He Who Cuts Fate

Chapter 18 – The Betrayal

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[Tony Stark's POV]

Pain.

Sharp. Cold. It spread through his chest like ice, his body refusing to move, muscles locking as if his own nervous system had betrayed him. Because it had.

Tony gasped, barely able to lift his hand, his fingers numb as he reached toward the arc reactor in his chest. It was gone.

Obadiah stood over him, holding the stolen reactor with a calm, satisfied smirk. "You think just because you have an idea, it belongs to you?" he said, his voice dripping with amusement.

Tony couldn't respond. His throat was dry, his breath shallow. His body was shutting down.

Obadiah crouched, his expression full of something Tony had never noticed before—resentment.

"All these years, Tony. Do you really think you built this company? That you earned it?" Stane shook his head, almost pitying. "No. You were a child playing with toys. And I let you play. Because I thought, one day, you'd understand what real power is."

He stood, stepping back. The stolen reactor glowed faintly in his hand. "But you're too much like your father. Soft. Sentimental." His smirk faded. "That's why you had to go."

Tony struggled to breathe, every second stretching out like an eternity. He was dying.

And Obadiah Stane wasn't done.

"Don't worry," he said, turning toward the door. "You won't be conscious long enough to feel much."

Then he was gone.

Tony lay there, gasping, his body growing colder by the second. Was this it?

Was this how he died?

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[Severence's POV]

From the shadows of Stark's home, Severence watched as Tony struggled, his movements weak, his breathing unsteady. Death had come knocking.

And fate? Fate was demanding its due.

Severence had witnessed countless men meet their end. Some fell screaming. Some in silence. Some reached for help that never came.

But Tony Stark was different.

He didn't cry out. He didn't beg. He simply fought.

Even as his body betrayed him, even as his mind blurred, Tony reached—dragging himself inch by inch toward salvation.

Severence watched. Measured.

Would this be where his story ended?

Or was this the moment that defined him?

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[Tony Stark's POV]

The world was fading. His vision blurred. But somewhere in the haze, he saw it.

The first reactor.

The one Pepper had framed. The one he had cast aside, calling it obsolete.

Obsolete.

His own words mocked him.

With the last ounce of strength in his body, Tony forced his arm forward, dragging himself toward it. Every movement was agony. Every breath a battle.

But he didn't stop.

He couldn't stop.

His fingers brushed against the casing, and with a final push, he grabbed it—clutching it to his chest, barely able to force it into place.

There was a beat of silence.

Then—light.

The arc reactor pulsed, energy flooding his veins. His limbs convulsed before stabilizing, breath returning to his lungs in desperate gulps.

He collapsed back onto the floor, his body trembling.

Alive.

Barely.

But alive.

And now?

Now it was his turn.

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[Time Skip – Three Hours Later]

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The Mark III's systems hummed as Tony stepped into the armor. His movements were slower than usual, his body still weak, but his mind?

Sharper than ever.

Obadiah had crossed the final line.

This wasn't about business. This wasn't even about revenge.

This was about stopping a monster he had helped create.

As the armor locked into place, JARVIS spoke, his voice calm despite the situation.

"Sir, Stane's location has been pinpointed."

Tony clenched his fists. "Where?"

"Sector 16. The underground testing facility."

Tony's eyes darkened. The same place where Stark weapons had once been developed in secret.

It was fitting.

Tonight, Obadiah Stane's war machine would fall.

And Iron Man would rise.

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[Time Skip – One Hour Later]

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The facility was dark, shadows stretching across steel walls. The hum of machinery filled the air, flickering monitors casting a sickly glow over the rows of Stark technology repurposed for war.

And in the center of it all stood Obadiah Stane.

Clad in an armored monstrosity, his presence was suffocating. The Iron Monger suit was twice the size of Tony's, a brutal design built for destruction. The reactor he had stolen pulsed at its core, feeding power into its massive frame.

Stane turned as Tony landed with a metallic thud, his suit gleaming under the dim lights.

"Well, well," Stane's voice boomed through the speakers. "Look who survived."

Tony's hands curled into fists. "You really thought you could get away with this?"

Stane laughed, the sound like grinding metal. "I already have."

Then he attacked.

The force of the first strike sent Tony skidding back, metal scraping against concrete as he barely stabilized himself. He was outmatched in raw power.

But Tony Stark had never won fights through brute strength.

He was smarter.

Dodging under the next blow, he fired a concentrated blast at the reactor embedded in Stane's chest. Sparks flew, but the armor held.

"Cheap tricks won't save you," Stane growled, charging forward.

Tony moved fast, weaving through the factory's supports, using the environment to his advantage. If he couldn't overpower Stane, he'd outmaneuver him.

Severence watched from a distance.

Fate had brought them here.

A battle between past and future.

Between a man who clung to old power—and a man who was about to change the world.

Severence remained unseen. For now.

But the echoes of this battle would ripple across reality.

And when the time came—he would sever the thread.