“Y… your highness? What are you doing up so late?” a puttering voice echoed against the stonewalls of the throne room. The words seemed to tremble with fear. Doom looked up, emerging from his own machinations. A lone figure stood at the far end of the room, his shadow cast forward across the carpet by the bright light behind the doorway. Despite the fact that it was simply a silhouette in the doorway, Doom knew exactly who it was addressing him.

“Richards.” Doom’s voice was quiet and calm as he spoke into the hands collapsed in front of his face. Yet his words managed to carry all the way to the entrance of the chamber, causing the frail looking form of Reed Richards to quiver. A long moment of silence filled the space between the two men. Reed knew it wasn’t his place to speak. Doom was simply contemplating, and waiting until he felt enough fear had infiltrated the room. “Such simpering questions from such an intelligent mind. You have been my advisor since the day I inherited this throne. Your intellect is second only to my own, and yet you are constantly surprised by my habits. Many desire the power Doom possesses; a power I do not intend to yield.” Victor’s voice intensified as the material of his gauntlet groaned under his clenched fist.

“Many pardons my lord…I suppose I have been working my lab far too long this evening. I was simply under the impression that you would be with the queen,” Reed stuttered and stumbled over his words, attempting desperately to appease the man on the throne. He took the smallest steps forward, letting the door swing shut behind him and plunge the room into near darkness again. Doom was now able to make out Reed’s spectacled face with the aid of the moonlight that flooded in through the arches behind the throne. Doom couldn’t help but smirk.

“Do you have anything to report? Or did you intend to sit on Doom’s throne?” Victor raised his voice further and leaned forward. His dark gaze seemed to contain a glimmer of madness as he accused Richards.

“I would never dare do such a thing my lord. All outposts have reported in, and there’s no activity to the west. The Badlands are quiet this evening as well,” Reed’s voice hastened as he attempted to defend himself, dropping to one knee before he spoke. It wasn’t until he was finished with his status report that he even attempted to look up. Every bit of his body language spoke of fear. Doom wouldn’t have it any other way.

“And what of the Destiny Well?” Doom’s voice lowered as the subject changed.

“Grimm reported in several moments ago. No activity.”

“Come daybreak, I want the guard doubled. Send Jonathan’s regiment.” Doom’s orders were crisp and emotionless.

“But sir…don’t you think the Badlands and the wizard are more demanding of our attention?” Reed was now staring right at Doom, and the fear in his voice had been replaced by an odd amount of concern.

“You question my judgment Richards? I suggest you think before voicing such doubts, lest I remind you of your place,” Doom was standing now, stepping down off of the raised platform his throne sat on. His cloak billowed angrily behind him, and he waved his hand threateningly in Reed’s general direction. Richards quickly ducked his head again, his body trembling. “You know as well as I do that a campaign against the wizard of the Badlands would be a costly one. Protecting the Destiny Well, a source of immeasurable power within our own dominion, is my top priority. You would do well to remember that next time you decide to grow a spine,” Doom practically growled. “Now leave me,” Doom issued his final order and turned his back on Reed. He stalked to the arches behind the throne, listening as the doors slammed shut, signaling his advisor’s hasty exit. The next hour was spent just staring at the full moon looming in the night sky.

The velvet curtains prevented most of the moonlight from falling into the bedchamber. Every so often a subtle breeze would rub up against the drapes, pushing them aside and allowing a sliver of light to slip into the room. The light would creep along the floor, lined with exotic rugs and carpets. It would slither up the majestic desk upon which a rather vicious looking dagger lay. The moonlight would then slide onto the silk-lined king size bed, clearly meant to house two bodies. Only one form lay outlined in the sheets this evening, a common occurrence. The outline was a feminine one, petite and slender. Where the sheets ended a head emerged, with a full mane of beautiful golden blonde hair and an angelic face.

Susan Storm turned her head on the pillow and peered lazily to the side. The spot where her husband normally lay was unoccupied. No surprise there. Susan sighed softly and turned to gaze up at the ornate patterns on the ceiling. She had grown accustomed to sleeping alone. When she would fall asleep, she would be alone. When she woke up, be it in the middle of the night or in the morning, she would be alone. That’s what it was like, being married to a man who was married to his work. And it was a lifestyle she found herself unable to leave. Being Mrs. Victor Von Doom, queen of Latveria, was a destiny she found herself unable to escape from.

She was a strong woman, and yet here she was. Constantly sleeping alone. Constantly kept in the shadows while Victor ruled the kingdom. And when he wasn’t ruling the kingdom, he was working in his lab. Plotting. Victor never told anyone what he did in his lab. Not Susan. Not Reed Richards, his most trusted advisor; not that Doom trusted anyone other than himself. Days at a time would pass without decent conversation being exchanged between the king and queen. Truthfully, it was a set of circumstances almost no self-respecting woman would put up with. And yet Susan Storm, the strong, self-respecting woman, remained in wedlock with what many people considered to be a tyrant.

Maybe it was because he hadn’t always been this way. This power hungry. When they were younger, it was different. That was the Victor she had fallen in love with. He wasn’t dramatically different in terms of personality; it was the responsibilities of ruling a kingdom, the sudden wealth of power available at his fingertips, which changed things. Circumstances. Maybe it was because, when they were able to spend time together, he was still loving and compassionate. Those occasions were increasingly far and few between, and more apt to be interrupted by some crisis of state. But Susan could still see the man she loved in the king that had evolved. It was just…more often than not, she felt…invisible.

The next day…

“Peter! Come inside, it’s time for dinner!” May Parker yelled out through the kitchen window. Her nephew sat just outside, poking at a spider web with a stick. In the distance she could see the outline of Doom Castle, ominous and cold. Terrigan Castle sat amongst the town of Terrigan, very much a part of the local culture. It had long been established that Victor Von Doom did not care to make such an intimate connection with his constituents. The castle sat apart from the town of Latveria, perched on the edge of the coast while the town unfolded to the south and the west.

“Coming Aunt May!” Peter yelled, dropping the stick and climbing to his feet before stumbling inside. Peter Parker was sixteen and as awkward as one could be at that age. He showed the effects of being raised by an elderly couple, wearing stuffy clothing that had a distinctly vintage smell to it. As if the suspenders and slacks he was forced to wear had been sitting in the attic far too long. And the glasses he wore were far too large for his face. None of this impacted Peter though, who was genuinely jovial and naturally intelligent. He was a boy with a great amount of curiosity, especially when it came to the natural world around him.

“Whoa there slugger,” a voice cried as Pete sprinted through the doorway and straight into his Uncle Ben’s waiting arms. Peter struggled and squirmed playfully before pulling free from his uncle, laughing. The encounter left the boy short of breath and his hair slightly messed up.

“How was your day dear?” Aunt May asked once the three of them had settled around the dinner table. The Parker’s were a homely couple, both with full heads of white hair, May’s hair drawn back in a bun while Ben’s was combed to the side. Both had gentle eyes, a trait which seemed to have been passed down to Peter.

“Good. Mr. Osborn seems to think that the new batch of alchemy formulas is going to be a big hit,” Ben said in-between bites of food. He was about to continue when the sound of church bells filled the air. Peter’s happy expression sunk.

“The sun’s still out!” he protested, waving his hands at the open window in dismay. “It’s way too early for curfew! This isn’t fair! Why is the king so…” Peter began before biting his tongue.

“Now Peter, King Victory only established the curfew in order to protect the kingdom…you know the number of monsters roaming the land has increased over the last month,” Ben said in a very wise tone.

“Do you honestly believe that Ben?” May asked of her husband, not sure if she agreed with his statement.

“Absolutely. That man has been given the burden of watching out for this kingdom. He has a tremendous amount of power. But with great power, comes great responsibility. His responsibility is to keep us safe, and that is what he’s attempting to do. I can’t fault the man for that,” Ben finished by taking an affirmative bite of meat from his fork. The rest of the kitchen was silent as May nodded her head in quiet agreement and Peter was left to ponder the wisdom of his uncle’s words.

“We should be arriving at the Iron City in under an hour sir,” the deckhand reported to the party assembled underneath the main deck. Clint Barton nodded and politely thanked the boy. Dr. Strange and Hank McCoy sat off to the side, their discussion veiled in whispers. Scott sat with his face plastered to the closest porthole, staring raptly at the passing clouds. He didn’t even notice Dr. Strange approaching until the sorcerer’s hand was firmly clamped on the boy’s shoulder.

“Quite a sight, isn’t it?” Strange said, able to peer out the window once Scott pulled his head back slightly. Scott shook his head in agreement, not sure if he should be staring out the window or looking up to the doctor. “Now, let’s have a look at that cursed eye, shall we?” Stephen asked, taking a seat on the bench alongside Scott, drawing one of the lanterns that swung overhead slightly closer.

“H…how do you know about my eye?” the world outside of the airship lost all of its significance to Scott as Dr. Strange reached for the bandana shielding his eye. For the briefest of seconds Scott thought to swat his hand away, but thought better of it. This was Dr. Strange, most powerful sorcerer in the world. He probably knew what he was doing. Besides, Scott felt as if he could trust him.

“I know many things my boy. Such as the fact that this is nothing more than a simple curse. It is not uncommon for children of this world to be born with a Destiny Curse upon them,” Strange remarked, examining Scott’s red washed eye as a doctor would examine a wound. It was a scientific examination, as if the doctor saw this sort of thing everyday. There was no expression of shock or revulsion on his face. Simply an analyzing look. He brought a hand underneath Scott’s chin and tilted the boy’s head upwards, allowing the light to shine down on the eye. Strange simply nodded before letting Scott’s head go. “Yes, it is indeed a Destiny Curse. But not to fear, it is superficial, and nothing else. Much like a pockmark on your skin.”

“C…can you fix it?” Scott asked, having never heard of a Destiny Curse before. It made his condition sound much more critical.

“Of course. What sort of wizard would I be if I couldn’t? Now simply hold still,” Strange’s voice tailed off as he lowered his middle and ring fingers, warm globes of white light forming around each hand. The lights overhead dimmed softly, drawing the attention of both Hank and Clint. Any conversation in the cabin dropped to a whisper. Scott expected to hear some sort of incantation from Strange, but there was none. A warm feeling rushed over him unannounced and he instantly shut both his eyes, more out of instinct than anything else. When he opened them again, everything had returned to normal. Without a moment’s hesitation he turned to the window again, trying to catch a glimpse of his reflection. They were the same. Left and right eye. Perfectly normal, in both feeling and appearance. Scott was left speechless, only able to turn and smile at the doctor.

“Now, I believe you have something for me?”

Scott’s smile dropped, replaced by a look of confusion. And then he remembered. The very reason for this entire trip! He reached into his front pocket and retrieved the small, practically weightless pouch. He examined the container for a moment. What was so important about this little bag? He was almost reluctant to give up the package, but knew it was what he had to do. He reached out to drop the pouch into Strange’s open hand when an explosion rocked the airship. Smoke began to pour into the room, and Scott could feel the massive craft begin to sink downwards. The package dropped to the floor.

“Report!” Clint screamed.

“There’s been an explosion in the engine room sir! We’re going to try and set her down, but we’re headed right for the Forest of Shadows! Everyone hold onto something!” the deckhand shouted before dashing out of the cabin. Scott looked about frantically, his heart racing. He could feel their descent quicken. Was he going to die now? It wasn’t a very pleasant thought at all. Now he could hear Dr. Strange chanting. The wizard had his eyes shut and fists clenched; deeply engrossed in the spell he appeared to be weaving. Everything was happening so fast. He wanted to cry out, to voice the fears and let out the extremely uncomfortable churning feeling in his stomach. That churning feeling just intensified, and began to move up his throat. The rather unpleasant taste of vomit filled Scott’s mouth as he leaned to the side an emptied the contents of his stomachs. That was the last thing he remembered before the world went dark around him.