written by Mark Bousquet
Prologue
Two weeks ago
In a field of green, a man of gold dreamt of Earth and the suffering of souls. Adam Warlock awoke, and the strange emerald gem that rested upon his forehead ached and throbbed.
He looked around him at the serene, idyllic scene on this small planet tucked away in some far corner of space, then rose to his feet and took to the sky.
He was heading for the world of his creation, the planet Earth.
The metal man fell again from the sky.
This time, however, the fall from Heaven to Earth was not a freefall, but a controlled descent inside a Shi’ar short-range spacecraft.
Many things had happened to Victor Von Doom since his return to this universe from the so-called Franklinverse, but now, at long last, he had returned to the world of his birth and soon, he would be home.*
* As chronicled in everything from FF 417 – present
and WCA 109 – 112.
It would strike many in the world odd that the dictator Dr. Doom could feel anything, let alone an affinity for the land of Latveria and it’s people, but, Doom knew, there were many things the world did not know about him.
And he was perfectly happy to keep them in the dark or bathe them, from time-to-time, in a false light of knowledge.
The craft descended over western Europe, skimming above the clouds that made the world below dark and gloomy, but reflected the sun’s ray back up from above, showing to the sky traveller a world of rolling clouds bathed in yellow. Doom took some note of this, but his mind had little time for the beauty of the scene; checking the instruments of his Shi’ar ship he noticed that several of the worlds intelligence agencies had noted the arrival of this alien ship.
Doom sighed.
This sudden panic that governments of the world would fly into in a time like this usually caused Doom a glimmer of satisfaction at their inane actions - they scurried like ants to prepare themselves for something they couldn’t stop, going to “battle stations,” readying “alerts,” contacting Presidents and Premiers, drawing up “contingencies” … but today …
Today Doom sighed at the obviousness of it all. Of course they would act this way because ants are just what they had become. Ants, sheep, bees … any of the world’s lesser creatures whose members filled a pre-ordained duty and followed out those duties like inanimate chess pieces being moved by larger hands. But now even the larger hands – the world governments and leaders – had become the sheep of reality. There was no doubt about what they would do, no in-the-moment thinking, no grand plans coming to fruition.
No, the governments of the world had stagnated into a world run by manuals and think-tanks. Generals were no longer the masterminds of battles, no longer the great warriors of their people, but media-controlled lackeys.
Doom did not know which was worse – the general controlled by the government above him, or the one controlled by the army below him.
A button was pushed and Doom steeled his deep, booming voice, “Governments of the world, your panic, while amusing, is uneccesary this day. The unidentified craft you see on your radar belongs to Doom, and Doom has no plans for you to inconvenience him this day.”
He switched the communication port off and returned to his desired silence.
Earth was tired to him now, a broken toy that was losing interest. Is this the planet he wanted to rule? This broken world full of potential but unable to ever reach those levels?
He brushed the thoughts aside as he zoned in on Latveria; the time for those ponderances was later.
Descending through the clouds, Doom entered an overcast world. The clouds drizzled down onto the world below, and Latveria, blessed Latveria, was a blip on the horizon that Doom rapidly approached.
Something was wrong.
Doom sensed this before the evidence presented itself, but there was no doubting the sick worm that slithered up his spine as Latveria came ever clearer into view. His eyes scanned both the horizon and his instruments with equal precision, looking at the view out his front window as his hands danced over the instrument panel in front of him, only to glance down every few seconds to see what data the ship had collected.
He looked up.
What? What was wrong? The appearance was one of familiarity, one of-
With not even the slightest twinge of panic or delay, Doom punched the ship’s flight buttons rapidly, sending the Shi’ar craft on a sharp, dramatic upward arc. He had the momentary image flash in his mind of a World War II pilot pulling hard on his controls to arc his bomber over a mountain in front of him, struggling hard with the craft to go up, up, up …
Doom could not do this in the Shi’ar craft, but the feeling was the same and as he arced high over Castle Doom, he felt the scraping of the ship’s underbelly against what appeared to be mid-air.
The ship arced up and out, until it banked and turned back towards the Castle and hovered in place.
Buttons were pushed, perhaps, perhaps, a bit harder than there was need to, but to any looking at Doom at that moment, he appeared no more panicked or fraught with emotion than a man punching the buttons on an ATM machine.
But Doom was not unfamiliar with rage and as the information came to him, information that confirmed his theory, the shell that held his rage deep inside him developed a crack.
Someone had put a protective dome around Latveria.
Someone who wasn’t Doom.
“So …”
“So.”
“So … um, what are you doing tonight?”
“Watching the Rangers game-”
“Having a Bud?”
Ben Grimm sighed loudly at the attempted joke, placing the large wrench in his hand onto the dirty worktable in the Pier 4 garage, “Is there something you want, Matchstick?”
Johnny scratched his head, “Yeah, I was … uh … wondering if you wanted to go grab a bite to eat?”
Ben Grimm stared. Raised his eyebrows. Looked to his left, then over to his right. “Are you talking to me?”
Johnny kicked at the floor, “Yeah, I’m talking to you, ya big pile of rocks! You want to go get a bite to eat or not?”
Ben looked blankly at Johnny, “Where’s the joke?”
“Oh, c’mon, Ben, we’re adults you know. We can handle going out to get a burger.”
“We can?”
Johnny sighed, “Forget it,” turned, and walked away.
Dr. Doom stood in the forest outside of Latverian territory, watching with interest; the Shi’ar ship was cloaked one mile behind him. He could see inside to where a group of gypsies were sitting around their campfire, eating their evening meal; they looked sick, but Doom could not tell from this distance if it was a trick of the firelight or not.
He approached the invisible dome cautiously, his mind full of the collected data readings he’d taken from the ship. As he approached, he heard nothing; it was as if the dome sucked all life from the air.
He was not five feet from the gypsies now, but they paid him no attention.
“Penny for your thoughts, Dr. Doom?”
Doom spun on his heels to see an orange-skinned man standing in the shadows of a large group of trees. “Come out of hiding, Adam Warlock. Doom has no time for games.”
“My apologies, Doctor,” Adam said evenly, exiting the shadows and entering the light of the sinking, evening sun. “It is not my intention to play games with you – or anyone, for that matter.”
Doom and Warlock eyed each other plainly, neither inclined to feel one way or the other about their meeting. Doom continued, “What are you doing in Latveria?”
“That,” Adam said flatly, “is not a correct question. Latveria, as far as I can tell, is completely contained inside that large, invisible dome. Is this not correct?”
“You should not mock Doom and expect to live long.” Doom paused, taking stock of the man whose existence was started as the product of a project by the Enclave, a cabal of mediocre scientists. A gem was inlaid into Adam’s forehead by the High Evolutionary; it was the Soul Gem, one of the Infinity Gems. If he could take control of that Gem, this barrier, Doom was certain, would fall instantly. “What are you doing here, Enclave scion?”
“I am drawn to this place.”
The Soul Gem on his forehead rippled with light, but Doom could not tell if this was a trick of the setting sun, or a sign from within the gem. “Explain yourself.”
“I had just finished aiding Captain Marvel in his battle against Thanos and Black Sun.* I was flying in the vast ocean of space, seeking nothing, when I was drawn to Earth. So I came.”
* See THE REVISIONIST WAR, CAPTAIN MARVEL 82 - 91
“Do not give Doom anything but the answer he desires, Warlock,” the Latverian monarch threatened. “What was the nature of your being ‘drawn’ to Earth?”
“I slept in a field of blue grass, on a planet whose name was unknown to me and dreamt of Earth,” Warlock explained. “When I awoke, my soul burned with the desire to return.”
As Warlock spoke, Doom could see the emerald Gem on his forehead glowing slightly brighter; it was not a trick of the sun. “So you came running, a moth drawn to a distant flame, without question?”
Warlock suppressed a small laugh, “I question everything, Doctor, and while I found no answers as to why I was drawn to this place, once I came here, the burning of souls was doused.”
“To Latveria’s borders?”
Warlock nodded, “To Latveria’s borders.”
“And have you tried to enter my land?”
Warlock shook his head, “Yes, but I was … unsuccessful.”
“Isn’t your Soul Gem capable of penetrating this force field?” Doom asked roughly.
Warlock caught the monarch’s eyes flash with lust as he spoke of the Infinity Gem, no doubt wondering what he could do with power like that at his command. “I am afraid that the gem on my forehead is not the Soul Gem of lore, Doctor,” he said cautiously, wondering just how much of the truth even he knew, thinking of what he did inside Thanos’ Citadel, thinking of the souls he took and the slithering voice that ordered him to act inside his own mind.* “The Infinity Gems have removed themselves from our board for the time being.”**
* Once again, the excellent REVISIONIST WAR
** See
DEFENDERS 175
“Then you are of no use to me,” Doom said sharply and turned his back on Warlock.
“That is false, Doctor,” Adam continued, stepping up to stand beside Doom.
“Doom has no patience for riddles, miscreant.”
“I can not enter Latveria,” Adam said evenly, “but I can make it so that you can.”
Doom turned his head to look sharply at Warlock, “You are a coward. You have the power to enter, but you do not?” He turned back to the barrier, “ Use your power to get me inside my homeland, than retreat to your shadows. Doom grows bored with your presence.”
Warlock held his wooden staff aloft, pointed at the barrier and watched passively as a bolt of energy poured out. “I can open a portal, but another barrier keeps me out. It is a barrier that, I sense, has been created solely for me,” he frowned. “Walk into the light, Doctor,” he offered. “If the hands of fate spin a new web and allow me to enter, I shall join you.”
Doom said nothing as he walked into Warlock’s beam of light, through the invisible barrier, and into Latveria.
“Master, Doom returns.”
“I can see that, fool,” a deep voice answered his servant. “I am ready for his arrival.”
“And what of the one called Warlock? Are you not afraid that he might interfere on Doom’s behalf to aid him?”
“And what if he does? We have nothing to fear from one such as him.”
“But why is it that he cannot enter here? What spell is cast upon him that-”
“Silence! It is time to deal with Doom.”
Doom walked through the streets of Latveria’s main village, Doomstadt, his Castle looming above them in the short distance. His people looked downtrodden, beaten down by some unknown foe; they looked like they were in the midst of a war, with little food and water to eat.
A lesser man would have had his heart broken, but a lesser man would not be Doom.
Doom’s eyes scanned the people and he heard the whispers that spread around and through the village, as sick and weary Latverians took in their master’s presence.
“He’s returned!”
“Quiet, he shall hear you!”
“He has come back to save us.”
“How can we be sure it is him, mommy?”
“Hush, sweetie. When you are older, you will know when it is the master and when it is an impostor.”
Doom did not acknowledge them in any way; his eyes were focused on the Castle, straight ahead. But still, he could see them, up ahead, and feel them behind him, coming out of their still-standing homes, their hopes being raised by his mere presence. With every step he took, they heard vengeance.
As he approached the end of the main road through the village, his eyes caught sight of a house to his left that someone had changed. By his orders, all dwellings in the village met his standards – small, 19th century Easter European, one family residences, but someone had made an effort to change the appearance of one home ever-so-slightly.
They had placed a sign on the front lawn.
He raised right arm, pointed his gauntlet at the sign and fired a single energy beam at the eye-sore, splintering it into a thousand pieces instantly. It mattered not what it said to Doom because its presence was effrontery enough, but he couldn’t help read the words the wooden sign had painted on its surface:
Prepare for
tomorrow.
Masses everyday at sunrise, sunset and midnight.
The Pastor is always available for individual
counseling sessions.
Peace, Brothers.
Doom turned away from the sign – no statement was needed, his people would heed his warning – and once again continued on towards the Castle. Up the long, winding path, Doom walked, knowing that all the answers he needed were forward.
Doom walked through the open front gate, his mind alert to any sign of intrusion.
The Castle’s new landlord didn’t make him hunt for answers.
“Hello, Doom,” a large, bald-headed man welcomed him with open arms and a smug smile from the shadows of a stone arch.
“You are in Castle Doom,” Doom replied evenly.
“I am,” the intruder laughed, “and I think I shall stay. I need a base of operations on Earth and this shall do nicely. After all, not even the Olympian gods have a time platform like yours, Doctor. And all of these weapons of war … I think my nephew might like to have a go at your Castle, Victor.”
“Why are you here?” Doom’s voice seethed with rage.
“Does it bother you that I call you Victor?” the man in the shadows asked. “It shouldn’t, but then, you are, like myself, a man of Ego and the ego can forever be getting in the way of greatness. Ironic, isn’t it, Victor, that the one thing that drives us to become great is the one thing that forever keeps us from reaching our full potential.”
“You did not answer my question.”
The large man laughed, then let his deep voice become serious, “I have decided to take Latveria from you in exchange for something that you seek.”
“I have no time for riddles, Pluto.”
The Olympian god stepped into the light, “Very well, Victor. In exchange for Latveria, I offer you the chance to discover a secret … a secret that your mother has kept from you.”
“You tread on dangerous ground, Olympian,” Doom’s gave narrowed.
Pluto smiled, “I offer you a chance to find a soul trapped in Hades that you have much in common with, yet have never met, yet have never known even existed. You are a lonely man, Victor, even moreso now that your mother has turned her back on you. I would wager that you would be very interested in currying her favor, would you not?” Pluto smiled at the impassive Doom. “Your mother made a deal with a demon that she couldn’t trust, but while her body has long since died, her spirit … well, her spirit has been rather … active.” Pluto paused, his grin deepening. “Would it interest you to know, Victor, that you now have … a sister?”
END FF 449
to be continued …
Fantastic Forum
Letters c/o northern022@hotmail.com
Many thanks to the ever-friendly TJ Burns for being a sounding board for my ideas with Doom.
Next issue: FANTASTIC FOUR 450. Doom goes all out to save … his sister?
Mark Bousquet
Northern Ship Productions
6 April 2001