The chapter is divided into 3 parts
1 Intro of Doomsday
2 Doomsday entry
3 Avengers investigate the ruins
Chapter 1 Intro of Doomsday
..He is the main powerful character in this story.
Powars:
1 He has a magical stick which has no limits of power,no-one can lift it just like Thor's hammer
2 He has the power of disappear he can go through the help of the power
3 Adaptive Evolution (Most Dangerous Power)
• Doomsday evolves instantly after every death.
• He never dies the same way twice.
Example: If he's killed by fire once → he becomes fire-proof forever.
4 Super Strength
Strong enough to kill Superman (yes, he actually did).
Can destroy cities with raw physical power.
5 Near-Immortality
Can be killed temporarily, but always comes back stronger.
Aging, disease, poison—don't affect him.
6 Invulnerability
Extremely resistant to:
Physical attacks
Energy blasts
Extreme temperatures
Radiation
7 Regeneration
Heals rapidly from injuries.
Lost limbs or organs can regrow.
8 No Pain / No Fear
Feels no pain, no emotions, only destruction.
Never retreats, never negotiates.
Chapter 2. Doomsday entry
No alarms sounded when it began. No satellites screamed warnings. No mystic sensed a ripple strong enough to name. One moment, the city existed—alive, breathing, loud with human urgency—and the next, it simply did not. Streets that had carried thousands were reduced to fractured veins of concrete, buildings folded inward as if crushed by invisible hands, and the sky above hung unnaturally still, refusing to reflect the chaos below. There was no explosion, no blazing fireball to announce destruction. It was quieter than that. Terrifyingly quieter. The kind of silence that follows something final. At the epicenter of what had once been a thriving metropolis stood a single figure, unmoving, untouched, as if reality itself had stepped aside for him. He did not arrive in lightning or flame. He was simply there, as though the universe had forgotten to say no. In his hand rested a staff—ancient, dark, etched with symbols that seemed to shift when not directly observed. The ground beneath it cracked not from weight, but from submission. No force attempted to lift it from his grasp, because nothing dared. This weapon did not measure worth; it denied opposition. Around him, the air bent subtly, like the world struggling to remember its own laws. A helicopter blade fell from the sky in pieces, its metal sliced apart without contact, without resistance. Soldiers—trained, disciplined, prepared for war—never had time to raise their weapons. Their bodies lay where they stood, unburned, unbroken, simply… ended. As if existence had been revoked.
The figure moved at last. One step forward erased what remained of a city block. Another step collapsed a bridge miles away, the shock traveling through the earth like a whisper carried too far. He did not run. He did not fly. He walked, and the world yielded. Bullets struck him moments later—too late, too desperate—flattening against his skin before dissolving into harmless dust. Missiles followed, streaks of human defiance tearing through the clouds, only to vanish inches from his body, erased by a force that did not care to acknowledge them. Not invulnerability. Not armor. Something worse. Adaptation. The first missile's heat washed over him, and the second found no temperature to affect. Energy beams cut through the smoke, carving lines of blinding light, and by the time the glow faded, his body had already changed—skin adjusting, structure rewriting itself, evolution accelerated beyond comprehension. The concept of repetition meant nothing to him. Every attempt to kill him was merely a lesson he learned instantly.
In a blink, he was no longer there. Space folded inward, and the figure disappeared—not fleeing, not retreating, but relocating as if distance were an inconvenience rather than a barrier. He reappeared at the heart of a power facility miles away, the staff touching the ground once. The city's remaining lights died together, plunging everything into a darkness so complete it felt deliberate. Hospitals went silent. Communications failed. Hope flickered—and went out. Somewhere deep beneath the ruins, survivors screamed, but the sound never reached him. Pain did not exist to him. Fear did not register. Emotion had no language in his mind. There was only destruction, methodical and absolute.
By the time the Avengers arrived, the catastrophe had already ended. Quinjets hovered over a scarred landscape that no longer resembled a city. Captain America stood frozen at the ramp, shield hanging heavy at his side, eyes tracing devastation that strategy could not explain. Thor felt it then—a deep, instinctive resistance in the air, like Mjolnir itself was uneasy, as though something nearby denied the very idea of worthiness. Doctor Strange's hands trembled slightly as he tried to read the aftermath, but the future beyond this moment was blurred, fractured, rewritten. "This wasn't a battle," he finally said, voice low. "It was an introduction."
They found no body to fight. No enemy to chase. Only footprints embedded into solid stone, each one radiating a pressure that made the strongest among them uneasy. At the center of the ruins, carved into the ground as if by deliberate design, was a symbol none of them recognized—but all of them felt. A warning without words. Somewhere beyond sight, beyond sound, beyond the reach of even gods, Doomsday moved on. The world had survived him once. It would not be so fortunate the next time.
Chapter 3. Avengers investigate the ruins
The ruins did not feel dead. They felt abandoned—like the world had stepped out for a moment and never returned. Ash drifted through the air in lazy spirals, untouched by wind, settling on twisted steel and shattered glass as if time itself had slowed to observe the damage. The Quinjet hovered low, its engines the only sound brave enough to exist here. When the ramp lowered, no one spoke. They didn't need to. The destruction spoke for them.
Captain America was the first to step down. His boots met the ground with a dull crunch, fragments of concrete breaking apart under his weight. He paused, scanning the horizon, instinctively mapping threats, exits, formations—habits forged in war. But there was nothing to plan for here. No enemy positions. No signs of resistance. Just absence. His shield felt heavier than usual, like it understood how useless it might become.
Behind him, Thor stepped out, Stormbreaker resting against his shoulder. His eyes narrowed, not in anger, but confusion. "This place," he muttered, his voice low. "It does not feel conquered. It feels… rejected." He knelt and pressed a hand against the ground. The earth did not answer him. No hum of energy, no echo of magic. It was as if something had passed through and stripped the land of the right to respond.
Bruce Banner followed, Hulk contained but restless beneath his skin. His scanner flickered wildly as he moved, readings spiking and collapsing without pattern. "This doesn't make sense," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "No radiation signature. No residual gamma. No consistent energy source. Whatever did this didn't release power—it imposed it." He stopped near what had once been a hospital entrance. The building hadn't collapsed outward or inward. It had simply… ended. The structure stopped existing halfway through its frame, like a bad edit in reality.
Natasha Romanoff crouched near the remains of a military vehicle, her fingers brushing the edge of a melted weapon barrel. "There was no fight," she said quietly. "No defensive lines. No fallback positions. They didn't even get a chance to panic." She'd seen battlefields all over the world, but this one unsettled her in a way she couldn't articulate. Violence usually left fingerprints—fear, chaos, desperation. This left none.
Tony Stark's helmet disengaged, nanotech folding back as his eyes darted across a thousand holographic overlays only he could see. "Okay," he said finally, voice forced into something lighter than he felt. "Either someone rewrote physics, magic, and common sense all at once, or we just met something that doesn't need to play by the rules." His tech struggled to interpret the data. Structures erased without heat. Bodies gone without impact. Energy signatures that vanished the moment they were recorded. "FRIDAY, tell me you're seeing this too."
"I am, boss," the AI replied. "And I don't like it."
Doctor Strange arrived last, appearing in a brief shimmer of light. The Cloak of Levitation stirred uneasily, as if disturbed by something it couldn't see. Strange's eyes glowed faintly as he examined the ruins, hands moving in slow, careful gestures. "There's a distortion here," he said. "Not a tear. Not a spell. More like… a correction. As if reality decided these things were mistakes."
They moved deeper into the ruins together. Every step revealed something worse. Footprints embedded into solid stone, each one perfectly formed, radiating a pressure that made even Thor straighten unconsciously. Strange stopped beside one, crouching to examine it. "This wasn't made by weight alone," he said. "This was intention."
Banner swallowed. "Something walked here that didn't just exist in this world. It dominated it."
A sudden beeping cut through the silence. Tony's display locked onto a damaged satellite feed recovered moments earlier. The footage flickered, grainy and unstable, but clear enough to chill them all. A figure stood in the center of the city, massive, unmoving. In his hand—something long, dark, ancient. The staff. The image jumped forward seconds at a time. Missiles vanished midair. Energy beams dissolved inches from his body. The figure did not flinch. Did not react. Did not acknowledge resistance.
Then came the moment that froze them.
The footage showed a final barrage—everything thrown at once. Fire, kinetic force, energy, sound. The screen whited out. When the image returned, the figure remained. Changed. Subtly. His skin darker, denser. His presence heavier. Banner's hands trembled. "He adapted," he whispered. "Not over time. Instantly."
Strange straightened slowly. His expression was grim in a way none of them liked. "I tried to see the outcome," he said. "Every future where we confront him directly ends the same way." He hesitated. "We lose. And he becomes stronger because of it."
Thor's grip tightened around Stormbreaker. "Then we strike harder," he said, though the conviction sounded thinner than usual.
"No," Strange replied. "That's exactly what he wants."
Natasha stood, eyes fixed on the horizon. "So what is he?"
No one answered immediately.
Finally, Banner spoke. "He's evolution weaponized. Death isn't an end for him—it's data."
Tony exhaled sharply. "Great. So we're fighting a learning curve with fists."
Captain America stepped forward then, planting his shield into the ground. "We've faced impossible odds before," he said. "But this isn't about charging in. It's about understanding the enemy before he understands us." He looked at each of them in turn. "We don't attack. We observe. We protect civilians. We buy time."
A low vibration rippled through the ground beneath their feet—not violent, but deliberate. Everyone froze.
Strange's eyes widened. "He's moving again," he said quietly. "Another city. Another introduction."
Far away, unseen, Doomsday continued his march. And the Avengers finally understood the truth they had been avoiding since they arrived.
This was not a war.
It was a countdown.