New Yorkers' sense of contentment was born entirely of comparison. Look at Los Angeles—what had the City of Angels turned into? Then look at us. We had our own superheroes, and four of them all at once. Wasn't that something to be proud of?
The more enthusiastic citizens even assigned the four specific roles within the team.
Without any of them being consulted, Reed Richards—Mr. Fantastic—was declared the team's mind. The Invisible Woman was the heart. The Human Torch was the arms. And the Thing was the body.
The four stared at the designations in bewilderment. Even Bella thought New Yorkers' enthusiasm was a bit much.
Was it really that exciting?
The four were quintessential Americans—they had almost no resistance to public adoration. The Fantastic Four brand was officially cemented.
Victor Von Doom's experience, meanwhile, had been a roller coaster of a very different kind.
Von Doom Industries was abandoned by its investors. A company he'd spent every year since graduation pouring himself into—a decade of relentless effort—went bankrupt overnight.
Ten years of work, gone. But amid the devastation, Victor discovered that he hadn't come away empty-handed.
Magic.
His mother had been a Gypsy witch. During his birth, through some transference of magical energy, Victor had retained memories from the moment he was born. Other children didn't form lasting memories until three or four, sometimes five years old. Not him. From his very first breath, he possessed a mature and fully functional memory.
His brain had developed extraordinarily early.
He had always known his witch mother's magic—but much like 006, without any magical energy in his body, he could only be a theoretical giant. In practice, he couldn't cast a thing.
The cosmic storm's bombardment had ignited a tremendous surge of energy within his cells. He drew on that cellular power and channeled it through magical frameworks—a process not unlike Storm using her mutant abilities to drive magical effects.
Victor's company was dead. But he had been reborn.
Victor Von Doom arrived at 177A Bleecker Street, Greenwich Village, New York—the front door of the New York Sanctum.
He smiled. It was not a kind smile.
Professor Xavier had long known through telepathy that a group of sorcerers operated here. Victor, having lived in New York for over a decade, had also stumbled upon the Sanctum by chance.
He'd always been aware of the sorcerers stationed inside. Ordinarily he hadn't given them a second thought—they didn't seem particularly impressive. But today, wielding the Gypsy magic inherited from his mother, he'd detected several powerful artifacts stored within the Sanctum.
He came at once. Those artifacts should belong to him.
He broke through the illusion ward at the entrance with ease and strode inside.
"Stranger. You are not welcome here. Leave immediately."
Holding a staff wound with layers of arcane script—looking more like a monk than a sorcerer—Master Daniel Drumm blocked his path.
More than a dozen Kamar-Taj disciples poured out of their chambers and lined up behind the guardian.
As the guardian of the New York Sanctum, Daniel Drumm would not permit an uninvited intruder to set foot inside the Sanctum.
"Make me leave? Then show me what you've got." A torrent of magical lightning crackled between Victor's fingers, savage and lethal.
The bolt streaked toward Daniel Drumm's heart with blinding speed.
But the monk-like Master was no amateur. He was among the finest at Kamar-Taj and had been one of the dozen-plus Masters who'd once ganged up on Bella herself. His personal skill was formidable. He'd already deployed a Mirror Dimension well in advance; the lightning appeared to strike his heart, but his true body stood three meters away.
He bellowed and slammed the enchanted staff against the floor. The Mirror Dimension began to fold and twist according to his will.
His opponent had gone for the kill, but Daniel still exercised restraint. The technique wasn't lethal—he simply intended to eject Victor from the Sanctum.
Victor, however, lacked any understanding of magic beyond Gypsy witchcraft. Watching the Mirror Dimension collapse toward him like a tidal wave, he slashed open his own arm and chanted in a low voice. A thick, acrid black mist rolled across the battlefield.
Daniel Drumm's brow furrowed. This stranger had no idea when to quit.
"Leave this place. You understand nothing about the world of magic. You have no idea what you've walked into."
Victor sneered. "Save the speeches. In a fight, you focus on fighting... Found you!"
A pitch-black arm lunged for Daniel's chest. Victor's savagery forced the Master to abandon his composure.
"You're summoning demons? You're desecrating this sacred ground!"
Golden magical energy flared from both ends of the short staff, and it elongated into a full-length weapon.
Daniel swung three times in rapid succession, each strike landing on the exact same point on the demon's outstretched palm. He hammered the entity—already halfway through the breach into the Material Plane—back into Hell. But the moment of advantage was lost. Victor produced a crudely stitched straw doll and a rune-carved awl, then drove the point into the doll's heart.
Daniel spat blood. The Mirror Dimension shattered, and both combatants were dumped back into the New York Sanctum.
"So that's the magic of your lineage? Exquisite technique. You, however, are sorely lacking." Victor offered his critique with casual disdain, every syllable dripping contempt.
He reached out with his left hand—now gleaming as though cast from metal—seized Daniel's staff, and wrenched it toward himself. Then he swung his right foot up and drove a brutal kick into the Master's chest.
The kick compounded his injuries. The powerfully built Daniel Drumm sailed seven or eight meters through the air. Several of his students rushed to help him up.
Victor picked up the staff, inspected it idly, then gripped both ends and snapped it in two with a clean crack.
"Garbage. You people don't have the skill to protect those artifacts. Hand them over. Let me take them off your hands for safekeeping—ha ha ha ha!"
With the strongest among them beaten, he couldn't resist throwing his head back in a triumphant laugh.
Several Kamar-Taj sorcerers, incensed by his arrogance, attacked in concert. But against a man proficient in elemental magic, dark magic, and hexcraft alike, they were swatted aside without effort.
"Did you think this was a game? With skills like those, you dare fight me?"
Victor caught a young Latino sorcerer by the throat with one hand, mockery curling his lip. His fingers tightened, intent on strangling the young man where he stood.
Then his hand was empty. The sorcerer simply vanished—as if he'd been teleported sideways—and reappeared several paces away. From the far end of the Sanctum, a young woman approached at an unhurried pace. Delicate features, a calm expression, and a floral sundress.
"Little Martial Aunt!"
"Martial Great-Aunt!"
"Martial Great-Great-Aunt!"
As the Ancient One's personal disciple, Bella's seniority within the order was extraordinary. With an enemy storming the New York Sanctum, she couldn't stand by and watch—not in good conscience. Even though the Sanctum hadn't called for help, she'd still rushed over, arriving just in time to pluck an apprentice of uncertain generational distance from Victor's grip.