Doom 2099UG #16

Darkness at first. Warmth that caresses like a silk water bath. No sense of weight. A pleasant envelope of comfort. Not unlike the womb, she muses. Floating. Drifting. Motionless in the dark. She could not move her limbs even if she wanted to. But she doesn't want to. It is all too pleasant, this dream landscape. She could lie here forever, curled up in the nowhere place. Safe. But the light beckons to her, and she finds herself moving toward it unwillingly.

She is suddenly standing on a white marble staircase. The air is cool and clear around her, but a bright sun beats down upon her back. She can feel its warmth. The stairs lead up into an impossible height, where only the birds and the wispy while clouds in the boundless blue sky can reach whatever lies at its summit. She feels she must climb it. Yet even as she steps, she feels a great weight that pushes down on her. Her breath becomes ragged and tired after what seems like only a few steps. She can barely lift her feet, and as she looks up, even her head feels weighed down by an oppressive load. Looking down at her feet, she sees that she is wearing silver metal boots. Armored gauntlets cover her hands as well. She reaches for her face, and realizes that there is a mask there too. It is stifling and confining, she wants to remove it but cannot. She struggles against its weight, still staggering up the steep marble steps toward what she does not know.

As she struggles upward, a woman appears on the stairs high above her. It is the Silver Warrior. She is silently gazing away at some distant horizon, and she does not see the girl in armor struggling on the stairs below. Desperately the girl tries to reach the enigmatic silver warrior above her, but she is too far away. Try as she might, she can't reach her. Her own armor drags her down to her knees, breathless and exhausted on the marble stairs. Then the landscape changes, and turns dark again. But it is not the comfortable darkness of sleep. A violent storm instantly blots all light from the sky with a smothering ceiling of oily, gray clouds. The stairs are replaced by a massive dark citadel that rises into the swirling typhoon, glowering above a raging sea that batters the rocky island. Wind lashes at the dark banners above the foreboding fortress and drives the waves up onto the abutments in flashes of white foamy spray. The sky parts with a brilliant crack of lightning, and she looks up to see the Silver Warrior still standing above her. But it is not the Silver Warrior anymore, it is a woman who is the same, but . . . different. The woman above her no longer wears the silver armor, but is now clad in a seductive ensemble of black leather straps and lace stockings. The brilliant flash of light reveals something sinister, something . . . alien behind those narrow dark eyes.

"Who are you?" she asks the dark woman. "Are you Doom's daughter?"

The black hair of the woman whips around her violently in the wind, and she begins to glow as if illuminated from within. "You know who I am," she hissed softly, her words as clear as if she had shouted above the gale winds. "I am the Neon Angel, and you have wronged me for the last time, Lord Doom!"

"No!" she cries in protest, as she feels herself slipping on the rain slick rocks. "I'm not Doom!" The woman doesn't seem to hear her, and the wind howls louder so she has to shout above the tempest. The Neon Angel gestures, and she feels herself being pushed backward by an invisible force, pushing her off the rocks toward the sea. "I'm not Doom," she shouts again. "There's been a mistake! I can't get the armor off! Please!" But her pleas go unheeded, and with a wicked laugh the glowing Neon Angel pushes again from above, and the wind obeys the wordless command. It pushes her backward, and she stumbles toward a raging sea that is as black as the blackest night. Her arms tear at the air. Her silver gloves reach for nonexistent handholds. She plummets backward off of the rocks, falling off the edge, and realizes with panicked certainty that the weight of the armor would surely drown her in that tumultuous sea.

She falls through the darkness, into an endless, cold emptiness. It seems as if she is falling through eternity itself. Falling like a leaf from a tree, falling like gentle snow, falling like water from the sky. When she awakens, she is again aware of warmth and comfort and security. She doesn't want to open her eyes. She doesn't want this safe place to end. She is aware of the familiar smell of earth and wet leaves and moss awakening into the sunlight. She lies quietly, as still as a lamb. Her eyes are shut, but she is aware of the world turning around her with life and people. Then there are voices. Strange, pleading voices with words she does not understand. She tries to ignore them, and let the sleep carry her to that floating place once more. Then more than voices, prodding. Insistent urging, she must wake up, and she struggles out of that dark place reluctantly. When she finally opens her eyes, she sees the outline of Doom against the fog, standing above her.

She is at once relieved. Happy that she is not wearing the armor, and pleased that he is safe. He has been away, she remembers, but she doesn't know where. He is standing alone in a wooded place, looking toward a far off mesa and an enormous glowing citadel that dominates that distant mountain. She calls to him, but he doesn't acknowledge her, only stares out toward the mountain. His cape moves slowly behind him in a gentle breeze, and the light reflects off of his bright armor, and sparkles as if polished by the morning dew. She steps closer, and lays a small hand on his arm to catch his attention. Suddenly, the armor collapses, clattering into a lifeless heap of cold, empty metal at her feet. The green cape floats serenely down into a silken pile, settling gently to the loamy soil at her feet.

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The Tomb Island of Kurza, on the Black Sea.

A Secret Base, Deep Underground.

Marissa awoke suddenly. She was truly awake this time, knowing it by the pain in the side of her neck from her cramped position on the couch. She kept her eyes closed tight for a moment, trying to hang onto the dream, hoping that the images would not disappear into the vessel of the morning light. She knew instinctively that it had been no ordinary dream. It was a prophecy. But what did it mean? The images were so intense, so strange. It was how the prophecy communicated. She grabbed the locket at her neck and held onto it. The gold locket was the gift of the old gypsy fortune teller, Larinda, and it acted like a powerful talisman, helping her to decipher the images of the prophecy. Her eyes still closed, she wondered if the vision was complete, and prayed for clarity. But no further images came to her, and she finally opened her eyes.

She was lying on a smooth leather couch. For a moment she wasn't sure where she was. Then she remembered: Doom's hidden vault. All around her was the great library with its priceless treasures of a century past, collections of fabulous works of art, dark paneled walls and books that filled stacks soaring to the high ceiling. She had no idea of the time, but while she had slept someone had covered her with a warm blanket. There was a fire burning in the fireplace, and the book she had been reading before falling asleep lay on the table beside her. She stretched and sat up, letting the blanket slip off of her slender shoulders, and she was suddenly acutely aware of an insistent gnawing hunger.

She rubbed her eyes and yawned. Her hunger was without a doubt exacerbated by the delicious smells coming from a large table near the fire. The long dining table was set with a wonderful array of food: fresh baked bread, fruit, cheese and meat. A steaming pot of coffee. She approached it hungrily. Doom was nowhere in sight, but from some dark recess a small floating automaid appeared at the table and quickly set a place for her with amazingly dextrous metal hands. It poured her a cup of coffee, and Marissa helped herself to the buffet. She ate until satisfied, and still there was no sign of Doom. As she sat there peeling an orange, she found her gaze wandering to the door of the tomb.

"You will not enter that place again," a deep, threatening voice intoned from above. Doom appeared in the stacks of books above her, and then quietly made his way down the long wooden staircase to the main floor. He had a large book in his hand, and he set it down on the edge of the table with a resounding thud while he took his place at the opposite end of the table.

"As you wish, m' Lord," Marissa answered shyly. He didn't acknowledge her worried glance, and took only coffee from the automaid. He opened up his book to wordlessly scan the pages as he sipped the black brew, and pointedly ignored his young guest.

She watched him with concern. Something told her he hadn't slept, that he had been toiling in his lab all night while she dreamed. She thought about the robot, the dead daughter, and a thousand questions began swirling through her mind. She cleared her throat, but he didn't look up from his book. She started to speak a number of times, then stopped herself, thinking better. It seemed like they sat that way in silence for an eternity, with Marissa nervously rearranging the orange peel on her plate. Her eyes remained downcast, and the only noise that escaped her was a barely stifled sigh. Doom sipped his coffee, and studied his book. Marissa thought she might explode at any minute.

"I will see to it that you rejoin the rest of your tribe in Istanbul shortly," he finally said. Doom spoke over the edge of his cup, his gaze still on the book he held in his other hand. "In recognition of your efforts on my behalf, no matter how . . . misdirected, I will escort you personally."

A backhanded compliment for sure. Still, it was a great honor, she knew, or perhaps an effort on his part to dispel any rumors of his demise among the gypsies. "Thank you, m'lord," was all she could say. Then silence again.

Finally, she took a deep breath, and gathered her courage. "I had another prophecy dream," she blurted out.

"Oh?" He spoke the word, but his interest was clearly feigned. Calmly, he turned a page.

"I don't know what it means, exactly," Marissa continued honestly.

"Then don't bother me with your vacuous predictions until you do know!" Doom interrupted angrily, removing his eyes from the page to stare at her through fierce red lenses.

"Maybe I could understand," Marissa shot back defensively, "if I knew what I was seeing. I need some back story here. If you would only tell me . . . I mean, who is the Neon Angel? Is she your daughter?"

"No!" Doom fairly shouted the word, but his anger was no longer directed at her. He set down his cup and snapped his book shut with an irritated clap. "That evil shade is an inhuman, spiteful thing. It stole Margaretta Elena's form in a depraved and futile attempt to manipulate my emotions."

"Stole her form?"

Doom sighed and looked into the fire. "An advanced form of cloning. She utilized some of Margaretta's biological material, and portions of a personality program, that I had taken to the Pacific Citadel. From these she was able to create a human form for her to occupy." He thought about how the Neon Angel must have also made clones of himself. The thought of her programming those duplicates for her own twisted amusement raised the bile in his throat. Fortunately, those clones had been flawed, and were coded with a limited life span. He knew now that this was how she had controlled them, regenerating them when necessary, or discarding them and using new material, as she had done with the doomed Erik Czerny. He turned back to the book, and absently smoothed the worn leather cover. "She used the memory and personality programs to allow her to integrate smoothly into the human populace, for a purpose which as yet remains unclear, but which is doubtless of ill intent. From the memory programs she used on her clones, she obviously didn't understand the nature of the relationship between a father and his daughter," he added coldly, not mentioning the programming that the Neon Angel had done on his own mind. "That proved to be a fatal mistake on her part."

"She's still alive," Marissa said with unshakeable certainty. She didn't understand half of what he had alluded to, but of this she was certain. "The Neon Angel, I mean."

Doom paused. "I don't doubt it," he stated calmly. "She has proven quite resilient, but I have no cause to be concerned with her any longer. She is nothing but a pawn."

"She was in my dream, both of them, I mean. They were the same, but different." Marissa drummed her fingers absently on the tablecloth. "And this genetic material she used," she said indelicately, "you had it so that you could clone your own daughter?"

"No." Doom stood up, and walked away from the table.

Marissa couldn't tell if she'd gone too far, but it was too late to stop now. "Well, that's what it looks like," she protested, standing as she addressed that broad, green cloaked back. "The makings of a robot double in there, and plenty of convenient biological samples available should that not be a lifelike enough replacement!"

"Don't dare judge me, gypsy!" he turned and growled back at her, his temper fairly fanned into a blaze now. "She has nothing to do with this world, and you would best mind on whose toes you tread in your search for answers to vague prophecies! You are nothing but an insignificant child! There are ideas and implications here that you cannot possibly understand!"

"I could understand," she said, refusing to be cowed by his attack. "I have seen my share of suffering in this lifetime and more. Larinda dying, the attack of the Wave Spiders in Latveria. My entire family . . . my own father . . ." she choked on tears then, as she tried to tell him of her family's death during the Wave Spider assault. She hadn't told anyone except Larinda. The thinking of it was all that she could bear. "I can understand grief," she continued softly. "I know what it's like to yearn for things to be the way they used to be. Even, guilt. Guilt for having lived, for having survived when others died." Her tears flowed freely now, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand, her lips tightly drawn as she refused to let herself cry in his presence.

Doom was silent, leaning against the mantle before the fire. The red embers cast their reflection upon his silver armor. He had been too hard on the girl. The past, the present, and the future never existed in a vacuum. But he had learned to overcome the regrets of the past, or so he believed. "It doesn't matter any longer," he answered finally. "I was a fool to think that the fates would allow such as I a moment of . . . peace. I was old, my kidneys had failed. What remained of the people who were my family, I did not know. She was lost. The Great Lie that had torn us apart was revealed at last, but the truth could not change the past. They were all lost to me, devoured by a black plague that left nothing but death in its wake. The damage had been done. And I, a broken old man, left to chase shadows that lingered in the ether, just beyond my reach."

"Shadows?"

"Eh, perhaps," Doom kicked the log with his metal boot, sparks flying against the red brick as it settled in the back of the fireplace, and turned away. "Real or imagined, I don't remember if I ever found out, that memory eludes me still. But the world I created and believed only I controlled, was being undermined by a force that I could only see vaguely, like objects in your peripheral vision which disappear when you look their way. Demons, perhaps, or merely dementia."

"But you are no longer old? How is that possible?"

"I traveled from here to . . . somewhere, or some when," Doom's voice trailed off as he tried to evoke that other place that he could remember only as an eternity of great pain, with the recollection of his own voice crying endlessly, "I am Doom!" It was the last remaining gap in his memory, but a gap of great significance, and a time span of more than sixty years. He had thought at one point that it was the Neon Angel's doing, but his disappearance into that realm of agony had occurred far before he had ever crossed paths with that inhuman shade. And long before his appearance in Africa, as well. {See Doom 2099 UG #14}. "I do not recall," he finally admitted. "I have spent the night piecing together my last moments on this Earth, and I am confident that the answers to those questions will soon be at hand."

The image of the Silver Warrior standing on the marble staircase returned to Marissa's mind. "Was your daughter the Silver Warrior of legend?" she asked.

"No," Doom smiled slightly, unseen behind his silver mask. "It was in my interests to modify that tale, as I created this hidden vault, so that all records of this place would be known only to the gypsies and their unwritten language of stories and legends. The legend of the real Silver Warrior is hundreds of years old, but . . ." he paused and looked toward the tomb, in a moment of unguarded introspection, "perhaps, it could have been her."

Marissa contemplated this for a moment, and wondered what tragedy had taken place to take his daughter's life at so young an age, and what part Doom might have played in that drama. But perhaps those questions would best wait for now. Doom had moved to stand over the great black piano, and was quietly fingering the keys, tapping out a soft melody that Marissa did not recognize. It was hauntingly beautiful.

"Who was her mother?" she asked curiously.

His hands floated instinctively over the ivory keys, and he gave no indication of having heard her question. Finally he stopped in mid-tune, and quietly replaced the cover over the keys. "Perhaps some other time," he finally said calmly, although Marissa would have sworn that his teeth were clenched as he spoke. "I tire of this pointless questioning, and it is time now for me to return you to your tribe. I have much unfinished work that begs completion here."

"But, my prophecy . . . !" she protested.

"Doesn't concern me any longer," Doom cut her off. "I have defeated the challenges of the cave that you predicted so direly yesterday. There will be no further cause for alarm. Your cockroaches will not be conquering this world anytime soon. As to whether I am to be the gypsy savior, only time will tell."

"But, I fear that you are headed toward a place of great danger. The Neon Angel is . . ." she started, trying to grasp onto the barely recognizable symbols of her recent dream.

"Enough!" he commanded. "Come. Now!"

He would tolerate nothing further today, and he ordered her to follow him with a stiff wave of his armored gauntlet. He led her into a side room adjacent to the massive underground lab. Inside there was a communications center and the unmistakable rectangular transport platform. He positioned her in the center of the raised pad, and bid her to stand still, while he programmed the coordinates. When he had activated the mechanism, which hummed to life willingly, he stepped onto the pad beside her.

The platform brightened, and Marissa could sense an odd tingling in her feet, even as she was afraid of what would happen next. A bright light began to raise up from the floor, an impossibly contained flat plane of rectangular energy that passed through their bodies and transformed them from dull matter into brilliant particles of energy. Her feet had disappeared, but she was no longer afraid, for even as the bright plane lifted higher there was no pain, no discomfort at all. The process was quick, she would soon be gone, but in the instant before they were swallowed up completely, a warning beacon began to brighten the room. Marissa felt herself gasp in fear and alarm. Doom's attention was instantly riveted to a series of monitors on the wall which simultaneously flashed an image on the screen. The view from the remote cameras showed an enormous ship, and the equally enormous man-shaped creature in violet and blue which had stepped out of it, floating in dangerous hunger over the city of Nueva York.

"Galactus!" Doom spat the name with undisguised venom, but the platform had already transformed them, and there was no turning back now. Marissa felt a moment of deep fear over his angry alarm, and then there was nothingness.

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"It is done," the Neon Angel dutifully reported. The creature who had taken the name Margaretta Von Geisterstadt sat on a leather chair in her hidden base in the Pyrenees with her slender legs crossed, and licked her bright red lips seductively. She was deliciously pleased with herself. "As soon as he activated the transport platform, I rerouted the signal with a tachyon pulse. Consider Doom and his unfortunate companion worm food."

"You fool!" Kesaal Rantul shouted back at her from his underground chamber in Mexico. His holographic form was an alarmingly animated 3D figure with multiple segmented limbs and dark bulbous eyes that paced about her lab. "He may have been the only force on Earth capable of turning back Galactus! Now with him gone, this planet is surely doomed and our mission here is ruined!"

"What?" Margaretta was confused and startled. Her moment of victory had been snatched quite unexpectedly from her bony grasp. "I thought that's what you wanted!" she added, desperately trying to save face.

"You incompetent buffoon!" the Rantul shouted back at her, gesturing wildly with all six of his upper appendages. "Haven't you been watching the vid feeds?!" Kesaal ranted, "By the Hive Mother, you've condemned us all! Galactus is here!" {See the Galactus 2099 UG miniseries!}

"Galactus?" Margaretta's face dropped like a stone.

"Can you lock onto Doom's signal? Turn him back?" the Rantul almost pleaded with her.

Margaretta glanced over her control panel and signal readouts. "No . . . no . . . no," she answered dejectedly as each avenue ended up a dead end. "He's lost, out of range now."

"Then we have no choice but to abandon this planet," the Rantul sighed angrily. "Away all ships," he said, to someone off-screen, waving his clawed hands in the air. "Code Nine Nine!"

"Wait! I don't have access to an interstellar vessel from here!" the Neon Angel protested desperately.

"We cannot wait for you, Ne Servact," the Rantul reported, using her native name. His voice was conspicuously absent of any regret. "But your loyal sacrifice will be noted in the official logs." And with that, he ended the transmission, and any sound of her angry recriminations was lost in the signal static.

Then, like cockroaches that scatter across the kitchen floor when the light comes on, dozens of ships were simultaneously launched from the coast of Mexico and three other hidden bases across the Tropic of Cancer. They blasted out of Earth's gravitational pull to escape a planet once again fated to the insatiable appetite of the world devourer, Galactus. Within moments, they had left nothing of their existence here but an empty hole in the Earth's crust, and a forgotten and dazzled Sharp Blue, who climbed exhausted and confused, but unharmed, into the Mexican sunlight above.

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NOWHERE.

Blackness. Aching pain in his head. Dizziness that tinges the edges with nausea. He is aware that it is cold, but his armor compensates before it causes any discomfort. He feels his breath, ragged and short, as if he had been punched in the gut unexpectedly. He struggles to push himself up, getting his knees and then his feet underneath him, pushing upward as if against a great weight. He is aware also of the other pain, the old one, in his left side below the ribs where a knife had pierced his adamantium lanxide armor. It bleeds again, but the nanites in his bloodstream will soon repair it, so he ignores the pain of the wound. When he finally stands, he looks around, and there is nothing but blackness for as far as he can see.

It is a black, dimensionless landscape. There is no sound, no stars, no light save the strange luminescence which surrounds him, letting him see only himself and the black smooth ground on which he stands. He can also see Marissa, still crumpled in a ball on the ground beside him. Kneeling beside her, he checks her for injuries. She seems unhurt, and she stirs at the touch of his gentle examination.

"Is that supposed to happen?" she asked, clutching her head in one hand as she pushed up with the other, trying to rise. He helped her to her feet, and she looked anxiously around her, happy to be alive but understandably confused. And afraid, with a fear that gripped her as solidly as Doom's hand upon her elbow.

"No," Doom answered shortly. "There was a malfunction," he added irritably, stepping away from Marissa to check the sensors on his gauntlets.

"This isn't Istanbul then," Marissa assessed, wrapping her arms around her body as she shivered in the cold. She had left her coat behind in the ventilation shaft of Doom's underground vault, and she had only a thin shirt and an embroidered vest to keep her warm. She felt the dry cold pierce clear through her. But it was more than just cold, there was a fear, an irrational sensation that seemed to smother her. She shuddered again. It was as if they had been dropped off at the very gates of hell.

Doom was using his sensors to gather as much data as possible on their current location, but the readouts weren't making any sense. He paced several steps away from Marissa, noting that the light continued to surround them so that no matter how far away he got, she was still visible to him in the distance. But strangely, nothing else was. It was almost as if there was nothing there, and his sensors seemed to agree with that notion. He paced back toward Marissa. There were no energy emissions as far as his sensors could detect. He opened another panel in his gauntlets and began the retrieval protocol that would return them to the underground vault, but nothing happened. The circuits were working, the energy pulse activated, but it was as if there was nowhere to go. The fear reached out for him from the blackness, sensing his moment of doubt. He made a mental note of it, a cold and clinical analysis that refused to be moved by the subtle attack. Then he purposefully drove it out of his mind as he pondered their current predicament.

"No," Doom finally announced in frustration, "this is not Istanbul." He snapped shut the plates on his gauntlet and glared around him fiercely.

There was nothing here but this endless darkness, and his sensors verified what his eyes were telling him. There was air though, and gravity, and something which must pass for ground at his feet. Little else was familiar, and there was a ghostlike quality to the light which surrounded them both. Suddenly, Marissa reached out and touched Doom lightly on the arm.

Doom did not jerk away, and she seemed relieved that he did not disappear at her touch. He looked down at her compassionately. "I assure you, child, I am no shade," he said quietly. He finally noticed that Marissa was shivering, and gallantly removed his green cloak, placing it around her shoulders.

"Thank you," Marissa shrugged and grinned sheepishly as she recalled her prophecy dream. Grateful for the blanket of warmth the cloak provided, Marissa asked, "Then where are we?"

"We have been hijacked, I suspect, into some alternate dimension," he stated calmly.

"You mean, we're not even on Earth?" Marissa asked, her eyes trying to pierce the darkness.

"Perhaps not even in what passes for the habitable planets of your time," Doom answered coldly. "Not even the Negative Zone for that matter," he continued. Suddenly, a sensor on Doom's readout display inside his mask unexpectedly spiked with an energy source. Doom's brow pinched suspiciously as every nerve tensed, and he adopted a defensive posture, anticipating an attack.

"What?!" Marissa cried out, noting the change immediately, feeling her heartbeat step up a notch.

"Whatever force kidnaped us must be considered hostile," Doom answered strongly. "I have detected an energy source that wasn't there a moment ago! It is some distance away, from that direction."

"What do you think it means?" Marissa said.

"It could mean that they are preparing to attack. Or someone is toying with us," his anger was palpable. "One does not tempt the wrath of Doom and live to tell the tale!"

Marissa shrugged the cloak around her shoulders, and gathered it together in front with her hands. "Maybe we should go that way," she expressed hopefully. "Maybe they'll let us go home."

"That is what they wish us to do," Doom's eyes narrowed with the distrust that comes from a lifetime of experience.

"Well, what other choice do we have?"

She was right, of course. They could go forward, or remain. There was no progress in staying where they stood like trapped mice, and whatever tests lay ahead he was confident he could overcome them. Knowledge is power, he thought ruthlessly, and as curiosity begged information, so discovery required action!

"Very well," he agreed, "try to stay together, but prepare yourself. Whatever dimension we have landed in, we cannot expect it to behave by the rules of our own world. And if some creature dares to trifle with Doom, then they do so at their own risk! I will spare no mercy for any that would abduct me and those under my protection, and less for those who try to hold me against my will!"

He turned around and led the way, venturing boldly forward into the strange black landscape. As they walked, that odd light continued to surround them and keep them visible to each other. It had no source that they could see, it was as if their own bodies were generating the luminescence. The light also failed to give any clues as to their surroundings other than the smooth black ground at their feet.

Marissa couldn't help shake the feeling that something was just very wrong about this dark place. The darkness hung about them like thick water, oppressive and heavy, drowning them in its claustrophobic depths. Doom didn't seem to notice the fear that this place engendered in her. She was afraid of what lie ahead, but almost as irrationally afraid of what was behind her. The unseen terror was like a living creature that hovered about them, nebulous and inviolate. Each step was fraught with danger. Their senses alert, they waited for an attack that did not come. Steadily, Doom pushed onward.

Marissa had followed close behind Doom for what seemed like hours. The landscape never changed, and they reached no barriers to turn them back. No friend or foe had confronted them. They were as clueless as to their whereabouts as before, and for all she knew they could have been walking around in circles. The piercing cold and the mental strain of dealing with that unseen fear in the dark had done much to erode her strength. Doom paced relentlessly ahead, his long strides covering great tracts of ground with each step. She frequently had to race to keep up. She was afraid more than once that he would leave her behind, despite his earlier warning. When Doom stopped suddenly in front of her, she nearly fell as her legs involuntarily buckled. She balanced herself, and stood shakily behind him, gratefully breathing in the smell of a tangible, albeit frightening, companion. She closed her eyes, but could not remove the cold sensation of something out there in the dark, waiting for them to drop their guard. She was inexplicably tired.

Doom turned to look down at her, the dim light that followed them reflecting off of the polished surface of his inhuman mask. She did not dare return his gaze, feeling as frightened of him as any unknown thing out there. That was silly, she tried to think, she needn't be afraid of him. But she was. She was deathly afraid.

"Are you still cold?" his deep voice broke the silence.

"Yes," she answered honestly. The edges of her lips were blue. "I can go on," she answered softly, wrapping the green cloak even tighter around her body. She was more afraid of being left behind.

Doom turned away to scan the unseen horizon again. He knew that she was not far from severe hypothermia, but he also sensed the fear and anxiety that this place inspired within her. Yes, he felt it too, even behind the protective mental barriers that years of self-discipline had afforded him. But it did not affect him, it only served to make him angrier. Still, it was a taxing effort, and they required rest. The night was as yet far from over, if it was night here at all. He looked at the sensor which was monitoring the energy source he had detected. It seemed no closer than it was hours ago. "We will rest here a moment," he commanded.

She was too tired to protest, but she was afraid to sit down for fear that she might never get up again. She was cold, and thirsty, and this great black dimension would not relent no matter which direction she looked. Fear and helplessness were breaking her down. She pulled the cloak tighter around her body. "What is this place?" she asked. "What do they want with us?" Her breath made white clouds around her face.

Doom did not know, as he again methodically checked all his sensors, and verified operation of his armor's protective systems. There was a great power here, but he could only sense it instinctively. His mechanical devices were useless to detect it, but intuitively he knew it was there. Whatever it was, its intent was indubitably malevolent, though how that intent would manifest itself he could not predict. There was still nothing to see in any direction. It was both strange, and oddly enough, strangely familiar to him. He turned back to the girl. He did not like stopping here, but he knew that she could not have gone much further. He abhorred being burdened by her, but he had granted her escort, and as such he was duty bound to protect her. For a moment he felt his mind wandering over ways to relieve himself of his duty to her, and the sinister brutality of those thoughts startled and disturbed him. He knew that there was some force out there trying to manipulate their emotions, and he didn't like it. Soon they would know the master of this place, and then it would know the unbridled fury of Doom!

The sound began as a far away cry, a faint echo of a thousand screaming voices calling out from the pits of hell. The sound was as ethereal as the wind, and faded in and out of hearing. The two travelers were instantly alert and aware. The sound rose from the depths around them, increasing in volume as the voices were screaming in agony, their pain dwarfing a hundredfold any pain ever felt by mortals. Then, the bodiless voices were drowned by a deep, steady pounding. Doom turned to the new disturbance, and his gauntlets ignited with deadly energy as he faced that threatening drumming noise. Marissa cowered behind him, and strained to see what horrors approached. Then, far in the distance, there was the sound of metal gates opening, and the pounding hooves of a thousand mounted soldiers pouring forth.

The forms took shape in the abyss before them, an impossible multitude of demons galloping toward them on steeds of fire and smoke. The warriors were clad in armor plates that glowed red with fire and blood, decorated with braids of woven hair, jangling beads and war paint. Their heads were bare, with blackened holes where the eyes should have been, and rotting skin pulling back from their teeth in hideous grins. Steadily the soldiers galloped forth, brandishing ancient weapons of sharpened steel that would slice their flesh to the bone. Their fiery-eyed steeds had huge cloven hooves that made the earth shake when they struck the ground. Doom waited calmly, gauging their approach expertly. He stood between the approaching army and Marissa protectively, his gauntlets primed with a blue and white energy that he kept closely in check. He waited, and when the mass of the force was nearly upon them he released a barrage of energy that would have seared them to the ground and left their skeletons blistering and barren. But it had no effect.

In the next moment the hellspawn had passed through the Lord of Latveria without pause, and drummed on toward Marissa. The lead rider carried a double-edged axe that he held poised to slice her in two. She froze in her tracks, and cowered beneath the green cloak as he was instantly upon her. She held her breath, awaiting the blow that would surely send her to hell with them. But nothing happened.

Doom looked back to where the demons had withdrawn, but they had disappeared into the black once more. The sensation of the riders passing through his body had been very disturbing, sending a chill through him as if in that instant his soul had been laid bare. There had been no substance to those riders, but there was a power that had possessed them. His sensors had automatically analyzed the energy signature, and he stored the information in his armor's internal data banks for future reference. Again, he felt a sense of familiarity that he could not identify.

Marissa peeked out from beneath the cloak. The apparitions were gone, but their distant thrumming continued. She was unharmed, as was Doom as well, but the fear had sent her adrenaline surging. She was shaking, but this time not from the cold. The darkness had returned, the attacking army was nothing but a dream. But did she dream it? She was no longer sure, although the distant sounds still seemed real enough. She could feel that low pulsating beat even through the ground. That and the sense of the frightening entity which continued to stalk them.

Doom walked back to where she stood waiting. "There are sounds of an army, and scattered fighting all around us," he said, as if reciting directions to the fair.

The calm statement startled Marissa for a moment. Then she realized that even being caught in the midst of a raging battlefield would not be enough to frighten the fearsome Lord Doom. She turned an ear to the dark and listened, trying to steady her own staccato heartbeat. As he had said, she could hear voices all around them. Mostly they were faint and muffled, as if from a distance, snatches of conversation that faded and billowed, carried by some strange shifting wind. Pieces of fireside chats, marching feet, an angry shout, a commander's brisk order. Then the cry of wounded men. Suddenly the sound of laser fire, whistling through the darkness so distinctly she wanted to duck and cover. It was close, and Marissa expected to see the flash of an explosion on the ground beside them, but there was nothing. Then the sound of a broadsword striking a metal shield. Anachronistic, disassociated noises. Then intermittent silence.

"Why isn't there any light?" she finally asked him. All around them, their little circle of illumination was the only relief in the veil of night. "An army has to have light a portastove, a lamp, a campfire, something!" She was getting panicky, she realized, and she jumped at the sound of explosions covered in darkness. Her head throbbed painfully.

"It is an illusion," Doom answered her calmly, but his anger at having been manipulated was present just below the surface. "You must not be alarmed by anything you see or hear, it will only provide them fuel for their deceptions."

"I'm afraid," she finally admitted.

"They know it," Doom answered coldly. "They use our fears against us. Can you walk?"

"Yes," she answered slowly. She handed him back his cloak. "I'm not cold anymore," she answered. It surprised her. She hadn't noticed the temperature change until just that instant. "Do you suppose the cold was an illusion also?"

"Possibly," Doom said, reattaching the cloak to his silver shoulder plates. The color had returned to her cheeks, and the pale white pallor around her lips had disappeared, so he was confident that she had not simply gone into shock. "This way," he directed, still following that peculiar, faint energy spike he was picking up on his sensors.

Marissa followed dutifully, glad to have shed the illusion of cold, but still uneasy. She was also no longer as tired as she had been earlier, but that was of little comfort. The sounds around them were far more disturbing than the silence had ever been. They were like the echoes of spirits wandering restlessly across a great battlezone. Although if the phantoms had wanted to take their lives, they certainly could have already done so. She felt the need to run, to find a place to hide, but she knew that no such place existed. An explosion sounded nearby, and she jumped instinctively, her heart racing madly.

"Their nature is formed by your fears, gypsy," Doom's deep voice carried back to her. "Fear nothing, and they will have no form. Think only of that."

"Easy for you to say, in your impenetrable armor" she thought glumly. She involuntarily thought about things she had been afraid of as a child, the dark, things under the bed or in the closet, spiders . . . She pushed it out of her mind. The voices continued to fade and build around them. It was unnerving, and she tried not to listen. But if whoever was doing this was using their fears against them, then what had prompted the demons from hell that had attacked them earlier? That certainly wasn't any image she had ever seen before, in dreams or nightmares. "What of you, Lord Doom?" she asked, stumbling on behind him. "What of your fears?"

"Don't worry, child," he said boldly. "They cannot frighten me."

His words sent a chill through Marissa, for bold though they were she sensed that they were not entirely true. And that deeply frightened her. For what defense would she have against the like of the monsters that hid under Doom's bed?

They walked onward into the darkness. Once she thought she heard her name being called, and her heart skipped a beat despite Doom's warning. They hadn't traveled much further when there suddenly appeared a new light, flickering off to the left. Doom stopped and considered a moment. The distant voices had faded somewhat, and the light beckoned seductively. It flickered and sparked invitingly, like a campfire. Doom was suspicious. It was not in the direction he had been headed. He turned away, and continued his deliberate march.

Marissa had to speak, for she was not so certain as the gypsy king. "Couldn't it be some other traveler, lost here as we are?" The firelight drew her almost irresistibly. To her, the light meant warmth and shelter. A chance to rest, drink, perhaps even sleep was only a few steps away. To pass it was nearly unbearable.

"No," Doom said flatly. He looked upwards, critically noting that there was still no sign of stars nor moon in the inky blackness above. "It's a trap."

They turned and walked away, and when Marissa looked back, she noted with disappointment that the firelight had disappeared. But when she looked up again it appeared once more, only this time it lay directly in their path. She felt Doom's back stiffen in front of her, as his fists clenched inside their armored gauntlets. He would not tolerate being played this way.

He turned so violently upon her that, unprepared, she took a step back and tensed. "We will pass that campsite," he told her, indicating the light ahead. "You will say nothing. You will feel nothing. You will walk by and not look back. Understood?"

She nodded.

He turned back around and led the way, altering his path so that they would skirt the outer edge of the campfire. Still, they were on top of the group of strangers quicker than she had predicted, and he had to alter his footsteps further to avoid being caught inside their warm circle of light.

As he turned in front of her, Marissa caught a good look at the lighted area ahead. It was a small gypsy caravan, two vardos (the brightly decorated covered carts that were often pulled by oxen and carried all of the gypsy's worldly possessions), and the two families that occupied them. There were four men standing by a large fire, dressed in modern clothing, and carrying old rifles draped easily across their arms. Their voices spoke idly about casual things, but masked a tense wariness in their hands and darting eyes. Marissa couldn't help but feel a kindred spirit with this small gypsy band, and her heart leaped in her throat with the need to call out to them. But Doom's curt warning and finely tuned intuition begged her admiration, for these men, wary and alert, had caught neither sight nor sound of the two strangers who passed so closely by their fire.

Marissa turned away to follow Doom, but as she did, her gut was so fiercely wrenched by a voice beside the fire that she had to stop and turn back. It was a deep and tender voice, and a short laugh that she knew so well, from a time not so long ago. For the first time she saw the face of one of the men looking her way. Her throat constricted involuntarily, and she caught her breath.

"Fa . . ."

Her cry was cut short by a metal glove that covered her mouth and held her fast. She struggled desperately as the man at the fire turned around and stepped her way.

"Marissa?" the man whispered softly, as if fearing an answer. Marissa leapt against the strong arms that held her, desperate to be free to run into the arms of her father. Tears filled her wide eyes.

"Your father is long dead, Marissa," Doom whispered to the squirming girl in his arms. "Fight the lie before you, don't fight me."

"What is it, Leam?" one of the other gypsies asked.

Leam Alexander Lansing shrugged his shoulders and laughed, a little frightened laugh, as he turned back to his companions at the fire. "Oh, nothing," he said. "For a moment there I thought I saw my little girl. Funny, huh?"

Marissa relaxed finally, but was unable to wrench her eyes from the man who had been her idol and protector for all of her short life. Doom released his hand from her mouth but did not loosen his grip from around her waist.

"Yeah, this place'll give anybody the shockin' creepy crawleys," another gypsy said. "Don't let it bother you."

The attack began before the gypsy could finish his sentence. From the other side of the vardos, huge deadly shapes stepped out of the shadows and merged into the light. The gypsy who was closest to the vardos was rewarded with a quick death as his head went rolling away from his body in short, bloody hops upon the ground. The others grabbed their weapons and quickly formed a loose defense against the giant Wave Spiders that assaulted their camp. Bullets seemed to have no effect against those armored creatures, and the one laser rifle they had was only slightly less worthless. There were screams and desperate shouts as the gypsy women ran for cover inside the vardos, gathering children with them, only to see the wooden shelters crushed into splinters under the spiked legs of those alien predators. Sharp claws reached out and snatched men into the air, tossing them like rag dolls back onto the ground. A half dozen Wave Spiders poured out of the darkness, scattering the flames of the bonfire and slicing the humans apart in a bloody frenzy. The gypsies fell quickly under this monstrous, murderous assault. Marissa's father was the last to die. Wounded and without hope, Leam Lansing looked away from the bloodthirsty spiders long enough to catch the eye of his daughter, standing just beyond the light. He cried her name, just before a sharp appendage pierced his heart from behind. Then it was over.

"No!!!" Marissa cried, and she would have rushed to his side, had Doom not still been holding on. He forcefully turned her away and she buried her face in his broad armored chest. Angrily she beat her fists against him, as if this was all his fault. He didn't let her go until her emotional outburst was finally consumed, and she stood quietly with her head against his chest.

"There is nothing there, Marissa," he told her. His voice was as calming as he knew how, but it could not halt the tears that were falling.

She glanced over her shoulder only to see the Wave Spiders voraciously consuming the remains of her father. She looked away in horror. Why? Her mind screamed the question. Why was she being put through such torment? She felt herself gripping desperately on the edge of insanity. She focused on her being here, standing on solid ground, her lungs filling with oxygen. A man in armor stood in front of her, towering above her. She felt the energy of his living presence on her skin. She was alive, and she wanted to live. She was not afraid, she told herself. Gypsies are not afraid.

"There is nothing," Marissa repeated quietly.

"Good." Doom gently turned her away from the scene behind them, and they deliberately walked away from the screeching squabbling of the frenzied Wave Spiders.

Marissa forced herself to watch the ground where she stepped to avoid confronting that impenetrable wall of black before them, and the images she couldn't get out of her mind. They continued on their desperate march, the answers to where they were or why they were here seemingly as elusive as when they had begun. The sounds of distant armies returned and faded, and she had begun to not mind them so much. Until the sounds disappeared altogether. The silence brought no sense of ease, only dread anticipation. Doom showed no reaction, and kept on walking ahead of her. Even their footsteps seemed muffled. Marissa waited for something to happen, all the while telling herself that she was not afraid. Nothing could prepare her for the horror to come.

The change was so sudden that even Doom had to stop his determined forward march. Marissa not only stopped, but involuntarily recoiled in terror. The space around them had abruptly brightened from some unseen source of illumination. Although the sky and the horizon were as endlessly black as before, the ground around them had mysteriously lit up to reveal a scene of unrelenting horror. As far as they could see, the ground was littered with hundreds, no, thousands of dead and half-dead bodies. Some were humanoid, others were not, but all were horribly mutilated or wounded with limbs and bodies twisted in obscene deformations. A few of the wounded were still alive, their hands grasping convulsively at the air, mouthparts moving wordlessly, writhing gruesomely in the bloody mess around them. No sound, no groan or moan or scream of terror penetrated this awesomely silent scene of some sadistic, brutal massacre. Marissa turned away instinctively, only to find the ground behind them was similarly littered with the maimed corpses. On all sides of the standing pair, so dense was the pack of that torn flesh and shattered bone that there was no clear path out of the living graveyard.

Doom took little time in considering his direction. He stepped out, and Marissa winced at the sound of bones crunching under those heavy metal boots. Though nauseated by the repulsive display around her, Marissa followed, only she did her best to pick her way carefully around the gore. Trying not to step on any bodies was desperately difficult. She concentrated on reminding herself that it was all just a dream, a horrible sickening nightmare designed solely to frighten her and break her down. Still, she averted her eyes from the countless upturned faces that silently turned to watch them pass.

Doom stomped along steadily ahead of her a few paces, moving stubbornly toward a goal only he seemed to be sure of. He took little heed of the humanity he trod upon, and even his verdant cloak refused to get caught up in the mire, as it floated almost magically just above the muck that might soil it. Only once did he stop, allowing Marissa to catch up to him. When she reached his side, she saw a terrible scene that was even more gruesome than the mass of flesh that surrounded them. She knew she was deeply afraid, and no reassurance could diminish those fears.

Before them a body rose above the corpses of its companions on a crude wooden crucifix. Appearing to stand before them, a wooden spear held the tall body upright where it had been slain, impaled through the back of the head. Glistening globs of brain matter stuck to the jagged end of the spear jutting out of the dead man's forehead, starkly white against the blackened sky. His long arms were tied to a cross piece at the wrists by a fleshy substance that could have been the man's own innards. A ragged hole showed through the blue and white uniform it wore where the corpse had been eviscerated. Strips of flesh on the arms, legs and shoulders had been torn away, hanging in ulcerated strips like tattered clothing on the bright white bones. Although parts of the corpse were decaying, with hungry fat maggots greedily feeding on the remains, other parts of the flesh seemed to be alive and steadily dripped rivulets of thick red blood. As they approached, to Marissa's horror, the living corpse lifted its shaggy head and stared at them with cold, lifeless eyes.

"Victor Von Doom," it said through cracked lips. "Doom! You will suffer for doing this to me! Oh . . . how . . . you . . . will . . . suffer!" As it spoke, they could see the insect larvae devouring the warm interior of its mouth, and on its final words the maggots poured forth, visibly multiplying as the flesh disintegrated beneath their noxious spread.

Marissa did not wait to see the final act, as the silvery skull stared back at them with the mocking smile of a fleshless face. She turned away and ran, ran like she had never run before, propelled by sheer terror. She ran through the bloody muck of a thousand dead bodies, stepping on their broken flesh, leaping away from hands that clawed desperately at her passing legs, slipping on the gore and somehow not falling as her legs pumped forward instinctively. When she finally came to a jolting stop, she was forced over by nausea, and vomited violently. She stood there bent over in pain, panting heavily, retching still and further nauseated by the smell of her own stinking discharge and the acid taste it left in her mouth. She reeled away dizzily, wondering if she would ever be able to escape this horror.

When she saw it the first time her eyes swept over it: just another upturned face in a hellish sea of corpses. But something brought her eyes back to this particular face. It watched her from motionless eyes that glistened and sparkled as if it had died with unshed tears in its eyes. The body was whole except for the fatal wound, a gaping hole in the neck that exposed vital arteries and veins. The wound was blackened and burned around the edges, as if it was caused by some kind of laser fire. Blood dripped steadily from the torn neck vessels, turning the ground to mud beneath Marissa's feet. She examined the smooth, expressionless face again, amazed at how calm she felt, and knowing instantly why she had been drawn to this place, to this face. Because the face that she looked at was her own.

She was standing over the body still, tears falling uncontrollably down her cheeks when someone touched her on the shoulder. She did not look up. Violently, the metal gloved hand grabbed her arm and squeezed, sending searing pain instantly through her arm. The pain broke her shocked stupor, forcing her to look up into the silver mask of Victor Von Doom. For an instant she thought it another specter, an animated skull that would rip her head from her shoulders. She cried out, but he squeezed harder and grabbed her other wrist, effortlessly turning her to face him. When the pain crowded out the horror the night had brought to her, when the agony became so severe that the memory of even her own corpse faded away, when nothing existed in that moment but the very real elements of pain tearing through her arms and the towering vision of the implacable Lord of Latveria standing above her, then the spell was finally broken.

She was so tired, so emotionally exhausted, she could not bring herself to cry out. She wanted to stop here, to sink to the ground and let the devils devour her. But Doom would not let her die. He pushed her on into more fear, greater horrors than she had ever imagined. He, the ruthless king who would at the slightest provocation command such evil as to have a living man's heart ripped from out of his chest. It was him that she should fear. Yet, he was also the strength that kept her going. As she realized that, the light winked out as quickly as it had ignited, and the darkness closed about them once more. Though they could no longer see it, Marissa knew that the sea of grisly corpses had also vanished. Doom relaxed his hold on her arms, and Marissa staggered weakly, but remained standing.

"There will be more," Doom told her. "Do not run off, if you ever wish to see your home again. No matter what you see."

"Yes, Master," she breathed softly. She wondered how he could be so calm, so self- assured, when she felt she had lost all semblance of control. She recalled the corpse on the stake and the casual threat it had so gruesomely delivered. Did that mean anything to Doom? she wondered. He walked on ahead of her as before, straight and unflagging and determined. His thoughts seemed to be forever focused ahead, and his steady pace betrayed no fear. She would try to be more like him. Let the ghosts of this place play out their hands, whatever they might be. She would concentrate on walking.

Doom marched with an adamant disposition, his expression as steely within as without. All the while he continued to monitor his sensors, trusting on them to provide him with the information his eyes alone would miss. The spike of energy he had detected was no illusion, of that he was certain. But when he finally found himself standing on top of the source of that energy, he began to doubt. He checked the readouts again. Whatever it was, it was here. Although there was naught here but the same impenetrable black nothingness. He paused, and looked all around, tense, waiting. They couldn't have come all this way for nothing! Marissa waited a few steps behind him, a question on her lips. He held out his hand, wordlessly warning her to stay back, to stay quiet.

Suddenly, from out of the darkness, an impossibly bright light shone down on the pair from above, illuminating them like a spotlight. They had to raise their hands in front of their faces to shelter eyes accustomed to the dark from the searing brightness. They were blinded to whoever stood behind the light's source, but they could hear the sounds of movement there. No demons this time, the voice that came down to them from on high was precise and cultured, and Doom's whole demeanor changed as he recognized it instantly.

"So, you traitorous villain," the voice called out disdainfully. "Your arrogance betrays you, as I knew it would. Looks like I've got you again, Victor Von Doom! And like the bumbling fool that you are, you have walked straight into my trap!"

"Richards!" Doom growled hatefully. "What charade is this?! Do you think I fear that babbling clown?!" he added, speaking not to the voice but to its master.

"You egotistical, self-centered, petty little man," Richards snickered from the darkness behind the light. "Do you think I went to all this trouble for a game of charades? I've got you now, you feeble gypsy fraud! You always thought you were better than I, but everyone knew you were just a loud mouthed bully and a mediocre scientist, at best. You're a joke, Von Doom. And now you are trapped in a very special version of hell, one precisely conceived to torment you for all eternity!"

"Impossible! I killed you, Richards!" Doom bellowed, raising his fist to the blinding light. "I slit you open like a sausage and let your guts run steaming into the streets. It was Doom who soaked your blood into the foundations of Halo City! You are dead, like the rest of your detestable teammates! You can torment me no longer with your inane prattling and your ridiculous, worthless inventions!"

"Ha ha ha ha ha! ! !" Richards laughed evilly. "You are a fool, Von Doom, as you always were! I cannot be killed! Like Cain and Abel, Romulus and Remus! Our destiny is to battle throughout our time and for all times to come!"

"Then come down and fight me, Richards," Doom bellowed, his blood beginning to boil. "You cannot frighten me with your vacuous threats! I bested you once, and it will be Doom who stands victorious again!"

"Once? Never, you simpleton!" Richards boasted. "Don't you see? You could never defeat me - though you try for eternity, I always beat you! I always will!"

"Not so long as I draw breath!" Doom growled fiercely, raising his gloved hands to fire upon the lights above. But the destructive energy beam released from his gauntlets was absorbed into the light, and then returned back to him with greater force! Though Doom raised his shields, the force of the beam lifted him off of his feet, and cast him backward onto the ground. He felt it, and it hurt. This was no ghostly apparition, and the impact of that redirected energy took his breath away. He lay on the ground for an instant, catching his breath. He was as much surprised by the audacity of the attack, as he was staggered by the power of his foe. But he would not be caught off guard again!

Marissa was suddenly at his side, and she boldly laid a hand on his upraised fist. "Doom," she said desperately, "don't do this! It's a trick, just like the others."

"You're a freak, Doom!" Richards continued with his taunts. "A hideous, deformed aberration! There is no human dignity, no human soul left within your armored shell!"

Doom stood up and pushed her roughly away. "Don't touch me, wench!" he yelled coldly. "This is not a game any longer!" He didn't look back as Marissa was pushed to the ground by his heavy-handed gesture.

"And you're still nothing but a coward, Von Doom," the voice of Reed Richards berated him from above. "A coward and a bully, thinking to make himself bigger by pushing around the weak and infirm! You are a poor excuse for a man. You are no longer worthy of my attention!"

Doom was thoroughly enraged now, but he would not lash out again. He had gathered more information on the nature of his enemy from that energy blast, and he knew now that caution was the wiser strategy. Still, he could not deny the depth of enmity that Richard's voice ignited in his heart. "Don't ignore me, Richards!" he shouted. "Or you betray the fear that only Doom can inspire in you! You wish to destroy me? Come down here and face me, if you dare!"

"Master, please!" Marissa pleaded, standing again but too fearful to approach the terrible gypsy lord.

"Someone get rid of that obnoxious child," Richards sighed, to no one in particular.

Doom turned on the girl, and raised his hand.

Marissa screamed. "No! Master, you have to fight it! He's an illusion!" He did not fire. Marissa stared at his upraised palm, waiting for some energy blast to sear through her heart. She was stunned, speechless, and bewildered. But strangely, she was not afraid for herself any longer. She was afraid for Doom.

"Go home," he said simply. Then something unseen caught her, and struck her like a physical force. It lifted her into the air and propelled her backward, into the darkness. She was falling through the black, falling endlessly into a cold, bleak emptiness. Falling like a leaf from a tree, falling like gentle snow, falling like water from the sky. Falling until she was aware of falling no more, but lying on a bed of moss with the familiar smell of earth and trees and wet leaves. She could sense that she was not dead, that she was safe here, but she felt still the desperate need to go back to that black place. She had to tell Doom to fight it, to fight the illusions with all his heart and his strength and his indomitable spirit. But she had no strength left, not even the strength to open her eyes. Her head fell back onto the soft bed of moss and leaves. With the gentle warmth of a morning sun caressing her cheeks, she fell into a deep, restful, and much needed sleep.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Doom stood alone and silent on the boundless black plain. The bright spotlight behind him cast a long shadow out to where Marissa had stood, a shadow that merged with the darkness beyond and disappeared there. He lowered his hand. He turned back to the light, his jaw clenched behind his silver mask.

The light extinguished itself then, and a shadow approached from out of the darkness. It was barely visible, but it took the form of a man. Little bits of light illuminated a strong male face, but the rest of its body was ethereal and undefined. There was only the slightest hint of shoulders, arms and legs approaching out of the darkness, as if taking on a complete form was inconsequential. Black eyes stared at Doom with calm boldness.

"She had best be safe, Beyonder," Doom growled threateningly.

He seemed not the least bit surprised that Doom had seen through his subterfuge. "Or what, Von Doom?" the Beyonder laughed. "You have no power to threaten us. But be consoled, she has gone on to your original destination."

Doom tensed, his eyes narrowed behind his mask. "I stole your power once," he boasted, "I can do it again." He kept the Beyonder in front of him as the ethereal creature circled slowly around. "Why did you bring us here?"

"Call it, an unplanned experiment," the Beyonder answered frankly. "You came into the sphere of our awareness, and so we brought you here, to judge for ourselves. To see if the rape of our brother was an aberration, or a threat. We see now that you are a weak, fleshy thing."

"I tire of your experiments, Beyonder," Doom glowered from within the darkness of his own cowl. "Your audacious imposition into the lives of other beings belies your alleged higher state of evolution. It is clear that despite your great power, you are an inferior species. I will not tolerate any more of your clumsy prodding nor your interference! If you are not the same one as I met before, then you will learn the error of your brother's misguided intentions!"

"I am my brother, and he is I," the Beyonder answered enigmatically. "As he was incomplete, we are whole. As for the experiment," he waved a formless hand back toward the darkness, "your own fears designed what course the trial would follow. We let you and your companion define its parameters, while we merely observed. In what you know of as your past, my brother saw only the nature of your desires. Whereas we see that your kind is as much defined and bounded by your fears. That other one, her fears were much stronger than yours, and even though she feared you, she drew her strength from you. You on the other hand denied your fears, and let your anger carry you through the plain, while your intellect directed you to your goal. Even now, knowing what fate must befall you, you are not afraid. You are a curious one indeed."

"It will take more than the likes of you to frighten me, godling," Doom intoned.

"Oh, I think not, bold gypsy king," the Beyonder's voice grew in dimension and volume in the blackened nothingness that surrounded them. "I have seen you pass this way before, and I know what frightens you."

Doom tensed, and grappled with a course of action against this omnipotent being. His boast of stealing the Beyonder's cosmic power was no jest, yet he had then the advantage of planning and strategy as well as the power of Galactus that he had channeled into his own body {see Secret Wars I}. Still, his mind was searching both for a way to defeat the Beyonder, and the potential of siphoning off some of that boundless cosmic force for his own use!

"There is no victory awaiting you here Doom," the Beyonder continued, reading his mind. "We have learned that you are not to be trusted. The time has come again. Face your fear now, Victor Von Doom, or be destroyed by it!"

With nary so much as a wave of his hand, Doom was gone.

And when he awoke, he knew fear again.

To be Continued.

"There is no armour against fate . . ."

James Shirley, "The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses"

NEXT: Just where has the Beyonder sent Doom? And what is it that the heretofore fearless gypsy king fears? Will his anger and his passion save him, or will it be his doom? And what of Marissa's prophecy? All the answers and more when we continue the adventures of "Doom in Space!" Be there!