Doom Patrol - Part One
A reality very different to our own
Behold! Doom is come.
We knew not of him, the hooded figure emerging from his magical gateway in our midst. In our naivety we assumed him to be a warlock or spectre and so our mightiest warriors flew out to meet him in battle. Such battle eluded our senses and left many widows in our flock. The Stranger fought with the elements themselves and tore our men to pieces with his power; there were not even bodies to prepare for their passing into the next life.
The Stranger, having proven his ability, was feasted by our wisest elders and given the very altar of the Gods to use as his perch. For his victory he claimed nothing more than a recounting of our history.
That is where I enter the story.
I am a mere stripling in our flock’s reckoning, born too late to be part of the great songs of the past and born too early to lend my voice to the songs of our future.
Like all our folk I am blessed with the form of the Gods themselves, two legs for standing, running and leaping and two arms for gathering, hunting and building. Unlike the Gods our heads are elongated with smooth, sharp and solid beaks jutting from where others would keep their mouths and noses. At the top of our skulls nestles plumage that often reacts to situations around us. From our backs emerge wings, the like of which few can fathom, neither soft and feathered like those of birds, nor rough and hard like those etched on our shrines.
Our wings are the epitome of movement, they allow our flock to hunt more effectively than the greatest land animal and give us the ability to reach new lands in our migrations.
I am without them.
My form is stunted, where the rest of our flock have wings I am fated to have mere extensions of bone so small that I am little more than a land animal. I cannot achieve flight like the others in my nest and, were my father not one of our elders; I would have surely been taken to a height and dropped like a foul egg. My father’s status saved my life but did not allow him to recognise the existence of a stunted child. He has not spoken, touched or so much as looked at me in all the years I have been able to remember.
I am a failure as a daughter but the Gods provide purpose to those in need. Others of my hatch year considered schooling a thing of necessity and, upon the growth of their own wings, made little attempt to continue with their study, instead learning more practical lessons in hunting, gathering and fighting. They became the young wings of the flock and were eventually given a place in one of our castes: the hunters, the gatherers or the warriors. Or they remained with the nests and reared the younger hatchlings in preparation for their own offspring.
Not even the busiest hunters would deign to allow me to tend to their hatchlings so I was put to work writing the stories of our flock and placing them into the great narrative of the Song.
The Song contains all the history of our flock, from the first hatchlings that flew from their own flock right down the ages to me and those I know. For one of our number to know the Song in its entirety is unheard of but I had no other purpose. So I would meet and learn from all the elders and singers in the flock, who would speak to the very air around me rather than acknowledge me outright; I would listen, learn and repeat their sections of the song until I had all the flock’s stories committed to memory.
To sing the entirety of the Song would take days and was known to keep the entire flock still in contemplation for longer still so was only attempted on the most important of occasions.
The Stranger’s coming was such an occasion.
I was led to the feast by an honour guard of widows on behalf of their fallen warrior mates, their wings pressing against my thin frame as they led me onwards. The Stranger had not touched the food before him and sat silently atop our most sacred of altars. The air about him was foreboding and I shivered as the widows left me alone in the centre of the feast.
I felt the Stranger’s eyes upon me even as my father, staring through me as always, gestured for me to begin.
The Song filled my body and mind as one; I basked in the feeling, allowing the words, notes and the weight of history itself to flow through me and into the ears of all around. I sang words that were older than the most ancient of our elders, about the great heroes of our flock as they fought the very heavens themselves to create a lineage that led all the way to me. All around me were misty-eyed, their understanding of everything being challenged and expanded in equal measure, they would remain in the same spot until they had contemplated all that arose in their minds from the Song I was now singing. Hours passed in real time even as years flew by in the song, every account was part of the narrative and going through the generations of each hatch year was exhausting.
All forfeited sustenance and sleep when the Song was being relayed and so the food of the feast went uneaten, the cooking fires burned out and the liquids in their containers slowly began to shimmer at the heat of the day.
I had reached a section of the Song dedicated to the eggs hatched in a given generation of the flock when a voice rang out in the silence of the gathering. It carried above my melody and held its own chords that seemed to shimmer together in the very sound it created.
”Stop.”The effect that the Stranger’s voice had on the flock was astounding, whether they picked up on the same vocal qualities that I had recognised or were simply reacting to the unfamiliar act of someone daring to interrupt the Song I do not know; but their plumage grew almost rigid, their wings plumed in outrage and a low coo of aggression from some of the hunters began to fill the space.
My father rose and explained to the Stranger that it was our custom for the Song to go uninterrupted, the barely contained fury in his voice masked by the cordial tone he must maintain as host. The Stranger glanced up at him and, even through the immovable façade covering his features, his disdain was clear.
“I care not for your customs, your way of life is as nothing when in the path of Victor Von Doom.”The coo of aggression had risen to a series of sharp whistles that the hunters used to signal and coordinate their attacks. The Stranger paid them no heed and fixed his gaze upon me. I was unnerved by him, the immovable features, the way his voice sounded in my ears and his clear indifference to all around him. I should have been scared, of our whole flock I was the most vulnerable, those around me could take to the skies in a crisis and evade trouble; I was reliant upon my legs, short even by land animal standards and wholly unsuitable for outrunning pursuit.
But I was not afraid. The Stranger’s eyes were cold, calculating and sharp; they were not the eyes of a mere hunter, a warrior or even those of an elder. His eyes burned with the same intelligence that I liked to imagine my own radiated and, upon the words:
”You, approach.” I made my way to stand, unafraid, before the altar.
”The words you were recounting,” the Stranger’s voice still rang in my ears in an unfamiliar way but no longer unnerved me as it had before,
”They tell of a generation without offspring.” I nodded softly, the plumage atop my cranium quivering gently, “This is the truth.”
”What caused this?”I swallowed, wishing for some liquid to soothe my aching throat, “The Song tells of a monstrous foe that came to consume the very heavens. Whole flocks were slain before our people fought it back.” I shrugged, “Illness oft spreads through a flock and it is easier to create a monster that stole our hatchlings than to sing of a sickness that cannot be overcome.”
If the Stranger was impressed at my logical interpretation of the Song he gave no sign of it. He merely rose from the altar and stood before the flock.
”I will be leaving now,” the sharp series of whistles that had been growing despite frantic gestures from the elders now hung in the air as the Stranger stood to his full height. The Stranger then pointed to me,
”This one will be joining me.”I am not ashamed to confess that I was stunned; that last utterance marked the first occasion that someone had actively recognised my presence rather than addressing the air around them. This evoked a multitude of emotions that my body and mind struggled to process. The prospect of leaving the flock was a fearful one, they had been my source of sustenance, safety and companionship, unwilling as it was, for my entire lifespan. But the Stranger was clearly not from any flock and so was not bound by any traditions that would require him to not acknowledge my presence; he had recognised me as another living thing. Surely this was proof of other beings beyond our understanding, ones who placed no importance on physical appearance and ability. Beings of keen intelligence with a hunger to expand their knowledge, just like me. His eyes gleamed with that sharp sense of intelligence and, as I peered into him once more, I felt a rugged nobility emanate from his frame that I had missed before. Of course I was joining him, fate had thrown the Stranger and I together and now we would follow wherever the wind of destiny carried us.
A shriek of outrage startled me out of my thoughts. My father was beside himself with fury, his plumage was rigid and his beak was unconsciously clicking as it did when he was about to fly into a rage. The flock grew very still, feast forgotten, the malevolence in their hearts was clear to me now. Any moment now they would launch themselves bodily at the Stranger until he was swallowed into a mass of beaks, feathers and claws.
“You ask for one of our flock,” My father sputtered,before glancing at the other elders, “A stupid, stunted failure but…” He drew himself up to his full height and stared into the unmoving features of the Stranger, “A member of the flock regardless. She is
ours.” The last of his words came out in a forceful squawk, more akin to the birds that our people would send their newly winged offspring to catch than to the elder of a flock.
”You are mistaken.” The words rumble from the Stranger and the force of them caused my father to step back reflexively.
”Doom does not ask.” This final statement caused whatever restraint the hunters had to vanish. With whooping cries they launched themselves at the Stranger, many of them made contact and the mass of violence that I had predicted sent a ripple of activity through the entire flock. Hatchlings were hurried away by panicked carers and parents, gatherers hurried in all directions, some leaving the feast area taking to the sky altogether. Never before had violence broken out amidst the flock at such a peaceful occasion and this left many in the flock unclear about their course of action.
The flurry of wings, fabric, armoured limbs and enraged combatants reformed itself into a visible conflict. I gaped openly; the Stranger was withstanding the attacks of the hunters and was, using his powerful limbs, striking back at them with punishing blows. The enclosed space was keeping many of the hunters from taking to the sky and so their traditional tactics were untenable. Their lack of space was even placing them in each other’s way as they attempted to strike at the Stranger but found themselves waylaid by the bodies and wings of their fellows. The Stranger was taking advantage of this and, rather than expend the awesome powers he had used to eradicate our warriors, he was content to use his strength to beat the attackers into submission.
My father grabbed my arm and began to pull me away from the melee. I was shocked, the very act of touching me could have him exiled from the flock, but I was also outraged. I struggled from his grip and took a step away, he hissed in anger. “Come with me child, we must keep you away from this monster.”
I shook my head, “
Now you notice me, when someone else wants me. I am not a trophy for you and the flock!”
My father stopped, his expression shifting into one of hurt, “You were never that, you are my daughter-”
I spun away, tears filling my eyes; I did not want to hear such things, not today when I could escape such treacherous thoughts. But I could not escape the look in his eyes, as if
he was the injured party in this matter. I felt my tears and the sensation filled me with rage, after all these years how dare he make me feel guilty.
With my plumage quivering in anger I turned back towards my father, intent on saying all that I had kept in check for years, finally telling him how I had felt when he had maintained the traditions and had not even spoken to me as a daughter, had not even treated me like a person.
I turned to see my father struggling in the arms of the Stranger, hunters lay in unnatural positions all around the feast floor and I knew them to be dead, upon seeing my face my father made an effort to talk but, with a twist from the Stranger, he fell lifeless to the floor.
Silence reigned.
I studied my father’s face, set in that same hurt expression at what were now my final words to him. I found myself wondering absently if I regretted what I had said to him before realising to myself that I did not. Our interaction, fleeting as it had been, was the logical culmination of everything that had occurred up until that moment.
The Stranger studied me, his chest rose and fell slightly at what must have been a monumental physical exertion. But, when he spoke, his voice rang as clear as ever.
“You will come with me.”I nod slightly, my eyes not moving from those of my father. “Your will, my lord.”
The Stranger took a step towards me and knelt so his face was at my eye level, I looked up at him and realised that what I had assumed was an expressionless face was a manmade facsimile, covering his true features. Whatever expression he truly held, I would never see it.
”You have no feeling towards this?” It was not a question, not truly, I just choose to remember it as such given that I answered him.
“No, their flock was not mine.”
"What is your name wingless one?"His eyes saw right through me but not in the way that the flock’s had, where they chose to see nothing, the Stranger saw everything. I felt naked before his gaze but did not shy away.
“Vahl-eyr-iah.”
There was a momentary flicker in the Stranger’s eyes, so sudden and so brief that it was so easy to dismiss it as my own imagining. He stood and gestured away from the array of bodies, away from the flock.
“I am Doom, come Valeria, we are going to find your monster.”
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