Now that we have glimpsed deeper into the Doom-Verse's past, let us return to the present—where its most brutal duels unfold. Through these battles, we may yet uncover greater truths about Doom itself.
As we know, Doom Master—also known as Moros—and Hanz have lost all memories of their past lives. Yet, despite their amnesia, the Doom-Verse thrives. Its foundations slither with the energy of the Serpents of Doom, unseen forces that make everything work. And at their helm, Doom Master remains the sole ruler of all.
But for now, that is not our focus.
Today, we turn our gaze to the contenders—the challengers who seek to have their wishes granted.
Upon his colossal, blackened throne, Doom Master sat, his expression etched with irritation.
The duels had become tedious.
Predictable. Uninspired.
Each fight felt like an exact copy of the last—no risks, no unknowns, no genuine thrill.
Doom Master drummed his fingers against the armrest, his golden eyes narrowing.
His patience had long since worn thin.
Enough.
His voice thundered through the chamber.
"HANZ! Get your ass over here!"
For a moment, silence.
Then, at last, the great doors groaned open.
Hanz entered, his expression as neutral as ever. He bowed low before speaking.
"Yes, my lord. You called?"
Doom Master gestured sharply for him to come closer.
Obediently, Hanz stepped forward.
Then—
Doom Master seized Hanz's head and slammed it against the cold stone floor.
"You moron." His voice was low, edged with irritation. "How dare you keep me waiting?"
With a slow, deliberate movement, he pressed his foot onto Hanz's skull, grinding his face into the ground.
"You should fall the moment you see me. Understand?"
"…Yes, my lord," Hanz responded, his voice eerily calm.
A moment passed.
Doom Master released him with a shove.
Hanz rose, dusting himself off as though nothing had happened. "May I ask why you called me, my lord?"
Doom Master sighed, stretching in his throne.
"These duels bore me," he muttered. "They lack creativity. They lack excitement."
He tapped his golden trident against the floor, the sound echoing through the vast chamber.
"I want something new. Something better." His golden eyes gleamed. "You're going to come up with it. And you're going to do it fast."
Hanz didn't hesitate. "My lord, I have already prepared something."
Doom Master raised an eyebrow.
"I propose a two-versus-two system," Hanz continued. "Fewer fights, but more brutality. More chaos. More entertainment."
For the first time in a while, Doom Master smirked.
"You should have told me sooner." He leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist.
"But I'll forgive you. You've made me happy."
He waved dismissively.
"Now go. Prepare everything."
Hanz bowed. "As you command."
Then, without another word, he disappeared through the towering doors.
Still, even after Hanz departed, Doom Master found himself restless.
His mind screamed for something new, something thrilling—and so he left.
With a single step, he tore through the veil of dimensions, slipping effortlessly between the infinite realities of the multiverse.
For a god like him, the act was as simple as breathing.
Through countless realms he wandered, observing warriors, beasts, and powers beyond imagination.
In one universe, humans wielded swords made from condensed lightning.
In another, giants waged wars across shattered moons.
And in yet another, a single being devoured entire civilizations with a whisper.
Doom Master grinned.
This…
This was interesting.
New elements. New weapons. New challenges for his tournament.
Before returning home, he reached out to Hanz through their shared connection.
"Hanz."
The response was immediate. "Yes, my lord?"
"Add classification wheels to the system. Introduce some of these new races. I will transfer the information directly into your mind."
A moment later, he was back.
Hanz awaited him at the throne room's entrance, his preparations already complete.
"My lord," he said, bowing. "Everything is ready. We are prepared to summon the first fighters."
Doom Master grinned.
"Excellent."
He leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist.
"Let's begin."
Hanz raised his hands, activating the summoning circle at the center of the chamber.
The runes on the floor pulsed with an eerie glow.
A deep hum resonated through the room.
Then—two figures materialized in the center of the circle.
The first challengers had arrived.
Lucas Caldwell and Mark Baryon.
Their eyes held no fear—only certainty.
Mark spoke first. "Greetings, God of Doom. We have awaited this moment."
Lucas continued, "We already know of the multiverse. And you—you saved our home."
Mark stepped forward. "Because of you, we have built a faith. A religion that worships you as the one who stands above even Fate itself."
Lucas announced "We, know about your war, against faith, and we want to join you in the next flights, please allow us"
Doom Master stared at them, unimpressed.
"I don't care what you're talking about." He pointed toward the massive Wheels of Doom behind them.
"Spin your stats. And get out of my sight."
The two men exchanged confused glances.
Still, they did not resist, they thought it was trial to see their beliefe.
"As you command," they said in unison.
Hanz led them to the Wheels of Doom, his usual smirk returning.
"Well then," he mused. "Since you two will be a team, you should know each other well."
Hanz's eyes gleamed.
"First things first—what will your new names be?"
Mark stepped forward. "Preston."
Lucas nodded. "Tildtetiles."
Hanz clapped his hands.
"Very well. Now, let's spin."
The first wheel turned.
Preston's fate was sealed:
Race: Shinobi
Height: 1.5 meters
Abilities: Susanoo, Cognition, Explosion
Weapon: Crossbow
Then, Tildtetiles spun his wheel.
Race: Orc
Height: 3.3 meters
Abilities: Air Control
Weapon: Pipe
Hanz smirked. "Not bad."
He snapped his fingers, summoning a portal.
"Now, let me teleport you to the training grounds."
The two warriors bowed toward Doom Master before vanishing into the vortex.
Doom Master's fingers drummed against the armrest of his throne, he was dissatisfied.
"Hanz," he muttered. "That took too long."
With a single tap of his trident, the air rippled and twisted—a new chamber manifested in an instant.
A realm where time moved faster.
"From now on," Doom Master smirked. "Things will progress at my pace."
Hanz bowed. "You truly are a genius, my lord."
Doom Master stood, stretching.
"I'm leaving. I'll return when everything is ready."
Hanz watched as Doom Master vanished into the darkness.
Left alone, he sighed, cracking his neck.
"Alright then, let's do some work" he muttered, clapping his hands together.
Two new figures appeared before him.
"Welcome to the Doom-Verse, dear fighters," Hanz greeted them with a smirk.
"Let's see if you can survive."