Chapter 28: Tony vs. Whiplash

Blood toxicity: 53%.

Staring at the reading on the detector, Tony’s brow furrowed deeply. He sucked at the blood on his index finger, silent. After a long moment, he let out a sigh.

The arc reactor in his chest continued to emit its steady glow. Tony looked up at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, a complex expression on his face. “Do you have any worse ideas?” he muttered to himself.

On either side of the Monte Carlo circuit, the grandstands roared with excitement. The world’s eyes were fixed on the imminent start of the Monaco Grand Prix, the crown jewel of Formula 1.

Suddenly, a commotion broke out among the spectators near the track. People saw Tony Stark, dressed in a racing suit, appear on the course itself. Was he really going to race?

Keen-sensed reporters swarmed around Tony, eager to interview the hottest celebrity of the moment—the one and only Iron Man, notorious billionaire and playboy! Facing the cameras, Tony resumed his usual irreverent demeanor and declared, “The point of owning a racecar is to race it. Otherwise, what’s the car for?”

His proclamation ignited the crowd’s enthusiasm; the audience erupted in cheers. Iron Man himself was going to compete as a driver!

The news swept the circuit in an instant, leaving disbelief and heightened anticipation for the race about to unfold.

Back at the hotel, Pepper Potts never imagined Tony would pull a stunt like this—it was hardly the vacation they’d planned. Watching the live broadcast as Tony donned his helmet and climbed into the car, Pepper, frantic with worry, rushed into the hotel lobby to find Happy and inform him of Tony’s unexpected entry into the race.

Meanwhile, the race had begun. Tony, behind the wheel of a car he’d bought less than a minute ago, shot off the starting line with the other drivers. The roar of the engines momentarily drove away his worries, and as if in catharsis, he tore down the track at full throttle!

Not long after the racers hit the course, a bizarre scene appeared on the broadcast. A man in an orange pit crew uniform stepped onto the closed-off track, swaggering straight into the path of the onrushing racecars.

Spectators were stunned by the unexpected development. The commentator, flabbergasted, relayed the incident live to the world.

Under the eyes of thousands, the man tore off his work cap, revealing a rugged, hardened face. He ripped open the front of his uniform, exposing a strange, glowing device on his chest.

Two metal whips slid from his sleeves. Gripping them in his fists, arcs of electricity began to crackle and sizzle along their lengths.

In the crowd’s astonished gaze, the man’s upper clothing was seared to ash in an instant, revealing the mechanical contraption he wore. The arc reactor had been mounted on a crude vest, its every watt channeled into the twin whips.

The electric whips powered up rapidly. Flames shimmered along their lengths, radiating intense heat as he brandished them for all to see.

At that moment, a racer sped around the bend. The man stood his ground in the middle of the track, eyes cold and steely, and with a sudden motion, lashed his whip at the oncoming car.

Like a knife through tofu, the speeding car was cleaved in two, instantly losing control. It somersaulted through the air, crashing down onto the track as thick smoke billowed up.

The crowd went wild!

Even the dullest spectator now realized the gravity of the situation—the event had been struck by a terrorist attack!

Tony’s car was next, racing toward the scene. Ivan Vanko, undeterred, swung the electric whips once more, bringing them crashing down on Tony’s vehicle.

Tony’s eyes widened as he watched the car split in two beneath him. Suddenly weightless, he tumbled as the wreckage flipped violently through the air before smashing against the safety barrier.

The car landed on its side. Dizzy and bleeding from a gash on his forehead, Tony’s vision blurred. Hanging upside down, he saw—through muddled sight—Ivan Vanko approaching him with the crackling whips.

Diesel leaked from the wrecked car. Tony realized he was trapped in his seat, a lamb to the slaughter.

Ivan lashed out, aiming to finish Tony off. But in the nick of time, Tony managed to wriggle free, tumbling and scrambling away from a fatal blow.

Ivan turned, spotted Tony behind him, and without a word, cracked the whip again. Unarmed, Tony was nearly defenseless; he rolled and crawled desperately, barely dodging several strikes that could have sent him to meet his father.

If anyone cherished life, it was the wealthy—no one feared death more than they. Unless he had no choice, Tony had no intention of dying so soon.

Now, face to face with death, Tony’s survival instinct surged, adrenaline flooding his system. To everyone’s astonishment, he narrowly avoided strike after strike—a scene fraught with peril.

Their battle played out in full view of the crowd, only meters from the grandstands. Men gaped, women covered their mouths, and gasps of shock echoed throughout the arena, all hearts in their throats for Tony Stark.

Ivan pressed the attack relentlessly, a mocking smile on his lips as if to ridicule Tony.

Good luck never lasts forever; Tony knew he’d be struck eventually if this kept up.

He narrowly dodged another blow, but stumbled and fell to the ground. Just as Ivan raised his whip for the finishing strike, the roar of an engine sounded behind him. Ivan barely turned his head before a luxury car slammed him hard against the barrier.

Ivan coughed blood violently.

Pepper and Happy had finally arrived, bringing with them what appeared to be a briefcase, but was in fact Tony’s portable Mark V suit, designed by himself.

Before a worldwide audience, Iron Man suited up in spectacular fashion!

With his armor on, Tony was no longer helpless. He raised his palm and fired a blast at Ivan.

Ivan broke free, wielding his electric whips in combat with Iron Man. The two exchanged blows, but Iron Man quickly gained the upper hand.

All eyes were fixed on their battle—no one noticed the small, 1.2-meter-high mech hovering above the track.

Luke had been watching for some time. He could tell that, ultimately, the Whiplash was no match for Iron Man. The gap lay not only in the arc reactor’s generation, but in combat technique as well.

Tony’s reactor was a second-generation, improved for greater output and stability. Ivan Vanko’s was a crude first-generation model, a rough, slapdash product in true Russian fashion.

Not everyone could afford to spare no expense and always use the best materials.

As for combat skill, Tony in his Mark armor was a different man entirely. As he himself once said, he and the Iron Man suit were inseparable—a single, perfect unity.

Luke knew that at this rate, Whiplash’s defeat was inevitable.

But he thought, he couldn’t let Stark have all the glory—what about his own mission?

He was determined to get the Engineer’s Skill Selection Box! Acquiring the blueprints for the Gae Bolg wasn’t likely, and even if he had them now, he’d lack the astronomical funds to build such a monstrous weapon. Better to aim for a more practical skill book.

What he wanted most was the G-0 Warlord blueprint for the female mechanic. He could only hope the box included it.

If it only offered basic skills, that would be a real letdown. Luke swore, if that happened, he’d console himself with grilled octopus balls tonight.

The spectators on both sides of the track watched, riveted, as Iron Man and the villain clashed with growing ferocity. Cries of “Oh my God!” rang out as the fight heated up.

The Grand Prix was being broadcast worldwide, the signal reaching every corner of the globe. Countless viewers sat glued to their televisions or crowded around computers, anxiously following the unfolding chaos.

Just as the battle reached a fever pitch, the situation changed again. In a flash, with a deafening crash, a mech unlike any seen before plummeted from the sky.