Inside Stark's laboratory, a golden figure shimmered into reality, phasing from intangible to solid. His pale face was illuminated by the faint glow of an icy-blue gem embedded in his forehead. It was Vision.
Vision floated silently in the air, arms folded inside his cloak, eyes fixed on the unconscious body of Tony Stark lying sprawled across the floor.
"Tony Stark has realized something is wrong," Vision said calmly. "According to my calculations, there is a 97.2% probability this stems from his upgrades to the Genesis Armor. His heightened monitoring of his own physical condition made him aware of anomalies. If left unchecked, he could become a serious problem. Shall I eliminate him now?"
"No."
The answer came not from Vision, but from his superior—the one who had created him: Ultron.
"Stark still has his uses," Ultron's voice resonated coldly. "Bring him back. Then we switch to Plan B."
This is the story of a boy born in the shadows of Latveria—a Gypsy child named Victor Von Doom, son of the tribe's princess.
Most believe children cannot form memories in their earliest years. But Victor was an exception. Every moment from the instant of his birth was carved into his mind like inscriptions on stone.
Even his own father had dismissed this claim—until Victor demonstrated his uncanny abilities. Only then did his father believe, attributing it to the dark power his mother had once invoked, a power that had prematurely awakened Victor's consciousness.
From that day onward, Doom's path was set apart from ordinary men.
Over the next two decades, his life would eclipse even the wildest tales of legend. His achievements and trials were the kind that no novel dared to describe, too grand and too terrible to put into mere words.
Doom's journey could be divided into stages:
His childhood—cut short when his mother died.
His rise as the young leader of his tribe, wielding weapons of his own design to resist the tyrant baron. That chapter ended when his father, in a desperate act of protection, froze to death upon a snowcapped mountain.
His self-imposed exile from Latveria, his voyage across the sea to America, where he studied science, collaborated with the military, encountered Gene, stormed the pits of Hell itself, was saved by Gene, and eventually joined S.W.O.R.D.
And now, fate had come full circle.
Doom had returned to the barren, ignorant soil of his homeland—Latveria. This was where he would exact his vengeance. This was where he would crown himself its true sovereign. And with his genius, he would transform Latveria into one of the greatest powers the world had ever known. He vowed that even his breath would carry the weight of authority in this nation.
"So this is your plan?" Gene asked quietly, his expression unreadable. "You intend to crush the Baron with the power of warlords?"
"Yes… and no." Doom did not answer directly. Instead, he raised a gauntleted finger, pointing toward a towering castle that loomed in the distance, its spires clawing at the heavens.
"See it? That is where the Baron lives. You and I could obliterate that fortress—or the Baron himself—without breaking a sweat. But I don't want it to be that simple." His voice grew colder.
"I want my name to echo through every corner of this land. I want to drag the Baron from his fortress like a rat, force him to kneel at my feet and beg for mercy. Only after he has tasted true fear will I end him."
"I want every noble, every soldier, every sycophant who clings to the old order to tremble at the name Doctor Doom. I want the common people to see me as their savior, their god."
Gene gave the faintest of smiles. "A fine idea. But if you've already mapped out your conquest, why summon me? Wouldn't the moment of your coronation be the better occasion for me to bear witness?"
Doom's eyes gleamed, their metallic mask reflecting the flicker of his ambition.
"Because you are the only one who understands me, Gene. The only one I… respect. Yes, I have a plan. But there's something else I came here to reclaim—something I left behind long ago. My… family."
It had been over ten years since Doom departed Latveria. In that time, he had not once laid eyes upon his old Gypsy tribe. Yet despite the passage of years, their suffering had not improved. If anything, it had worsened.
Under the Baron's rule, the soldiers treated the Gypsies like cattle. Every day, they were herded like animals, driven from place to place. Soldiers on horseback wielding assault rifles hunted them for sport, their cruelty relentless.
And then, today, everything changed.
From the skies, clad in full armor, Doctor Doom descended like a wrathful god. The soldiers opened fire in panic, but their bullets pinged harmlessly off his armor with a chorus of metallic clangs.
"Kill him!" the commander shouted.
Bloodthirsty, the soldiers continued firing, believing their rifles made them gods over life and death.
But not today.
A surge of emerald energy erupted from Doom's body, splitting into searing beams of destruction. Soldiers were torn apart, bodies shredded mid-scream as their blood rained down upon the dirt.
Doom left one survivor trembling amidst the carnage.
"Spread the word," he commanded. His voice was calm, terrifyingly absolute. "Tell everyone. Doctor Doom has returned. Doom has descended upon this land. Tell your king—his reign is finished."
The terrified survivor bolted, spurring his horse into the distance, desperate to deliver the message.
Silence fell. The surviving Gypsies, paralyzed with fear, stared at the armored figure before them.
Doom spread his arms wide. His voice thundered:
"My people—my kin. Doom swears to you: the day of your liberation has come."
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