Senju Haruto's decision to help Stark wasn't pure altruism—he had his own motives.
The system's latest mission required him to witness the creation of Stark's new Arc Reactor.
That was the only reason Haruto had delivered Howard's relics to Stark, helped remodel the room, and stayed by his side.
Of course, when it came to the finer, more technical work, Stark had to do it himself.
Haruto might be far more powerful than Stark and adept at magic, but Stark had his own kind of strength—his intelligence.
In another universe, Stark's mind even held the imprint of an Infinity Stone—the very essence of wisdom itself.
Suddenly, a sharp wave of murderous intent tore through Haruto's awareness.
He didn't normally keep his psychic field open for long; it consumed focus and energy. He only used it when absolutely necessary—to silently monitor potential threats.
But when someone's killing intent or mental presence was strong enough, it naturally broke through his passive awareness.
It was a kind of built-in danger sense—a psychic alarm that triggered on its own.
Especially in a world like this one—the Marvel universe—where power came in forms both divine and terrifying.
In the films, Thanos might have been the most powerful villain seen so far. But in truth, countless beings existed who were far stronger than that version of him.
Back at the No-Door Bar, Haruto had already encountered one such threat: a fragment of Chthon, the ancient god of chaos.
He'd crushed that avatar easily—but it had been only a fraction of the real entity.
This time, though, the intruder's presence felt… different. The intent to kill was fierce, yes, but the actual psychic power behind it was weak.
"A human," Haruto murmured to himself after confirming.
He spread his mental field wider, tracking the hostile aura until it locked onto a lone man.
The man's appearance was rugged and weathered. A glowing device, much like Stark's reactor, was embedded in his chest. In both hands, he gripped twin whips of crackling energy. His long, wild hair and cold eyes gave him the look of some warrior torn straight out of Star Wars.
"Whiplash," Haruto muttered softly.
He recognized the man immediately—the infamous villain from Iron Man 2.
His real name was Ivan Vanko, known by the codename Whiplash.
His father had once been an engineer for Stark Industries, but after a disastrous lab explosion that killed several workers, Howard Stark had him expelled.
Unable to accept the disgrace, Vanko's father believed Howard had stolen his designs out of jealousy and greed.
And so, bitterness festered for decades.
Vanko grew up consumed by the desire for vengeance. He'd built his own version of the reactor—crude but functional—and weaponized it to enhance his strength and speed.
He believed that even with Stark's armor, he could kill him.
To Whiplash, Stark's downfall was poetic justice. If Tony hadn't arrogantly declared himself Iron Man before the entire world, he never would have drawn Ivan's attention.
Originally, Whiplash had planned to confront him in public—to make him confess the "truth."
To expose, before all of humanity, that Howard Stark was a thief, a man who had stolen another's genius to build his empire.
"The Stark family," Ivan had told himself countless times, "has always been a family of liars and thieves."
After months of searching, he'd finally learned Stark was planning to race again—a chance to show off, to indulge himself.
Such recklessness only deepened Ivan's disgust.
He didn't understand why Stark had suddenly disappeared from the public eye afterward, but eventually, he tracked him to his oceanfront mansion—working feverishly on something inside.
And so, Whiplash followed.
"Stark… you filthy, shameless thief!" he roared, standing before the gleaming glass facade of the villa.
Rage burned in his chest.
The mansion was enormous, a monument to luxury. One look was enough to ignite the hatred in his heart.
His own father had died in a cramped, rotting apartment.
While the Starks—those parasites—lived in palaces built on stolen genius.
All of this, Ivan thought, should have been ours.
His fury boiled over.
With a guttural snarl, he raised both energy whips high—and brought them crashing down on the front gate.
BOOM!
The crackling lash tore through the air, sending a thunderous shockwave across the property.
A spiderweb of fractures spread across the reinforced metal doors before they exploded into shards.
Whiplash grinned with satisfaction as the fragments scattered around his feet.
This time, there would be no subtle infiltration, no hiding in the shadows.
He would destroy Stark in the open—for all the world to see.
As soon as he stepped inside, alarms blared throughout the mansion.
"Stark! Come out and face me!" he shouted, tearing through furniture and walls with wild swings of his whips.
JARVIS, the ever-efficient AI butler, immediately relayed the intrusion to Stark.
"Someone broke in?" Stark blinked, momentarily stunned.
Of all the people in America—no, in the world—who hadn't heard of Stark Industries?
He had publicly declared himself Iron Man. The entire planet knew who he was.
And yet, someone still had the nerve to invade his home head-on.
That was… unexpected.
"Could it be the Ten Rings?" he wondered aloud.
They had kidnapped him once, after all. Though their base had been destroyed afterward, they had no idea what really happened there.
Blaming him for everything would make perfect sense.
Still, he would've expected a stealthier approach—not this blatant assault.
This was downright stupid.
He glanced at his ongoing experiment. Just a few more minutes—then he'd complete the synthesis of the new element.
If he interrupted the process now, he'd have to use the old palladium reactor. That would only worsen his condition… and possibly knock him unconscious.
No—he had to finish first.
"JARVIS, stop that guy," Stark ordered curtly.
His mansion's defenses were more than just alarms.
He didn't need the police—they were slow and useless compared to what he'd built himself.
But as the battle played out on the holographic feed, Stark's confidence began to fade.
On the screen, he saw the intruder clearly: the man had his own reactor embedded in his chest—powering the energy whips that tore through Stark's security drones.
Within moments, the villa's defenses were reduced to scrap.
Stark stared in disbelief.
That reactor—its design wasn't his.
Yet it worked.
Someone else had replicated his technology.
That was impossible. The arc reactor was decades ahead of anything the world could produce.
So how…?
Just who the hell was this guy?