And his offering of a portion of his own life-force to the Dawn in order to free her from that living hell. He had been living on borrowed time since then, never knowing whether he might “wake up dead”—as Betsy had put it—in a year, a month, a day. “But, if it means that for another year, month, or day I’m with you, ” he had said, “then it was worth it.”
Her heart ached from the memories. So many experiences together; so much love they had shared; so many sacrifices made—for their friends, for each other. And to have it all restored now, when it was too late...
Sobbing gently, Betsy turned away from Jean—only to spot Warren’s murderer standing beside the shattered remains of the Doombot.
“Magneto ...” A low growl issued from her throat.
She leapt to her feet, face flushed with uncontrollable rage. Before Phoenix or Cyclops could move to stop her, she was racing across the field.
“Betsy—don’t!” she heard Jean say.
But hate had added wings to Betsy’s feet; they’d never catch up to her in time to prevent her from avenging Warren. As she closed on her target, anger growing with each step, she focused her mental powers, creating the special weapon that had become her trademark as an X-Man. Rose-colored energy crackled around her right hand, forming a stylized knife that jutted six inches from her fist.
It was called a psychic blade, and it could terrible things to an unprotected mind.
“MAGNETO!" Betsy screamed.
The mutant overlord turned to meet the challenge, and looked surprised to find another of Xavier’s students bearing down on him. Before he could react, she leapt forward, pouncing on him, screaming unintelligibly as she pushed him backward with her left hand.
Betsy raised the dagger high above her head—and then plunged it deep into his skull.
Magneto screamed as the blade sliced through every synapse in his brain. His body shook, hands clenching and unclenching; flecks of bloody spittle flew from his open lips, staining his crimson and purple outfit.
Betsy thought it was all quite amusing.
She held the dagger in place for a few seconds, watching as Magneto twisted in agony, unable to free himself from the mental assault to which he was being subjected. Then, opening her fist, Betsy made the blade vanish, as though it had never been there.
Eyes widened in shock yet unseeing, Magneto moaned loudly and collapsed, landing on his back. He began twitching spasmodically.
“I hope you bum in hell for what you’ve done,” Betsy said with a satisfied sneer.
And then she vanished from sight.
Cyclops and Phoenix reached the spot where Betsy had been standing a moment after her sudden disappearance.
“Psylocke?” Cyclops called out. “Where are you?”
“Could she have used her shadow-powers?” Phoenix asked. “Teleported somewhere else?”
Cyclops nodded. “Possibly. But why?” He glanced down at their unconscious enemy; the terrified look on Lensherr’s face sent a chill up his spine. “She had Magneto right where she wanted him, and you know Betsy—she’s never been the type to leave something half-done. She’s got to be around here.”
Phoenix glanced around the area, her face lined with concern. “Yes, but where could she have gone ... ?”
She was standing in a vast, dark space.
Confused by her new surroundings, Betsy looked around, but could see nothing. She could tell the room was large, though, from the way the echo carried when she moved her foot across the floor.
“Greetings, X-Man,” said a raspy voice from the darkness. “I welcome you to the Royal Mansion.”
Betsy started; it sounded as though it had come from just over her shoulder, but she hadn’t heard anyone moving about.
“The White House?” she asked. “But, how did I get here?”
A few feet away, a spotlight clicked on, illuminating a throne-like chair, its back turned toward her. It took her a moment to realize that someone was sitting in it.
“You are here because I wished you to be here, Psylocke,” the voice ordered. “Now, approach. We have much to discuss, you and I, and a short amount of time in which to do it.”
Hesitantly, Betsy moved forward, stepping around the chair to face its occupant. Her attention, however, was caught by a brightly glowing object that floated a few inches above the open hands of her host. It was shaped like a small box, measuring approximately six inches on each side, and shone with the brightness of daylight.
“Dear God. ..” she gasped. Though she had never seen such a device first-hand, Betsy immediately recognized it from descriptions in the Xavier Institute’s computer files.
It was a Cosmic Cube.
Small in size though it might be, the original Cube had been designed years ago by the scientists of the infamous organization A.I.M.— under the watchful eye of their living computer, MODOK—as the source of ultimate power: capable of rewriting the laws of physics and turning fantasy into reality with just a thought. Shortly thereafter, it had been stolen by the Red Skull—an insane villain trained during the blackest days of World War II by none other than Adolf Hitler himself to become the ultimate Nazi. The Skull’s plans for creating a “Fourth Reich,” as well as his goal of achieving world domination, had ultimately been ruined by the timely intervention of Captain America. The Cube had been thought destroyed during their battle, but that was never the case: Though one Cube might be destroyed, another always seemed to pop up somewhere in the world, allowing whoever possessed it to make their dreams come true.
Like the dreams of an armored madman who had wished to become the emperor of the world.
Betsy took a step backward, wanting to put as much distance between her and the device as possible.
“Cease your trembling, mutant!” the Cube’s owner snapped. “I have no patience for your paltry fears.”
Forcing herself to look away from the Cube, Betsy turned to face the device’s owner. He was a wizened old man with sharp, sunken features; the light of great intelligence still burned from beneath shadows cast by bushy eyebrows. His thinning, unkempt hair was a brilliant white, his face lined and creased with incredible age. Betsy figured he had to be at least a hundred years old, give or take a year, but the familiar silver armor and green velvet cape in which he was clad were brand-new—though a month’s worth of dust had accumulated on the battle dress, dulling their original shine.
“Who—who are you?” Betsy asked haltingly.
“I?” the old man said softly. “Do you not recognize me, mutant?” Betsy slowly shook her head.
The old man shifted in his chair, sitting up straighter; he almost looked regal in stature now.
“I,” he said proudly, “am Doom.”
“Zum teufel! Where did Psylocke go?” Nightcrawler asked.
He stood beside Cyclops and Phoenix on The Mall; all three of them were soaked to the skin by the unrelenting weather. Lying on the ground in front of them were Magneto and Rogue, Kurt having rescued the insensate Southern Belle from the blast crater in the center of Independence Avenue.
“I haven’t the slightest idea, Kurt,” Cyclops responded. “One minute, Jean and I were running over to stop Betsy before she might have killed Magneto, and the next. . .”
“A greater disappearing act than any I could come up with,” Nightcrawler said.
Cyclops nodded and turned to his wife. “Jeaq, is there any chance you could scan the area, see if you can pick up her thoughts, like you did back in New York?”
“I’ll let you know in a minute,” Phoenix replied. Closing her eyes, she placed her fingertips to her temples; her brow furrowed with intense concentration.
While they waited, Cyclops pulled Nightcrawler aside. “Any sign of Wolverine?”
Kurt shook his head. “Nein. I have not seen any sign of our feral friend—or Sabretooth—since we split up at the arts center.” He frowned. “I tried to search the area around the building, but the escalation of the fighting between the guards and Magneto’s a
colytes forced me to withdraw.” He looked around. “Where is Ororo?”
“We had to turn her over to Doom’s security forces,” Cyclops explained. “She’d been injured and, rather than get into a shooting match with a bunch of soldiers over who had the right to take care of the ‘Empress,’ Jean and I elected to let them get her to a hospital.”
A distant explosion caught their attention; fires were still raging near the arts center, despite the downpour. Nightcrawler sucked in his breath between gritted teeth.
“It should not be taking Logan this long to rejoin us,” he noted, a look of concern plainly etched on his face, “even if it was Sabretooth he was facing ...”
Their conversation was interrupted by the soft sound of moaning from below. Looking down, they saw Rogue start to awaken. Nightcrawler crouched down and helped her to a sitting position.
“How do you feel, mein freund? ” he asked.
“I—” Rogue began, then lowered her head. “Like a damn fool, Kurt. I shouldn’t’ve lost my head like that, an’ let Magneto sneak up on me.” She pounded the ground with her fist. “An’ now I done lost my chance t’get at Doom ..
“You mean him?” Nightcrawler asked. He sifted through the shattered remains of the android and picked up its head. The infuriating smile of Victor von Doom shone brightly in the flashes of lightning.
“He’s a Doombot?” Rogue asked.
“A stand-in for the real one,” Cyclops said. “But we’ll find him.”
“And there will be no more talk of ‘getting’ him, yes?” Nightcrawler asked. “Remember, Rogue: You are an X-Man, not a killer. Remy would not want to see you throw away your life in some blind quest for vengeance. Such behavior would despoil his memory, and the love he had for you.”
Rogue grunted in reply and looked to the side, to find Magneto lying beside her. His eyes had closed, the mask of horror he had earlier worn now faded away with his consciousness. “What happened to Magnus?” she asked.
“Betsy,” Cyclops replied. “There was an ... accident...” He stepped to one side, to allow her an unobstructed view of Warren. Scott had folded his wings around him, to provide some protection from the rain.
“Oh, Lord...” Rogue whispered in shock, a hand to her mouth. “Where is she?”
“We do not know,” Kurt said. “She just... vanished—” he gestured toward Magneto “—after venting her frustrations on our friend here. Jean is trying to scan for her.”
Phoenix’s eyes popped open. “I’ve found her!” she announced. She glanced at her teammates. “She’s with Doom—the real one.”
“Unglaublisch,” Nightcrawler muttered under his breath.
“Where is she?” Cyclops asked.
Phoenix pointed to the east, along Constitution Avenue—and the world famous home that stood just off from it.
“The White House—of course,” Cyclops said. “Let’s move, people!”
Sprinting across the storm-soaked Mall, the quartet of heroes raced toward the great mansion, unaware of the vaporous cloud that slowly drifted around Magneto.
“You’re Doctor Doom?” Betsy asked, nonplused. Her head was spinning from the revelation. “But—” she gestured at his aged appearance “—but how . . . ?”
The Emperor grunted in disgust. “Why is it that all you so-called ‘heroes’ must stammer and needlessly prattle on whenever you are confronted by events so clearly beyond your ability to comprehend? Can you not merely accept what is before your eyes?”
“But you’re so old,” Betsy replied. “And you’re holding the Cosmic Cube, for heaven’s sakes! How would you expect me to respond?”
The old man smiled wolfishly. “Ah. You recognize the Cube for what it is—the ultimate power in the universe. Therefore, you must realize that only Doom is capable of controlling such forces; that only Doom could have used them to create the perfect world you had come to accept as fact—until the meddlesome antics of your misanthropic teammates proved to you otherwise.”
“Yes, I know all about you, ‘Emperor,’ and what I realize is that Doom is responsible for turning my whole world upside down, solely to placate his precious ego,” Betsy replied with a sneer, “and, therefore, is directly responsible for the death of the only man I have truly ever loved.”
“Ah, yes.” Von Doom shook his head in mock sadness. “Poor Worthington—cut down in the prime of his youth, all because he sought to defend a man with a ‘precious ego’ from assassination. A wasted effort, of course, but clearly a heartfelt one.” He pointed a warning finger at Betsy. “Do not seek to shift blame where it does not belong, girl. I did not cause him to attack Magneto; what he did, was done of his own volition. Such has always been the downfall of you costumed fools.” The old man smiled. “I assure you, however, that he will be remembered as a hero of the Empire.”
“Why?” Betsy asked. “Why do that, when you could just wish him back with the Cube?” A rose-colored light suddenly filled the darkened chamber as she formed her psychic dagger. “Do it, ” she ordered, grabbing him by the throat. “Bring him back.”
“Have a care, mutant—you address Doom, not some petty street thug,” the Emperor replied with a snarl.
“From what I hear, you cheeky little monkey,” Betsy replied with a similar snarl, “there are times when people who are dealing with you can’t tell the difference between one and the other, either.”
“Such insolence!” Von Doom chuckled. “You have spirit, girl, to dare pit your meager telepathic abilities against the might of Doom— when he holds the very powers of Creation itself in his hands.” He laughed—a short, barking noise laced with phlegm. “If I so desired, stripling, I could flay the skin from your bones, plunge you into the Earth’s molten core—all with merely a thought. And you threaten Doom with a mental toy?”
“I’m willing to pit my blade against your little gift box,” Betsy replied sharply. “Think you can wish fast enough to beat me, Doctor?” She drew back her arm, preparing to drive the blade deep into his mind.
“I do,” von Doom said. In his hands, the Cube flared brightly.
Without warning, Betsy was stunned to find herself floating in space, hundreds of miles above the Earth; the planet stretched out far below her. She gasped involuntarily, and the void rushed to fill her lungs. The icy coldness quickly seized upon the areas of her flesh not protected by her gown and opera gloves, draining her strength, her consciousness. Slowly, her struggles ceased; her eyes rolled up in her head—
And then she was back in the chamber.
Gasping for air, she dropped to the floor, coughing and wheezing until she was certain her windpipe would tear from the abuse, rubbing her bare skin to shake off the chill that gripped her. Eventually, forehead pressed against the cool tiles, she was able to regain her breath; the burning sensation created by the void’s frigid embrace left her body.
“I trust you have learned your lesson, child,” the old man said menacingly. “Enfeebled though he may be, Doom is ever your superior.”
“I’ll. . . keep that... in mind . . .” Betsy rasped, wiping away tears. A thin line of drool ran from her gaping mouth to the chamber floor; her throat felt as though it was on fire. Yet, unwilling to remain prostrated before this man whom she hated so much, she wiped the spittle off her chin with the back of her hand, and slowly rose to her feet.
“Do not delude yourself into thinking Doom is a benevolent man, mutant,” the Emperor warned. “Were you of no use to my plans, I would banish you to limbo, wipe you from the minds of every man, woman, and child on this planet, as easily as I shall soon do to that upstart, Lensherr. It would be as though you had never existed.”
“But that’s something I don’t understand,” Betsy said, ignoring the pain that shot through her larynx with the utterance of each syllable. “Why in heaven’s name, if you had complete mastery over the world, would you allow someone like Magneto to run free? With the power of the Cube, you could have simply wished him out of existence before all this madness was set
in motion.”
Von Doom shrugged. “Merely for entertainment purposes. With the accursed Fantastic Four finally eliminated, I found there were often moments when I grew bored with this perfect world; my enemies were either dead, or had been fashioned into willing, unquestioning followers—there were no challenges left to face.”
His eyes lit up with malicious joy. “And then I came upon a most wonderful idea: I would take my greatest rival and set him loose in my new world, to see what he would do—much like a laboratory rat placed in a maze. True, I could have located him at any time merely by using the Cube, but, through his remarkable ingenuity in finding ways by which he, time and again, could elude the Hunters that were dispatched after him, he kept my interest piqued. After that, I allowed him to form his underground network of spies and saboteurs—such additional levels to the game kept the chase from becoming dull.” A trace of a smile came to his lips. “I must admit, the destruction of Paris was truly inspired—I never would have thought Lensherr capable of such widespread slaughter.” He chuckled softly.
“I’m so glad you find senseless death something to laugh about,” Betsy said sarcastically. “It adds a whole new layer of slime to your already-sparkling personality.”
Von Doom ignored her. “But then, something . . . unplanned occurred,” the old man said with noticeable hesitation.
Betsy’s eyebrows rose. From what she had heard about the villain, the great Victor von Doom was not the type to ever come right out and admit he had made a mistake. To hear such an admission now . ..
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