Marvel 616X

The medical facility was quiet, save for the faint hum of machinery and the steady beeping of monitors. Scarlet Witch lay motionless in her stasis pod, her serene face illuminated by the soft red glow of the containment field. Albedo stood beside Doom, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed on Wanda Maximoff's still form.

"She's just… stuck like this?" Albedo asked, his tone laced with frustration.

"For now," Doom replied, his voice calm but edged with determination. "The drugs coursing through her veins are unlike any I have encountered before. A cocktail designed not only to suppress her powers but to trap her consciousness in an unresponsive state."

Albedo frowned, stepping closer to the pod. "Can you fix it?"

Doom's gaze didn't waver from the monitors. "Given time, yes. But it will not be a simple process. The Maker's methods are precise, insidious. He ensured that even I would face difficulty in unraveling his work."

Albedo's jaw tightened. "We don't have time. She's supposed to be one of our heavy hitters, Doom. If she's stuck in there, we're down one of our strongest assets."

Doom turned to face him, his mask reflecting the crimson light of the pod. "And if I rush the process, I could destroy her mind completely. Would you have that on your conscience, Albedo? Another life lost because of your impatience?"

Albedo's fists clenched. "I'm not saying we throw caution to the wind. I'm saying we can't afford to sit on our hands."

Doom's voice hardened. "Scarlet Witch is not a pawn for you to move at will. She is a person—one who has already endured unimaginable suffering. If you truly wish to lead this resistance, you must learn to balance urgency with care."

Albedo's gaze shifted back to Wanda, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Fine. Do what you have to do. But the longer she's out, the more ground we lose."

Doom said nothing, his attention returning to the monitors. Albedo took one last look at Wanda, the faint flicker of her magical energy barely perceptible through the containment field. Whatever had been done to her, it was clear the Maker had gone to great lengths to ensure she wouldn't be a threat.

Albedo turned away, his mind racing. They were supposed to be building an army, but right now, it felt like they were barely holding on.

Albedo followed Doom through the corridors of the medical facility, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the cold metallic walls. They stopped outside another recovery chamber, this one bathed in a softer, golden glow. Inside, Kaine Reilly—the Scarlet Spider—lay propped up on a hospital bed, his body hooked up to several machines monitoring his vitals.

Unlike Wanda, Kaine was awake. His pale face bore the scars of countless battles, and his eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion, but there was a faint spark of life in them.

"He's conscious?" Albedo asked, stepping closer to the observation window.

"Barely," Doom replied. "His recovery is slow, but the enhancements I've employed are working. The stasis chamber he was kept in preserved his body but did nothing to heal his injuries. Without my intervention, he would have perished within hours of being removed."

Albedo glanced back at Doom. "And now?"

"Now, he lives," Doom said simply, his tone devoid of emotion. "But his condition remains precarious. He requires rest and careful monitoring."

Albedo pressed a hand against the glass, studying Kaine's face. The man looked like he'd been through hell and back, but there was resilience in his features, a quiet defiance that hadn't been extinguished.

"Can I talk to him?" Albedo asked.

Doom nodded once. "Briefly. Do not push him too hard."

Albedo stepped into the chamber, the faint hum of the machines growing louder as he approached Kaine's bed. The Scarlet Spider's eyes flickered open at the sound of the door, his gaze locking onto Albedo.

"You're awake," Albedo said, keeping his tone neutral.

Kaine's voice was raspy but steady as he replied. "Yeah. Lucky me." He coughed lightly, grimacing as the effort sent a jolt of pain through his chest. "Who… are you?"

"Albedo," he said. "I'm the one who got you out of that prison."

Kaine blinked slowly, his expression unreadable. "Great. Another person I owe."

"You don't owe me anything," Albedo said, his voice firm. "But we're in the middle of something big. And when you're ready—"

"Don't," Kaine interrupted, his tone sharper now. "I know where this is going. You need soldiers, right? Someone to help you fight your war."

Albedo hesitated, caught off guard by the man's directness. "Yeah. But I'm not going to force you into anything."

Kaine gave a bitter laugh, his voice rough. "Force me? You don't need to. I've got nothing else, anyway. Just… let me get back on my feet first."

Albedo nodded, his expression softening slightly. "Fair enough. Just focus on recovering. We'll deal with the rest later."

Kaine's eyes drifted shut again, his exhaustion taking over. Albedo turned back toward the door, his mind racing. The man's willpower was undeniable, but his body was still fragile. Pushing him too soon could mean losing him entirely.

As Albedo exited the chamber, Doom stood waiting, his arms crossed.

"He is willing," Albedo said quietly, "but he's got a long way to go."

Doom nodded. "Then we give him the time he needs. As I told you, Albedo, desperation is not our ally."

For once, Albedo didn't argue. He looked back at the chamber door, determination flickering in his crimson eyes. They were building something here—fragile, yes, but with potential. And that would have to be enough for now.

Albedo and Doom walked silently down the pristine corridors of the medical facility, their footsteps echoing softly as they approached the therapy chambers. The tension in the air was palpable, a reflection of Albedo's lingering frustration and Doom's ever-present focus.

When they reached the observation room, they stopped in front of a wide, reinforced glass window. Inside, Natasha Romanoff—once the infamous Black Widow—was seated on a padded bench, facing a calm and measured Latverian therapist. Her posture was perfect, her body language composed, but her eyes betrayed a quiet uncertainty.

Albedo folded his arms, his gaze fixed on Natasha. "She doesn't even look like she's injured. How bad is it?"

"Physically, she is unscathed," Doom replied, his tone clipped. "But her mind has been fractured. The Maker's methods were surgical, precise. He stripped her of her identity while leaving her functional. Her skills, her instincts, her muscle memory—they remain intact. But she has no recollection of who she truly is."

Albedo frowned, watching Natasha as the therapist spoke to her. She nodded occasionally, her responses short and to the point. There was no fire in her gaze, no trace of the sharp, calculating mind that had once defined her.

"She doesn't even know who she is," Albedo muttered. "Can't we do something? Reverse whatever he did to her?"

"I have already begun examining the remnants of the conditioning techniques used on her," Doom said. "It is a complex web of psychological manipulation and neural rewriting. Undoing it will take time—and even then, there is no guarantee of success."

Albedo's frustration was evident as he turned to face Doom. "So what? We just leave her like this?"

Doom's mask tilted slightly, his voice calm but firm. "She is undergoing therapy with the best specialists Latveria has to offer. Forcing her into battle would only exacerbate her condition and further erode what little stability she has left. It is a risk we cannot afford."

Inside the chamber, Natasha performed a series of reflex tests at the therapist's request. Her movements were flawless, each action executed with precision and control. Yet, there was no confidence behind them, no sign of the woman who had once been one of the world's deadliest spies.

"She's still a weapon," Albedo said, his voice low. "Even like this, she could be useful."

"She is a weapon, yes," Doom replied. "But one that has been disarmed and pointed in no direction. Without her sense of self, she is a liability. Even now, she obeys commands without question, but that obedience is born of emptiness, not loyalty."

Albedo watched as Natasha stood, her posture stiff as the therapist dismissed her for the session. She walked toward the exit of the chamber, her movements robotic and detached.

"So we don't recruit her," Albedo said finally, his tone reluctant.

"Correct," Doom confirmed. "For now, she remains in recovery. Her potential is vast, but to force her into action prematurely would be both cruel and counterproductive."

Albedo nodded slowly, though his expression was troubled. As much as he hated to admit it, Doom was right. Natasha wasn't ready, and pushing her into the fight would do more harm than good.

"She's in there somewhere," Albedo said quietly, his gaze following Natasha as she exited the chamber. "You'd better find a way to bring her back."

Doom turned away, his voice resolute. "That is the plan, Albedo. But we must allow time to do what urgency cannot. Let us proceed."

After leaving Natasha Romanoff's therapy chamber, Albedo and Doom walked silently through the halls of Castle Doom. The cold, unyielding corridors reflected the mood hanging between them. Albedo's frustration was evident in his clenched fists and furrowed brow.

"This isn't going to work if everyone we save is a project," Albedo muttered, breaking the silence. "We need someone who can actually fight now, not after months of recovery."

Doom glanced at him, his expression unreadable behind the mask. "We have someone. Lorna Dane is stable, her abilities intact. She has already endured much under the Maker's regime. If she chooses to fight, she could be a valuable ally."

Albedo nodded, his frustration easing slightly. "Let's see if she's on board."

The two stopped at the door to Polaris's chamber. With a gesture from Doom, the door slid open, revealing a modest but well-equipped room. Lorna Dane stood near a wide window, her green hair catching the light as she turned toward them. Her piercing gaze landed first on Doom, then shifted to Albedo.

"Doom," she said evenly, her tone unreadable. "And… you. The one who broke us out."

"That'd be me," Albedo replied casually, stepping into the room. "Good to see you're up and moving."

Lorna folded her arms, leaning back slightly against the window frame. "What do you want?"

Doom stepped forward, his commanding presence filling the room. "We need your assistance, Lorna Dane. The Maker's regime continues to strengthen its hold. Your abilities could turn the tide in our efforts to bring it down."

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion flashing across her face. "The Maker. That name keeps coming up. Who is he? Why does he look like Reed Richards but act like something out of a nightmare?"

Albedo's tone grew serious. "He's not Reed Richards. He just looks like him. The Maker came here from another dimension and has been manipulating this world for decades. He's the one who put you in that prison, who's kept Magneto in line, and who's crushed every rebellion before it could gain ground."

Lorna's expression hardened, the weight of their words sinking in. "So he's the reason everything's gone to hell."

"Yes," Doom said, his tone cold and precise. "He is the reason you were imprisoned, the reason mutants are little more than tools under Magneto's leadership. The Maker orchestrated this world to serve his vision of control."

"And you want me to help you stop him," she said, her arms tightening across her chest.

"Yes," Albedo said, stepping closer. "We're not asking you to follow orders or join some government-sanctioned team. This is about fighting back. You've seen what he's done, and it's only going to get worse if we don't act."

Lorna studied them for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she pushed off the wall and nodded. "Fine. I'll help you. But let me be clear—I'm not doing this for you, and I'm not doing it for Doom. I'm doing it for everyone the Maker's crushed. If we're going to fight him, we're going all the way."

Doom inclined his head slightly, his tone even. "Your resolve is noted, Lorna Dane. You will find that we share your goal. Welcome to the resistance."

Albedo smirked faintly, though his eyes carried a flicker of respect. "Glad to have you on board. Let's show the Maker what it's like to lose for a change."

Lorna turned back to the window, her gaze distant but determined. "We'd better make it count."

With their newest ally recruited, Albedo and Doom left the chamber, their steps purposeful as the rebellion began to take shape.

Albedo followed Doom out of the room, his thoughts heavy as they moved toward the next phase of their preparations.

Albedo and Doom entered the final chamber, where Donald Blake sat on a simple bench, his posture upright but subdued. Despite his mortal frame, there was something commanding about him, a quiet dignity that hinted at the godly power he once wielded. His sharp eyes turned toward them as they approached, a flicker of recognition in his expression.

"Thou art the one who freed me," Blake said, his voice carrying an Olde English lilt, even in his subdued state. "And thee, Doom of Latveria. Thy reputations precede thee both."

Albedo folded his arms, leaning against the wall. "Donald Blake, right? Or should I call you Thor?"

Blake's expression darkened at the name, his gaze lowering. "Thy jest cuts deeper than thou knowest. I am but a shadow of the god I once was. Thor is no more."

Doom stepped forward, his tone measured. "Explain your circumstances, Blake. If we are to work together, we need to understand the events that led you here."

Blake nodded, his hands resting on his knees as he began. "It was Loki," he said, his voice heavy with the weight of memory. "My brother… the trickster. He allied himself with the Maker, though to what end, I do not fully know. What I do know is that he hath usurped Asgard, seated himself upon the throne, and declared me an enemy of our realm."

Albedo's eyes narrowed. "And your father, Odin? What happened to him?"

Blake's fists clenched, his voice trembling with barely contained grief. "The All-Father is dead. Loki claimed it was by my hand. A lie, of course, but one the Maker ensured would be believed by all. For my supposed crime, I was banished to Midgard, my powers stripped, and my essence bound within Mjolnir."

"Mjolnir," Doom said, his tone sharp. "The imposter who now wields it—what do you know of him?"

Blake shook his head, his expression bitter. "Little, save that he is a pawn of Loki and the Maker. A pretender who carries my name but none of its weight."

Albedo crossed his arms, studying Blake. "So your brother teams up with the Maker, gets your father killed, and frames you for it. That's quite the mess."

"Aye," Blake said, his voice steady despite the pain in his words. "But my strength is not wholly lost. Though I lack my divine power, I am still willing to fight. Mortal or god, I will not stand idly by while Loki and the Maker corrupt all that remains."

Doom regarded Blake for a moment, his calculating mind clearly at work. "You are willing to fight, even as a mortal?"

Blake straightened, his gaze resolute. "Aye. If this form is all I have, then I shall wield it with honor."

Albedo stepped closer, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "That's good to hear, but we're not going to send you into battle without giving you a fighting chance. Doom, you're thinking what I'm thinking, right?"

Doom inclined his head slightly. "Indeed. If we cannot restore your godly essence, we can at least create a tool to mimic its power."

Blake raised an eyebrow. "A tool, thou sayest? What dost thou propose?"

Doom turned to Albedo, gesturing toward the door. "We will need to discuss the specifics elsewhere, but the concept is simple. A device that enhances your mortal form, allowing you to wield the strength and durability of Thor. It will not be a perfect replica, but it will suffice."

Blake frowned, his gaze flicking between the two. "Thou wouldst create an artifact to mimic Mjolnir? Such a thing hath never been done."

Albedo shrugged. "Never been done doesn't mean it's impossible. Doom's got the brains, I've got the… well, everything else. Between the two of us, we'll figure it out."

Doom's voice was firm as he addressed Blake. "If you are to fight alongside us, you must be equipped to do so effectively. This device will serve that purpose, provided you are willing to wield it."

Blake stood, his mortal frame seeming to carry more weight as he met their gazes. "If thou canst create such a device, I shall wield it with honor. But be warned: Loki's treachery is vast, and his alliance with the Maker only strengthens his reach. If we are to succeed, we must be prepared for anything."

Albedo smirked, nodding. "Prepared is what we're aiming for. Just sit tight, Blake. We'll get you ready for the fight."

Blake inclined his head solemnly. "Then I shall await thy summons. May the Norns guide thy hands."

As they left the chamber, Albedo turned to Doom, his voice low. "You think we can actually pull this off?"

Doom's tone carried an edge of certainty. "With the resources at my disposal and your… unconventional perspective, I see no reason why we cannot. The only question is how quickly we can achieve it."

Albedo nodded, determination flickering in his crimson eyes. "Let's get to work, then."

Albedo and Doom moved briskly through the corridors of Castle Doom, their strides purposeful as they discussed the mechanics of creating a device that could emulate Thor's legendary power. Albedo's mind was already racing with possibilities, his technical knowledge running through potential designs and applications.

"We'll need something that can handle immense output," Albedo was saying, "but it can't be overly reliant on external power sources. Blake needs to be self-sufficient."

"Agreed," Doom replied, his tone clipped but focused. "I have access to Latverian alloys and arcane techniques that may serve as the foundation. The rest will depend on—"

"Doom," a voice interrupted from behind them.

The two turned to see Rick Jones standing in the hallway, his body still carrying the faint crystalline glow of A-Bomb. His expression was fierce, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He radiated a mix of determination and barely contained anger.

Doom glanced at Albedo, nodding once. "I will proceed to the workshop. Do not delay," he said before striding off, his cloak billowing behind him.

Albedo stayed behind, turning his attention to Rick. "Jones. You look… fired up," he said, crossing his arms.

Rick stepped closer, his voice low but intense. "You're damn right I am. We've been sitting here long enough. I'm ready to start tearing down the Maker's empire, piece by piece."

Albedo smirked faintly, though his expression remained guarded. "You're not exactly in peak condition yourself. Doom's still got people checking you out."

Rick waved the comment away, his voice rising. "I'm fine. Better than fine. After everything that's happened—what Ross did, what the Maker did—I can't just sit here. We've got to move."

"And do what?" Albedo asked, his tone sharp. "Rush in without a plan? Doom and I are working on something for Blake. We're preparing."

"Preparing isn't going to undo what's already been done," Rick shot back. "The Maker's been screwing with this world for decades, and all we're doing is talking. We've got to take the fight to him. Make him pay for everything he's done."

Albedo narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to Rick. "I get it. You're angry. You've got every right to be. But running in blind is exactly what he wants. You think you're the first person who's wanted revenge? The Maker's got plans for people like you."

Rick's fists tightened, his crystalline form shimmering faintly as he struggled to control his emotions. "So what? We just sit here and let him keep winning?"

"No," Albedo said firmly. "We hit him where it hurts. But we do it smart. He's been running the long game, and if we don't think this through, we're just handing him more victories."

Rick's jaw tightened, but his gaze softened slightly. "So what's the plan then? What are we waiting for?"

Albedo leaned against the wall, his voice low but steady. "We're gathering strength. Building the tools and people we need to take him down. That includes you, Rick. You've got power, but you're not ready yet. Not for what's coming."

Rick's shoulders sagged slightly, but the fire in his eyes remained. "You're asking me to wait."

"I'm asking you to trust that we're doing what needs to be done," Albedo corrected. "When the time comes, you'll get your shot. I promise you that."

For a long moment, Rick said nothing, his gaze locked on Albedo. Then, with a heavy sigh, he nodded. "Alright. But don't make me wait too long. I've got a lot of payback to deliver."

Albedo smirked faintly. "Don't worry. When it's time, you'll be on the front line."

Rick turned and walked away, his movements still tense but less agitated. Albedo watched him go, his expression thoughtful. The rebellion was building, piece by piece, but the weight of responsibility was growing heavier with each new ally.

With a shake of his head, Albedo pushed off the wall and headed toward Doom's workshop. There was still work to be done.

Albedo entered Doom's workshop, the air humming with energy from a fusion of advanced technology and arcane power. The room was vast and filled with meticulous arrays of tools, machines, and glowing runes etched into the walls. At the center of it all stood Victor von Doom, his imposing figure framed by projections of complex schematics that flickered between scientific blueprints and magical inscriptions.

"You're late," Doom said without looking up, his tone sharp and cold. "I assume your delay was not entirely without purpose."

"Jones needed a reality check," Albedo replied as he stepped up to the workstation. "He's ready to fight, but he's impatient. Can't say I blame him."

Doom gestured to the projection, zooming in on a sleek, metallic belt. "This is the foundation of our work. The Arc Reactor will serve as the power source, but it must be harmonized with the enchantments to maintain stability. Your task is to ensure the reactor can sustain the necessary output without compromising the system."

Albedo studied the design, his eyes narrowing as he traced the lines of the schematic. "A fusion of tech and magic, huh? You're lucky I'm good at improvising. Otherwise, this thing would be as volatile as a Red Hulk tantrum."

Doom turned to face him, his mask gleaming under the pale light. "I do not deal in luck, Albedo. The calculations are precise, the enchantments flawless. Your role is to refine the output. Do not waste my time with doubts."

Albedo smirked faintly, rolling up his sleeves. "Relax, Doom. I've got this. Let's see if your magic can keep up with my tech."

Moving to a nearby console, Albedo began inputting adjustments to the Arc Reactor design. His fingers moved quickly, pulling up data streams and overlaying them with the schematics. The core glowed faintly as he worked, its energy field stabilizing under his careful calibration.

"The vibranium lattice is a smart call," Albedo said, not looking up from the console. "It'll keep the energy flow consistent and reduce stress on the system. But your runes are going to need better alignment, or the whole thing could destabilize when it's pushed to capacity."

Doom didn't pause his work, his voice cool and measured. "The runes are perfectly aligned. Focus on your task, and leave the enchantments to me."

"Sure thing, Your Highness," Albedo muttered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he returned to the Reactor's calibration. Despite their constant verbal sparring, there was an undeniable synergy in their efforts. Doom's arcane expertise complemented Albedo's technical prowess in a way that neither could achieve alone.

Hours passed as they worked, the Reactor taking shape at the heart of the belt. It pulsed softly, its glow a testament to their combined efforts. Albedo leaned back, wiping his hands on his suit as he studied the prototype.

"This thing's a beast," he said, nodding in approval. "It's going to give Blake the kind of power he needs to stand toe-to-toe with anything the Maker throws at him."

"Provided the subsequent components function as designed," Doom replied, inspecting the belt with a critical eye. "The gloves will require similar precision to channel the electromagnetic spectrum, and the axe must be capable of amplifying his abilities."

Albedo leaned against the console, arms crossed. "The gloves are going to be tricky, especially if you want them to block Magneto's tricks. But I'll make it work. And the axe? That's all you, Doom. You're the magic guy here."

Doom turned to face him, his voice firm. "Do not fail, Albedo. The success of this endeavor rests on our ability to combine our respective strengths. If you are as skilled as you claim, this will not be an issue."

Albedo smirked. "It's almost like you trust me. Don't worry, Doom. I've got this."

Doom didn't respond, turning back to the schematics. Albedo followed suit, the weight of the project settling on his shoulders. They were just beginning, but the stakes were clear. If they could pull this off, Donald Blake wouldn't just be ready to fight—he'd be a force to be reckoned with.

Albedo adjusted the energy modulation on the Arc Reactor, its soft glow stabilizing under his careful calibration. The hum of machinery and faint crackle of Doom's magic filled the workshop, an odd but strangely effective symphony of science and sorcery. For a moment, they worked in silence, both absorbed in their respective tasks.

But as Albedo tweaked the vibranium lattice, a question that had been lingering in his mind resurfaced. He broke the quiet with a deliberate tone. "Doom, tell me about the Civil War."

Doom didn't pause his work, his hands still moving with precision over the intricate enchantments he was inscribing. "Why do you ask, Albedo? You have little connection to this world or its history."

Albedo smirked faintly, not looking up. "Let's just say I'm trying to learn from the past. If we're going to fight the Maker, I want to know how he's taken down people like us before."

Doom's movements slowed slightly, and he turned his masked face toward Albedo. "Very well. If only because you should understand the depths of what we are up against."

Albedo glanced over, raising an eyebrow. "Go on."

"The Civil War," Doom began, his tone grim, "was the Maker's masterstroke of manipulation. At its core, it was a battle of ideology—but in truth, it was a tool for control, carefully crafted by the Maker to solidify his dominance."

Albedo leaned against the workstation, listening intently as Doom continued.

"There were heroes—those who did not trust the Maker. They saw through his carefully constructed facade and understood the threat he posed. But the Maker is a man who cannot tolerate dissent. His need for control is absolute. However, to crush his opposition outright would have risked damaging the reputation he had so meticulously cultivated."

"So he found a way to make them look like the bad guys," Albedo guessed, his voice tinged with disgust.

"Precisely," Doom said, his voice cold. "The Maker orchestrated a disaster—one that would galvanize public opinion against those who opposed him. He used Rick Jones, the one you know as A-Bomb."

Albedo straightened, his crimson eyes narrowing. "Rick? What did he do?"

"Not willingly," Doom replied. "The Maker manipulated him. Using a combination of technology and chemicals, the Maker forced A-Bomb to overload with radiation. The resulting explosion annihilated an entire city, killing thousands of innocents in an instant."

Albedo's jaw tightened, his fists clenching. "And he blamed it on the heroes."

"Of course," Doom said, his tone sharp. "The tragedy created an outcry for accountability. The Maker used the raw emotions of the event to push for the Superhuman Registration Act. It was framed as a necessary measure to ensure that such a disaster would never happen again."

"And people fell for it," Albedo muttered, shaking his head.

Doom nodded. "Many did. But not all. Some saw through the lies and refused to register. They understood the true purpose of the act: to grant the Maker control over every empowered individual on this planet."

"And that's what started the Civil War," Albedo said, his voice quieter now.

"Yes," Doom confirmed. "It was a battle between those who supported the act and those who opposed it. The rebellion had good people—courageous, principled—but they lacked the strength to match the Maker's forces. He had the government, the public, and the majority of the heroes on his side."

Albedo frowned, his mind racing. "What happened to the ones who fought back?"

Doom's voice grew darker. "Those who resisted faced one of three fates. The fortunate few retired permanently, choosing to fade into obscurity rather than risk further conflict. Most were not so lucky. Many were imprisoned in locations unknown, hidden away to ensure they could never rise again. And the rest…" He paused, his tone heavy. "The rest were killed. Deemed too dangerous to be left alive, even by the Maker's standards."

Albedo exhaled sharply, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "So he wiped out anyone who wouldn't kneel. Classic dictator move."

"Indeed," Doom said. "The Civil War was not merely a conflict. It was a purge. And it left the Maker as the undisputed master of this world."

Albedo was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the glowing Arc Reactor. "And now we're supposed to undo all of that."

Doom returned to his work, his tone resolute. "Not undo. That is impossible. We will build something new—a rebellion stronger, smarter, and more prepared than the one before."

Albedo smirked faintly, though his eyes burned with determination. "Then let's get back to work. If we're going to take down the Maker, we're going to need every advantage we can get."

Doom nodded, and the room was filled once again with the hum of progress as they continued their work on Stormbreaker.