MARVEL 2000 PRESENTS:

"The Uncanny Adventures of Mr. Stark’s Invincible Pneumatic Wearable Fortress of Impenetrable Defense!"

Part One

Written by Violet Mackenzie

Chapter I
A Stranger

London, 1862

The sun was setting and the sky threatened rain. A hooded figure rushed through the busy street, eager to get to the shining Grand Armory Tower just up ahead. As the fellow hastily neared the door, an automaton-drawn rickshaw nearly knocked him over. A piece of stationary left his hand and into the graveled road.

“PaRdon mEEe, si--rr,” the automaton droned.

A gruff noise uttered from the hood and a delicate hand reached out from the overlong sleeve, snatching the folded paper and hurrying once more toward the beacon-like entrance of the Tower. A clerk with a closed smile from ear to ear greeted the person.

“Good evening. Your invitation, sir?” He held out a gloved hand where at once the trodden parchment was placed. It read:

You are cordially invited to the grand exhibition showcase of Sir Anthony Stark’s New World Wonders.

Please show this invitation to the Clerk, which will entitle you to all the privileges available, as a guest of Mr. Stark and His Grand Armory Tower. Kindly signify your acceptance, that space may be reserved for you.

Respectfully,

H. J. HOGAN, Manager
V. P. POTTS, Assistant

The hood wasted no time and continued through the foyer, into the hall marked loudly, “Exhibition Centre.”

The room was filled to the brim with all manners of gentlemen and ladies, both common and peer, with all their eyes fixed upon the great stage at the far reach of the hall. A murmur was going through the crowd as the man at the forefront spoke. Mr. Stark was quite a handsome man, his black hair and moustache tailored as well as his vest. There was something fatherly about his stature, yet he possessed dangerous blue eyes. At his waist was a podium of sorts with a strange device atop. It was nearly the size of a typewriter turned on its side, but with only a dozen keys on its front. Above those round buttons was an ornate brass picture frame with what appeared to be simply a blank gray-green canvas within.

The figure squeezed forcibly through the throng, stopping a short distance from centre stage.

“Come on then, Stark! Show us your tricks!” shouted a voice from the crowd.

Others shouted in agreement while the visibly well-to-do simply smirked or crossed their arms over chests.

Mr. Stark smiled as well. “Good man, I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I am but an inventor and no conjurer of rabbits from hats. I daresay that if that were the case, I’d go mad with shame.”

The crowd laughed at this remark.

“Now, to get on with it, let me preface by saying the true creation of our time will be unveiled in two weeks—“ The crowd began a roar once more, accompanied with boos and jeers. “—At the World’s Fair. I assure you it will not be a disappointment. Now if you’ll quiet down, without further ado, I shall continue this demonstration of this new wonder.”

The crowd quieted some. Mr. Stark went about the show as normal.

“For patent purposes, it is called a Transmitter and Receiver for Electric Picture and Sound Telegraph. But I like to call it simply… the telephone.”

A sudden noise came from the device and a green light flashed at its top. It was not unlike a bicycle’s ring only more mechanical to the ear.

Mr. Stark leaned over and pressed a key at the center of the machine. A face of a woman appeared within the brass frame as if it were a living photograph. She was quite beautiful, smiling with class and a knowledge behind her eyes that contrasted the girlish freckles upon her ample cheeks.

“Hello, Miss Potts,” Stark said, looking at the picture. “Do you understand what I say?”

The woman gave a slight nod. “Yes, Mr. Stark. As clear as a June sky.” Her voice cracked from a small bell-shaped instrument at the side of the machine, audible for the entire hall but lacking proper tone, as if she was a short distance away.
The crowd burst with shouts of awe and questions were thrown to the stage in haste.

“Well then. Perhaps I can pull some things from hats, eh?” Mr. Stark said to the crowd with a smile, returned with laughter. “Thank you, Miss Potts. I’ll see you shortly.” The woman nodded once more as Stark pressed the same central button, dissolving the picture.

“Questions?” he inquired and was met with a cacophonous burst of yells and hands jutting into the air.

“You there, man.” Stark pointed to a man in glasses and a bowler hat.

“Um, yes. Sir, um. Is it true you’re making plans to venture to the moon?”

An explosion of laughter came from the last word. The man looked suddenly red and shrunk back. Mr. Stark, however, nary changed his composure.

“Not this year, my good man. I have other things to attend to on this rock before I settle for another.” The crowd laughed again, however there was something peculiar in the way Stark stated this remark, as if he wasn’t quite joking about the matter. “Next question. You, sir.” Heads turned to watch the hooded figure that had gone rather unnoticed by all but Mr. Stark, it would seem.

“What do you say to those that claim all this, all your wondrous creations are nothing but stolen silver?” The hood continued to cover the face, yet the voice betrayed its stature. It was harshly accented with each word pronounced carefully, as if rehearsed. What’s more, it was higher and softer than any normal man’s.

Stark smirked. “I say, show me the man that can do as I and I’ll gladly shake his hand.”

“But you already have, Mr. Stark. Have you completely forgotten your mentor, Ho Yinsen?” the voice demanded.

A hush came over the mass as Stark stared intently at the figure. “Who are you?” He asked this question as if inquiring about the price of wine at a quiet shop.

The person pulled the hood back to its full, revealing a girl, barely a woman, staring back at Stark with as much intensity and fire as a lion to a doe. Her face was terribly scarred with slashes, yet she was still something of a beauty. Fair, delicate and like unto a vixen. The contrast of the deformity seemed to only magnify her lovely features, her high cheeks and piercing dark eyes.

“My name is Bao Xuan Yinsen. And here is my proof!”

With a quick twist of her arms, the woman pulled her dirty cloak from her body, revealing a suit (sans coat) of deep brown with a shocking red tie that looks as if it were tailored for a young man. Yet it was not her dress (or lack thereof) which caused a stir amongst the horde. In fact, it was the apparatus attached to her back and shoulders by a criss-crossed leather strap, a giant thing of iron and brass that expanded at once to reveal a crude recreation of a bird’s wingspan. The false appendages then began to utter a disastrous noise, smoke and pops and clangs all expelling from the girl’s back, shaking her slight frame. Finally, the wings began to flap and a wind stormed from underneath the girl and in a moment her feet lifted from the floor, careful and elegant like an industrial angel.

She barely reached a height of a single metre before the entire machine began collapsing, dropping her to the floor under a crash of metal, gears and soot.

A momentary silence remained until someone began laughing uproariously, inviting others to join. Mr. Stark’s eyes remained fixed on the girl, his expression and stance unchanged.

“Very well. Thank you all for coming. Till two weeks time, everyone.” The crowd began dispersing at Stark’s announcement, all taking their time to walk around the foolish form at their feet.

Stark retreated from the stage to the main floor, sauntering with hands in pockets toward the girl. A pair of officers made to confront her before Stark waved them off with a kindly smile. He knelt by her side and began detaching the wings from her shoulders. She raised her head, tears clearly visible on her cheeks.

“I didn’t mean you harm, Mr. Stark. I simply…”

He hushed her and pushed the apparatus from her thin figure and then grasped her shoulders, helping the visibly shaken girl to her feet.

“Miss Yinsen, I do believe you and I deserve a drink.”

Chapter II
The Final Promise

At the top of the Armory, Anthony Stark’s lavish penthouse nestled between the clouds, above the suspended railways of London, which bore his name and seal. Bao Xuan Yinsen nursed a bare knee upon the couch, her wispy pale leg rested upon a low glass and ivory tea table. The room was considerably white with accents of gold and scarlet (the former likely to be quite more than just a color but the thing itself).

Mr. Stark stood with a half-drunk glass of scotch. A small glass of wine accompanied Miss Yinsen. Stark seemed to be lost in thought for many moments, his left hand turning something over within his pocket.

“His granddaughter, you say?” he finally spoke. Her eyes lifted from the floor, a little surprised.

“Yes. He was the last of my family.”

“Was?” Stark replied with a sudden turn.

She nodded solemnly. “He died nearly three years ago now.”

Mr. Stark was visibly struck by this news. Although he knew of his mentor’s extreme age, he had never truly considered the impact his death might have. A man who had taught him so much of a new world and yet he barely knew him as the old man knew Anthony. He realized in an instant what a fool he had been, neglecting to contact his old friend and father-figure. Out of what, he thought. Fear? Vanity? Surely not shame?

His thoughts were interrupted by Bao’s voice.

“He told me nearly everything, Mr. Stark. He tried to train me as he had you. But I realized soon that it was not just training, but collaboration. You and he were nearly equals in genius. Perhaps you have surpassed him. I know I accused you of theft, yet… I know it not to be true. He spoke only kind, great words of you.”

“Please,” Stark interrupted, putting a hand up. “No more.”

She had not realized how much what she said was affecting the usually perfectly composed man who now stood with a fist at his forehead and his eyes sealed shut. Even her naked skin and scarred face caused no reaction on his part, with this being the only time he was showing an emotion beyond being a gentleman. He and Ho Yinsen were truly close, she surmised.

Stark sat upon the couch and finished the rest of his drink in a single gulp. An awkward time passed before the girl mustered courage to speak again.

“He… he left a message for you.”

Stark raised his eyes. “Message?”

“An instruction, really.” She cleared her throat.

He was suddenly very interested, inspired almost. “Do you have it? With you?”

She nodded balefully. “Yes but… only in words. He wouldn’t commit it to paper. He said it was too dangerous and only you could be privy to the knowledge.” She paused. “But as his health worsened, he settled for myself, as a messenger for you.”

“Do you…” Stark began, almost afraid to inquire.

“I have it committed to memory. Exactly.” Another pause. She took a sip of wine before continuing and her face suggested she was not quite accustomed to the bittersweet taste. “There is an island with no name, past the sevens and the Indies. A small thing, unnoticed and with little to offer but my grandfather’s secret. Within this island is a chamber that holds his greatest secret, what he called dung cu chien tranh, or ‘the engine of life.’”

Mr. Stark’s face was very stern, looking intently at the girl as if trying to see the words she spoke. “What is it?” he whispered.

“I do not know, Mr. Stark, but my grandfather’s last wish was for you to find it. It has taken me a great deal to come to you from my home yet I do not believe this can wait any longer. There are… others who are interested in this secret. Dangerous people.”

A pause.

“Mr. Stark. I do not believe this world was yet ready for your machines.”

Stark suddenly smiled to himself and looked down. From his pocket he pulled a simple golden watch. It was weathered and dented. An etching of an Oriental symbol was on its back. Miss Yinsen watched him curiously as he turned the thing over numerous times in the palm of his hand.

“This watch,” he spoke. “This watch was the last thing your grandfather gave me.” He pressed the top and the face flicked open, revealing a dusty faced clock, a sliver of a crack across its centre. The hands were like tiny keys and the numbers in presumably Chinese. There was one too many hours, however. “I didn’t want to leave his side or the workshop that became so much like my own home. I worried for him, after all that we had been through, the perils we had faced to reach our secluded freedom. He gave me this watch and said, ‘I die when this clock strikes thirteen.’”

Stark clasped the old watch shut and replaced it within his pocket as he stood up and walked toward the balcony where he stood just before.

“Can you imagine? Such a strange personality that old man had. Yet… I never truly thought it was to happen. It’s broken, after all. I’ve never seen it move a minute.” A sigh escaped through his nostrils and he whispered, perhaps to himself, “I was too afraid to fix it.”

A sudden downpour began outside the windowed doors, heavy and intent with foreboding purpose. The shape of a slow moving zeppelin could be seen in the distance, a spotlight spilling from its belly and onto the buildings and streets below.

“Right!” Mr. Stark shouted. “We leave at once.”

Chapter III
To Air

The rain continued with earnest as Mr. Stark and Miss Yinsen exited their carriage. They were followed by a small metal box, afloat with an equally miniature propeller. An umbrella unfolded from the box in midair and it followed the two, hovering to-and-fro.

“Mr. Rhodes!” Stark cried out through the rushing rain.

“Mr. Stark!” replied the man who stood guard at a steep ramp.

“I trust everything is ready for quick departure?”

“On your word as always, sir.”

James Rhodes was a dark man of visible great strength. His shoulders were broad, his hands easily twice the size of Miss Yinsen’s, and his jaw powerful. Yet Bao could not help but notice his kind brown eyes.

Behind the gathered group came a giant coffin-like case, wheeled and lead by a team of men. It approached the ramp carefully.

“Mr. Stark,” said Rhodes. “Are you sure this crate is necessary?”

Stark smiled and put a hand on Rhodes’s shoulder. “Captain, beyond your skill, her knowledge and my mind, this is the most important thing on our fair ship.”

The workers continued up the ramp gingerly, yelling commands at one another and struggling at points. Upon reaching the top, the three travelers followed up the ramp to the great airship, a propelled craft christened The Avenger that rested in the water. It stretched nearly the entire length of the pier and looked almost as poised for battle as it was for a voyage across half the world. In its sides was a line of round windows nearest the fore and a series of canons jutting from the thing’s skin, stacked above and beside each other. An unmanned machine gunnery waited at where the mainmast would be, as if it were a deadly crow’s nest. To the aft of The Avenger was placed its title and Mr. Stark’s personal emblem, emblazoned proudly with an ornate crest.

With a great rush of wind and steam, the ship lifted into the sky and after many minutes, started off South-East like a colossal whale in an ocean of dark clouds.

Chapter IV
A Dangerous Revelation

Days passed.

The crew remained steadfast and loyal and it amazed Bao how Mr. Stark knew each and every one of their names and faces, even a fair bit about their lives. At night, many would take a break and enjoy a game of cards, laughing and sharing spirits. Mr. Stark was usually found day and night below deck, within his private workshop. It was a place no one but Mr. Rhodes was allowed, a steadfast rule that surprised many, even those wishing to assist or carry along news of progress. He was clearly secreting obsessions within, however Bao came to the conclusion that all men deserve at least some faults.

One afternoon, Miss Yinsen and Mr. Stark were enjoying a late lunch on the deck during a particularly beautiful day. A parasol shaded them from the sun just enough, while Bao blissfully stared through tinted brass goggles at the golden rays bursting between clouds. Between bites and sips of wine, Mr. Stark turned to his notebook, jotting this or that down, drawing lines and curves.

“Mr. Stark?” began Bao.

“Mm?” he replied back, keeping his eyes on the book.

“Why is there no Mrs. Stark?”

The question was asked quickly without chalance or preface. Stark put his pencil down and coolly replied, “Well, Miss Yinsen, as you know I’m quite comfortable in my economic and business position, thus leaving me little to gain or procure from marrying for such purposes. Any such union would, in fact, cause me to concern dreadfully over the lady’s sake that I was marrying out of pity! So, I am a bachelor, perhaps now and forever. I’m far too eccentric for a better half anyway.”

Bao sipped her wine and lifted her goggles to her forehead, brushing back a stray cluster of black silk hair.

“What a queer answer, Mr. Stark.”

“Mm,” he replied, already delved back within his work. “I’ve been called worse.”

“It’s curious that you do not consider marrying for love.”

He returned with a cock of his brow and stroked the side of his chin. “Love, Miss Yinsen?”

She smiled. “Have you heard of it? Perhaps not quite as fantastic as a locomotive that can travel nearly one hundred and fifty kilometers in a single hour, but a marvelous wonder it remains.”

He stared at her for a moment as if she were a half-finished jigsaw.

“Miss Yinsen, I don’t believe I’ve asked; just how is it you’ve learned the Queen’s English so well?”

Her smile faded some, surprised by this obvious change in topic. “It was taught to me by a very kind man who took me from the orphanage where I was raised for much of my early life.”

“An orphanage? But, Miss Yinsen, what of your parents? Your grandfather?” Stark asked, now very interested.

She cleared her throat. “My parents died when I was just a baby. My grandfather, as you know, was in hiding for many years, persecuted and hunted for his knowledge that made him so great and such an asset to the wrong men. So I was raised at an orphanage in Peking. My surrogate father took me from there when I was a young girl and raised me alone. He was a great and selfless man. It was thanks to him that I discovered my grandfather and became reunited.”

Mr. Stark smiled. “It sounds as though you have lived an extraordinary life, young Miss Yinsen.”

Before she could thank him, Mr. Rhodes suddenly came above deck, hurried and stern. “Mr. Stark. We have an impostor on board.”

Stark and Bao exchanged glances before he stood up at once and came to the man’s side, the two walking swiftly.

“How do you know, Captain? What’s happened?” Stark asked.

They ventured below deck.

“The engine room, sir. Many of the pneumatic tubes have been sabotaged. The entire ship might have gone down if it wasn’t for Chen Lu catching that something was amiss. We owe our lives to that man, I say.”

“I’ll remember to thank him when this is over. For now, let’s find the bloody cur responsible for this mess.”

The men stormed down the halls of the airship’s belly, occasional bursts of steam coming from the pipes that lined the ceiling. Much of the crew below deck were moving at a frantic pace, righting all the wrongs caused by the apparent treachery.

“I don’t mean to point fingers before evidence is brought, Mr. Stark, but I have a strong suspicion as to who may be the culprit. There were few men I was sure of when we left, beyond the regulars of course. I blame myself for not being inquisitive enough, sir.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Captain. Without you, I’d have plummeted into the ocean a hundred times. Now, who do you—“

They turned a corner and before Stark could finish his sentence, a shot rang out, striking him in the chest. He fell back against the wall and the back of his head crashed with the jutting body of a steel pipe.

“Milos!” shouted Rhodes, brandishing his pistol and firing at the man who darted down another corridor. “Damn! Mr. Stark, are you—“

Stark lay on the ground, unmoving, a wisp of smoke escaping from his chest.

“Damn!” exclaimed Rhodes once more before running after the attacker.

He quickened through every hall, every tunnel, searching for the terrible traitor before he noticed a spot of blood on the wall. A burst of steam expelled from a pipe above as Rhodes leaned in for a closer inspection and then followed the scarlet with his eyes. He darted after its source which would eventually lead him to the deck once more. There, he saw the man himself, with a few members of the crew standing cautiously by the doorway to the lower levels.

The man gripped his gun and waved it about, screaming incomprehensibly.

“Milos…” pleaded Rhodes.

“Back! Stay back!” the maniac shouted. Sweat dripped from his broad forehead and over the rugged lines of his face.

“If you do not release your weapon, Milos, I will have no choice but to fire back at you.”

Milos kept the pistol aimed at Rhodes.

“Is he dead?” he demanded. “Did I kill him? Did I succeed?”

“Not quite,” came a voice. It was Stark, his black vest and white shirt turn at its middle where he held his hand.

Milos cried out something in a foreign tongue, a dialect far removed from their own.

“Da, Mr. Masaryk.”

Stark continued to walk towards him at a calm pace, as if talking a matter of business and not life and death itself. Milos fired frantically and the bullet whizzed by Stark’s face. He remained unchanged. Milos went to fire again, but Stark was too close now and he lunged at the man, knocking the pistol from his hand and gripping his forearm so tight that he let out a shrill scream.

“He ought to hang for this, Mr. Stark,” said Captain Rhodes, a broad sneer on his lips.

Stark kicked the firearm across the deck and released the man. “This isn’t a ship of savages, James. I believe in a fair trial and proper justice by the courts. We’ll keep him imprisoned in his quarters, with two guards at—“

“In the name of the Crimson Dynamo!”

Milos tore open his shirt to reveal a series of candle-shaped explosives adorned across his lower torso. Numerous wires and chords were strung about, each leading to its final source in the palm of the lunatic’s hand.

Before any other soul could react, Mr. Rhodes stormed ahead like a bull to Milos’s mule. With a cry, the Russian was knocked over the side of the airship, leaving nothing more than a single shoe.

“Good God, man!” exclaimed Mr. Stark.

Just as he meant to clasp a thankful hand on Rhodes’s shoulder, an explosion erupted from below. The ship shuddered and without a moment’s notice began to dip starboard.

“Rhodes!”

“On my way!” He returned and quickly disappeared below deck.

Just then, Miss Yinsen stumbled up the steps.

“Mr. Stark! What’s going on?” The ship shuddered once more, righting itself just slightly before dipping even further back. Bao was nearly thrown off the edge until Stark caught her in his arms.

“We’ve been had, my dear.”

Chapter V
What Lurks In the Jungle

With quick thinking and steadfast maneuvering, Captain Rhodes and the crew manage to put The Avenger down, where it was now resting comfortably in the water. In the distance, the sun set beyond the small peaks of the nestled island. On deck, Rhodes, Stark, and Yinsen speculated over an unrolled map placed atop a table. A bottle of wine and a trio of glasses held the corners down.

“There,” pointed Bao. “I’m sure of it.”

The men peered at her fingertip. There was nothing but more faded blue, not even a speck of dark ink.

“If that’s true, Miss Yinsen, then we’re in luck. It looks to be perhaps the next small island over to the East. That crazed miscreant couldn’t have hit us at a worse time.”

Mr. Rhodes looked to the West. “It’s nearly dusk, Mr. Stark. I suggest we leave any further excitement for the morning.”

Stark crossed his arms and considered this seriously.

“He has a point, Mr. Stark. We can’t very well go traipsing across islands with little more than a pistol and a torch!” said Miss Yinsen.

Stark sighed audibly. “Very well. Our fun will be had come first light. Agreed?”

The Captain nodded with a smirk and proceeded to roll up the map. Bao slipped from the table and began descending the ramp to the beached shore. Stark watched her walk away then turned to his friend.

“You think this a fool’s quest, James?”

Rhodes opened his mouth and then shut it before speaking. He thought for a moment and then attempted again, choosing his words carefully. “I believe you know far more than I do, sir.”

Stark smiled. “That may be true of some things. But if this thing is true, James, if this – what was it she called it? – this dung cu chien tranh. ‘Engine of peace.’ If it exists, I suspect it’ll be far beyond what either of us know or understand.”

Mr. Rhodes looked suddenly perplexed.

“What is it?” asked Stark.

“Something familiar about that term. From the Annam, yes?”

“Her grandfather lived near Hanoi, so yes. I’m afraid, despite being very close with the man, I never learned much of his language.”

“Chien…” Mr. Rhodes whispered and then shook his head. “Something from the past, I’m sure. I’ll place it eventually.”

“Perhaps the name of a woman you once knew in Saigon?” Mr. Stark smiled and Mr. Rhodes returned the sentiment.

“Perhaps.”

Stark bid his friend a good night and left him to his work, then taking it upon himself to join Bao at the beach. He strode silently beside her, hands in his pockets, watching the view with relaxed eyes.

The scene was quite radiant, a slight breeze escaping through unusually tall and thin trees, the spectacle of light from a quieting sun slipping between branches and cliffs. Bao couldn’t help but smile at the view.

Stark turned to face her. She didn’t notice at first, and when she caught his eye she laughed.

“What is it?”

Stark shook his head slightly. “You look so serene. Almost at peace.”

“Almost?” her smile turned to a smirk.

“There’s something else there, in your eyes.” Stark leaned closer to her face, his stare unflinching from her own. “A sadness… fear.”

“I’m not afraid of anything,” she whispered, leaning in.

“Liar,” he breathed back before their lips touched. They kissed deeply in the shadow of a crying tree and a setting sun. His hands touched her sides and moved to her thin neck. They breathed into each other and her arms found their way around his shoulders as his fingers brushed the scars upon her cheeks.

With a start, she drew away from him.

“I… I’m sorry,” she said in a hushed voice.

“No, I should be the one—”

“Pardon me, Mr. Stark.” And with that she hurried away back towards the ship and up the ramp, leaving Stark rubbing the back of his bruised head while it shook. He shoved his fists into his pockets and swayed about the beach. One of the crewmembers passed him and nodded with a smile.

“Bad spot of luck then, Mr. Stark. She’ll come ‘round.”

He grinned in return. “Thank you kindly for the advice, Mr. Mansell.”

The crewman whistled off in the distance opposite the ship.

Stark returned to The Avenger and his workshop where he remained for barely an hour before a sudden rapping came upon his door. He looked irksomely at the closed slab of metal and decided to ignore the call. But it came again, more furiously than before. He stood up and begrudgingly made toward the door.

“What is it, man? I’m not to be disturbed in—“

“It’s one of the men, sir.”

Rhodes’s face looked grimly back at his friend.

Stark followed him at once until they reached the edge of the ship facing the shore. A crewman cowered against the wall, hiding from the jungle ahead. He quivered at Stark’s glance and his teeth chattered as if freezing. The slight man was quite pale and coated with sweat. The hair beneath his cap dripped onto his cotton jacket.

“Look there,” said Rhodes. Stark followed his hand to see a bloodied stump of a man on the beach, partially covered in sand as if it were a slab of meat rolled into it. “Mansell.”

“My God. What happened?”

“Darvey claims he heard Mansell scream in the jungle. Went out there to find some fresh fruit, he says. Next thing you know, Mansell’s body was thrown at the ship as if by the Lord Himself.”

“H-h-he…. He came from nowhere. Must… must’a been a kilometer, at least! Oh, Mansell…”

The man rocked back and forth on the floor.

“What are we to do, Mr. Stark? This island isn’t safe anymore.”

“I’m not sure that was ever meant to be the case, Mr. Rhodes.”

Stark stared into the jungle aimlessly. Then he quickly turned and started back below deck.

“Arm every man and keep them on deck. I want a lookout in every direction. And Miss Yinsen is not to leave her quarters.”

“What are you going to do, Anthony?”

He turned before heading below. “Taking a change of wardrobe.”

Chapter VI
The Eyes of Beasts

The crew was lined up all along The Avenger’s gunwale, each armed with a rifle held at their breast or pointed toward the ominous jungle ahead.

The ship’s beacons lit up the beach in a way the noticeably clouded moon could not. Many palms sweated over their weapon’s grips and James Rhodes kept an impatient yet austere watch.

“Blast it, Stark. You and your silly playboy ways are going to get us torn to shreds,” he muttered.

At that same instant, an explosion erupted from the ship’s aft and a figure had bolted through the sky with fire at its feet. It was some distance away but one could make out the shape of a giant man, hulking and encased in a metal shell, a suit of armor that ran head to toe unlike anything modern man has ever seen before. A member of the crew made to fire upon the armored sentinel but was put a stop to by Mr. Rhodes.

“Hold your fire, men! That’s Mr. Stark up there.”

There was a murmur of confusion and awestruck at this revelation as the iron man maneuvered in midair, soaring first West toward the water and then East, rocketing over The Avenger, causing several cheers from the crew.

“Is… is that really him?” came Miss Yinsen’s voice from behind.

“It quite simply could not be anyone else, Miss,” replied Rhodes.

She sidled next to him, hands at the ship’s rail and watching in wonder as the man she thought she knew surged through the air and into the shrouded jungle where any number of hazards may lurk in waiting.

Mr. Rhodes turned to the girl. “I don’t claim to know everything that’s happening here, Miss Yinsen, but if Mr. Stark survives I’d warn you to be careful with his personal affairs.”

She took her eyes off the horizon and looked at Rhodes with surprise and confusion. “What ever do you mean, Mr. Rhodes?”

He returned his gaze from her. “Tread carefully with silk gloves on your hands when dealing with Mr. Stark’s heart. It’s a fragile thing in more ways than one.”

Bao continued to stare curiously at Mr. Rhodes. He ignored her piercing eyes while he prayed for his friend’s safety.

Elsewhere, Mr. Stark had truly become a thing of metal and was enjoying every moment of it. He had never been truly able to test with his armor apparatus and now was the chance to put it to good use, defending the men and finding just what was it that killed Mansell so brutally. He was excited and terrified at once and calculations of pneumatics and pistons and gears swam through his complex mind, checking and double checking and triple checking each diagnostic.

Upon first glance, the figure of Mr. Stark was a jagged silhouette difficult to imagine, even when personally met face to face. It was something of a machined shell, a suit of armor made up of gears and cogs and scraps so cleverly put together that it was something of a battleship of a man, yet far too large in size. It was a bulky thing of iron, stained a deep scarlet with the inner workings cut from brass, and at its chest spilled a burning light, as if a furnace grew inside. Upon his head was a helmet, the angular shape of a man riveted to create a face surrounding the rectangular slits where Stark’s piercing eyes could be seen, if one peered close enough. The helmet’s mouth had been obscured by a railed guard piece not unlike at the bottom tip of a locomotive engine. Its massive shoulders and arms looked far too big for any man to carry, let alone move within. At its hands were the most unusual sights (as if perhaps all the rest could have been taken at a stride!), with what appeared to be a many-barreled canon affixed to the left forearm with a layered line of ammunitions leading to a container at its waist. In its massive right hand was held a truly bizarre pistol with many circular coils and ridges along its neck and a flared tip of the barrel. At the armor’s back blazed a gargantuan pair of wide iron pipes from which shot so much fire and smoke, propelling the mechanical monstrosity over the jungle.

Brave Mr. Stark scanned the trees and ground as best he could with such small light yet spotted nothing. What’s more, a thick fog seemed to cull at the centre of the island, impeding his search all the more.

And then he saw it: a fiery hole in the night, perfect in diameter. Stark shot ever faster toward the flames yet before he knew it, he felt his body twist and turn and knew then that he had been hit by something more powerful than even his iron fortress. His torso met with the trunk of a tree which obliterated under such stress, and Stark eventually reached ground at a great force.

Stark strained to lift his armored head and worked to keep his eyelids from closing. He faced the annular forge of Hell as it crashed ever nearer, the sound of terrible footsteps like earthquakes warned of its imminence. If he was not a steadfast devoted man of science, Mr. Stark may not have believed what he saw with his two eyes; a demon from beneath the world had sprung itself free of the Devil’s cage and unleashed itself upon this remote jungle island. It was a thing of myth and superstition, a winged horror no shorter than The Clock Tower of London, a girth three times that of the adjacent Victoria Tower, and a clawed footprint that could crush the entirety of Westminster Palace with but a scuffle. Within its chest did indeed spew forth fire and brimstone and the same could be said of its monstrous reptilian maw, with fins at its cheek that reminded Mr. Stark of a frill-necked lizard he once had the pleasure of encountering in the hot lowlands of Papua.

“Stand up, Tony!” he shouted to himself and willed his body to do so. The beast was now quite close enough that it could snatch him from the earth whereas previously, he presumed, only its terrible long tail could have reached Stark where he stood.

His gun lay on the ground and Stark made a go for its grip, but the sudden rush of heat could be felt through the slits of his helmet. The demon breathed a jet of thick flame, igniting the jungle and turning its green to ash. Stark fell in on himself, shielding his face until it finally ended. Then, he grabbed the pistol and fired a shot at its boiling red eyes.

If it had struck, Stark was given no affirmation of such luck. The thing came at him just the same, without regard. Stark took to the air, deftly dodging a swipe from a claw and quickly firing off a small explosion from his arm, visibly striking the creature at its neck, yet doing no damage. It was then that Stark realized his mistake… this was a thing of metal! The fog and his own daze had confused him into believing such a monster may be one of God’s earliest and most deadly creations, yet it was clearly that of a man.

While this changed his outlook, it made it no less lethal and the goliath machine roared with such a sickly, metallic etching sound as to drive Stark in the opposite direction.

Meanwhile, upon The Avenger, the crew listened with fear, beads of sweat dripping to their collars.

Silence came and not an eye left the vast dark jungle.

“There he is!” cried Miss Yinsen.

A faint glow could be seen over the trees, speeding toward the ship, its shape that of a giant man.

“I think… yes, I do believe I see the light from his breast!”

The cries of joy became that of fear as behind Mr. Stark flew the winged golem, threatening to consume them all with bursts of fire from its mouth.

“My God…” muttered Mr. Stark. “I led him back to the ship! What have I done?”

“Montgomery! Get your team below and put this bird in the air!” shouted Mr. Rhodes.

“Captain, we’ve still not repaired the side of the hull and many of the rotors in the starboard turb—“

“Will she fly, man?”

“Y-y—“

“Then get her flying!” came back Rhodes, the intensity of his command visible in his eyes. “I don’t care if we fall later. For now we’re little more than elephants in a pond. All the rest of you men! Man every canon and gunnery on this ship and fire at that abomination!”

“Mr. Rhodes…”

“Miss Yinsen, this is not the time. I swore to keep you to your quarters and I intend on keeping that promise but I’ll trust you to escort yourself.”

Rhodes then hurried away to the gun station above the piloting chamber.

Mr. Stark continued his course, attempting to keep the beast on him rather than The Avenger but he could tell its interest waned. From his arm, Stark fired bullets at full crank, which ricocheted off its soot-stained shell. As The Avenger rose uneasily from the water, it joined in the firefight. This quickly distracted the monster and Stark pushed hard on his rockets to gain its attention again. Flying to its terrifying face, he saw it recoil back slightly and Stark instantly knew this meant another stream of fire was on its way from the thing’s throat.

On instinct, he flew at it with all his might and his mammoth metal fist collided with its similarly fashioned cheek. To his surprise, he caused a dent and seemed to force the flame back to its belly. Stark couldn’t help but notice that the furnace at the beast’s chest (which was so like his own, only far more harrowing) had then burned with greater intensity. It was then that Stark realized how to defeat this behemoth. He flew low and above the airship, the beast swooping closely behind, the wind from its wings pushing the ship slightly.

To his left, The Avenger shifted sides and continued firing once more and Stark ducked out of their aim. He could see and almost hear Mr. Rhodes below, shouting orders to the crew and manning his guns with such furor. The beast turned toward the airship again and made to attack. Stark flew to stop the inevitable but found himself struck by stray bullets. He tumbled in the air slightly, taken off guard, and when he righted himself he saw a horror he shall never forget; the creature’s mouth discharged a funnel of fire greater than he had seen before, transforming his beloved ship into a bonfire. The fearless Captain Rhodes was engulfed and upon which time the attack ended, the deck steamed with heat. For hours it seemed, Stark heard not a sound nor could he register the battle still waged. He could think of little else but his friend and confidant who must now lay a charred distorted figure of a courageous man.

Suddenly, he was struck. It was a direct hit to his head, a shot that would have killed any other man had he not been adorned with such a formidable hide. He instinctually followed the shot to its origin and saw Miss Yinsen, goggled and armed with a sighted rifle aimed at his person. Her face looked serious, commanding, and upon noticing his gaze, lowered the rifle and pointed emphatically toward the beast.

Stark shook his head from its daze and adjusted himself in midair. He must stop this creature, must save the crew and see an end to this doomed adventure. He must avenge his dear friend.

Like a missile, Mr. Stark charged at the beast, aiming for the hellish cavern in its chest. In a flash, he was gone.

To Miss Yinsen below, it appeared that Stark had gone mad, flying into the kiln of a demon’s soul. Moreover, the beast’s behavior had not changed and she now believed it best to get below deck once more. And then a sudden painful noise of scraping metal like a locomotive screeching to a spark-filled halt. The creature seemed to grip at its chest and then its wings flapped no more, leaving it an anchor in the sky. It crashed with such a thunder, wind, sand and water flew up and touched the bottom of the airship. And there it lay, halfway onto the beach, its sternum still burning faintly.

Cheers erupted on The Avenger and it began to descend back to the water. The way it was moving, Miss Yinsen wondered if it would have stayed a minute longer in the air. Once the hull touched mass again, Bao leapt from the sides and crashed into the water. Upon surfacing, she trudged to the shore and began climbing upon the defeated foe.

“Mr. Stark?” she cried out. “Mr. Stark? Are you alive?” There was no answer. “Mr. Stark? Anthony!”

Still she heard nothing. Her feet uneasily reached the edge of the pit at its chest and she could feel the heat that stayed at its breadth. She peered within and saw nothing but glowing embers. Swallowing hard, Miss Yinsen turned from the hole and back toward the ship where she saw much of the crew standing in wait. Her head bowed.

“My soul doth tell my body that he may triumph in love,” uttered a faint voice from within the beast. Bao glanced back over her shoulder, as if she heard a twig snap in the jungle.

“Flesh stays for no other reason…” The voice coughed. A giant iron hand gripped the brim of the pit and the form of Mr. Stark began to pull itself up. “But rising at thy name doth point out thee…”

Bao ran to his side and tried helping him up, but the suit weighed so very much and burned at the touch that there was little assistance she could offer. At last his body was released and he lay panting on the belly of a monster, his now freed head resting at the lap of Miss Yinsen.

“…As his triumphant prize,” he whispered, and whilst looking into Bao’s eyes could barely hear the boisterous cheers from The Avenger.

To be continued!