NEW YORK CITY
3:36 PM EDT | 4/23/13
In New York, a man like Lex Luthor often rules. But as he stands before the charred husk of what was once a grand mansion - home of the Hellfire Club for generations - he feels less like a king and more like a pawn. His makeshift mentor, the man who has done his best to mislead and control a man more comfortable at the other end of a string, leads him into the condemned husk of a building.
"They say she went cosmic, by the way," he says, gruff voice that is all too familiar. "Left the planet after torching the X-Men. Xavier - you know Xavier, right? - has been more than a little... preoccupied, lately."
Taking a handkerchief over his nose and mouth, Luthor follows, ignoring the question and its comments. "Is there a reason behind all this?"
"Lex, we're at the end of our turn, and we've got the initiative. Great things are in motion. Just an ounce more patience," he says with an aggressive friendliness that could only disguise malice, "if you don't mind."
The man in black shakes his head and follows, deeper into the ashen shell, loathing every particle that crosses his eyes. It is a long, treacherous tiptoe to their destination, down a flight of stairs, and into the bowels of the building. Beneath the fair and generous mansion lies a cold steel tunnel, and at the end, a wall.
The partner in green gives a contrived sheepish smile. "I'll have to ask you to turn around for this part."
Luthor, with a roll of his eyes, agrees. The clank and whirr of metal is close behind him, and when his "friend" clears his throat, he turns to see a wide open pathway - archaic but technological, mystical and mechanical - trailing off into the darkness.
A woman in blonde stands to greet him. "Welcome, Lex, to the Forum. Shan't you deign to join us?"
INTERNATIONAL SPACE STATION
8:18 PM GMT | 4/23/13
Reed Richards, arm bound in amazing synthetic polymers of his own invention, reaches into the vacuum of space. He grabs a wrench from the dark cold void and swings his arm up - if "up" has any real meaning in the endless aether all around him - and hands it to Tony Stark, in a sleek white suit deemed appropriate for work. He gives a quick salute to the fantastic leader, who watches intently from within.
Here, it is quiet. Generally, Reed Richards is a man who enjoys the quiet - but his wife is still gone, his newest ally dead, and the world, for the moment, entirely unfathomable - a challenge he relishes and cowers from.
BWOOM!
The entire station rocks and shudders as only feet away, the thick plating of the control room is torn asunder. There is no explosion, no flame, just the sudden rush of air from the room. He inhales deeply, as only a man of rubber can, and turns to see the disturbance.
Doom is here.
NEW YORK CITY
4:20 PM EDT | 4/23/13
With both awe and trepidation, the last true humanist makes his way through the seemingly-endless bowels of a charred ruin. His still-nameless companion rambles about the brilliance of using the place, how quickly it was put together, the value of good help; Luthor does not listen. He does not take his eyes from the tall and beautiful blonde; it is a gaze of suspicion more than longing, but neither feeling is exclusive.
At last they arrive it what seems to be an atrium - it is disorganized, piles of outdated computers, musty old tomes, and rusted contraptions of dubious use scattered around the octagonal hall. In the center stands something familiar - a gate, glowing with a vividly uncolored hue, servos spinning. He had built something similar.
"Is this some sort of joke?" he asks, arrogance bordering on petulance.
"Lex, your work on rift magicks was absolutely vital in the work of our own mystic and artificers." She gives a sly and sensual smile. "Now don't pout - it's why we decided to bring you here. Why we're inviting you to join us."
He scowls. "And who, exactly, are 'we?'"
He quickly becomes aware of two more men present, masters, it seems, of self-control. One is tall, clad in dark green robes of ancient design, the other a broad-shouldered and vicious looking warlord. He recognizes them both - Ra's al Ghul, the Demon's Head, and Theo, or Black, Adam.
"As you can see," she says, "you are in good company. My name is Amora, Enchantress of Asgard, and the interim ringleader of our little group."
The man in green places a firm hand on Luthor's shoulder, gives a shark-like smile, and puts out his hand. "And my name is Norman Osborn. I'd apologize for the runaround we've been giving you, but, well... I never apologize."
Tentatively, the smartest man in Metropolis takes the Goblin's hand and shakes it.
INTERNATIONAL SPACE STATION
8:21 PM GMT | 4/23/13
Reed Richards ekes out the last of his air as the cold of space surrounds him. Iron Man, suit and all, hangs limp in the Lord of Latveria's grasp. He expects that soon, he will die. When his armored ally is dropped to the ground, the metallic clang sounds like a universe away. He shuts his eyes.
He opens them a moment later. With a mystic glow around his hands, Victor von Doom stitches the twisted remnants of a wall together, resealing the hull, and with a flick of his wrist air once more fills the command center. Limply, Mr. Fantastic begins to climb to his feet.
"Remain where you are, Richards. Do not mistake my mercy for weakness."
He gives Iron Man a swift kick to the side; from within, a cough and a sputter can be heard.
"Awaken, Stark. DOOM will not explain himself twice, and he has decided you are worthy of receiving this news."
Richards pants, lays flat, knowing resistance - if it was ever necessary - was very nearly impossible. "Victor, you madman," he groans weakly "what are you doing here!?"
Calmly taking the seat which his rival had only recently vacated, he speaks. "An invitation was sent to Castle von Doom. Its monarch does not intend to respond. But he thinks it may be of some... interest."
He steeples his fingers. "You knew a storm was coming. Doom knows it has arrived."
NEW YORK CITY
4:23 PM EDT | 4/23/13
Slowly and gracefully, Amora turns to the shimmering portal in the center of the room. On all four sides, her allies watch intently as energy pours from her fingers, motions arcane and unimaginable shaping reality as they know it.
"Any more questions, Lex," she asks, as the computers around them hum and scream.
He remains at a loss, mind turning his new-found possibilities over and back again. "Just... why? Why the rifts?" He shouts over the rising fervor of the room around them, winds gusting from the dark and ominous void. "What are you planning on doing!?"
She simply smiles and shrugs. "We're calling some friends."