Chapter 10: The Weight of Survival
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[Tony Stark's POV]
The desert stretched endlessly before him, golden sands rippling beneath the relentless sun. His body ached, his lungs burned, and his head throbbed with exhaustion. The armor—if it could still be called that—was ruined. Scorched, dented, and barely holding together, it was a miracle it had carried him this far.
Smoke curled from the joints, the last remnants of his desperate escape fading into the dry air.
But he was alive.
Each breath was a gift—one he hadn't expected to have.
He collapsed to his knees, panting. The wreckage of his escape pod, a crude exosuit turned coffin, lay twisted and burning behind him. He had made it out.
Barely.
His mind raced, replaying every moment—the chains, the cave, the forced labor, the quiet, kind voice of Yinsen telling him to live.
And then, the missile.
Not just any missile. His missile.
"Stark Industries," it had read.
The last thing he saw before the explosion.
How many people had read that name right before their deaths?
How many had fallen to his weapons?
Tony clenched his fists, fingers curling into the hot sand. This wasn't just survival. This was something else. A wake-up call. A reckoning.
He wasn't sure who he was anymore.
But he knew he couldn't go back to being the man he had been.
A low rumble in the distance snapped him out of his thoughts.
Helicopters.
Rescue.
His body sagged in relief, but his mind? His mind was already somewhere else. Somewhere darker.
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[Severence's POV]
The wind carried the scent of smoke and metal, swirling over the battlefield of a man's past and future.
Severence stood at the edge of it, unseen, untouched, watching.
Fate had always been a chain. Some wore it lightly, unaware. Others dragged it behind them, each link forged from regret and inevitability.
Tony Stark's chain had just been reshaped.
Severence had seen countless moments like this—where men either shattered or reforged themselves. Most broke. Some endured.
Stark was enduring.
The path ahead was shifting, branching into unknowns that hadn't existed before.
But that was not Severence's concern. Not yet.
The world had already changed around Stark.
For now, Severence watched. Silent. Unmoving.
A shadow at the edge of fate.
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[Tony Stark's POV]
The chop of rotor blades filled the air, sending waves of sand swirling around him.
Tony forced himself upright as the helicopters came into view. Soldiers, weapons drawn, moved toward him. The second they saw his face, recognition dawned.
"Sir!" One of them called, lowering his rifle. "We've got Stark!"
His body sagged as relief washed over him, but the weight of what had happened didn't fade.
The medics rushed forward, water pressed into his hands, their voices an overwhelming blur. Was he injured? Could he walk? What happened?
None of it mattered.
All that mattered was that he was no longer the man who had been taken captive.
As the helicopter lifted off, carrying him away from the wreckage of his past, he closed his eyes.
It was time to start over.