Follow-up and Card Draw

"Not good! He's gonna blow himself up!" That was the first thought racing through Tony Stark's mind as he watched the chaos unfolding on the battlefield. In a split second, Tony's instincts kicked in. With ferocious energy, he tore the long whip—one that had been wrapped around his body as part of an enemy's attack mechanism—away with vigorous force. Activating the jet boosters on his feet, he launched himself upward, hurling Ivan Vanke toward the night sky. Under the vast expanse of the starry heavens, Tony's armor glowed with electric brilliance, merging seamlessly with the starlight. It was a picture of tragic heroism, the kind that epitomizes the sacrifices made by legends. (Kidding, of course.)

"Quinn!" Nate's voice echoed over the comm link as he called out in a low but urgent tone. Without pausing, Nate jumped out of his Mirage Tower mech and sprinted toward Tony's villa, not even glancing back at the chaotic scene behind him. Meanwhile, Quinn Maxwell, ever the master of teleportation, swiftly severed the remaining strands of the enemy's long whip with a precise mental command. He then teleported to a spot where Ivan Vanke—already incapacitated and warped by a high-voltage blast—was lying on the ground. With a single, powerful mental thrust, Quinn sent Ivan flying high into the dark sky.

Boom! The final explosion of Ivan's defeat lit up the night like a firework, a dazzling display that marked the end of one fierce confrontation.

Inside Tony's villa, the battle raged with a grim ferocity. Violet—a summoned warrior with an uncanny blend of lethal talent and raw determination—cut a swath through the enemy forces. Wielding a dagger with ruthless precision, she moved through the carnage, her petite frame belying the deadly power within. Amid the screams and clamor, she roamed the floor of the villa like a specter of retribution, systematically dispatching foes one after another. Meanwhile, most of the nurses assigned to the villa's emergency care fainted in horror at the unfolding bloodbath, and only the two rare ritual summons remained asleep in a secure room.

"Stop!" Nate ordered softly, his tone both compassionate and firm as he called out to the young warrior. Violet immediately ceased her relentless assault. Lowering her dagger, she sank down into a pool of thick blood, her thin lips working to regulate her breathing and regain her strength. Her entire body was a canvas of scars and fresh wounds; the metallic tang of blood mingled with the stale odor of spent battle. Despite the carnage, Nate regarded her with a sense of deep responsibility. Gently, he strode over to her, not caring that her once-pristine hands and clothes were now stained red with blood.

He rushed to a broken tap in the villa, finding a clean towel in a neglected cabinet. With careful precision, he wiped the blood from her head and face. Violet's large, penetrating blue eyes never left his, silently questioning if she was expected to respond.

"It's over," Nate murmured softly, patting her head as if rewarding her for her valor. The simple word was enough for her; her body relaxed immediately, and she leaned against Nate's arm like a fragile porcelain doll, seemingly at peace after the storm of battle.

Not long after, Tony Stark—having recovered from his own near-fatal encounter—burst into the room, carrying two bottles of champagne. His usually impeccable hair was slightly tousled, and his eyes still bore the scars of the recent turmoil. "These are the last two bottles in the wine cellar," Tony announced, tossing one bottle into Nate's hand. "I don't know which idiot lost a grenade in here, but these… are all that's left." He glanced nervously at Violet before adding, "Are these all she's been doing?"

Nate simply nodded and pried open the bottle cap with his thumb, a small act of composure amid the chaos. The taste of alcohol was now a necessary crutch to maintain his calm.

"Okay… Thank you for saving Little Pepper," Tony said, his voice tinged with genuine fear. The middle-aged billionaire, nearing forty, wore an expression of raw vulnerability that belied his usual arrogance. "If something happens to Pepper, I'd really be a lonely man."

Nate's gaze shifted to Tony, his tone sober as he replied, "What are you planning to do in the future?" He knew all too well that ever since Tony donned his battle armor and decided to embrace the mantle of a superhero, he had become a target—not only for enemies but for anyone who might wish to see his downfall.

"What to do?" Tony mused, taking a deep sip of wine. "I've been thinking, but nothing made sense until I saw Pepper nearly consumed by flames. I'm Tony Stark—I fear no one. No matter who tries to ruin my life, I will crush them. It's not about being a hero or a villain—it's just revenge."

Nate's eyes hardened with resolve as he placed his wine bottle aside, patting Tony's shoulder in a gesture of solidarity. "I'll help you," he declared quietly. Originally, Nate had intended to stay aloof from the grand conspiracies until the final confrontation with a Thanos-like threat. Yet now, he understood that his very presence marked him as a target.

Tony's face softened into a relieved smile. "That makes me feel a lot better," he said.

In the midst of the chaos, news of the terrorist attack on Tony's villa spread like wildfire. Headlines screamed of the assault, and Tony's heroic recovery from the attack would soon dominate every major news outlet. Although his on-camera persona still carried that trademark arrogance, it was clear to many that Tony Stark had evolved—he was no longer merely playing the role of a carefree billionaire, but had embraced a perilous destiny that left him perpetually at risk.

Simultaneously, Nate had gathered Violet and the two rare ritual summons and, following a carefully planned extraction, led them away from Tony's temporary residence. Their next destination was Chinatown—a new base of operations that, according to an earlier agreement, would now provide Nate with a significant financial reward. As part of the remuneration deal, Nate had just become a rich man overnight, inheriting billions through a lucrative transfer arranged by S.H.I.E.L.D.

"Mr. Tian's most valuable heritage is this five-star hotel," Natasha explained elegantly as she presented the documents. Dressed in a smart tailored suit, she introduced herself as the legal counsel responsible for handling the estate transfer. "It's a 24-story building covering 420 square meters in the heart of Chinatown's most prosperous district, valued at 200 million dollars."

Nate looked at the building contentedly. The hotel's decor was unmistakably influenced by traditional Chinese aesthetics, and its staff—chefs, waiters, and front-desk personnel—were all of Chinese descent. The entire operation was designed to cater to a Huaxia clientele, and for Nate, it represented not only wealth but also a new home base from which he could continue his work.

"Are you the foreman here?" Nate asked a man in a black suit whose posture and wry smile suggested he wasn't entirely comfortable in his role.

"Of course not," the man replied, clearing his throat. "I am your grandfather's adopted son. You should call me Uncle." His voice trembled with a mixture of pride and sorrow.

"Really?" Nate said coolly. "Then, you're fired." The man's face registered shock as Nate's words sank in. Nate didn't intend to engage in idle chit-chat; he turned to Natasha. "Lawyer, I don't need such irrelevant personnel in my hotel. I suspect this man has been embezzling funds. Hand him over, will you?"

Natasha nodded gracefully, confirming that the individual was indeed unwanted. "Mr. Tian left all the inheritance to you, and we must ensure it's properly managed," she said, her tone professional.

The man erupted in angry curses before Natasha's no-nonsense sidekick silenced him with a swift, precise move. Nate whistled in approval—this was just one small episode in what had become an increasingly complicated saga. Although the hotel wasn't as high-tech as Tony's villa, it was legally his now, complete with a luxurious interior, an indoor swimming pool on the top floor, and state-of-the-art security measures. However, it was not impervious to infiltration, and even the best agents could find ways inside.

With his new base secured, Nate's mind returned to the one thing that always offered him excitement and a chance at power—the card draw. "Come here, wash your hands, and let's see what kind of servants will emerge this time!" he called out, his voice tinged with eager anticipation. He shut the door and prepared for the high-level ten consecutive draws, with Quinn Maxwell and Violet watching intently.

The summoning interface lit up in brilliant hues. The first card revealed a long, sharp knife—a three-star weapon. The second card unveiled a sleek, streamlined helmet accompanied by a compact metal case and four-star equipment. The third and fourth cards flickered by, one after another, each revealing what appeared to be standard "Samsung" equipment—competent, yet not exceptional. As the draw continued, Nate's face transformed from excitement to nervous tension. One by one, the summons kept yielding the same mundane, if reliable, items.

Finally, the last card materialized: a small, exquisitely detailed pistol bathed in the soft glow of the summoning circle. Nate's heart pounded as he recalled the terror of being overpowered by lesser summons—the dreaded fear of being dominated by non-master entities. "Novice Quinn has it!" he thought in relief, a slight grin forming on his face.

In that moment, Nate realized that the follow-up was complete. He had successfully drawn a collection of useful assets, though not all were extraordinary. But even these "Samsung" level items would serve their purpose in the grand scheme of his operations.

As he surveyed the results of the card draw, Nate couldn't help but reflect on the recent events—the chaotic battle, Tony's villa under attack, the near-tragic loss of Pepper, and the subsequent extraction of his newfound assets to Chinatown. Everything was converging into a single, messy plot that was as unpredictable as it was exhilarating.

Nate's thoughts turned to the future. "The fight is far from over," he mused. "Every move we make in this world, every asset we summon, and every enemy we defeat is a step toward reshaping our destiny." His resolve hardened. With his new wealth and the tools provided by the card draw, he could now expand his influence, protect those under his charge, and eventually challenge the corrupt forces within S.H.I.E.L.D. and beyond.

With Quinn by his side and Violet now safely secured in their new base, Nate prepared to lead his next phase of operations. The villa, now firmly in the hands of his allies, would serve as a temporary hub, but his sights were set on building a lasting legacy. As the high-level draws came to an end and the final card—a small, elegant pistol—shone brightly on the screen, Nate's mind buzzed with plans for further upgrades and secret missions.

"Let's get to work," he said softly to himself, determined to harness every resource at his disposal. The European spirit of card drawing had once again provided him with the raw materials for his next adventure. And as he looked at the results of the draw, he couldn't help but smile at the thought that every asset, no matter how seemingly ordinary, was a stepping stone toward something greater.

In this chaotic new world—where every fight, every betrayal, and every triumph reshaped the future—Nate Locke had learned to embrace both the power and the responsibility that came with his gifts. The follow-up and card draw had not only reinforced his resolve but also reminded him that, in the grand tapestry of destiny, every choice mattered.

"Come on, Quinn," he whispered into the comm, "let's move forward. There's no time to waste." And with that, Nate Locke stepped into the uncertain future, armed with the tools, the wealth, and the unbreakable determination to fight for a better tomorrow.