Victor Von Doom cursed his foolish arrogance as the cold and damp started to set in to his bones, somehow amplified by the small cell in which he was entombed. Stripped of his armour, unable to speak and his fingers forcibly spread out and wide, he was - to all intents and purposes - helpless. His armour and accoutrements were in the same cell as him, close but tantalisingly out of reach, chained up as he was. Mephisto had trapped and sealed him in to this tomb.

However there was only one way to die in here, as there was no food, to keep him alive. There was water, for he was surrounded in it, and the spells he had cast earlier provided him with oxygen from the water itself. He would die of starvation, a slow lingering death for his acolytes were not able to stand up to Mephisto on their own. He had grossly overestimated his powers and underestimated those of his enemy.

Too many victories of late had made him over-confident and his personal feelings had meant he had not taken the chance to form a proper strategy, something that he would now regret. However he was more than just Sorcerer Supreme, he was Doom and he would endure. There was something he was missing here, he was sure of it. Some tiny piece of data that he was overlooking that would provide his means of escape and be the source of his retribution.

There was only one way to figure out what had gone wrong and he closed his eyes, focusing on the past, attempting to cast his astral self back in time so he could analyse the events. He thought back over what had happened, wondering what it was that he had missed and he knew that once he found the mistake, he could correct it. He would be damned if Mephisto could beat him like this.

As his mind cleared, his body slumped and his senses reeled with the kaleidoscope of colours as the jaunt through time was accomplished. He would be able to neither affect reality nor be detected by anyone present, as he was effectively outside of the timeline, looking in and wandering about the people as less than a shade. From here he would be able to see what had gone wrong and what he was missing.

Forge was not the most patient of men, and it was a trait that Doom had chided him over time and again. "All things come to he who waits," he so often told him, and Forge tried very hard to follow that ideal, but there were times - such as these - where those words were more hindrance than help. Things were moving too quickly for Forge's liking, as Onslaught's minions and foes proceeded with what they would.

Since Doom had spoken, Forge and the other members of the Flight had searched for the things the Sorcerer Supreme had spoken about. The signs and portents were indeed there, and though they did not have the seemingly omniscient vision of the Lord of the Flight, their combined resources were such that they could see the coming apocalypse, and Forge was worried.

Clea had not yet returned from Faltine, Doom had been unheard of since his departure and there had been rumblings not only across reality but on psychic levels as well. The rumblings were not just Onslaught stretching his hands, these were battles between high-level psions and the truth of these was only just becoming known. Reality, nature, the very life force of the planet was screaming in torment and it was clear that something had to give and soon, but without Doom's powers they could not tell what that was, or how they could prevent it. However there was one thing that was becoming clear - Victor Von Doom knew more than he was telling.

Forge meditated to ease his troubled thoughts, but there were dark forces at work here and he could not do anything to set his mind at ease. Then there was a flash of light behind him.

"Forge!" cried one of two men that arrived as if from nowhere. One of them seemed to be a man he recognised as the member of the Hellfire Club known as Peter Wisdom. The other was a blond man, whom Forge seemed to know from the Vishanti. A legend about a djinn and an immortal, if he remembered.

"That's Forge?" asked the blond man. "He doesn't look as I remember him."

"He's similar to the Forge from Nate Grey's world. A telekinetic tosser who tried it on with Excalibur at one point."

"My name is Forge, but I do not know of you, or this Nate Grey of whom you speak."

"Wrong world again," sighed Wisdom. "I hate this alternate reality stuff. It never makes sense."

"Sorry to have disturbed you," said the blond man and they vanished in a flash as quickly as they came. Forge pondered these words. Alternate realities? Was it possible? Something settled in his mind, about the way of the world. Perhaps this was not the way things were meant to be. What if there was something wrong. Forge wondered where these thoughts were coming from but it seemed to make more and more sense to him.

"Where would such secrets be hidden?" he muttered and his thoughts turned to the book of Vishanti. He had read the book before but now he wondered if had truly done so, or if there was something that he had just failed to see. The answers had to be kept within and he walked over to their resting-place in Doom's Sanctum Sanctorum. He closed his eyes and focused on the pages, summoning the spirits of his people and calling on the essences of the Sorcerers Supreme. Those who had been, and who would be, the greatest living Sorcerer of their time. He had to have the answers. He just had to.

(Just a little pseudo-crossover with Marvel-X here. Go check out current events in David Wheatley's Excalibur over at MX, and let them know who sent ya! - Benn)

Elsewhere in the temple, Stephen Strange was recovering from his efforts in the fight with the prelates of Onslaught, and it had only been through the timely arrival of the Master that they had survived at all. Stephen's prowess in the mystic arts was limited only by his inexperience, Doom had told him. He had also told him that if he had been found early enough it was possible that he could have become Sorcerer Supreme. Doom had looked at him with sadness in his eyes, knowing that it could not be so now, for the man was too old to learn all that was needed. Forge had been trained for a long time in the ways of magic and Stephen saw a destiny that chance had denied him.

However, resting as he was he could see the futility of wishing for what might have been and concentrating on what was. At times his focus had seen the future, or possible ones at any rate and several thousand years hence he had heard words that he had been able to roughly translate as 'what is, is'.

That had been the furthest he had ever been able to see and had never repeated it since. He had told Doom at once of the vision and Doom had shown him his greatest accomplishment - the time portal. Through his scientific genius and knowledge of magic he had created something wondrous, a machine that could transport him through time and space itself. He could send his astral form wandering through time with concentration but the machine would send him - mind and body - with nothing more than slight exertion.

He had offered him the chance of seeing the future for real, but Stephen had declined and Doom had smiled, telling him it was a wise choice. To know what the future held could cause madness, either trying to achieve or prevent a destiny. The future was best left alone, for those who tempted fate usually ended up on the wrong side. Then he had muttered something about the irony of things and he said that there were interesting days ahead. Stephen had asked him why and Doom had said that everyone will lose in some shape or form and left it at that, but those words had always stayed with him.

Now Stephen could feel another presence within the temple, someone had breached the sanctity of El Tatalicos, someone of great power. Stephen could see Forge, opening the book of Vishanti and then he saw what was coming. He hurried from his private quarters pushing himself to get to the Sanctum Sanctorum before it was too late. Doom's warning was swiftly discarded, because he knew he had to do something or they would all be lost.

His cape billowing around him as he hovered above the waters, Doom cast several spells of protection on himself and on his armour as he dove in to the waters, with the grace of an Olympic athlete. His future self watched him and followed him and they swam down to Atlantis, where he knew that Mephisto himself would be waiting. Such a creature, especially this close to home, would detect such a disturbance on the mystical planes.

Doom could see the fire and passion in his younger self's eyes and he knew that had been his first mistake - that he had allowed his passions to over rule his better judgement. He was fighting this battle for the wrong reasons from the offset, he could see that now. This wasn't a battle for the fate of the world, but for the fate of his mother and so that was why he had failed. The needs of the many had outweighed the needs of the few, simple logic dictated that, but Doom knew that there were times when logic could not and did not apply. Especially in magic. There had to be a way to balance the two of them, to save the soul of his mother yet save the planet as well, and he refused to believe they were mutually exclusive.

They arrived in Atlantis to find the city a shell of what it had once been. Atlantean's lay dead and dying across the fabled streets of the once golden realm, the buildings a cacophony of ruins and worse demons were feeding on the populace, devouring their souls, turning the blue skinned denizens of the underwater kingdom in to their foul offspring. The rocky outcrops of the ocean floor had become red with the heat from the eternal fires and the heat of the waters were close to boiling at their peripheral edge. Hell truly had established a foothold on Earth and both versions of Doom could feel the convergence of the realms here.

There was no vast gateway, no intense portal spiralling in the distance, nothing obvious to people, but a subtle conversion as the touch of true evil spread over the floors of the ocean, the one place where Onslaught's powers were limited. Doom could see the anger rising in his other self as the Eye of Agamotto opened and a beam of intense purity seared out and expanded across the demons he could see before him.

"Cower before me," he cried, as the demons were eradicated by the powers at work here. "You will not advance further." Never before had the demons been opposed like this, for what powers did the Atlanteans have? Their supposed gods had abandoned them long ago, though none knew the reason why. Namor, the Submariner, had become the lackey of Onslaught and since the coming of Galactus, neither he nor Atlantis been seen or heard of since, which meant either Namor was dead or had found a new master.

"A lucky shot, surface dweller," said one of the demons.

"Fools," said Doom, his gauntlets channelling the magic forces at his command, unleashing bolts of eldritch power from the discs in their palms. He was Doom and these demons were not worthy of such attention. However they were an offence to this reality and must be destroyed, but Doom knew that with the souls at Mephisto's command and the portal between here and Hell, there would be virtually infinite supply of demons and the sheer forces of numbers would overwhelm him.

Doom decided not to watch himself in action remembering his thoughts and feelings and knowing how these lesser demons were easily beaten and so went on his way. He knew that the confrontation between the Sorcerer Supreme and the Lord of Hell would occur soon, and he headed to find the Dark One. If he knew what he was thinking, plotting, he might see what happened to beat him so swiftly and decisively. In his astral form he did not have the benefits of the Eye of Agamotto, nor would his mystic powers be of any great use while he was out of time, but there was a sense of great evil pervading from Mephisto and it was the devil himself that had to be the epicentre of the portal.

He moved to where the disturbance lay and swiftly found his quarry, who was heading towards his confrontation, with Namor in tow.

"...unexpected of Doom to make such a bold strike," Namor said as Doom came within earshot of them.

"Perhaps," said Mephisto with casual grace. "However, Victor is being subjected to something even he cannot defend himself from."

"My Lord?"

"Love. His love for his mother shines like a beacon and it is that which makes him weak. Emotionally unstable are his judgements. Especially with this." He produced a small shining bauble. "The soul of his mother." His smile became broad and Doom's gaze became hard. Mephisto had not only found his weakness, but he had used it to exploit him. His arrival, his fight, everything he had done since his return to this realm had been plotted for and planned against.

"How?" asked Namor.

"His mother was a gypsy girl, and their ways and customs go back a long way. She was a sorceress of great power, but she used powers darker than any should have dared. Her soul was forfeit for the powers she used and she came to me. Using the bond between mother and son, I can gently goad his emotional state, coercing him in to actions he would not normally consider. Doom is a master strategist, and one can never be too careful. That is why I have cut this dimension off from Faltine, so that help will not come."

Doom's anger began to rise. He had been used, his mother had been used and his lover had been used as well, and the manipulation was on a scale that he had never dared consider. Now he knew what he had to do, but he had to be sure this time, he had to know what was going on.

"What do you require of me?" asked Namor and Doom noted the defiance in his eyes, something he believed might be useful later on.

"Your underwater abilities are vast, plus the shielding you have been given by the herald of Galactus means he will not see you until it is too late. Take him unaware. Strike at him. Unbalance the Sorcerer, so that I may finish him myself." Namor nodded.

Doom did not need to hear anymore but he needed to watch and see what happened for himself and as Namor headed for his other self, so did he. He watched as Doom fought the demons, allowing the bodies of the Atlanteans to rest undisturbed when Namor slammed him in the back. His armour was dented but not breached as he was flung forwards and he turned to see his attacker.

"You," he said. Namor did not reply, but sped towards him. Doom raised mystical defences to ward off the attack, but the demons also rallied against him. This was not good. He could handle them both, but it did mean killing the Sub-Mariner and he would be a useful ally if he could be turned. He turned his offensive moves on the demons and his defences to Namor, but Namor was powerful and his blows shook Doom's concentration, as did his taunts.

The astral form of the Sorcerer Supreme noted Namor's moves, his style, his very being, watching what made him tick, what made him powerful enough to fight the Sorcerer Supreme and then he realised what it could be, what it had to be. Namor was without a soul

"What did he give you?" he muttered as he watched the demon's back away unexpectedly.

Then Namor made a comment about Doom's mother and he could feel himself stiffen as he had done before and he knew what was coming next. The shift of the demons threw him off guard and he quickly diverted the energies he was using against them around to Namor, determined to make him pay for his unwarranted slur.

That was the mistake he had made as Mephisto entered the fray. The bolts he had used against Namor could not be re-routed again and his defences were in the opposite direction, leaving Mephisto with an open volley of hellfire. The energy surged in to Doom and if it had not been for his armour it would have killed him. The systems were overloaded with the heat and mystic energy and they shut down. Doom knew it would take a while for the systems to restore themselves, but that was not important. Though his body was wracked with pain, he was alive and he intended to stay that way.

The astral Doom noted - as his other self did not - that Namor still lived. The body of Namor floated in the water as it recovered from the bolts of power that had hit him. The problem with the spells he had been using was that they were designed for creatures with souls. Demons had them in a fashion, for they were not the soul-less creatures, but the creatures that tormented the soul-less. They were born in Hell and obeyed the absolute ruler of the realm with nothing less than total subservience. Namor's soul-less form had been the only thing that kept him alive.

However now the Lord of the Flight battled the Lord of Hell, but it was a one-sided battle. Doom had taken a grievous hit with the hellfire and the weight of his armour slowed him down, making it difficult to make the gestures required meaning he had to rely on simple word spells and the enchantments of earlier. They were not enough and though he fought bravely for almost fifteen minutes against the devil himself, he was eventually vanquished. The wounds and use of magic from earlier drained his body of the energy it needed to command the powers required to gain victory and Doom fell.

"An excellent test of wills," commented Mephisto. "At full strength, he might have overcome me. However, preparations had been made." He claimed the soul of Doom's mother from beneath is cloak. "One of the greatest weapons I have ever used, for how many mystics can work with souls?"

One, thought Doom. One whose connection to his ancestors' gives him powers you can but imagine. Then he realised Mephisto was staring intently at his mother's soul.

"I have it," smirked the Dark One. "I will claim Doom's soul for my own. And I will use his so-called Flight to get it." Then the smirk became a laugh. "And why stop at just one?" He clicked his fingers, restoring Namor to consciousness. "Come," he commanded. "There are preparations to make."

Doom had heard and seen enough. His charges were in trouble and he could not help them like this. He needed to return to his own body, for who could tell how many hours had passed since this had occurred. Now that he knew by what weakness Mephisto had broken him, he could resolve that problem. He willed himself back to his body, breaking the time spell and returned to his cell. He understands now that his fate was not to die in here, but something more malevolent, he knew there had to be a way out and the forming of a plan began to gel in his mind.

All he had to do was get to his armour.

Clea raged from the dimension of Faltine. No matter what she did, she could not breach the dimensional walls and return to Earth, to Victor and to the Flight. There were powerful magics at work here, magics that she could not combat even from her new position as ruler of Faltine. The powers now at her disposal were vast, but the dimensional barriers between here and Earth were closed.

"Victor," she sighed after her rage had deserted her. "What is going on? Where are you?" Even the images of Earth were distorted and so she could not even tell what was going on. She was aware that he and Dormammu had spoken, or that Dormammu had pleaded for his continued existence before Doom had killed him and she wondered if it was connected to that. She summoned one of her warriors.

"Yes, my Queen?" he said.

"Bring me the documents of Dormammu. I desire to know what he was working on in his last days."

"Yes, my Queen." He bowed then departed. Clea smiled. It was nice to see that she was finally getting some respect around here. Being of only half Faltinian descent, she had never been accepted on Faltine, and she had fled to Earth and joined with Doom in more way than one. It was this union that made her a threat to the Faltine legacy, as well as consorting with one of Dormammu's greatest enemy. These things had resulted in the war, a war that had lasted the best part of a year but was now finally over.

Now she had everything she had ever desired from Faltine, except the ability to return to Earth. The pathways were blocked, but there had to be a way, something that she was unaware of. Doom had left the battle so soon after the defeat of Dormammu, she knew it had to be that which had desired his immediate attention. She wondered if it could be Onslaught but discarded it, knowing his vision was limited to the world in which he resided.

"My Queen," came a voice, interrupting her deliberations. She looked up. "These scrolls are all that remain of Dormammu's writings."

"Give them to me," she demanded, holding out her hand and the warrior passed her the scrolls. "Now leave me," she said and the warrior took his leave. When she was alone, Clea started to review the scrolls, written in an archaic form of Faltinian that she only barely could read. It detailed the happenings in other realms, the war with the Earth and the machinations of Mephisto. It seemed that Mephisto had taken hold of Earth somehow and was merging it with his version of Hell. It did not seem likely that such a thing were possible without Victor knowing of it, but here it was - if she understood the scroll correctly.

Dormammu had felt victory inevitable and had come to a deal with Mephisto, giving the reality. Faltine and the deaths of Doom and Clea were all he had needed. Except that Doom had broken him, and the war had ended as soon as Doom had managed to translate the passages he needed from the Darkhold. It had given him the knowledge he had needed to defeat his enemy and thus win the war. Mephisto would have the power to seal the pathways between worlds, but not for long, perhaps a day or two at best. However much could happen in a day or two.

Then it occurred to her that if the Earth and Hell dimensions were merged perhaps she could cross to Earth via Hell. It would not be an easy task, but then she had just come through her own version of hell so perhaps it was a viable opportunity. She made the incantations and opened the doorway between Faltine and Hell. There were no barriers in her way, other than walking through Hell itself. She steeled herself and stepped across.

Forge opened the book of Vishanti and began to read from its pages, turning to a certain part of the book straight away. He did not know how he knew where to open it, nor did he know how he was able to translate the strange dialect in which these pages were written but he did. He soon came to the secret that Doom had been guarding all these years - this was not their reality, this was not how things were supposed to be. It told of the coming of Onslaught, of the monster's creation, of what and how things had happened. None of this was supposed to be like this.

Forge felt a flicker of despair shimmer down him as he realised that he could have been whole once, that his battle with Wolverine need not have happened. Forge also realised that Doom had the powers to fix this, to use the abilities as Sorcerer Supreme to their greatest level and undo what had been wrought on the world, yet he did not. This world was as it was and changing it would avail them nothing. All they had striven for would be worthless if the world ended. Yet, if it ended what would the world be like? Would a world without Onslaught be a paradise compared to this? Who would be what? The questions raged within him and he knew now what he had to do.

Doom's time machine. He could go back and fix things, kill the Onslaught creature before it came to life, or stop one of its progenitors. He could repair the world.

"Don't do it," said Stephen, arriving as Forge slammed the book shut. "Fight this."

"Fight what?" said Forge. "That we've been living a lie? Protecting a reality that doesn't exist, that shouldn't exist? I accept that we are a cosmic accident but there is a chance to repair things - to do good. We can defeat Onslaught before he can begin."

"Why hasn't Doom done so before then?" reasoned Stephen. "Why does he keep things the way they are?"

"Because he is weak," said Forge, his voice containing an edge that Stephen knew to be alien to the body speaking it. "Doom is nothing in that reality. He is a two-bit dictator, a villain who rarely wins and when he does often loses. He wants to be more because in his heart he knows he is lesser than the rest of the world."

"Tells you that in the book, does it?" asked Stephen, readying his mystical shields. "You aren't him. Fight him, Forge, I know you can do it."

"Foolish mortal," said Forge. "You have no hope here."

"You are Mephisto," said Stephen "and I know what is coming. I will not fight alone"

"You don't understand, do you?" said Forge. "You are the last. The Flight have fallen. I own their souls, their very beings. I will use your lives to trade for Doom's soul and when I have it I will reveal the depth of my deception."

"Perhaps I will die," said Stephen. "I told you I know how this will end and I will fight you for I will not allow things to become like that. I have no choice."

"You hope to stand against me when even the great Victor Von Doom could not? Very well, let us begin." Mephisto abandoned Forge's body and took his own form.

"No, Stephen," he muttered weakly, but there was nothing he could do to prevent this battle from occurring and instead he reached out, summoning the other members of the Flight except, to his horror, he realised they had no souls.

Doom took stock of his situation. His hands were spread so he could not cast any spells and his arms were fastened to the walls. His legs simply hung there, the water preventing any real discomfort but there was very little he could do, except pull his legs up behind him and push away from the wall. The strain on his arms was intense and only managed to loosen his body slightly. After a while he stopped, still recovering from the hellfire blasts he had received earlier.

To free himself meant he would have to break both his arms and then he realise what he had to do. He stretched his fingers as wide as they would go; already pushed to their natural limits by the devices they restricted their movement. However he knew he had to go past those limits, to dislocate his fingers at the knuckles, a supreme test of mind over matter. He had one shot at this, and his brilliant mind knew that his hands would pass the restrictions placed upon them and they would move uncontrollably.

He had one shot at this, to get the incantation right, otherwise he would be trapped and his hands would be useless. He could feel the strains on his hands, his natural sense of self-preservation fighting against his desire to damage his body. He was Doom and he would not be bested by anyone or anything, not even his own subconscious mind.

His left hand was the first to go and he cast the spell as his fingers dropped limply as the separator pieces fell to the floor. As they fell he cast the spell of decay, and his right hand dropped as the left had done and he directed the spell where his fingers now pointed. There was no flash of light, no sound, no physical sense of anything occurring and Doom wondered if he had succeeded. His fingers pointed at the wall that held him, albeit in slightly haphazard fashion.

He didn't have to wait long as the wall began to age and he pulled on his restraints once more and they pulled away from the wall. He was free, but his hands were ruined. There was no way he could cast any more spells like this. He lacked even the basic functions to push the joints back in to place, however he didn't need to worry about that to armour up. All it needed was his touch to activate the nanotech devices he had created. These would disassemble the armour and reassemble it around his body, save for the mask. He touched the smooth metal with the palm of his hand and he hoped that was enough. His fingers would not fit properly in to the finger segments anyway and he had never planned for this kind of eventuality. Next time he would know better.

As the armour bonded itself around him, he could feel his confidence returning, even though his fingers were forced in to a certain position that caused intense pain. He looked at his mask, knowing there was no real way for him to pick it up, as his hands would not bend to grip. He had to leave it alone, leave it behind. Its loss annoyed him but there was no other choice and he lifted his hands up and pointed at the walls that blocked him in and fired his gauntlets. The walls fell in an instant and Doom was free.

"Hey there, lover," said Clea as he exited. "Guess you don't need the cavalry?"

"On the contrary, my dear," said Doom. "your arrival is fortuitous. I need your assistance - a healing spell."

"Simple enough," she said making a three pronged figure on her left hand and pointed at Doom with the other. No words needed to be spoken as this was a mental incantation only and a portion of her life energy left her body and entered Doom, repairing and reconnecting his damaged fingers. A smile crossed his lips.

"Thank you," he said as he turned and picked up his mask and replaced it in its rightful position. "How did you find me?"

"Namor over there," she said, gesturing. "He's had a change of heart." The Sub-Mariner stood in the background.

"I apologise for my actions," he said, offering his hand to Doom. "I had no choice."

"Really," said Doom, not accepting the offer or the apology and his eyes narrowed. "You sold him your soul."

"I wanted my kingdom restored to a status of power," admitted Namor. "I did it for my people, but Mephisto tricked me. He turned my kingdom in to a status of his power and he created Hell on Earth."

"Imbecile," chided Doom. "You may have destroyed us all, however I will grant you one last chance for redemption. How long have I been here?"

"Seven hours," said Namor. "Mephisto has been gone for six, which is why I was able to help your lady."

"Clea," commanded Doom. "The Flight is in danger. I do not have time to deal with the demon army that has been formed here. Join with me." She nodded and they placed their hands on to each other's. Clea summoned the powers of Faltine while Doom utilised the powers of the Eye of Agamotto. The union of their power created a blue white energy glow that expanded from them around the city of Atlantis and then they broke the link.

"This place is henceforth frozen in time," said Doom.

"What of Hell?" asked Clea.

"Time will pass there, but who so ever leaves and enters this reality will find themselves caught in the disruption. However they will not be able to pass while Mephisto is on El Tatalicos. Come. We must hurry." Doom opened a portal to the temple.

"What are you planning?" asked Clea.

"Consequences," said Doom. "Listen and do as I command."

"This little game is over," said Mephisto, as Strange used up the last vestiges of his power. Mephisto's arm stretched out and grabbed Strange's soul and tore it out of his body. "Your defences are broken and your soul is mine." Strange couldn't move and watched in horror as Mephisto devoured his soul. As he swallowed it, Strange could feel himself changing and he could see himself becoming nothing but a pile of clay. When he was gone, Mephisto touched the clay, altering its form and making it in to a form of his own making.

"My new hellhound," said Mephisto when he had finished. "You should never have tempted fate, dear boy. Now I own you body and soul."

"Really?" said Doom as the portal opened. "That was my charge, demon Lord. Restore him. Now."

"No can do, Victor. I took you before, I can do so again."

Doom focused his perceptions and he could feel the soul of his mother underneath Mephisto's cloak.

"Not on the best day of your existence," he said. "You are on my territory now and the Lord of the Flight has never been beaten on his own soil."

"Then we begin," said Mephisto. "Let this be our final battle. I'd have preferred your soul willingly, but I can take it by force."

Clea had also arrived on the island but she arrived where she would find Forge.

"Forge," she said, looking at him. "You are needed."

"He took their souls, Clea. They gave them willingly for his promises of freedom. He took their souls and killed them. They are alive, yet dead. Dead inside."

"Forge," she said, concerned for his feelings, knowing that Forge had almost lost his own soul on several occasions and that he had once sacrificed twelve of the Flight to bind an ancient evil. He could command souls like none other, and the thought of the others giving them away was making him wonder if it was all worth it.

"And what of me? He used my longings for a real body, for a decent future and made me show him the possibilities. He needed the specifics from the Vishanti, to pinpoint where and when Onslaught came to power so he could go back and make him his own. I almost let him..." Clea slapped him.

"Forge, the Master needs you. Mephisto uses a soul link to drain him, to attack him. You must sever the link. Release the captured soul."

"It can't be done," said Forge. "I cannot break a contract such as that Mephisto holds over someone. To do so would destroy the soul"

"It is not a contract but a stain on the soul for dark magics used," she said. "It is Victor's mother. He knows the risks, but to break the link would make for a chance to save us all."

"But..."

"There is no time," snapped Clea. "Damn well do this, Forge. You are the apprentice of the Sorcerer Supreme. The chosen of a generation. Prove your worth." Forge got to his feet.

"I know a way," he said. "But there is a cost."

Doom and Mephisto threw their respective powers at each other and Doom knew he was losing. His mother's doing. His concentration was affected by her presence, was sapping his will but he endured and fought on. He had gone fifteen minutes before when he was injured and weakened. This time would be different and it would give Forge time to concoct the spell. However this time he also had to fend off a rabid hellhound, one that was a former student, and one that he wanted back. However the effort on both fronts was now taking its toll.

"You grow weary, von Doom," said Mephisto, noting his adversary's condition. "Whereas I am eternal."

"Really?" said Doom. "I doubt that. Your realm is cut off from you. Your vision is not as all encompassing, as it should be, for you too grow tired. Your brow shows perspiration, your energies are not as controlled as they were when we began this. You cannot keep this up forever."

"Long enough to beat you," snarled Mephisto as the truth of the word struck home. As soon as Doom died, the spell would be broken and the Lord of Hell would regain his powers.

"No," said Forge appearing from a portal created by Clea. His eyes were solid white, his skin a deathly pale and he was surrounded by black glowing energy. It was the ultimate soul-spell that he could cast - transmigration. The power of the spell gave Mephisto cause to stop his attack and gave Doom the chance to surround the hellhound in mystical bonds.

"What is this?" asked Mephisto.

"The end," said Doom and threw the Eye of Aagamotto across the room where it attached itself to Forge's head, the last piece of the puzzle. The Eye opened and it's light cascaded on to Mephisto. His soul was transferred to the prison in which Doom's mother was held, Doom's mother was sent to Forge's body and Forge's soul entered Mephisto.

The body of the Lord of Hell turned to look at Doom.

"Do it," he said and Doom nodded as he pulled a knife from his belt and thrust it through Mephisto's heat. The knife was edged in the blood of an innocent, which Doom kept around for special occasions. It was the only thing that could kill the Lord of Hell, however Doom had mistranslated from the Darkhold before he went after the Lord of Hell and he didn't realise what would happen.

The power flooded through the knife, filling Doom, forcing him to his knees, as the heritage of the dominion of Hell passed in to him, and the power over the harvesting of souls became one with him. The mysteries of the cosmos began to unfold and he could see why Mephisto had done what he done, been what he had been. He understood but could not forgive and he removed the sphere in which the soul of Mephisto was held.

"Be gone," he said and the soul evaporated in to nothingness and Mephisto was gone. Forge was dead, the Flight was decimated for Doom knew the contracts could not be revoked and it was almost over.

"Clea," he said, but she recoiled from his touch. Then he looked at the body of Forge. It was dying and his mother would soon be taken from him again. Without Forge's knowledge to keep the mechanical parts of the body functioning, she was little more than scrap metal and not even Doom's scientific prowess would save her in time.

"Mother," he said, removing his facemask so she could see his face. "You are free."

"My dear Victor," she said, tears in her eyes. "But at what cost? You do not know the price you will pay for this."

"To stop hell from becoming part of the Earth I would have sacrificed everything."

"You have," she said and then she died as Doom kissed her on the cheek. He placed his hands over her eyes and closed them.

"Your soul will have the peace I desire it to have," he said and he watched as her soul rose from her body and vanished in a brilliant white light. Then he turned to Clea.

"My love," he said, reaching out to her.

"Victor," she said, stepping back. "There is a darkness within you, a darkness that challenges the goodness of your soul. I don't know if I can love you like this, or love what you have become."

"I have much to learn," said Doom, holding his mask before him as if it held all the answers. "For the evil that men do, truly I am Doom. All I ask is that you give me time. We will adjust, we will endure."

"I don't know," she said, "I need time as well. Don't come after me, Victor. Please." She brushed his face then opened a portal and fled back to Faltine. Doom considered going after her, but it was up to her now and he had much to do and he put his mask back on.

There was much he knew now that he had not before and he could sense that something climatic was approaching, from which there would be larger consequences. Beneath his mask he smiled.

There were preparations to make.

THE END. A NEW BEGINNING...