T -- Teen
Contains a short scene of violence
Alright, so, if you aren't already aware, I made a Battle Thread that revolved around the idea that Doctor Doom has suddenly and, inexplicably, aged tremendously and is now nearing his deathbed. I really got the inspiration to make something of a story to this, as I felt there was a lot of potential. From what I've planned, the timing of this story is basically during the Children's Crusade. So Wanda is married to Victor, but instead of Wiccan trying to save Wanda, he was captured by Doom and used in experiments. This is merely the intro to the story and a starting point - expect the next few chapters to have much more substance to them and contain more characters. I would love feedback, be it negative or positive. Enjoy!
DOCTOR DOOM AND ALL CHARACTERS AND SETTINGS ARE THE PROPERTY OF MARVEL INC. AND THEIR RESPECTIVE AFFILIATES. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, I THOUGHT OF THE STORY BUT THESE AREN'T MY PEOPLE.
Chapter 1 - The Fountain of Youth
“My Lord ... You must cease fighting the procedure.” An acolyte begged as he hastily scrambled across the screens of advanced machinery. This was not high-tech and electrical, but rather, it appeared to be some kind of device powered by magic.
“Do you know whom you are speaking to?” A grave and weakened voice echoed through a metallic coffin in response to the servants advice.
“I dare not insinuate that My Lord should surrender, but rather, restrain His Lordship from resisting. I fear I will be unable to eradicate His Lordship’s condition if resistance continues. This mutant’s power is not designed for transfer; it is a dangerous game.”
The acolyte stood in a semi-sphere of machinery, his eyes frantically trying to assess the problem that now faced him.
The room was shrouded with shadows, with the only artificial light being generated by a single bulb above the sphere. The light cast itself slightly upon what appeared to be a medical chair, where a figure limply sat. His head was hooded, his body arched forward as if his spine failed to support his frame.
The figure in the chair was connected to a variety of plugs, which trailed along the floor to a secluded area of the room. They were connected to a chamber which was producing a pale blue light. The chamber was not a weak structure at all, but appeared to be a housing facility for high-level threats.
Inside the chamber was one figure, a young man, strapped by a vibranium mesh to a chair. Plugs were installed on both of his foreheads and he appeared to be mumbling to himself.
“Restoremyyouthrestoremyyouthrestoremyyouth.”
It was Wiccan.
“The subject’s incantation is at maximum power; relic siphoning will begin immediately.”
Pale blue light shimmered across the cables along the floor as they powered into the chair which the arched figure sat. Light enveloped the chair as the figure began to thrash and shudder from the effects.
“Argh!!”
“Incantation transfer is at full capacity, My Lord! Your form will be restored!”
“No!”
Suddenly, the cables exploded in a flash of bright blue electricity as the man sitting in the chair released an expulsion of bright energy. The machinery fizzled and the acolyte covered his eyes as everything around him began to shudder and shake.
Wiccan’s incantation ceased as he fell unconscious in the chair, the siphoning no longer effective.
The man whom was attached the cables leant over, panting with exhaustion as his lungs craved the air that had been robbed.
“Are you injured, My Lord?” The acolyte inquired with what appeared to be genuine concern.
“Hah ... a foolish question. The real question is what caused that abysmal failure?”
“I ... am bewildered, My Lord. The subject’s incantation siphoned directly into Your Lordship’s design, but the effects were not siphoned over.”
“And the boy?”
“Unconscious, My Lord.” The acolyte returned to the semi-sphere control area as he began to expertly tinker with one of the screens. “My Lord, your time is running out.”
“...” The old man’s hooded head turned very slowly in response to the bold declaration. Two golden sparks upon his face began to glimmer in rising anger.
“This is beyond My Lordship’s methods...”
“...” A metallic right hand began to clench, slowly glowing with pulsating yellow energy.
“If I may, His Lordship will need help. If it is not found, His Lord-UGH!!!”
A splash of blood blew out over the machinery as the man slumped over, his body now nursing a freshly blow hole in the torso.
The old man’s right hand was outstretched, resonating a yellow hue from the energy that was just released seconds ago.
The old man slowly stood from the chair, detaching himself from the cables of the machinery. His cape fell over the cold armour of his body as he reached for something metallic on a table beside him. The hood disappeared as his arms raised to his head and placed the object over his face. Golden sparks still remained where his eyes formerly were, his anger still gripping his body like the armour he wore.
“Your promotion has edged past your common sense, lackey; if you indeed had any to begin with. You have forgotten the one constant of this world...”
Slowly, the hooded figure stepped into the light.
“...that DOOM needs NO ONE!”
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