"Are you ready, Lady Diana?" Larin asked.
The princess of Themyscira did not answer. Her mind had been elsewhere, drifting through the steam of the shower, through the memory of Doom's touch, through the insidious heat that still lingered at the edges of her consciousness. She had been thinking about him. About those brown eyes behind the mask. About the way his voice resonated through his armor, commanding and absolute. She shook herself free of the daydream.
"Yes." She admitted softly, the word escaping before she could shield it with defiance. "I am ready to… see him…"
She had to remember that she was not an ordinary woman, nor a woman abused by Doom. She was Wonder Woman. And she would not forget it.
They both walked toward the location of Victor von Doom's presence, their footsteps echoing through the hallways. She was dressed in the pink tunic Larin had provided for her. The garment was simple but well made, the fabric soft against her skin, the black belt cinched at her waist. The sandals were functional.
"Do not fear the Master." The monk said, his voice as gentle as morning light.
"Fear? With all due respect, I have faced worse and more terrifying things than Victor von Doom." she replied in a sincere tone, slightly raised, crossing her arms a little.
Larin did not mind Diana's tone, nor did he reproach her. She was simply telling the truth.
"Lord Doom's personality has been this way since his birth. It is not cruelty for its own sake." He said with complete truth in his words.
Diana's brow furrowed. She did not fully understand what that meant. But there was a past there, a story that had shaped the tyrant into the man who had kidnapped her. She filed the observation away. Perhaps she would learn more with time. Perhaps she could use it.
"What is Doom's next move with me?" She asked, keeping her voice firm.
"Breakfast." Larin answered without hesitation.
"What?" Diana blinked, stopping in her tracks.
"You will have breakfast with the Master." The man from the mountains of Tibet mirrored her action. "Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are essential for the well-being of our people. According to the Master's decrees, no one may skip any of them. Those who do are sanctioned by him. My Lord always finds out when someone tries to disobey him in secret."
"A nation where meals are mandatory? Where skipping breakfast invites punishment?" Diana absorbed the thought. "This man gives no freedom at all to his supposed nation? Typical of dictators. Just like those on my Earth. My situation is clear evidence of how he operates."
"Our people are happy under the Master's rule, Lady Diana. They are fed, housed, educated, and healed. No one starves. No one is homeless. The Master provides, and he expects gratitude in return. It is a fair exchange." Larin continued, as if sensing her unspoken question.
Diana said nothing. She knew how quickly benevolence could curdle into tyranny.
"You are one of us now, Lady Diana." Larin added, moving forward again and glancing at her from the corner of his eye, signaling her to follow. "While you remain on Latverian territory, you will follow the Master's rules. That includes breakfast."
"I am not." She thought.
Diana's jaw tightened. She wanted to say she did not need breakfast, that her Amazon physiology could sustain her for days without food, that yesterday's dinner had been an exception born of weakness after Doom's twisted game had left her both exhausted and aroused. She hated that last word.
She had been weak yesterday. She had accepted his food, his clothes, his room. She had submitted, even if only in small ways, to his control. And some small, treacherous part of her had not hated it.
"Understood." She said in a flat voice, following the bald monk.
Larin nodded.
She did not hate Larin for his words. He was kind in his own way. She needed to free him from Doom. She blamed only Doom. Only von Doom. She could not do anything about it. Doom played his cards well against her.
They continued walking in silence. The hallways of Castle Doom unfolded around them like a labyrinth of stone and shadow. Torches flickered in their sconces. Tapestries depicting Latverian history hung on the walls. Suits of armor stood sentinel, their empty visors staring. There were no Doombots in the hallways.
"Breakfast with Doom. Another meal at his table, another opportunity for his manipulation, his pheromones, his insidious control." Diana's mind churned. She would have to be careful. She would have to resist.
"How long can I keep fighting?"
After several seconds, Larin stopped in front of a set of heavy oak doors carved with scenes of Doom's victories. She recognized the castle's dining hall. He turned to her.
"Lady Diana. I will accompany the two of you. I told you about our tradition. I hope my presence does not discomfort you."
"Not at all. Your presence is pleasant." She smiled for the first time, something she had not done since being kidnapped by Victor von Doom.
"Thank you for your honesty, Diana Prince. The Master awaits us. It will only be the four of us. The young Kristoff will not join us due to university matters. Lady Zora, you already met her earlier, on diplomatic business."
"Four? Kristoff?" She asked mentally, confused.
Larin opened the doors. And beyond them, at the head of a long banquet table, the ruler of Latveria waited.
Diana saw him seated at the head of the table. His imposing figure was relaxed, his peculiar attire present. His metallic mask remained firmly in place, his eyes gleaming with a subtle tone of intimidation.
"Sit down, Ms. Prince." Said the owner of the place, his resonant tone filling the room like a decree. "To Doom's left side."
The ruler of Latveria gestured to the chair close to his left side.
Diana nodded with annoyance, her slow steps clicking softly on the stone. She looked around: three of Doom's purple servant robots were serving breakfast. Orange juice poured into a crystal pitcher, several baguettes with steam rising from their fluffy interiors infused with seeds and herbs, a basket of large fresh fruits—apples, grapes, and oranges—a small bowl of puree that smelled of spinach, and a pitcher of water. Empty glasses for the liquids. It was all a classic continental breakfast, traditional for Europeans.
She sighed and approached the man, sitting down. The wood creaked under her weight. She noticed a peculiar detail. To Doom's right, under and beside the table, an enormous Bengal tiger sat on the floor, its striped fur rippling as it ate a giant piece of raw meat from a large silver pet dish. The beast's amber eyes moved toward her briefly, its powerful jaws crunching bone with casual ferocity, but it showed no aggression. The animal was content with its meal.
"Gunther will not harm you, Diana." Doom said in his cold tone. "As long as you do not anger him. Everything will be fine."
Diana looked at the feline with curiosity, her Amazon instincts assessing the threat. The tiger was enormous, its muscles coiling like springs beneath its elegant fur. Her empathic ability with animals in general, blessed by the goddess Artemis, told her the feline was happy by its owner's side. For a moment, the image of Serge, her horse, and Jumpa, her kangaroo, came to mind.
Then she nodded. Larin took the seat to the right of his master von Doom, next to the tiger. His calm demeanor did not falter even as Gunther's tail lazily swished near his robes. The monk tilted his head slightly in greeting, his presence a serene counterpoint to the grandeur of the room.
The Servo-Guards finished their service with a final flourish, arranging intricately folded napkins, and then withdrew. Their footsteps faded silently as they disappeared through a side door.
"Oh, nasch Herr, Victor von Doom, šćititelj Latveriáni, segne dies Tisch und die, dra dikhen pre leste. Dine ćaro krepis amari trupa, thaj i će nazočnost vodi amare dušy. Danke, Herr, vaś i trajno skrb thaj o sichoriben. Zdrăvo Doom!"
Larin prayed in Latverian, his head bowed toward the food. His voice was soft but resonant, carrying the weight of centuries of tradition.
The words flowed like water over stone: ancient, melodic, and completely foreign to Diana's ears. She detected no echoes of Greek, Latin, or any language she had studied in her centuries of life. But the tone was very close to Romani or Bulgarian. Difficult to identify. The sounds were guttural yet lyrical, shaped by a tongue she had never known.
She understood none of it. She wanted to know the exact meaning of those words.
Larin raised his head, his eyes meeting Doom's mask with silent reverence. Then he turned to Diana, a gentle smile on his weathered face.
"Welcome to the Master's table, Lady Diana." The monk said in English, softening his accent. "May this meal nourish and strengthen you for the day ahead."
Diana nodded and then interrupted.
"What language was that?" she asked cautiously. "I did not recognize it."
"The sacred tongue of our nation. Latverian. It is the language of prayer, of ritual, of ancient customs. The Master preserves it, just as he preserves everything worthy of Latveria." Larin spoke with calm tranquility, unconcerned about explaining what she did not know.
Diana absorbed this. She looked back at Doom, who remained silent. His mask stared at her, inscrutable.
"You pray in Latverian." she said, more to herself than to them, looking at the monk. "On my islan…"
"Themyscira. I know, Lady Diana. As I explained, one of the qualities of my wisdom allows me to understand and know everything about the Master's visitors." The monk interrupted. "If you wish to know about our custom: everyone who lives in the castle gives thanks before breaking bread. It reminds us of our place in the order of things and of the one who provides for us."
Diana pressed her lips together. She wanted to say something sharp, something cutting, about forced gratitude and the violation of her mind, about how prayer should be a choice, not an order. But the words would not come. Because she remembered last night's dinner. She remembered the food, the wine, and the warmth of the fire. She remembered feeling, for a brief moment, almost safe. She hated remembering it. On the other hand, her personal information being exposed to third parties. She sensed no malice in the monk; it was his gift, mystical like several of hers. Athena had probably blessed Larin.
She had several questions she wanted answered.
Did Larin know Doom had kidnapped her?
Why was the monk loyal to Doom? He had mentioned that Doom had saved him. From what?
Did Doom save the monk's tribe? Everyone owed him gratitude, according to Larin's words. She repeated to herself that she needed to investigate further.
Why did Larin do nothing to free her from here? Doom's influence was evil for everyone in the place and in his important nation.
Larin's prayer calling him "my savior" carried an air of exaggeration and darkness. Everything was layers of green that Doom prevented her from piercing.
She needed answers.
"You will never understand the words, Amazon. Latverian is a language rooted only in the soul of my nation. No foreigner has ever mastered it. Doom expects no different from you." Doom broke his silence.
"And yet you expect me to sit here, eat your food, and follow your rules without even knowing the words of your prayer?" Diana held his gaze, lifting her chin.
"You do not have to pray, Diana. You have to show respect. There is a difference." Doom's mask tilted slightly.
"Respect? By Hera! You have never respected me."
She said nothing more. But she stored the observation in her memory. Latverian. A sacred language preserved by Doom. It was another piece of the puzzle, another layer of the man who had taken her from her world.
"The Master has prepared a special breakfast for you, Lady Diana." Larin said. "He knows how important sustenance is, especially for someone who has traveled so far from home. You will not regret it."
"Lies… I do not see anything special." She sighed internally, frustration bubbling.
Larin and Doom began to eat. Minutes passed. Diana sighed. Then she imitated them, reaching for a baguette and breaking it. Steam escaped, carrying the aroma of herbs and baked wheat flour. She brought a piece to her lips and bit into it. The texture was light, the crust crispy, the interior soft and warm. It was ordinary. Delicious, but ordinary. There was no magic in it, no charm to make it taste better. It was simply good bread, well made, nothing more.
Next, she tried the fruit: a slice of crisp, tart apple. Then a grape, bursting with sweetness. Then the spinach puree, which she dipped a piece of bread into. The flavor was earthy, savory, satisfying. She found herself eating more than she had expected.
"No dairy." she thought. "This monster's consideration toward me continues by including vegetables. I love this puree…"
She looked around the table. Doom's mask was tilted slightly downward as he ate a couple of oranges. He was not looking at her. His attention was on the fruit, his movements measured and precise. It was the first time she had seen him without him looking at her, and the absence of his gaze was almost unsettling.
"His Latverian habits." Her mind spoke. "Oh Hera! He is not using his magic trick on me."
She ignored him. She grabbed the pitcher of orange juice and poured it into a crystal glass, taking a sip. It was fresh, tart, and cold. She did not thank him verbally. Not yet. She was still deciding whether she wanted to.
Larin ate slowly and deliberately, his eyes half lost in quiet contemplation. He enjoyed his apples and his glass of water. He was content to exist in the background, a silent witness to the strange ritual unfolding before him.
Diana's mind wandered. She wanted to ask Doom what his next plan for her was today. The tyrant's silence said it all—he was planning. Diana would be ready for it.
On the other hand, Larin, Doom's mystical lackey, his faithful servant. How long would he accompany them? She hoped it would be all day. Most likely, Doom would wait for his loyal one to leave so he could humiliate her sexually again. Larin's presence felt alien to such perversions. He was her only salvation.
Suddenly, she felt something against her side, beneath her.
A warmth. A pressure. Something soft and heavy pressed against the side of her legs.
She looked down.
The tiger.
The enormous orange-and-black striped tiger was leaning against her, the feline's head resting contentedly in her lap, eyes closed in peaceful sleep. Its fur was thick and warm, its breath slow and even. It had curled around her legs like an oversized house cat seeking affection.
Her power over animals was affecting the tiger, calming it. There was no malice in the animal, no hunger, no threat. It was simply there. Sleeping. As if it had always belonged there.
She looked up, her eyes darting toward Victor von Doom. His attention had returned to her, that familiar, obsessive gaze back in place.
She studied the tiger more carefully. The creature of nature with stripes like ink on gold, its huge paws curled beneath its chest. Resting after eating its large piece of meat. A being that should not be here, in this castle, in this room, in her lap. It needed to be in its proper habitat.
Animals sensed her nature. They were drawn to her. It was a blessing of her Amazon heritage. But she did not want that blessing now. She wanted to go home.
The tiger was warm. Its fur was soft. And despite everything—despite the captivity, the humiliation and the fear. She found herself reaching out to stroke its head.
The fur was thick and silky under her fingers. Not as soft as the horses and kangaroos she had ridden in Themyscira. It reminded her of Jumpa. She gave in.
"You should not be here. I hate that you are here. I will free you when I am done with your supposed owner."
She did not stop stroking the tiger.
"Doom is always right, Amazon." The ruler of Latveria finally spoke, his voice a low rumble through the mask.
Diana's hand stilled. The words were a reference to their previous conversation the night before, when she had questioned his claims about Latveria. She had accused him of lying, of exaggerating. Now he was reminding her.
She hated that. She hated that he remembered every slight, every doubt, every moment of weakness.
She resumed stroking the tiger's fur, forcing her expression to remain neutral. She would not give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
The meal continued in silence. Diana ate her bread, her fruit, her spinach puree. She drank her orange juice. The tiger remained in her lap, breathing deeply.
Finally, the three of them finished breakfast. Diana was not disappointed with the food at all. She hated admitting it.
Doom's mask turned toward her completely once more. His those brown eyes she had glimpsed beneath the metal were fixed on her with an intensity that made her spine tingle.
She felt the weight of his gaze and found herself grateful that he was not activating his pheromone trick. These were his normal eyes. This was only him. Only his presence. Only his attention.
She broke the silence.
"Do you make breakfast yourself or do your robots do it?" She asked, her voice carefully neutral.
"My Doombots are simply my hands." Doom's mask tilted slightly.
"Your Doombots? I first heard that name from your lackey Zora. Not very original, von Doom," Diana frowned.
"Are you mocking Doom's creations?" Doom's spoke.
"I am not mocking. It is merely an observation about the name. It sounds like something a child would invent." She picked up a remaining grape and put it in her mouth. "If I find out you have really children in the depths of your castle naming your pets, I will kill you"
"You are bold for a captive, Amazon." Doom's fingers tightened.
"You are predictable for a tyrant or whatever you are, von Doom." She met his gaze, her blue eyes steady with a provocative smile. "You forgot that I am not a captive. I am yours. My lord. Your intelligence is not worthy of the hierarchy you are in."
Doom's mask tilted slightly, a sign of irritation he did not voice. In part she was giving him reason after all, but at the same time he was furious at her insolence. He wanted to punish her again, but his body was too exhausted to use Ratri's power. Larin simply watched the scene with his mysterious air.
Diana thought Doom was going to take her again, so.
"Is there something more you need from me or did you simply invite me to breakfast so you could look at my dress and my body?"
Doom remained silent for a long moment. The fire crackled. Gunther the tiger's head stirred in her lap, then settled again.
"Doom will give you more than you know, Diana Prince." The masked man said finally. "You are so desperate to escape that you draw closer to Doom. You cannot resist the truth when it is in front of you."
Diana's jaw tightened. She wanted to argue with him carefully; she did not want that pink power over her. But before she could speak.
The same Servo-Guards entered, their metallic frames gleaming in the morning light. They moved with mechanical precision, collecting the empty glasses and food remnants. Their eyes glowed briefly as they worked, but they did not speak. They simply cleared the table, leaving only Larin's water pitcher.
The tiger still had not moved from her lap, its body a warm, heavy weight against her legs.
Diana realized she was still stroking its fur. She stopped, her hand hovering over its head.
"You forgot to say thank you." Doom's voice cut through the silence.
"What?" Diana's eyes snapped to him. Her expression hardened.
Doom did not repeat himself. He simply sat in the same place, mask impassive, waiting.
The silence stretched between them. The robots finished their work and left.
Victor and Diana's gazes clashed, battling to see who held control of the situation. Obviously the ruler was surpassing her by far. Dominating her.
Diana felt her anger rising in her chest. She wanted to refuse his request, but she was still trapped here, at this table, under this man's gaze. She did not want to acknowledge the truth of his rich breakfast.
Several seconds passed.
"Thank you, Lord Doom." her words tasted like ash. "Your breakfast was incredible. Like everything you do."
"The day has begun, Amazon. Prepare yourself. You have a long day ahead." Doom's mask betrayed nothing, but she could hear the satisfaction in his voice.
Diana blinked.
Doom did not respond.
"Your role now is simply to follow me." He continued, his voice commanding.
Larin, from his position, met Diana's eyes with silent insistence.
"Go with him. It is important." His gaze seemed to say. There is no escape.
Diana lowered her gaze to the Bengal tiger in her lap. It stirred, blinking at her with sleepy golden eyes. It was a comfort, yes. A small comfort. But it could not save her.
"I hate this." She said to no one in particular.
"You will learn to love it, Amazon," Doom's voice echoed from ahead.
///
"Where are you taking me, damn it?" Diana asked, holding onto her anger as she followed her captor.
"You will witness my empire." Victor von Doom exclaimed, moving forward and ascending the stairs beneath them.
They both reached the balcony of the tallest tower in the castle. Diana stayed behind him. She watched the sun projecting long rays that bathed Doom in an almost heroic light as he leaned against the stone railing of the balcony, his green cape fluttering in the crisp mountain breeze. Diana hesitated at the threshold. The fresh air was a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the dining hall below. He gestured with a gloved hand for her to approach the railing. His mask turned slightly toward her, his brown eyes expectant.
Diana nodded reluctantly and stood beside him, her hands gripping the railing for support. The view unfolded before her like a painted tapestry, an impressive panorama stretching below the dark and gigantic silhouette of the castle. Its spires pierced the clouds like defiant spears, casting long shadows over the landscape. The mountains surrounded the scene. She recognized them. They were the same, the Carpathians, their slopes dotted with dense pine and fir forests that whispered in the wind. Below, nestled in a green valley, lay an expanding town. No, it was actually a city. Its size surprised her with its medieval charm frozen in time. Cobblestone streets wound through clusters of half timbered houses with thatched roofs and stone chimneys puffing soft smoke. Pigeons decorated the place, flying in flocks in various directions.
Her Amazon eyes allowed her to see great distances. People moved about in outdated tunics and ponchos, some adorned with the tyrant's favorite green, others in earthy browns, reds, and blues, bargaining at market stalls loaded with fresh produce, breads, and handmade crafts. Livestock goats, sheep, and chickens wandered in fenced enclosures, while peasants cultivated fields of golden wheat and vibrant vegetables on the outskirts. Horses pulled carts along dirt roads, their hooves clopping rhythmically, and small children laughed as they played tag in the central square, chasing pets, dogs, and cats that darted between their legs. A large stone statue of her captor stood in the middle, witnessing the children's fun. Patrolling the entire perimeter were Doom's robotic sentinels, their green eyed forms watchful, a blend of ancient pastoral life and futuristic oversight. There were buildings that hid other secrets. The aesthetic was very similar to the capitals of Vlatava and Markovia, but this one was larger.
"Welcome to Doomstadt, Diana Prince." The ruler exclaimed in a superior tone, placing his metallic hand on her shoulder. His touch was firm but not unpleasant.
It was real. All of it. This was the evidence. Diana noticed the inhabitants seemed content. She witnessed no imperfections. She had more questions in her mind than answers. Doom was not manipulating her now. She wanted this to be a magical illusion, but it was not. All her thoughts were in another great trance.
"The capital of Latveria, the center of Doom's empire. His birthplace." He continued speaking as if making a proclamation. He squeezed her shoulder firmly, but she felt no pain, pulling her out of her trance.
"Nothing impressive, Lord Doom. I have seen similar things on my Earth." She stared at him, sighed, and said, somewhat falsely.
"No one compares Doomstadt to the capitals of the weak nations of your universe." The man spoke with annoyance, removing his hand from her shoulder.
"Are you going to punish me for speaking my mind, Lord Doom? I am waiting."
"You learn quickly, Amazon. But punishment is not on Doom's agenda today. You have verified that he is not entirely monstrous."
"I hate that I witnessed it. I expected oppression, fear and chains. Instead, I saw contentment."
She decided not to wait for the man's possible response. She turned back to look at the city. The people were all happy: merchants haggling with good-natured jokes, families sharing meals on outdoor benches. There were no signs of oppression, no robots brutalizing citizens, no fear in their eyes.
"Doomstadt, and all of Latveria, accepts Doom as its supreme ruler and savior. Without manipulations or anything macabre. All loyal. Their will toward me. I freed them from the ancient oppression that was destroying them." Doom spoke with a firm voice. "Doom was the solution to it, written in the general history of my nation."
"I would love to know more about that." she said, turning slightly toward him.
"Doom demands patience from you."
She nodded reluctantly and returned her gaze to the view. In the distance, an advanced airport caught her attention: elegant runways with parked planes, probably for trade or diplomacy. Then she saw a large hospital with glass windows reflecting the sun, and further away, a university campus buzzing with students dressed in robes, carrying books.
Suddenly, Doom positioned himself behind her, his body pressing close. This time his hand slid toward her stomach, caressing gently, his fingers tracing circles over the pink silk, his armored chest against her back. Diana wanted to pull away from him, but she had to play along if she wanted to get out of here.
"In the future, my next heir will have these people at his disposal, the sovereign of Latveria whispered in her ear while stroking her belly. He will protect them with all of Doom's blessing."
"Hail Latveria!"
"What does that mean?" Her thoughts roared. "Hera! Get me out of here and away from him."
"The next step begins, Amazon." He spoke again. "Doom chose your dress well for what is coming."
-----------------------------
Baxter Building, Manhattan, New York
In a dark blue room with patterns related to advanced technology, several books on mathematics and physics on a shelf, a small unfinished animal-type robot prototype on a medium table, mathematical calculations on clean sheets pinned to the walls. The room looked like that of a man obsessed with science, but it was not. The bed in the center was a nest of wrinkled pink blankets. Beneath them lay a blonde girl with reddish-blue eyes.
It was Valeria Richards, daughter of the veteran heroes Mr. Fantastic and Invisible Woman. She was lying face down with her face buried in her pillow, her shoulders tense from silent sobs.
It was late, past midnight. New York City shimmered beyond her window like a field of electric stars. The Baxter Building hummed with its usual nocturnal silence, the soft buzz of machinery and the distant click of her father's footsteps in the laboratory below. But Valeria was alone in her room, alone with her thoughts, alone with the weight of months of silence.
Her preteen pajamas were soft and worn, a faded pink with small cartoon versions of the Fantastic Four logo. She had worn them for three nights in a row. She had not cared. She had not cared about much lately.
Her uncle Victor von Doom, ruler of his own country.
The name echoed in her mind like a prayer. She had said it so many times in the last few months that it had lost all meaning, becoming a hollow sound, a plea to the universe.
Eight months since the last time she had heard from him. Nine months after his last Christmas gift, his last message, the last sign that he was present. Then, after New Year, nothing. Then her twelfth birthday. She had turned twelve without him. No call from him. No message. No hologram of his masked face wishing her a happy birthday in his own way. Only silence. Cold, painful silence from the communicator he had given her, even though the advanced device still worked on her dresser, right in front of her bed. On her nightstand was a framed photo of her smiling while hugging her godfather, who had a murderous look through his mask toward the photographer who took the picture.
She had cried for him every night, in private. She did not want her mother to see. She did not want her brothers to see. She was too old to cry, too smart, she was a Richards. But the tears had come anyway. She turned her face toward the photo of her and him, her eyes reddened from crying, looking at the frame.
"Where are you, Uncle Doom?"
She asked the question as if the universe itself could answer.
"Why don't you give any sign? Are you in danger? Are you planning something big to get revenge on my father who won't let you send signals?"
More questions with no answers. She did not want that last question to be true, because she hated that about her uncle. She hated the confrontations between her father and him. They never resolved their problems. Her father had told her that Doom had stolen a crystal from the Cosmic Cube, taken from SHIELD. It sounded like another attempt to take over the world.
She had been trying to reach him since his gift, calling him fifty times. Sixty. Eighty. She had lost count. Each time, the communicator connected, but he did not answer.
"What happened to you? I don't hate you for missing my birthday. I just want some sign from you." Her thoughts returned.
On the other hand, she had gone to the Latverian embassy three times. She had hoped to see her cousin and prince of Latveria, Kristoff Vernard, but unfortunately all three times she ran into Zora Vukovic, who had rejected her in her own way.
"Lord Doom is not available, Lady Valeria. Do not return until he comes back."
The words from the woman loyal to her godfather were always the same, always delivered with the same cold, impassive tone. No explanation. No comfort. Just dismissal, as if Valeria were a child who did not understand adult matters.
"Return." That word meant something. She had been anxious since then. Her mind was in a whirlwind.
He must be trapped in some unknown dimension.
Or he had used that crystal to open a portal to some dimension or another universe to try to find an artifact to defeat her family or learn unknown powers to conquer the world.
But something unexpected happened that her uncle had not foreseen. Unknown evil forces defeated him in his attempt to achieve his goal and kidnapped him, leaving him weakened. She chose not to believe he was dead because her uncle was invincible.
Kristoff was looking for ways to find his adoptive father. Her royal cousin was as clever as her godfather.
If she could not see him physically, she had hoped that the moment would come when Kristoff would send her signals about her uncle through the communicator. Her cousin, not by blood but by bond, had always been kind to her the times she had stayed at Castle Doom. He was always willing to talk, to listen, to offer a comforting word, despite his history against the heroes.
Her father had mentioned that Kristoff had not been seen at the embassy in the last few months.
That meant her assumptions were true.
"Kristoff, where are you? Are you looking for him? Are you trying to find him? Were you ambushed while trying to rescue my godfather?"
She clung to the thought like a lifeline, sending a shiver down her spine. She did not think she was being paranoid.
She had shared her fears with her father. He had listened, brow furrowed, fingers steepled under his chin. And then he had told her the truth.
"I have not found dimensional debris, Val. I cannot track any within Latveria. Your godfather's trick won't allow me. I am paying more attention to any sign of him now than the times he tried to steal vibranium or infiltrated here to ruin my day."
"If in the hypothetical case that Victor is in trouble, his ego is the problem. Valeria, you know he would rather die than ask for help. Unfortunately for us, his problems are his alone."
"I understand your concern, honey. I am too, especially after Kristoff's sudden public disappearance. Zora is not easy to deal with. Neither Victor nor Zora respond to any of our signals. I don't know what your uncle is planning with that crystal. Something is not right again. We will be ready when he returns to public view."
"No using the ship to go to Latveria. I don't want to risk you."
"You will be the first to know of any next sign from your uncle, sweetheart. Dragon told me he will read you a new story. It's time to sleep."
Those were the phrases from her father that had tried to sound reassuring. He admitted he had been searching for Uncle Doom from his precious laboratory.
Victor von Doom's ego. That was what everyone said about him. That was what her father said. That was what the Avengers said, what the world said. But she knew better. She knew that beneath the mask, beneath the armor, beneath the endless ambition and pride, there was something more. Something softer, even if he would never admit it.
He had saved her life when she was born, according to her mother's anecdotes.
He had chosen her birth name. Valeria.
He had given her his knowledge, his technology, his wisdom. He had taught her to think, to question, to never accept a simple answer. He had shown her a world beyond her father's science, a world of magic and mystery and infinite possibility.
He was her godfather. Her uncle. Her mentor.
"Uncle Doom! Give me a sign!"
"I have to go to Doomstadt."
"I'll visit to the supreme sorcerer for help."
She had thought about it countless times. Her father had forbidden it, of course.
Uncle Doom needed her. She could feel it.
"Please, Uncle Doom. Give me a sign. Just let me know you are okay."
She was still in the silence, her tears soaking her pillow, her heart aching with a pain that felt too big. She kept looking at the communicator.
Beep!
Suddenly, she heard a sound coming from the communicator.
Beep!
Valeria's eyes opened wide. She thought she had imagined it: a trick of her exhausted mind, a phantom sound born of desperate hope. But then it came again.
Beep!
The sound was soft, barely audible over the building's hum. But she knew it. She had been waiting for it for months.
Then she saw a transparent green light materializing from the device, illuminating the furniture beneath it.
Victor von Doom's face, masked with his green hood, appeared in the room.
She heard him.
"Valeria, my dear. Your Uncle Doom lives and endures for eternity."
She gasped. The words hit her like a physical blow. A sob escaped her lips, raw and uncontrolled.
"Soon you will hear from me. Do not look for me. Your godfather has matters too important for Latveria."
"Do not tell your family that I sent you this message. Especially that idiot father of yours. Do not share what you saw with anyone in the world. Doom has not abandoned you, child."
The message ended. Doom's holographic face faded with the green light in the room and the communicator fell silent again.
Valeria stared at the device, tears running down her cheeks. The message was short, clipped, and maddeningly vague, typical of Uncle Doom. It was proof that he was okay, that he was out there. He was not in danger.
"He is fine…" She thought with relief. "Val, sometimes I hate you because you imagine things that will never happen. Uncle Doom, you have to explain several things to me in our next meeting."