Tony was blissfully unaware that he had just achieved a new level of fame.
But at that moment, Tony probably wouldn't have cared. He was facing something far more terrifying.
"I have to win three matches before I can even see the Queen?"
A wave of dizziness washed over him, the world turning a dim, hopeless gray. The flicker of hope he'd clung to was being extinguished before his eyes. He had imagined it so clearly: he'd enter the championship challenge, meet Looma Red Wind immediately, drop Ben Parker's name, and this whole nightmare would end with a knowing nod and a shared understanding that they were on the same side.
Now, that fantasy dissolved into dust. He was numb.
"You didn't ask," she finished, matter-of-factly. With a practiced motion, she considerately wrapped a large towel around his waist, preventing any further public spectacle. It was a gesture of mercy, but it was far too late. His little secret was out, destined to become a legendary meme alongside his heroic exploits.
Another girl chimed in, her voice devoid of sympathy. "The Championship Challenge is a sacred tradition. Everyone knows the rules."
"How would I know? I'm not from around here!" Tony snapped, scrubbing a hand over his face. The expression he wore was a grimace of pure frustration. Without his armor, he felt utterly naked and vulnerable, and that had nothing to do with the towel. The only hard part on his body right now was the cold, prosthetic left hand. How was he supposed to fight in a gladiatorial challenge? With sarcasm? His first match was only a week away.
"Excuse me," he said, his tone shifting from frantic to focused. "What kind of opponents does a champion typically face in this challenge?" He climbed out of the pool, grabbed a few sheets of pliable material from a nearby table, and began sketching frantically on the steps. If he was going to survive, he needed to build. He had to forge a suit of armor in seven days.
"It varies," a girl answered, her voice filled with reverence. "The last to undertake the challenge was our great King Sakaar. In his trial, he faced and destroyed a terrifying monster on this planet: the Lavalan in the Great Maw."
She continued, her eyes wide with the memory of the story. "It was a colossal beast that lived in the planet's lava core. The Red King used to sacrifice countless souls to it, just to appease it and prevent it from triggering volcanic eruptions that could destroy the continent."
Tony's marker froze. What?
His eyes widened in disbelief. No, that couldn't be right. He never dreamed his potential opponent was a heavyweight of that magnitude. A monster that controls volcanic eruptions? What was he supposed to do, call in a favor from Godzilla? The look on his face was one of absolute horror. Given enough time and resources, sure, he could probably design a suit to kill a lava monster. Failing that, he could just carpet-bomb it.
But he had one week. No lab. No resources. He'd be lucky to build a functional Mark I. Flame throwers would be the peak of his ambition; he might even have to resort to using a sharpened axe. How in the hell was he supposed to build missiles?
"So… what about his other match?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"The Death's Head Warguards and the Spikes," the girls answered in near-unison. "The cruel Red King used orbital Death-Fire cannons and parasitic Spikes to eliminate all who resisted him. A single Death-Fire blast could obliterate a small city. The Spikes are even worse—terrifying creatures that burrow into your skin and seize control of your mind."
The more Tony heard, the deeper his despair became. Death-Fire cannon? That was just a fancy name for a tactical nuke. The destructive power had to be on par with a low-yield atomic bomb, just without the inconvenient radiation.
Across the stars, millions on Earth were learning the same thing via the broadcast, gaining a new appreciation for the sheer power the leader of the Plumbers wielded. And they had no idea that Ben's abilities had undergone a massive qualitative improvement since those events.
"How in God's name did he win?" Tony muttered, his mind reeling. The challenge felt impossible. Hope was dangling right in front of him, only to be yanked away. The unfairness of it was a bitter pill to swallow.
Thankfully, another attendant offered a sliver of relief. "You shouldn't worry too much. The Deathfire was slain by King Sakaar. The Spikes have been eradicated. And the remaining Death-Fire cannons were sealed away by the king. They won't be used against you."
"That's right," her friend added. "The Red King only deployed those weapons because he was desperate to destroy King Sakaar. As for you… there shouldn't be a need for such a mobilization. I imagine you'll just fight another gladiator."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Tony sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was relieved, but also a little insulted at being so thoroughly dismissed.
"I wasn't comforting you," the girl said bluntly. "The warriors in the arena are all seasoned combatants. A man like you will likely be killed with a single blow."
"Who's the most popular fighter at the moment?" Tony pressed.
"Two of them. Both blue-skinned. Supergiant and Ronan the Accuser."
Tony's blood ran cold. He knew both names. Supergiant was one of the Black Order who had attacked Earth. Ronan was the Kree zealot Steve had told him about. Ben had captured them both and, rather than letting them sit idle, had put them to work as arena attractions, a bit of violent entertainment for the citizens of Sakaar. As war criminals, they were kept under heavy restraint with submission disks and power-dampening shackles, but they were still formidable.
And Tony, by choosing the Championship Challenge, had unwittingly earned himself a week of relative luxury before being thrown to the wolves.
The good news was that Ronan no longer possessed his matter-manipulating war hammer.
The bad news was that even without it, Ronan could still pulp his head with a single punch.
"I remember that silver-skinned commander saying I could have any weapons I wanted?" Tony asked, latching onto his last shred of hope. "The one with the magnificent… tactical awareness?"
"You mean Lady Caiera?" one of the girls confirmed. "Yes, she keeps her word. Of course. I will take you to the armory now."
Tony shot to his feet, a determined fire in his eyes. "Not the armory," he declared. "Take me to a laboratory!"
"This is the armory."
Ultimately, Tony was led to the armory. It wasn't that a lab was forbidden, but the lack of raw materials made it pointless. Building a suit from scratch was a luxury he didn't have. He had to scavenge. He needed to find something, anything, he could modify into a functional exoskeleton. As a desperate backup, he was already planning to inject himself with a version of the Extremis virus. He remembered calculating the basic formula for Maya Hansen decades ago, a little intellectual exercise he'd done for fun. He never imagined it might become his last-ditch effort to save his own life.
"This axe is nice. A little rust never hurt anyone. Ever hear of a tetanus enchantment?"
"This helmet looks salvageable. I'll take it."
"This arm blade is useless as a weapon, but I can melt it down for material."
"This… is that a crotch protector? Oh, I am definitely taking this!"
Tony was a man possessed, grabbing a wheelbarrow and piling it high with anything metallic, his running commentary earning confused stares from the other gladiators.
A massive stone-man ambled over, clapping a heavy hand on Tony's shoulder. "Hey man," he said, his voice a friendly rumble of shifting rock. "You openin' up a scrap business?"
It was Korg. Acting as the face of a failed revolutionary, he was now a permanent fixture at the arena, mostly just bragging to other gladiators about his past glories. Tony had already clocked him as a potential source of information.
Sticking a longsword into the pile, Tony turned. "So, you're a regular here? The King of Sakaar was a champion, too?"
Korg puffed out his chest, showering the floor with stone fragments. "Of course! No one was optimistic about him back then, said he was too skinny. But I saw his potential at first sight. Gave him a lot of guidance, I did. Encouraged him to take the challenge myself."
"You should've seen this place back then," Korg said, picking up a hammer nostalgically. "Filthy. Everything was rusted, covered in blood and who-knows-what. The Red King, that idiot, never cleaned. But our great King Sakaar, he had it all sanitized, replaced all the weapons." He paused. "Hey, man, I heard you're doing the championship challenge. That true?"
"Something like that," Tony replied, his attention already diverted to a promising-looking pile of scrap in the corner. He started rummaging, his prosthetic hand impervious to the sharp edges. "Who do you think my opponent will be?"
"Hard to say. Probably Ronan or Supergiant," Korg said, echoing the girls. "They're the new rising stars. Ronan caved a guy's skull in with a hammer the other day. He's gone completely nuts, even killed his own accusers. Heard the Kree Empire is still trying to pay his bail." Korg shook his head in disdain. "And Supergiant… if she enters the challenge, I reckon Beta Ray Bill would have to step in. And that's a tough call. Bill's too noble with that hammer of his."
Tony's heart sank. This wasn't helping. "Well, what is this?"
His hand closed around a twisted metal frame half-buried in the scrap. It was recognizably armor, or what was left of it.
"This…" Korg peered at it, stunned for a moment. "That's the Red King's old exoskeleton. Used to have an energy shield, tough as anything. Even Queen Looma couldn't scratch it. It wasn't until King Sakaar punched it a few thousand times, nearly drove it into the planet's core, that it finally broke."
Tony's eyes lit up. He held the mangled frame aloft like a holy relic.
"This is what I want!"
Korg blinked. "Dude," he said kindly. "It's got more holes than a bikini. You wear that, you'll be crowned Miss Sakaar for sure… though you do have the sexy mustache for it."
Tony just grinned, a plan already forming. Repairing it in a week would be a monumental task, but it was a start. It was a guarantee of something. He knew how powerful Supergiant was; she was one of the Black Order who had served Thanos. The warlord who had led the Chitauri ground invasion—The Other—hadn't even been one of them, and he had nearly wiped the floor with the entire Avengers roster.
This piece of scrap was his only chance.