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Time was at once fickle and invulnerable. To both understand and control it had long been a goal of Victor von Doom, and he was growing ever closer to his goal. Not even his future self, the one from the world of 2099, would stand in his way. He had certainly tried, of course, but victory was not so easily won against Doom. Instead, something miraculous happened.
The Timestream Entanglement.
Different universes and different eras, all colliding together one after another, fusing and rewriting themselves with such chaotic fervor. Their edges bled in chronovium, the essence of time made physical, and Doom would be a fool to let the opportunity to claim it slip by. Amidst the chaos of the collision, Doom had sent his Doombots out to collect as much of the material as they could. Naturally, they clashed with the Doombots of 2099, and to the ruler of Latveria’s frustration, they were equally matched. Nonetheless, he had amassed quite the stockpile of the precious pieces of time, and all would be used to help him control the flow of time itself.
No one would rival Doom . Not his past self. Not his future self.
And certainly not Reed Richards .
As Doom looked out into the horizon, he couldn’t help but take pride in his nation. Latveria was his and his alone to rule. Many had tried over the years, but none had ever succeeded. He would, now and forever more, be its ruler. Nothing would change that.
“Hey Victor.”
Doom spun around, letting the energies of the arcane build into his hands, and there his unwanted visitor sat. On his throne . He was lithe in build, clad in a black suit, the only hint of color being the glowing blue molecular core that sat in the chest. The man sat with one leg propped up against the knee of the other, and he leaned back with such lazy comfort, as if Doom’s throne was his own. His face was obscured, the only hint of flesh being the clean shaven lower half of his face, currently stretched into an infuriatingly smug grin. And though that silver, conical helmet masked his eyes, Doom could see the putrid sense of superiority in his gaze.
“Long time no see.”
Doom knew this man. He knew of Reed Richards. He knew of the many variants of his hated nemesis from across the multiverse, but this man . This one lone variant, one of only two survivors of a dead universe, wiped from the face of reality. Doom knew of him all too well.
The worst possible version of Reed Richards.
The Maker.
“And here I thought you’d be happy to see me,” The Maker quipped.
Doom’s gaze hardened into vibranium. “Get. Off. My. Throne .”
The Maker let out a dry chuckle in response. “I would, but it’s just so comfy . Give your nation’s craftsmen my highest compliments.”
“I wasn’t asking, Richards .”
“Oh, I know, but oh, how I enjoy riling you up.”
Doom snapped his fingers. In an instant, his throne vanished from out beneath the Maker as vibranium spears sprung from the walls, floor, and ceiling. The Maker was skewered from every possible angle, the spears tearing through his skinny form with ease. One of them had even knocked his helmet off, revealing the wretched burn scar that marred the right half of his face. Doom cared not for the mark. This dark reflection of his nemesis had brought that mark onto himself, whereas the Reed he knew had given him his scar for no true reason other than to spite him. The Maker had earned his fate in every possible way.
And that was when The Maker started to laugh. Slow, dry, yet full of sadistic mirth. His body began to flow around the skewers, twisting and bending as if his very molecules were a river of flesh. His grin widened as he rose from his seated position, his body fully torn out of the skewers. “How rude. And here I thought you were a gracious host.”
Doom glared daggers at the man. “Only to the people of Latveria. Never to you .”
Another laugh escaped The Maker as the holes and tears across his body stretched and sealed themselves shut with a sickening squelch. “Then it’s a good thing you can’t kill me. At least, not in any meaningful way.”
“ Why are you here, Maker ?”
“Oooooh, touchy! Did your future self leave you in a bad mood?”
“State your piece before I attempt to kill you once more.”
“Alright, I’ll humor you.”
The Maker then had the gall to walk past Doom, never once turning his gaze to the despot. He instead held his attention directly towards the crack in the sky, its orange hue illuminating the night. As he walked, his arms idly stretched themselves out and plucked his helmet from its resting place on the ground. It took only a moment for that helmet to return to The Maker’s head.
“If you must know,” The Maker began, finally turning his attention back to Doom, “your little Entanglement caused quite the quantum surge. Entire universes have felt the shockwaves of the original collision from across the greater multiverse. Take the world I now call home, for example. It is precisely five hundred and seventy-one thousand, three hundred and ninety-two universes away from this one, and it still felt the initial shockwave of your clash against your 2099 self. Quite frankly, I’m surprised I didn’t get dragged into it like the others have.”
That caught Doom’s attention. “So, you’ve noticed it too?”
“Hard not too. In fact, it was hard to resist not seeing what you’ve created for myself, and I gotta say, I’m impressed.”
“How so?”
The Maker’s grin gained a deeply sinister edge. “It’s pure chaos. We’ve got a Steve Rogers of 2099 taking refuge in an Intergalactic Empire of Wakanda. We’ve got islands floating high above Tokyo with the Master Weaver himself trying to put things back together. A Loki that’s successfully taken over Asgard, a Dracula ready to bring Eternal Night to New York, and my favorite part , the people you’ve accidentally resurrected as a result.”
“Those being…?”
The Maker’s chuckle took on a warped, yet hearty tune. “Now why would I spoil the surprise? If I did, then I’d be actively helping you, and I still hate you too much to do that . It wouldn’t make sense.”
Doom let out a furious growl. Yet again, The Maker was earning his absolute ire. The gall to invade his castle, the nerve to sit on his throne, the pure satisfaction he held for the act of defying and toying with HIM .
Doom would no longer have it. The arcane surged into his hand once more. “Leave. Now. You have overstayed your welcome, Maker . The ruler of Latveria will not allow you to continue your actions against him. I know you will never yield to me, so take this one warning and flee, before I personally tear your body asunder, all the way down to the last possible bacterial plate of your body.”
The Maker only laughed in response. “If that’s how you want to play… then fine. This castle’s a bit too stuffy for me anyway.”
“I expected resistance, Richards. Have you truly become that much of a coward?”
“Oh no, it’s not that. I just have a world to get back to. It would be lost without my leadership, after all.”
The fury in Doom’s veins boiled. “ Your leadership?!”
“Of course! I did manage to kill you as a baby in that world, after all. And Reed… oh, ohohoho, that version of Reed. The things I did to him… I even impress myself sometimes. I must say, he makes your armor look good.”
“ ENOUGH! ”
A thunderous blast of magic erupted from Doom’s hand, searing the Maker into oblivion where he stood. Doom let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and he lowered his arm. He knew that The Maker wasn’t dead. As infuriating as it was to admit, he was right. He couldn’t kill him in any meaningful way. At least, not yet. More than likely, he was already back in his conquered universe.
Doom’s gaze returned to the crack in the sky. The Maker could wait. Right now, he had a future self to bend to his will.
No one would ever rival Doom ever again.