The truck idled softly before Albedo finally killed the engine, the faint glow of the house ahead casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. The group sat in silence for a moment, each of them processing the weight of their next move. Albedo gripped the steering wheel tightly, his crimson eyes fixed on the looming brownstone. He could feel the anticipation and uncertainty radiating from his companions, but his own thoughts were darker, heavier.
He could make it back to Latveria. If he shifted into Jetray or XLR8, he could cover the distance in hours. The thought had crossed his mind more than once during their journey. It would be simple, easy even. But every time, he dismissed it.
Latveria wasn't an option—not without them.
Albedo glanced at the others as they began to climb out of the truck. Luke Cage stretched his massive frame, rolling his shoulders as if readying for a fight. Jean Grey's expression remained calm, though her piercing eyes flickered with unspoken concern. Winter Soldier checked the magazine in his rifle, his mechanical arm whirring softly as he prepared for any potential threats. These people, these allies, weren't just a convenience—they had become something more.
A part of him.
"Everything okay?" Jean's voice broke his train of thought. She stood near the passenger side, her gaze studying him with quiet curiosity.
Albedo nodded stiffly. "Fine."
"You sure?" Luke Cage asked, leaning casually against the side of the truck. "You've been quiet since we left. More quiet than usual."
Albedo exhaled through his nose, stepping out and closing the door behind him. "I'm just focused. This place could be a dead end, or it could be the answer we're looking for. Either way, I'm not leaving until we know for sure."
Winter Soldier gave a faint smirk. "Focused is good. But if something's on your mind, now's the time to get it out."
Albedo hesitated, his gaze drifting back to the brownstone. For a moment, he considered saying nothing, burying his thoughts beneath his usual cold exterior. But he wasn't the same person he had been. Not anymore.
"I could leave," he said finally, his voice quiet but steady. The admission caught their attention immediately, all eyes turning to him. "I could shift forms and make it back to Latveria on my own. The Maker's forces wouldn't be able to catch me."
Jean tilted her head slightly, her expression softening. "But you won't."
"No," Albedo said firmly, his jaw tightening. "I won't. Because leaving would mean abandoning all of you. And I've done enough of that in my life."
Luke Cage gave him a long, appraising look before nodding. "You've got a lot on your shoulders, man. But I'll say this—running back to safety might be easier, but sticking with us? That takes guts."
Jean offered a faint smile, her gaze warm. "We're in this together, Albedo. No one's going anywhere alone."
Winter Soldier simply gave a short nod, his expression unreadable but his approval clear.
Albedo's crimson eyes flickered with something close to gratitude, though he didn't let it show too clearly. "Then let's make this count. If Clea's here, we need to convince her to help. If she's not… we'll figure out the next step."
The group moved toward the brownstone as one, their steps quiet but purposeful. The house loomed ahead, its dark windows seeming to watch them as they approached. Albedo led the way, his thoughts steady now, his resolve stronger than ever. Whatever they faced inside, he wouldn't abandon them—not this time.
The group stepped through the creaking doorway of the brownstone, their movements careful and deliberate. The interior was dark, dust layering every visible surface, and the faint smell of decay lingered in the air. Jean Grey waved a hand, using her telekinesis to push aside a cobweb hanging low near the entrance.
"This doesn't look promising," Luke Cage muttered, his voice low but echoing slightly in the stillness.
"It feels empty," Jean added, her tone calm but doubtful. "If anyone lived here, they've been gone for a long time."
Winter Soldier scanned the room, his sharp gaze assessing every corner. "No signs of activity. No recent footprints in the dust. If Clea was here, she's long gone."
Albedo ignored them, his crimson eyes narrowing as he moved farther inside. He knew what it looked like—abandoned, lifeless, a dead end—but he also knew better than to trust his first impressions. Magic wasn't like the technology or raw power he was used to dealing with. It wasn't always visible, and it didn't always play by the rules of logic or physics. His brief experiences with Gwen in his home universe and the time spent learning from Doom had taught him that much.
"There's something here," Albedo said firmly, his voice cutting through the group's skepticism.
Jean raised an eyebrow. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure," Albedo replied, moving to the center of the room. He crouched down, brushing his fingers lightly over the dust-covered floor. "Magic isn't obvious. If Clea really was a powerful sorceress, she wouldn't leave anything in plain sight."
Luke Cage crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway. "No offense, man, but it looks like you're chasing shadows."
"Maybe," Albedo admitted, standing and glancing around. "But this isn't just guesswork. Gwen—my world's magic user—was the same way. Her sanctuaries always looked abandoned at first glance, but there were layers. Things hidden beneath what you could see. Doom's sanctum is the same."
Jean's expression shifted slightly, her skepticism giving way to curiosity. "So what do we look for?"
Albedo's eyes swept the room, taking in every detail—the faded wallpaper, the cracked furniture, the faint smell of something metallic. "Anything out of place. Symbols, patterns, objects that feel… wrong. Magic leaves traces."
The group split up, each member moving through the room carefully. Jean reached out with her telekinetic senses, brushing lightly against the walls and furniture for anything unusual. Luke Cage inspected the floorboards, tapping them lightly with his heel. Winter Soldier opened a cabinet, finding nothing but dust and cobwebs.
Albedo, meanwhile, moved toward the fireplace. He crouched again, running his fingers along the edge of the mantle. There was something faint, a subtle heat that shouldn't have been there. He leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a faint, almost invisible symbol etched into the stone—a spiral surrounded by interlocking runes.
"Found something," he called, his voice sharp but steady.
The others gathered around as Albedo traced the symbol with his finger, the faint heat intensifying slightly. "This is a ward," he explained. "A magical seal, probably meant to hide or protect something."
"Can you open it?" Jean asked, her gaze fixed on the symbol.
"I can try," Albedo replied, his mind racing. He wasn't a magic user, but his familiarity with the subject gave him enough insight to approach the problem. He closed his eyes, focusing on the pattern of the runes and the faint energy radiating from them. With careful precision, he pressed his hand against the center of the spiral and muttered an incantation he'd learned from Doom.
The runes flared to life, glowing a faint blue as the room filled with a low hum. The air shifted, and the faint smell of ozone replaced the metallic tang.
Suddenly, the floor beneath the fireplace began to shimmer, the dust and grime dissolving to reveal a hidden staircase descending into darkness. The group exchanged glances, a mixture of surprise and tension filling the air.
"I told you," Albedo said, his tone firm but faintly smug. "Magic isn't obvious."
The group descended the hidden staircase, their steps echoing softly in the narrow, dimly lit passage. The air grew warmer as they moved deeper, and an otherworldly glow emanated faintly from below. Albedo led the way, his sharp crimson eyes scanning every detail of the stone walls as the tension grew heavier with each step.
At the bottom of the stairs, the passage opened into a vast underground chamber, its walls adorned with intricate runes and symbols that pulsed faintly with light. In the center of the room stood a figure draped in a flowing cloak of dark violet, her silver hair glinting in the ambient glow. Around her neck hung a relic that radiated an undeniable aura of power—the Eye of Agamotto. Clea.
"You've arrived," Clea said, her voice calm and almost melodic. Her piercing gaze moved over the group, her expression unreadable but commanding. "As I knew you would."
Jean Grey stepped forward cautiously. "You were expecting us?"
Clea nodded, her silver hair swaying slightly. "Of course. I've seen this moment many times. The Eye of Agamotto allows me to peer into the threads of potential futures, and in every path that holds hope, you—Albedo—are at the center."
Albedo frowned, his arms crossing as he studied her. "If you already know why we're here and how this ends, why bother having the conversation?"
Clea's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "Because knowing the outcome does not diminish the importance of the journey. I know the choices you will make, but you do not. This conversation is as much for you as it is for me."
Albedo exchanged a glance with Jean and Luke before stepping forward. "You know why we're here," he said. "We need your help to unbind Doom's teleportation rune. Without it, we're trapped. The Maker has cut us off from any chance of escaping or countering his plans."
Clea regarded him with a steady, piercing gaze, her fingers lightly brushing the Eye of Agamotto. "I know your predicament, and I know the weight you carry. But my aid comes at a cost, Albedo."
"What kind of cost?" he asked, his voice sharp.
"The cost of commitment," Clea replied, her tone firm but gentle. "The futures I have seen demand much of you. You will face trials that will challenge your resolve, your morality, your very sense of self. If you falter, if you abandon this path, the hope you bring will be extinguished."
Albedo's jaw tightened, his mind racing. "I didn't come here for cryptic warnings. Will you help us or not?"
Clea chuckled softly, a sound both amused and weary. "Your determination is admirable, if a bit stubborn. Yes, Albedo, I will help you. But know this—this path you walk is not yours alone. The lives of those you've chosen to stand with you will depend on your ability to lead, to inspire, and to sacrifice."
Jean stepped forward, her voice steady but curious. "If you've seen all this, why put so much faith in him? What is it about Albedo that makes him so important?"
Clea's gaze softened as she looked directly at Albedo. "Because in every future where hope prevails, Albedo does not act alone. He is the catalyst, the one who brings disparate forces together. He is the one who learns, grows, and becomes more than he was."
Albedo stared back at her, the weight of her words settling on his shoulders. He didn't know if he believed her, but he couldn't deny the gravity of her presence—or the power she wielded.
"So what happens now?" Albedo asked, his voice quieter but no less determined.
"Now," Clea said, extending a hand toward him, "we begin. The Eye of Agamotto has shown me the steps we must take, and the rune binding Doom's spell is but the first of many barriers we will dismantle. But you must be ready, Albedo. What lies ahead will test you in ways you cannot yet imagine."
Albedo took a deep breath, his resolve hardening as he reached out and clasped her hand. "I've made my choice. Let's get started."
Clea extended her hand toward Albedo, her fingers glowing faintly with a golden light as she muttered an incantation under her breath. The air around Albedo shimmered briefly, as if reality itself was bending to her will. He felt a sudden, subtle shift in the energy around him—light, like a weight he hadn't noticed had been lifted.
"There," Clea said, brushing her hands off as though she'd just finished an unpleasant chore. "Magik's interference has been unraveled. Her work is as sloppy as it is overbearing."
Albedo raised an eyebrow. "Not a fan of her, I take it?"
Clea smirked faintly. "Magik is a brute with a sword masquerading as a sorceress. She uses magic like a child smashing a toy hammer, thinking it makes her a carpenter. Effective, perhaps, in her limited way, but utterly lacking in grace or understanding."
Jean, standing nearby, let out a small chuckle. "Can't say I disagree."
Clea turned toward Albedo, her expression softening as she reached into the folds of her cloak and retrieved a small, intricately wrapped package. She extended it toward him. "For you."
Albedo hesitated for a moment before taking the package. "What is it?"
"Something you'll need," Clea said cryptically. "When the time is right, you'll understand. Until then, keep it safe."
Albedo frowned but nodded, slipping the package carefully into his pocket. "Thanks. I think."
Clea's expression grew serious as she stepped back, gesturing for the group to sit. "Now, before you leave, there is something you need to hear. My story. You may think you understand the stakes of this fight, but you don't. Not yet."
The group exchanged glances before settling onto the ground or nearby ledges, giving Clea their full attention. She clasped her hands in front of her, her gaze distant as she began to speak.
"My husband, Stephen Strange, was the Sorcerer Supreme," she said, her voice steady but tinged with sorrow. "His mastery of the mystic arts was unparalleled, and his will to protect this world was unshakable. The Maker knew this. He knew that as long as Stephen lived, his plans would never come to fruition."
Jean frowned, leaning forward slightly. "So the Maker… killed him?"
Clea nodded, her silver hair catching the faint glow of the runes around them. "The Maker orchestrated an attack unlike any other—a multi-dimensional incursion that would have devastated this world if left unchecked. My husband fought valiantly, but the battle was a distraction, a ploy to lure him away from safety. When the Maker's forces struck, Stephen was alone. He never stood a chance."
Albedo's fists clenched, his jaw tightening as he processed her words. "And the Maker didn't stop there, did he?"
"No," Clea said bitterly. "After Stephen's death, the Maker turned his attention to our son, Stephen Jr. The boy had inherited his father's gifts, though he was still learning to control them. The Maker saw an opportunity to twist him, to use his grief and anger as a weapon."
Luke Cage frowned deeply. "He corrupted the kid?"
"Yes," Clea said, her voice trembling slightly. "The Maker poisoned his mind, convincing him that the only way to avenge his father was to embrace the darkness. He pushed Stephen Jr. into a confrontation with Dormammu, knowing it would lead to his death."
"Why?" Winter Soldier asked, his tone cold and sharp. "What did the Maker gain from that?"
"Control," Clea replied, her gaze hardening. "With my son gone, there was no one left to challenge the Maker's manipulation of the mystic realms. He ensured that the world's greatest magical defenses were silenced, leaving him free to reshape reality as he saw fit."
Jean's expression darkened, her voice quiet but firm. "I'm so sorry, Clea. That must have been unbearable."
Clea's lips tightened, her composure faltering for just a moment. "It was. But grief has its uses. It sharpens resolve, steels the spirit. I swore then that I would fight the Maker with every ounce of power I have, even if it meant standing alone."
Albedo's gaze softened, his voice quieter now. "You're not alone anymore."
Clea's eyes met his, a flicker of hope in her otherwise steely expression. "No. I'm not. And that is why I chose to help you. The futures I have seen demand sacrifice, but they also hold the possibility of something better. If you are willing to fight for it, I will stand with you."
The group sat in thoughtful silence, the weight of Clea's story settling over them like a heavy shroud. Albedo glanced at his team, seeing the same determination reflected in their faces. Whatever came next, they were in this together.
The room shook violently as the unmistakable sound of explosions echoed above them. Dust fell from the ceiling, and the faint hum of magical wards shimmered briefly before holding. The group immediately tensed, weapons ready, but Clea remained calm, standing tall in the center of the chamber.
"They've come," Clea said, her tone steady and unsurprised, her gaze fixed upward. "The Maker's forces. And, as expected, the Avengers."
Albedo's eyes narrowed as he stepped beside her. "How do you know it's the Avengers?"
"Because I've seen this moment," Clea replied, her voice carrying an eerie serenity. "I knew they would come. I knew they would break through my defenses."
The staircase they had descended erupted into debris, sending the group scattering. Standing in the rubble, framed by the dim light of the brownstone above, were the unmistakable figures of the Avengers. Captain Marvel hovered slightly off the ground, her hands glowing with energy, while Falcon stood beside her, wings flared and ready for battle. Hawkeye stepped in next, his bow drawn, flanked by the Red Hulk, his hulking form barely fitting through the broken passage.
Jean cursed under her breath, raising her hands, but Clea's voice cut through the chaos. "Enough," she said, her tone firm and commanding. She turned to the group and extended her hands, her fingers glowing with golden light.
"What are you—" Albedo began, but before he could finish, the runes on his body flared to life. A portal shimmered into existence beneath the others, and before anyone could resist, they were pulled through, vanishing one by one into the light.
"Clea!" Albedo snapped, his voice sharp with frustration. "What are you doing?"
"Protecting them," Clea said simply. "This fight is not theirs, nor is it yours."
The Avengers began descending into the chamber, their weapons and abilities at the ready. Albedo moved to step forward, but Clea turned to him, her eyes glowing faintly with the power of the Eye of Agamotto. "Stay back, Albedo. This is my fight."
"I'm not letting you do this alone!" Albedo protested, his voice rising.
"You must," Clea said firmly, her voice softening as her gaze met his. "We don't have time to argue. Listen to me while there's still a chance."
Albedo stopped, confused by her calm demeanor. Her voice echoed in his mind now, a mental conversation happening parallel to the chaos unfolding around them. "This is where my story ends, Albedo. I've known this for a long time."
"That's insane," Albedo replied mentally, his anger and frustration boiling over. "You're powerful enough to hold them off. You can survive this."
"Perhaps," Clea admitted, her tone resolute. "But this moment is not about survival. It's about ensuring the right pieces remain in play. You are one of those pieces."
The Avengers launched their attack, but Clea raised her hands, creating a shimmering barrier of golden energy that deflected their initial assault. Captain Marvel's energy blasts ricocheted harmlessly, and the Red Hulk's charge was stopped cold by a telekinetic wave that sent him staggering back. Clea stood unwavering, her silver hair flowing with an otherworldly glow as she turned her focus inward, continuing her mental conversation with Albedo.
"You've been holding yourself back, Albedo," Clea said, her voice steady in his mind even as she deftly redirected Falcon's wing strike with a flick of her wrist. "You use your abilities like a tool—an imitation of what you once wielded. But your powers are far greater than that. You are no longer bound by the limits of the Omnitrix."
Albedo's fists clenched, frustration and confusion swirling within him. "What do you mean? I've been using these forms like I always have. They work."
Clea's mental tone grew sharper. "You mimic them, yes. But that's all you've done—mimic. Your powers go beyond simple transformations. You've been gifted with the ability to evolve, to combine, to create. Stop thinking like a machine and start thinking like the being you've become."
As her words settled into his mind, Clea parried another assault. Hawkeye loosed a series of explosive arrows, but Clea conjured a shield of shimmering light, causing the projectiles to fizzle out harmlessly.
"And there's more," Clea continued, her mental voice softening. "Your new body was altered deliberately. It wasn't just made to resemble Ben Tennyson—it was made to carry his latent potential. You can learn magic, Albedo. Real magic. Your connection to it is faint now, but it's there, waiting for you to unlock it."
Albedo froze for a moment, her words cutting through the noise of his anger. Magic. The idea felt absurd, alien even, but the possibility lingered in the back of his mind. He had been so focused on his own abilities, so locked into his way of thinking, that he hadn't considered what else might be possible.
Clea's voice interrupted his thoughts, her tone sharper now. "But none of that will matter if you continue running back to Latveria. Doom is a brilliant man, but you've made his sanctuary a crutch. You're playing it safe, Albedo, and in doing so, you're hurting not just yourself, but everyone relying on you."
Albedo's jaw tightened, her words striking a nerve. "I'm not running. I've been building something. I've been fighting."
"You've been hiding," Clea countered, her mental voice unwavering. "And I understand why. The weight you carry is immense, and the path ahead is dangerous. But safety isn't an option anymore. If you want to win this fight, you'll have to step into the fire."
The Red Hulk roared, charging Clea again, but she raised her hand and sent him crashing into Falcon with a wave of force. Captain Marvel surged forward, her glowing fists slamming into Clea's barrier, but the sorceress held firm, her power flaring brighter with each assault.
"This is why I sent the others away," Clea said, her mental tone softening once more. "You need time to understand what you're capable of, to embrace the power and potential within you. And that time would not come if you stayed to fight by my side tonight."
Albedo's fists trembled as he watched her stand alone against the Avengers, the realization of her plan settling heavily in his chest. "You're sacrificing yourself."
"No," Clea replied, her voice filled with quiet strength. "I'm giving you the chance to do what must be done. Remember what I've told you, Albedo. Use it. Grow. Lead."
With that, her mental presence faded, leaving Albedo standing helplessly as Clea raised her hands, her power surging in a brilliant display of golden light. She cast him one final glance, her expression calm and resolute.
"Go," she said aloud, her voice cutting through the chaos. "And make this fight count."
Before Albedo could protest, the chamber erupted in a blinding flash as Clea unleashed a wave of energy that filled the room, forcing the Avengers back. The last thing he saw before the light consumed him was Clea standing tall, unyielding, a warrior in her final stand. Then everything went dark.
Albedo stirred awake, his body aching as consciousness returned to him. The dim lighting of the infirmary cast long shadows across the sterile walls, and the faint hum of Latveria's advanced medical equipment filled the air. He blinked, trying to focus, his crimson eyes adjusting to the low light. The room was quiet—eerily so—except for the soft, rhythmic beeping of the machines monitoring the other occupant.
Scarlet Witch lay in a bed on the far side of the room, still comatose. Her expression was peaceful, almost serene, but the faint magical energy lingering around her suggested that her battle was far from over. Albedo sat up slowly, his muscles stiff, and let out a shaky breath. The events at the brownstone replayed in his mind, vivid and unrelenting.
Clea's voice echoed in his thoughts: You've been hiding.
He rested his head in his hands, the weight of her words pressing down on him like a physical burden. She was right. She had seen through him, through the facade he'd carefully constructed since arriving in this world. Albedo had told himself he was building something, preparing for the right moment to strike, but deep down, he knew the truth.
He had been hiding.
Latveria had become his refuge, a place to retreat when the weight of the mission became too much. He had convinced himself that he was strategizing, but in reality, he had been avoiding the fight. Every time he stepped onto the battlefield, he felt the sting of his past failures—the humiliations, the betrayals, the losses that had defined his life in his home universe. The memories were unrelenting.
He thought of Ben Tennyson, the constant reminder of his shortcomings. Albedo had spent so much of his life consumed by jealousy, hatred, and the need to prove himself superior. And yet, every attempt to outdo Ben had ended in failure. The Ultimatrix, the alliances with Vilgax, the schemes—each one had fallen apart, leaving him weaker and more disillusioned.
And then there was his time here, in this fractured world. He had tried to rise above his old self, to be something better, but the losses kept piling up. Clea's sacrifice was just the latest in a long line of people who had paid the price for standing beside him. It was becoming harder and harder to see himself as anything but a failure.
His gaze drifted to Scarlet Witch, her still form illuminated by the faint glow of the monitors. Wanda's battle wasn't visible, but he knew it was there—an internal struggle that he could only imagine. She was trapped, yet fighting, and in that moment, Albedo felt a flicker of understanding.
He was trapped too, wasn't he? Trapped by his own fears, his insecurities, his doubts. He had been hiding not just from the Maker, but from himself.
"You're pathetic," he muttered under his breath, the words cutting deep. His voice trembled slightly, a rare crack in his usually stoic demeanor. "You keep telling yourself you're trying to make things right, but you're just running away. Clea saw it. Doom probably sees it. They all do."
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as frustration boiled over. "You've done nothing but fail," he hissed, his voice low and bitter. "You couldn't stop Ben. You couldn't save Clea. You couldn't even—" His words caught in his throat, the weight of his emotions silencing him.
He looked back at Scarlet Witch, her serene face somehow both comforting and haunting. She was still fighting, even now. And what was he doing? Sulking in an infirmary, wallowing in self-pity.
Albedo leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. Clea's words came back to him, sharper this time: You've been holding yourself back.
He took a deep breath, the sound shaky in the still room. Maybe she was right. Maybe he had been hiding, running, and wallowing for too long. But if he was ever going to change, he needed to stop being the Albedo who let failure define him. He needed to stop hiding.
"I don't know how," he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I'll figure it out. I have to."
For the first time in a long while, there was a flicker of something inside him—a small, fragile ember of determination. It wasn't much, but it was enough to push him to his feet. Albedo looked at Wanda one last time before leaving the room, her silent battle a reminder that he still had his own to fight.
Albedo stepped out of the infirmary, his boots echoing softly against the stone floors of Castle Doom. The corridors stretched ahead, dark and quiet, the flickering light from enchanted sconces casting faint shadows along the walls. His thoughts churned as he walked, Clea's words still fresh in his mind. He didn't know what he was going to say when he reached Doom's throne room, but he felt an urgent need to face the man who had given him this second chance—and to admit something he hadn't been able to say before.
As he turned a corner, he paused. Ahead of him, leaning casually against the wall, was Rick Jones, still in his A-Bomb form. The massive blue-scaled figure grinned when he saw Albedo, pushing off the wall and strolling forward.
"Hey," Rick said, his voice light but carrying an edge of concern. "We were wondering when you'd drag yourself out of the med bay."
Albedo raised an eyebrow, his usual sharp demeanor softened by exhaustion. "We?"
Before Rick could answer, Luke Cage emerged from a nearby side passage, his imposing figure filling the corridor. He was followed closely by Jean Grey, Polaris, and Winter Soldier. Scarlet Spider limped slightly as he joined them, his movements still recovering but steady enough. Donald Blake, looking pensive as ever, brought up the rear, leaning lightly on the cane he still carried as a reminder of what he had lost.
"Thought you could sneak off without us?" Luke asked, his tone light but his expression serious. "Not happening."
Albedo looked at the group, his crimson eyes flickering with something between frustration and gratitude. "What are you all doing here? Shouldn't you be—"
"Resting? Recovering?" Jean cut in, her voice calm but firm. "We've done enough of that. Right now, we're more interested in what's going on with you."
Rick nodded, his grin fading slightly. "You've been pretty quiet since we got back. And don't try the 'I'm fine' routine. We've all seen enough to know when someone's not."
Albedo hesitated, his gaze darting between them. He wasn't used to this—people standing by him, supporting him. It felt foreign, almost uncomfortable, but at the same time, he couldn't deny the weight it lifted, even slightly.
"I'm heading to Doom's throne room," he admitted after a moment, his voice quieter than usual. "There are things I need to figure out. Things I need to say."
"Then we'll come with you," Polaris said simply, stepping forward.
Albedo shook his head. "This isn't your fight. Not yet. I—"
Jean cut him off again, her expression soft but unwavering. "We're not here because we owe you anything, Albedo. We're here because we believe in what we're doing. And like it or not, you're part of that."
Winter Soldier smirked faintly. "Besides, you're terrible at hiding when something's bothering you. Might as well get it out in the open."
Albedo exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. He didn't know how to respond to their solidarity, their unspoken support. It felt… strange. But in a way, it also felt right.
"Fine," he said finally, his voice steadier now. "You can come. Just… stay out of the way when I talk to Doom. This is something I need to handle."
Rick grinned again, clapping a massive hand on Albedo's shoulder, nearly making him stumble. "That's the spirit! Let's go."
The group fell into step behind Albedo as he continued down the corridor, their presence a quiet but undeniable show of unity. For the first time in a long while, Albedo didn't feel like he was walking alone. And though the weight of his mission hadn't lessened, it no longer felt like it would crush him.
The large, imposing doors to Doom's throne room creaked open as Albedo pushed them with purpose. The faint hum of Doom's technological enhancements blended with the subtle crackle of magical energy in the air. The throne room was a blend of regal elegance and advanced innovation—stone and metal merging seamlessly in a design that spoke to the duality of its ruler.
Dr. Doom sat on his throne, his armor gleaming under the soft light of the room. His sharp, calculating eyes peered out from behind his mask, taking in Albedo and the unexpected group trailing behind him. Doom's hands rested on the arms of his throne, his fingers tapping lightly against the metal as he regarded them.
"Albedo," Doom said, his deep voice resonating through the chamber. "I didn't summon you. Yet here you are, and with your companions, no less. This is… unexpected."
Albedo stepped forward, his crimson eyes meeting Doom's gaze without flinching. "We need to talk."
Doom tilted his head slightly, a faint hint of amusement in his tone. "Indeed? And to what do I owe this sudden burst of initiative?"
"Small talk first," Rick whispered loudly from behind, earning a quick glare from Albedo. Polaris stifled a smirk, while Luke Cage shook his head.
Doom's gaze shifted momentarily to the group before returning to Albedo. "Your entourage seems lively. I trust they are acclimating to Latveria?"
"They're fine," Albedo replied curtly. "And they're not just an entourage. They're part of this fight."
Doom nodded slowly, leaning back in his throne. "So, you've come here for a reason beyond exchanging pleasantries. Speak, Albedo. Why now?"
Albedo hesitated for only a moment before stepping closer, his voice steady but carrying a weight that hadn't been there before. "I want to set up a base outside of Latveria. I'm done hiding here, Doom. It's time we started fighting the Maker on his turf."
The room fell into a stunned silence. The group behind Albedo exchanged glances, their surprise evident. Even Doom paused for a brief moment, the tapping of his fingers stopping as he studied Albedo carefully.
"You wish to leave Latveria?" Doom said finally, his tone sharp and inquisitive. "To challenge the Maker directly?"
"Yes," Albedo said firmly. "Clea… she made me see things clearly. I've been playing it safe, using Latveria as a crutch. It's not enough. The Maker has turned this world into his playground, and as long as we stay here, we're just waiting for him to find us."
Jean stepped forward, her voice soft but steady. "Albedo, are you sure about this? Setting up a base outside of Latveria—it's dangerous. The Maker's forces are everywhere."
"I know it's dangerous," Albedo said, turning to face her and the rest of the group. "But we're not going to win this fight by playing it safe. Clea sacrificed herself so we could have a chance, and I'm not going to waste it."
Rick crossed his arms, his massive form looming over the others. "You're talking about putting a target on your back—on all of our backs."
"Exactly," Albedo said, his gaze fierce. "We need to take that risk. We need to show the world that the Maker isn't invincible, that there's still hope. And we can't do that by sitting behind Doom's walls."
Winter Soldier gave a faint nod, his expression unreadable. "It's bold. Maybe reckless. But it's not wrong."
Doom stood slowly, his imposing presence towering over the group. He stepped forward, his piercing eyes locked onto Albedo. "And what do you expect from me, Albedo? Do you think I will simply allow you to abandon Latveria and walk into the lion's den unprepared?"
"I'm not asking for permission," Albedo said, his voice steady despite Doom's intimidating presence. "I'm asking for support. Resources, guidance—whatever you can give to make this work. You wanted a rebellion against the Maker. This is how it starts."
Doom studied him for a long moment, the silence in the room stretching uncomfortably. Then, to everyone's surprise, Doom let out a low chuckle.
"You've grown, Albedo," Doom said, his voice carrying a hint of approval. "I see Clea's influence has not been wasted on you. Very well. If you are determined to take this step, I will support it. But know this—once you leave Latveria, the Maker will no longer see you as a nuisance. He will see you as a threat."
"That's exactly what I want," Albedo said, his voice filled with newfound conviction.
Doom's imposing figure relaxed slightly, and his gaze, though sharp, softened with something almost resembling approval. "I will admit, Albedo, I am pleased to see this growth in you. When you first arrived here, I doubted whether you could become the leader this rebellion needs. But now, I see the beginnings of a man who is willing to take risks, to step beyond his comfort and confront the chaos head-on."
Albedo inclined his head slightly, unsure how to respond. Praise from Doom was rare, and it carried an unmistakable weight.
Doom turned back to his throne, lifting a small compartment built into its armrest. With a wave of his hand, a hidden drawer slid open, revealing a small package—elegantly wrapped and faintly glowing with residual magical energy. He held it up for all to see. "This is the package Clea left for you, Albedo. It appears she anticipated this moment as well."
Albedo took a step forward, his curiosity piqued. "What's in it?"
Doom unwrapped the package slowly, deliberately. As the final layer of fabric fell away, the room was filled with a soft green glow. Sitting in Doom's gloved hand was the Time Infinity Stone, its surface shimmering with an almost liquid quality as it pulsed faintly with power.
Everyone in the room froze, the weight of the artifact's presence palpable. Even Jean, who was usually calm under pressure, took a step back, her eyes wide.
"That's… that's one of the Infinity Stones," Jean said, her voice barely above a whisper. "How…?"
"Clea was the Sorcerer Supreme's wife," Doom explained, his voice measured. "It stands to reason that she safeguarded such artifacts after her husband's passing. The Time Stone has been hidden, protected from the Maker's reach. And now, it is in our possession."
Albedo frowned, his gaze shifting between the stone and Doom. "Why give it to us now? What does she want us to do with it?"
Doom waved his free hand, and the glow of the Time Stone shifted, projecting an image into the air. Clea's face appeared, ethereal and shimmering, her expression calm but resolute.
"If you are seeing this, then my predictions were correct," her voice echoed softly, filling the room. "The Time Stone has been placed in your care, Doom, and through you, Albedo. Its power is not to be used recklessly—it is a tool, not a weapon. But its presence will guide you to the sanctums I have prepared. These sanctums will serve as safe havens, bases from which you can strike back against the Maker."
The projection shifted, showing several locations across the globe. Each one glowed faintly, marking a hidden sanctum. One in New York stood out among the others, its aura brighter, more vibrant. Clea's voice continued.
"The sanctums have been prepared to shield you from the Maker's influence. Each is equipped with the knowledge and resources you will need to continue this fight. The New York sanctum will serve as your starting point, Albedo. It is strong, but it will require a leader to make it effective. You must be that leader."
The projection faded, the Time Stone's glow dimming slightly as Doom enclosed it once more. He turned back to the group, his expression unreadable.
"There was more to her message," Doom admitted, "but that part was for me alone. What matters is that Clea has given you the tools you need to begin your campaign outside Latveria."
Albedo stared at the now-concealed stone, his mind racing. "The New York sanctum… that's where we'll go."
Doom nodded. "It will be dangerous, but Clea's magic will shield you for a time. Use the sanctum wisely, Albedo. Build your foundation there. And remember her words—the Time Stone is a tool, not a weapon. Do not let its power consume you."
Albedo took a deep breath, his resolve hardening. "We'll make it work. We have to."
The group exchanged glances, the gravity of the moment settling over them. This wasn't just a step forward—it was the beginning of a new phase in their fight against the Maker. And for the first time, Albedo felt like he was ready to lead them into it.
.........
The New York Sanctum was unlike anything Albedo had ever seen, even with all his experiences with advanced technology and magic. The exterior, nestled inconspicuously in a quiet part of the city, gave no indication of what lay within. The inside, however, was an entirely different story—a sprawling, multi-leveled labyrinth that blended ancient mysticism with cutting-edge innovation.
Albedo stood in the main chamber, the heart of the sanctum. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings and symbols that pulsed faintly with magical energy. Runes glowed softly in various places, their purposes ranging from defensive wards to environmental stabilizers. The central feature of the room was a massive, hovering orb of light that constantly shifted colors. Doom had explained it was a "Nexus Core," a magical artifact Clea had left behind that tied the sanctum's protections to the greater magical flow of the city.
But it wasn't just magic. Albedo and Doom had spent weeks integrating technology into the sanctum. Panels of advanced screens and controls lined the walls, displaying everything from global surveillance feeds to real-time magical fluctuations. The systems were linked directly to Latveria, allowing Doom to monitor and communicate with them at all times.
The sanctum's main chamber also served as a gateway. A shimmering portal stood to one side of the room, intricately framed with enchanted metals. It pulsed faintly, a direct connection to a mirrored room in Latveria. It allowed for instant travel between the two locations, ensuring Doom and the others could come and go as needed.
Rick Jones—still in his A-Bomb form—stood by one of the screens, his massive fingers tapping carefully at the controls. "Man, I gotta say, this place is way cooler than I thought it'd be. Feels like I'm in some kind of sci-fi wizard movie."
Jean Grey was nearby, her gaze scanning the magical symbols along the walls. She reached out with her telepathic senses, brushing lightly against the wards. "It's… overwhelming," she admitted. "The magic here is so intricate, so layered. It feels alive."
Polaris moved through the room, her eyes darting to the glowing orb in the center. "This place has power," she said quietly. "Real power. No wonder Clea wanted us here."
Scarlet Spider perched on a ledge above them, still adjusting to being active again after his recovery. "I'm just glad it doesn't smell like old books and dust. I was worried this place would feel like a museum."
Albedo smirked faintly at their comments, but his attention was focused on the workstations he and Doom had set up. One section of the room was dedicated to tactical operations, complete with holographic displays that projected maps and mission data. Another was a small but highly advanced medical bay, equipped with both Latverian technology and magical healing runes.
Nearby, Donald Blake was inspecting the medical equipment with quiet interest. He still carried his cane, but there was a determination in his movements now that hadn't been there before. "Doom's handiwork, I assume?" he asked, gesturing to the sleek designs.
"Doom's and mine," Albedo replied. "We had to merge the tech and magic into something cohesive. The sanctum had good bones, but it needed… upgrades."
"It's more than that," Jean said, turning to face him. "This isn't just a hideout. It's a base of operations. A place where we can actually start fighting back."
Albedo nodded, his gaze sweeping over the room. "That's the idea. The Maker has the world under his thumb, but we've got something he doesn't—freedom to move, to plan, to strike. And we're going to use it."
Rick grinned, crossing his arms. "So, what's next, boss? This place is cool and all, but I'm ready to punch something."
"Patience," Albedo said, though his tone carried a hint of amusement. "We'll get there. First, we need to make sure this place is secure and fully operational."
Behind him, the portal shimmered, and a familiar figure stepped through. Doom's imposing form entered the sanctum, his presence immediately commanding attention. He surveyed the room with a critical eye before turning to Albedo.
"The sanctum is functional," Doom said, his tone measured. "But it will require constant vigilance. The Maker's reach is vast, and he will sense this place eventually. When he does, we must be ready."
"We will be," Albedo replied, his voice firm.
Doom inclined his head slightly. "Good. Then let us continue to strengthen this foundation. This sanctum will be your staging ground, Albedo. Use it wisely."
Albedo watched as Doom began inspecting one of the magical wards, his mind already racing with ideas for how to utilize the sanctum. This was the first real step in taking the fight to the Maker, and he wasn't going to waste it.