The bewildered, scattered applause was still echoing hollowly across the adamantium when Kaecilius escorted Lorelei off the platform.
The master sorcerer moved with the specific, terrifying satisfaction of a man who firmly believed he had just won the greatest prize in the universe. His shoulders were relaxed, his guard completely dropped, his eyes locked in a glassy, adoring stare. His bewildered team of Kamar-Taj mages received him at the edge of the stands in absolute, stunned silence. No one dared comment.
Lorelei settled gracefully against his side, playing the part of the fragile victor. But beneath the heavy veil of her eyelashes, her sharp emerald eyes were meticulously gathering everything she needed to know. She mapped the faces of the mages who had come with him, silently categorized their protective stances, and instantly calculated exactly what magical tools she was now working with.
From the S.H.I.E.L.D. section, Jessica Jones pulled her trench coat tighter against the biting Pacific wind and watched them go. A cold, geopolitical terror turned over in her gut.
Three women had entered this tournament. She was already out. If Lorelei kept moving through the bracket the way she had just effortlessly dismantled Kamar-Taj's greatest weapon, the Dragon Balls were going to leave Earth entirely.
Jessica's eyes shifted across the tiered seating toward the Fraternity block. It all came down to whether Wanda Maximoff could handle an immortal Asgardian whose full, lethal capability set was still completely unknown. Lorelei had shown exactly one card—the biological hijack. Nobody in the stadium knew how many others she was holding in her sleeves.
The host's crisp voice cut sharply across the arena, breaking the tension.
"Round one is officially complete!" he announced. "Our victors: Wanda Maximoff, Tony Stark, and Lorelei. Wanda and Lorelei each hold two Dragon Balls. Tony Stark holds three."
High above the ring, the massive digital bracket screen flared to life.
Six avatar frames collapsed down to three. The randomization algorithm engaged, the portraits cycling in a rapid, blinding blur until the host called the stop.
The frames locked with heavy, digital clangs.
Wanda Maximoff vs. Tony Stark.
Tony Stark vs. Lorelei.
Lorelei vs. Wanda Maximoff.
"A round-robin format for the semi-finals," the host boomed. "The second round begins in exactly thirty minutes."
In the Fraternity section, Pietro leaned in close to his sister, his voice dropping so the surrounding assassins couldn't eavesdrop. "You drew well. Stark first, then the Asgardian."
"I'll give Tony something to remember," Wanda said quietly. A faint, volatile wisp of scarlet energy leaked from her fingertips and dissolved into the air. "And Lorelei's ability doesn't work on me."
She had noticed it instantly during the previous match—the suffocating, narcotic pull washing over the stands, the terrifying way the men around her had suddenly gone glassy-eyed and still. Pietro had even drifted toward the edge of his seat for a terrifying second before Wanda had sharply pulled his attention back, watching the fog clear from his eyes. Women were fundamentally immune. She had filed that tactical advantage immediately.
"Still be careful," Pietro warned, his protective instinct flaring. "We have absolutely nothing on her beyond what we just saw. She's Asgardian. Thor pulled a lightning hammer out of the sky. She might have something hidden we haven't even conceived of yet."
Wanda nodded, the red light fading from her eyes as she absorbed the caution.
Pietro paused, chewing on his bottom lip for a second before adding the logistical reality. "Howard Stark was Tony's father, Wanda. He died in a car accident decades ago. Steve is not going to be able to make that introduction."
Wanda blinked, processing the information. Given the timeline of when Steve Rogers had been frozen in the ice, Howard Stark would have been elderly by now regardless. The idea of commissioning an indestructible vibranium dagger from the man was a dead end.
"We'll find another approach," she murmured, a flicker of practical disappointment crossing her face.
"I'm not worried about it," Pietro said smoothly, leaning back. "Smith already told me he'd put together a custom secondary adamantium weapon and let me test it out."
Wanda offered a small, genuine smile at that. After this tournament concluded, she had her own intense agenda to look forward to—the specialized training slot she had explicitly requested at Christmas was waiting for her, delayed only until the bracket officially crowned a champion.
Across the arena, Tony Stark was already running the grim, inescapable math.
Two consecutive, back-to-back matches: Wanda, and then Lorelei. The entire male side of the combat bracket had been brutally eliminated in round one. All three survivors were women, and both of his remaining opponents were legitimately, terrifyingly dangerous in completely different, reality-bending ways.
Harley looked up at him, his youthful bravado momentarily cracking. "You're not going to do what Kaecilius did, right?"
"Something was fundamentally wrong with that fight, kid," Tony said, his brow furrowed as he stared at the empty adamantium platform. "Kaecilius is a highly trained sorcerer. That is absolutely not how trained, killer sorcerers behave." He paused, his sarcastic defense mechanism kicking in. "Unless his deepest, darkest wish was simply to impress someone incredibly attractive, in which case he was wildly efficient."
Pepper spoke from his left, her voice carrying the cold, precise edge of a CEO diagnosing a hostile takeover. "She's essentially a succubus, Tony. The mythological stories exist for a reason. Once she has your visual or physical attention, you cannot think straight. Back-to-back matches against her and Wanda is going to be a very real problem." She shot a dark look toward the empty ring. "And Wanda stopped Steve Rogers cold without him even knowing what hit him."
Tony didn't argue. He stepped backward.
The Mark armor, standing at the ready, hissed and bloomed open. Tony slid into the polished secondary adamantium shell. The plates slammed shut, sealing him in the dark.
"JARVIS," Tony commanded, his voice echoing inside the acoustic dampening of the helmet. "Pull the Rogers-Wanda combat footage."
Right away, sir, the AI responded.
The suit's internal memory had been meticulously recording every microsecond of every match. The cold blue light of the HUD flared, projecting a translucent playback over Tony's retinas.
Tony ran the replay twice, watching the impossible physics of the chaos magic. He slowed the footage down to a crawl, analyzing the telemetry. He found exactly what he was looking for on the second pass.
The terrifying mental illusion only engaged after Steve had closed the physical distance. The massive, scarlet magical barrage preceding that moment had been purely, aggressively physical—all of it stopped by the vibranium shield, none of it touching Steve's mind.
The range was the operational variable. Tony's eyes darted across the data streams scrolling down his visor. It was brutally simple.
Don't let her get close. Establish maximum range from the opening second of the bell and ruthlessly maintain it. Saturation bombardment. Micro-missiles, repulsor beams, unibeam output—empty every single piece of ordnance in the arsenal at maximum distance. Wanda Maximoff couldn't casually bewitch his mind from across an arena if she was entirely too busy fighting to stay alive.
Tony Stark had never lost a medium-to-long range firefight in his entire career as Iron Man. He didn't intend to start now.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writing takes time, coffee, and a lot of love.If you'd like to support my work, join me at [email protected]/GoldenGaruda
You'll get early access to over 50 chapters, selection on new series, and the satisfaction of knowing your support directly fuels more stories.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~