he'd need for the Mark 40. The armor descended from orbit minutes later, atmospheric friction painting its hull with orange fire as it decelerated through controlled repulsor burns.
The crowd watched the spectacle with growing interest. Another suit. Tony's third of the tournament.
Tony didn't change armor in full view. Instead, he walked backstage, disappearing from the audience's sight for ninety seconds. When he emerged, the Mark 40 gleamed under the arena lights—gold-titanium alloy polished to mirror brightness, weapons pods visible along every surface, the chest reactor glowing with fresh power.
Back to his previous configuration. The secondary adamantium had saved his life against Thena, but it wouldn't help against Xu Wenwu. Better to maximize offensive capability and accept the defensive trade-off.
In the Ten Rings section, Xialing's lip curled with disgust. "Shameless. That's his third suit already."
Her eyes tracked Tony's return to his seat. "Is he going to change armor after every loss? Because he's got at least three more defeats coming."
Xu Wenwu smiled, the expression carrying paternal indulgence for his daughter's fire. "Let him change suits as often as he likes. The result will be the same regardless."
Numbers didn't lie. Four Dragon Ball coins versus three. Multiple matches favoring the leader. Superior power levels. The mathematics supported inevitable victory.
Three minutes remained before the match when Thena's eyes suddenly focused.
Awareness returned like a light switch flipping. One moment—nothing. Void. Absence. The next—full consciousness, her mind sharp and clear as if awakening from ordinary sleep rather than neurological paralysis.
She blinked, processing her surroundings. The arena platform lay empty before her. She stood beyond its boundary, feet on ordinary ground rather than gold-titanium alloy.
Confusion held her for three seconds before understanding crystallized.
"Mahd Wy'ry," she whispered. The diagnosis was self-evident. Memory gaps. Lost time. Spatial displacement without conscious movement. All classic symptoms.
Her gaze lifted to the massive display screen hovering above the arena. Seven faces looked back—tournament participants. Her own image sat dimmed and grayed out, marked as eliminated. No Dragon Ball coin glowed beside her name.
"I lost."
The words tasted bitter. She'd entered this tournament confident—five thousand years of combat mastery, cosmic enhancement, abilities that transcended mortal limitation. Victory had seemed inevitable.
One win. Two losses. First to Xu Wenwu, knocked from the ring by concentrated ten-ring assault. Then to Tony Stark, defeated by her own body's betrayal rather than his weapons.
Disappointment settled over her shoulders like a heavy cloak, but Thena refused to let it show on her face. She turned and walked back toward the Eternals' section with her usual fluid grace, giving no outward sign of the failure eating at her thoughts.
Behind her, the spectator sections erupted in renewed speculation. Thena had stood motionless for nearly thirty minutes, and now she simply... walked away? What kind of medical condition caused that? Was she recovered now, or would it happen again?
Gilgamesh rose from his seat as Thena approached, his massive frame somehow managing to convey both relief and gentle welcome. "I didn't expect recovery to come so quickly this time."
Thena nodded but said nothing. Words felt inadequate.
Ajak's hand rested briefly on Thena's shoulder, maternal and grounding. "Don't lose hope. This was one opportunity among many. Based on the tournament structure, there will almost certainly be another Dragon Ball competition next year. You'll have another chance."
The observation penetrated Thena's disappointment like sunlight through storm clouds. Annual tournaments. Multiple opportunities. She'd lived with Mahd Wy'ry for thousands of years already—what were a few more in the scope of eternity?
And she wasn't the only Eternal. If the condition prevented her from competing effectively...
"Maybe I'll need everyone's help next time," Thena said, meeting each of her teammates' eyes in turn. "One of you could compete. Win. Make the wish on my behalf."
The suggestion sparked immediate responses. Ikaris nodded sharply, already mentally preparing strategies. Kingo grinned, seeing potential glory in the challenge. Even Druig showed interest, his usual cynicism replaced by something approaching genuine care.
They would help. Of course they would. They were family, bound together for seven millennia across dozens of worlds. Thena's cure was their shared goal.
The countdown reached zero.
Eddie Brock materialized at the arena's center, his symbiote-enhanced voice booming across the venue. "The fourth round of the Dragon Ball tournament begins now! Please welcome to the arena—Xu Wenwu and Tony Stark!"
Iron Man's repulsors blazed, lifting him smoothly onto the restored platform. The Mark 40 gleamed like captured sunlight, every weapon system primed and ready.
Xu Wenwu descended on a platform of shimmering energy, his traditional robes flowing around him. The ten rings hummed with barely audible resonance, eager for combat.
Smith Doyle appeared between them, but instead of immediately starting the match, he glanced skyward. His expression shifted—subtle, but noticeable to anyone watching closely. Some calculation running behind his eyes.
"Before we begin," Smith said, his attention returning to the combatants, "Xu Wenwu, I need your consent for a rule modification."
The crowd leaned forward collectively.
"Tony Stark proposed during the intermission that this match determine the ownership of all three remaining Dragon Ball coins. Winner takes all. If you win, you're crowned champion immediately—seven Dragon Balls, right to make your wish."
Murmurs rippled through the spectator sections. The proposal made tactical sense from Tony's perspective—he couldn't win three consecutive matches, so make everything ride on a single outcome. But from Xu Wenwu's position...
Why would anyone with a commanding lead accept those terms?
Xu Wenwu's response came without hesitation. "I refuse."
His tone carried absolute certainty. "I believe respecting the established rules shows proper respect for this Dragon Ball tournament. The format was announced. We all agreed to compete under those conditions. Changing them mid-competition to accommodate one participant's disadvantage would dishonor the process."
The explanation was diplomatic, even gracious. But the underlying message was clear: I'm winning. Why would I take unnecessary risks?
Understanding rippled through the crowd. Of course Xu Wenwu refused. He held every advantage. Multiple matches meant multiple opportunities to secure victory. Even if something unexpected happened in one fight, he had redundancy built into the system.
Only a fool would throw that away for dramatic convenience.
Smith nodded, accepting the decision without surprise. "Tony Stark, contestant Xu Wenwu has rejected your proposal. Standard tournament rules remain in effect."
He raised one hand. "The match begins now."
Smith vanished, leaving them alone on the platform.
Tony didn't attack immediately. Instead, his armor's external speakers activated, broadcasting his voice across the arena.
"Xu Wenwu, can I know your wish? What you're fighting for?"
Xu Wenwu's brow furrowed slightly. Strange question. Tactical delay? Psychological warfare? But after a moment's consideration, he decided the information wasn't particularly sensitive.
"My wish is to resurrect my wife," he said simply. "In pursuit of that goal, I will not allow any accidents or variables to interfere with this tournament. That's why I refused your proposal."
His eyes—ancient beyond measure, carrying the weight of a thousand years—fixed on Tony's faceplate. "I cannot afford to gamble when the stakes are everything."
Tony's response came after a brief pause. "Understood."
Then the Mark 40 launched skyward, repulsors screaming.
The assault began immediately—total commitment, zero restraint, every weapon system firing simultaneously.
Micro-missiles streaked from shoulder pods in spiraling trails. The Zeus rotary cannon deployed and opened fire, creating a metal storm of armor-piercing rounds. Wrist-mounted lasers painted targeting solutions in ruby light. Forearm-mounted armor-piercing explosives launched in pairs. The chest-mounted unibeam charged to maximum.
Tony held nothing back. This was everything—his entire arsenal unleashed in a sustained bombardment designed to overwhelm through sheer volume.
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-
Explosions bloomed across the arena floor in rapid succession, each detonation feeding into the next until the entire platform became a hellscape of fire and shrapnel. The sound was deafening, continuous, overwhelming. Flames reached toward the sky in pillars of orange and black. Shockwaves rippled outward in visible compression waves.
And at the center of the inferno, Xu Wenwu stood untouched.
His ten rings spun in complex orbital patterns, generating the translucent blue shield that had withstood Thor's divine lightning. Missiles struck the barrier and exploded harmlessly, their destructive force dispersed across the construct's surface. Bullets flattened against it like hail on stone. Even Tony's wrist lasers—concentrated coherent light designed to cut through steel—barely created ripples.
Xu Wenwu didn't move. Didn't dodge. Didn't counterattack. He simply... stood there, weathering the storm with patient inevitability.
His expression showed mild interest rather than concern. Like a man watching rain through a window, curious about the weather but utterly unthreatened by it.
Tony poured more power into the assault. The unibeam fired at sixty percent total capacity, striking the shield dead-center with particle energy bright enough to leave afterimages.
The barrier trembled. The ten rings' orbital pattern stuttered for half a second before stabilizing.
Then the shield held, absorbing even that devastating attack without fracturing.
In the spectator sections, Pepper Potts closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. She'd hoped—despite knowing better—that Tony might find some angle, some approach that would turn the tide. But watching this?
He was going to lose. Again. And then twice more after that, until Xu Wenwu claimed his seven Dragon Balls and wished for his wife's resurrection.
The bombardment continued until Tony's ammunition reserves hit zero. Micro-missiles depleted. Zeus cannon empty and overheated. Armor-piercing shells expended. High-explosive bombs gone. Every physical munition exhausted in a sustained assault that had accomplished precisely nothing.
The arena platform—everywhere except the small circle protected by Xu Wenwu's shield—had been reduced to rubble and smoking craters. Gold-titanium alloy lay twisted and melted, the advanced material overwhelmed by concentrated explosives.
But Xu Wenwu remained unharmed. Uninjured. Not even breathing hard.
Tony's repulsors fired, carrying him away from Xu Wenwu's position. He needed distance. Needed time to—
"You're finished," Xu Wenwu observed, his tone carrying neither mockery nor malice. Simply statement of fact. "Now it's my turn."
Five rings detached from his arms and launched toward Tony's airborne position like guided missiles.
Tony's palm cannons fired in rapid succession, repulsor beams attempting to intercept or deflect the incoming artifacts. Energy struck cosmic metal with brilliant flashes.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Two rings spiraled away from their trajectories, knocked off-course by well-placed shots. Tony's targeting algorithms had learned from previous encounters, calculating optimal intercept vectors.
But three rings slipped through his defensive fire.
They struck the Mark 40 with sequential impacts—chest, left arm, right leg. Each collision produced a sound like a church bell being struck by a sledgehammer.
The gold-titanium alloy that had seemed indestructible against conventional weapons crumpled like aluminum foil. The chest plate caved inward. The left arm's armor shattered, exposing internal servos and circuitry. The right leg buckled, structural integrity compromised beyond recovery.
Tony tumbled from the sky, alarms screaming across his HUD as critical systems failed throughout the armor.
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