Peter knew the timeline was already a mangled mess thanks to his interference with the "web of fate," but the arrival of the Rhino still made his head spin.
Under normal circumstances, tonight's script should have been Tony Stark versus the Iron Monger.
What kind of stats did the Rhino have? Since when was he high-level enough to play in the big leagues with Iron Man and Stane?
Something is wrong. Twelve out of ten levels are wrong.
Peter frowned, sensing the gears of a much larger plot turning. Logically, Kingpin was the man behind the Rhino.
Fisk had been playing the long game in Hell's Kitchen for years; he wouldn't suddenly go senile and pick a fight with Stark Industries—not when the U.S. Military was Stark's biggest backer.
A mob boss kidnapping a military contractor? That's like a mouse trying to pick a cat's pocket.
Peter's mind raced to the only logical conclusion: A trap. And as for who the intended prey was... Peter didn't have to guess. He pulled out his phone. "Gwen, where are you?"
High above the city, Gwen's voice crackled through his Bluetooth earpiece, breathless from the wind. "Heading to Stark Tower. There's a major situation unfolding on the roof."
"Wait for me. I'm coming with you," Peter said, already pulling his suit from his bag.
Whatever they were planning, with Ghost-Spider and himself working together—plus a "low-battery" Iron Man as backup—they had enough firepower to crush any ambush.
He stepped onto his glider and streaked toward the Manhattan skyline.
Stark Tower, Penthouse Level.
"When is that 'Arbiter' moron going to show up? I have a board of directors to purge!" Obadiah Stane paced impatiently, his voice booming with unearned confidence.
Rhino glanced at him with distain through his polymer horn before clicking his radio. "Vulture, you see anything?"
High above, Adrian Toomes adjusted his thermal goggles. Suddenly, he let out a sharp hiss of surprise. "Wait... we have movement. But it's coming from inside the building. Someone is moving fast, straight for the roof."
BOOM!
The penthouse ceiling didn't just crack; it disintegrated. Through the falling debris and rising dust, a red-and-gold silhouette drifted into the air, looking battered but defiant.
It was Tony Stark in the Mark III.
Tony looked terrible. The armor was covered in dents and scorch marks, and the Arc Reactor in his chest flickered dimly, its energy reserves critical.
He had crawled back from the brink of death to settle the score with Obadiah, only to find a scene that made his processors stall.
A man in a rhino suit. An old man with metal wings. Several shadowy figures lurking in the corners. And Obadiah Stane, "tied" to a chair with yellow tape over his mouth.
Tony's brain struggled to catch up. Wait, Obadiah was kidnapped? Then... whose side am I supposed to be on?
Down below, Obadiah's face went pale. How is he alive?! He should be a cold body in a lab right now! Where did that second reactor come from?
In an instant, Obadiah realized the hunt for the Arbiter didn't matter anymore. If Tony left this roof alive, Obadiah would lose everything—his company, his freedom, his life. He wouldn't just be poor; he'd be spending the rest of his days in a cage.
The act was over. Obadiah ripped the loose ropes and tape from his face, screaming at the top of his lungs:
"Kill him! Now! Kill him!"
He scrambled toward a massive shipping container at the back of the room, punching the activation code.
Bullseye and Vulture shared a glance. The plan had changed.
"Do it!" Bullseye barked. He flicked his wrists, launching several high-carbon steel playing cards. They hummed through the air like sawblades, aimed specifically at the Mark III's exposed joints.
Simultaneously, Vulture flared his wings and dove from the rafters, his steel-tipped feathers screaming as they sliced through the air toward Tony.
Tony didn't need to guess anymore. They were all on the same team. "Jarvis! Evasive maneuvers! Repulsors to maximum!"
The Mark III lurched upward, but the depleted power core made its acceleration sluggish.
CLANG! CLANG!
Bullseye's cards missed the joints but embedded themselves deep into the leg armor. "Sir, leg integrity at 70%. Flight stabilization is being compensated."
"Just show me the HUD, Jarvis!" Tony roared, firing a repulsor blast at the diving Vulture.
But Toomes was no amateur. He banked sharply, his flight systems slaved to his nervous system, allowing him to weave through the blast with ease. He looped behind Tony, his wing-edges raking across the Mark III's back in a shower of sparks.
"Back armor compromised! Energy consumption is spiking!"
"Dammit," Tony cursed. Since when did New York become a haven for freak-show mercenaries?
He didn't have time to complain.
CRASH!
The floor exploded as a massive, hulking machine rose from the depths of the building. Obadiah, now strapped into the cockpit of the Iron Monger, laughed like a maniac as he raised his arm-mounted cannons.
"Tony, this time, there are no miracles!"
Three micro-missiles streaked toward the dying Iron Man...
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