Chapter 183 Dinner with Doom
The theatre was candlelit elegance, velvet curtains breathing with the hush of an eager crowd. Kitty's eyes sparkled brighter than the stage lights. She leaned forward, practically vibrating in her seat.
"Storm, look—her footwork's perfect. See that extension? If I practice, maybe I—"
Ororo smiled, serene, indulgent. "Child, you already dance like the wind. Tonight, you may simply enjoy."
Neither of them noticed the door open behind their private box. A shadow slid inside, silent, snake-smooth.
The first touch was cold fingers on their necks. Kitty's squeak of surprise, Ororo's sudden flare of alarm—too late. Poison needles kissed skin.
With a gasp, Ororo threw her arms wide. The air in the room howled to life, blasting the intruder against the paneled wall. Light flared in her eyes.
"By the Goddess—you dare?"
The woman straightened, coughing dust. Her dress was sleek, her smile crooked.
"Name's Miss Locke. Arcade's right hand. And before you summon a hurricane in this cozy room, hear this—fight me and the toxin kills you both. No antidote. Yet."
Kitty blinked fast, lips pale. "S-Storm? I don't… feel…" She sagged, unconscious.
Ororo staggered too, strength leaking away. "What… what have you… done?"
Locke crouched, smug. "Insurance. Your friends and family are my guests: Jean Grey's parents. Amanda Sefton. Moira MacTaggert. Colossus' baby sister, Illyana. If you want them alive, you and your merry mutants fetch Arcade. He's Doom's prisoner now. Fail me—and they all die."
Darkness closed in around Ororo's eyes, and she collapsed beside Kitty.
---
The next day, at Xavier's School, the thundercloud in Ororo's gaze matched the literal one forming over the mansion spires. The team gathered: Logan, Nightcrawler, Colossus, Thunderbird, Angel, Kitty pale but awake, Xavier calm in his chair.
Ororo's voice was sharp. "I searched their homes. Found nothing but Arcade's calling cards. Doom's castle is our destination."
Logan grunted. "That stinks of a setup. You start lettin' creeps yank your chain with hostages, they'll keep doin' it. Gotta send a message—nobody threatens us without bleeding for it."
Colossus slammed a fist into his palm. "My sister, Logan. I will not gamble with her life."
Logan shot him a look, steel behind the smirk. "Ain't gambling, tin man. It's makin' sure creeps like Locke don't think they can play puppet master. You go in eyes closed, you lose more than your sister."
Xavier interjected, voice steady, paternal. "Logan's right—partially. We cannot let precedent chain us. But we will save the hostages and retrieve Arcade. We'll need reinforcements."
And so, the next day, old ghosts walked familiar halls. Havok, Polaris, Banshee, Iceman—all answering Charles' call. There were embraces, awkward laughter, quick reminders of past battles.
Kitty pouted when told to stay behind. "I can fight!"
Logan ruffled her hair, almost gentle. "You'll fight plenty, kid. But not this rodeo. Be grateful."
She scowled. "I'm not grateful. I'm Kitty Pryde."
Thunderbird snorted. "Kid's got fire."
Storm gathered them like a general with her troops. Xavier assigned the splits:
Doom's castle infiltration: Logan, Storm, Colossus, Nightcrawler, Thunderbird, Angel.
Hostage rescue: Havok, Polaris, Iceman, Banshee.
Each nodded grimly, even as Logan muttered under his breath, "Two teams, two powder kegs. Let's see who blows up first."
Latveria's mountains loomed black against a bruised sky. Doom's castle rose from the cliffs like a jagged crown, windows glowing hellfire gold.
From above, a streak of light split the night — a bolt of living lightning, crashing into the courtyard. When the brilliance faded, Storm stood tall, cloak snapping in the crackling air.
Her voice rang regal: "Victor von Doom. I am not here as enemy — only to free the man you imprison."
Doom emerged from the shadows, cloak sweeping like a monarch's banner, voice deep, amused.
"You speak of Arcade? Curious. You trespass in Doom's domain, and yet you ask… a favor."
Ororo met his gaze unflinching. "If there is honor in you, grant this."
Doom's mask tilted, metal lips curling in something that might have been a smile.
"Doom's honor is not in question, woman of storms. But requests require reciprocity. You will dine with me."
Her eyes narrowed. "You bargain with lives?"
"I bargain always, Ororo Munroe. Even gods negotiate with Doom."
---
Meanwhile—
High on the castle's roof, Angel hovered, wings beating softly. He ferried the team down one by one, Logan landing last with a thud and a grunt.
"Next time, I'll take the stairs," Logan muttered, sniffing the cold stone. His senses stretched.
Colossus whispered, "The card said Arcade is held below."
Logan raised a hand. "Wait. Don't smell Arcade in there." He tapped his temple. "And I see somethin' else."
His new thermal vision lit the world in ghostly hues. Through the stone, behind the target chamber, four human-shaped flares glowed — armed, crouching, waiting.
"Ambush," Logan growled. "Four tin cans in powered suits. Back wall. They think we're dumb enough to walk into the box."
Thunderbird grinned wolfish. "Then let's not be dumb."
Nightcrawler's tail flicked. "A pity. I vas looking forward to a dramatic rescue."
Angel smirked. "You'll get your drama, Kurt. Just not theirs."
They burst through the side wall, claws, fists, wings, teleportation bamfs — hitting the armored men before they even raised their guns.
One tried to crush Angel with a hydraulic gauntlet — but Colossus caught it, metal fingers crushing the gauntlet into scrap.
Thunderbird body-slammed another, roaring, "Surprise!"
Nightcrawler blinked in and out around his target, tail whipping, laughing. "You swing like a drunk at Oktoberfest!"
Logan met his mark head-on. The man raised his blaster—Logan's claws cut the barrel in two, then the arm inside. Sparks, screams, the smell of ozone and blood.
"Trap sprung," Logan muttered, shaking gore from his claws. "Keep movin'."
---
At that same moment—
Storm sat across from Doom at a long, obsidian table. Food was laid out, rich and absurd — roasted pheasant, jeweled goblets, bread still steaming. Doom barely touched it. His masked face was angled down, toward screens hidden in his table's surface.
On them flickered the images of Logan and the others tearing through his guards.
"Impressive," Doom mused aloud. "Your comrades fight with the tenacity of wolves. Especially your… Wolverine."
Storm's jaw tightened. "We are not here to impress you."
Doom leaned forward, fingers steepled. "And yet, you do."
He tapped a control. Another panel slid open — and from the shadows stepped a familiar red-haired man in white, grinning like a carnival devil.
"Arcade," Storm breathed. Her stomach dropped.
Arcade bowed dramatically, twirling a rose between his fingers. "Ta-da! Thought you were rescuing me? Guess what, darlin' — I'm already Doom's guest of honor. And now you are too."
Ororo's hand twitched, lightning crackling in her eyes. "I should have known…"
But Doom was already moving. From beneath the table, he revealed a small, orb-like device — smooth, gleaming, alive with pulsing green veins.
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it toward her.
Storm rose, winds exploding around her, a hurricane in the dining hall. But the orb didn't falter. It chased, zig-zagging through the gale, homing relentless as fate.
She darted left, then right, but it closed in. "No!"
The orb struck her chest — and in an instant, her body locked. Skin turned silver, hair froze in place like a crown of metal threads.
Ororo Munroe, goddess of the storm, was transformed into living steel.
Her eyes, wide and furious, were the last thing to freeze solid.
Arcade clapped like a delighted child. "Encore! Encore!"
Doom's voice was cold, final. "Dinner… is concluded."