Justin Hammer, Tony Stark's rival and self-proclaimed genius businessman, had been in a foul mood lately.
It wasn’t just that a dying Tony Stark had suddenly returned more vibrant than ever; it was the fact that Tony was now constantly flanked by a dark-haired masterpiece of a man and a bodyguard built like a grizzly bear, hogging every ounce of public attention.
"Who are those guys? Mercenaries? Undercover models?"
Hammer had mobilized his entire information network, but all he got back were the bizarre names 'Níðhöggr' and 'Ratatoskr.'
In the end, he resorted to his characteristically cheap way of thinking.
He decided to recruit them to his side by exploiting the eternal truth: there is no man a good deal of money and a beautiful woman can’t break.
One night, shortly before the Monaco Grand Prix, Hammer invited Níðhöggr and Ratatoskr to an ultra-exclusive private lounge.
He played his ambitiously prepared 'honey trap' card.
Ten hand-picked racing girls, clad in flamboyant bikinis, were there to greet them.
"Alright, friends! Why waste your time suffering under an arrogant prick like Tony Stark? Join me instead. Not only do you get these beauties, but this bag right here is stuffed with a cool fifty million dollars!"
Hammer flashed a greasy smile as he threw open the suitcase of cash.
However, the situation took a turn that was nowhere near his expectations.
The moment Níðhöggr slid his sunglasses down and scanned the room with languid eyes, the pupils of the women Hammer had hired instantly transformed into hearts.
"Oh my god... look at him. He's... he's too sexy..."
"Sorry, Mr. Hammer. I’m working for this gentleman from now on!"
With high-pitched squeals, the racing girls pushed Hammer aside and swarmed into Níðhöggr's arms.
Níðhöggr smirked at Hammer, a beauty draped over each arm.
"Hey, Mr. Mutt. If you’re going to set a honey trap, you should have at least brought someone more handsome than me. These girls have already 'fallen' for my charm, so what now?"
A panicked Hammer clutched his money bag and shouted.
"Y-you traitors! Fine, I don't need women! Look at the money! Look at it! With this kind of cash, you could live a lifetime of—"
"Hey, you little anchovy."
Ratatoskr, who had been listening in silence, stomped forward and grabbed Hammer by the collar.
As Ratatoskr’s thick forearm muscles rippled, Hammer’s face turned as white as a sheet of paper.
"You’ve been 'money, money' this and 'money, money' that for a while now... Do we look like desperate suckers to you? We’re currently bleeding Tony Stark dry—a man who’s basically a walking vault! You think you can buy us with this pathetic pocket change? Huh?!"
"H-hieek! Let go! This is a negotiation—"
"A man's negotiation is done with his fists!"
THWACK!
With a single stinging noogie from Ratatoskr, Justin Hammer spun around like a top before face-planting onto his pile of money.
Ratatoskr kicked the bag away and spat on the floor.
"Go buy some acorns with that, you little runt!"
Ultimately, Justin Hammer was kicked out with his money gone, his girls lost, and his pride ground into dust.
Níðhöggr headed toward a hotel suite with the defecting racing girls in tow, shouting back over his shoulder at Hammer.
"Hey, old man! I'll take the girls' appearance fees out of that bag! Thanks!"
The next day, under the dazzling sun of the Monaco circuit.
In the VVIP section of the historic Formula 1 race, an odd quartet sat together.
In the center was Níðhöggr, his black hair fluttering as he pulled Natalie (Natasha) close by her waist.
He was busy blowing into her ear, lost in his own world of shameless flirting.
"Natalie, do you realize your lips are even hotter than the weather today?"
Intoxicated by Níðhöggr’s seductive mana, Natasha’s face flushed deep red. She leaned her head on his shoulder, struggling to maintain her composure as a spy.
Beside them, Tony Stark and Ratatoskr sat side-by-side, glaring at Níðhöggr with cold, judgmental eyes.
"Hey, Tin Man. Look at that reptile. He was up all night with those girls Hammer sent, and today he’s already working your secretary. His stamina must be as deep as the roots of Yggdrasil."
As Ratatoskr crunched on an acorn and cursed, Tony nodded in fervent agreement.
"That’s exactly what I’m saying. My assistant is under some kind of spell and out of her mind. JARVIS, calculate the probability of a localized lightning strike hitting that guy."
[Sir, Mr. Níðhöggr is essentially a walking lightning rod; a strike would likely only serve to recharge him. Additionally, Natalie's heart rate is 2.5 times the normal resting rate. She is either in extreme danger... or extreme pleasure.]
""What a total shitshow.""
Tony and Ratatoskr, for the first time, spoke with one heart as they bashed Níðhöggr.
"Hey, Wallet! And the rat! If you're that jealous, go find your own women. What can I do if I’m a natural-born villain overflowing with charm?"
When Níðhöggr threw them a loathsome wink, Tony finally couldn't take it anymore and stood up.
"I can't sit here. I'm getting itchy. I'm going to drive a race car. If I watch this any longer, my Arc Reactor is going to blow from an overload."
"Oh, fine. Go ahead and cause an accident, Wallet!"
As Tony headed down to the track, Níðhöggr grew even bolder, stroking the nape of Natalie's neck and whispering.
"Now that the distractions are gone, let's get a bit more heated—"
ZZT—CRACKLE—!!
It was then.
The clear sky suddenly seemed to darken as a vortex of blue lightning erupted in the middle of the circuit.
"Hm?"
Níðhöggr's gold eyes sharpened.
On the track, a shirtless man appeared, draped in a bizarre mechanical harness. He held two electrified whips in his hands, and every time they lashed the ground, the asphalt melted away.
It was the appearance of Ivan Vanko—Whiplash.
"Oho, finally someone who looks like a real villain."
Níðhöggr stood up slowly, keeping Natalie close. Whiplash was advancing toward Tony Stark, slicing oncoming racing cars in half with a single flick of his whips.
"Hey, Rata! Look at that. Whips, huh? Quite a kinky preference."
Ratatoskr clenched his fists and sprang from his seat.
"Finally, a reason to use my hands! I'll turn that scrap-metal bastard into actual junk before he can touch Tony!"
But Níðhöggr caught Ratatoskr by the shoulder.
"Wait, rat. Let Tony handle that one. We need to track the foul stench coming from behind that guy."
Níðhöggr's gaze swept past Whiplash, scanning for the shadows of Justin Hammer and Nick Fury who were likely watching this unfold from afar.
"Natalie, I’m afraid our date has to be put on hold. There are too many villains crawling around."
Níðhöggr left a short, intense kiss on Natalie’s lips and then leaped from the stands onto the circuit, his coat billowing. As his feet hit the ground—carrying a physical strength that surpassed a Titan even in his human form—the earth of Monaco shook violently.
"Now then, it’s time to show them who the real villain is."
Níðhöggr, beginning to radiate a crimson aura, and Whiplash, venting electricity. Meanwhile, Tony Stark struggled to get into his suit. The glamorous Monaco circuit instantly began transforming into a battlefield.
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