DC Under Doom Chapter 6: The Price Doom Paid.

Chapter 6: The Price Doom Paid.

-0-

(The Council of Themyscira)

The great hall of Themyscira’s royal palace had never seen an outsider, let alone one who spoke as an equal to its Queen.

Yet, Doctor Doom sat at the grand marble table, across from Queen Hippolyta and her most trusted advisors.

Diana sat at Doom’s side. Not as a prisoner. Not as a hostage. But as his second-in-command.

The Amazons glared at him, skeptical, wary.

Doom, as always, was unmoved.

"You seek to reintroduce Themyscira to the world," Doom said, his voice calm but firm. "And yet, the world has done nothing to earn your return."

An Amazon elder, General Antiope, narrowed her eyes. "You speak as if you know us, King of Latveria."

Doom turned his masked gaze to her. "I know all I need to."

He gestured slightly, and a holographic projection materialized above the table.

It displayed the modern world—wars, famine, corruption, endless suffering.

The Amazons watched in silence.

"You remain in isolation," Doom continued, "because you believe the world is not ready for your wisdom."

He tilted his head. "You are correct."

A murmur of confusion and intrigue spread through the council.

Hippolyta leaned forward slightly. "Then what do you propose, Doom?"

Doom’s mask reflected the candlelight.

"Join me."

The air grew still.

The Amazons stiffened, bristling at the suggestion.

Hippolyta’s expression remained unreadable. "Explain."

Doom gestured to the projection once more. "Your world will die without intervention. You call yourselves warriors of peace. Then act. Step forward into the world—not as hidden figures, but as rulers of order."

He folded his hands. "Latveria already sets the standard. Themyscira will serve as its sword and shield."

General Antiope scoffed. "You ask us to become conquerors."

Doom did not blink. "I ask you to become what you were always meant to be. Guardians of a world that cannot save itself."

Hippolyta remained silent for a long moment. Then, finally, she spoke.

"You do not speak as a man seeking power. You speak as one who has already taken it."

Doom inclined his head slightly. "Because I have."

The Amazons exchanged looks. They did not trust him—but they could not deny his words.

Hippolyta finally exhaled. "This is not a decision we take lightly. It will require divine consultation."

She met Doom’s gaze. "Tomorrow, I will seek the wisdom of the Gods. Their answer will decide Themyscira’s path."

Doom nodded once. "A wise choice."

She studied him for a moment longer. Then, she surprised everyone at the table.

"You will remain as our guest tonight."

The Amazons tensed.

Diana blinked. "Mother?"

Hippolyta’s expression did not change. "He has earned the right to learn of our ways, just as we have learned of his."

Doom did not seem surprised. "Acceptable."

The Queen stood.

The meeting was over.

Latveria and Themyscira were on the precipice of something unprecedented.

-0-

As the sun set, Doom freely walked the sacred halls of Themyscira, observing its architecture, its hidden texts, its artifacts.

He was not here as a conqueror.

He was here as a scientist. A scholar. A king who sought knowledge.

Diana walked beside him as his guard, watching him carefully. "You don't seem surprised by my mother's decision."

Doom’s voice was measured. "A wise ruler does not dismiss power when it presents itself."

She exhaled. "You truly believe you are the only one who can fix the world, don't you?"

Doom finally turned to her. "Who else, Princess?"

Diana had no answer.

The tour continued, but one thing was certain. The future of Themyscira was about to change.

And Doom had set it in motion.

Inside his temporary chamber in Themyscira’s royal palace, Doom sat cross-legged in deep meditation.

Around him, the air hummed with energy. Ancient glyphs and arcane runes floated in the air, pulsing with power. The walls of reality itself felt thinner here, more raw, more primal.

Magic in this world was… different.

In his former universe, magic was a discipline. A science in its own right, something that could be studied, mastered, refined through intellect and force of will. Any man with the proper knowledge could wield it.

Here, magic was alive.

It was woven into the fabric of the universe, flowing like an untamed river, accessible only to the gifted few—the Homo Magi.

It was not something one could merely learn. It was something one had to be born with.

A lesser mind would have accepted this limitation.

Doom, however, was no lesser mind.

His Doombots had collected countless records, ancient texts, and live data on the magical forces of this world over the year before his reveal to the world.

What they discovered confirmed his suspicions—while Homo Magi could wield natural magic, ordinary beings had only two paths to power:

1. They could barter for it. Make pacts with supernatural forces, paying a terrible price. Some of the heroes like the Speedsters, the Gods Champions were beholden to these forces.

2. They could use tools. Rely on artifacts and enchanted relics to channel power they could never naturally wield. A general term to describe these individuals was Occultists. The Green Lanterns and magicians like two bit mage Felix Faust and Doctor Fate who was the equivalent of this world's Sorcerer Supreme- a title Doom was more than worthy of- being a prime example.

But Doom had discovered a third path.

The residual magic from his own universe—the shattered remnants of his past mystic prowess—had fused with the wild, untamed sorcery of this new reality.

And in doing so, it had altered him.

Doom exhaled slowly, then opened his eyes.

His gaze fell upon the full-length mirror across the room, displaying his reflection without the armor on.

For the first time since arriving in this universe, he truly looked at himself.

And what he saw made his eyes narrow.

His face was whole.

The scars he had once worn as a testament to his suffering and rebirth were gone. In their place was the reflection of a strong, striking man in his prime—refined, regal, untouched by time.

A face fit for a king.

But Doom did not smile.

Because he knew the cost.

His cybernetic enhancements—the modifications he had made to push his body beyond mortal limits—were gone.

The magic had restored his body to perfection, but it had also stripped away the advantages he had built for himself.

The price of this world’s magic had been exacted.

Doom clenched his fists, feeling the change in his very being.

Was it a curse? A weakness? Or merely another step toward true supremacy?

Before he could ponder further, there was a knock on the door.

Doom did not need to ask who it was.

“Enter.”

The door opened, and Diana stepped inside.

She regarded him carefully and appreciatively, her eyes scanning his unarmored form. Whatever she thought of his real appearance, she said nothing.

"The Queen is ready to speak with you."

Doom nodded once.

Without another word, he extended his hand—and his armor answered.

From the far end of the chamber, his Latverian-forged armor floated to him, piece by piece, assembling itself onto his body in a seamless motion.

The emerald cloak fastened itself over his shoulders, and the mask—his true face—lowered into place.

Diana watched the process without reaction. She had seen magic and technology before, but Doom wielded both as though they were one.

When he was fully armored, Doom turned to her.

"Lead the way, Princess."

Diana said nothing, merely turning on her heel as they left the chamber.

As they walked through the palace corridors, Doom’s mind was already focused forward.

The loss of his enhancements was an inconvenience. But power had merely changed form.

And no matter the cost, Doom would master it.