For Earth-2149, the apocalypse had not been entirely canceled, merely delayed.
Although Peter had managed to weaponize the fading remnants of the Uni-Power, instantly vaporizing hundreds of superpowered zombies on his flight back to the castle, he couldn't eradicate the entire global infection. Pockets of the undead still roamed the ruins of New York, and several terrified, rotting stragglers had actively fled the Latverian borders once they realized their god-tier vanguard had been dusted.
The planetary quarantine had to proceed exactly as planned.
Fortunately, the massive bottleneck of Latverian civilian refugees had already crossed through the shimmering dimensional archway. The only people left standing in the cold, echoing throne room were the surviving heroes.
"Doom shall be the last to leave," the Doctor Doom of Earth-616 announced, his heavy steel boots clanking against the stone floor. He turned his masked face toward Reed Richards, then glanced at his dimensional counterpart. "A true monarch does not abandon his realm until the safety of his subjects is absolutely assured."
"Indeed," the 2149 Doctor Doom agreed, his voice a perfect, metallic echo. "The sovereign remains until the end."
Peter stood near the edge of the portal, his lenses narrowing as he looked back and forth between the two armored dictators. The air between them tasted like battery acid and impending betrayal. Something was incredibly off. Peter opened his mouth to object, but a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder.
Reed Richards gave Peter a firm, silent squeeze. Let it go, the gesture said.
Peter swallowed his unease, tapping his fingers against his thighs. "Right. Okay. I'll jump through first and give the local Avengers the rundown. Like I said, the universe we're heading into is a post-apocalyptic Wasteland, so we're going to need to establish a hard perimeter immediately." He pointed a finger at the portal frame. "And just as a heads-up, that reality already has an elderly, extremely hostile version of Doom running around. We might have to deal with him the second we land. I'll get things set up, then I'll swing back and physically smash this console."
Without waiting for a response, Peter stepped backward, letting the swirling blue energy swallow him.
Reed didn't spare another glance at the two monarchs. He simply adjusted his collar, gathered Susan, Ben, and Johnny, and marched the Fantastic Four into the rift.
Magneto lingered in the courtyard for a moment. The Master of Magnetism slowly walked through the crushed masonry, extending his hands. Jagged pieces of metal ripped themselves free from the mud. He silently gathered the tarnished, blood-stained remnants of his fallen enemies—the shattered pieces of Iron Man's armor, Captain America's cracked vibranium shield, and Nova's dented gold helmet. He floated the salvaged gear behind him like a solemn funeral procession, hoping the technology would prove useful in their new home, and stepped through the gateway.
The surviving mutants from Asteroid X followed closely behind, flanked by Dazzler and the Scarlet Witch.
Ash Williams was the absolute last in line. He dragged his feet, his chainsaw idling with a low, unhappy sputter. Despite desperately wanting to play house with the surviving heroines, he was already whining about the destination.
"Hey, metal-heads," Ash called out, looking at the two Dooms. "Do I seriously have to go to a desert? Can I just, I don't know, pick a different universe? I've done enough camping in the dirt."
"Once the primary anchor is severed, the dimensional tunnel will destabilize," the 2149 Doom stated without turning around. "For a span of approximately twelve seconds before the collapse, the trajectory will randomize. You may take your chances with the cosmic roulette."
"Groovy," Ash grinned.
The flesh-bound Necronomicon clamped under his left arm suddenly squirmed, looking up at him with a single, bloodshot eye. It anticipated being taken along for the ride. Instead, Ash sneered, reeled his arm back, and hurled the Book of the Dead onto the cold stone floor like a piece of garbage.
"Damn you, Williams!" the Necronomicon shrieked, its pages flapping wildly against the marble. "You think you can just dump me here?! I'll curse your bloodline! I'll eat your soul, you one-handed hack!"
The book spun around, looking pleadingly at the two armored kings. "Uh, gentlemen? A little help here?"
A golden spark of magic flared. A boot stepped down firmly on the book's cover.
"This artifact belongs to the Sanctum now," Doctor Strange said smoothly, bending down to snatch the Necronomicon off the floor. He ignored the book's muffled curses, entirely unbothered by the gazes of the two Dooms. After dealing with Spider-Man's chaotic energy for an entire afternoon, Strange felt he was owed a little compensation.
"I do not care which of you is planning to murder the other," Strange said, adjusting his Cloak of Levitation. "But remember: this reality is a necrotic tumor. Do not linger."
Strange didn't even bother using Doom's machine. He simply stepped backward into his own golden sling-ring portal, eager to traverse the multiverse without relying on crude Latverian technology. The portal sparked shut.
High above the physical plane, Uatu the Watcher observed the throne room in complete silence. He knew that the world-devourer, Galactus, and his herald were already entering this solar system. There was absolutely no need for Doom to detonate the planet. Galactus would scrub it clean. But Uatu had sworn his oath. He would not intervene.
In the throne room, the 2149 Doctor Doom finally made his move.
He raised his right gauntlet, arcane green energy pooling in his palm, preparing a lethal subjugation hex to wipe his counterpart's mind. But as the spell reached its apex, the magic violently fizzled out.
The 2149 Doom staggered. His knees buckled. A wet, rattling cough tore from his throat. He collapsed heavily against the control console, his vision swimming with dark, creeping shadows.
The 616 Doctor Doom slowly turned. He looked down at his dying counterpart, his eyes cold and unforiving behind the iron mask.
"When I first proposed detonating this facility, I had already finalized my contingency for dealing with you," 616 Doom said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Do you recall the severed, rotting arm of the Asgardian thunder god that Spider-Man brought into this fortress?"
The 2149 Doom clawed at his own throat, black veins pulsing violently against his pale skin beneath his armor. "What... what did you do?"
"I extracted the pathogen," 616 Doom replied smoothly. "I laced the ventilation filtration of your armor with the absolute highest concentration of the necrotic virus. I know how arrogant you are. I knew you would refuse Reed Richards' temporary vaccine out of sheer pride."
"But... the virus... it would infect you as well..."
"Richards may be a sentimental fool, but his biochemistry is undeniable," 616 Doom stated. "I took the vaccine. You did not."
The 2149 Doom let out a choked, gurgling gasp. "Doom! You... you tricked me!"
"Your entire universe is a failure," 616 Doom sneered, turning his back on the dying king. "A grotesque, bizarre clown show born of sheer stupidity. Be grateful. At least your pathetic life will serve a purpose for the true Doctor Doom."
Green fire erupted from 616 Doom's fingertips. He didn't just cast a spell; he invoked pure necromancy. The magic slammed into the 2149 Doom, instantly overriding the man's nervous system precisely as the virus killed his brain.
"Overload the reactor," 616 Doom commanded the freshly resurrected, zombified corpse of his counterpart. "Detonate the core."
The Zombie Doom rigidly turned to the console, his rotting fingers flying across the keys, initiating the catastrophic planetary overload. The 616 Doctor Doom adjusted his cape, stepped into the multiverse portal, and vanished.
Three seconds later, the portal array went critical. Castle Doom, Latveria, and the entirety of Earth-2149 were instantly incinerated in a blinding, expanding sphere of thermonuclear fire that ripped the planet into an asteroid belt of dead rock.
Millions of miles away, the Silver Surfer glided effortlessly through the vacuum of space. He decelerated, his silver board coming to a dead halt as he stared at the empty coordinates. The planet designated to satiate the hunger of his master, Galactus, had just violently exploded. The Surfer tilted his head in profound confusion, before banking his board around to seek out a new meal.
Meanwhile, deep in the cosmic ether, Uatu the Watcher prepared to leave for Earth-Z to transplant the closed time loop into another reality—Earth-21050. But as he monitored the lunar base frequencies, a bizarre, impossible transmission bounced across his cosmic awareness.
"Spider-Man?"
Earth-21923. The Wasteland Universe. The American Midwest.
The dust-choked settlement of Hammer Falls was in a state of total chaos.
Clint Barton, the elderly, grizzled captain of the Wasteland Avengers, rubbed his weathered face, leaving streaks of dirt across his brow. He stood near the town's central barricade, his compound bow gripped tightly in his hand, watching a seemingly endless line of terrified Latverian refugees pour out of a glowing rift in the center of the town square.
"I thought things were bad enough around here," Hawkeye muttered, chewing on a toothpick. "Now we've got multidimensional biohazard refugees dropping out of the sky?"
He had stationed his men to run strict biometric security checks, terrified a zombie might have slipped through. But the 616 Doom had been thorough; the perimeter was clean.
As the last of the civilians cleared the square, a familiar red and blue figure flipped gracefully out of the portal, landing in a perfect three-point crouch.
Clint's jaw dropped. He spat the toothpick into the dirt.
Peter Parker stood up, brushing Wasteland dust off his shoulders, followed immediately by Reed Richards and the rest of the Fantastic Four.
"Haha! Spidey!" Hawkeye yelled, his gruff voice cracking with genuine joy. He pushed past his guards, rushing forward. "And Stretch! Oh my god, looking at you guys is like taking a time machine back to the good old days!"
The Fantastic Four looked around the bleak, sun-bleached desert town with a mixture of horror and curiosity. Clint was practically vibrating with excitement. He immediately began calculating the odds of drafting Spider-Man and the Fantastic Four into an assault on the Wasteland version of Doctor Doom. This was the tactical opening he had been praying for decades!
But his strategic planning ground to a complete, staggering halt as the next group stepped through the portal.
Young Forge emerged, carrying a bag of salvaged tech. Then came King T'Challa, walking with a heavy limp on a stark, metal prosthetic leg. Dazzler followed, looking utterly exhausted.
And then, stepping out of the blue light, was the Scarlet Witch.
Clint froze. The compound bow slipped slightly in his grip. His breath hitched in his throat.
Tears welled up in the old archer's eyes, carving clean lines through the decades of grime on his cheeks. He would never, ever forget the day the villains had united. He remembered the exact smell of the smoke. He remembered watching Magneto slaughter his daughter, and he remembered watching Wanda die right in front of him, signaling the absolute destruction of the Avengers.
Yet here she was. Alive.
Clint took a trembling step forward, his voice entirely failing him.
And then, the final person stepped out of the portal.