The hallway clock showed 7:50 PM.
Diana walked down the corridor in her red dress, the silk fabric swaying softly against her legs, the slit revealing a glimpse of her toned thigh with every step. The heels she wore, elegant black stilettos borrowed from the wardrobe, clicked against the stone floor in a steady rhythm. Her hair, straight ened and gathered into a severe ponytail, swung gently behind her. Her breasts strained against the neckline but did not spill out.
She did not want to wait for Doom's robot. She was tired of being escorted, tired of being watched, and tired of feeling like a prisoner in a gilded cage. She would find her own way to the dining room. She would prove to him that she was not a helpless woman.
"I intend to have a serious conversation with him. After this dinner. After his guests leave. He will explain to me the force of his trick… I hate that mark on my body. His mark."
She had not forgotten the mark that had appeared on her body in the sauna. To her relief, it had not reappeared while she prepared for this evening.
Diana descended the stairs. The castle was a labyrinth, its corridors twisting and turning in ways that defied logic. She had been here before with Larin, with the Servo-Guard, and with Doom himself, but the paths had never seemed so confusing. She had to reach the dining room, be punctual. Meet the so called special guests and on the other hand, she had not forgotten one person in particular who would be there.
"Zora will be there. Of course she will. That woman…"
The idea of facing Zora made her jaw tighten. The woman in yellow armor had called her a slave and a prisoner. She had mocked her, threatened her, and tried to fight her. Zora was Doom's loyal champion, his Victorious, the woman who had saved him from exile and returned him to supposed freedom. According to Doom's orders.
Everything was him.
She reached the first floor, her heels striking the polished marble. She tried to remember the route to the main dining room: the long corridor, the tapestry of the Battle of Doomstadt, the left turn, and the heavy oak doors. She followed the path as she remembered it, her steps quick and purposeful.
But the corridor ended in a dead end. A wall. No doors. No patrolling robots. No tapestry.
Wrong way.
She turned around, her heart racing. She tried another corridor. And then another. The castle kept playing with her.
She was lost again.
"Damn it. A bad idea. I should have waited for the robot after all."
She pressed forward, navigating the intersecting corridors, quickening her pace as time ran out. The clock had shown 7:50. Dinner was at 8:00. She did not know how much time had passed—five, eight, or perhaps ten minutes. Time was consuming her. Without Larin or the robots at her disposal. No one was guiding her. She was alone.
The Amazon had no desire to endure a scolding from the grumpy Doom or worse, his disappointment.
"Where is the dining room? Where is anything specific in this damned castle?"
She moved faster, in desperation. She turned a corner and stopped. Another dead end. Another wall.
"This is ridiculous."
She saw another hallway and spotted another clock at the far end that read 7:58. She had two minutes left. She quickly headed toward it; she did not explore that unknown area. She crossed two hallways on her way until a hand stopped her progress, pulling her right arm back. She tensed, her warrior instincts flaring, her hand clenching into a fist.
"Wrong way, Amazon." A voice behind her spoke.
She recognized the voice. That low, resonant, metallic voice that haunted her dreams and her waking hours.
She turned around.
Victor von Doom stood before her. His hand still holding hers, only holding. His metal fingers cool against her skin. He leaned against a wall near the second hallway she had crossed, his brown eyes mocking her from behind his mask.
He had been hidden there, waiting for her.
"I see you are not adapting well. What a disappointment!" He said. "A bad decision, not waiting for one of my servants. Although, in truth, I was coming to collect you myself."
Diana pulled her hand away, her cheeks flushed and a touch of anger in her expression.
"How kind of you." She remarked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I have been in places…"
She stopped and looked at him, her breath catching.
He was not wearing his usual green tunic.
Instead, he wore black pants, silver knee-high boots, a black belt, and a long coat, almost a trench coat, concealing his metallic body, adorned with unknown objects on the upper chest. He still wore his mask, hood, and green cape; around his neck was covered by large woolen shoulder pads that ended below his back and shoulders, above his cape, giving him an air of authority different from his usual imposing presence.
"Not bad for a politician…"
She remembered the erotic dream she had had about him: his hands on her body, his lips on hers, his tongue between her legs. She pushed the thought away, but it lingered at the edges of her mind.
If she combined the two and removed the mask, he would be a ruler far too attractive for any mortal woman.
She said nothing.
Next, the ruler of Latveria looked at her. The red dress, the heels, her semi-exposed leg, and her straight hair pulled back into a ponytail.
"Not bad, Diana. I see you truly outdid yourself."
"Thank you for the compliment." She whispered automatically.
"Take it however you like." Doom replied.
Diana's eyes narrowed. She would not let him see how much his words affected her.
"So." She said. "Who are these special people you want to introduce me to?"
Doom's mask tilted.
"Find out for yourself."
He offered her his arm for her to take.
She did not hesitate as she once might have, despite everything he had done to her. Diana linked her bare right arm with his, feeling the warmth of his body through the fabric of his emerald trench coat.
"His arm is warm. Not cold. Not metal. Just warm."
Doom guided her. She walked at his side toward the main dining room, her heels clicking against the stone floor, her heart beating a little faster than she would have liked.
"I still have not forgotten about the roses. Just keep in mind that I am only pretending to be your partner for your guests today." She whispered to him, reminding him of the theft from Paradise Island.
"Forget about the roses, Diana. You are much more than one of them." Doom's voice was low, intimate. "A rose is beautiful but it withers. It fades. It dies. You are eternal. You are a goddess among mortals. You are the woman I have chosen to stand by my side for all eternity."
Diana was surprised. His words were romantic, genuinely romantic. Not the cold, calculated flattery she had expected. On the other hand, he told her there were no romantic kisses. She wondered what exactly he meant, questioning whether he was lying to her and to himself. Perhaps it was his way of expressing his apparent feelings for her.
"Victor von Doom." She whispered, pressing her arm more tightly against his body as they walked. "I did not expect you to say that."
"You didn't expect it because you've been trained to see Doom as a monster. A tyrant. A a male kidnapper. That is what you've told yourself."
He turned his head toward her, his eyes gleaming.
"But Doom is not a monster. Doom is a king. And a king understands the value of what he possesses. You are the jewel in Latveria's crown, Diana. The woman who will stand by my side when the world kneels at our feet."
His voice softens, but only slightly.
"Do not mistake Doom's honesty for weakness. It is simply another form of power."
Because of the way she leaned in, she unintentionally felt Doom's arm pressing against her breast that strained against her neckline. The sensation was strange: intimate, comforting and unsettling. Neither of them paid it any mind.
Inside Victor von Doom was playing at being romantic with machiavellian intentions. The kind of line he usually employed during his old negotiations with Morgan le Fay.
"You are not so different from humans after all." Diana said, doubtfully. But she is falling a little for his charms, forming a small and reluctant smile.
Doom's eyes flickered with annoyance, but he pretended composure.
"No comparisons, darling."
"All right." Diana understood. "On the other hand, you look good tonight. Ruler of Latveria."
"Doom thanks you. It is time, Diana." Doom's voice was formal, but there was a touch of warmth beneath it.
They both stopped before the heavy oak doors of the main dining room.
With his arm, Doom placed his hand on the door. He looked at her, his brown eyes meeting hers.
"Are you ready, Diana?"
"Is Zora present?"
"No. She is still at the embassy of New York. There will be no tensions."
She nodded, her heart beating.
Doom opened the doors.
Once again, the main dining hall stretched before Diana like a cathedral of indulgence. The long table dominated the room, its surface decorated with candles and laden with enough food to feed a small army: a large roasted pig, its skin crackling and golden; a turkey stuffed with herbs and spices; a medium-sized pie with a lattice crust; carrots, sweet potatoes, and boiled potatoes gleaming with butter; a bottle of wine; mashed vegetables in a porcelain bowl; several kinds of fine breads; various fine porcelain pitchers and cups; small glasses filled with red wine; polished silver plates and cutlery. Finally, at the head of the table stood the ruler's chalice.
But it was not the food that caught Diana's attention.
It was the figures seated at the table.
Five hooded figures in green tunics, their faces darkened by their hoods. They sat motionless, silent, like statues in a forgotten temple. Their attire was identical to that of Latveria University, green robes, black belts but with one notable difference: a large white "D" adorned each belt. They were all nearly the same size, except for one. He was muscular and tall.
To her misfortune, Larin's presence was nowhere to be found.
This felt like a twisted dinner from Brother Blood's cult, the twisted leader of the Church of Blood who had brainwashed countless souls into serving him.
Was Doom any different?
Was this dinner merely a prelude to some dark ritual?
She did not let her discomfort show.
Two purple servo-guards stood by their respective seats, waiting for Doom and Diana. The robots were silent, their eyes glowing faintly in the candlelight.
They offered each of them a seat and gestured for both to sit.
She sat calmly next to the muscular one, crossing her legs, her red dress rustling softly against the chair and revealing a bit of her thigh. She was seated to Doom's left, her hands resting on the wood.
Doom, however, remained standing in the center of the room, not yet seated.
"If he intends to sacrifice me, he has chosen a strange way to do it."
Diana noticed four cooks standing by the door, watching them calmly. Their presence was unsettling, silent witnesses to what was about to unfold.
Doom raised a chalice containing wine forward; his other hand grasped Diana's right hand, holding it delicately. She made no move to stop him, allowing herself to go along with it.
"My subjects, my lads." Doom's voice resonated through the hall, commanding and resonant. "Thanks to your good effort during the months of training. You will be rewarded. Bear witness to the presence of your future queen, Diana Prince. Meet her."
Diana listened to Doom's absurd speech, her expression carefully neutral. She watched as the hoods were lowered, revealing five strange, unfamiliar faces.
The giant beside her was a bald, bearded man who looked at her with curiosity through sharp eyes. Next to him was a bluish face that emitted faint sparks; a staff-like object rested near the feminine figure, a girl with electric blue skin and hair crackling with static. Facing that figure was another girl, white-haired with floral adornments woven through it and four clawed arms resting on the table behind the turkey. Opposite the muscular man was an ordinary, she ordinary-looking human figure with brown hair and dark purple circles under his eyes, a young man. Beside him was sitting a female figure who looked just like him, almost identical, except that her skin was purple and the circles under her eyes were a lighter shade of purple that matched her hair. She was sitting directly across from Diana.
They all watched her with curiosity for a moment before speaking in unison.
"It is an honor to meet you, My Lady. Master Doom's partner."
Their voices were a chorus, perfectly synchronized, as if they had rehearsed the greeting a hundred times.
When they fell silent, Doom turned to Diana, his voice warm yet grandiloquent.
"Darling, let me introduce you to my disciples. The special people I told you about. Each possesses a unique quality that aids in the protection of Latveria. They serve for the sake of their homeland and out of respect for Doom."
"Hail Doom!" The disciples spoke again in synchrony.
"I confirm it. I'm inside a mass to Doom." She affirmed to herself.
"Do you recall the term 'mutant,' darling?" Doom interrupted her thoughts.
"Are they…?" Diana asked with curiosity.
"I saved them from the clutches of humanity, and they repaid me with devotion." Doom's voice was proud.
Diana simply observed the situation. She had assumed this dinner was merely to introduce her to important people, perhaps high-ranking Latverian officials other than Zora, beneath Doom. This was something completely everyday, as if introducing one's nephews.
She only nodded at the ruler's words.
On the other hand, she worried she had chosen an outfit that was too revealing. The red dress, with its neckline and slit, had drawn everyone's attention. She noticed the brown-haired male figure with circles under his eyes stealing a glance at her cleavage, then quickly pulling his green hood over his face in embarrassment at his own indiscretion.
Diana sighed in disappointment.
The purple haired figure across from her mirrored the boy's gesture, but only hid her hair. Diana studied the movements of both disciples more carefully; they seemed like twins.
The four-armed white-haired girl studied Diana with intense curiosity and a serious expression, her clawed hands resting on the table. The others reacted according to their shy natures: the bald man carefully stroked his beard, the electric-blue girl tilted her head, and the white-haired girl with floral adornments smiled faintly.
Doom drew Diana out of her thoughts by gently pulling her closer.
"Why don't you introduce yourself, darling? The lads want to meet you." He made the gesture, rubbing a metallic thumb over her thumb.
Diana nodded. She took a breath, adjusting. It was nothing out of the ordinary. it was like introducing herself to Yara's new friends.
"As Victor said, I am Diana Prince of Themyscira. I come from a very distant world. There they know me as Wonder Woman. But titles matter little here, in this place." Her voice was warm and maternal, nothing forced, remaining in her own place.
"Victor tells me that he saved you. That he gave you a home when the world gave you nothing. I understand that. I know what it is to be an outcast, to be feared and hunted. Because I am an Amazon. My ancestors used to be enslaved and abused by men, where the damned Hercules was involved. I know our cases are not technically the same, but we share the same. We have survived. We have prospered. We built a paradise."
She smiled, a soft smile. Her gaze fixed on them.
"I do not know what the future holds. But I know this: if you have me, I will not only be your queen. Your protector. Your family. Because that is what Latveria needs. Not only a ruler. A united family."
She continued.
"I hope to earn your respect in time. Not only as allies. Perhaps even… a mother."
She stopped, surprised by her own words.
"What did I just say?"
The words had left her mouth before she could stop them, a confession of love from a queen for her people and her subjects, so deep and so complete that it did not feel like a betrayal in itself.
"After all, I don't feel so bad about it… I think…"
Then she heard applause.
Everyone was applauding: the disciples, the two servo-guards, and even the kitchen staff. The sound filled the hall like a wave, washing over her, drowning her in their approval.
"A lovely confession, darling." Doom remarked, his voice warm as he looked at her.
"A toast to that." He continued, raising his chalice higher.
Everyone at the table took a glass of wine and made a toasting gesture to their master, except Diana. This time Doom let it pass for her.
"Hail Doom! Hail Diana Prince!" Spoke the electricity girl, taking the leadership of the group.
When the electricity girl called her by name, Diana inclined her head, a slow, regal nod that acknowledged the words without embracing them. Her expression remained neutral, neither warm nor cold, and she met the eyes of each disciple in turn before letting her gaze settle on Doom. She said nothing, nor did she need to. The silence was her statement, and she let it rest.
Everyone took their respective glasses of wine.
Doom leaned in to whisper in her ear, his warm breath against her skin.
"You impressed me. You impressed them all. I did not see that coming. We are off to a good start."
He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it.
"His lips are warm. His touch is as soft as in my dreams."
She pretended to ignore the gesture, even though she actually appreciated it.
The ruler of Latveria then took his seat at the head of the table, still keeping his hand over hers. His disciples prepared to eat, their eyes still fixed on their future queen.
"Hera, what have I gotten myself into?" Diana's mind raced.
Doom pinched one of her fingers, giving her the signal that dinner had begun. She only gave him a look of acknowledgment and then turned her face toward his disciples.
"Before we start with dinner." She said, her voice warm but measured, trying to be sociable. "may I ask your names, lads? I would like to know with whom I am sharing this meal."
"Let me introduce them. They are still shy." Doom made a gesture with his face, his voice dominant.
Diana nodded.
"At your side is Szik, though he prefers to be called Slag. He possesses impressive regenerative abilities and is as tough as a rock."
Doom was referring to the massive figure next to Diana—the bald, bearded man who was devouring a pig's leg with alarming enthusiasm. The heat radiating from him was palpable, a volcanic heat that Diana could feel against her skin.
"Slag. Regeneration. As tough as a rock. Like Baran Flinders or perhaps a version of Solomon Grundy."
She watched Slag tear into the pig's leg with his teeth, juices dripping down his beard. He was not refined, but there was something almost childlike in his enthusiasm.
"Beside him is Volta, capable of generating and manipulating electricity. She can control it well thanks to the staff that Doom gifted her."
Doom continued, gesturing with his gaze toward the blue-skinned girl next to Slag. She crackled with electricity, her hair a static storm, her bright eyes sharp and without irises.
"Volta. Electricity. Like Leslie Willis, Livewire."
Diana had already assumed as much. The blue, glowing body confirmed it. She nodded politely, and Volta returned the gesture with a small crackling smile.
"Next is Nerium, who has the ability to control plants. She does not like to be called by her real name."
Doom was referring to the white-haired girl with four arms. A branch extended from her side, snatching a carrot from the bowl in front of Diana. Her eyes were ancient and knowing.
"Nerium. Plants. Like Pamela Isley, Poison Ivy."
Diana's mind raced. This was the one she suspected. The pheromones. The power over plants. It was possible—more than possible—that Nerium was the source of Doom's pheromone power. They shared the same physiology, the same abilities as the reformed villainess.
"This gives me more to discuss with him. But in the worst case… he could be using this girl. Mutant."
She filed the thought away for later.
"And the last two: the twins and siblings, Ramona and Hugo, better known as Ironcloak and Dreamer. They possess abilities that even they do not fully understand."
Doom's voice broke through her thoughts as he gestured toward the last two figures, the twins. The muscular man with circles under his eyes, and the purple-skinned girl who mirrored him.
"Ironcloak and Dreamer. Abilities they do not fully understand."
Diana wondered why Doom kept this pair so shrouded in mystery. The twins exchanged a glance, then gave her a slight nod, a silent introduction. There was something unsettling about them, something that made Diana's warrior instincts prickle.
She nodded in return, her expression carefully neutral.
The servo-guards moved silently through the room, serving herbal infusions from the pitchers to all the guests, except Doom.
"Darling, would you like tea, coffee, chamomile, or…?" Doom's voice was welcoming.
"Chamomile." She requested.
The robot approached Diana, its metallic hands offering a delicate porcelain cup filled with chamomile. She took it; the warmth seeped into her fingers and her throat.
Then she began the dinner, releasing Doom's hand.
The food was excellent: boiled potatoes, sweet potatoes, legumes and purees. She avoided the meat, her eyes drifting toward Nerium, who also avoided the meat. The plant girl caught her gaze and smiled faintly, as if recognizing a shared understanding.
Diana tasted the food. The bowls of puree, potatoes, and boiled sweet potatoes. The seasoning was different from Doom's, not bad but it did not compare to his. The flavors that had danced on her tongue, the spices that had warmed her throat. This was simpler. Perhaps the cooks' seasonings.
She noticed that the latter were still standing by the door, watching the dinner. They had not moved since she entered. She wondered why they remained still.
Was Doom forcing them to watch?
Another display of his power?
She set that aside for the moment. Then she remembered that someone familiar was missing.
"Victor." Diana said, her voice very casual. "Where is Larin? I thought he would dine with us."
"He is resting in his cell." Doom wiped his metallic mouth with a napkin, his movements deliberate.
"What do you mean? Why do you have him locked in a cell?" Diana's fork stopped in mid-air.
Doom's eyes flickered with something like annoyance. He adopted a simulated tone, as if about to explode at her objection. He took her hand again, his fingers cool against her skin.
"Larin is not locked in a traditional cell, darling. He rests in the quarters he has chosen for himself, a modest room he calls his cell because he finds peace in simplicity. Doom does not imprison those who serve him voluntarily. You would do well to remember that before accusing me of cruelty toward my own."
He squeezed her hand a little. She felt no pain, only pressure.
Diana stared at him, her mind detailing.
"His room is his cell. Chosen by Larin himself. But that does not change the fact that someone important to him is locked in a special cell."
It made no sense to argue with the monster that was Doom, not in front of his disciples. Not now.
"I'm sorry, dear, for objecting." She forced a smile, her voice soft.
"I understand your doubts, Diana. There is nothing you should worry about." Doom's expression softened, almost imperceptibly.
Both continued with the dinner.
Diana ate in silence, her thoughts churning. The disciples ate around her, their conversations low and murmured among themselves.
The dinner continued; the sounds of cutlery clinking against porcelain could be heard. The candles flickered, casting dancing shadows over the table, and the aroma of roasted meat and herbs filled the air.
Slag, the massive figure next to Diana, had not stopped eating since the meal began.
He had devoured the entire roasted pig, not only the meat but the ears, the snout, and the short tail. He had consumed the turkey down to the bone, breaking the carcass open to reach the marrow. The legs of both animals had disappeared into his mouth in the first minutes, leaving nothing for the others. His plate was a cemetery of bones, picked clean and stacked high. Grease shone in his beard, and his fingers were slippery with fat.
And then, with a satisfied sigh, he let out a belch that resonated through the hall like thunder.
Diana was disgusted by the scene.
Volta, sitting beside him, shuddered. Sparks flew from her hair, and she turned toward him with a look of pure exasperation.
"Behave in front of our masters, Slag," She said, her voice sharp with static. "You have left nothing for Ironcloak and Dreamer."
Slag looked at her, his expression sheepish.
"It was delicious." His voice was like a grinding stone. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help it."
Volta crossed her arms in disappointment, looking away from her companion's behavior. The sparks in her hair dimmed, but her irritation was palpable.
"Forgive my behavior, Doctor Doom." Slag turned his enormous bearded head toward Doom, eyes downcast.
Doom simply nodded; his mask betrayed nothing. He continued eating the piece of turkey he had rescued for himself before Slag could devour it.
"Doctor?" She thought with doubt.
She had never heard the title before from the robots or from Zora. But hearing it from the large man, spoken with such casual deference, made her pause. She had never thought of Doom as a doctor. He was a tyrant, a sorcerer, and a conqueror.
But a doctor.
Well, he had demonstrated something of that in the Doomstadt hospital.
She looked at him, her curiosity awakened. Her gaze lingered on his mask, his hands, and the way he held his fork with metallic precision. She watched him eat, observed the subtle movements of his jaw beneath the mask, watched the way his eyes flickered toward her as if he sensed her attention.
Doom noticed her looking at him. He set down his fork and turned his head toward her.
"Is something the matter, Diana?"
"Doctor… Doctor Doom? Is that another of your aliases?" She murmured.
"Yes. Is there something wrong with that?" Victor's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Just curiosity. Do you have a doctorate in science or medicine? Why didn't you tell me?" Diana tilted her head, wanting to know the answer.
"Forgive my oversight, darling. I acquired it when I first declared myself ruler. The degrees came after." Doom's voice was measured.
"But that doesn't count as a doctorate." A smile formed on her face because she wanted to tease him.
In Diana's mind, the nickname Doctor Doom seemed funny.
Victor noticed her mocking smile. He set his fork down completely, his posture shifting. He leaned back in his chair, his cape settling around him like a shroud, and fixed her with a look that was both patient and predatory.
"Let me clarify for you, Diana. Doom does not need a university to recognize his intellect." He said, his voice carrying the weight of absolute certainty. "He has mastered all the sciences known to humanity and several that are not. He has cured diseases that baffled the greatest minds in the world, and he has built machines that rival the gods. If a piece of paper is what you need to recognize Doom's expertise, then know this: Doom has forged credentials from every major university on Earth. Cambridge. Oxford. Sorbonne. M.I.T. Harvard. Doom did not attend them. Their degrees hang on my wall not because I needed them, but because Doom found it amusing to collect them once the crowns of academia proved as easily conquered as the crowns of nations."
Diana's smile did not falter. If anything, it grew wider. She picked up the glass of wine she had not touched since the beginning of the dinner, swirling the deep red liquid as she considered it.
"You collected doctorates like trophies." She said, her voice light with amusement. "That is incredibly egotistical of you."
"Doom is not egotistical. Doom is honest about his capabilities. There is a difference." Doom's eyes flickered with annoyance.
"Is there?" Diana took a sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving his.
"Clean your lips, Diana." Doom's jaw tightened.
She had not noticed that she had a little liquid on her lips. She only nodded, finishing her glass of wine and setting it on the table. She wiped herself with a napkin in a slow, deliberate motion. Diana returned her attention to her plate, but the amusement remained in her eyes.
The disciples watched the exchange in silence. Volta's sparks had dimmed, her eyes wide. Nerium's plants had quieted. The twins exchanged a glance. Slag only ate the boiled sweet potatoes slowly, ignoring the conversation of their masters.
No one spoke.
Doom picked up his fork again, his movements rigid. He did not look at Diana, but his voice was low and controlled.
"You like to provoke Doom's patience."
Diana did not look at him either. She speared a piece of sweet potato with her fork and brought it to her lips.
"I enjoy many things, Victor." She said, her voice soft. "But provoking you is not one of them. I'm simply… curious."
Doom ignored her.
She sighed and then noticed that the purple-hooded figure was watching her with curiosity.
The girl Ramona, Doom had called her, though she was better known as Ironcloak, had already finished her meal. Her plate was clean, her cutlery carefully arranged, and her clear purple eyes were fixed on Diana with an intensity that was both curious and respectful. Unlike her brother Hugo, who was still eating quietly beside her, Ramona seemed eager to talk, to socialize with her future queen.
Diana met her gaze and offered a small, encouraging smile, trying to socialize with the disciples.
"Victor mentioned that you went through rigorous training," Diana said, her voice warm but measured. "I see you made an effort to meet me in person."
Ramona's eyes widened slightly, and Diana noticed for the first time that the girl had no irises—only pools of pale purple that seemed to see more than they revealed. It was unsettling, but Diana did not flinch.
"We train every day to improve and to defend my country and Doom with all my soul." Ramona replied, her voice soft but steady. "We are progressing, and the Master rewards us with various things. One is meeting you in person. It is a pleasure, my lady."
Diana liked her. There was no malice in her voice, no hidden agenda. She was not a monster, not an outcast, not the kind of mutant the world feared. She was simply a young girl who had found a home and a purpose.
"Thank you, kiddo." Diana said, her smile genuine. "How long have you known Victor personally?"
Ironcloak's expression brightened, as if she had been waiting for someone to ask.
"For more than a year." She said. "We have stood firm by Doom's side. We never left him, even during the last Doom Island incident, when several of us were captured by the mutants of Krakoa. At that time, Doom refused to let them take my brother and me. He chose us."
Her brother Hugo, Dreamer, nodded, his purple dark circled eyes meeting Diana's.
"Later, the Master rescued Slag, Volta, and Nerium." He added, his voice calm but firm. "Joining our ranks."
Diana understood. Doom had built his own family, a family of outcasts, of mutants, of those the world had abandoned. He had given them purpose, protection, and a place to belong.
"Doom Island." she thought privately. "Another ridiculous name."
"Doom Island? You have an island?" She turned toward Doom, her expression carefully neutral.
Doom did not look at her. He continued eating, his movements deliberate and precise.
"A home away from my home." He replied, his voice soft.
Diana reflected on his words. An island. A private retreat. Another monument to his ego.
"I will take you there someday." Doom added, as if it were a casual invitation for a walk in the park.
Diana did not nod. She did not smile. Instead, she asked:
"What happened there? What incident occurred?"
Doom set down his fork, his eyes slightly narrowed. He did not like being interrogated, but because it was Diana, he answered.
"Doom was simply training a young mutant, drawing out the potential of someone who had been stranded on his island, when the mutants of Krakoa came for him, led by the incompetent Charles Xavier. They assumed the worst, and a conflict ensued."
"Charles Xavier?" Diana's brow furrowed. The manual she'd read in the library had spoken of mutants only in the abstract, their history, their persecution. Never named their leaders. She wondered, not for the first time, how much of what she'd been given to read here had been chosen for her.
She did not recognize the name. But from the way Doom spoke of him with such venom, such contempt, she knew he was no ally of his. She had recalled reading it in the library book, the distrust between both nations.
Ironcloak and Dreamer simply nodded to their queen, their expressions respectful but guarded. They did not speak. They did not need to.
"Charles Xavier is merely a manipulator. He claims to protect mutants, educate them, give them a home." Doom's voice dropped, his tone sharpened. "Before becoming part of Krakoa, he had a former School for Gifted Youngsters that is nothing more than a training camp for child soldiers. He molds them into weapons, sends them into battle, and calls it education. He speaks of peace while preparing for war. He preaches coexistence while building an army."
Diana listened, her expression unreadable. She had heard such accusations before against heroes, against villains, against herself. But there was something in Doom's voice that made her pause. Something that sounded like truth.
"Do you have proof?" She asked quietly.
Doom's eyes met hers, burning with cold fury.
"Doom has them. Xavier's students were children, they have died for his cause. And he mourns them with pretty words while recruiting the next generation. He is no different from the tyrants I have fought. One of them is his partner. They both rule such an island. He is simply more subtle."
He paused, his voice falling to a whisper.
"But Doom does not need to convince you. Doom simply states the facts. What you do with them is your choice."
Diana remained silent. She did not argue. She did not agree. She simply filed the information away, adding it to the growing list of contradictions that was Victor von Doom.
"Keep this in mind: Doom does not hate mutants. You can check that. I only question the personality of that subject as a leader. I am not the villain in this story." Doom said, his voice returning to its usual dominant tone. "I have the feeling that his nation of mutants will fall soon; that is why I keep mine within my territory. I'm never wrong."
Diana felt a slight chill; she believed he might be a seer.
"Let us not spoil the dinner talking about that bastard Charles Xavier and Krakoa, darling. Continue with your meal."
She picked up her fork and bit into the sweet potato. The flavors danced on her tongue earthy, sweet, satisfying. She chewed slowly, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts.
"Doom Island. Charles Xavier. Imminent fall of Krakoa."
She had entered a world she did not understand. And she was beginning to realize that Doom was not the only player in this game.
The dinner was ending. Most of the disciples had finished their meals, their plates clean, their glasses empty. The Servo-Guards moved silently through the room, clearing the porcelain and crystal with mechanical precision.
Diana continued with her meal, drinking what remained of her chamomile tea and eating the remaining sweet potatoes. The flavors were pleasant, earthy, sweet and satisfying. She found herself relaxing, if only slightly.
But then she sought another piece of sweet potato and speared it with her fork.
Diana bit into it and then felt that the inside was raw and flavorless. Inedible. She was not willing to spit it out in front of the disciples and in front of Doom. The taste was horrible: starchy, bitter, like biting a piece of chalk. She swallowed it quickly, but her throat rebelled.
She coughed once, twice, her hand flying to her mouth.
"Diana? What happened?" Doom's head turned immediately.
"I swallowed the sweet potato." She said. "It wasn't cooked well on the inside."
She looked at him, her expression a mixture of disgust and embarrassment.
Doom's eyes narrowed. He set down his fork with deliberate slowness, looking at the chefs.
"Who boiled the sweet potato?" He asked with authority.
The chefs grew nervous.
Diana watched as they shifted on their feet, hands trembling, eyes meeting one another's. They had been standing by the door for the entire meal, watching. Now they were being interrogated.
"Who. Boiled. The sweet potato?" Doom's voice was cold, demanding.
The chefs did not respond. They stood trembling, plates and cutlery shaking in their hands.
"Was it you, Duncan? Owen? Or you, Alastair?" Doom accused them, his voice rising.
"Victor, it's nothing. Just a small oversight on the part of your chefs. It's not serious." Diana touched his shoulder, her voice soft but firm. "I'm fine."
Doom ignored her. He did not even look at her. His gaze remained fixed on the chefs, his patience wearing thin.
Finally, a chef with a mustache stepped forward. His hands trembled. His voice was barely a whisper.
"It was me, Lord Doom. Please forgive my mistake. I thought they were all well cooked."
Doom did not acknowledge his apology. He simply snapped his fingers.
A Servo-Guard moved immediately, metallic hands grabbing the chef and slamming him against the head of the table. The chef's hat flew off, landing on the floor. Ramona and Hugo moved aside, their expressions neutral, giving space to the cornered man. The chef remained without pain, his head resting on the table, his body slumped.
"Victor, stop!" Diana's voice was sharp.
Doom ignored her.
"Duncan." He said. "You disappoint me. I hired you for your skill with tubers. You have disappointed Doom and your future queen. You must be executed."
"That's not true! Doom, stop!" Diana protested, her voice rising.
Doom continued to ignore her. The other chefs were terrified, their faces pale, their bodies trembling. The disciples kept neutral expressions, but their eyes were fixed on the scene, watching and waiting.
"Forgive me, my lord. Please have mercy." Duncan pleaded, his voice muffled against the table.
Doom did not listen to him.
"Volta." The ruler of Latveria said in a calm voice. "This is part of your training. Execute him. Right now."
"It will be a pleasure, my lord." Volta smiled, her sparks crackling brighter.
She rose from her seat, her staff crackling with electricity. She pointed it at the chef's face, the staff sprouting bluish energy.
"It is time." Doom declared. "I will send a letter to your family."
"Please… please…" The chef wept, his shoulders trembling, his voice breaking.
"You stop right now! You will not do this in my presence!" Diana's voice cut through the room like a blade.
She rose from her seat, her red dress swirling around her, her eyes burning with fury. She stood tall, her posture regal, her presence commanding.
Doom's head turned toward her with fury. She gripped his arm with too much force, which made the ruler gasp a little. Fury rose in her, hot and sudden. She looked at him with murderous rage.
"Do you dare defy Doom? Do you know what comes next?" He rose from his seat.
Diana did not flinch. She met his gaze, her own eyes full of defiance.
"It does not affect me. Stop this madness and let the poor man go."
"Doom does not follow your orders." Doom refused.
"I will not let you do it. Nor will I let your disciples do it. No one deserves to be executed like this." Diana declared, her voice ringing through the hall.
They brought their faces closer.
The air crackled with tension. Doom's gaze was full of anger, defiance, and a deeply rooted hatred. Their old rivalry rekindled, burning in his chest like a fire. He wanted to crush her, break her, and make her submit to him.
But Diana remained unmoved.
She stood firm, her posture inflexible, her eyes never leaving his.
They stared at each other for several seconds. The disciples watched, prepared for a full battle against their queen. The chefs trembled. The robots were motionless.
Doom kept his murderous gaze fixed on Diana.
"Release the man. That is an order from your queen, robot and put down your staff, electric girl." She ordered, her voice cold and clear.
"Do not listen to her." Doom ordered.
"Follow my orders or I will massacre your master. I do not want trouble with you, lads." Diana spoke.
Several seconds of tension passed.
Then the Servo-Guard nodded hesitantly and released the man.
Volta hesitated, her staff still crackling, her eyes moving between Diana and Doom. Then, slowly, she lowered the staff.
"Thank you, Lady Diana. Please forgive my error, Lord Doom. It will not happen again." The chef sighed in relief, his body leaning against the table.
He withdrew to the kitchen with the other chefs, his steps unsteady and his body trembling.
Doom was frustrated by Diana's actions.
"This is not over, Amazon." Doom said in a low, cold voice.
Diana simply ignored him.
Doom was about to continue, confronting Diana. And then Doom felt it.
A sharp pain in his chest a burning, stabbing agony that made him clutch his heart and stagger backward. His breath caught. His body trembled.
"Victor." Diana's expression changed. Her anger faded, replaced by concern.
The disciples rose from their seats, faces full of alarm.
"My lord!"
"Master!"
"Stay back." Doom raised a hand, warning them back.
Diana recognized the pain in him. She had seen it before, during their horseback ride, when he had clutched his own chest and groaned in agony. The same pain. The same weakness.
"Victor." She said, her voice softer now. "Tell me what is happening to you?"
Doom did not respond. He straightened, forcing his body to obey, forcing the pain down.
"Dinner is over, lads," he said, his voice strained but commanding. "You may retire. And you as well, Diana. My Doombots will guide you. Doom wishes you good night."
He walked through another door slowly, his cape swirling behind him, his steps unsteady.
"Victor, wait!" Diana called.
Doom did not stop.
"Doom orders you to return to your room and not follow me."
He left the dining hall, disappearing into the darkness of the corridor.
Diana was left alone with the disciples still standing, the candles flickering, the silence heavy.
Wonder Woman did not know what to do.