The dark, candlelit chamber was eerily quiet, save for the rhythmic footsteps of robed figures moving with precision through the stone corridors. At the far end of the room stood a large, imposing figure, draped in regal robes, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared down at what remained of Mouad Khouri's body, now laid out on a slab. The man's remains were barely recognizable—scorched and mutilated, a testament to the brutality of Tony Stark's escape.
The Mandarin, ruler of Mongolia, stood before the broken shell, his face unreadable. His long, flowing robes barely moved in the still air, and his eyes glimmered with an unsettling intensity. He lifted one hand, studying the ancient ring on his finger—the seventh of his ten rings—its dark green gem glowing faintly.
Death meant little to a man like him. After all, it was merely the beginning for those who served his purpose.
He waved his hand lightly over Khouri's lifeless body, and the ring on his finger pulsed with a deep, otherworldly energy. The chamber itself seemed to shudder, as if it, too, recognized the power in play. Dark tendrils of energy emerged from the ring, weaving through the air before sinking into the charred remains of Mouad Khouri.
At first, nothing happened. The body remained still, motionless as before. But then, slowly, Khouri's chest rose, the remnants of his broken form drawing breath for the first time since his death. The charred skin began to mend, his crushed limbs twitching as the energy worked its way through him, stitching together what had been lost.
The Mandarin watched impassively, waiting as Khouri's form slowly began to heal, his body knitting back together piece by piece. His eyes fluttered open, a hollow gasp escaping his cracked lips as life surged back into him. The once-proud man, now kneeling, breathing heavily as he struggled to comprehend what had just happened.
"Imam Khouri," The Mandarin said, his voice calm but filled with authority. "Welcome back."
Khouri's eyes, wide and filled with confusion, locked onto the figure before him. His memory began to return in jagged fragments—the pain, the fire, Tony Stark. Death. And now, this...rebirth.
The Mandarin stepped closer, his cold eyes narrowing slightly. "You have been given a second chance, Mouad. A chance to correct your failures. Death is only the beginning for those who serve me."
Khouri's breath steadied, and he lowered his gaze, overwhelmed by the sheer force of the man standing before him. His mind raced as the realization of what had happened settled in. He had died, and yet here he was, alive. But it wasn't his old life he was returning to.
"I... I failed you, Master," Khouri rasped, his voice still weak.
The Mandarin tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "Yes. You did." He walked slowly around Khouri's kneeling form, his long robes brushing the cold stone floor. "You failed, but I am merciful. I have given you life once more. But now I ask you a simple question."
Khouri swallowed, his eyes never leaving the floor. "Anything, Master."
"Do you want revenge?" The Mandarin's voice was soft, almost seductive in its tone. "Do you want to destroy the man who killed you?"
Khouri's heart pounded in his chest. He saw Stark in his mind—the blast, the fire, the agony. Stark had killed him without a second thought, left him to burn. The rage bubbled up from deep within him, replacing the fear and confusion with something primal, something all-consuming.
"Yes," Khouri whispered, his voice growing stronger. "Yes, I want revenge. I want to see Tony Stark suffer."
The Mandarin's lips curved into a slight smile. "Good. Then you shall have it."
He turned toward his gathered men, who had been waiting silently in the shadows, watching the resurrection. With a nod, The Mandarin gave them their orders. "Begin the Makluan Cybernetic Integration."
The robed men moved swiftly, gathering around Khouri's kneeling form. They began to prepare the necessary devices—intricate, alien-looking machinery that glowed with a faint, ominous light. Khouri, for his part, remained still, his eyes filled with a singular, burning desire: to destroy Tony Stark.
The Mandarin turned his back on the procedure, walking toward the far end of the chamber. His voice carried through the room as the process began. "You will become something more than what you were, Mouad. Something greater. When the integration is complete, you will have the power to take your revenge. And you will do so as a servant of the true power of this world."
Khouri gritted his teeth as the first wave of pain shot through his body. The alien machinery began to work, melding with his flesh, fusing him with something far beyond human. His muscles tensed as the integration took hold, every nerve in his body alight with fire. But through it all, one thought remained crystal clear in his mind.
Tony Stark will pay.*
The Mandarin watched from the shadows as the procedure continued, his expression serene. Death was nothing. It was the beginning of loyalty. And soon, his enemies would learn just how deep that loyalty ran.