Archive of Our Own ^beta

He, Doom, has always expected it would end this way; for him to win such ultimate power and reshape the world as he pleases. It is what he deserves – it is what he was made for; ruling. Now he rules more than Latveria, more than the world… he rules the universe.

With the power of the Beyonders now his – as it should be – he is able to save the multiverse where Richards and his group of so-called geniuses failed. Stephen Strange, of all people, is there to watch him make a new world – the man disapproves of his methodology, that much is evident, but he was too much of a coward to hold the Beyonders’ power himself and so it fell to him, Doom, to save the universe.

The problem, he realises, is that it is quite impossible – even with the Beyonders’ power – to save the entire multiverse. All that is salvageable are the incursion points of each universe, so he uses the power he has wrested from Gods to cobble together these incursion points into some semblance of a world. Perhaps if he wished to, he could recreate his world… but then he would not rule, and then what would be the point of all this? What would be the point in earning such magnificent power only to throw it all away? No. This way is better.

So he saves what he can and creates what he cannot.

Latveria was not the final incursion point of his world and so it was lost to him, but he is able to recreate it exactly as it was – if there is one thing he knows inside and out, it is Latveria. Doomstadt is the capital of his new world, as it was the capital of Latveria in the old world. Castle Doom is rebuilt as the seat of his power – not the simple castle it was in Latveria, but an impenetrable fortress the size of a small mountain. His throne is the world-tree Yggdrasil – the tree is old and of another world, a world now lost, but its magic is still strong, and it will only reinforce the power he now possesses.

In Latveria he had his Doombots to guard the Castle – in this new world there is no need for such imitations of himself. He is God now, and nothing he could create would measure up to himself. Instead he plucks the world-eater Galactus from one of many broken worlds and places him atop the walls of the Castle. No one in their right mind would dare to storm the walls now.

The rest of his new world is a patchwork of what remains of the multiverse. He does not pay much attention to the worlds he saves; he does not care for the people in them. He cares only that he can rule these people now – that they will see him as their God and worship him accordingly.

If only Richards were here to see how right I was – only Doom can save the world.

Those that live under his rule do not remember their life before-hand. He, Doom, has no time for the so-called heroes of his old world to try and righteously overthrow him simply because they have always opposed him. He knows they would not stop to think how he has saved them, how he has pulled them all back from the abyss where Richards and his Illuminati had tossed them with their incompetence. So he decides that simply erasing and replacing their memories will be the easiest course of action. Stephen remembers, of course, as he stood by his side and helped build this new world and as long as he does not stand in the way of Doom then he will allow the man to keep his memories. Everyone else? They believe as they should; they believe that Doom created this world from nothing, and they believe him to be their God.

That is all they need to know – it is, after all, the truth.

When his world is a few years old, he starts to realise that his life is oddly… empty. He sits on his throne – on the ancient Yggdrasil – and observes another dispute that has been brought before him. The domains of his world come to Doom’s high court when they need to resolve an issue between them, it is the law. Hardly is there ever an actual issue, and more often a ridiculous grievance caused by one Baron insulting another. Sometimes he can’t quite believe this is how his life has ended up – sitting on an old tree listening to a version of Magneto scream at a version of Namor for “violating his son” whilst he, Doom, is supposed to be God.

If this were the old world, he would be busy with actual matters of state or he would be concocting another elaborate plan to take down the Fantastic Four and prove – once and for all – that he is better than Richards.

And now? On this world – his world? All he can do is keep the world in check through sheer will. And he has to – he can make no mistakes, there can be no slip ups. Because this world is the only thing that remains in the universe. It is all that is left, and he has to protect it. He does not even know what would happen if he lost control of this world – would it break apart? It does not matter; he cannot allow it to happen. This world is the last remaining vestige of humanity in the entire universe – it cannot be allowed to fall.

So he resigns himself to the fact that he shall live the entire remainder of his life in a state of pause, a state of forever holding on until the universe ends or he expires; with the power of the Beyonders now his, he is unsure which will come first.

But, a thought occurs to him suddenly as he watches Namor fight for the hand of Magneto’s son, perhaps I do not have to live out my life alone.

In the world that once was, Victor Von Doom did not have a family. It was Reed Richards who had a family, and it was one of many reasons he despised the man – not that he would ever admit it, of course. It was Reed Richards who had the perfect wife and the perfect children, but his family was more than some nauseating American nuclear family straight off the side of cereal box. No, he had an extended family. He had a brother-in-law in Jonathan Storm and a pseudo-brother in Benjamin Grimm. And he had a phonebook full of countless allies who would all call each other family in a heartbeat.

And what did he, Doom, have? A people persecuted in his own homeland. A mother who perished to the evils of those in power. A father too kind-hearted to fight back, who died to give his son life. A pseudo-father he treated like a servant, and a son he treated like a spare part.

Arguably he would say that Victor Von Doom did not deserve a family. But he is not that man anymore. Now he is God, now he has saved the world – saved countless people from nothingness. Has he not paid his penance, has he not earned a family this time around?

The cheap echo of a family he once possessed – Boris and Kristoff – have been set to rights. Their lives in this new world are as they should have been, he has let them loose of the shackles they were once in… the shackles he kept them in. But now they are free. And they are happy. Both of them live in the capital still, where he can make sure they are safest from any harm. Boris lives with his children and grandchildren; being looked after instead of doing the looking after. And Kristoff lives with his mother, a woman who perished on their own world but who he saw fit to bring back. He knows what it is like to lose a mother, after all.

He, Doom, realises that he must forge a new family now. It is clearly what he has felt he has been missing these few years ruling the world. Richards was always content, was he not? And the only thing Richards had that Doom did not was a perfect and loving family. So he makes it his mission to recreate such a family – for if it served Richards well then it must equally serve Doom well.

It quickly becomes evident that he has no idea where to start with such an endeavour. In his old life he never seriously considered taking a husband or wife. He has not loved anyone in that way for a very long time. Often he considers the idea that he does not know how to love someone, but he can only hope that is not true.

His case study in this project is of course Richards’ family – it is the only model he has available to him. Briefly he considered simply recreating Richards’ family for himself; to find Susan Storm and take her for his wife. But that was summarily dismissed after greater thinking. Susan Storm is a great woman, no doubt, but never one that he has ever been romantically interested in. If he ever played at such in his old life, it was to antagonise Richards.

Another brief consideration he has is Valeria – a girl he loved when he was a boy. But that thought too is forced from his mind. Valeria is too pure a soul to be tainted with him – it does not matter that he is God now, he could never be deserving of her. He is not too arrogant to admit that, at least.

After that, the list of people he can reasonably consider grows shorter and shorter. For one reason or another he ends up dismissing Morgan le Fay, Namor, Loki, Wanda Maximoff and Storm – all of them are people he was at some point attracted to in the old world but for whatever reason he finds no desire to pursue any of them in this new world.

Perhaps, he is forced to consider, perhaps Victor Von Doom was designed to be alone in every world.

As he, Doom, reckons with that thought… he stumbles across him.

When he created his world he presumed that he would not have to worry about Richards’ meddling. The Richards of his world was gone, and thanks to the destruction of the Council of Reeds he knew that there would be no alternate versions of his foe to run into either.

So he is considerably surprised to find a Reed Richards living on his world. Truthfully he is more surprised that when he discovers this, he feels a slight excitement instead of dread. It is possible, he realises, that he… missed Richards. The man, after all, was his only equal.

And with that realization, the solution to his marital status becomes startlingly clear.  

Ironically, it is at a wedding that he meets the alternate version of Reed Richards; even as God he is not immune to coincidences, it seems.

The wedding in question is held in a domain opposite the capital, across the sea – the Monarchy of M. A curious domain that must have made for an even more curious world; a world where mutants seem to be the majority. It is ruled by Erik Magnus – no surprise there, of course – and like in the old world the man has three mutant children: Pietro, Wanda and Lorna (Quicksilver, the Scarlet Witch and Polaris respectively). The wedding in question is between Magneto’s son and heir, Pietro Magnus, and Namor, King of Atlantis. He would be inclined to label such a match a political tool had he not had to negotiate this marriage himself by having Magneto and Namor fight on the floor of his own Castle like two squabbling children because Magneto did not want Namor for a son-in-law.

He, Doom, wonders if the other wedding guests find his presence curious. He is God, after all, and here he is mingling with the common people at a wedding of all events. He himself debated attending; although he had received an invitation (as is polite custom) it is not as if anyone actually expected him to accept. They would all assume he’d send Stephen or some other representative on behalf of Doomstadt. Perhaps that is why he decided to attend himself – it is always good to surprise people. Truthfully, though, he knows he decides to attend because perhaps this could be beneficial to his ongoing endeavour to find an appropriate spouse. And, of course, out of some sort of left-over fondness he has for the participating parties – even if he does not truly know these versions of them. In the old world, Magneto had often played the part of ally whilst Namor had always been a close friend. And whilst he has never had any dealings with Quicksilver, he once nearly married the man’s twin sister, so it only seems right to attend the mutant’s own wedding.

So, a combination of factors has led to he, Doom, attending the wedding of a Prince and a King in the domain ruled by Erik Magnus. His attendance is greeted with a wave of shock, awe and surprise – as is to be expected – and he ignores the whispers of everyone present to seek out Magneto.

“King Doom,” Erik Magnus bows to him in greeting and behind the mask he finds himself amused. He is not above admitting that he finds great pleasure in seeing those who used to think themselves above him in the old world cowed by him in this one. “You bless us with your presence here today.”

“Indeed.” He offers no explanation for his attendance – the will of God is above any of these beings.

Magneto looks almost awkward – clearly his presence has thrown the whole event off course and the man is too polite to say anything about it. “Let me introduce you to some people,” the mutant says, finally. “I am sure you will be pleased to know that we are doing extremely good work with the Foundation – perhaps you would do me the honour of meeting some of our top scientists?” The Foundation is the scientific division of his government and they operate across the whole world as they have his permission to pass between the domains to carry out their work. The Monarchy of M is one domain that utilises Foundation recourses more than most – research into the X-Gene and evolution and genetics, of course.

Meeting with a few scientists seems to him a much more appealing prospect than having to do the political rounds with the Barons of the other domains in attendance, so he allows Magneto to lead him away from the slowly enclosing crowd of guests to another part of the palace.

That is when he spots him.

It is Richards – a version of him, at least. He is able to recognise the man even though he is facing away from Doom. The pure shock to his system causes him to falter in his heavy stride, and his heart skips several beats. How can he be here? The Council of Reeds was destroyed… there are no alternate Reed Richards’ left in the universe. How can one be here, now? Is this some sort of secret plot against me?

It was never something he considered before, but now he is forced to reckon with the idea that membership to the Council of Reeds was not accepted by every version of Richards… his version declined membership too, after all. Declining membership to the Council means they would have survived their destruction, being safe on their home world. There could be even more of them across the world, he thinks suddenly. He knows when he returns to the Castle he will have to task Stephen with searching the domains to find out.

He is about to speak up and demand that Magneto take him to speak to this man – this Richards – but it seems the mutant was already leading him over there anyway.  

“My King,” Erik Magnus says, “meet my chief scientist, Doctor Reed Richards.”  

Reed Richards turns around to greet them both and he is struck by how… different this man looks from the version in his world. He is younger, for sure – in his early to mid-30s perhaps. The grey streaks in his hair are non-existent, leaving him with a head of chestnut-coloured hair that is cut just under his ears. The man’s eyes are a light and bright brown and they are just as keen and intelligent as his counterpart’s. It is strange, he thinks, because they look so different and yet he was still able to recognise the man for who he is.

Richards bows. “It is an honour to meet you, my King.” There is something in the way he says it, something in his tone that sets him on edge.

Erik Magnus – none the wiser to his spiralling mind – starts to talk about Richards’ work. “He has been working wonders here,” the man tells him, pride in his voice as if he personally contributed to whatever breakthroughs the scientist has been having. “I am sure you know that we are working on a way to stimulate the X-Gene in those who do not have it. Well, Doctor Richards here has been leading that project and we are making leaps and bounds in our mission.”

He nods, to show that he understands what project Magneto is prattling on about and to feign some sort of interest in the goings on of mutants. What the man speaks of is of no interest to Doom, however. In the old world, perhaps, but the supposed evolutionary superiority of mutants means nothing to someone with real power.

He is more focused on Richards who seems equally as amused as himself as Magneto speaks. Curious, he thinks.

Erik Magnus cuts off suddenly, his eyes catching on something outside of his line of sight. “My king,” he bows again, “I wonder if you could excuse me for a second. I have just spotted my future son-in-law and I must have words with him before this wedding goes ahead.”

The idea of Magneto fighting with Namor again amuses him immensely, so he waves vaguely at the mutant to signal his permission for the man to leave. He watches the mutant make his way through the crowd and sees him approach this world’s Namor. The Namor of this domain seems much like the one he was familiar with – that is to say he is arrogant, handsome and not particularly fond of wearing event-appropriate attire.

With the mutant gone, he feels there is more room to question this Richards in the way he wished to when he first spotted him. He remembers nothing of his previous life, he warns himself, you cannot bring up suspicions in him by questioning too much of his life here. He knows the power he holds over his subjects’ memories is tenuous – that poking too hard will reveal the gaps and everything will start to unravel. He must proceed cautiously.

“Tell me, Richards,” he begins, studying the man intently. “You are a mutant?”

An innocuous look passes across the man’s face. “Of course,” he answers, “I would not have such a prestigious position otherwise.”

The phrasing of Richards’ answer has him pause. The man speaks in a manner he would be inclined to label teasing. He speaks as if he knows something that he, Doom, does not and it infuriates him. “You are speaking to your King and to your God, Richards – have some care with your tone.”

Shockingly, the man shrugs, “I’m more of an atheist myself.”

He, Doom, feels like the world has suddenly slipped from his grasp. That word – atheist – it should not, it does not exist on his world. He is God, he created this world and he is there for people to see and believe in. There is no discussion to be had; on this world, God exists, and he is him. Atheist is not a word that has any meaning here… unless you knew the truth of what came before.

He cannot show any cracks in his armour. This world depends on his strength and resilience. “You dare to question your God?” he demands, his voice low and deep and powerful. He does not wish to make a scene – he cannot make a scene because he dare not bring to attention this… this anomaly in his perfect world. “Do you wish to die, Richards? Do you–”

Richards cuts him off by leaning into his space. The man’s lips are lifted in a sly sort of smile – the sort of expression that would never have looked at home on the Richards of his world. But on this Richards? It fits like a glove. “You know, I have been dying to meet you. This world you have created is very impressive, I have to hand it to you.” An unfamiliar emotion creeps into Richards’ eyes, an emotion that has him unable to look away.  “I may know you are not God, Doom, but really that only makes what you have done here so much more extraordinary! You must tell me how you managed it.”

For once in his life, he is truly speechless.

Instinctively his armoured hand strikes out at the man close to him, closing tightly around Richards’ neck. “You will come with me,” he hisses, the sound coming out harsh through his mask. “You will answer every single question I have for you when we arrive back in Doomstadt and you will do it because I have demanded it – because your God has commanded you.”

Richards smiles that sly smile of his again. He looks up directly into his, Doom’s, eyes and has the nerve to ask, “and what if I don’t?”

A sudden rush of emotions overwhelms him. He is furious! He is incensed! He is… exhilarated.

This is what I been missing, what I have been craving, he realises, I have no equal on this world. But perhaps…

“If you don’t,” he muses, his grip on Richards’ neck loosening ever so slightly, “I suppose I will just have to strike you down where you stand.”

A teasing wide-eyed look graces the other man’s face. “And cause such a scene? You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh Richards,” he hums, letting his hand fall back to his side as he notices Magneto making his way back towards them, “don’t test me so.”

And when Erik Magnus joins them both, he turns to him and says, “I am afraid I must inconvenience you, Lord Magnus. I require the presence of your Doctor Richards in Doomstadt – I have need of his… services.”

Magneto’s face twists in displeasure, but he can hardly refuse his King and God so the man nods weakly. “Whatever you need, my King – when do you think he may be able to return?”

“Oh, Lord Magnus,” he says, feigning pity, “you mistake me – he will remain with me indefinitely.”  

Stephen, he knows, will have something unseemly to say about this whole business. As soon as he arrives in Doomstadt he tasks the man with searching the domains for any other Richards’ that might be lurking about waiting to dethrone him.

“I thought you told me that Reed would not be an issue,” Stephen says to him when he informs the man of his new duty.

“There has been an… anomaly,” he replies, because he cannot quite bare to say aloud the words ‘I was wrong’.

Stephen’s brow furrows and his eyes are alert. “Whatever does that mean?”

He, Doom, decides that perhaps in this case showing would be better than telling so he projects a live image from his personal study. The moving image shows Richards sitting primed and eagerly looking around the room with his keen eyes.

Stephen looks up at him after watching the image in silence. “And what do you plan to do with him?” His voice is accusing, as if he expects him to have some sort of nefarious scheme already brewing – he had thought they had moved past those assumptions in their friendship.

But because he can hardly say, ‘I wish to make him my husband,’ he instead says, “Mind your place, Stephen. I will do as I see fit.”

Once he has successfully diverted Stephen, he returns to his study.

The room is an exact replica of his study back in Latveria, not that the current occupant would recognise it as such. Bookcases full of scientific and mystic texts line the walls and a large desk full of papers and open books – where he normally sits to work – is close to the wall but centred in the middle. There are ornate carved wooden chairs directed towards the desk for when he has guests, and one of them is taken up by Richards.

Richards looks completely comfortable in this foreign space – he does not seem remotely concerned about his fate. It is a strange confidence that the man possesses, but one that he finds both fascinating and attractive; he has always been attracted to confident people.

When he enters, he shuts the door and locks it behind him – the last thing he needs is to be interrupted by some servant or other. He is grateful he had the foresight to enchant the room so that no sound escapes it because the conversation he is about to have will contain the most sensitive information that exists on this world.

He seats himself at the head of his desk, and stares seriously at the younger man sitting almost casually. “Tell me what you think you know,” he commands, “and we will go from there.”

Richards smiles at his phrasing and leans his chin on his fist. “Where to start?” he asks, more to himself than to Doom. “I suppose I should start with the Council… you’ve met them, I assume?”

He knew, he knew it would all lead back to that interfering group of psychopaths. “I am familiar with them, yes.”

“A sad and spiteful little group, don’t you think?” Richards muses, amused. “And arrogant, too. Their mission, to solve everything… so presumptive, so ridiculous.” The man pauses, before continuing, “well, once upon a time, they approached me to join them and I followed them around for a while to see what they were up to and if it was worth my time. Needless to say, it was not. Frankly, I had enough problems to deal with on my own Earth to ever think about worrying for the fate of other Earths.”

He is intrigued. “Problems on your own Earth?”

A darker look crosses Richards’ face. “Yes, my Earth was… difficult.” He gestures vaguely to Doom, “I don’t know the circumstances of the world you came from, but I assume you are familiar with the idea of mutants and their conflict with humanity.”

He inclines his head. “Mutants were a minority on my world – before there was perhaps a couple million of them but after an… incident the number fell to an estimated two-hundred; they were never a viable threat to humans after that.”

This information shocks his companion. His eyes seem distant, as if he is trying to imagine such a world. “On my world, there had been a Mutant-Human war in the late 20^th Century. By the modern day the world was led by mutants and humans were the minority. I knew that if I wished to do great things – to be a scientist – I would need to be a mutant. It’s why I followed the Council around for a while – I was fascinated to discover that many of my counterparts had abilities, even if they were not mutants.” Richards shows off his powers then, stretching his arms about a bit. He looks slightly displeased as he does so. “An unfortunate power set, I admit, but it serves its purpose in disguising my humanity. It was the Council that clued me in – cosmic radiation, apparently; it was something that never occurred to me. All I needed to do after that was design a microscopic implant that could be injected into my body that would trick any sort of technology into believing I possessed the X-Gene, and that was easy enough.”

“Clever,” he allows grudgingly. “However I am more interested in how you know what you know – how you retain your memories of the world before.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Richards says, and he pushes his hair back behind his right ear quite a way and turns his head to the side. A small metal chip of some kind is attached to the skin behind his right ear. “I, ah, appropriated some of the Council’s technology before I left them. This chip is a neural implant that allows me to track multiversal anomalies – like the ones that were happening before this world was created – and protects my mind from psychic intrusions as well as attempts to interfere with my memories.”

Ah, he thinks, well that explains it.

“I knew immediately that this world was… different. I had no idea how it came to be – all I had to go on was that you were calling yourself God. I knew that wasn’t necessarily true, but it was true enough for this world – you created it somehow… you saved part of my world and parts of many other worlds. What you were doing – playing God, that is – it wasn’t detrimental to my life which continued much as normal so I never bothered to intervene or tell anyone else the truth… not that they would have believed me anyway.” He pauses, and then adds, “I was curious to how you’d managed it, of course.”

He can sense the question that is hiding underneath and, well, he’s never missed an opportunity to show off his genius before. Richards is the only other person in this entire world, save Stephen, who will be able to grasp the magnitude of his creation – the only person who could appreciate what he has built here, how he saved so many people. So he explains to the man how it happened – he explains about the Illuminati of his world and the incursions and how they failed whilst he triumphed. He is vague, of course, about the nature of his power – how it hinges on the Molecule Man – because he is not an idiot; he knows he cannot trust this man entirely. But still, it feels good – he feels a strange relief – about being able to unload everything that has unfolded.

Richards has only one question, although it is more of a statement than anything. “So,” he says, curiously, “you could have restored all the worlds to their original state… but you didn’t.”

“I–” he starts but is cut off.

“Don’t worry, your secrets safe with me,” Richards grins. “Besides, this world is much more interesting than my old one.”

Stephen seems surprised to see Richards still alive and perfectly intact when they exit the study later in the day.  

“Would you like to join us for dinner, Stephen?” he asks the Sheriff as they run into him in the hallway.

Stephen stares at them both as if he is seeing something that isn’t there; perhaps an echo of what once was. His eyes drag over them both slowly, in disbelief, and his reply comes out carefully. “I suppose I should,” he says, “would you like me to inform the servants we have a… guest?”

“Yes, have them prepare a room,” he tells Stephen which gets him another confused and calculating look, but Stephen inclines his head and rushes off to do what he’s asked to instead of pursuing the line of enquiry he clearly desires to.

When the Sheriff has left, he turns to Richards. “Did you know him in your world? Stephen Strange; perhaps a doctor, a sorcerer or both.”

“I can’t recall,” Richards admits. “It is hard to recognise other versions of people I knew – you look completely different, for example; I only knew you for who you are because the Council had many different versions of you on their record and you take after those versions in appearance.”

Again, he is intrigued by this world that Richards has come from. “Tell me, what was so different about the Doom in your world?”

Richards shifts. “I did not know you personally – I only knew you from your visits to Magnus’ palace. But you did not wear a mask, or the armour, and you had a family.”

A family? I have seen many worlds, many versions of myself… but a version with a family? Such a version has alluded me thus far.

He is so thrown off by this – the idea of him with a family – that he must have shown how much the man’s words affected him because Richards says, not unkindly, “would you like to know about them? Your family? I am hesitant to tell you because it doesn’t have a happy ending – I just want to warn you of that, in case you want to know.”

He, Doom, almost laughs. He does not know why he is surprised – nothing in his life has ever had a happy ending. He expects he is not made for happy endings. He has no idea why he keeps trying for one. “Tell me about them,” he says, because he can’t quite help himself, “but spare me the tragic ending.”

So his companion tells him about Victor Von Doom – a man much like this Richards, a man who realised that mutants were not going away and so took the initiative and gave himself powers. When Richards tells him of Victor Von Doom’s powers he has to restrain the urge to tear himself apart; the ability to transform his body into liquid metal – was this version of him an idiot? In a world virtually ruled by Magneto and he chooses this power for himself? If he did not already hate this version of him (for having a family) then that was enough to push him over the edge.

Richards’ version of Doom did the same to his family – gave them powers, that is. He did it to his wife who on that world was Valeria, his childhood love. And he did it to their son, Kristoff.

He finds himself closing his eyes whilst the man talks. He tries to imagine this family, but he struggles to conjure up an image of Valeria as an adult woman and he struggles to imagine Kristoff’s face. His mind is so full now, so busy, that he often finds the smallest things that seem insignificant like the faces of people he once loved slipping through the cracks. It disturbs him, but he has no solution.   

For some reason, he finds himself asking, “the boy – Kristoff – what were his powers?”

Richards looks surprised but thinks for a couple of seconds before answering, “he was called the Inhuman Torch – he had fire-based abilities, he could transform into some sort of fire demon.”

He, Doom, smiles at that. He isn’t sure why it brings a smile to his face – an expression he finds has been lacking for a very long time – but it does. He just finds the idea of Kristoff being able to burst into flames strangely fitting – the boy always did have a hot temper.

It is only a couple of months after he, Doom, discovered the existence of a Reed Richards on his new world and it is only now that Stephen has figured out his plan. The plan in question – which, admittedly, is not a true plan but more of a vague end goal – is that he wishes to make Richards his husband so they can rule this world together.

Stephen does not explode when he realises this as he was expecting the man to do. Instead he just looks quite resigned and says to him, “Far be it from me to question your decisions, Victor, but… is this wise?”

Probably not, he thinks to himself, but I am so very tired of being alone.

“I hear your concerns and have had them myself,” he says instead, “but rest assured, Stephen, that I have thought everything through.”

As his husband, Richards… Reed, sits by his side on Yggdrasil and is the only advisor he has that he is inclined to listen to. Reed is, he soon realises, perfectly capable of walking the line between good and evil. His morals are dubious, but concrete; he is able to severely punish those who rise up against the throne whilst having mercy when it is needed. They are a well-balanced couple, he finds.

It is Reed who devises the idea of sentencing Jonathan Storm to serve as the sun of their world. A wonderfully creative idea, truly. He wonders briefly if he would be so quick to punish the Human Torch if he knew of their relation in Doom’s old world. He comes to the conclusion that the man would most likely not care – he has never been bothered about the world he, Doom, came from.

The only thing that Reed had concerned himself about regarding his old world was to correct the use of his name. “Richards,” he had said, distaste in his voice, “is that what you called that other version of me, in your world?”

“Yes,” he had replied, “would you prefer otherwise?”

“Of course I would prefer otherwise,” Reed had said, rolling his eyes but with a fond sort of expression on his face. “For one, it is not even my last name now that we are married. And secondly… I do not wish to be equated with that version of me – I am not him… I will not play second fiddle to a dead man.”

“Second?” he had echoed, surprised. “Is that how you see yourself? You think you are second best?”

His husband had clenched his jaw and had not met his eyes which was all the reply he had needed. He had reached out and tilted the other man’s chin up, forcing him to look into his, Doom’s, eyes. “Do you think for a second that I would ever settle for second best?”

“No… of course not,” Reed had murmured.

“Then your fears are null and void,” he told the man, his voice almost gentle. “Believe me when I tell you that that man was nothing compared to you.” He ran his fingers along Reed’s jawline, “and of course, I will address you however you please: beloved, my heart, dearest…”

Amusingly, the man had flushed – he finds his husband is very easy to fluster. “Just Reed will be fine,” he had muttered, embarrassed.

He had pulled back, amused, “as you wish, my husband.”

There is a room in the Castle that is a secret to all but he, Doom. It is adjoined to his study but hidden through sorcery. Inside is a large round pool of still water. It is used for what could be considered scrying – for lack of a better word. Instead of showing the future, it only shows the present. He uses it to keep an eye on his world – though of course he could do that in the room in the Castle specially designed for reconnaissance. No, it is more accurate to say that he uses it to keep an eye on his private affairs.

Sometimes, he will watch Boris. He will watch the old man dote on his gaggle of grandchildren and wonder if the man could have ever been that happy in their old world. He watches the man’s daughter, Petra, worry over her father and pull her children off of him whilst chiding them to be careful with their grandfather. He watches Boris garden and read and do whatever he wants instead of what he is commanded to do.

More often, he will watch Kristoff. He will watch the boy scare off his mother’s suitors and be grateful that he never tried to marry in their old world. He watches the boy excel in school and sees him surrounded by friends who he attracts like moths to a flame because he is so charismatic. He watches Kristoff thrive and wonders how much he held his son back all those years.

One day, his husband comes wandering into his study looking for him.

“Victor?” the man calls, voice slightly tinted with confusion. “Stephen said you were in here and to call for you if you did not appear.”

Ah, he suspected that Stephen knew there was a hidden room in his study. Thus far the man has respected his privacy and has never intruded into it, so he does not know what lies inside. He considers ignoring Reed but finds the idea distasteful. Keeping secrets in their relationship will only cause trouble, and even though the room is hardly what could be considered a major secret, he finds himself wanting to tell Reed about it; wanting to talk about those he once knew.

Without moving from his position, he waves an arm and mutters a simple opening spell that will reveal the entrance to his husband. A few seconds later, and the man enters slowly, taking everything in.

“This is quite fascinating,” his husband says, moving around the space as if taking measurement of the room. “Is this some sort of pocket dimension?”

“Nothing quite so complicated, I’m afraid,” he replies. “Merely a physical room with the entrance hidden.”

Reed hums, “you know, sorcery never fails to impress me.”

He is surprised to hear the man say so – every Richards he has encountered has been averse to it, although he is not surprised to find out his husband is the exception to the rule; he often feels Reed is an anomaly in most fields. “I am glad to hear you say so,” he tells his husband, gesturing for the man to join him at the pool’s edge, “for I have something I wish to show you.”

Reed moves to join him and when the man is standing by his side, he reaches into himself and recites an incantation that he has devised for this particular purpose. He could use the power of the Beyonders to achieve the same result, but it feels purer to use his sorcery.

The water in the pool ripples and Reed blinks in surprise, leaning closer to see the images that start to appear faintly before becoming bolder until they are as visible as a still photograph. “Amazing,” Reed murmurs, and he has to reach out and stop his husband from reaching down and touching the water – the man is too curious for his own good.

“Careful,” he chides, moving Reed’s hand back to his side. “Touching the water will disrupt the spell.”

His husband nods, still entranced by the water. “What am I looking at?” he asks.

The water today shows Kristoff. The boy is in his late teens, having aged alongside everyone else in this world, and he’s sitting with his mother eating lunch in their home. The scene is peaceful and full of familial affection between a mother and her son; his heart aches for his own mother.

“You are my husband,” he begins, not taking his eyes off the water, “and between us we have no secrets. You know that I was not always God, and that there were once many worlds and not just this one we inhabit now.” He pauses, watching the moving image of Kristoff some more. “On my world, this boy was my son.”

Reed lets out a small sound of surprise and rounds on him in confusion. “You never told me about him,” he says; it is not an accusation, it is just bewilderment.

In reply he says, “I was ashamed… I was a terrible father.”

Reed – ever the soft heart – says, “I’m sure that’s not true.”

He laughs, humourless, “you see me in a positive light, my husband. I am more benevolent on this world than I ever was on the last. Now I have the foresight to see what truly matters, and I know that I did not cherish the gift I once had.”

Reed doesn’t quite know what to say to that. He stares at the moving image for a while, before saying, “why is he not here, with you? If you know you made mistakes then why are you not rectifying them now you have the chance?”

“He was not mine to keep… he did not belong to me,” he tells his husband. “He has others that love him, and others he loves that he deserves to be with. I had the power to recreate the world… I was not about to punish him by keeping him by my side for my own selfish desires. He deserves better.”

His husband reaches for him, a hand on his arm, “it hurts me to see you loathe yourself like this.”

He, Doom, allows Reed to keep his hand where it is. He knows that the man wishes to reach up and touch his face, but his mask makes that impossible, so he has settled for his arm. “I am not so arrogant as to lie about myself, not to you – if you see it as loathing then very well, but I am trying to atone for how I once was. The best way I have decided to do so, is to keep away from him.”

“I know,” his husband says softly, “I just dislike that it hurts you.”

The two of them watch the pool in silence. They watch Kristoff and his mother talk happily together whilst eating, and then they watch the boy clear the table for his mother as she teases how polite he is.

Then, his husband says, “Victor… is this some odd roundabout way of telling me you wish for a child?”

He freezes.

The idea of a child had not been at the forefront of his mind but…

“Because,” Reed continues, “you are God, at least on this world, so I assume you can create whatever you want, including an entire new human being, if you so wished.”

Fleetingly, he sees Kristoff – as he was when the boy was a small child – float into his mind, as well as Valeria Richards. They taunt him, reminding him of what he has lost.

“And so,” his husband carries on, cutting through the images of Kristoff and Valeria in his mind. “If you wish to create a child for us, then I would be fine with the idea.”

“I–” the words stick in his throat.

Reed looks back down at the pool, where Kristoff’s image still moves about, “I will leave you with him, for now… but think about it, won’t you?”

His husband reaches up to press a kiss against his mask and leaves the room. He is left standing at the edge of the pool, watching Kristoff and his mother. “My son,” she calls him, and he, Doom, flinches.

Their child is a daughter and she is a combination of the both of them. Her skin is darker, like his, and her hair is a pretty chestnut – the colour of Reed’s. Her name is Zora, it means dawn. He finds it fitting; she is the dawn of a new chapter in his life.

She is aged artificially so that she comes into their world as a seven-year old; the idea of having a baby around, something so fragile, when this world could collapse into chaos at any moment caused him to age her that way. She knows everything she needs to – that he and Reed are her parents, that this world is her home and that her parents love her very much.

In temperament she takes after him more than Reed – she is introverted and calm but can also be incredibly headstrong. And of course, she is as smart as a whip – she is happy to sit by either of their sides whilst they teach her something new about the world.

For her tenth birthday, he gifts her a small portion of the Power Cosmic that would usually be given to Galactus’ heralds. She is delighted at such a gift, and spends the day flying about the Castle with her new powers and – because she is untrained – ends up smashing through many walls and breaking lots more furniture. Reed chastises him for giving her such a gift. “How am I ever supposed to top that gift, Victor?” he complains, as they watch Zora glow with power. “Parenting isn’t a competition, you know – you don’t need to blow me out of the water every birthday!”

“Ah, husband,” he smiles, “now where would be the fun in that?”

I am happy, he thinks as he watches their daughter with his husband, I am content.

Of course, that’s when everything starts to fall apart.

It starts with the Foundation finding a mysterious craft in the Kingdom of Utopolis. It is some sort of life raft and it contains a group from one of the destroyed universes; the Cabal. At first it does not seem so serious – he has the power to defeat them all, of course. But as he teleports into the battle, so does Stephen… and the man is not alone.

For the first time in eight years, he sees people he once knew… and one of them is Richards. Pure fear grips his heart. They will never let him keep this world, he knows it, they will fight to the death to take what he has built from him. And he cannot allow that to happen.  

He is attacked at first by Cyclops who seems to have gained possession of the Phoenix Force though he does not know how. The surprise of seeing them all, and the unexpected factor of the Phoenix allows Cyclops to gain the upper hand at first. But he is Doom and he is God, so he quickly recovers, and he snaps the mutant’s neck. He orders the others to surrender – offers them a life in this new world – but they are too obstinate to accept. Very well, he thinks, a fight to the death it shall be.

But then they are gone, disappeared – teleported to safety by Stephen of all people. The betrayal stings more than he thought it ever would – does the man not know he is condemning Reed and Zora to their deaths by allowing Richards and the others to go free? They will wrest this power from him and destroy this world, and his family will go down with it. So he kills Stephen. He has to. He feels slight regret but nothing substantial. That man endangered the world by opening that ship and letting Richards and the others out, but more importantly he endangered his family, and that is an act that he could never forgive.

Richards and his friends are impossible to track down, so he is forced to continue as normal until they pull the rug from under his feet. He holds a funeral for Stephen to cement the charade, and Zora sheds tears for the man she used to call uncle.

Look at what you have done, Stephen – look at this innocent life you have doomed.

And he has doomed Zora, because she was created by him. Like the world, she is kept alive purely through his being alive and imbued with power. When she ages, he will be able to gift her more of his power so that she can exist independently of him… but she isn’t old enough for that yet.

And Reed? He is an anomaly; he has no idea what fate will befall his husband.

“You killed Stephen,” Reed notes casually when they are alone together after the funeral. “What did he do?” Reed doesn’t seem to care the man is dead and he cares even less that it was he, Doom, who killed him.

“He betrayed me,” he answers after a moment, “he brought danger to the house of Doom.”

Reed’s face twists in anger, at the late Sheriff. “Then I hope you made him suffer.”

Before he leaves to confront the chaos in his world – to confront those he once knew who have now dedicated their lives to tearing down what he worked so hard to build – he pulls Reed aside.

“My husband,” he says, calm and collected even though this is most likely the last time he will ever see the man again. “In the courtyard there is a large statue – you have seen it before; it is the one beside Stephen’s – underneath it is a trapdoor. It is hidden with sorcery like the room in my study, but I have shown you how to open such illusions. Inside is a strange man and I do not have the time to explain to you who he is but know that he is the source of my power. I need you and Zora to go there… bring some food with you, be kind to him, and stay there until I return for you.”

Every time he visited the Molecule Man in the last eight years he asked for food and he, Doom, never brought him anything. He did not care about the man save that he was the source of his power. Perhaps… perhaps if Reed is good to the man, he will see fit to save him and Zora.

“Victor–”

Reed wants to argue, wants to come with him and kill those who have done this to their world and to their family, but he cannot let the man do that.

“I have never commanded you to do anything,” he has never begged, “but I am commanding this of you.” Oh my husband, don’t you see? The end is coming.

Reed acquiesces silently, going off to fetch Zora. When they return, he kneels down and strokes her hair indulgently for a few seconds. He does not want to upset or concern her, because this may be the last time he ever sees her… may be the last time she is even alive. In Romani – a language he never taught either his husband or daughter – he says to her, “I am sorry, daughter, I have failed you.”

He removes his mask briefly, to kiss his husband one last time, before putting it back and leaving the room and leaving his family.

As he walks away he wonders, is this how my mother felt before she died? This hopelessness? Is this how my father felt as he died for me? This horror? Both of them were forced to reckon with the knowledge that they were leaving me alone in this world… how did they manage that? How did it not destroy them?

The Molecule Man removes his powers as he and Richards fight – to make it fair, apparently. There is nothing fair about this, there is nothing fair about his life falling apart in front of him.

“You married an alternate version of me,” Richards notes as they fight. “I don’t quite know what to say to that.”

“Then say nothing at all!” he snarls. He doesn’t want to hear this man’s mocking words – doesn’t want to hear from a man who couldn’t even save his own family. He will not make the same mistakes Richards did, he will not let his own family slip through his fingers.

They exchange empty words as they fight, he barely knows what he is even saying.

Then… then his vision goes white.

Then… there is nothing.

*
*
*

He wakes in Latveria. As soon as he wakes he knows something is different.

It is his face, he discovers, it has been healed. He finds himself laughing. Is that what Richards thought he desired above all things? For his face to be healed? That fool. He had exactly what he wanted, and the man tore it from his grasp. And he thinks his healed face is equal to what he had? It is a consolation prize, if anything.

Wait until I get my hands on him, he thinks, pure anger building up inside him, wait until I–

“Father?”

For a minute, he thinks it is Zora’s voice. He turns.

It is Kristoff.

He blinks, because he has not seen his son in person for eight years. Kristoff has not aged as he had in the other world though, he is as he last saw him eight years ago.

He swallows. He remembers Reed’s words: “why is he not here, with you? If you know you made mistakes then why are you not rectifying them now you have the chance?”

Well, his husband and daughter may be gone, but Kristoff isn’t.

“Good morning, child,” he says to his son, voice calm and determined. “A lot has changed, though I suspect you may not remember any of it. That is fine, I will fill you in. But in short, you have a sister… and another father – and we are going to scour the multiverse until we find them.”