by Alex Irvine
“As long as you have it figured out now,” Captain America said. “We don’t have time for hard feelings.”
The entire group gathered together as the rest of the X-Men climbed or flew or teleported out of the hole. “Now,” Captain America said, “When and if Galactus reappears, what is our plan?”
“Better decide fast,” Wolverine said. “Look up at the mountain.”
They did. Galactus was back. So was his machine.
FORTY-FIVE
THEY had put Doom in a cell, and he had not bothered to resist. It would have been pointless at the time.
Galactus had discovered his presence. Doom recalled again the sensation of the cosmic being’s awareness, a brief pressure that had startled him and interrupted his work aboard Galactus’ ship. An instant later, Galactus had ejected him thoughtlessly and violently. Doom had returned to his chambers, his armor scorched and his body beaten down. And then the Avengers had arrived.
Doom could have rallied, but acquiescing for the moment was by far the most efficient way to gain time to think and gather strength. His fight was not with these petty humans, but with those who held true power.
Doom’s armor was still damaged, but he had built a shielded emergency power capsule into the lower leg. He activated it now and assessed the armor’s function. It would do. The sort of battle he anticipated would not be won or lost by force, but by will and intelligence. In or out of his armor, Victor von Doom had ample supplies of both.
The armor, however, did make it much easier to shatter the door of his cell so he could once again walk freely about the corridors of Doombase. He passed the rest of his servants, imprisoned in their own cells. They cried out for him to free them, but he ignored their pleas. They were no longer of use. When he had needed to counter the attacks of the X-Men and Avengers, he had required numbers. Now he needed only one of them, for the key to defeating the Beyonder was Galactus’ ship. This was the conclusion he had reached during his reflection in the cell.
And the key to commanding the power of Galactus’ ship was Ulysses Klaw.
He released Klaw, who babbled an incoherent thanks. “Free like a bee to be meeee, ee, what’s the plan?” Klaw followed Doom into the research area where he had created Volcana and Titania. Their captors were absent—so much the better. Doom had little time for distractions. “Plans make for winninging, yes they do do Doom,” Klaw cackled.
“Lie on that table,” Doom ordered him. He did so immediately.
Doom arranged a microbeam-laser assembly over Klaw’s supine body. “I am going to dissect you, Klaw. You are not to move while the procedure is in progress.”
“Dissect me? Just don’t reject me. Protect me,” Klaw said.
Doom began cutting. He dispensed with Klaw’s limbs first, depositing them on an adjacent table; improbably, Klaw began to giggle. “Doesn’t hurt when your nerves are inert because you’re made of sound, ound,” he said. “It tingles, ingles!”
On he babbled as Doom racked the laser back and forth across his torso, shaving off millimeter-thin slices of Ulysses Klaw one by one. When Klaw’s head was all that remained, he shut off the laser. He had perhaps five hundred usable cross-sections of Klaw’s body, ovoid slivers of pure sound. They would resonate at the same frequency as they had when they were within the walls of the World-Ship, and that was the key to Doom’s plan.
He was well aware that execution of the plan could kill him. That had been the case with every action he had taken on Battleworld. When one played for the ultimate prize, one had to risk the ultimate stakes.
The slivers went onto a levitating platform that Doom sent to another chamber within Doombase where the windows had the best angle on the looming World-Ship. He saw via the wall-spanning monitors that Galactus’ machine was radiating pure energy, indicating it must be well advanced in its work of leaching Battleworld’s biospheric energies. Good. Galactus would be attentive to that, and therefore not to Doom.
He also saw, in the space beyond the immensity of the World-Ship, a crescent of light. The Beyonder had opened another rift in space-time. Was he preparing once again to communicate with them? Or did he sense the endgame’s approach and wish to observe it directly? Whatever the cause, Doom understood that he now had the means to approach the Beyonder directly. He had failed on the previous attempt, suffering the same fate as Galactus.
This time, however, the outcome would be different.
“Klaw,” Doom said. “Are you able to move your hand?”
Klaw’s head lay on the cutting table. On the adjacent table, the fingers of one hand wiggled. “See how I can move it, groove it, make the fingers wiggle iggle,” he said.
“I am going to place your hand on a button, Klaw,” Doom said. “When I give the command, you will press it.”
“I’ll press it, won’t regress it, more or less it,” Klaw said.
Doom put Klaw’s hand exactly where he wanted it. “Do not move your hand before—”
“Your command,” Klaw finished. He started to cackle, and Doom left the room.
On the monitors, he saw the heroes gathered together. Surely they were planning an attack on Galactus. Just as surely, it would not matter. Even so, he hoped they did attack. Every iota of distraction increased the probability that Victor von Doom, and not Galactus, would triumphantly face the Beyonder and demand his prize.
FORTY-SIX
AS FAR as Steve Rogers was concerned, the reappearance of Galactus and his world-eating machine meant the time for conversation was over. He wasn’t going to sit back on a chance and let these people die. “We’re going after him,” he said.
“Hold on, Cap,” Cyclops said. “Didn’t you listen to what Reed just told us?”
“I listened,” Cap said. “Sounds to me like Reed doesn’t even know for sure what Galactus meant. If that’s the case, I’m going to make my own decision. We don’t know what will happen if Galactus wins. We do know what will happen if we win. That’s all I need to decide.”
“Count me out,” the Thing said. “If Reed thinks we’re supposed to sit this one out, that’s good enough for me. One less monster made outta orange rocks isn’t going to make any difference to the universe.”
“Quitter,” Hawkeye said. “After all this, you’re going to bail now? That’s the coward’s way out.”
The Thing stepped closer to Hawkeye. “Say that again.”
“Back off, Hawkeye,” Johnny Storm warned.
“You should back off yourself,” Colossus interjected. Both Johnny and Ben glared at him.
“And you two should end your feud over Zsaji,” Xavier interrupted. “Do you not see that you have been beguiled by her healing powers? Peter, when have you ever been led by a passing infatuation? Johnny Storm, I do not know you as well, but I have touched your mind. Your feelings for Zsaji, like Peter’s, are a consequence of her healing touch.”
“I kinda fell for her myself for a minute,” Spider-Man agreed.
“Me, too,” Hawkeye admitted.
“You see?” Xavier said. “We are all vulnerable to Battleworld, for it senses and amplifies our desires. It makes us believe in our wildest dreams, and then sometimes it makes them come true. Does it not, Clint Barton?”
“Yeah,” Hawkeye said. “It does.”
“So it has for me as well,” Xavier said. “I do not know if I will still be able to walk when we return to Earth, but…” He paused, gathering his words. “It has been a long time since I have felt such exhilaration. This was also another reason for my separating the X-Men from you others. The dream of autonomy, of operating free from the stigma of mutant or outlaw…but again, though Battleworld can grant wishes, it seems, still some of our desires must be subordinated to the greater good.”
“Are we all on the same team again?” Steve cut in. “I mean, I hate to interrupt the group therapy, but Galactus is about to eat this planet out from under us.”
He turned and marched away up the mountain. On foot and in the air, the others followed.
Steve glanced back and saw Ben and Reed watching them.
“They’re going without us, pal,” the Thing said gravely. Reed nodded.
“Whatever my misgivings, we cannot leave them to this alone,” he said. Ben and Reed followed Steve up the mountain. United, the heroes went to face Galactus.
This time, Galactus didn’t rely on his drones. When they started to get close, he turned away from his machine and raised his arms. A storm of force rolled over them, knocking many of the heroes down and causing the rest to seek cover. But it wasn’t the same power he’d shown when he flicked them all away from Reed earlier, Steve noticed. Either he was getting weak, or he was distracted by the energy-extraction process—or something else was going on that Steve couldn’t understand, and probably wouldn’t even if it were explained to him.
When the force wave passed, the Hulk charged ahead. “Sick of getting pushed around!” he roared, sounding more than a little like the old, rage-driven Hulk. “I’m gonna—”
An energy blast from Galactus’ eyes cut him off and blew him back down the slope. Thor caught him before he could tumble over the edge of a cliff down into the village. The rest of the group forged ahead. “Think it’s a good sign that he’s paying attention, Cap?” Cyclops asked.
“I have no idea,” Steve said.
Ahead of them, Johnny and Rhodey hit Galactus with fire and repulsors. From the cliff edge, Thor wound up and let fly with Mjolnir, which slammed into Galactus’ helmet and seemed to stagger him momentarily. Steve, along with the rest of the group that couldn’t fly, was close enough to engage now. He threw his shield and watched it ping off Galactus’ knee as Galactus shifted his weight and tried to step on Spider-Man. Explosions went off on the other side of the machine as Rhodey hit it with Iron Man’s unibeam. In all the chaos, Steve didn’t hear what Reed was shouting right away. In a lull between impacts and explosions, he caught the gist.
“Reed says leave the machine alone!” he shouted. “Focus on Galactus! The machine doesn’t matter!”
As Reed said it, Galactus rose from the ground. Rogue slammed into him with all the force she could muster. He ignored her. He also ignored Mjolnir, Steve’s shield, and the lightning Storm threw at him. He accelerated straight up, becoming a tiny dot in the sky—and then, as he got farther away, seemingly growing larger. “What the hell?” Cap wondered out loud.
“He changes his size at will,” Reed said next to him. “Typically he is larger when he is stronger. This isn’t good.”
Galactus disappeared as he reached the World-Ship. “He ran,” Steve said. “That’s good.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Reed said as the World-Ship began to glow. At the same time, the machine on the mountaintop went inert. The coiling ropes of biospheric energy faded away.
“He’s not draining Battleworld anymore!” Spider-Woman said. Everyone looked happy about this—until they saw Reed’s face.
“We’ve made things too complicated down here,” Reed said. “He’s decided to devour the greatest energy source at his disposal instead—his own ship.”
“So we forced his hand,” Cyclops said. “I don’t see what’s wrong with that.”
“Don’t you? We’ve lost,” Reed said. “We can’t touch Galactus anymore. All we can do now is watch and see whether the Beyonder or Galactus wins.”
The sky over Battleworld blazed as the World-Ship was converted into energy. In the quadrant of the sky opposite the afternoon sun, they also saw something else.
The blackness of deep space, uninterrupted by stars, had again torn open, and the Beyonder’s other-dimensional light shone through.
FORTY-SEVEN
DOOM had been correct. His volcanic diversion, together with the heroes’ ill-advised but fortuitous intervention, had turned Galactus’ hunger on to his own ship. Even now it was undergoing a transformation into the fundamental energy known as the Power Cosmic—Galactus’ only source of sustenance, that for which he incessantly hungered.
“Now!” Doom commanded.
“Ow, ow, ow,” Klaw echoed, the sound of his voice reverberating through the row of amplifying lenses Doom had constructed out of Klaw’s body.
The array of lenses activated, creating a concentrated beam of vibratory energy that reached out in a thousandth of a second across the distance from Doombase to the World-Ship. Resonating with the remnant energy in the ship’s structure, the beam redirected the Power Cosmic—shunting it away from Galactus and into Doom!
It was a feeling beyond pain, beyond pleasure—beyond anything that the word feeling could express. Doom remained Doom, but what it meant to be Doom was now different. The Power Cosmic imbued every atom of his being, linking him with the universal substratum of reality. Doom opened himself to it, knowing that to resist would mean annihilation.
It was over in an instant.
He looked at the array of lenses and saw every vibration inherent in each one. Turning his attention across the room to the head of Ulysses Klaw, he formed the intention to move. In response to his intention, the world moved around him. The floor rippled and folded, while the table holding Klaw’s head remade itself closer to Doom. What was happening? He was standing next to Klaw, who watched in awe raw and saw pitch roll yaw
The thoughts um thoughts um flotsam of the disembodied la di disembodied head bled fed flooded Doom’s mind wind blind find—
—and he pushed them back out. Ah! The Power Cosmic had made his will part of the physical world itself, and every mind within it! He had to disentangle himself before the human root of his consciousness dissipated into an intermingled world-soul, so diffuse that it could no longer be an individual. This was power that no ordinary human could possibly control.
But Doom was no mere mortal. He formed himself. He built a wall around the mind that called itself Victor von Doom, sectioned off the memories and experiences and sensations that had made him who he was. As he did so, the world settled back into place. He was separate from it once again.
Still he could feel the minds and emotions of every one of his servants imprisoned many floors below. Their rage, their envy, and their darkest secrets were all his to know—and to scorn for their pettiness. He was beyond such as they, and perhaps always had been, but now the difference was made clear.
Klaw was yammering; though Doom made no conscious note of his syllables, he entertained Klaw’s desperate appetite for attention.
“Yes, Klaw,” he said. “I now control the Power Cosmic. My mind has expanded to touch all of reality simultaneously, yet I also feel the subatomic dance of every particle that composes my body…and yours.”
“Mine’s fine, pieces all in a line, not going to whine over sine and cosine until I get to recombine—”
Doom did not tell Klaw to be silent—but when he wished it, Klaw ceased raving. He sensed an intruder who a moment ago had not been present. “Ah. Spectrum,” he said. “You have already communicated with Xavier. I hope he is satisfied with the exchange as it stands, for it will proceed no longer.”
With a thought, he rooted out the source of her power to become light and turned it against her. “You have traveled at the speed of light. Now your light has become as matter frozen in place, never to move again. Let it never be said that Doom has no appreciation for irony.”
The woman froze in the corner of the room, her form shimmering and nearly transparent.
Then he considered what to do next. He had usurped the power of Galactus; only one task remained.
Yet was it possible that he had already achieved all that he might? With such power as he already possessed, Doom could command the billions of microscopic sparks that created the human mind. He could transform matter into light, and light into matter. He could bend the very fabric of reality to his will. He saw and felt and thought everything. Omniscience was his!
But only in this universe. The gleaming rent in space-time beckoned to something still greater. The Beyonder watched. Surely he must have known the power Doom now possessed, and he aw
aited Doom’s next action.
Every life on Battleworld was Doom’s to command. He could erase them all with a thought, and then present himself to the Beyonder for his prize. Yet what could he wish for that was not already his?
The answer was nothing—at least nothing the Beyonder would willingly grant. Doom now knew himself to be the most powerful being in the universe—save perhaps the Beyonder himself. Knowing that, he realized his goal was the same as it had been when first he conceived of turning the Beyonder’s game to his own advantage. He would not be second-best. He would not go to the Beyonder as a supplicant, begging for a reward.
He would go as one who demanded tribute. And if the Beyonder did not yield it up, Doom would destroy him as well.
“The Beyonder is yonder, no time to ponder,” Klaw said. “He’ll kill you,” he added, as though he knew Doom’s true intentions. And perhaps he did: The crazed, half-living creature had power of his own, though nothing rivaling Doom’s.
“No, Klaw. I alone among sentient beings in this universe possess some insight into the Beyonder’s power. The energy field that repelled Galactus and me on our first approach also yielded to me critical information.”
Doom fed that information into the atoms of his armor as he spoke, bidding them remake themselves into a weapon. He concealed it—knowing that like David braving the spears of the Philistines to cast the stone that would strike down Goliath, Doom must brave the Beyonder’s physical presence to unleash the weapon that would end him. He would not risk all from a distance.
“Information,” Klaw said. “Ones and zeroes, here come the heroes.”
Doom heard a thunderous crash from far below. “So it would seem, Klaw. They have arrived, but when they reach this place where I now stand, I will have departed. You may tell them so.”
He would leave them Spectrum as a token of his power, he decided. When he returned, they would worship him as a god—or he would brush them out of existence and create a new race of mortals to do him proper obeisance.
