Chapter 223: Chapter 223: The Iron Vows

The weeks following Tony’s recovery were a blur of activity.

First came the new arc reactor.

There had been no issues retrieving Howard’s materials from S.H.I.E.L.D. Fury had handed over the crates with minimal resistance, though his single eye had carried a look that promised future conversations.

Tony hadn’t cared. He’d torn through his father’s research like a man possessed, and within seventy-two hours, the impossible had become reality.

A new element. Synthesized in his workshop. Tested, refined, and installed.

And with the new element powering the arc reactor, Tony Stark was a man reborn.

No longer poisoning himself to save the world, no longer carrying a heavy metal ring in his chest, and physically enhanced to peak human condition, he threw himself into his work with an energy that exhausted even Pepper.

The Stark Expo continued to dazzle the world, a beacon of futuristic optimism. Meanwhile, the political sharks circled.

The Senate Armed Services Committee hearing had been intended to strip Tony of his armor. Instead, it became a prime-time comedy special.

Arthur had attended in person, lounging in the back row with a bag of popcorn as Tony effortlessly dismantled Senator Stern’s arguments with a mix of legal precision and breathtaking arrogance.

And when Justin Hammer had tried to present his own weapons tech as a viable alternative…

Tony had hacked the feed.

The footage of Hammer’s “advanced” combat suit twisting a test pilot’s spine 180 degrees played on every screen in the chamber. Senators went pale.

“I have successfully privatized world peace!” Tony had declared, throwing up peace signs to a roaring crowd.

It was far more entertaining live than it had been in the movies Arthur remembered. He had laughed openly, ignoring the scowls of high-ranking generals and politicians.

The committee had no choice but to back down. Tony Stark was too popular, too powerful, and far too skilled at making his opponents look like fools on national television.

But the military wouldn’t be denied entirely. They never were.

In the end, Tony offered a compromise: a single suit, the War Machine, provided to his friend Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes. The suit was keyed to Rhodey’s biometrics alone – no one else could operate it, and any attempt to reverse-engineer the technology would trigger a complete system wipe that would leave them with nothing but expensive scrap metal.

It was an uneasy truce, but it held.

—

April 15, 2010 – Lake Como, Italy

The Villa del Balbianello was, by any objective measure, one of the most beautiful locations on Earth.

Perched on a wooded promontory jutting into Lake Como, the 18th-century villa had hosted filmmakers, artists, and aristocrats for centuries. Its terraced gardens offered views of the surrounding mountains that seemed almost artificially perfect, as if someone had painted the landscape specifically to serve as a wedding backdrop.

Today, it would host the wedding of Anthony Edward Stark and Virginia “Pepper” Potts.

Arthur stood near the front of the assembled guests, watching the final preparations with quiet satisfaction. White chairs had been arranged in precise rows facing a flower-laden arch. String quartet musicians were tuning their instruments. Caterers moved with practiced efficiency through the reception area, ensuring every detail was perfect.

It had taken considerable effort to make this happen so quickly.

When Arthur had suggested an April wedding, barely three months after the engagement, both Tony and Pepper had balked. There were schedules to consider, venues to book, guest lists to compile. A proper Stark wedding required at least a year of planning.

“Why the rush?” Tony had asked three months ago. “We just got engaged. I haven’t even processed that yet.”

“Because life is short,” Arthur had replied. “Shorter than you think, even now. And I’m offering to handle the logistics.”

He hadn’t mentioned his actual motivation: ensuring Tony and Pepper started their family as soon as possible. Morgan Stark needed to exist in this timeline, and Arthur had every intention of having a goddaughter to spoil. Having Tony’s children grow up alongside his own was simply a bonus.

And he refused to let Tony be nearly fifty before experiencing fatherhood.

Now, the day was here. The weather was perfect, Arthur had nudged a few clouds away earlier that morning.

The guest list was intimate by Stark standards. Perhaps a hundred people, drawn from both Tony’s and Pepper’s circles. The Hayes family occupied a prominent position near the front: Arthur and Eileen, Elena and Tristan, Pietro and Wanda.

Rhodey stood near the altar in his dress uniform, looking uncomfortable but fiercely proud. He’d been asked to serve as best man. Arthur had been Tony’s first choice, given his role in saving Tony’s life and bringing the couple together, but Arthur had declined. Rhodey had been Tony’s friend through the decades of chaos; he had earned the spot.

The military contingent was smaller than Arthur had expected. A handful of generals and admirals who had worked with Stark Industries over the years, present more for political reasons than personal ones. They stood in stiff clusters, clearly unused to events that didn’t involve briefings or budget meetings.

And there, in a wheelchair near the front, sat Peggy Carter.

She was old now, impossibly old, it seemed, for someone Arthur had seen in historical footage looking young and vibrant. Her hair was silver, her face lined with decades of experience. But her eyes remained sharp, taking in everything with the alert assessment of someone who had spent a lifetime reading situations and people.

Tony had grown close to her these past months, visiting her nursing home to learn about the father he’d never truly known.

Looking at Peggy, Arthur found himself scanning the crowd for another face. An old man who might have been Steve Rogers, aged by decades in another timeline, living out his days in quiet anonymity.

But there was no one matching that description among the guests.

Perhaps that Captain America didn’t exist in this universe. Perhaps the version who had traveled back in time had chosen a different path, or a different woman, or simply hadn’t made the journey at all. The multiverse was vast, and not every branch grew the same fruit.

Arthur filed the observation away for later consideration.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Eileen murmured, her hand finding his.

“What thing?”

“The thing where you scan a crowd, identify everyone who seems strategically interesting, and then disappear into your own head for five minutes.”

Arthur smiled. “You know me too well.”

“I know you exactly well enough.” She squeezed his hand. “Try to relax. It’s a wedding. Nothing is going to go wrong.”

Arthur wished that were true.

He knew, with near certainty, that there would be a wedding crasher today. He could have stopped it proactively, but this was a Stark feud. It was Tony’s demon to exorcise.

With that, Arthur focused his attention on the aisle. He hoped the interruption would at least wait until after the vows.

Pepper stood at the altar, looking ethereal in white. Tony stood opposite her, looking… terrified. For the first time, the invincible Iron Man looked like he might faint.

The priest cleared his throat and began.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today—”

Arthur frowned.

He tilted his head slightly, listening to something no one else could hear. A hum at the edge of perception. A wrongness in the air, like the moment before lightning strikes.

“Arthur?” Eileen whispered, sensing his shift in posture.

“Get down!” Arthur’s voice amplified, cutting through the ceremony like a thunderclap. “EVERYONE DOWN!”

BOOM.

The perimeter wall exploded.

Debris flew. The ground shook with a heavy, rhythmic mechanical tread. Thump. Thump. Thump.

From the smoke and dust of the ruined entrance, a nightmare marched into the garden.

Ivan Vanko had not come to negotiate.

He was encased in armor. Not the crude harness he might have worn to Monaco in another timeline, but in what Arthur recognized as the Whiplash Mark II armor – a hulking, eight-foot-tall monstrosity of crude, grey steel. It looked like a walking tank, industrial and ugly, with a massive arc reactor glowing with unstable, crackling energy in its chest. From the gauntlets extended two electrified plasma whips, hissing like angry vipers.

“Tony Stark!” Vanko’s voice boomed from external speakers. “You die!”

Chaos erupted. Guests screamed, overturning chairs as they scrambled for cover.

“Clear the area!” Rhodey screamed, tackling a Senator to the ground as a whip slashed through a stone pillar, melting the rock instantly.

“Tony, go!” Pepper pushed him toward the villa. “Get the suit!”

Tony didn’t argue. He sprinted toward the master suite, his Extremis-enhanced legs tearing up the grass. He needed thirty seconds.

Vanko tracked the movement. “Stop! Coward!”

He raised a whip, preparing to level the entire seating area to clear his path to Tony.

“Engage!” an agent yelled.

The security detail opened fire. Handguns and submachine guns erupted, a hail of lead striking Vanko’s armor. The bullets sparked harmlessly off the thick plating. Vanko didn’t even slow down. He laughed and swept his left whip horizontally.

The plasma lash sliced through a marble fountain like a hot knife through butter, sending boiling water spraying over the screaming guests.

“I will burn it all!” Vanko roared.

Arthur Hayes stood near the front row, unmoving. His family sat calmly behind him. Eileen shielding her tea from the dust, the children watching with wide, curious eyes.

Arthur sighed, adjusting his cufflinks. “There goes the beautiful day.”

He stepped out from the panicked crowd. As he walked, he reached out and grabbed a decorative wooden pole – a sturdy piece of timber wrapped in silk ribbons that had supported the floral arch. He ripped it from the ground with one hand.

He walked calmly toward the armored juggernaut.

Vanko paused, his sensors detecting the lone figure approaching. He looked down at the man in the tuxedo holding a stick.

“Move,” Vanko growled, his whips crackling menacingly. “Or die.”

“Ivan Vanko,” Arthur said calmly, his voice projecting clearly over the screams. “I was wondering when you’d arrive.”

Vanko froze. The recognition stalled him.

“Yes, I know about you,” Arthur continued, resting the wooden pole on his shoulder like a man settling in for a pleasant conversation. “I know your father worked with Howard Stark. I know about the arc reactor designs. I know about the deportation, the poverty, the decades of bitterness.”

Vanko just stared at him, the servos in his neck whirring.

“I know you speak English,” Arthur said. “Let’s talk.”

Vanko hesitated, the whips humming. “I have nothing to say to Stark’s lackeys.”

“I’m not Tony’s lackey. I’m his friend, which is rather different.” Arthur tilted his head. “I had hoped you wouldn’t come today, Ivan. Your father won quite a bit of money before he died – enough to set you up comfortably for life. You could have disappeared. Built something new. Let the hatred die with Anton.”

“Money does not fix the past,” Vanko spat. “Money does not bring back my father’s legacy. His name. His honor.”

“No. It doesn’t.” Arthur nodded, acknowledging the point. “But revenge won’t either. And look where it’s brought you.” He gestured at the ruined garden, the overturned chairs, the injured guests being helped to safety. “Crashing a wedding? Attacking civilians? It’s beneath you, Ivan.”

“It is JUSTICE!” Vanko stepped forward, the suit’s weight cracking the stone beneath him. “Stark took everything from my family! Now I take everything from HIS! He dies on best day of his life! That is justice!”

“That is suicide,” Arthur corrected. “Even if you kill Tony, which you won’t, you’ve just attacked a gathering that includes US Senators and military generals. You will die in this suit, Ivan. One way or another. Is that what Anton would have wanted? For the Vanko line to end here, in blood and fire, achieving nothing?”

“I do not care!” Vanko shouted. “Stark pays!”

“You’re brilliant,” Arthur pressed, sensing the crack in the armor that wasn’t made of steel. “Your father was brilliant. You built an arc reactor in a Russian slum with salvaged materials. You could have done so much more. You could have filled the void Tony left. You could have built Vanko Industries. You could have beaten the Starks by being better than them.”

For a second, the logic seemed to penetrate the vodka-soaked rage in Vanko’s mind. He blinked.

Then the madness returned, hotter than before.

“NO!” Vanko roared, his whips flaring back to full, blinding intensity. “I will not be fooled by pretty words! Stark DIES! And you die FIRST!”

Vanko lashed out. The right whip, burning at four thousand degrees, snapped forward at the speed of sound, aiming to bisect Arthur Hayes from shoulder to hip.

The crowd screamed.

Arthur didn’t flinch. He didn’t dodge.

He simply flicked his wrist.

CLACK.

The wooden pole met the plasma whip in mid-air.

By all laws of physics, the wood should have incinerated instantly. Instead, the whip was deflected violently to the side, carving a trench into the grass. The wooden pole remained perfectly intact, though scorch marks now decorated its surface like tribal tattoos.

Vanko stumbled back, the recoil throwing his gyro-stabilizers off. He stared at the stick. “How…?”

Arthur smiled, spinning the magically reinforced wood in his hand. “Mahogany. Very sturdy.”

Vanko roared in frustration, charging up both whips for a dual strike.

“Hey! Squid-face!”

A voice shouted from the villa balcony.

Vanko looked up.

A red and silver blur shot from the terrace.

Tony Stark had arrived.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep