Marvel’s Shadowed Knight

"Of course—who wouldn't look forward to the food of Castle Doom?" Namor said, though his eyes shifted awkwardly to the side.

Christopher raised the wine glass beside him and smiled. "So, no appetite?"

Namor finally looked up. "Let's just say I've become picky. I seem to have lost interest in the delicacies of the wealthy. Lately, these raids feel more and more futile—don't you think?"

But Namor's gaze wasn't directed at Christopher in the center. Instead, he was staring at the man seated calmly at the head of the table—Doctor Doom.

"I don't," Doom responded coldly.

"Really?" Namor sounded unconvinced. "You do understand what I'm saying, don't you? About the things I've done?"

"Yes. Everything is perishing. And you've realized—or more accurately—you've placed yourself at the center of it all," Doctor Doom said, extending his hand over the nearby candle flame.

The flickering flame transformed in his hand into a tiny firefly. Yet before it could flutter far, it vanished.

Namor's tone grew urgent. "Victor, we've always been at the center of the world. And now the world stands on the edge of total annihilation. This formal dinner feels meaningless… and needlessly extravagant."

Christopher tilted his head, watching the Deep Sea King whose words clearly seemed out of place.

"But Namor, you have to admit: man does not live by ideals alone—he also needs food." As he spoke, Christopher contentedly skewered a piece of meat and popped it into his mouth.

Namor sat quietly in his seat.

He said nothing.

"You think that if any man, woman, or even child from my nation wanted this food, they couldn't take it?" Doom spread his arms. "Tell me—what do you think is more believable: that they see Castle Doom's walls as impenetrable, or that they choose to serve their king willingly?"

Prince Namor remained silent across the table.

Lifting the wine glass before him, Doctor Doom raised it toward Namor. "I love my people—without question. But they are my subjects. I shield them from harm. I offer them a better life. And so, each night, regardless of their personal beliefs, they give thanks to me before sleep."

Doom inhaled the wine's bouquet under his nose. "That's why I enjoy the finest meal first."

Yet he didn't drink. He set the glass back down and looked straight at Namor.

"You used to understand that."

Namor gazed at Doom from his seat, rubbing his chin.

He hesitated.

Then finally spoke: "The Cabinet is out of control."

"They're deranged marauders."

"They're like bloodthirsty demons... and those self-proclaimed virtuous heroes? Too noble to dirty their hands in this filth."

"And the others—those people—they cling to extinction like a doctrine."

"But the Black Order… in the past few months, we've destroyed world after world, saved our universe time and again. But Victor," Namor struggled to describe what the Black Order had become, "they've learned to savor atrocities."

"They indulge in inhumanity. We could have ended these worlds quickly—just done what was necessary—and been done with it."

"But they linger at the table like gluttons at a feast."

"I grow weaker. They grow stronger. My fear is consuming me, and they've begun to sense my hesitation."

"I need you." At last, Namor voiced his plea to the man across from him.

Doctor Doom was not surprised. "So that explains the lack of appetite—and the real reason you're here. To ask for help."

"Yes. We can join forces. Stand against this corruption. Become unstoppable," Namor said, now visibly emotional.

"I never beg. But I will not lie. I need your help. And I would be grateful."

In front of Doom, Namor had laid bare his greatest vulnerability.

But it did nothing to move Doctor Doom.

"I refuse."

"What?" Namor had never imagined this outcome. When he came here, this possibility hadn't even crossed his mind.

More accurately, he never believed that even in his current state, Doom would still reject him.

"You should've come to me first. Long ago. But you didn't. I can forgive the interference of Richards and the others—they are fools by nature, oblivious to reality. But you—you chose to consort with those beneath you. And now you regret it." Doom slowly stood up. "And now you drag your foul-smelling, defeated carcass to my doorstep."

"Not only did I receive you generously, I even let you spew this torrent of useless words."

"Victor!" Namor suddenly stood, slamming a hand on the table. But then, perhaps realizing his tone, he changed tack. "Please. This is a turning point. Everything depends on this."

"You should have realized it long ago, Namor. You should have thought more carefully about your place." Doom turned away, casting his final words over his shoulder. "Doom kneels to no one. Excuse me—I have more important matters to attend to."

Namor turned toward Christopher, who was still eating: "Christopher, can you—"

"Prince Namor. It was a pleasure seeing you again." Doctor Doom's adopted son dabbed the sauce from his mouth with a napkin, stood, and met Namor's defeated gaze. "I hope your people survive."

Namor had nothing left to say. He buried his face in his hands.

This had been the only man he believed could help him—yet even here, he had been denied.

Christopher followed after Doctor Doom. "Forgive me, Father, but wasn't Prince Namor always our ally? I think we missed an opportunity."

"You're wrong, Christopher. You must understand—they're already broken. The only thing that matters is this: it doesn't matter who commands the spirit of a nation. What matters is that you remain true to yourself." Doom increased the distance between them with each step. "The man who sat at our table? He's already fallen. I cannot stand with someone like that. A disgrace. He should be cast out immediately."

"And if that's not enough—there's still the question of who stands to gain. In the end, this is simply consequences catching up. And we understand the true threat to this world far better than he does."

Doctor Doom placed his hand on one side of the massive door before him.

"Identity confirmed. Please enter authorization password."

"All shall perish."

"Access granted, Victor Von Doom."

As the door opened, the interior was far from anything one might have imagined.

What appeared inside couldn't even be seen in the outside world.

The lab's director quickly approached Doctor Doom.

"Doctor! We didn't expect you to come tonight. Is there something urgent?" The director looked at Doom, visibly nervous.

"There's nothing for you to worry about. You only need to concern yourself with the inevitable difficulties in progress—and whether I will be satisfied with that progress." Doom's words sent a chill down the director's spine.

However, the director quickly composed himself and gestured toward Doom. "Victor, there's no such thing as luck in this world, nor is there a goddess of fate who favors anyone. There is only hard work, and I've done mine exceptionally well. Come, take a look at our progress, Doctor."

Thus, the director led Doctor Doom into a heavily secured laboratory.

At the center of the lab lay a shard of stone and a Batarang.

"Behold our achievement. Since I arrived here, the subject of our research has instinctively resisted our attempts to decode its parameters." The director continued as he looked at the items on the table. "Earlier, we clearly identified that this is a shard from a destroyed Earth, recovered during the invasion of Latveria. When played back using various harmonic frequencies, we believe it's a potential anti-universe signal. Whoever designed it was creating a kind of beacon—marking worlds across the multiverse."

At that moment, Kristoff spoke up. "So, have you confirmed this theory?"

"Oh, I've done much more than that." He presented a map to Doom and his son, or rather, a map of the marked universes.

"This is incredible."

"I cracked the algorithm used to alter their harmonic signals. And I reverse-engineered a way to locate whoever is behind it all." Looking proudly at his work, the man known as the Fantast called himself a visionary.

But Doom was now focused on the Batarang beside the Earth shard.

"Have you found the universe this came from?"

Doctor Doom had a vivid memory of Bruce, who once appeared in Castle Doom.

It was the first time someone had escaped from him without leaving a trace.

"No, Doctor. The cosmic information on this object is far too complex. The universes it's been in contact with... most of them have already disappeared."

The Fantast wanted badly to say he'd traced its origin—but he couldn't.

The Batarang carried the essence of dozens of Earths.

And even using their current technology, they'd only managed to analyze about half of those Earths' data.

All while also dealing with the matter of the shattered Earth.

"Do your best to find that man." Doom knew how difficult this was, but the times no longer allowed them the luxury of moving slowly.

At any moment, another planet might appear above them, ready to fall.

"So what now, Father?"

"Now? Now those who think they can control Doom will face Doom's wrath personally." Doctor Doom walked over to a large observation window.

"You have a plan, don't you, Father?" Kristoff followed him.

"Of course. But I have more than just a plan." Doom looked down at the sealed test chamber, where a man was operating some device. "I now possess the key fragments to realize everything—thanks to the Molecule Man!"

"From now on, those who follow me will prosper. Those who defy me will perish!"

As Doctor Doom set his plans in motion on Earth-616, Bruce and his allies on Earth-1610 were also hard at work.

They continued conducting experiments, attempting to reverse-engineer what they had recovered from the shattered Earths.

They needed to identify the ones pulling strings behind the scenes.

"Batman, can't you go check who's really behind all this?" Reed asked, turning to Bruce.

Bruce merely placed his hand on the Cosmic Treadmill.

"I can't be sure where—or when—I'll end up. The continuity of the timeline has long since collapsed."

"When I return, if I return, the ones I meet may not even be you." Bruce knew all too well that while the Speed Force defied logic, everything had a price, already marked in the shadows.

Reed said nothing in response.

He still didn't fully understand the true nature of Bruce's power.

"But if it's just the timeline that's disrupted," Reed mused, "then the chaos would only affect the already-fractured world it belongs to. It shouldn't destabilize the entire multiverse."

Those who tamper with time are often consumed by it.

"Unless, during the timeline's collapse, something caused a problem in one universe—an energy of destruction spilling into others and causing a multiversal collision," Stark offered his theory. "That's the only way a disrupted timeline could affect all universes."

"So those people might have planted a bomb powerful enough to destroy Earth in a specific universe," Bruce said, stepping forward.

"But if that's the case, then what are those individuals you discovered actually doing?" Reed asked, watching Bruce closely. "If things are really as you and Stark described, those people didn't need to reveal themselves at all. They could've just waited for the multiverse to collide on its own."

There was no need for them to act directly.

Listening to the three men, those nearby were completely bewildered, unable to understand why such a conclusion had been drawn.

"Unless…" Stark had a sudden realization.

The three of them spoke in unison:

"They're eliminating anyone who might interfere."

"They're killing gods!"

(End of Chapter)

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