War Machine had originally been Tony’s design. Even after Hamr Industries’ crude modifications and Ivan Vanko’s remote control systems, Tony only needed ti to take it back.
"JARVIS, begin system correction."
"Correction initiated... correcting... correction complete."
In less than ten seconds, War Machine slipped free of Vanko’s control and returned to normal.
Rhodey flexed the suit experintally, then snorted. "I have to ask. Why is the ergency access port on my backside? That was incredibly awkward."
Tony pulled his hand back, clearly unimpressed. "It’s a backdoor. Where else would it go? I didn’t exactly plan on soone sitting inside the armor while I fixed it."
The port had been ant for lab use, with cables plugged in while the suit sat on a rack. Today had forced... improvisation.
"I’ll move it next ti," Tony muttered. "Though the front isn’t much better. Maybe the backplate."
"So," Rowan asked, glancing between them, "what’s next? Go find Ivan Vanko?"
Rhodey shrugged, eyeing Rowan’s wings with curiosity. "Problem is, we don’t know where he’s hiding. Probably need to start with Hamr."
"No need," Tony said imdiately, turning to Rowan. "Finding people is kind of his thing."
Rowan was about to agree when he paused, looking up at the sky with a faint smile. "Looks like we won’t have to."
"Sir," JARVIS added, "detecting an object with extrely high energy output approaching at speed."
Monts later, a larger, heavier humanoid suit descended in front of them.
Ivan Vanko.
Seeing his drones destroyed and War Machine freed, Vanko had abandoned subtlety and donned his own Whiplash armor. He didn’t expect to walk away. He only intended to drag Tony Stark down with him.
Gods didn’t need to die. They only needed to bleed. Once people saw that, fear would vanish, and the sharks would co.
"Don’t move," Rhodey snapped, flying forward. "I’ll blow him apart with my ’ex-wife.’"
The shoulder launcher rose.
"My what?" Tony asked.
A missile fired.
It struck Whiplash square in the chest.
And then... dropped out of the air, inert.
Vanko laughed as the dud fell away. "Did Hamr forget to ntion it needs acceleration and distance to arm properly?"
Tony sighed. "Hamr tech. Bottom of the barrel."
Vanko sealed his mask and snapped his arms outward. Twin electrified whips cracked to life, humming with lethal energy.
"Let the world see how fragile you really are."
He lunged.
Tony and Rhodey opened fire, but every shot splashed harmlessly against the Whiplash armor. The whips lashed forward—then froze midair.
Again.
"Is this so kind of lightning whip performance?" Tony muttered.
Vanko snarled. "My armor isn’t made of scrap."
Power surged through his arc reactor. With sheer force, he broke through the magnetic restraint and charged again, whips screaming through the air.
He’d already learned Rowan’s limits. The force holding his machines wasn’t absolute. With enough output, he could overpower it.
Rowan sighed. "I’m on a schedule."
He flicked his wrist.
"Expelliarmus."
The whips flew from Vanko’s hands.
Before Vanko could even process it, Rowan placed one hand against the armor’s chest.
"Mitic Transfiguration."
The advanced Whiplash suit shuddered, twisted—and collapsed into a rusted, creaking scrap-tal shell, barely holding together.
Silence.
Mitic magic reshaped objects by redefining what they were. A wreck could beco a supercar. A tank could beco a wheezing antique. Complex machines didn’t resist it—they suffered from it.
Turning cutting-edge technology into junk was easy.
Tony and Rhodey both drifted backward in perfect unison, instinctively putting distance between themselves and Rowan’s hands.
"Note to self," Tony said quietly. "Never let him touch my armor."
Traditional transfiguration could do remarkable things, but complexity was its enemy. Even master transfiguration specialists couldn’t casually reshape modern weapons, let alone advanced combat suits.
Rowan’s magic didn’t care.
Against him, technology wasn’t just outmatched.
It was obsolete.
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