The missile screamed through the sky.
A silver streak cutting across crimson clouds, it ignited the skyline in a flash of light—its destination: the Iron Tyrant's citadel.
BOOM.
The explosion shook the foundation of the city. Towers crumbled in a chain reaction. Alarms shrieked. The blast wave rolled like thunder across the steel horizon.
But the Tyrant didn't flinch.
His red-lit eyes scanned the smoke, then shifted to Morgan Stark, standing between him and his past.
"You shouldn't exist," the Tyrant growled, his voice fractured with rage. "Not like this."
"Neither should you," she replied.
Morgan's eyes shimmered with Stark-blue holographic circuits, her fingers twitching with synaptic command. Her armor was sleeker than Tony's, an upgraded hybrid of nanotech and magic, glowing with faint sigils along the plating.
Tony was frozen. His daughter—grown, fierce, armed with technology he hadn't even imagined yet—was standing tall in a battlefield meant for gods.
"Morgan…" he whispered.
She glanced back, just for a moment. A crack in her steel composure. Her voice softened.
"I never got to know you, Dad… But I've been fighting your ghost all my life."
The Tyrant surged forward.
His repulsors roared as he lunged—an unstoppable blur of blackened metal. Morgan moved first, spinning beneath his blast, flipping mid-air, and firing a burst of quantum energy that sent him skidding through rubble.
"Get them out!" she shouted to Pepper."NOW!"
Pepper hesitated, but Tony pushed her forward. "Go. I'll hold the access code. Just get her out if I don't make it."
"Don't say that," Pepper snapped. "Not again."
Morgan raised an arm. A spherical energy dome expanded, buying them time. The Tyrant snarled from the shadows, his armor scraping against steel as he climbed back up.
"You think you've won something, Morgan?" he hissed. "I am every version of your father that survived. You're just a dream from a broken timeline."
Morgan's eyes narrowed.
"Then wake up."
Suddenly—**from the sky—**another figure dropped into the chaos.
A new Iron Man suit. Gold-and-indigo trim. More advanced. Unregistered.
"Who's that—?" Pepper gasped.
The figure landed beside Morgan. When the faceplate slid open, Tony's knees buckled.
It was Rhodey.
But older. Scarred. With a mechanical eye and upgraded arc reactor in his chest.
"Hope you don't mind," he said to Tony. "I borrowed your old designs."
Morgan smirked. "Took you long enough, Uncle War Machine."
Rhodey stepped forward. "Tony, meet the Resistance. And we've got one mission—shut the Tyrant down, for good."
The ground suddenly cracked open beneath them. From the depths of the city, hundreds of Iron Legion clones began rising—soulless copies of Tony Stark, each one with red-lit eyes and no humanity left.
One word echoed from the Tyrant's lips as the army surrounded them—
"Execute."
And just like that…
The final war began.