A week has passed since the unbearable intrusion of Kang into the personal space of Victor Von Doom. The time-traveler's words have festered in the mind of the ruler of Latveria like a new wound opening inside him. Doctor Doom has tried to dismiss the claims of the villain of time, but he possessed the evidence that irritated him even more—a strange and repugnant sensation.
The notion of a clandestine UN treaty, forged to dismantle Latveria upon the possibility of his future demise, is a dagger far too precise to be mere fiction. Therefore, Doom will take matters into his own hands, as he always does.Fortunately for him, within five days he had to attend diplomatic proposals at the Latverian embassy in New York, which he could take advantage of to visit the United Nations headquarters. To interrogate the Secretary-General away from the public eye.
Now António Guterres was Doom's primary target.
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United Nations Headquarters, Manhattan, New York
"Now you will tell me what Resolution 5013-B means". Victor Von Doom shouted in fury, wearing his characteristic tunic, green cloak and hood. His metal mask revealed his green eyes, which stared devilishly at a brown-haired man in his seventies, who was being held up by the metallic gauntlets clutching the lapels of his immaculate suit, lifting him into the air.
"Help me! Help! Someone help me, security!". The older man cried, sobbing.
"No one will come for you, Secretary, while Doom interrogates you. No one will hear you while you beg me for mercy," Doom declared forcefully.
Both were in the personal office of the Secretary-General: a red carpet on the floor standing out from the rest of the room, a black desk beside them with valuable items, several bookshelves filled with works on politics, economics, environment, and other subjects, and in others, files from many nations. A pair of UN flags and one of the United States stood behind the main desk. The warm lighting of the room dominated the scene of Victor Von Doom's assault on the Secretary-General. Night could be seen through the main window; the moon did not shine as it should.
"H-Help…" The man tried to say but he was interrupted by Doom's other gloved hand covering his mouth, before slamming him against the wall in front of them, the window beside them.
"You have only 10 seconds to tell me about that Resolution, or I will torture you until you die. And I do not care if the Avengers appear to lock me in SHIELD. Doom will be pleased that you no longer exist, António Guterres." Von Doom spoke, removing his hand from the man's mouth, though still gripping his suit tightly with the other.
The man named António Guterres, of Portuguese nationality, looked at him in fear. "I… don't… know… what you're talking about…" the man said, stammering.
"Then tell me what this is," said the ruler of Latveria, summoning with a snap a green spark that brought forth a white sheet of paper floating in the air before António. He stared at it carefully, and then his shock grew. He saw his own signature, the issue date, and the detailed text of the document— a treaty and/or resolution decorated with UN insignia, alongside the other nations' signatures.
"You have 3 seconds left. Answer Doom without stuttering, or I will make you suffer," Victor Von Doom said.
"How… how did you get this?" António asked in fear.
"Doom will not answer you. That does not concern you. This is real. It is not any kind of spell meant to deceive you. So answer."
Guterres sighed and said, "It's true. The treaty. Resolution 5013-B, filed as secret records in Geneva. All the nations—United States, Russia, Japan, and the others—joined together to condemn Latveria into oblivion. They fear your power, Doom. They call you a tyrant, but it's envy. Your people love you even though you are the worst of the worst. You are a threat to the world as you have always been."
Doom was not affected by the man's words, what he said was true.
Guterres, now with some boldness and truthfulness, continued: "I approved it. We discovered your weakness: with no one special by your side, no biological heir around you, your ego and your superiority make it impossible for you to truly love anyone, Von Doom. We expect a new force to destroy you. Doom is part of the UN system; he won't be able to prevent our possible future action. Doom must not exist. Latveria will fade into oblivion. That's why we chose your weakness—because we know you will never overcome it. No one loves you, and no one will ever love you, Victor Werner Von Doom."
"Enough for today. Your conspiratorial words were predicted, but they do not affect Doom." Doom said, unmoved by the man's last remarks.
"You are careless, Doom." António mocked, even as sweat dripped down his forehead, his voice now steady, with something sinister behind it. "The treaty is eternal. Your empire will fall."
"You have spoken too much," Victor said, placing his free hand on the man's forehead. A purple energy formed in his metallic palm, unleashing an arcane force that put the Secretary-General to sleep, erasing his memory of this confrontation. Doom released him, letting him fall to the floor beside his metal boots.
"Latveria will never be forgotten nor banished, not while Doom breathes, nor after I perish. Soon the UN will be beneath my feet," declared the sovereign of Latveria to the unconscious man lying at his feet. He snapped his fingers, making the treaty disappear in a green flash.
Doom confirmed the following: the UN seeks to consign Latveria to oblivion, a secret revenge to erase his legacy.
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Castle Doom, Doomstadt, Latveria
Now, the ruler and tyrant Doctor Doom stood upon the highest tower of the Castle, wearing his green garments and classic armor, his green cape billowing in the crisp morning breeze as he thought. Below him, Doomstadt thrived under his iron hand, a tapestry of order and prosperity.
Several children chased each other through the cobblestone streets, their laughter rising like a melody. Farmers and peasants worked the fields beyond, their labor feeding the self-sufficiency of his nation. His stone statue, carved in his likeness, stood in the central plaza, with a pair of elderly men kneeling before it as a sign of respect.
From this view, he saw a couple near the marketplace plaza—a young man of about 25 kneeling to kiss the belly of his pregnant partner, his smile radiant under the golden glow of the sun, the woman lovingly brushing her partner's hair. The scene stirred something inside Doom, a strange pain not dulled by the magic that suppresses the agony of his illness, that cursed accounting born from stolen powers, predicting that he would only remain among the living for about 3 or 4 years at most. The survival of Latveria depends on an heir of his blood, so that the claws of the treaty cannot tear apart his empire.
Then he decided—Doom had accepted it in his own way. All this time of thought and the ache in his soul during the 30 days after interrogating the Secretary-General… sometimes he felt ashamed of them, but it was the only option. A consort to carry his legacy. His life had been marked by fleeting loves, each a thread in the tapestry of his ambition, but none lasting.
He remembered Valeria Karela, his childhood love, her eyes bright with innocence in their Romani camp. She had been sacrificed by his own hand, her soul absorbed to empower a new armor in a desperate attempt to save his mother's soul from the clutches of Mephisto and confront him, using Richards' son as another resource for his plans against the demon. A sacrifice he does not regret, yet it haunts him in quiet moments.
Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch, had come close to being his wife, and he held feelings for her. Her chaos magic mirrored Doom's own ambitions, but his desire for her power drove her away, leaving only ashes of what might have been—if only her children and her group of friends had not appeared on his radar.
Then, fleeting flirtations with Storm, the weather goddess of the X-Men—her regal bearing sparking brief intrigue during a chat and dinner with her about mutant affairs, but nothing more.
The Asgardian Enchantress, Amora, and the sorceress Morgana le Fay—both manipulative vipers—had shared his bed in moments of mutual gain, their caresses intertwined with schemes, their bodies yielding to his in nights of calculated passion.
The subtle hints with Emma Frost in the Cabal, but he rejected her; her telepathic tricks were no match for Doom's will, and he held no interest in her cold ambition.
And then Susan Storm, the Invisible Woman and wife of Reed Richards. At first, capturing her within the architecture of his castle had been a plan to lure and mock the Fantastic Four—a game meant to wound Mr. Fantastic for all he caused Doom regarding the accident that scarred his face. But over time, something changed. Her strength, her grace, her defiance wrapped in gentleness awakened a genuine attraction in Doom, a rare crack in his armor.
There was also his affair with Amara Perera during the time he took the mantle of Iron Man—whom he left pregnant, though their child was never born.
Doom understood something: approaching any of these women would be madness. They know him too well—they know his tactics, his pride, his scars, and his distrust. The Avengers, the X-Men, and Richards himself would rally to stop him, sensing his desperation. Admitting to them that he seeks a wife to love and conceive an heir, then confessing his mortality and Latveria's vulnerability, would be a humiliation unworthy of Doom.
"I would rather face Mephisto's flames than beg before mortals". Doom thought.
Then he considered other universes or timelines, realms nearby where variants of Doom cast their own shadows. But they too were flawed. Their heroes, their cosmic watchers, would detect his presence, recognizing the patterns of a von Doom even one cloaked in stealth. Invading and capturing a woman from them only to be chased by their champions or his own doppelgangers would be pathetic.
It is the same as in his own universe. There is only one Doctor Doom, and only he shall be. His empire demands a solution untouched by such risks, a path ensuring that his bloodline endures uncompromised.
He remembered the universe he visited where his doppelganger—unscarred and without armor—lived happily with Fruzsina Markovich, a fiery Latverian noble whose passion matched his ambition, with whom he had two children. But he lost his temper with his double when he mocked his mask and armor, and killed him. He had no mercy for that world's family, using the Ultimate Nullifier to destroy that universe. The Fruzsina Markovich of this universe hates him for imprisoning her father, burning fiercely as her beauty did in that lost universe. The memory fades, leaving a bitter taste and another path closed.
Doom continued gazing at Doomstadt, his resolve hardening. The UN treaty is a challenge, not a destiny. He will find a way—through intellect, sorcery, or sheer will—to defy this new curse and secure the eternity of Latveria. His eyes lingered on the couple expecting their next child below, and a thought took root—dark and inevitable—whispering of realms beyond his own where no Doom has ever set foot.
A clatter of metallic boots awakened him from his reverie, climbing the stairs behind him. It was a red-haired woman, her yellow victorious suit shining in the daylight, her elegant form a testament to his engineering, her red hair cascading like a banner of defiance. Her presence was a jolt, pulling him from the labyrinth of his thoughts.
"My lord". she said, her voice firm but tempered with the deference she knows he demands. "Silver Sable has summoned you for a meeting in Symkaria with King Stefan. She requests your presence to discuss matters of… mutual interest."
Doom did not turn around, his gaze fixed on the capital—now focusing on a farmer dragging grain and a child chasing a lost kite, the ordered rhythm of his empire.
"Doom will be ready in five minutes, Victorious". he responded in a flat, metallic, inflexible voice.
Victorious—known as Zora Vukovic—his loyal servant and Latveria's fiercest enforcer, looked at him with curiosity, sensing the weight upon her lord with her sharp instincts.
"Why so thoughtful, my lord?" she ventured, speaking in a softer tone, probing where others fear to tread.
Inside, Doom bristled—his pride a fortress against such inquiries. "Doom does not share his thoughts". he said, the words sharp as the edge of a guillotine.
Zora nodded, her expression unreadable, and murmured, "I await you, my lord". before withdrawing with the disciplined grace of a soldier.
As her footsteps faded down the stairs, Doom turned to watch her departure, her silhouette briefly framed against the stone archway. Zora's loyalty is absolute, her strength formidable, and he has sensed the undercurrent of her attraction toward him—a silent flame in her eyes when she thinks Doom does not notice. But no—she is family to him, not by blood, but by the years spent under his roof. Her devotion resembles that of a lost daughter. Doom holds no fleeting feelings toward her.
Doom looked again upon his people—their lives a testament to his vision. Yet the words of Kang and Guterres lingered in his mind. The UN treaty, conspired like a blade at Latveria's throat. Russia, the United States, Japan, Germany, France, and the others conspiring to topple him and his nation, exploiting the absence of a biological heir. Their audacity fueled his rage, but he could not deny their cunning. As he always says, Latveria will never fall—not while his will endures. Kristoff and Zora, despite all their loyalty, are not enough for the United Nations; the world rejects them as mere representatives, not the true von Doom lineage.
An idea awakened in him—sudden and incandescent—his intellect his greatest weapon, stirring memories deeply buried. During his divinity, when he wielded the power of the Beyonders, he saw beyond the limits of his multiverse—several flashes of universes untouched by any Victor von Doom. A multiverse pulsing with incomparable energy, a cosmos filled with beings of divine power, elemental forces, and cosmic might. He saw no echoes of a doppelganger of his in those places, no armored memory to dispute a possible incursion.
In those universes, he reasoned, may lie the key to his goal. They may harbor a being of unmatched power capable of bearing his heir—a lineage to defy the machinations of the UN and secure Latveria's eternity once he perishes. Doom still retains some of the Beyonder power—insignificant, like an ant wandering his castle, but still present, a faint hum beneath the curse that consumes him but clouds his clarity. Discovering those universes is now his priority; he must locate their coordinates. It will tax his waning strength, but it must be done.
As Doom descended from his tower, his cape sweeping behind him, going down the stairs, he knew he had to investigate those universes in due time. The flashes remained in his mind. The salvation of Latveria lies beyond his own multiverse, and Doom will seize it—as he has always seized victory from the jaws of fate.
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For three months, Victor von Doom secluded himself in his arcane laboratory, a cavernous chamber beneath the castle lined with pulsing conduits, rune-engraved panels, and monitors displaying multiversal frequencies. Here, he fused his mastery of various types of magic with the remnants of the Beyonder's power still flickering in his veins, a dangerous act that sent spasms of pain through his frame.
Each ritual drained his body and soul even further, with beads of sweat forming beneath his mask and armor, his breaths growing labored, the aches becoming more constant and stronger, but he pressed on, screaming into the cosmos like a predator tracking an elusive prey.
By the fourth month, his efforts paid off—nothing is impossible for Doom—he obtained several precise locked coordinates, various universes, and there was one that stood out to him like an echo in his mind and soul, whispered by other unknown cosmic entities and by the Beyonder himself.
The whispers told him:"Prime Earth".