Marvel/DC: Dark Allies #3

Written by WarlorTVor and Anomaly, Edited by WarlorTVor
Published by the Cosmic Powers Fan Fiction Group in

Characters are the properties of Marvel Comics
Click here for black&white text version (good for printing!)

Dark Allies

Note:  This part of Dark Allies continues from Dark Allies #2.  Dark Allies takes place after Shards of Destiny, now running in issues of Cosmic Powers Unlimited.  Read past editions of it at the Marvel/DC Cosmic Crossovers Archive.

Chapter Three
Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures

The laughter filled the dark place with new life (if the dark sound could be compared to such a word). It was a cold, malicious sound that festered and thrived upon the suffering of others. He sat upon a massive throne chair made out of thorns and the charred remains of now dead souls that had supplied him with morbid entertainment and when the entertainment was over so was their usefulness and their "existence" – if you could call such a thing existing. In his hand a bone carved goblet filled with a thick red liquid that was similar in appearance as blood. He took a deep refreshing drink from the goblet; the ice-cold liquid burned as it went down his throat.

He allowed a sigh of pure pleasure to escape his lips.

Before him, a rift was created in space, enclosed of a ring of unholy fire and light. And within the rift the events that were unfolding before the statue of the nameless woman that is Doctor Doom’s late mother (a soul that he had never gotten tired of tormenting) were revealed to him, in crystal clarity. He roared laughter, which made the demons and tormented soul that swarmed, mindlessly festered all around him, to stop and look up at their master with sheer terror. Soon they returned to their mindless movement.

Slightly off toward the left in the darkness, stood a female woman her robes covered her entire body, and her head was bowed out of both respect and out of fear (mostly out of the latter instead of the former). Her hands were outstretched and there within them stood a small cube that has been referred to as the Cosmic Cube. It gleamed brilliantly, and within its glass walls reality shifted and churn in golden light, and in the midst of it all the chaos stood the key to his master’s down fall, a lone ghost-like figure.

He allowed another blast of laughter to escape from his thin lips, his gaze turned back toward the small rift in the space-time continuum, he was watching Doctor Doom and Doctor Strange become overcome by sheer numbers, and took another deep drink from his bone carved goblet, and he felt sheer morbid and demented pleasure surge through his vary being. "I will have the soul that has eluded my grasp for so long, at last! Doom your soul – as is your mother’s – is mine!"

Doctor Victor von Doom could remember a time. A time long ago, before he was the undisputed absolute monarch of Latveria, before Reed Richards even before he was even Doctor Doom. When he was nothing more than a young sickly boy, being cared for by his mother, his father . . . no where to be seen.

A horde of drunken barbarians had started to attack his mother right before his eyes. They had started to sexual assault her, tearing away pieces of clothing and tossing it toward the side of the street, with an animistic like passion. She screamed aloud, trying to fight off the attackers. Young Doom, watching all of this, tired to defend his mother, he bolted toward the attackers, only to have a massive hand, slam against his chest, sending him spiraling backward helpless to do anything to stop the horror. Hours passed, and Victor von Doom was forced to look on with sheer wide eye horror.

He knew that something had to be done. Intervention must be made! Intervention that he could not provide but a Supreme Being – a God – could! He casted his gaze toward the heavens and hushed a small prayer, his words tumbled out of his mouth. He even to this day he could not remember the words that he had said on that dark day long ago. But he did no that he had asked "God" for help . . . and that bastard had the nerve to turn his back on Doom! On Doctor Doom! How dare He!

His mother lay there motionless, lying there in a pool of blood. Later when the authorities would confront the barbarians they would stated that she was a witch and that they were within their right to slaughter her. The authorities said nothing. The case was merely placed in the discarded pile, where it could collect dust on its vanilla cover.

Victor von Doom could remember dashing toward his mother’s side, the stab wounds were deep, and her chances of surviving were slim to say the least. His hands running through her blood soaked hair, trying to convert her. Her breathing had stopped her eyes glazed over. He stared into her deep hands, only to see no life, the overhead fire torches crackled in her eyes.

His head jerked skyward, his mother’s limp body slowly slipping away. Tears streamed from his eyes as he shouted toward the heavens. "Damn you! I shall make sure you pay for this atrocity!"

For some reason Doom’s thoughts had turned to the catalyst that started him on the path that would lead to Doctor Doom, it was possibly, because of the alley in which he now stood, back to back with Doctor Stephen Strange, sorcerer supreme, was the vary one where his mother had been rapped and then brutally slaughtered, at the whim of drunken bastards. But there was no time for inner reflection. No, the fate of Latveria and possibly the entire world was hanging in the balance.

The air was filled with the scent of sizzling and smoldering flesh, energy crackled endlessly and the heat started to raise to unbearable temperatures as blast after blast of unholy energies were unleashed from Doctor Doom’s gauntlet hands. Strange was holding his own, even in the light that his powers had been reduced to pity polar tricks and slight of hand. But whereas he was lacking in mere mystic powers, he made up in sheer hand-to-hand combat.

"Doom!" he bellowed to the monarch of Latveria, a massive hulk of a bearded man launched himself forward, straight toward him. Stephen Strange leaped into the air and over the man, who Strange could tell had had more than his share of mead for the night. "I thought you said your sensors are not picking up life signs at all!" His fist slammed against the jaw of an animalistic woman who was – if Strange allowed – would have clawed him a new facial cavity with her claw-like fingernails, her jaw gave-way upon impact, she screamed in pain, blood gushing out of her now twisted and deformed maw. "This does not seem to fit the criteria of ‘no life signs,’ does it?"

"Yes," Doom answered; rolling upon the moist, stone paved street ways. The archrival to Reed Richards, Mr. Fantastic of the Fantastic Four, came out of a roll on one knee and fired another golden blast into the crowd. The beam lanced out and struck a burly young man in the small of his back; he erupted into red and blue flame as his body was started to destroy itself. Soon he was vaporized, turned into nothing more than free-floating molecules and the scent of charred flesh plagued Doom’s sense of smell, and it was like he never even existed in the first place. "I’m developing . . . " – he grunted, slamming his metal booted foot careening into the skull of a young woman who had pulled out a concealed weapon from beneath her shirt and had aimed it in the direction of her monarch – "a theory to . . . explain such a thing! I believe that they are no more alive than motionless husk that this is some sort of spell forged by Mephisto! It is the only thing - -" he dropped dead silent as a horrific thought danced its unpleasant course through his mind. "No," Doom mused in disbelieve, "he wouldn’t . . ." Testing his new crafted theory, he spun around quickly, so fast that the human eye could not comprehend. With a wave of his hand, a group of two men and three women, who were trying to converge on his flank without his knowing, were sent thrown backward slamming into the side of a nearby brick tavern. The wall gave way and the five of them were crushed under rubble and debris.

A thick green liquid oozed from the twisted remains, giving him the dreaded conclusion that he had feared.

Just then the attackers stopped, and were dead silent. Doctor Doom and Doctor Strange walked backward toward one another, so that soon their capped backs would collide against one another. A deathly silence descended upon the streets. The wind howled and raged on beating against their bodies. Soon the wind’s rage intensified, the thunder was unbearable to listen to and the temperature dropped about ten or twenty degrees.

"What’s happening!" Strange bellowed, as the "humans" started to chant a dark prayer to their god. Their eyes were a flaming red, and glowed with energy.

"I was afraid of this!" Doom retorted himself, bracing himself for an unholy conflict.

A noise started to be heard. It was at first nothing more than a faint rumbling sound, originating somewhere in the general area of the mob. The rumbling was from the pit of their stomach, and slowly made its dark way up their throats. At once all of their heads were tossed skyward, and the faint rumbling, turned into a deathly roar.

"Brace yourself, Strange," he warned, charging his gauntleted hands with unbelievable amounts of energy.

Strange’s eyes widened in sheer shock, as the horror of the situation finally dawned upon him, mere moments before it happened.

The crowded mob’s bodies – or rather, the host, bodies – were torn asunder, human blood spewed over all. The sound of tearing flesh and cracking bone echoed throughout the streets of Latveria even rivaling over the thunder over head. The discarded remains collapsed to their knees, and laid there, lifelessly, in a pool of their own remains. And in the wake of this destructive path stood forty-five or so Khtullis spawn, their tentacles whipping around their hideous beings. They roared a scream of rage and hatred, their dark stare fixating on the two men who would thwart the master plan and destroy them all, then they charged forth, their massive teeth snapping mindlessly in every direction.

They seemed not to even have the intelligence to even speak as the scout that they had encountered in Strange’s sanctum did. Doom surmised that this was due to the fact that they – due to their human blood – did not have such intelligence as pure breeds did.

Doom without hesitation opened fire!

The first, few, fell under the barrage of energy. But in utter despite of the pale victory, the spawn arose from their collapsed state, the tentacles that had been sheered off remained twisted in a pool of their own blood, until they started to forge themselves back onto its former host. They regenerate! Doom cursed himself under his breath, damn him! He had been so self absorbed that he had not even entertained such a notion of a regeneration process!

"Power cells reaching the level of depletion," Doom’s on board computer reported, showing its master a power scale. The energy level had hit rock bottom. This, he thought darkly, is not good!

All seemed lost!

The Spawn of Khtullis were slithering their way ever so closer in a mass of tentacles, and thick putrid liquids. Doctor Strange, who had been estranged to the mystic realm, as well as Doom, depriving them both from the use of their mystic abilities, soon found himself in a semi-circle, flanking him on all sides was the spawn. And the power cells in Doctor Doom’s silver body suit had just hit rock bottom – it was not as if his energy blast were doing a damn thing to stop this tidal wave.

Strange was the first to be overcome by the onslaught of tentacles and massive jaws, his hand-to-hand combat, limited as it was, was of no use against the unholy wrath.

The Khtullis Spawn leaped forth, their tentacles and jaws washing over him like a tidal wave of hatred and animalistic fury. And for the first time in all his life since his mother being slaughtered before his vary eyes when he was a young man filled with hope, Doctor Doom, a man who had confronted devils, battled and destroyed gods, who had once wielded the power of the Beyonders and had been a supreme being, hushed a small unimportant prayer.

"God, if there was ever a time that we needed heavenly intervention it is now . . ."

And then the heavens gave off a dark ominous a roar of thunder and the clouds overhead shifted apart and his prayers were answered. Doom casted his gaze skyward to see . . . an angel! Doom blinked in disbelieve wondering if his eyes had betrayed him or not, and sure enough they had not. The angel had donned a majestic golden medieval style armor, which shimmered slightly in the light of the fire torches. His wings flapped, made not a sound, while he descended earthward. In his hands, was a massive sword of flame. "What?" Doctor Doom hushed, while the last power bolts of energy from his power gauntlets lanced forth, in a futile attempt to turn the combat the inevitable.

The angel being dropped from the sky, landing furiously on the ground before the monarch of Latveria. The creatures took one look at this being, and cringed hideously. They hissed violently and charged forth, this time with a vengeance as if this being had wounded them in the past, and now it was payback!

But the masses hadn’t had a chance in hell against this angelic being.

His fire sword burning brightly in the darkness he charged forth, slicing off charred tentacles left and right. The screams of death’s death throws filled the air, their numbers dropping by the second, as the angel from the heavens charged forth, unleashing his own unholy onslaught against them. His eyes glowed a hellish red, revealing an inner passion, there was no doubt that somehow, in all of this mess with the cult and the mutilations of Doom’s people, this angel had a personal stake.

And from where Doom was standing it appeared that he was enjoying this. He took pleasure in watching the Spawn of Khtullis being slaughtered at his blade. (And Doom could not entirely blame him.) The angel slaughtered the group of minions that had clustered over Doctor Strange. He laid there his eyes closed; his breathing was erratic as he engulfed massive amounts of air in signal breaths. Doom dashed toward the sorcerer supreme, the only man who had mystic powers that rivaled his own, and kneeled beside him.

Reaching forth he nudged the motionless body. "Strange . . . are you all right?"

Strange gave off a lopsided grin and uttered, "Not dead . . ." – a harsh cough darted from his lips, his chest heaved in pain and he stifled down a moan of sheer unbearable pain, causing him to add in as an after thought – "yet. . . ." A trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth plagued his battered smile.

"The power . . ." Doom hushed staring at the angel being that had continued to fight. "It is . . . indescribable, to say the least . . ." He watched as the new arrival braced his body and made it in a more rigid formation, he opened his mouth and gave off a hideous scream. And the remainder of the spawn, which had not been cut to shreds at the hands of the angel’s flaming sword, vaporized. The Khtullis Spawn’s death screams filled the might air, as each and every molecule in their being was been torn apart and destroyed from the inside out. The ground started to shack and quack under their booted feet, dislodging several pieces of pavement from their normal customary, well-rested sections. Pains of glass shattered, sending shards spraying all over the twisted remains of both the now dead Khtullis and the twisted remains of the poor bastards that had borne them. Doom smiled, aiding Strange to his feet. I must harness it! He mused. Strange shot him a glance as if he was reading Doom’s thoughts, but he paid no mind to it.

ZaurielThe angel turned to them, a blood lust clear and present in his eyes, a hellish smirk danced on his thin lips. His skin had a grayish white complexion to it, and his eyes were pitch red. He slowly approached the two men, his fire sword burned brightly in the darkness; his wings had flapped down to his side as if it was a cape. He opened his mouth and said the only words that he had uttered since his arrival.

"My name is Zauriel. And the world is in grave danger!*"

(*For more info on Zauriel, click here!)

"A new player has entered the end game, I see." The dark tune of hate and despair played out before the religious leader of the Faithful. He watched the events unfold before him, with a slanted grin . . . and where many in his position would find despair in such turn of events . . . he found opportunity. His smile increased in sheer size, the demons that were his minions danced before his feet, sadistically. "No matter," he hissed, taking another deep drink from his bone carved goblet. "They shall all be crushed at the hands of Mephisto!"

To Be Continued . . .

Thank you for reading this chapter of Marvel/DC: Dark Allies!  The story continues in Dark Allies #4.  Visit the Marvel/DC Cosmic Crossovers Archive for previous editions.  Now, be sure to send us feedback below or by e-mailing





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