"Wake up…"
Diana was enjoying a deep sleep, back in Themyscira, the paradise island, training in her youthful prime under the daylight. Small waves from the bay lapped nearby as her battle sisters and her mother watched her proudly.
"Wake up…"
She heard an unfamiliar voice disturbing her moment of mental peace while her eyes were still closed.
"Wake up now… woman."
Diana stirred from her enchanted haze. Her body felt heavy and her mind foggy, lingering effects of Doom's dirty trick. She opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the sterile white glow of the ceiling panels. She lifted her head, and her vision sharpened on the button console where her kidnapper had stood moments before.
How long was I asleep? thought the warrior from Themyscira, confused.
She felt the dried semen on her face had become a sticky residue, a humiliating reminder of her forced actions. Her breasts still tingled from his touches, and her blue skirt was damp and clung uncomfortably to her thighs.
"Good! Now I'll release you." ordered the unknown voice, firm and inflexible, echoing off the walls with the authority of someone used to obedience.
Diana's head snapped toward the sound, her warrior instincts kicking in despite the lingering weakness. She turned her head in the direction of the voice. She scanned the room, her blue eyes locking onto the source, a female voice. A woman with a long ponytail walked toward the advanced console, wearing a green cape identical to the man's, covering her body. In one hand she carried a long yellow staff. The woman set the staff aside and let her fingers hover over the console controls, apparently deactivating the restraints.
Surprised, Diana felt the cuffs on her wrists and ankles, which had been fastened to the wall-bed open. All her limbs were freed, limbs that desperately needed freedom and fresh air. Confused, she moved her hands naturally, curiously, then felt her legs begging to move. The unknown woman had freed her.
She noticed the woman leave the console and turn her body toward her, approaching. Diana observed her more closely. The woman was dressed in striking yellow-and-green armor, with the same intricate medieval-futuristic motifs as her captor's. Elegant plates hugged her athletic frame, and she wore an inverted U-shaped golden helmet that left her beautiful face visible. Diana noted that her ponytail was reddish. In one arm she carried the yellow staff, humming with latent energy, and in the other she held a folded green dress with sparkles. Its fabric gleaming like silk embroidered with medieval patterns. Her footsteps echoed.
Diana rose unsteadily, sitting up on the wall-bed. Her red boots touched the cool floor. Her Wonder Woman armor was still intact, but it felt constricting after the terrible experience with the hooded man. She watched as the woman reached her position, stopping close by. Both women studied each other carefully.
Who is this woman? Another victim of the masked man's manipulations? Her thought fueled her anger, her kidnapper was a monster, twisting minds at will.
But Diana refused to be intimidated; she was an Amazon, forged in the fires of Themyscira. She squared her shoulders, thighs tensing as she prepared to act.
The red-haired woman had blue eyes that could kill a man in a staring contest.
"Lord Doom is expecting you, now!" she said in a serious, authoritarian voice with a strong Eastern European accent. She tossed the green dress onto Diana's stomach with casual precision. "Get dressed. I'll escort you to him."
The words landed like an insult, igniting Diana's fury. "Lord Doom?" The arrogance of the hooded man echoed in this woman's orders, and the presence of another lackey infuriated her to her core.
"Obey the orders, prisoner." the unknown woman said angrily.
The word "prisoner" was the final straw. Her rage boiled over. Now she was free, no more cuffs, no more bed. This was her chance. Diana's hand tightened into a fist, her Amazonian strength returning unhindered by restraints. Without a word, she lunged forward, driving a devastating punch into the woman's stomach. The impact landed like thunder. The armored woman staggered slightly, gasping in pain and doubling over as the air was driven from her lungs. The redhead crumpled to the floor, the dress slipping from her hand and her staff clattering beside her on the smooth surface.
Diana didn't wait for retaliation. She bolted out of the laboratory, dashing through the open door toward the stairs, her boots pounding against the steps.
"You won't escape. Doombots go after her!" the unknown woman shouted.
Diana heard the woman's voice echoing around her as she reached the top step. The dried semen still stained her mouth and face, a vile reminder she ignored in her desperation to escape.
As she ran, she realized the second floor was also a laboratory. It seemed far too large for someone wanting to conquer the world. She spotted a massive computer similar to the Batcave's but more advanced. She reminded herself she wasn't sightseeing, she had to get out. Diana saw another exit ahead.
"Hera! Thank you!"
She exited the laboratory, but then stopped. She was now in a long hallway with cold stone walls. She heard the woman's voice approaching from behind. No choice, keep moving. She chose right, following wherever it led in search of an exit.
The castle's corridors unfolded before her like a maze, twisting and turning through medieval opulence. Stone walls rose high, adorned with suits of knight armor standing sentinel, their empty visors ominous. Green-and-black banners hung from the ceilings, emblazoned with a stylized symbol, a rare pattern or crowned emblem she couldn't make out in her haste — screaming tyranny. Wooden doors lined the halls, some carved with faintly glowing runes, others reinforced with iron. It reminded her of the hidden fortress of Ra's al Ghul that Bruce had described: ancient, fortified, steeped in shadows and secrets. But this was larger, more oppressive, a blend of old world castle and hidden technology.
She was lost. The paths branched endlessly. Left or right? She chose left, running down a dimly lit corridor, her skirt fluttering with the motion. Dizziness crept in from the disorienting design, but she pushed through, her Amazonian endurance her lifeline.
I have to get out of here, return to the Watchtower, and warn the League. The thought of Clark's strength and Bruce's intellect coming for her gave her hope. But first escape this madman's domain.
She continued her escape, but suddenly felt chills behind her.
"Where are you going, Wonder Woman? You've hurt Doom's feelings." her captor's voice echoed mockingly.
Diana spun around and saw him standing inches away, the hooded man in his emerald robes, his mask a mystery, metallic hands clenched into fists. Diana was furious. She had him right in front of her. Ready to fight again.
"You! I'm going to destroy you!" she roared, leaping at him with superhuman speed. Her fist, blessed by her ancestors, slammed into his abdomen covered by tunic and metal armor. She screamed in rage as her punch pierced his metallic body. She did it.
"I told you! Don't mess with me. That's for kidnapping me and mocking me!" she growled, blood on her knuckles. But to her shock, the body felt fragile and then exploded into metal shards and circuits, as if she had punched a paper robot, stunning her. She stood in disbelief, trying to understand the trick. She couldn't have killed the man. It looked exactly like him, perhaps one of his magic tricks.
She couldn't think further because metallic footsteps echoed ahead rhythmic, like approaching doom. She turned back forward. Two robots stood before her, sleek and armored, skull-like faces glowing with mysterious green eyes. They looked like the man's offspring, but without his signature emerald robes.
"Detain the Master's slave." one intoned in a robotic monotone, its voice a distorted echo of Doom's own, automatically deploying a weapon from its right arm.
Diana didn't hesitate. She charged, her fist shattering the first robot's chest plate in a spray of sparks and twisted metal; the machine crumpled to the floor in a heap of circuits. The second fired an energy bolt from its arm cannon, but she dodged with graceful speed, her bracer deflecting the stray shot. She grabbed its head and twisted with brute force until it snapped and went limp, collapsing in a smoking ruin. Adrenaline surged through her freedom was close.
"Intruder detected. Detain her and bring her before the Lord."
From behind her, three more robots emerged from a side corridor, their green eyes locking onto her.
Diana roared and leaped into the fray. She punched through the midsection of the first, cables spilling like guts; she kicked the legs out from under the second, then stomped its head into fragments. The third slammed her against the wall, embedding its frame into the stone with a crack. Sparks flew, the air thick with ozone and burning wiring. She gasped, wiping sweat from her brow, but didn't stop — more could be coming.
She pressed on, adrenaline pumping, until a wall blocked her path, displaying several portraits of unknown people. She glimpsed an older man, a man and a young woman in passing, but didn't linger. Her freedom was the goal now. She was in another hallway crossing this one. She chose it in haste. More wooden doors and knight armors appeared. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw eyes watching her from inside the armor. She kept going, seeing more branching paths. It all felt like a giant, deliberate puzzle designed to confuse.
The path suddenly opened into a vast chamber. She entered a gigantic, opulent dining hall, dimly lit by the flickering of a roaring fireplace in a massive hearth, its flames casting dancing shadows across the stone walls. A long banquet table dominated the space, set for two or more with an array of food: a roasted turkey glistening with herbs, baskets of warm bread, a stack of empty crystal glasses and two filled with deep red wine, a platter of fresh salad drizzled with oil, and another of white rice for several people. Besides the fireplace, two candles on the table provided the other source of light. The aroma was intoxicating, savory and welcoming, but Diana's eyes locked onto the figure at the head of the table.
There sat her mysterious captor "Doom", his armored form relaxed in a high-backed chair, a wine glass in his gauntlet. He raised it to his metal mask, taking a sip as if it were a casual dinner, his eye slits seeming to smile sinisterly, his green cape draped behind him like a throne.
"You've arrived, Miss Prince." he said in a smooth, mocking voice that echoed through the great hall. "Right on time. Sit down. It's time to eat something."
Diana stopped, her red boots on the cold flagstones, her body coiled like a spring.
"No!" she roared, her voice raw with defiance. "I want nothing from you, no food, no more of your twisted sexual games. I'm going to destroy you right now!"
She lunged forward, fists raised, aiming to close the distance and end this nightmare with a single devastating blow and get out.
But Doom's voice cut through like a divine command, his eyes glowing pink behind his mask.
"Stop."
The word hit her like a wall. Diana froze mid-stride, her body halting abruptly, one foot raised, her muscles locked in place. Heat surged through her, the scent of attraction to him filling her nose again, wrapping around her will, compelling obedience. She trembled, fighting internally.
"No — move, Diana! Fight!" She was trapped in a mental trance, but her limbs refused. That cheap trick was too powerful in his presence.
Meanwhile, Doom's eyes returned to normal. He calmly set his glass down on the wooden table, the clink echoing.
"You will not dare destroy this welcome celebration!" he said, his tone laced with feigned disappointment. "This is special for you. We have much to discuss. I thought Wonder Woman had good manners. Damaging someone else's property, striking someone who belongs to royalty… that's unbecoming of you. I expected better from someone who claims to defend justice."
Diana's cheeks burned with shame, his words twisting her emotions and stinging like truth. She had struck that unknown woman, his servant and destroyed his robots. But fury still boiled beneath. He was mocking her, playing with her like a puppet.
"That's not… I…" she stammered, her body still frozen.
Doom leaned back, swirling his wine in his metallic palm. "I have eyes everywhere in my domain, especially on you. Your earlier actions have consequences, Miss Prince. Disobedience within Doom's castle will be punished."
Her stance wavered slightly as the compulsion eased enough for her to lower her foot, but she remained rooted.
"What consequences?" she asked, annoyed and wary, her voice trembling with suppressed rage.
Doom's mask tilted, his voice turning silky with threat.
"Defy me, damage what is mine, and you will learn. Pain, isolation… or whatever it takes to break what is stubborn."
Diana's eyes blazed. "You're a sick monster! By Hera! I swear I will break free of your clutches!"
Doom chuckled, raising his glass in a mock toast. "Such fire. But no, you will not. If only you knew what I am… but you will, while you're here."
The villain drank from his half-full glass, pausing. Diana clenched her fists, thinking of destroying him. He continued.
"I don't like the term 'sick monster.' I'll let it slide for now!" the sovereign of Latveria said with irritation. "I have not raped anyone, nor am I a mortal with mental imbalances who desires another's body as a prize — unlike the barbarians you fight."
"You did it to me!" she accused, her face flushed with remembered violation.
Doom shook his head with a diabolical smile. "Your words begged for it, your body responded. You gave me permission, remember that. My little trick up the sleeve reveals the truth, Diana. It amplifies what you truly desire deep down. You wanted my touch, my seed. Admit it."
"That's not true!" she shouted, taking a step forward now that the one playing with her mind allowed minimal movement. Her fists clenched. "Your fucking spell twisted me!"
Doom's laughter was cold. "Spell? No, Miss Prince. Your obedience and your moans… that was you, unmasked. And now, sit like a civilized person or face Doom's punishment."
Diana sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat as the heat of the charm, spell, or trick, whatever it was, coaxed her toward compliance. The aroma of the banquet tugged at her hunger, and the warmth of the fire beckoned. Reluctantly, she moved to the chair opposite him, sitting with rigid posture, her mind screaming in rebellion even as her body obeyed. The game had changed, but she would endure — buried, but not broken.
Wonder Woman herself sat rigidly at Victor von Doom's long banquet table, staring at the luxurious spread before her. The air was thick with the savory aromas of roasted turkey, its skin golden and crispy, steam rising from baskets of freshly baked bread, a vibrant salad platter glistening with olive oil and herbs, and another filled with fluffy white rice. Empty crystal goblets caught the firelight. The table was set with cutlery engraved with Latverian runes, fine porcelain plates bearing the von Doom crest — a clenched fist encircled by a crown and candelabras dripping wax like slow tears.
Across from her, Doom lounged in his high-backed throne like chair, his armored form radiating regal authority, the eye slits of his mask glowing faintly as he swirled his wine glass. Diana's mind raced — a whirlwind of confusion and suppressed rage. The influence of his trick still pulled at the edges of her will, making her obedience feel unnaturally compelled, yet her core screamed for rebellion. The dried remains of semen still clung faintly to her skin, a vile reminder of her earlier degradation, and her Wonder Woman armor felt sullied, the blue skirt and golden eagle emblem stained from the struggle.
She watched as her hooded captor snapped his metal fingers. A large bottle of red wine materialized; she didn't recognize the label. She understood his hint, using his magic tricks in front of her so she would understand he was the superior here. Above the man, she noticed a large portrait of himself beside the fireplace.
The uncomfortable silence was shattered by the sharp click of boots on the stone floor. A serious female voice cut through the crackling fire like a blade.
"My lord!" Zora Vukovic burst into the dining hall from a side entrance, her yellow-and-green armor gleaming under the firelight, her inverted U-shaped helmet shadowing her face, her red ponytail swinging with her agitated steps. Gripping her yellow staff in one hand, the green dress draped over her right shoulder, her posture radiated fury even as she panted slightly, one hand pressed to her stomach where Diana's earlier punch had landed. Pain etched her movements, but her voice remained firm, laced with accusation.
"This woman tried to escape and defied my orders! She destroyed your Doombots, my lord. She is no ordinary prisoner!"
Zora's glare pierced through her visor, fixed on Diana with unrestrained hostility, her hand tightening on her staff as if ready to strike. Diana met the gaze coldly, refusing to flinch or acknowledge the redhead's anger. She ignored the red-haired woman entirely, her focus locked on Doom, cursing the woman's presence mentally: another pawn in this madman's game, no doubt brainwashed or coerced. The hooded tyrant and his minions were all the same — monsters hiding behind masks and armor.
Doom set his wine glass down with deliberate calm, the clink echoing through the vast room like a judge's gavel. He leaned forward slightly, his cape draped over the arms of the chair, his voice resonant and unflappable.
"I am aware, Victorious," he said, his voice carrying a note of warning. "Her indiscretions have not escaped my attention. She will be punished later; do not concern yourself."
Doom's mask turned toward Diana, the man's eyes suddenly glowing bright pink, boring into her like hot coals and sending a shiver down her spine despite the warmth of the fire.
Diana felt the weight of his gaze, a cold dread mixed with something else, making her skin prickle. She held his stare defiantly, jaw set, but said nothing, her mind swirling with escape plans even as the man whispered obedience.
Zora nodded, though her panting breaths betrayed her lingering pain, her hand still clutching her midsection.
"As you wish, my lord," she replied, her voice strong yet containing anger. She approached the table, her boots echoing deliberately, and took the green dress from her own shoulder to offer it to Wonder Woman, holding it like an unwelcome offering.
"Take it," Zora said angrily, her visor fixed on the Amazon, her red ponytail swaying with irritation.
Diana looked at the dress more closely, a flowing garment of emerald silk embroidered with golden threads that shimmered like enchanted filigree, its design elegant yet regal, evoking the robes of ancient queens. But she ignored Zora's outstretched hand. Diana refused to acknowledge the redhead's authority, her eyes turning back to Doom with a spark of rebellion. The woman's presence grated on her — another tool of her captor, complicit in this nightmare.
Doom's voice darkened, an ominous rumble filling the hall. "Take the dress, Miss Prince."
For a moment, Diana hesitated, her gaze locked with the redhead's visor, the eyes of both women, visible and hidden, clashing in silent combat. Tension crackled between them like lightning, Zora's posture rigid with barely contained fury, Diana's body coiled like a spring, ready to strike if provoked. The air grew thick, the only sound the crackling fire, as if the room itself held its breath.
"Take it!" Doom suddenly shouted, his gauntleted fist slamming onto the table, rattling the cutlery and spilling a drop of wine from his glass. The command reverberated, his word surging through Diana like an electric current, forcing her compliance.
Diana nodded reluctantly, her hand shooting out to snatch the dress from Zora's grip, pulling it harder than necessary. Zora staggered slightly from the tug, her grip on the staff tightening, her panting breaths turning into a low growl of annoyance. The redhead glared daggers through her visor, her free hand twitching as if tempted to retaliate, but she restrained herself, deference to Doom overriding the impulse.
"Zora. Join us for this welcome to our guest. You must be hungry after spending all day at the embassy. So sit." Doom's mask turned toward Victorious, his voice calm once more.
"Lord Doom, I hope you will not be offended by my reply. Atlantis requested my presence before the king early this morning at its palace. To maintain our good relations, despite your rivalry with the man. I cannot stay so late," Zora declared in a respectful yet contained voice, bowing her head slightly.
Victor von Doom studied her for several moments, then finally:
"Very well, Zora. Good night."
She whispered a thank you. Turning on her heel without looking at the guest, her green cape swirling behind her like a banner of resentment, her metallic boots echoing as she exited the dining hall, still panting from Diana's earlier blow.
Diana's mind raced as Zora left.
"Atlantis? What the hell? Arthur…"
The mention sent a jolt through her. Aquaman, her ally, friend, and League colleague.
Did he know this masked tyrant? Why hadn't he warned the League? Was he trafficking with this villain, perhaps under coercion or alliance?
The implications swirled, adding layers to her confusion and fury. Clutching the green dress tightly, its soft, luxurious fabric against her palms, she laid it in her lap, but her focus remained on Doom, the banquet's opulence mocking her captivity.
Doom snapped his fingers again sharply, the sound cutting through the fire's crackle. From the shadows of the hall, two tall, elegant metallic sentinels emerged, purple and sleek, their frames humming with mechanical precision. One approached the roasted turkey; a blade extended from its arm with a hiss, carving precise slices and plating portions with unsettling efficiency. The other attended to the salads and rice, spooning generous servings onto the porcelain plates, drizzling dressings and arranging garnishes as if programmed for a royal feast. Diana watched with wary curiosity, her warrior's eye noting the mundane yet ominous actions.
Doom poured himself another glass of wine, the liquid flowing richly from the decanter, then leaned back in his chair. He then poured a second glass for Diana.
"If you are contemplating escape," he said casually, as if reading her thoughts, "I will increase your impending punishment."
Diana's eyes narrowed, irritation flaring.
"I don't want you mocking me," she retorted sharply, the dress still folded in her lap.
Doom's mask tilted, his voice turning silky with warning. "You should not speak to me in that tone."
Diana sighed, her affected mind pulling at her words.
"I'm sorry, Lord Doom," she said. The apology escaped despite the boiling rage inside her.
Doom nodded in approval, gesturing to the dress. "What do you think of the dress?"
Diana examined the garment more closely, unfolding it in her hands. The green silk was exquisite, its texture like liquid moonlight, shimmering with embedded threads that caught the firelight in a hypnotic dance. It was no ordinary fabric — perhaps enchanted, woven with spells that made it feel alive, durable yet soft, as if crafted by the gods themselves. The design was elegant, a flowing gown with golden accents evoking royalty, but the green color — his signature shade. She didn't like it; it was too reminiscent of his tyranny, yet the shimmer and craftsmanship were undeniable, beautiful in a disturbing way. Doom waited, his glass paused halfway to his mask.
"It's pretty," she said finally, her voice neutral. "But I don't like the color."
Doom's tone sharpened. "What did you just say?"
Diana cursed herself mentally. Idiot, fixating on the green! The trick pushed her correction, her cheeks flushing with genuine embarrassment. "The dress is beautiful, and I like the color, Master."
Doom's sinister smile returned, audible in his voice. "It is my gift to you. Put it on, now."
Diana hesitated, glancing at the robots still focused on the food, their mechanical eyes averted as if programmed for discretion. Changing in front of him, exposed, was humiliating. But the warmth of the environment coaxed her, making refusal feel futile. Doom watched expectantly, his posture relaxed yet commanding.
With a resigned sigh, Diana stood, the chair scraping against the stone floor. She set the dress aside momentarily and moved to the clasps of her armor. Piece by piece, she removed it, the semen-stained red bodice sliding off with a soft whisper, revealing her toned torso; the blue skirt and damp thong slipping down her thighs to pool at her feet; her silver bracers and boots following, until she stood naked before him, her athletic body illuminated by the fire's glow. Her skin was flawless, sculpted by divine hands, curves of muscle and grace, her breasts full and firm, her thighs powerful yet feminine.
Doom's gaze lingered on her body, his mind appreciating the sight, more beautiful than Wanda Maximoff's lithe form, the Enchantress's seductive charm, or Morgan le Fay's mystical elegance, nearly rivaling She-Hulk's raw power. He desired to test it fully but refrained; he was no base pervert, his actions were deliberate, building toward his goal.
Doom tossed her a soft cloth from the table. She caught it and wiped the dried semen from her mouth and face, the act mechanical but necessary, her cheeks burning with shame. She slipped into the green dress quickly; the silk glided over her skin like a lover's caress, fitting perfectly as if tailored by fate. The fabric hugged her curves, the golden details shimmering, transforming her from warrior to royal consort.
"Ready, Master?" she asked softly, the words feeling disturbingly natural.
Doom smiled beneath his mask. "Sit back down."
Diana complied, returning to her chair as the robots finished preparing the food and retreated into the shadows with mechanical efficiency. One robot then brought her wine glass; she took it in her hand. Doom raised his glass in a toast; she accepted reluctantly. Victor began to eat, the turkey tender and flavorful, the salad fresh, the rice crisp. But Diana's mind was a battlefield of questions and defiance. She stared at her untouched plate and wine glass, her blue eyes narrowed in disgust. She had no intention of participating in anything tied to this hooded tyrant, her kidnapper, violator, and torturer. The very idea of consuming food prepared under his roof felt like surrender, a betrayal of her principles.
In her mind, she swore vengeance.
"I will kill you." she thought fiercely, envisioning her fists shattering his mask, her lasso forcing his confession before ending his reign of madness. But the insidious heat of the spell coiled around the impulse, dampening it to a whisper, preventing the words from escaping her lips or the action from manifesting.
Frustration boiled inside her, and she prayed silently: "Hera, grant me strength. Help me break free from this nightmare."
The goddess's presence felt distant, muffled by the castle's wards or the enchantment itself, but the prayer steadied her resolve — a flicker of divine fire in her core.
Her gaze shifted as two Doombots silently emerged from the shadows, gathering her discarded armor lying in a heap: the red bodice, blue skirt, silver bracers, and boots. All symbols of her identity as Wonder Woman. The two robots already had her armor in their arms, collecting the items with mechanical precision.
"Stop!" Diana cried sharply, instinct driving her protest despite the mental pull. "Those are mine!"
Doom paused with his forkful of turkey halfway to his mask. He set it down deliberately, the silver clinking against porcelain echoing through the hall.
"You will not need them now." he said calmly, his voice resonant through the metal. "For the time being, I will keep them safe. You require… a significant change, Diana. This dress suits you far better, a symbol of your new path."
Diana's fury ignited inwardly, her fists clenching beneath the table. Bastard, those are my weapons, my heritage!
But she bit back the retort, his voice whispering compliance, leaving her seething in silence. She watched helplessly as the Doombots withdrew with her gear, disappearing down a side corridor, the items vanishing like relics consigned to a museum of conquests.
"If you are wondering about your other belongings, they are in your universe. My Doombot has them in place. Do not rush for your weapons," he said as if it were the most normal thing.
"My universe…" she thought carefully. That meant she was in another one. It couldn't be.
"Tell me where we are?" she asked in a low voice, despite being shocked.
"First, eat, Miss Prince." Doom said and resumed eating with unruffled composure, his fork spearing a slice of turkey and lifting it to the lower edge of his mask. Diana watched curiously, her brow furrowed.
"How does he eat with that inflexible metal mask?" she wondered mentally. It was a mystery; the mask seemed to part subtly at the mouth, perhaps a hidden mechanism or sorcery allowing ingestion without exposure. The sight unsettled her even more; dining with her kidnapper felt surreal, a twisted parody of civility in this medieval lair. The fire crackled, casting warm tones across his green cape, making him appear almost human, a king entertaining an unwilling guest.
Doom's mask tilted toward her untouched plate.
"Eat." he ordered again, his tone serious but not unkind. "I don't want your food to get cold. You require sustenance; starving yourself only weakens your own cause."
Diana's stomach betrayed her with a low growl, hunger gnawing at her despite her determination. She tried to refuse, shaking her head stubbornly, but his influence stirred darker cravings, not just for food, but for him, for the forbidden touches that had left her body aching.
"I'm so hungry… for this dinner and… for his cock." The thought slipped through unbidden, shocking her to her core.
"What the hell did I just think?" she cursed herself inwardly, the enchantment twisting her desires into something profane, her earlier arousal lingering like an unwanted echo.
Doom's sinister smile threaded through his voice, as if he sensed her inner turmoil. His glowing eyes pierced her soul, knowing exactly what had crossed her mind. Humiliation burned through her; her cheeks flushed again as she looked away.
Reluctantly, she picked up her fork, spearing a piece of turkey and bringing it to her lips. The first bite was tentative, but the flavor exploded on her tongue — the turkey tender, infused with herbs and spices, juicy and perfectly seasoned, far surpassing anything she had ever tasted. It was delicious, a symphony of flavors that made her eyes widen in surprise. She took another bite, then tried the salad — fresh vegetables with a tangy vinaigrette — and the bread, warm and fluffy, its crust giving way to a soft interior with subtle garlic and rosemary. Even better than Alfred's cooking, she admitted mentally, a pang of guilt accompanying the thought. Bruce's butler had always prepared special meals for her during meetings at Wayne Manor or their brief romantic interludes, hearty roasts, delicate pastries but this was elevated, almost otherworldly in its perfection.
"Sorry, Alfred." she thought. The textures hypnotized her: the succulence of the turkey, the freshness of the salads that didn't taste like mass-produced American food, the variety of breads she had never seen before. Even at diplomatic dinners at the Themysciran embassy with world representatives, the cuisine had been exquisite but never so richly layered.
The minutes passed in relative silence, the only sounds the clinking of cutlery, the crackling fire, and their measured chewing. Diana ate steadily, her hunger overriding her initial resistance, Doom's influence making the act feel almost comforting, a shared ritual. Victor devoured his portion with methodical efficiency, slicing and consuming the turkey, the hidden mechanism of his mask allowing perfect ingestion. The peace was unsettling; the vast hall felt intimate in the firelight, as if they were a twisted couple at a private banquet.
"Drink." he encouraged, his gaze resting on her still full wine glass.
Diana hesitated, fingers wrapping around the stem, then raised it to her lips. She tasted it. The wine was rich, velvety, with notes of blackberry and oak, and a subtle earthiness that warmed her throat.
"Where is this wine from?" she asked, curiosity slipping through her guarded tone.
Doom's voice carried a note of pride. "The grapes are harvested here, unique varieties grown in our fertile valleys. All natural, untouched by the chemical stain of processing that affects most nations. Pure, as Latveria demands, and not exported to the world."
Diana nodded absently, the name "Latveria" echoing in her mind again, a mystery she couldn't place, like a forgotten legend. The warmth of the wine spread through her, loosening the knot of tension in her chest, though her inner fury simmered.
Doom finished his meal, dabbing his mask with a napkin in a strangely refined gesture. "If you want information, how you came here and where you are now, ask with respect."
Diana looked up, her fork pausing halfway to her mouth. She thought he was mocking her again, but she saw the movement that said he was serious. She nodded, forcing the words out, but Doom raised a finger.
"Ask correctly, or Doom will not entertain your questions."
Frustrated, she set her utensil down, her voice tight. "Please, Lord Doom… I want to know where we are."
Doom's sinister smile widened beneath the mask, his eyes glowing brighter. "After you finish your meal. I will answer your requests. No backhanded curses or verbal jabs, Miss Prince."
Diana wanted to hit him for it, but she sighed, the weight of her situation pressing down. She nodded and picked up her fork again. She continued eating in the peaceful silence, the warmth of the fire and candles enveloping them, the banquet a strange interlude in her captivity. The food sustained her body, but her mind conspired escape, revenge, even as the spell whispered compliance. The meal dragged on, each bite taking her deeper.
Finally, she finished everything her captor had offered. She had eaten more than she intended. Doom, sitting across from her, picked up his wine glass again. Seeing that she had finished, he snapped his fingers; the sound echoed in the vast room like a punctuation mark on their uneasy repetition.
As if summoned by an invisible signal, the same Servo-Guards glided silently from the shadows at the edges of the hall. The two robots approached, clearing everything from the table with mechanical grace, stacking the dishes carefully onto a floating tray that materialized from their chassis. They worked in synchronized harmony, the clatter of plates minimal, their movements a testament to Doom's engineering prowess. In moments, the table was cleared, the surface wiped with a soft cloth dispensed from a bot's arm, leaving only the wine bottle and their two half-full glasses. The Servo-Guards withdrew as silently as they had come, disappearing from view, and the dining hall returned to its intimate silence, broken only by the persistent crackling of the fire.
Doom leaned back in his throne-like chair, his cape draping elegantly over the arms, and fixed his glowing eye slits on her.
"Did you enjoy your meal?" he asked, his voice a resonant baritone carrying a note of expectation.
Diana nodded instinctively, her raven hair shifting with the movement. But Doom's mask tilted slightly, his tone sharpening.
"Tell me."
"Yes," she replied, her voice soft but clear, the words pulled from her by the enchantment. "It was delicious, better than any meal I've ever had, Master."
The admission grated on her soul; it was true, the flavors had been exquisite, full of spices and freshness that surpassed even Alfred Pennyworth's masterful cooking at Wayne Manor. Those meals had been hearty and comforting, but this was elevated, almost divine in its perfection. Yet confessing it felt like another layer of surrender.
"Excellent. Loyalty begins with acceptance." Doom's sinister smile was audible in his voice, a low chuckle resonating through his mask.
Emboldened by the relative calm, though her mind was still full of escape and vengeance plans, Diana leaned forward slightly, her green dress rustling against the chair.
"Where are we?" she asked obediently, her tone carrying forced courtesy, though genuine curiosity burned beneath.
The villain leaned forward, resting his armored elbows on the table, his glowing eyes locking onto hers like twin embers piercing the night.
"Miss Prince." he said, his voice deep and commanding. "You must understand that you are far from your world."
Diana's brow furrowed, confusion mixing with the obvious. She remembered him saying the word "universe" before. "Am I in another universe? I must assume that."
Doom raised his hands in a grand gesture, his gauntlets catching the firelight as if summoning the very essence of his domain. "You are in the heart of Doom's realm. Latveria, a nation beyond the reach of your precious League, beyond the knowledge of your Greek and Olympian gods. Trapped here."
Diana's heart remained steady at his words. The multiverse was not unfamiliar to her — experiences with the Crime Syndicate of Earth-3, where twisted doppelgangers like Ultraman, Superwoman, and Owlman had wreaked havoc, or the dystopian Earth-49, where a corrupt Superman and his regime had enslaved the planet in the name of "peace," only for the League to intervene and restore balance. She had crossed universes and realms before, felt the vibrational hum of dimensional shifts. This felt similar, yet deeper, more isolated. There was no familiar resonance of her Prime Earth.
"What universe is this?" she asked curiously.
"Far from your own multiverse, far beyond them." Doom's voice remained calm, his posture unchanged, as if her anger were a gentle breeze.
Diana's shock deepened. "Beyond the multiverse? Farther than the 52 Earths we discovered. No wonder Bruce couldn't trace the cyber attack on the Watchtower from this guy." A dozen thoughts exploded in her head.
"You're a monster! This can't be true. My allies will find a way. They'll locate me and defeat you!" she said forcefully.
"Your threats do not unsettle me, Diana. You speak of destruction, but Doom has crossed the void to claim you. Traversing beyond the multiverse is a feat only Doom could achieve, no one else possesses such knowledge or will." Doom's response was a low, dismissive laugh.
She fell silent, processing his words, the heat of the fire doing little to dispel the cold of isolation. She prayed again that Bruce and Clark would find their way to her.
Doom continued, his voice swelling with pride. "Latveria, the nation of Doom. I, Victor von Doom, its sovereign ruler, is a beacon of order. Here, there is no poverty, no crime, no homelessness, no prejudice. My people live in peace and equality. Education and medicine are paramount, free, advanced, and accessible to all. You will find no equal in the nations of this universe or any other. Those who oppose Doom… are punished accordingly."
Diana absorbed his claims, dissecting them in her mind. Victor von Doom, that was his full name, the reason for his third person arrogance. He spoke like a dictator, like Black Adam's iron-fisted rule over Kahndaq or Queen Bee's manipulation in Bialya.
No poverty? Equality? It sounded utopian, but twisted by his ego. And he spoke the truth; she felt no deception through her Amazonian intuition, no lie in the bright gaze of his mask. His world's ideals had merit, education, medicine, harmony but at what cost? She would verify it, escape, and see for herself.
Curiosity pierced through her fury. "Why 'von Doom'? It's… unusual."
Doom's tone darkened, his gauntlets tightening. "Do not mock my heritage, my clan. The name is sacred; question it no further."
Diana pressed on, defiant yet compelled to know. "According to your words, ruler, why kidnap me? You want an heir? Why me? Why cross universes for me? You could find someone from your own house, your own universe."
Doom's rage ignited; his fist slammed onto the table, rattling the remaining glasses.
"Do you dare challenge Doom?" he roared, his voice thundering through the hall.
Diana instantly calmed, his words tempering her tone, though she boiled inside. "I'm sorry."
Doom leaned forward, his anger simmering. "You alone are worthy, Diana. Your strength, your will, will ensure Doom's heir protects Latveria from future threats. Are those not your ideals, saving nations, Princess?"
She nodded reluctantly; his words played with her, mocking her heroic nature and twisting it to serve his purposes.
Diana's defiance flared. "There are other ways to save your so called precious nation!"
"It is the only way." Doom insisted, his tone final. "And you will do it."
"You're a damned bastard!" she shouted, her voice cracking with rage.
Doom's eyes glowed brighter; his metal gauntlet pointed toward his lap.
"Come here." he gestured, compelling her forward.
Diana hesitated, her body trembling. "I won't…"
"Come!" Doom commanded, the order booming.
His words took effect; a green haze flickered in her mind.
"Yes, Lord." she whispered, rising from her chair and approaching him, her bare feet padding across the stone. Doom kept his gesture toward his lap. "Now you will be punished for defying me."
Diana sighed, resignation washing over her as the enchantment guided her. She lowered herself awkwardly onto his lap, the green dress pooling around her thighs, his armored form hard and unyielding beneath her. The intimacy was humiliating, his proximity a reminder of her captivity, but the spell whispered acceptance, leaving her perched there, tense and awaiting judgment. The fire crackled, indifferent to her plight, as Doom's hand rested on her waist, his presence enveloping her in shadow.
Doom looked at Diana perched uncomfortably on his lap. Her green dress bunched around her thighs, the silk a stark contrast to the hard, inflexible metal of his legs beneath her. Diana's heart raced, a mix of fury and forced obedience stirring within her, the heat of the place tightening around her will, making resistance feel like wading through molasses.
Doom's gauntleted fist tightened on the armrest, his glowing eyes narrowing to emerald fire slits.
"Not like that." he growled, his voice a thunderous rumble that echoed through the hall, vibrating the silver goblets still on the table. "Face down, now!"
Diana's eyes flashed with anger, her Amazonian pride surging against the pull of Doom's trick. Frustrated and humiliated, she nodded despite herself, reluctant and emotional. She knew what was coming, a punishment, a degrading display of dominance that twisted her stomach.
"This is frustrating." she thought, her mind screaming to escape, to find the strength to break his mask and flee this nightmare. But she couldn't; the trick compelled her body, whispering that submission was inevitable, even desirable. With a sigh of resignation, she rose briefly from his lap, the green dress swishing softly, and repositioned herself. She lay face down across his armored thighs, her breasts pressing against the cold metal of his lap, her head hanging to one side, her raven hair cascading like a dark waterfall toward the stone floor. Her buttocks, covered by the flowing fabric of the dress, were raised slightly vulnerable and exposed in this humiliating pose. The fire's heat licked her skin but did nothing to dispel the chill of dread or the unwanted spark of anticipation.
Doom's right gauntleted hand descended immediately, resting possessively on her covered buttocks. The cold alloy seeped through the silk. He squeezed firmly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh and fabric with deliberate pressure, kneading as if evaluating a prized possession. Diana moaned involuntarily, the sound escaping her lips like a breathless sigh, the sensation sending a wave of pleasure through her despite the degradation.
"No, fight it." she cursed mentally, but her body betrayed her, arching slightly into his touch.
Doom stared at her form across his lap, the slits of his mask glowing brighter as he admired the curve of her ass, the way the green dress clung to her contours. The sight stirred him, a mix of conquest and desire but he tempered it with discipline.
He raised his hand and brought it down hard. The slap echoed through the hall like the crack of a whip, landing squarely on her covered rear. Diana felt no pain, only an explosion of intense pleasure. The influence in her mind transmuted the sting into a wave of heat that spread through her core, making her thighs clench. She bit her lip, stifling another moan, her head hanging lower.
Doom's voice was a low, authoritative murmur. "You must never defy your master again."
His hand rested on the spot he had struck, rubbing in slow circles to emphasize his point.
Diana remained silent, jaw clenched, her mind a storm of resistance.
"I won't break, you bastard." she thought.
But the pleasure stopped, confusing her determination.
Doom's irritation flared. He raised his hand and struck harder, the sound louder, reverberating off the stone walls. The impact shook her; the pleasure intensified, but she held her tongue, refusing to yield verbally.
He struck again, his voice sharpening. "Answer me!"
Diana's breath hitched, the spell forcing the words out.
"I'm sorry, Master." she said, her voice strained but clear. "I let my Amazonian impulses get the better of me."
Doom nodded, though his mask hid any satisfaction. "Say it louder."
His hand gathered the fabric of her dress, bunching it upward to expose her bare buttocks to the air. The cool draft of the hall kissed her skin. The vulnerability deepened, but the spell turned shame into something else. His other hand came down, slapping her exposed flesh with a resounding crack.
Diana moaned, thick, involuntary, blooming like fire across her rear. At first no red marks appeared, her divine resilience held but the sensation was electric, her body responding with a shiver.
Doom's voice grew. "Louder!"
"I'm sorry, Lord Doom!" she cried, her voice echoing through the hall, strong and resonant. "I let my Amazonian impulses overcome me! I'm so sorry!"
Doom's sinister smile returned beneath the mask.
"Good girl," he murmured. His hand descended again, this time softer — the slap more caress than punishment, building tension instead of pain. He continued slowly, alternating cheeks, each impact sending waves of pleasure through her, her moans growing softer, more rhythmic.
Diana's mind rebelled: "This is humiliating, fight him!"
But her body betrayed her. Doom's influence made every spank feel like a lover's touch, her buttocks warming under his assault.
After several strikes, Diana's voice broke the rhythm.
"Master… has my punishment ended?" she asked, her tone a mix of hope and frustration, her head still hanging, hair brushing the floor.
Doom's hand paused, resting on her exposed skin.
"Not yet." he replied firmly. "You need more discipline to remember your place."
Diana sighed inwardly, frustration building as she abandoned immediate resistance, her body going limp across his lap.
Doom's touch changed; his metal fingers playfully pinched her buttocks, squeezing the firm flesh. "You have a fine rear, Amazon."
Diana moaned softly at the pinch, pleasure spiking. Doom continued, his tone casual. "No one in your universe possesses anything like it, according to the data. A masterpiece."
"Thank you, Master." she replied, attributing it to her regimen. "That's thanks to staying in shape… and blessed by Aphrodite."
Doom agreed, his hand now caressing. "That is good, Diana." His voice deepened. "Who do you belong to?"
"You, my Lord Doom," she said, the words forced yet soft.
Doom's hand rose and fell again. "Louder."
"You, my Master! No one else, only you!" she shouted, her voice echoing.
Doom nodded. "If that is so, you should not have defied me earlier."
"I'm sorry again." she said anxiously. "I'm so upset and anxious about this situation."
Doom's touch softened, understanding flickering in his voice. "I understand. But punishment is necessary. Do not forget that you struck Zora and my Doombots."
Diana winced inwardly. "I won't do it again, my Master."
Doom's sinister laugh returned. "As long as you do nothing against Doom, destroy my staff, or damage my property, I will not punish you. Do you agree?"
She ignored him. Doom noticed. He reached for the wine bottle on the table and poured the deep red liquid over her exposed buttocks. The cool wine splashed and trickled down her skin, soaking into the hem of her dress. Diana cried out. a mix of shock and pain that twisted into satisfaction, the liquid igniting her nerves in a burst of sensation.
Doom's fingers spread the wine across her stained rear, rubbing it in circular motions.
"Do you agree?" he asked, his touch turning the punishment intimate.
"Yes." Diana nodded, her voice breathless. "Now punish me however you wish… I've been a bad girl."
Doom's hand rose and fell several more times, each slap echoing through the hall, leaving her buttocks red and warm. The impacts blended pain and pleasure into a symphony that made her moan. Just the two of them alone in the dining hall, in their own world.