Doom floated through the brackish energies of the astral realm. He propelled himself 'downwards' to the earth as the energies gently roiled around him. Although a different realm, it was closely enough related to the material realm that there was some corresponding geography. The physical word was barely perceptible, as if made of ethereal smoke.
As he passed through the decks of the ship, faint glimmers of light passed by; the fireflies of mortal souls. He saw a much brighter area beside him, glowing warm white; a chapel. The collective spiritual energies of the Skrulls created an undeniable mark there, and he saw brighter souls from the various Skrull holy men. He made sure to give the area wide berth; whatever theurgy they practiced could interfere with his already delicate journey.
Leaving the ship behind, he entered the void, and it was just as dark and empty as in the real world. The earth shone in multisplendored light as he descended. There were few beings who would have the power to help him and fewer still with the inclination. Unfortunately, he only had the solid location of one: Doctor Stephan Strange. Doom broadly aimed for American continent. If he could reach the sanctum of Doctor Strange, he may be able to parley aid from the master sorcerer.
Even with the rough correspondence of the material world, navigation would be fraught; the astral plane became more populated and energetic as more people and matter gathered. Already, small astral spirits nipped at his heels.
"Failure..." whispered the mischievous poltergeists. These thought forms were little more than a nuisance, hungry for whatever small amount of energy they could provoke and collect. The protection circle he weaved should keep them at bay.
"Monster..." another whispered before it dumbly bounced from his aura like a buoy against the bow of a ship.
He had to keep his energies as low as possible. Attracting the attention of the more powerful denizens of this realm would be lethal. Even the most powerful of mortal wills was at a disadvantage here, which was one of the reasons magicians had their rituals to control these things. Spells of binding and control were essential.
"Tyrant..." came another foul spirit.
Doom felt a biting sting on his leg (well, the 'leg' of his astral body, which still carried the reflection of his physical one). It seemed the improvised spell still had gaps in its warding. Looking forward, he could make out the state of New York, but couldn't discern the actual city. He was still some distance away
"Grotesque..." mocked the creatures.
Carefully, he gently but firmly attempted to dislodge the parasite. Gentle prods of will pushed the embedded creature until it finally freed. As it tumbled away from his, it seemed that it's colleagues determined the weakness in his spell and Doom saw them push through the gap in his shield, like a pack of dogs trying to push through too-small a door.
He cursed as one of the astral spirits launched itself at his face. He caught it, and with an effort of will burned the pest in his grip. The swarm of creatures were invigorated at the expenditure of energy, surging like piranha. Doom turned and propelled himself at speed away from the horde. He cursed again; this was going to attract attention.
The astral realm was becoming brighter and more disturbed a he continued to descend. He could just make out the bright conflux of New York far in the distance, the massive population giving the appearance of a twisting nexus of lights.
He was still too far.
As he sailed, he came upon a dark shape blocking him and he was forced to halt his flight.
The presence was indistinct, though blazing eyes under a crown of horns could be discerned. The aura of hungry malevolence left no doubt as to it's nature. When it spoke, it's voice reverberated menacingly.
"You know why I am here. I don't suppose you'll come without a struggle, will you?" the creature said affably.
Doom was already found, and there was little point in concealment. He turned back to the swarm of astral spirits and raised his hand. A blast of white hot light seared into the pack, and the survivors scattered like hyenas.
"Do not bar my path, demon," Doom commanded as he turned back to the spirit.
"No; not before we have you. Perhaps you should have asked for favor from Mephisto when you offered Reed Richards' soul?"
"The expectation of a reward lessens the value of a good deed," Doom answered.
The demon let out a chuckle, "If that's what you call it. They don't usually send me after good God-fearing people though."
Without another word, the demon lunged at him. Icy claws dug into his torso and the demon dragged him downwards. He had to think quickly, and over powering the demon was not an option.
He channelled his will, feeding his etheric energy into the creature through it's anchoring claws.
"Why do they always choose the hard-" the demon was cut off as Doom channelled a nova of his energy into it.
The demon bloated for just a moment before it's form ruptured. The explosion flung Doom away, twisting and rolling. Blackness overcame him as the expenditure of his vital energies wearied him. Some higher part of his spirit detached for moment as his astral body weakened and he tumbled off course in the astral realm.
He was awoken by a loud thud that he quickly realized was his own body hitting the ground. He had a moment of disequilibrium as he picked himself up from the cobble stone ground. He checked around himself.
The ethereal nature of the world determined he was still in the astral realm, but something had changed. Things were more solid now and he moved with a dreamlike sluggishness. He found himself in a tight alleyway with an old, almost European, style of stonework. Looking up, the sun cast a weak crimson hue through thick smog, and strong winds carried a sandstorm above him.
Had he fallen prey to some malign force that toyed with him? Or perhaps he tumbled into some vortex of strange time, and he beheld a vision of a future? Regardless, his objective remained, and he would not be swayed from his path.
Doom stepped from the alleyway. The main street was of the same design and was almost as tight. There were no people present, though vender stalls lined the road, and their simple cloth coverings billowed in the wind. There was a high wall that seemed to keep the worst of the weather out, and Doom determined he must be at border of this settlement. With no clear way of breaking through the wall, he turned away from it, looking around.
The twisting and claustrophobic streets lead up an incline. With nothing better than dead reckoning, he picked a street and moved to what he assumed was the heart of this place. If a malevolent force had abducted him, it would be at the center of this place.
Doom would ensure it's suffering for this delay.
Walking up the road revealed little. Motes of dust fell from the sky like a gentle snow, and he felt an acrid taste in his mouth from the air. As he carried on, he found his first signs of life.
A young girl sat huddled in blankets under an alcove, sheltered from the dust. As he approached she lifted her face up, and he saw under her hood; she was riddled with cancers and blemishes. Thin grey hair hung over her withered face, but still, he estimated she couldn't have been older than 14.
"What has happened here?" he asked.
She grimaced, showing toothless gums and looked away, swaddling herself again.
Scurvy and cancers? What failure of civilization had occurred? He suddenly became aware of burning all over his exposed skin and he caught a clump of dust in his hand. He realized what he thought was billowing sands was in fact industrial ash. He shook his hand away as the toxicity burned him.
He carried onwards. More people, swaddled in a similar fashion, had appeared, but this place was still sparsely populated for such a dense city.
He asked again, this time silently, what had befallen these people? This must be some vision of a future.
A weight fell on him as he realized he must be seeing a path of the Skrull victory. A vision of mankind bereft of his care.
He redoubled his efforts.
Pushing through the winding thoroughfares, Doom continued to climb. The strange buildings still blocked his vision of center of the occult city, but he was finally high enough to see over the wall. Ash dunes stretched into the distance with no signs of greenery among the desolation. More cities could be seen here and there; thick smog emanated from them.
As he carried on, he realized the cobblestone road changed, and that the path was paved with bone. Contaminated reddish water slowly dribbled down the gutters. Approaching the apex of the hill, Doom heard sequences of volleyed gunfire.
Finally, he came to the center plaza of the city. He fell to his knees at the sight.
"No..." he whispered in disbelief.
The plaza was little more than an open-air charnel house. Impaled corpses and heads littered the area, and streams of blood pooled and dribbled down the roads, giving lie to his thought that it was merely contaminated water. The shots he heard were from a firing squad at the foot of a massive statue. The soldiers were rhythmically executing a long line a misshapen and downtrodden creatures. After each volley, another group of soldiers took the blasted corpse and impaled it among the macabre forest.
But it was the statue that evoked the horror in his heart,
Stretching 30 meters high, a massive bronze statue of Doom sat in the center of the plaza. It depicted him upon a pile of Skrull corpses, holding an alien skull in one hand and a scourge in the other. A plaque at the foot of the statue read:
AUTARCH VICTOR VON DOOM
MASTER OF MANKIND
ERADICATOR OF ALIENS
IMPERITOR MORTIS
Behind the statue, Castle Doom unmistakably loomed.
This was Latveria!
With horrifying weight, Doom realized this was a vision of his victory.
"No...No..." was all he could stutter as his mind recoiled in revulsion at these works.
This was not his vision for mankind! Nor especially of his cherished Latveria. The thought that such grotesqueness could be visited on his people crushed his heart. If he still had his tear ducts, he would have wept.
As he looked down from the horror, he suddenly realized he was in his armour. His pistol at his hip took on terrible weight and he slowly opened the cover on the weapon. If this was his future, how could he continue? How could a man carry on with his work if such a monstrous outcome was his legacy?
The sights of suffering humanity guided his hand as he slowly lifted his pistol. One death to stop this evil was something no moral man could discard. As tapped the barrel against his temple he heard a soft voice behind him.
"Is this really what you want?"
He lowered the pistol and turned back; Morgan Le Fay was there.
"What is this? What have you done, Morgan?" he said as he felt the strange enchantment pass.
"Oh, me? Nothing; I was just passing by. This is your doing,' she replied, gesturing at the vista.
"This is nothing of what I wish…what is this place?" he asked.
"This is nexus; a turbulence of time, though on a lower-aligned vibration of this realm. You could call it a vision of the future, but it shows only a certain kind of collapsed potential."
As his senses returned, he felt a churning in his gut as anger and revulsion rose. "It disgusts me," he said.
"Really? One can't help but admire the harmony of it; a perfect procession of order, marching one death at a time towards purity."
He snapped at her, "Are you mad?! This is an abomination!"
She gave a shrug, "I'm not the one you need to convince, Victor. I suppose you'll have to figure out what's…missing."
"-Missing…?" he asked as he turned back to her, but she was gone. Was it an apparition of this place, or did Morgan actually seek to help him? Or did some benevolent spirit merely take a familiar form to speak with him?
He turned back to the titanic statue of himself; it a sat at the center of this deranged place.
He stared at the effigy of death and punishment for some time, feeling his anger rise at this perversion of his dream.
"Doom denies this future," he said at last
No future was set in stone. He could not accept otherwise. The lesson of this place became clear, and his hatred of it grew with that understanding.
With a roar, he fired a blast of searing light into the mockery and it melted like wax in the heat of his righteous fury. The denizens of this place turned to him and howled in collective rage, ceasing their abhorrent pageant.
He rose into the air, gathering his wrath as white energy emanated from his fists. The creatures of this place turned upon him, their resentment at being denied evident in their sudden malevolence. The faux-world melted with the statue, and the unclean demons took to the sky towards him.
"You shall burn for your falsehoods!" he yelled at the swirling mass of demons. Blasts of will vaporized scores of the creatures, but still they came on. In a moment, even he would be overwhelmed.
Suddenly, green arcs of lightning came from above the melee, and Doom looked up.
"Bolts of Bathak!" yelled the figure. It was Doctor Strange!
Not wanting to battle with two masters of magic, the unclean spirits retreated quickly. Prepared as he was, Doctor Strange could erase the creatures entirely.
As the creatures fled, Doctor Strange turned to him. The sorcerer regarded him with suspicion as he spoke. "Victor," he said, guardedly.
"Stephan," Doom replied. He was 'breathing' heavily as Strange descended from above, ""I suppose you expect me to thank you."
"I've been pretty busy lately. Defending reality against the dark hordes that want to take advantage of the invasion, recovering the Eye of Agamatto, that sort of thing. Then I detected an arcane battle a short distance from my sanctum. I didn't expect to find you at the center. So, yeah, it would be the proper thing to do," Strange answered in his typically dry manner.
Doom was still disturbed by what he had seen. He calmed himself and nodded, "Thank you, Stephan; I am in your debt. But I came here with a greater need of your aid," he said, before explaining his situation.
Strange listened attentively before speaking, "And you need me to teleport your body from the Skrull ship? Then what? You always plan to turn things to your own advantage."
There was little point in lying. "That is true. But you, of all people, should understand 'better the devil you know'," Doom answered.
Strange looked off into the distance for some time.
"And now I get to pick which dictator rules the Earth," he said at last.
"It's unfortunate that you would balk at such a gift. Men have killed for far less."
It was Strange's turn to nod solemnly, "Very well, Doom."
Golden light emanated from Strange's hands as he prepared the spell and Doom explained by what means the sorcerer could use to bypass the mystical warding in Castle Doom. Linking a portal to the magical salt circle around Doom's physical body, he transported it to the core of the castle. Closing the portal, Strange pulled back a hand to return Doom to his corporal host.
"If it brings you any comfort, I could fail in my plan while still destroying the alien hold on the Earth," Doom said.
"Feigning humility isn't a good look on you, Victor" Strange answered as he slapped Doom in the chest, and the astral plane passed by in flurry of speed and light as he was flung into his body in an bright instant.