written by Mark Bousquet

Benjamin J. Grimm, known to the world as the ever-lovin’ blue-eyed Thing, sat with his feet propped up on a counter in the communications suite inside Pier 4, sipping on a glass of cold milk. Spring was just beginning to assert itself in the New York environ, and with it came the sounds of baseball. Baseball is what had brought Ben into the communications suite, as he sat, in peace, alone, watching six separate games from around the country.

A short, hard beep came through the console and Ben easily flipped a few switches to let the computer decipher the incoming message. As the machine hummed silently, Ben’s eyes wandered over to a far screen on his left, impressed with a leaping grab made by a left fielder.

Ben preferred a good offense, specifically the kind built around gigantic sluggers, but he was fan enough to appreciate good defense every now and then. Nodding his silent approval at the play, Ben looked back to the screen, where he saw a message that he never imagined he’d see.

Ben quickly punched the master com button, "Uh, Reed, I’ve got a message you need to see." His eyes went, disbelievingly, back to the message. "As I live and breath …" he muttered, unable to tear his eyes away.

Fire danced.

Dr. Doom pressed his back against an opening in the rocky walls of Hades, gathering data as he watched the minions of some demon lord walk by. It is not that Doom couldn’t best these pathetic creatures in combat, if he chose to do so, but time was critical. He could barely believe the words Pluto had spoken to him …

"You would be wise to watch your tongue when it comes to spreading lies about the mother of Doom, Pluto," Doom threatened as he and Pluto stood facing each other in the courtyard of Castle Doom, a Castle that Pluto has gained control over during the Latverian monarch’s absence from Earth.*

"Lies, Victor?" Pluto asked smugly. "Why would I lie to you? I have little concern for your mother, but I would think that news that she now has a daughter, and you a half-sister, would be of the utmost interest to you."

"I hear words, Pluto, but I see no proof."

"Your mother exists now as a spirit, Victor, and resides, so I am told, in a better place. A place that she was only able to reach because of you*," Pluto added. "But you and I both know that your mother is not a saintly woman, as blessed as she may be in your eyes, and her spirit is restless. Before you and Dr. Strange rescued her, she had a child, and it is this child, this half-human, half-demon spirit, that needs rescuing."

"Why would my mother not reveal this information to me when the Sorcerer Supreme and I rescued her?" Doom asked, disbelieving.

"Because she was ashamed of your choice to trade Strange’s soul for hers."

Doom said nothing. That much, at least, was true.

"Any comment, Victor?"

Doom's voice betrayed no emotion, "What do you have to gain by telling me this, Pluto?"

Pluto smiled, "An ally. When you travel into the Underworld and find that my words are true, I will have gained an ally on this planet."

Doom said nothing. He would wear the garb of the Fantastic Four before he counted himself an ally with Pluto on the god’s word.

Doom walked confidently into a gathering place, a large, open and circular room from which tens of paths branched out into the Underworld. This room was massive, larger than the village square of Doomstadt, overflowing with demons and trapped souls who’d been given either privilege or mission from their masters. Humans mixed here with beings that were decidedly alien; Doom heard voices that spoke in languages he did not recognize, languages that were not of the planet Earth.

He stood against a wall, letting the overflow of information pour into him. Inside his suit of armor, recording devices whirred silently; though Doom was here to discover if Pluto spoke the truth, there was no need to become so obsessed with the mission that he missed an opportunity to gain power. What he saw in this room could bring him fortune in the future.

Pluto had given him instructions to come to this place, to find a man named-

"I am Kaazhan," a large ogre said to Doom as it came to stand near him. The smell of the foul beast attempted to overwhelm Doom.

"You have information that I need," Doom spoke slowly, his eyes only glancing at the nearly seven foot tall, greenish-brown skinned monstrosity.

"I do," Kaazhan nodded, his large jaw dripping drool. "You will need to travel down Corridor 72, the one next to the large statue of Mephisto sitting on his throne. You see it, huh? That will take you to your sister’s keeper."

"How will I recognize this keeper?" Doom asked.

The ogre laughed, "How will you recognize your half-sister at that, huh? The woman you seek is Palacea, and your eyes will not be able to miss her. She is a four-armed weapons master, in charge of your half-sister’s training. It is from her that you will need to rescue your sibling and gain the favor of your dear, departed moth- urk!"

Kaazhan’s eyes rolled back into his head as more electricity than even his large frame could handle coursed through his body. Spurting and spitting, his body shaking uncontrollably, the ogre fell to the ground, never having seen the metal disk that Doom place on his back.

Doom walked away, towards the appointed corridor, not needing to see the demise of Kaazhan.

The citizens of Doomstadt witnessed their monarch vanishing, or rather, one of the villagers witnessed Doom’s departure and told another, who told another, and so on, until rumors of Doom’s defeat ran rampant through the village.

"It isn’t true! It can not be true!" a village protested.

"It is, Brother. I saw it with my own eyes. Doom has been defeated by Pluto," the villager announced somberly, but loudly, seeming to encourage a crowd to gather around him.

"You lie!"

"If only I did," he answered, his long, white robe flowing around him. "I happened to be approaching the courtyard at the Castle in my vain attempt to bring the Word to the new ruler of the Castle, in hopes of bringing him to our mass this eve, when I saw our leader defeated by a twelve-foot tall monster."

"Our master will never be defe-"

"I’m sure he shall return," the robed villager spoke quickly, "but it could not hurt to pray to him, could it? Come, residents of Doomstadt, follow me to Church and receive the Word. Let the Enlightenment Foundation show you the truth and pray for the return of our leader, Dr. Doom."

Doom walked briskly through the stone corridor. It had been almost an hour since he entered it’s walls and he traveled in silence. He met no one on his walk, and traveled in the glow of light that emanated from torches.

Another ten minutes and Doom emerged into a large, open area. Flames poured from pits in the earth and the ceiling quickly vanished upwards. Slaves worked rock, though Doom could tell neither where they were coming from nor where they were going. Muscular men, human in appearance, stood in alcoves, brandishing whips, eager to lash out at the backs of creatures that didn’t work fast enough.

Doom stood in the shadows of Corridor 72 for long moments, searching for any signs of the presence of Palacea.

His answer came quickly.

A woman with four arms, her skin a deep crimson, her body molded by tight crimson and black leather, entered from the right and walked to stand on a ridge looking down at the slaves. She whistled once and the slaves stopped in their tracks – a second whistle from her lips and the slaves walked, single file, out of the open area and into a tunnel to Doom’s left.

"You have kept the slaves working too long," Palacea hissed at the caretakers.

In response, the large men with whips bowed their head and slumped off.

Doom was impressed. An image - just a flash - entered his mind then. It was a picture of him and Palacea standing side-by-side ruling over a kingdom, and contentment oozed into his heart, but Doom resisted. Such were the trappings of Hell, where pleasure and hopes for future glories and comforts were nothing more than the means to a deeper suffering soul.

The area was open now, save for Doom and Palacea. The Latverian monarch watched the woman that, if he had been told the truth, held the truth about his half-sister. He didn’t know whether to believe or disbelieve Pluto’s claim about his relative at this point or not because, simply, there wasn’t enough evidence either way.

"Aren’t you going to say something?" Palacea looked from her spot on the ledge down on Doom and smiled.

Doom strode into the full light, but answered her not.

Palacea took this in stride, grinning wildly, "Ah, the legendary Dr. Doom has no tongue, does he? Or is it being held from him by a simple, gentle feline?"

"Games are for the weak," Doom said simply, his rich voice echoing through the stone environ. "Where is my answer?"

Palacea, from her height thirty feet above him, jumped to the ground, her body rotating in the air like an Olympic diver, to land an arm’s length away. Doom eyed the woman cautiously, though, truthfully, he was not worried about any physical harm she could inflict. She ran a top hand through her short, cropped hair, also a black-crimson mixture, and looked Doom over.

"A curious question from the King of Gypsies," Palacea laughed. "Is that any way to talk about your sister, Dr. Doom?"

"I seek only answers, woman."

"Yes, that is what I see," Palacea’s grin vanished. "Fine then, Gypsy King, come and get your answers!" She stomped her foot and folded her top pair of arms in front of her as the bottom par unsheathed short daggers from her sash belt. "Gamesman you are not, but games you will play!"

Having no other real option, Doom followed.

Four hours of intense prayer had been undertaken under the robed priest of the Enlightenment Foundation and the citizens of Doomstadt stood with their eyes closed and their minds ensconced in prayer. Incense of brimstone wafted through the air and the small room, cramped with twenty-eight residents, masking all other smells.

"Go deeper, deeper into yourselves," the priest intoned. "The world outside is cruel, but the world of Enlightenment is kind. Prepare for the End with us, brothers, prepare for the light to come, the light to be and the light of evermore."

Four hours of intense prayer. Four hours for the residents of Doomstadt to pray. All questions of who they were praying to, exactly, long gone from their mind. They were not hypnotized, but almost looked asleep on their feet. Some had left, some still entered, but the priest focused on the fifteen core people who had been here from the beginning of today’s prayer. Eleven of these citizens had been among the most ardent visitors to the Foundation’s meetings. The return of Doom had thrown their plans into chaos, but the Master had seen to Doom’s temporary removal.

"The harsh world," he continued, "is one that the Master will take you away from. You will have prepared for the End to come and be ready to serve in the New Day to come. Ready yourselves, my brothers, the Master is soon to walk among us …"

Doom stood with Palacea inside a large coliseum. "The Roman Coliseum," Palacea told him, "was the model for this building, though it only seats half the people. Or," she smiled, "non-people, as far as the dead are concerned."

Doom refused to play any of Palacea’s games, simply standing quietly, absorbing everything around him, until she was ready to reveal information to him.

The four-armed woman sighed. "Very well, Dr. Doom. An answer you shall be given. The mother you lost and the sister you shall find." Palacea whistled, loud and sharp. Doom thought, idly, she sounded like a tropical bird of Paradise.

On the far end of the Coliseum, three doors opened. From the door on the far left, a hideous beast emerged. Large as an elephant, though absent any legs, it dripped ooze and slime from it’s pink, rotting flesh as it slithered forward, slowly. A large collar was wrapped around it’s middle, and a steel chain bolted it to the ground.

From the middle door, a young girl, no older than five, it looked to Doom, emerged. She wore a simple dress of Earth design. Around her neck, a collar, linked to the ground by a steel chain.

On the right, a magenta-tinted cloud, it's hues falling somewhere between grey, crimson and pink, whisked into view. Looking carefully, Doom could see a humanoid shape in the cloud’s center. The size indicated a person above ten, but under twenty, though Doom could not discern the being’s gender.

"A game you will now play," Palacea announced flatly. "Your sister is one, monsters are two. Pick the correct child and your sister is given to you. Pick the incorrect child and you fight to the death."

Doom looked at the three beings carefully, "I leave, not with a sister, but a half-sister, Palacea. Do not forget this. The hideous creature on the left is clearly a ruse, as is the angelic youngster in the middle. I choose the storm cloud."

Palacea clapped her hand, "Ah, an excellent choice, Dr. Doom. And you have chosen correctly." She looked to the storm cloud. "Come, Vera, and meet big brother!"

Slowly, the swirling clouds approached Doom.

"Touching, touching!" Palacea clapped. "Now, sis, fulfill your birthright by accomplishing your shared mother’s dying wish." Palacea laughed, "Kill your brother!!!"

Thunder rumbled from inside the pink storm cloud. Twirling frantically, it rapidly approached Doom, like a fog rolling over a forest. From somewhere inside the chaos, Doom saw two white eyes glaring at him. He put up his hands to counteract the cloud, but it was too late. Vera, his alleged half-sister, was upon him.

Palacea laughed as Doom vanished inside the suddenly raging storm. "Come!" she called to the girl and the elephant slug, "Let us leave the Family Doom to their reunion!!!"

Pluto placed the white robes around his body, readying himself for the ceremony to come. Through a crack in the door, he could see his chief priest readying the locals for his arrival …

"The harsh world," he continued, "is one that the Master will take you away from. You will have prepared for the End to come and be ready to serve in the New Day to come. Ready yourselves, my brothers, the Master is soon to walk among us …"

The crowd chanted, "Amen."

"Why stay here in your dull lives, under the iron fist of a monarch?" the priest asked. "Or go with the Holy One into the Light? The Light is the Way. The Way is the Holy One!"

"Amen!"

"Are you ready for him? Are you ready for the Holy One?"

"Yes!"

From the other room, Pluto grinned. To a deity, there was nothing more intoxicating than the cries of worshippers. It was not like the old days, Pluto knew, when worshippers built monuments to the Greek gods, and willingly pledged their lives - and souls - to the denizens of Mt. Olympus. They had been replaced, chiefly by the Nameless God, and had survived, but with far less power than before. Now, worshippers, any number of worshippers, could tilt the balance of power immeasurably.

That was why Pluto was here. It was harvesting time. The mission for Doom was nothing more than diversion, a gambit played to buy precious time. Doom would, or would not, meet his demise at the wicked hands of Palacea, but it mattered not whether the Gypsy King lived or died. It only mattered that he was not here, not now.

His other Olympian gods might be content to wile away their days in relative comfort, but not Pluto. No, but then, he did not live on the glorious peak of Olympus; he lived below the world, in his kingdom of Hades, and he knew things about gods that the other Olympian gods had not ever begun to realize.

And Hades, or Hell, or Niffleheim, or whatever anyone chose to call the Underworld, was the key.

He intended to be ready.

He intended to do what the Nameless God would not - he would walk among the people and steal his worshippers back.

Waiting for his cue, he confidently strode forward to meet the people his soon-to-be baptized followers.

His High Priest had a crowd that had now swelled to twenty-five "in the thrall," delivered the citizens of Doomstadt into the hands of their new god, "Open your eyes, Brothers! Open your eyes and meet the god, the one true god, who can show you the Light, the Way and give you a place at his table after the world has died away! Open your eyes and meet the God of the Enlightenment!"

The citizens of Doomstadt opened their eyes and drank in the imposing figure of Pluto, the man who, they now believed, had conquered their monarch.

"Kneel." Pluto's voice was deep, his command unquestioned.

Nineteen followers of the Enlightenment Foundation instantly dropped to their knees, many quaking in a combination of fear and ecstasy. Three stood rooted in place. One passed out. Two ran away screaming; Pluto's warriors posted outside would see they did not go far.

He looked at the bowed heads and smiled, "I have come to you. I, an Old God, an Abandoned God, walk your world to bring you my word and wisdom. There are those among you whose ancestors prayed to me and my relatives, but have abandoned us for other gods. You may think I come, then, for vengeance, but I do not." Pluto lowered his voiced, "I offer salvation. Open the Good Book in front of you."

The nineteen enthralled did as they were told, opening what they took to be a holy document; they found no words inside.

Only a very sharp dagger.

"Salvation!" Pluto boomed. "An eternity of glory for one minute of pain! You will follow me! You will join me, because I can show you the Light! Do you wish for the Light?"

"Yes!" they cried.

"Then take the knife in your hands," Pluto's voice was somber. "The blade is the key to the journey to the Light! Take it, and join me!"

Pluto closed his eyes as nineteen lives ended.

And nineteen souls filled the pits of Hades.

Reed Richards, Sue Richards, Johnny Storm and Ben Grimm strode uneasily through the streets of Doomstadt. Villagers looked at them with dread, their cheeks stained with tears, their eyes hollow with fright.

"What did I tell you, Reed?" Johnny asked, his voice an involuntary whisper. "This is just what I saw on my recon flight. It's spooky."

The Fantastic Four walked forward, their path being drawn to a particular building at the end of town where the villagers' gazes told them they should go.

"Hey, Stretch," Ben said, his voice, too, kept low, "you get the funny feeling that we're late for whatever it is Doom wanted us for?"

Without turning, Reed answered, "Yes."

They approached a building - Doomstadt's citizens moving aside for them, their eyes scared and pleading - which was fronted by a sign:

"Enlightenment Foundation?" Johnny asked.

"A religious group of some kind," Sue answered hesitantly. "I don't know much, but-"

Her words were cut off as Adam Warlock strode from the building and came to them, "We were too late. We were all too late." He shook his head, "I … knew this was a place of importance, but I didn't … I couldn't …"

Adam Warlock shook his head, "There is nothing we can do."

Reed stretched his head inside the building and saw the dead bodies. His heart dropped and his mind tried to find answers, explanations, reasons … quickly, he retracted his head back outside to find another had joined them.

Dr. Doom.

The monarch stared hard at the five heroes, "You received my message, Reed."

"Victor, I …" Reed's voice betrayed him.

Doom's eyes flashed, but no other emotion escaped him. He walked into the building, the Fantastic Four and Warlock parting for him like the citizens of Latveria had parted for the FF. They waited for long, silent moments, until Doom rejoined them.

The wind had picked up. It was beginning to get cold, and a light mist permeated the air. It would rain soon. Doom took each of the eyes of the Fantastic Four in turn; for now, he ignored Warlock. He said simple words to them that felt worse than any threat they had ever heard from their long-time nemesis.

Doom said, "You have failed me. Leave my land."

Reed started to protest, but a quick, sharp look from his college friend stopped the words in his throat. Without another word, they left Doom and Warlock - and nineteen dead Latverians - behind.

Adam Warlock sat atop the Himalayan Mountains, searching his soul for answers. There were none to be found. The soul gem on his forehead was cold, still, lifeless. Why had he dreamt of Earth, only to be kept from helping those in need? Were there answers, or was life, all of life, still nothing more than a play for which only the gods to watch?

Reed Richards sat in his laboratory, alone, searching his soul for answers. There were none to be found. Victor had sent them a note asking for help, but they had not arrived in time. They had failed him. Perhaps Victor hadn't given them enough time, or perhaps the FF had simply taken too long deciding what their course of action should be. Johnny, who argued they should ignore Doom's plea, hadn't spoken a syllable since they left Latveria. Sue, who argued for their immediate action, hadn't, either.

Reed sighed, wishing suddenly for the comfort of a strong scotch, or the warm embrace of Sue's body, but didn't leave his chair.

What, in God's name, would this tragedy do to Victor? Despite everything he had been responsible for in his life, Reed knew that Victor took his role as ruler of Latveria seriously.

Reed didn't know what to do, but knew that sitting here, doing nothing … for once, that was all he dared to do.

Victor Von Doom said nothing as he stood in the light rain, watching the nineteen bodies burn in the funeral flame. The remaining citizens of Doomstadt dared not leave their dwellings, as their monarch kept vigil over their fallen citizens.

Doom said nothing.

Behind him, a small band of pink/gray fog rolled harmlessly through the Latverian woods.

The fog, if anyone cared, was happy.

30 May 2001

-- Mark Bousquet …

Northern Bear Productions