Chapter 35: The Banquet

A soft, floating hammer lingered in the air for a moment. Then, several hundred meters away from Thor, it suddenly crashed into something with a deafening boom, as though striking an unyielding wall.

The impact sent up a dense cloud of dust that spread across the area. Oddly, there was no clear point of collision; the entire region seemed enveloped in an impenetrable haze. What had been a barren wasteland was now a murky expanse, shrouded in swirling particles that obscured everything.

Thor frowned, puzzled by the sudden transformation. His gaze pierced through the dust, attempting to discern the truth behind the phenomenon. But no matter how intently he looked, the cloud remained an impenetrable veil, offering nothing but vague, floating fragments of grit.

"Mm, a bit warm now," Noah remarked casually, taking a sip from the water handed to him by the pilot. Despite the unfolding mystery, he appeared unfazed. Given what he had just witnessed, he suspected they weren't in some Latverian landing pad or wasteland at all.

This was something else entirely—perhaps akin to the X-Men's Danger Room, a hyper-realistic simulation space.

Suddenly, a peculiar buzzing sound filled the air, reverberating from all directions. The ground beneath their feet began to waver, becoming dreamlike and unreal. The surroundings distorted, twisted, and shifted until they transformed into a metallic floor.

The ground gleamed faintly, reflecting a dazzling metallic sheen. Countless small panels interlocked seamlessly to form the floor's intricate structure. The scene was so surreal that the group stood in stunned silence, taking in the spectacle with wide-eyed astonishment.

"What... what is this place? Should I move? Wait... oh, crap, I'm still wearing the inhibitor collar. Damn it, Fury!" Pietro blurted out, his initial panic giving way to a frustrated mutter as he tugged at the metallic ring around his neck.

Meanwhile, the other heroes—more disciplined and prepared—reacted instinctively. Those with telekinetic powers readied their focus, the brawlers clenched their fists, and the gunmen chambered their rounds. Each one braced themselves for whatever lay ahead.

But the transformation wasn't over. The metallic ground writhed as if under an unseen force, shifting like a giant canvas being painted over in rapid strokes. Desert sands swirled, arctic winds howled, neon cityscapes flickered, and ocean waves crashed—all these elements emerged vividly, only to fade and give way to another. Each shift was so lifelike it felt as though they were transported to a new realm with every blink.

Eventually, the buzzing ceased, and the ground solidified into a smooth, mirror-like surface, a silvery expanse radiating a searing brilliance.

The pilot, squinting against the glare, glanced upward and screamed, "Look! Up there! Is it a bird? A plane? No, it's—"

From the sky, a swarm of metallic robots descended like a dense black cloud. Clad in green hooded cloaks, their bodies gleamed with silver radiance.

Landing in perfect unison, the robots formed disciplined ranks and began advancing. Each metallic step reverberated with a mechanical clang, a sound so deep it seemed to shake the very air.

Their palms glowed ominously with green energy, humming with a low, menacing resonance that carried the promise of destruction. The lethal energy coursing through their palms exuded a palpable dread. Their unfeeling, cold stares locked onto the group as the hum of their weapons grew louder—a harbinger of imminent death.

Thor tightened his grip on Mjolnir, prepared to act at Noah's command. He was ready to send these creations of Doom to the cybernetic underworld, where they could meet their mechanical maker.

"Son of Odin, dare to strike, and Doom will not forgive," came a deep, commanding voice.

As tensions reached a boiling point, a towering figure rose from within the ranks of identical robots. His form was larger, his armor heavier, and his presence more imposing.

The other robots stepped aside, creating a clear path as this armored figure floated forward. Alone, he advanced, stopping a short distance away from the group.

His piercing gaze swept across the gathered heroes, lingering on Noah. Finally, the infamous Doctor Doom spoke, his voice resonating with disdain and authority:

"Why have you intruded upon Doom's domain?"

The Punisher couldn't hold back his contempt. "Damn tin-faced bastard," he muttered, gripping his weapon with murderous intent. Frank Castle, true to his nature, was ready to take the shot. In a world teetering on the edge of apocalypse, eliminating one more villain seemed like a worthy cause—two would be even better.

But just as he was about to pull the trigger, Noah swiftly reached out, gripping the barrel of Castle's gun and forcing it downward. "Not so fast," Noah said evenly.

Reluctantly, Castle released his weapon and holstered it. His expression remained furious, his eyes burning with hatred for Doom. But for the sake of the team, he chose to rein in his emotions.

Clearing his throat, Noah stepped forward. "Ahem. We're here to save Latveria."

"Save it?" Doom sneered. "Latveria is immune to this virus. Doom needs neither SHIELD's assistance nor yours."

Noah narrowed his eyes. Doom's claim of immunity didn't mean Latveria had a cure for the zombie virus. It meant Doom believed his sheer power alone would allow him to weather the apocalypse.

Which was, frankly, nonsense. No matter how fortified Doom's castle might be, it couldn't withstand the relentless onslaught of zombie-turned superheroes. Not to mention Latveria's history of being treated like a training ground for every passing hero.

Noah realized brute force wasn't the answer here. They might be able to overpower Doom and his robots, but he'd likely destroy the teleporters out of spite. Diplomacy would be the smarter move.

"You're right," Noah conceded with a faint smile. "Doom doesn't need SHIELD. But perhaps we can talk?"

Doom's eyes glinted behind his iron mask. "And why should Doom entertain you?"

Noah met his gaze without flinching. "Because I killed Reed Richards."

At this, Susan Storm's head jerked up. Her face showed neither anger nor surprise—just a fleeting flicker of sadness. Then she lowered her head again, retreating into silence.

She had come to terms with Reed's death. He deserved it. But admitting that truth out loud was too painful. She couldn't bring herself to blame anyone but herself—for all the years she had spent with a man whose soul was so twisted.

Doom, on the other hand, let out a derisive snort. "Only Doom may kill Doom's enemies!"

His declaration sent a wave of shock through the group. Not because of his arrogance—they had expected that—but because it seemed he had no intention of continuing the fight.

"However," Doom added, his voice softening slightly as he glanced at the subdued Susan, "Doom is curious to hear how that imbecile met his end."

Stepping back, he gestured for the group to follow. "Come. Doom shall host a banquet for you."

At his command, the robots parted, creating a pathway.

The heroes exchanged uncertain glances, but Noah shrugged and began walking forward, his expression calm and confident.