In the grand palace, a long table draped with a red tablecloth was laden with fine wine and delicacies. The sumptuous spread of food and fruits, mingled with the rich aroma of alcohol, was enough to make one's mouth water and eager to indulge.
The fireplace roared with flames, radiating warmth. The opulent metallic palm-colored chairs, intricately patterned silver cutlery, exquisite golden candlesticks, top-tier paintings adorning the walls, and the perfectly soothing background music... all these exuded an air of profound aristocratic elegance.
Even a royal banquet from the Middle Ages could scarcely compare.
"You seem quite satisfied with your current life," remarked the young man seated at the head of the table.
Had there been others present at this lavish feast, they would have been shocked to the point of disbelief at seeing that the one sitting in the host's seat was not Victor von Doom.
In all of Latveria, was there anyone more distinguished, more prestigious than Doctor Doom?
Even the old nobility, the warlords, and the leaders of various political factions had to bow before Victor von Doom. They were so fervent, that they would gladly kneel and lick his boots.
"Very satisfied, but not content," replied Doctor Doom, his voice muffled slightly by the metal mask.
He set down his knife and fork, his gaze shifting to Sean across the table, a complex emotion flickering in his eyes.
This man had molded him into an entirely new persona; ambitious, driven by desire, ruthlessly efficient, and indifferent to all things.
In a way, it was a reflection of another facet of Sean's own psyche.
Doom was aware of this. Yet, through the long process of personality shaping, he had become like an elephant tethered by a rope, forever unable to break free from the other's control.
It was a fable from a storybook: in a zoo, an elephant could be restrained by nothing more than a thin rope. No chains or fences were needed, because when the elephant was still young, the zookeepers had tied the rope to its front leg. By the time the elephant grew into a behemoth, it was already convinced it could never break free, and so it never even tried to escape.
The authenticity of the fable was debatable, but the parallel to Doom's predicament was uncanny. He was that elephant, forever shackled by the fear instilled during his psychological conditioning.
Even as the uncrowned king of Latveria, the founder of the Doom Cult, and the one who held the fate of a nation in his hands... he could not escape the colossal shadow looming over him.
Sean Cyphers...
That name was the nightmare and terror he could never shake.
"Latveria cannot satisfy your ambitions?" Sean asked, taking a sip of red wine.
"Latveria is a small country. I want more land, more resources. I want war." Doom's voice sounded low and muffled due to being filtered through the metal mask. He leaned back in his chair, his form shrouded in a dark green cloak.
"There will be opportunities. I also need Latveria to expand its territory in Eastern Europe until it earns a seat on the World Security Council, a platform to voice its opinions." Sean nodded but did not press further. Instead, he asked, "Any news on Kaecilius and his cult? Not long ago, they were in Latveria and clashed with your Iron Legion."
"They appeared among a Roma tribe in Latveria. They were conducting a bloody and cruel dark ritual. At least a hundred people were sacrificed as offerings to their dark god." Doom rested his chin on one hand, speaking slowly, "I dispatched the Iron Legion, Latveria's most formidable military force. Skynet's Terminator-series robots maintain the nation's security and order. In my eyes, they are far more trustworthy than humans. Never erring, eternally impartial."
Doom did not hold back his praise. The cold mechanical beauty of the machines, their unwavering loyalty, and their absolute obedience... these were qualities the ruler of Latveria deeply admired.
After solidifying his control over the nation, with the backing of Umbrella, Latveria had established a massive industrial chain centered in the capital. They mass-produced the biomechanical robots dubbed 'Terminators' using the country's resources.
"Not everyone who performs Kaecilius's dark rituals receives a response from their dark god. Those who fail are killed, turned into sacrificial offerings, their flesh and blood fed to Dormammu." Doom said.
His mother had been Roma, and from childhood, he had been exposed to the occult. Recently, under Sean's guidance, he had even begun studying forbidden spells from the dark creatures lurking in Eastern Europe.
He added, "It seems they can slip into another dimension. The mind-corrupting and flesh-decaying magic has little effect on the Iron Legion. So Kaecilius didn't linger long. After a brief skirmish, he withdrew with his followers."
Sean fell silent, deep in thought. Even with Skynet's surveillance, tracking down Kaecilius, who moved like a shadow, would be no easy task.
The zealot's goal was to expand Dormammu's dark influence, gradually eroding the physical world and dismantling the defenses of the Three Sanctums. Rather than wasting time hunting him down, it would be wiser to wait for Kaecilius to come to them.
As Sean voiced his thoughts, Doom immediately understood. Latveria was home to many Roma people, a mysterious ethnic group rarely settled in one place for long. The reasons behind their nomadic lifestyle remained one of the world's unsolved mysteries.
In literature, they were portrayed as mystical, free-spirited souls, reminiscent of the defiantly beautiful Carmen in Mérimée's works, the kind-hearted Esmeralda in 'The Hunchback of Notre-Dame', or the golden-haired Zemfira and her kin in Pushkin's 'The Gypsies'.
But reality was far from the romanticized portrayals. The lives of the Roma were anything but dreamlike. They wandered tirelessly, struggling to survive, often lumped together with beggars and thieves, forever subjected to expulsion and scorn, trapped in a vicious cycle of childbirth, begging, and more childbirth...
Regardless of the truth about the Roma, their women did have a reputation for producing seers, mediums, and fortune-tellers. The most common trades among them were divination, peddling remedies, begging, and performing. They traveled extensively with mobile circuses or caravan processions.
"We can try to lure Kaecilius out. His ranks are growing, even corrupting many monster hunters and church clerics under Dormammu's influence."
Sean tapped his fingers lightly on the table, his eyes fixed on the candle's flame, "The Roma and the dark creatures will all be Kaecilius's targets. Keep a close watch on them."
Doom nodded silently. The firelight from the hearth reflected off his metal mask, casting it in a deep, bloody red...