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“Allow me to present your new baby daughter. I believe congratulations are in order…and thanks.”
Dr. Victor Von Doom crossed his arms over his armored chest as the feeble Richards flowed across the room to his wife and infant child, mewling incomprehensibly of his disbelief of Doom’s victory over the very crisis that Richards had been unable to resolve himself. “Your gratitude is overwhelming, Richards,” Doom commented, with some degree of sincerity, “but I shall receive some measure of satisfaction from naming the girl.” Richards squawked as his mind attempted to absorb the meaning of Doom’s words, and Doom felt a moment of pity; where Richards was incessantly hemmed in by his seemingly endless limitations, the only limits upon Doom were those placed by Doom himself. “Susan, at least, knows that I am a man of honor and style,” Doom continued. “I would not be so crass as to name the child ‘Dooma,’ for instance. No, she shall be called…Valeria. Doom leaned close to the newly-titled child. “I place you under my royal protection, little Valeria. If anyone is ever so foolish enough to strike at you…they will deal with me.”
Though he did not realize it at the time, Doom had committed himself to considerably more than he anticipated.
*
Within moments of initiation of the alarm, Doom’s incomprehensibly advanced teleportation system transited him deep into the heart of the Baxter Building. The array of systems laughably referred to as defenses did nothing to hinder his ingress.
Before him, infant Valeria clung to the bars of her crib, sobbing. “Be at peace, regal Valeria,” Doom said, lifting the infant. “Doom provides.” Doom brought a bottle of nutrient to Valeria’s lips, allowing her to take the nipple. The formula was of Doom’s own brilliant design after he had assimilated the entirety of human knowledge regarding the biological needs of infants and written several treatises correcting mistakes in so-called “common knowledge.” Doom would have iterated the formula further, but had been slowed by his efforts to draw up annihilation plans for the ignorant fools who termed themselves ‘anti-vaxxers.’ When that particular war came, there would be no survivors.
“Holy moley! It’s Doctah DOOM!” the cretinous voice of Benjamin Grimm, accurately referred to as The Thing rang out behind Doom.
“Oh no, not again,” the softer voice of Sue Storm sighed.
“Yes,” Doom said, turning to face half of the fabled Fantastic Four, “it is I, VICTOR VON-” Valeria howled at the sudden noise of Doom’s proclamation, and he hurriedly lowered his voice. “Von Doom,” he finished.
“We know,” Sue said, claiming the child from Doom’s arms. “How did you get in here so fast? I was right down the hall…”
“Doom monitors all possible threats to Valeria,” Doom replied.
“This is the eighth time this week,” Sue retorted, hugging the child to her chest.
“There are many threats.”
“She’s six months old, Victor.” Sue sighed, bouncing Valeria on her hip until the infant smiled. “She’s afraid of the vacuum cleaner and H.E.R.B.I.E.”
“Which is wise. Richard’s amateurish attempt at creating a droid will be the death of you all.” Doom paused. “If Doom does not kill each of you first.”
“Right. Goodbye, Victor.”
“Perhaps the wisest course of action would be for Doom…”
“Goodbye, Victor.”
Doom glared stoically. “Doom chooses to depart at this juncture.”
*
“We’ve got him on the ropes, team! Keep fighting!”
The star-spangled buffoon rallied his fellow Avengers, blind to the futility of their actions. Doom had accounted for every possible line of attack against his plan, and he knew that they could not possibly breech the defenses around his weather-control machine. Soon, Doom would prevent the slow degradation of the polar ice caps through his brilliance rather than the futile efforts of diplomacy.
Doom’s armor alerted him to one of the more likely combat scenarios becoming imminent: the Asgardian’s brazen assault. Thor’s hammer crashed against the protective barriers Doom placed around his weather-control device again and again, but was unable to disrupt the ingenious defense. “Have at thee, villain!” Thor bellowed. “Know that while you may be a match for the mortal defenders of Midgard, you now face the mighty Thor, God of Thunder!”
“Fool!” Doom retorted. “Doom worships no god, because no god has ever proven himself superior to Doom! You and your fellow Avengers are little more than short-sighted buffoons. Can you not see that if climate change is allowed to continue unchecked, it will pose an ecological threat to New York City?”
Thor glanced back at his teammates in confusion. “….verily?”
“Of course! After Doom has annihilated you meddling Avengers and the accursed Fantastic Four, I shall usher in a new era of…” Doom stopped abruptly mid-rant as an alarm sounded in his armor. “Hrm,” he said, looking between the irate Asgardian and his weather-control device. Responding now would leave the machine vulnerable before it could complete its work…though not responding at all was not a possibility. “Know that you have not won this day, Avengers! Doom leaves now for a more immediate concern!” With a flourish Doom triggered his teleporter, disappearing from the battlefield.
Doom reappeared an instant later in Valeria’s room in the Baxter Building, kneeling beside her bed and smoothing the four year old’s sweaty hair. “Valeria. It is I, Doom. What troubles you?”
“I had a bad dream,” the girl said timidly. “There was a monster.”
“Which monster was it? There are many.” This did not appear to reassure Valeria. “It could be D’Spraye, Dread Dormammu, or…” Doom paused his recitation. No foe could possibly stand against Doom’s might, so identifying the particular transgressor was irrelevant. And appeared to be frightening Valeria further. “Regardless. Doom shall conquer this monster.”
Doom rose to his feet and moved his hands through the positions of the Spell of Dimensional Relocation. In an instant he found himself standing upside down in a realm without gravity or direction, surrounded by a bizarre landscape that would be inconceivable to the common man’s mind. Doom, being no common man, immediately coined the term ‘Kirby-esque’ to describe it.
A ways off, a flock of small nightmare entity flitted around, coaxing juvenile terrors from Valeria’s mind for sustenance. They were harmless creatures, common beyond numbering in the dream realms, but their lack of threat was beside the point. With a mighty blast of eldritch energies, Doom reduced the nearest of the entities to a scorched husk and methodically annihilated the others until only one remained. Doom allowed the creature to flee, to spread the tale of the massacre, and set about arranging the bodies in the dreamscape around Valeria’s consciousness (carefully just outside of her awareness to avoid further troubling her) to serve as a dire warning for any others who might venture near.
In a flash of sorcerous energies, Doom reappeared in Valeria’s room. “Fear not, Valeria. No monster shall…” he trailed off as he saw Valeria already fast asleep a faint expression of contentment on her face. “…trouble you,” he finished at a whisper.
*
“Valeria. We have spoken of this.”
“But Uncle Dooooooom…!”
The hallway outside of Valeria’s classroom was not the place for this conversation, but Doom was adept at all forms of negotiation, regardless of the location. “You have known Show-And-Tell day was coming for several weeks, and did not prepare.”
The child stomped her foot. “But it’s today, and I don’t have anything! You have to come!”
“Richards…” Richards “has any number of knick-nacks in the accursed Baxter Building. Take one of those.”
Valeria made a face. “Those are boring.”
The child was clearly sensible beyond her years. “Doom assents.”
Out of respect to the delicate nerves of the less-regal seven year olds, Doom elected to enter the classroom through the door rather than using the power of the sun focused through the genius technology in his gauntlet to annihilate the adjoining wall. Valeria’s teacher, Ms. Addison, displayed the appropriate deference and outright terror due to the monarch of Latveria. “Ah, class, today is show and tell, and we have Enrique, Jessica, and Valeria presenting today.”
“Valeria will present first, as is her due,” Doom rumbled.
“We go in alphabetical order!” the girl Jessica interjected. “That means Enrique goes first.” Ms. Addison merely turned white and glanced around the room, attempting to determine if she could shield the child from Doom’s terrible wrath (she could not) or if she should attempt to flee to safety (no safety exists from Doom’s terrible wrath).
“That…is an orderly arrangement. Doom shall allow it.” Ms. Addison visibly relaxed.
“O-kay! Enrique said, standing proud before the class, a mangy hound bounding happily at his side. “Today I brought…my dog! His name is Rex, and he does tricks! Roll over, Rex!”
“Bah!” Doom intoned. “Where you have acquired a domesticated beast, Doom has created a legion of Doombots, both sophisticated in their mechanical structures and unparalleled in their artificial sentience!”
“Uncle Doom it’s not our turn,” Valeria hissed. Rex rolled over again, tongue lolling.
“Of course,” Doom said.
Ms. Addison nodded. “Jessica, it’s your turn. Quickly.”
“I brought a picture of my mom. She’s a lawyer, and also my mom!”
“Doom is the master of both the technological and mystical arts, and far the better of Tony Stark and the so-called Sorcerer Supreme.”
Jessica scowled. “But are you a lawyer?”
“Doom is the entirety of the justice system in Latveria.”
“But are you a lawyer?”
“…no, Doom is not currently licensed to practice law in the state of New York.” Doom’s fearsome iron visage struck the child silent in fear. “However, by next month, Doom shall be…and shall be a greater lawyer than both the Man without Fear and the Emerald Barrister! And also your mother.”
“Okay. Yes. This was worth fifty thousand in debt,” Ms. Addison said. “Valeria, it seems like you brought a super villain to class. Honey, we talked about this sort of thing after you brought a device from Galactus’ ship last month.”
“What?” Doom demanded. “You brought a something of the Devourer of Worlds to class before speaking to me?”
“Well it was just laying out there near my backpack when I was getting ready in the morning,” Valeria said with a shrug.
“Doom must speak to Richards about the proper and safe storage of cosmic artifacts,” Doom mused.
“Does Rex do any other tricks?” one of the students asked.
“You bet!” Enrique said. “Hey Rex! Fetch!”
“Curse you, incorrigible canine!” Doom shouted as the children cheered the new trick.
*
Doom knew, for a certainty, that his mastery of all things was perfect in every way. That was no idle boast; Doom had once possessed the unfathomable power of the Beyonder, and even more importantly had bested Richards on countless occasions. Doom’s understanding of his own unassailable superiority was not without plentiful examples.
Despite this, Doom found himself to be momentarily flummoxed.
“And he just…like it didn’t mean anything at all!”
Valeria sat upon her ornate guest throne in the main hall of Castle Doom, blowing her nose violently. She had been speaking for some time, though Doom had to acknowledge that he struggled to comprehend the meaning of her words. “This man…”
“Brad!” Valeria cried. “Oh my God, Uncle Doom, I love him so much, I love him more than I’ve ever loved anyone before and he just put me out with the trash. We had three dates, Uncle Doom, doesn’t that mean anything?!?” She blew her nose again and dropped the tissue on the floor; Doom quietly annihilated it with a disintegration ray from his gauntlet’s fingertip.
“Valeria, your distress is clouding your rational thinking,” Doom said, striking an imperiously conciliatory tone. “Your mother and uncles, love you, and even your…Richards cares deeply for you. As deeply as his underdeveloped mind can.”
“You don’t understand, Uncle Doom, my life is over. I might as well just die when everyone finds out he dumped me.”
“What would resolve this situation in a positive manner?” Doom asked, unaware of the hint of desperation in his tone.
“Just…if he’d just say he was sorry,” Valeria said. “That’d be great.”
“If words of contrition would remedy the wound to your heart, Valeria, then you shall have them,” Doom said. “Return home, now. Doom shall seek you out in due time.”
Valeria nodded, perhaps a bit less distraught than when she arrived, and headed out to the personal teleporter Doom had installed between her room in the Baxter Building and Castle Doom. Doom collapsed into his own throne, exhausted, and reviewed his options. He could simply torture this ‘Brad,’ but a compulsory apology might not satisfy Valeria. Richards frequently prattled on that sincere expressions of emotion were important. Another option would be required.
Doom rose to his feet, and made his way into the sub-basements of Castle Doom. Each floor was entrenched with defenses both technological and magical, the likes of which could not be found anywhere else in the world. But they were not intended to keep mortals out; they were intended to keep something else in.
Doom pulled closed the thirteen-inch door behind him as he entered his summoning room. The walls were lined with sigils that were anathema to the denizens of the lower realms, and engraved into the floor was a summoning circle. Doom stood before it and spread his arms wide. “Across the Nine Hells, across Limbo and Musphelheim, wherever you are, Rider, I call to you! I command you to appear before me!”
The room exploded in a blast of hellfire and the stench of brimstone almost overwhelmed Doom’s on-board environment systems. When his vision cleared, the demon stood before him; a skeletal figure dressed in motorcycle leathers, his skull wreathed in flame. The Spirit of Vengeance.
“Doom,” Ghost Rider said. “With all the shit you’ve pulled? You’ve got a real set of balls, summoning me here.”
“Doom has the sturdiest of balls,” Doom intoned darkly. “I have need of you, Rider. An injustice has gone unanswered, and were you to redress it, I would owe you a minor debt.”
*
The campus of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology reminded Doom of the handful of years he graced Empire State University with his brilliance. A collection of self-important fools who believed that because they excelled in their so-called ‘high’ schools, they were peers to the greatest mind the world had ever seen. They reminded Doom quite a bit of Richards.
Campus security briefly attempted to intervene against Doom, though they were cowed immediately by his royal personage. Were this New York City, Doom was confident that the Avengers and Defenders and even the accursed contortionist Spider-Man would be on their way to distract Doom from his purpose. This was not New York, however; at worst Doom would be harassed by the Power Pack. The admissions department receptionist proved to be of sterner stuff than the campus security, but Doom could not be dissuaded by even the most determined to office managers.
“…not an issue of grades or recommendations.” The sensory suite in Doom’s amazing helm detected the subtle vibrations of the admissions counselor’s voice through several walls. “In fact, I’d never seen a letter written by Captain America himself…”
“If these are all satisfactory, I don’t understand why Valeria’s application was turned down.” Richards. “She would surely be nothing but a benefit to your campus.”
“It’s just that adventurers -super heroes, if you will- tend to be lightning rods for negative attention. As a university of higher learning, we must always be aware potential complications to our students’ learning environment. We don’t want to be another Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters; they’re just buried under constant complaints about how attacks by Magneto or Apocalypse or whoever make it impossible for students to finish even a single semester.”
Ah. The perfect moment to segue into Doom’s resolution in this petty dispute. He raised his hands, commanding a scintillating nimbus of energy to form around his hand before lashing it out, sending shards of masonry and overpriced woodwork flying. “HEED THE WILL OF DOOM!”
“Uncle Doom!” Valeria cried with delight.
Sue sighed. “Hello, Victor.” The admissions counselor, a man with the look of someone whose biggest challenge in life came from deciding where to have lunch, shrieked in horror. Richards merely gaped in dull incomprehension.
“Valeria. Susan.” Doom nodded in acknowledgement. “Richards,” he hissed at the erstwhile leader of the Fantastic Four, before turning his attention to the name plaque on the admissions counselor’s desk. “And you, Mr. Daleforth. Listen well to the word of Doom.”
“Victor Von Doom?!? Here?!” the man said in abject horror.
“Doctor Victor Von Doom,” Doom corrected him. It was lamentable that a man who worked with so many academics would make such an oversight. “I have come regarding the mistake your admissions department has made regarding Valeria Richards.”
“Ah….” Mr. Daleforth summoned the total of his courage. “Well, if you’re not family then FERPA prevents me from discussing any particular information…”
“Doom cares not for the Family Educational Rights and Privacy Act!” Doom bellowed. “You need not speak, only listen. Valeria is a talented individual, with potential that could someday come close to rivaling Doom’s own! If you and your university are so deliberately ignorant that you choose to ignore her greatness, there will be…consequences.”
“Victor, this isn’t your argument,” Richards squeaked, rising to his feet. “We have everything well in…” Doom silenced him with a motion, brandishing a remote trigger.
“Bah!” Doom cried, jamming his thumb against the large red button atop the device. The ground rumbled, and through the office window a cloud of dirt billowed away from one of the classroom buildings as it began to lift off from the ground, propelled by a set of gravity-negating impulse drives of Doom’s own genius design. “The time for talk has passed, Richards. Know now that if the Massachusetts Institute of Technology continues to defy the will of Doom, it will be the first university with a branch campus in low-Earth orbit!”
“Oh my God, Uncle Doom, not again,” Valeria moaned.
“For the record,” Mr. Daleforth said, leaning close to Sue, “This is exactly the sort of thing we were worried about.” He sighed, and summoned his courage. “All right. Dr. Doom? I’m willing to make concessions on behalf of the university.”
“Go on,” Doom rumbled.
“We will admit Ms. Richards, on the condition that you never set foot on any of our campuses or property again.”
“Doom will be attending commencement.”
Mr. Daleforth’s lips pressed into a thin line. “We can do that. So long as you bring back that building, and removed any devices you’ve installed on our property.”
Behind his iron mask, Doom’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Well-bargained, Mr. Daleforth. Perhaps Doom had underestimated you.”
*
“No, no, it has to be the second weekend in June, and it has to be this this particular corner of Central Park.” Frustration knitted Valeria’s brow, but that dissipated as she turned to look at her fiancé. “You see, it’s where we first met.”
Amadeus Cho smiled back, dazzled by her obvious delight. “I remember it well. My first team-up with the Fantastic Four, fighting against the Leader’s gamma-irradiated poodles, and in the middle of the battle this blonde goddess appears…” he sighed. “It’s total cliché, but also total love at first sight.”
Their wedding planner, Chrissy, however, was less moved. “I’m sorry, Ms. Richards, but the venue was booked weeks ago. And this bride is a bit of a handful to start with. I don’t think she’s going to be willing to reschedule her own day.”
Doom roused himself, ignoring Chrissy’s shriek as she realized that he was more than an unusually well-designed art display. “The coffers of Latveria are open for this event.”
“Is that Dr. Doom?” she demanded.
“You get used to it,” Valeria said.
Amadeus nodded. “He’s really not a bad guy, in these extremely constrained circumstances.”
“Well…ah…yes, okay, you have to understand though…” the wedding planner slowly gathered her wits. “It’s not a matter of money so much as of timeliness. The location was claimed two months ago.”
“I see,” Doom intoned dangerously. “And if the bride in question were no longer alive, she would have no claim to the location, yes?”
“Uncle Doom,” Valeria admonished. “We can’t just kill a woman for getting there first! We’ll just have to…” she sighed. “We’ll just have to go somewhere else.”
“Unacceptable,” Doom said. He extended a hand to Valeria. “I would speak with you. Alone.” Valeria took his hand, and in a flash of light both were teleported across the world to the research wing of Castle Doom. “Your wedding planner is correct. This is an issue of time, though her rudimentary understanding of the concept leads her to believe that the matter is settled. It is not.”
Valeria glanced around the room, her eyes settling on the raised dais. “Is that…?” she asked. “It is! We’re going to go on the Time Platform?! We haven’t done that since we went to see the dinosaurs!”
“Indeed, gentle Valeria.” Doom operated the controls, and the surface of the Time Platform began to glow. “Step on, and prepare yourself.” A countdown appeared on the display, and Doom followed Valeria up. A moment later the familiar discontinuity of sweeping against the current of time nearly overwhelmed even Doom’s inexhaustible resilience, and abruptly they found themselves standing on a rooftop of the building containing Chrissy’s expensive wedding consulting business.
Doom surveyed the busy street below, his unfathomably advanced sensor system evaluating each of the individuals below. One in particular triggered computer’s criteria; a woman a ring so new, overwrought and gaudy that it offended Doom’s royal sensibilities, headed for Chrissy’s boutique. “Hurry below and schedule your appointment, Valeria,” Doom said. “I will delay your nemesis.” Valeria began to scold, and Doom finished: “Within the limitations provided, yes.”
Doom stepped over the building’s edge, his armor suborning the force of gravity and allowing him to gently descend to the ground. The effect of Doom’s presence was immediate and overwhelming; people fled screaming, begging for the police or gods or super heroes to save them. Doom, for his part, froze the woman in place with a gaze that would have given the Thunder God pause.
“Find,” Doom commanded, “another venue for your wedding ceremony.”
Eight weeks or ten minutes later, Valeria sat with her fiancé across from Chrissy the wedding planner, discussing the particulars of table runners and centerpieces. Doom made several cogent suggestions, and though Valeria did not always agree, Doom considered the event to be well-planned.
*
It was, Doom was aware, possible to make no mistakes and still lose.
That made it no less galling.
The synthetic being Ultron was unique not because of its design or methodical malevolence towards humanity, but rather he was the only one of Hank Pym’s creations that was even slightly impressive. An android bent on annihilating all life on Earth and the intellect to do so. As amusing as it was to watch Ultron thrash the super heroes, Doom was fully aware that the robot would eventually move against Latveria, and that the best opportunity to stop it would be alongside his own enemies.
Doom rose from his throne, the joints of his armor complaining bitterly. The battle had raged for hours, demanding that Doom bring to bear the enormity of his mystical and technological power. In the end, only Doom’s peerless tactical acumen directed the feeble powers of the so-called ‘heroes’ to banish Ultron far beyond the reaches of known space. Let the Nova Corps or the Guardians of the Galaxy deal with the artificial monstrosity.
The cost for Doom, however, had been steep. His armor was gravely damaged, the chest armor and left arm melted and fused. He took one staggering step down from his dais, jolts of agony shooting through his side. Even the barely-quantifiable power of Doom’s technology had barely overcome the power of Ultron’s weaponry, and Doom’s own body had suffered.
“Uncle Doom?”
“Valeria,” Doom intoned, straightening his posture and turning to face her. “The threat has passed. Ultron is no more.”
“I know, mom told me. But are you…?” Valeria approached, reaching for Doom but bringing herself short of touching him. “You’re hurt.”
“Feh,” Doom said. “The damage to the armor is superficial. I am not a couturier like the preening buffoon Stark, flitting from one suit of armor to another. Each of my sets of regalia represents the pinnacle of my brilliance. The newest iteration will take some time to fabricate.”
“I’m not talking about your armor, Uncl- Uncle Doom!” Valeria leapt forward as Doom’s knees buckled, sending him to the ground. Doom stifled the indignity, allowing Valeria to ease him to a sitting position. “Rest. You’re really injured.”
“But a momentary fault.”
“Uncle Doom, stop.” Valeria scowled. “You almost died fighting Ultron. You could have died.”
“I…”
“You could have died.”
“It is true that I found myself proximal to my own limits. Though I was limited by the tools available.” Valeria made a noise of frustrated distress, and Doom rumbled. “My apologies, regal Valeria. My…condition…has frightened you. That was not my intention.”
“I know that there’re things you feel like you have to do. And a lot of those things are weird and dangerous.” Tears brimmed at the corners of Valeria’s eyes. “But if you died, I…I don’t know what I’d do. I’d miss you.”
Doom reached a single finger up, wiping away a tear. “I understand, Valeria. The concept of my mortality frightens you.” Doom struggled upright, and with Valeria’s aid stood on shaky legs. “I swore that you were under my protection, and I will protect you from your fear. My libraries! Surely the Vishanti have sought an answer to this riddle. Or…the Phoenix Force…? Hrm! The so-called heroes as a whole tend to be frustratingly resilient… ” He wheeled back to Valeria, fire burning in his eyes. “Despair not, Valeria. For you, I will defeat death itself. Such is the word of Doom.”