Tony exhaled sharply, his shoulders stiffening. He’d just had a face-off with Obadiah Stane, and it hadn’t gone well. Stane, the man he’d considered a mentor, had made it clear he wanted Tony out of Stark Industries—permanently. That wasn’t just betrayal; it was war.
“You’re right,” Tony said finally. “Time to stop being the nice guy.”
Orion smirked faintly as Tony walked away, his mind clearly churning with plans. “Nice guy” wasn’t exactly a phrase anyone would associate with Tony Stark, but hey, who was he to argue?
Back at his penthouse, Orion had other matters to attend to. The lavish spread at the event wasn’t just about indulgence; it was about energy. The energy from the feast surged through him as he activated his system. A faint, otherworldly glow filled the room as his Void Skin underwent another level up. The sensation was electrifying, his body hardening into something tougher, sharper, more resilient.
Most people focused on flashy abilities—fireballs, flight, the usual—but Orion knew better. Survival was the name of the game. If you could tank whatever the universe threw at you, the rest would follow. And besides, who needed laser vision when your skin could shrug off a tank shell?
Still, Orion wasn’t planning to play puppet master in Tony Stark’s life. Tony’s journey was his own, full of dramatic turning points that would shape him into Iron Man. Afghanistan, the arc reactor, the whole nine yards—it was all necessary. But a little nudge here and there? That couldn’t hurt, right?
As the glow faded, Orion leaned back in his chair, his body humming with newfound strength. Another evolution down, countless more to go. He glanced out the window, the city lights twinkling like stars. Somewhere out there, Tony Stark was gearing up for the fight of his life.
And somewhere in the back of Orion’s mind, he couldn’t help but think: ‘I should’ve grabbed another lobster tail.’
Obadiah Stane’s downfall wasn’t just expected—it was practically written in the stars. The man was a walking cliché of corporate villainy, and once he was out of the picture, Tony Stark had the reins of Stark Industries firmly in his genius, billionaire, playboy hands. Without Stane’s meddling, Tony’s choices now shaped the company’s future. Problem was, Tony wasn’t exactly known for thinking small—or thinking things through.
Orion watched this unfold from his proverbial perch on high, like a cosmic babysitter with a dark agenda. Still, there is many thing he need to do now. Orion was painfully aware of his financial situation. Blowing through $3 billion like it was Monopoly money left him with a measly $100 million in liquid assets. For a guy with big plans, that was chump change. Naturally, he turned to the dark web for some high-stakes contracts to refill his coffers. Unfortunately, the offerings were… less than impressive.
‘Escort missions? Seriously? The kind of work that required a small squad of meatheads just to scrape together a couple million?’ Orion scoffed. He wasn’t about to waste his time babysitting briefcases when he had bigger fish to fry.
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Shutting down his search with a sigh, Orion descended into his basement sanctuary. Training time. Void Skin enhancements or not, his philosophy was simple: never stop pushing the limits. Every session brought him closer to his goals. Sweat, grit, and a dash of existential dread kept him motivated.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to him, New York’s elite had started buzzing about his recent appearance at a Stark Industries charity gala. High society found him equal parts baffling and amusing—a man with an insatiable appetite who clearly didn’t care what anyone thought. Some women even found his enigmatic demeanor intriguing. Orion, of course, remained blissfully unaware, more concerned with reps than reputations.
The next morning, New Yorkers woke up to a bombshell headline: Terrorists Strike Stark Industries! The report detailed the complete destruction of the company’s executive offices. Miraculously, no one had been hurt, but the attackers had vanished without a trace. Speculation ran wild.
“Stark’s arrogance finally caught up with him,” the critics sneered.
“Corporate sabotage!” others whispered, eyes gleaming with schadenfreude.
“Maybe their security system was powered by Windows Vista,” joked the internet.
The stockholders—most of whom had already bailed during Stane’s regime—watched the chaos with glee. For once, they were glad to be out of Stark’s mess.
Orion, however, was in the middle of devouring his meticulously scheduled breakfast when he caught the news. Four meals a day, perfectly timed: morning, noon, mid-afternoon, and double portions for dinner. A man had to have priorities. Sipping his coffee, he smirked. “Tony’s making moves, huh?”
The attack wasn’t exactly subtle. Orion could tell Tony was still figuring out how to wield the power of his Iron Man armor. The suit, in its current iteration, was a marvel—capable of packing the punch of a fighter jet—but Tony’s strategies hadn’t caught up to the tech yet. It was a rookie mistake, but one rooted in Tony’s trauma from Afghanistan. That trauma kept him human, kept him from slipping into the kind of megalomania that could turn him into a real villain.
But Orion knew better than anyone how fragile the future could be. Tony had room to grow, but the margin for error? Paper thin. For now, though, Orion had bigger problems to tackle than Stark’s growing pains. His path was set, his ambitions clear, and the void? It was just getting started.
Orion sat in the dim light of his kitchen, finishing off the last bite of toast. He savored the quiet moment, a small respite before diving back into the chaos of his day. As he stood, he reached for his death cloak—a dark, flowing garment that swallowed his form and masked his face like a shroud of mystery. It wasn’t just for show; Orion had a destination in mind: Afghanistan.
Tony Stark might have already uncovered Obadiah Stane’s treachery, but there were still loose ends to tie up. Specifically, the mess left behind in Gumila. Stark Industries had stirred the pot, and as far as Orion was concerned, it was Tony’s responsibility to clean it up. But if Orion wanted to earn Tony’s trust, he’d have to bide his time. Timing was everything, and patience was one of Orion's rare virtues.
With a flicker of thought, Orion activated his Void Attack ability. In a heartbeat, his body dissolved into the shimmering fabric of space itself, leaving his kitchen behind. Traveling at Mach 4, he marveled at his speed—still a rush, even for him—but he wasn’t in a hurry. Afghanistan was familiar territory, a place he’d visited more times than he cared to count. The journey felt like a routine commute, if commutes involved bending the laws of physics.