“What happened?” she asked. Despite her situation, von Doom’s comment had made her curious.
The old man frowned. “A slight. . . miscalculation by one of my technicians created an imperfection in the Cube—one I have been unable to correct.”
“Is that why you’ve aged as much as you have?”
Von Doom nodded. “Unlike the previous versions of the Cube designed by A.I.M., this particular device operates by absorbing the life-energies of its possessor—the more detailed the reality, the more tampering done to the timestream, the greater the drain on the individual. As you can probably surmise, I have been quite detailed in the construction of my world.”
Betsy started. “You mean you’re dying?”
“That is so,” von Doom replied. “At my current rate of deterioration, I estimate that I have no more than thirty days left in which to live.” “And what will happen when your time is up?”
“Before I draw my last breath, before Death comes to lead me into her realm of never-ending darkness, I will order the Cube to destroy this world, and everyone on it,” von Doom replied.
“That’s insane!” Betsy said. “Isn’t there some way for you to turn it off now, before it ever comes to that?”
“And why would I want to do that, girl?” the wizened Emperor replied; his tone was that of an adult addressing a child. “If Doom cannot rule the Earth for all eternity, then no one shall.”
Betsy shook her head emphatically. “No—there has to be another way.”
“There is an alternative . . .” von Doom said slowly.
Betsy eyed him warily. “What are you talking about?”
“It is the very reason I summoned you, girl: to offer you a rare opportunity,” von Doom said, a sinister gleam in his eyes. “Take possession of the Cube, and your lover will not have to die. Take the Cube, and this night and all its madness need never have occurred.”
“Why me?” she asked. “Why not Ororo, or one of your superpowered lapdogs? I’m sure they’d be more than willing to help you.”
“Indeed. But you have lost so much more that they ever have—so much, in fact, that I believe you would be willing to give up almost anything for the opportunity to restore your precious Mr. Worthington to life.” The old man smiled wolfishly. “Is that not so, Ms. Braddock?” A chill ran up Betsy’s spine as she realized what von Doom was saying. “And what do you want from me in return?”
Von Doom shrugged. “Merely a small service: That you take my place and maintain this reality, in exactly the same form in which I recreated it, under my guidance. You will do as I tell you, and, in exchange, you are free to resurrect Worthington, even start your lives over with new identities, if that is what you wish. The Cube can make it all a reality.” He paused. “Of course, you will never leave this chamber again, but you can still exist outside these walls, by placing part of your consciousness within the shell of an android created in your image—as I had been doing, until tonight. In this way, you will be able to move about the world, sharing your days with your handsome mutant as the mighty empire of von Doom continues to flourish.”
“But then, I’ll be the one who dies in a month’s time,” Betsy said. “Of course,” von Doom replied. “And then I shall find another troubled soul to take your place; then another, and another, ad infinitum.” He leaned forward in his chair. “But it will be a month that yoti would otherwise be unable to spend with Worthington, would it not? A month that could seem like an entire lifetime of happiness, with your lover by your side—alive, unharmed, ready to take you in his arms once more.” He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Are you willing to make such a sacrifice, Ms. Braddock? Are you willing to risk your life, your world. . . for love?”
Betsy suddenly trembled and turned away, placing a hand to her mouth so Doom wouldn’t hear her choking back a sob. He was the devil incarnate, she realized—a sadistic old man reveling in the torment he was putting her through, offering her her heart’s desires in exchange for her soul.
As for the Cosmic Cube . . .
It was a Monkey’s Paw; she knew that. Like the fictional talisman in the short horror story, it was a device created to give its bearer whatever their heart desired—money, power, the return of a loved one, long dead. But there was always a terrible price to be paid for its use— the Paw always perverted the wish, turned it against the one who uttered it, made a dream into a nightmare.
But, she was already living the nightmare, wasn’t she? Her world had been turned upside down, restructured by one of mankind’s greatest enemies with just a tiny box and a dream. And she had lost the only man she had ever truly loved, seen him taken from her by another egomaniacal dreamer who, if he ever learned of the Cube’s existence, would only use it to rewrite history to suit his own needs and place himself in power.
In one evening, everything she had come to accept as fact had been revealed as a lie—her life, her career, her history. A facade created by her subconscious, and an unusual combination of mystical and mutant super-powers—an eye of harmony in the raging storm that was the mind of Victor von Doom.
A dream that, even now, was fading into memory.
But no, she suddenly realized—not everything had been a lie. Even before the world was turned inside-out, she had had Warren’s love, and he, hers. Despite Doom’s machinations—perhaps even because of them—their love had endured, grown even stronger. Though they had forgotten their friends, their dedication to the visions of Charles Xavier, their lives as “super heroes,” not even the villainy of an all-powerful tyrant could keep them apart.
Was it wrong to want things to go back to the way they had been, Betsy asked herself—even if it meant putting the world back under the control of a tyrant?
At least with Doom in control, there would be a world of order, where there were no more half-mad mutant overlords tearing across the countryside, destroying the lives of innocent people—she’d see to that herself, without Doom’s tutelage. A world of peace and prosperity, where a blue-skinned, winged romantic and a British noblewoman trapped in the body of a Japanese karaoke singer could live Happily Ever After.
Would it really be so bad, Betsy wondered, to—just this once—be selfish enough to have her dream—to hold Warren in her arms again, run her fingers through his golden hair, giggle uncontrollably when he flashed his boyish grin, feel the warmth of his body beside her late at night?
To learn the answer, she would only have to pay a small price: her immortal soul.
A worthy exchange, she told herself, for love.
“Damn you, von Doom,” she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper. “You know I can’t live without him . . .”
“That is so,” von Doom replied. “And that is why, in the end, Doom is always the victor. Now—step forward . . . and take hold of the Cube.”
Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself, then reached for the small, glowing box. She felt its hypnotic pull, calling to her, whispering to her enticingly like a lover. Urging her to open Pandora’s Box and release the demons that savagely plucked at her heartstrings.
All it would take was a gentle touch, and a simple wish . . .
Warren, please forgive me. . . .
19
BETSY—NO!” cried Jean Grey from behind her.
She turned. Gathered on the far side of the chamber were Cy-
_ clops, Phoenix, Rogue, and Nightcrawler. Her fellow X-Men. Her
friends.
Her saviors from eternal damnation.
“Bah,” the wizened Emperor growled, and spat on the floor.
“It’s over, Doom,” Cyclops said. “Shut down the Cube, or we’ll shut it down for you.”
“Imbecile!” von Doom sniped. “You think restoring the world is as simple as flicking a light switch—I order the Cube to deactivate itself, and you awaken in your beds as though from a dream, wondering if any of this ever happened?” He snorted derisively. “At this point, the Cube is so unstable that it would require the full life-force of its possessor to
calm its increasingly uncontrollable energies, if only to provide them with enough time to change back all that I have done—to ‘lock in’ the matrix, so to speak, so that all will become as it had been, before my great plans were set into motion.”
“And when were you going to mention that bit of information?” Betsy snapped.
Phoenix looked to her husband, her features etched with concern. “Scott, unless someone else takes control of the Cube and puts everything back to normal, Roma will have no other choice but to take action herself.”
“And wipe out the entire universe to stop it,” Cyclops said. “I know.”
Betsy’s eyebrows rose dramatically. “I beg your pardon?”
“We are, as the saying goes, ‘racing the clock,’ ” Nightcrawler ex-
plained. “By recreating the world in Doom’s image, the Cube has created an instability in the omniverse that we must correct before—” “Before the universe is wiped out by Roma in order to stop it,” Betsy concluded. “Yes, I heard that part.”
“How very interesting . . .” von Doom muttered, clearly intrigued by this information. “I had no idea the Cube could be that powerful.” “Still set on destroying the world before you die, Doctor?” Betsy asked. “Or are you going to hand over the Cube now?”
“Regained your spirit, have you, now that your friends are here?” von Doom replied. He shrugged. “Perhaps I shall set events into motion myself, rather than wait for this Roma to rob me of such a grand opportunity.” He reached for the Cube—
—only to be yanked back by Nightcrawler as the blue-skinned teleporter suddenly appeared beside his chair, pinning the old man’s arms against the throne.
“I believe you have had enough fun with your toy, Herr Doktor, ” Kurt said sternly. “Now, it is time for the adults to put your things away and tidy up what you have so callously broken while we were away.” “I will see you dead, mutant,” the Emperor spat, struggling to free himself. “Crushed beneath my boot heel.”
“Would that be before or after you have chased me down the hallway with your walker, Grandfather?” Kurt asked sarcastically. “Now be still, before I forget you are a doddering old fool and turn you over to Rogue. She is most eager to speak with you in private—if you understand my meaning.” There was a sinister tone to his voice that surprised even Betsy.
Von Doom gazed evenly at Betsy. “It appears that we are back where we began, Ms. Braddock. Since I am unable to use the Cube, the world—and, quite possibly, the safety of the universe itself—is now yours for the making ... if you have the strength of will to control it.” “I’ll do it,” Cyclops said without hesitation. He took a step toward the throne.
“No, ” Betsy said.
Cyclops halted; he looked confused by her reaction.
“Oh, stop playing the noble martyr, Scott, and think of your wife for a change,” Betsy said, with more than a touch of anger. “You and Jean have struggled enough, suffered enough, to help the Professor try and realize his dream for a better world. You’re always putting the team ahead of yourselves, constantly giving of yourselves—” she glanced at Phoenix “—but I know that, in the backs of your minds, you’re always wondering when the day will come when one of you doesn’t come back from a mission. And whether you’ll have had the chance to say how much you love each other before that happens.” She shook her head. “That has to stop. ”
She smiled at them both. “Don’t you see? You should be happy for once in your lives; enjoy the times you have together.” A trace of sadness crept into her dark eyes. “They’re so precious, and they pass so quickly. What the two of you have is something special—as special a love as the one Warren and I have—” she winced “—had...” Her voice trailed off for a moment, then she cleared her throat. “You shouldn’t be so willing to just casually toss it aside everytime there’s a crisis.”
“Betsy, I know how badly you want to be able to bring Warren back with the Cube,” Cyclops said, “but there’s more at stake here than that.”
“I know that now,” Betsy said. “And I still want to go through with this.”
“But, you don’t have to,” Cyclops argued. “Would Warren really want you to sacrifice yourself just because you feel lost without him?”
“It’s my choice, Scott,” Betsy replied. “My decision. Someone has to be willing to give up their life for the safety of the universe—why does it always have to be you or Jean?” She smiled. “You shouldn’t have a monopoly on saving the world, you know. It gives the rest of us terrible inferiority complexes.” Not wishing to discuss the matter any further, she turned to face the Cube. “All right—let’s get this over with.”
“Betsy—” Jean began.
“Be happy, my friends,” she said softly, and stepped forward. Her hands began to close around the Cube—
And the far wall of the chamber suddenly exploded inward, sending chunks of concrete and adamantium hurtling through the darkened room with missile-like speed. The X-Men dove for what little cover was available; von Doom was protected by the Cube’s power.
Then, Magneto strode into the room.
He struck quickly, wordlessly, immobilizing Phoenix with the same blood-controlling defense he had used on Ororo, rendering Jean unconscious before she was able to defend herself. As Phoenix collapsed, Cyclops moved to open his visor and unleash his power beams—only to be attacked by Pietro, who ran past his father to rain a furious series of blows upon Scott’s head; the insensate leader of the X-Men soon joined his wife on the floor.
Rogue raced forward to aid her fallen comrades, but the Southern Belle was intercepted by a powerful forcefield—courtesy of the arriving Unuscione—that slammed into her, then crushed her against a wall of the chamber and held her there. As Rogue struggled to free herself, a thick fog flowed into her nostrils and mouth, cutting off her breath. The red-and-black-clad powerhouse gasped for air for a few moments, then went slack.
Unuscione deactivated the forcefield, and Rogue pitched forward, unconscious, onto the floor. A moment later, the same fog that had stopped her breathing flowed out of her body, to solidify into the form of Amanda Voght.
Nightcrawler was the only one who succeeded in reaching the mutant overlord, by teleporting across the chamber. But his attack was ended before the first punch had been thrown, cut down by the powerful electrical charge of an amplified taser fired by Forge as he and Cortez joined his master.
And then Magneto turned to face Betsy.
“You,” Betsy growled. “How could you have—” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter how you survived. It just means I’ll have to be sure I finish the job this time.” She stepped forward, a newly-formed psychic blade glowing around her right hand.
“It seems, my dear Psylocke,” Magneto explained, “that the circuitry lining my helmet which had long enabled me to avoid detection by the dreaded ‘Psi Division’ is also capable of protecting my mind from serious mental injury . . . though the pain I experienced at your hands was quite overwhelming.” He sneered. “Allow me to return the favor.”
He waved a hand in her direction, and a bolt of magnetic energy caught Betsy full in the chest, tossing her backward and slamming her against a wall. She collapsed in a heap onto the chamber floor, mind and body wracked with blinding pain; the psychic blade vanished.
Apparently satisfied that the X-Men would not present him with any further trouble, the mutant overlord continued his approach toward the man he had come to destroy.
“You dare to step unbidden into the palace of Doom?” the armored tyrant said in a reedy voice to his longtime enemy. The Cube began to glow brighter. “With but a thought, mutant, I shall—”
“Be quiet, you impotent old worm!” Magneto shouted, and struck von Doom across the face with the back of his gauntleted hand. The former Emperor tumbled from his throne, to lie in a heap on the floor, his breaths coming in short, labored gasps.
Separated from its master, the Cosmic Cube merely floated in midair, as though certain tha
t a new owner would soon come along to take possession of its wondrous gifts.
Magneto, of course, was more than willing to fill that position. Kicking von Doom aside, he sank into the soft-cushioned throne and placed both hands around the source of ultimate power.
“Somebody havin’ a party an’ ferget t’invite me?” shouted a gruff voice.
Everyone but Magneto and von Doom turned to look as Wolverine staggered into the chamber through the hole created by the mutant overlord. He was covered from head to toe in blood, and his street clothes hung in tatters on his hirsute frame. His arms, legs, and face were a mass of scar tissue, and there was a particularly nasty gash across his chest; if it weren’t for his unique healing factor, he obviously would have been dead quite some time ago.
“Logan,” Betsy whispered gratefully as the magnetically-generated pain she was suffering began to abate. Gazing upon her blood-soaked teammate, an old punchline came to mind: “If you think I look bad, you should see the other guy.” She could only imagine the sort of condition in which Logan had left his unknown sparring partner; it sent a chill up her spine.
Using the wall for support, she pulled herself back onto her feet. “Wolverine!” she shouted. “Doom’s been using a Cosmic Cube to create all this insanity—you’ve got to stop Magnus from trying to take possession of it!”
Logan looked across the chamber to see Magneto cradling the Cube in his hands, staring into its milky depths as though hypnotized. The device pulsed with a blindingly-sharp, white luminescence.
“Glad t’be o’ service,” Wolverine said with a sinister smile. He triggered his claws—the tips were tinted a disturbingly bright crimson— and ran straight for Magneto.
“No!” Pietro yelled. “My father shall not be stopped now—not when he is about to make his life’s work—his long-cherished dream—a reality!”
“Then I’m just the guy t’be givin’ ’im a wake-up call!” Wolverine barked, and charged at the mutant overlord, claws raised to strike a killing blow.
But Quicksilver was too fast. In the blink of an eye, the whitehaired speedster was upon him, unleashing a flurry of blows that rocked the scrappy Canadian. Frustrated and angry, Logan snarled and blindly lashed out with his claws, but Pietro managed to stay just outside their range, ducking and weaving with blinding speed as he continued his assault.
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