Continued from Nullified Time Part One

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Impending Interlude

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.

“Peace,” 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?

“This 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 similarities.

“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.

“That being,” 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 here.”

“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 assent.

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 demise.

“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 appears.

“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 uncertain terms.

“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 expression.”

“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.”

“Shuddup.”

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.

“Dismissed.”

To Be Continued . . .

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