Tales of the Timeless #23
Guest written by
WarlorTVor, Edited by Marvelite
Tales of the Timeless
Nullified Time: Part Two - Future Epilogues
Continued from Nullified Time Part One
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One Hour, Thirty-seven Minutes, 52-Point-472643 Seconds after Zero Hour
Peace mumbled a curse under his breath, in the voice of
something a kin to a groan of pain. His hand darting toward his eyes, in a vain
attempt to shield them from the harsh red light that had just recently been
activated, within the confines of his rather humble living quarters, snapping
the former TVA agent from his rest, and into a state of utter tension.
Perspiration clung to muscle form, uncomfortably. He could
feel the muscle tendons in his body churning back and forth, till they mounted
into a state of being taut with the mass effort. The muscles in his jaw started
to ripple back and forth suddenly. Thinking that some grave emergency has
arisen, and that his particular brand of “services” would be required to
face this coming threat – what ever the hell it was – his other hand darted
toward where his energy weapon rested, untouched on the night-stand only a few
meters away. “What the hell . . .” Peace grunted in disdain, his voice was
harsh, coming out in the form of a rasp. He affirmed his grasp on the cold metal
of his weapon’s handle and started to arise from the metal cot, when he
received a most undesirable wake-up call.
came the harsh voice of Victor von Doom, his tone amplified by means of the Time
Wing’s intercom system. Before even his first word finished echoing within the
confines of his white walled room, Doctor Doom pressed onward his rather
non-cordial greeting taking on the form of a demand. “You are needed in the war-room.”
Peace growled at this, he was not one to be commanded around,
most especially at one o’clock in the morning. “And what if I refuse, Doom,
what then . . .” he challenged, a hellish smirk playing against his stubble
plagued chin, a telltale sign that he had not shaven for roughly two days now
– after all who the hell was he trying to impress?
is not a request, Justice Peace! Doom out.”
“Sonuvabitch!” he cursed, the moment the comm.-link was
severed from the war-room’s open communication channels.
Peace rolled out off the metal cot, fighting off the urge to
track down his esteemed colleague,
Doctor Doom, in order test the limits of his obsidian armor at that very moment.
Stretching briefly, and stiffing a yarn of weariness, at
which he was only partially successful, he fully arose from his cot to see that
the thin layers of white sheets that rested on its firm metallic mattress had
been thrashed about violently in his slumber. Placing the energy weapon on the
night-stand once more, Peace made his way through the Spartan designed of his
living quarters and entered the cleaning area, all the way mumbling obscenities,
under his wretched tasting breath.
Once there he proceeded to clear away the last vestiges of
sleep from his mind, making a mental note to have a . . . “personal” . . .
conversation with Doctor Victor von Doom, one in which he’d allow his weapons
to carry on the topic of conversation. And that was a conversation he, himself,
was particularly looking forward to. A sadistic smile of pleasure emerged on the
bounty hunter’s visage at this thought.
One Hour, Forty-nine Minutes, 03-Point-85932 Seconds after Zero Hour
After making short work of his customary bathing rituals,
minus the shave, Justice Peace made his way into the confines of the War Room.
He took note that he was the last to arrive of the assembled members of the
Timeless, whom were flanking a metallic circular table on all sides, grim
expressions holding firm domination over their already dark hued visages. A few
exchanged faint glances at Peace’s arrival and he returned the exchange with
nothing more than a curt nodding of the head before assuming his place at the
only empty seat remaining still open.
The circular metallic conference table was forged to resemble
that of a broken ring, in the ring’s rather mundane apex stood a rather
unremarkable podium in appearance. It is here where he who was revealed as The
One that Comes, Doctor Doom, stood. Behind him, mounted on the very wall that
served as his backdrop was a rather impressive monitor screen that was now
dormant, revealing only darkness eternal at the moment.
Doctor Victor von Doom was no longer encased in his twenty
ninety nine-era body armor, that he had donned shortly following the still not
fully understood events, which brought the monarch to that rather dark chapter
of mankind’s possible future. And that he continued to bore since he
“volunteered” for his role as member of the branch of the Protectors of the
Universe team known as the Timeless. That armor possessed more of a darkened,
ominous even, aura to it that the one he currently wrapped himself in, which was
his more “customary” twentieth-century ensemble that he was famous – or
infamous for. As usual a thick, dark green cloak hung over his metal encased
shoulders, connected in the center by a gold rod, of sorts, which attached to
two circular golden disc that was linked to the corners of his cloak on either
side. The somewhat ornamental piece rested on the upper portion of his chest,
slightly under the neck by an inch or so. Over his head was the conjoining hood,
which was slightly pulled forward, casting dark pools of shadow across Doctor
Doom’s metal shrouded visage. His green tunic was of the same fabric and
coloration as the cloak and hood, and ran down the length of his metal cased
form to roughly about mid-thigh, if not slightly higher. Around his waist, stood
a thick, black leather belt, in the center an ornamental golden buckle that
shimmered somewhat under the pale emerald green lighting system of the War-Room.
Attached onto the right-hand side of the leather belt, and slightly obscured by
the cloak, was an energy weapon holster, and on the left a small compartment,
its contents a mystery, even to Warlock. Both adjoining attachments were made
from the same leather as the belt was, and appeared to seamlessly be apart of
the belt as a whole. His entire body, covered the tunic or not, was encased in
an adamantium-vibranium alloy, a dull gray in appearance, though the luster, in
addition to the way in which the armor was designed seemed to amplify Victor von
Doom’s muscular build a thousand-fold.
The former TVA Agent did not doubt, for a moment, that the
similarities between this armor and the one he bore when Peace first encountered
him in the twentieth-century were purely cosmetic in appearance. No doubt,
Victor von Doom had up-graded the suit, if not redesigned it from scratch using
the technology at his disposal within the era in which he currently
“resides” in, or at least did, prior to his “abduction” on Nathaniel
Richards’ and Epoch’s collective whim, all those months prior. Which meant
the monarch of a now deceased country was far more dangerous now than he was
then, and that was something that Justice Peace had to take into account, and
not underestimate the man’s abilities simply on the basis of a few cosmetic
“Where is Warlock?” Drax the Destroyer questioned, the
arrogance and utter contemptment, for the being before him, was present in his
tone, presently sharp and well received by all those gathered, the crimson red
gem on his brow shimmering with life anew, empowering him. Shortly following the
events of the Widow Rose Affair, Adam Warlock, under Epoch’s humbled request,
assumed command and leadership over the her Timeless. Feeling the compulsory
need to have members on his team that would not question his actions, as
reverently as others, Doom for instance, Warlock went out, in search for the
keeper of the Infinity Gem of Power. The search was in the hope to proposition
the former Infinity Watch member with the prospect of membership, who had served
at his side in many a conflict. And who Warlock would proudly and honorably have
at his side once – even in light of the dire circumstances that threaten the
Time Continuum. Drax the Destroyer had accepted, and was thus present among
those Timeless Members who were members even prior to Richards’ betrayal.
Glaring, sadistically he was, at the stoic form of Victor von Doom, and
wondering in silent, unvoiced amusement how many different ways Drax could kill
him before his cold carcass hit the ground, lifeless, still.
Doom unfazed by the clear challenge to his clam as field
leader of the Timeless in Warlock’s absence, responded without even affording
the brute some much as a sidelong glance of disdain. “Matters of a . . .
cosmic . . . import have recently arisen, matters that require Adam Warlock’s
utmost attention, undivided. He has therefore bestowed upon my shoulders the
responsibilities of command, and you will not question further, for time is of
the essence in this affair.”
“That being?” Century, the construct of Immortus, the
self-proclaimed Lord of Limbo himself, asked, his curiosity clearly piqued, if
the raised eyebrow was an indication at all, toward Doom’s dark and rather . .
. unsettling portents.
Doom intoned, “the destructive of time itself.” Glances of puzzlement and
hushed whispers between those assembled erupted within the confines of the War
Room, they all seemed somewhat taken aback from what they have just heard. All
save Drax, who mere was intent at simply staring directly into Doom’s
disfigured gaze. A hellish smirk played against his emerald visage as he played
with the idea of removing the despot’s head from his physical form and playing
a game of katala with it for an hour
or so afterward . . . or perhaps even darts . . .
“How can time be destroyed, Doctor?” Peace spoke for the
first time since his arrival. “We all know such an occurrence . . . impossible
. . . and utter nonsense. Time is not an entity that can simply be slain on
someone’s whim. And if so, and what you speak of is real how do you explain
our continued presence here? Hmm? Why are we slotted to exist?”
“Time is more fluid than you can possibly fathom,” Doom
stated matter-of-factly, without yielding to Peace’s intense stare. “The
theory of selective branching, for instance, allows for our continued presence
“Selective Branching?” Century questioned, clear
puzzlement etched onto his ivory countenance.
In a tone one assumes when one is addressing a child, the
time refuge Doom answered, “A theory that is yet to be discovered in this
universe’s reference of temporal mechanics. However, that is besides the
point. The reason for our continued existence is the factor that time was only
nullified in a self-contained sphere. Time itself continues unhindered outside
the sphere’s pre-described boarders, though within those very same boarders,
time has ceased to exist.”
“Well,” Drax mutter moreover to himself than to anyone of
the gathered Timeless members, “this could be interesting.” His gaze drifted
over toward Doctor Doom, who in his imaginations was now having a terrible time
attempting to locate several severed limps vital to his continued survival only
moments before, now standing there, before the assembled members his overbearing
insufferable. Weather he was commenting on his own musings or the good
doctor’s somewhat vague description of the facts was anyone’s guess. He
continued onward unhindered by the bemused stares of his comrades in arms. “I
suppose you are now going to stand there and dictate to us that shortly we will
be undergoing another insufferable time leap, backward, of course, to a point
before this . . . this upset in the space-time continuum occurred. Find out what
the hell happened, and attempt to stop it before it can happen once again for
the first time.” Crossing his arms across his chest, and leaning backward in
his chair, he asked, “That it?”
If the former monarch of a now dead kingdom was taken aback
even in the slightest by the bluntness of the destroyer’s assessment of the
dire situation at hand, he did not show it. He simply stood there, nodded his
It was not until the moment that Drax started to rise from
his chair, overly confident that Doctor Doom spoke, this time returning the
challenge presented by the former bearer of the Infinity Gem of Power.
“However,” he pressed onward, turning his back toward the destroyer, “what
Drax does not know, is that we already have a member of our ranks involved in
the . . . ‘upset.’ Or rather I should say a future member of our ranks, to
be more accurate.” He caste a sidelong glance and smirked approvingly to see
Drax once more seated no doubt conjuring up grotesque images of the doctor’s
“And who might that be?” Century inquired, with the
curiosity of a child.
“Blade,” the doctor answered without prelude. “I do not
know how or why he is involved, nor why he does not seem to have any prior
knowledge of this incident. And if that is not the case: And our vampire hybrid
is indeed in possession of information of this incident, that for him occurred
several years before his abrupt induction into our fold, then the question
becomes, why did not inform us? We can only assume that we will be victorious in
the coming disaster, that our mission was accomplished as per the guidelines so
eloquently laid out to us by, Drax, and that the temporal explosion did not
occur, thanks in no small measure to our efforts. Since if we were not, then
there is no logical reason that during the Widow’s Rose Event, that the person
in question would have be involved to deal with Cain, let alone arrive so . . .
secretly . . . with one of our loss members as he so did.”
Justice Peace shifted ever so slightly in his chair at this.
Since the events surrounding his disappearance in the time
stream to the point of his unannounced and unpredictable return alongside the
vampire hunter in question is still not completely disclosed by the former TVA
agent. Hell, according to the official records, filed by Peace himself and
classified by Warlock were cryptic at best, down right suspicious at worse. And
Victor von Doom had made it no secret that he intended to discover the truth
behind Peace’s disappearance, a truth that even Warlock had reasons to wish to
remain secretive, which, toward the good doctor, was even more of an insensitive
to uncover and resurrect for all to see. As far as Peace was concerned his last
remark was nothing more than a verbal assault, no matter how miniature it
“Never ‘assume’ because you make an ‘ass’ of
‘u’ and ‘me’,” Drax retorted, shattering the tension that was rising
between the two secretive combatants.
At this Century’s eyebrows raised, clearly his interest was
aroused by Drax’s somewhat cynical satire. With a naiveté that only he could
possess, the Immortus’ construct started to question Drax on the origins of
this phrase, as well as its meaning, which was somewhat clearly lost on the
child like mind he possess. Drax returned the questions with a few baffled
remarks of his own.
“That would be impossible,” Century stated in no
“Excuse me?” Drax asked in turn, not understanding where
the hell Century was running with this train of thought.
“I do not see how Doctor Doom, or yourself, for that
matter, would suddenly turn into such a creature as donkey, by the mere basis of
venturing a logically, well thought out hypothesis, as he has clearly done,”
he answered. And his puzzlement only deepened at the sudden explosion of
mirthless laughter from Peace who had clearly recovered from the doctor’s
personal attack against him.
Drax seemed to be at a total loss. “That was just an
“An expression of what?”
“Never mind,” Drax waved off Century’s further
commentary with a curt wave of his hand.
Peace leaned into Drax’s earshot, a smug expression being
stated by his overbearing manner in which he now carried himself. “Well, you
certainly, walked yourself into that one . . . ass.”
Peace raised a gloved pair of hands as if to surrender, and
simply backed off.
“Have you, gentlemen, had enough of the witty repartee, or
should I say, lack thereof?” Doctor Doom questioned his tone dark and harsh,
as he judge the different expressions chiseled onto the faces of the gathered
Timeless. Peace’s reaction was one of silent, inborn humor, whereas Drax
simply sat there, staring straight ahead, unfazed, in spite of the faintest
tinge of merriment that was audible in his eyes. And Century . . . well, Century
was clearly out of his league, to say the least. His gaze was one of deeply
rooted in concentration, no doubt attempting to comprehend the grave injustice
he had committed to warrant such a tone from the commanding officer. Taking
their collective shroud of silence for consent, Doctor Doom nodded. “Now then,
we time shift, within the hour. Prepare yourself, handle whatever affairs need
be done, and report to the Time Gate on the West Wing.
To Be Continued . . .
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