The castle was empty, a hollow husk in the Adirondacks. The stone parapets stood tall, several of them had collapsed roofs, and a patina covered the exterior. The entrances had been marked with caution tape and warnings that the site was condemned and due for EPA reclamation. Truly a sign of a country that did not appreciate Doom’s genius, that they would tear down such a tasteful, scaled down recreation of his true castle in Doomstadt just to restore the environment that had been there before, clearing an entire mountaintop should be worthy of appreciation.
The great hall was still structurally sound but gutted, first by the US government after he had last abandoned the site almost 20 years ago. After that came scavengers picking up whatever was left from the amusement park that took over the site until a string of lawsuits forced its closure. Fine craftmanship had been defiled with cheap decorations, then graffiti and waste, but despite this insult Doom still had some appreciation for the place. It was his once, it was his forever until he decided to let go of it, and now it would be an excellent base of operations. This time however, he would build underneath the old structure, hiding strength beneath weakness, starting fresh after everything useful had been taken from it. In his mind he laid out a complete design of tunnels, defenses, facilities, deep enough to hide and remain protected from threats, and began to conjure up the magical power needed to make it real. Of course, he could bore through the rock with sheer energy, but the thermal signature would be large enough to notice from space, better to make rock simple vanish off into some other space. With his mind clear and the power coursing through him, he summoned the energies granted by the Helm of Fate and saw…. nothing.
Nabu appeared in a way only Doom could see, an ethereal mass of golden robes and a helmet, too dense to see any humanoid shape underneath.
“My power comes with a price, Victor von Doom.”
Doom did not answer him.
“All must align with the great order of the cosmos; I will not have my energies invoked for trivial matters.”
Doom was silent again, calculating in his head how long it would take to tunnel with only his own energies, and finding himself unhappy with how slow it would be.
“I should have stolen a less opinionated mystical artifact. I am not a man who will listen to an argumentative item of clothing.”
“Doom, even now the forces of chaos are at work, plotting, planning, threatening to tear what I defend asunder. I feel the reverberations even now, the Spear of Destiny, that legendary item of power, sits still no longer, and I have sensed that the forces of Chaos are at work, seeking to claim it for themselves.”
This was actually worthy of Doom’s attention. His reply was simple, saying
“I believe this is a case of where our interests may be aligned.”
The next stop was a particular block of Manhattan, the one home to a gathering place for mystics of all types, The Bar With No Doors. Doom found it low class and had never set foot in it until now, placing it on the same level as another infamous bar. Circumstances were different today, and his time inside would be brief. He focused on the energy of the bar and began to cast a spell to enter, caring not for the warding. Regulars knew the way to come in without breaking through, but Doom could not be bothered to ask any of those simpletons. A police officer walked by and stared for a moment before approaching, checking to see if the man standing there was who he thought it was. The officer placed one hand on his gun and started to speak, Doom not even bothering to look in his direction.
“Mr. Von Doom, I’m going to ask for… uh could you just…”
Doom paused his concentration to give the officer a single glance, charged full of contempt. The officer began to reconsider many, many things about his course of action. He said
“Eh, have a nice time in the city.” before walking as fast as he could back to his squad car and off to busy himself writing traffic tickets.
Sparks flew in the room when Doom entered the bar, bursting through the barrier. Conversations paused, and Doom’s booming voice announced
“Doom requires information. Do not think even for a moment that there is another reason I have visited this disheveled hovel. All who know anything about any party who might have the Spear of Destiny will share with me now or suffer the consequences.”
Chondu, the floating head that ran the place, addressed him.
“Hey Vic, uhhh, well you’re here but you know we do things a certain way here, matter of fact I see here that…”
Then one of the bartenders whispered in Chondu’s ear
“Uhhh, he’s not actually on the banned list.”
“He isn’t?”
“Nope, we got Mordo, Felix Faust, Brother Blood, Loki, a bunch of other guys but Doom never actually tried to show up here so we never kicked him out.”
Doom stood tall, his armor looking as smug as an immobile mask can.
While the staff conferred, a patron in the back leapt up, standing at his full height and staring Doom right in the eye with his own monstrous visage. Etrigan the Demon spoke:
“I propose a challenge to thee,
Prevail and I will share what I know for free”
But if you suffer defeat,
May your flight be fleet
For never shall you haunt this domain
Not in all your years, never again”
Doom answered. “You need only name the battlefield, I will best you no matter the contest.”
At this the bar erupted with ideas.
One patron said
“Ooo, what about that game they play at the Hellfire Club, the real Hellfire Club, the one you gotta visit Hell to get to, not those BDSM loving posers with the same name.”
Chondu’s answer was swift “Logistically impossible.”
Another person shouted out “Rap Battle!” and the entire bar went silent. It was obvious that wasn’t the choice.
Chondu ended the conversation with his own answer.
“Sorcerer’s Poker, Heads Up No Limit Limbo Hold’em rules. Usual stuff, play hands until someone busts, any magic is fair game except direct fighting.”
They set the deck and the chips up on the bar and everyone crowded around. To a mundane observer it was just another poker game, but to one watching the magic it was a pitched battle. Spells flew with every hand, luck manipulation, psychic assaults to force misplays or confuse which cards they held, transmuting the cards, precognition, messages from future selves, rearing the deck with telekinesis and subtle teleportation, even please to extradimensional entities entreating them to help them make the correct play.
With every hand there were oohs and ahs from the crowd, but Doom and Etrigan were as still as stones. It was an even game, neither having the upper hand for long, but this latest round became a spiral of bidding up. After small raises, Etrigan gave a smile and pushed his chips into the pot. He was all in, and dared Doom to do the same. Doom hated to back down, but he hated losing even more, so he threw all of his might into a spell of foresight, trying to see what would happen if he too went all in. The simple, easy outcomes were too uncertain, too vulnerable to attempt to cloud them, and Doom knew he had to go deeper to arrive at the truth. So, Doom pushed, and pushed, and pushed, seeing more and more futures laid out before him, following the true thread even as his mind screamed at the overwhelming possibilities. He would not give up, by the time the hourglass was empty, and he was required to make his play blood was coming from his eyes from the strain. He went all in, sure of the outcome.
The cards were laid down and Doom took home the victory, Etrigan going bust in that final hand.
In a cloud of brimstone Etrigan summoned a ruffled scroll and threw it to Doom.
“On this scroll, your information written in ink,
Now leave us all alone, I wish to finish my drink”
Doom was off and conversation resumed. One of Etrigan’s companions still wished to discuss the game, but all Etrigan would say to him was
“An ego is a great, devouring beast,
Sometimes I allow one to feast,
And crown a false victor
It if banishes our collective afflicter”
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