Vanko and Stark might once have been the best of friends.
Together, they had paved the way for humanity's progress and dreamed of the world's future.
Then things had happened that set those close friends, and their descendants, on opposing paths.
Ivan Vanko had been born amid the bitter winds of Siberia, inheriting his father's intelligence and talent, along with the hatred of betrayal.
From the moment he left that frozen land, Ivan had never abandoned his revenge against Stark Industries.
Vanko's name should have been there too, but in the end, only Stark remained.
The world knew only of Stark's greatness, utterly unaware of the misery the elder Vanko had suffered in his final years beneath that greatness.
The starker the contrast, the harder it was for Ivan to sleep.
He should have died. The gap between him and Tony had been far too great.
Stark Industries was a behemoth, an existence that forced people to stop and look up in awe.
He had been nothing but a mortal at the feet of the god of steel, gazing upward, but John's arrival had given him a chance to compete on equal footing again.
The geniuses shared the same vision: armor.
Their keen instincts had led both geniuses down the same path.
His shares in Taran Industries had allowed Ivan to leave his small workshop behind.
Upgrade after upgrade had steadily improved the Fighter.
He and Tony had fought twice.
The first time, Tony had nearly killed him. The second, they had been evenly matched.
There would be no fourth time.
Ivan looked at the Fighter he had rebuilt.
The Magic Mech.
It was the latest creation of magical technology, a new product that used Magic Crystals to produce extraordinary changes.
Unlike Tony, Ivan had not made extensive use of