Everyone evacuated quickly from the silent No. 3 satellite city, leaving behind a castle full of corpses and the beginning of a legend.
They began their march over mountains and ridges, heading toward the mountainous area where the resistance army maintained its stronghold. The terrain was brutal, unforgiving to those without power armor. But the Stormtroopers moved with mechanical efficiency, and Doom kept pace despite his recent ordeal.
As the time spent together increased during the long trek, Nolan and Doom gradually became familiar with each other. The initial wariness faded, replaced by something approaching camaraderie. Or at least mutual respect.
When everyone temporarily set up camp to rest and repair, choosing a sheltered valley with access to fresh water, Doom deliberately sought out Nolan.
They sat apart from the others. Two leaders, discussing topics that went beyond mere tactics and technology.
According to Doom himself, delivered with the careful precision of someone choosing words deliberately, his so-called magic should actually be called witchcraft.
Most of his magical talents were inherited from his gypsy parents. A pair of gypsy wandering witches and a tribal medicine man who had chosen to settle down, abandoning the nomadic life for something more permanent. They'd created a home. A family. Built something that the Fortunov family later destroyed.
And the reason why Doom wanted to raise a resistance army in Latveria and carry out a revolution, the motivation that drove him to completely give up the good life and bright future he'd gained by studying in America, wasn't simple.
It wasn't just because his father died at the hands of the Fortunov family when he was young, though that wound had never healed.
There was another stubborn obsession that Doom had not revealed to Zora or any of the other resistance members. A deeper understanding that shaped his worldview.
While traveling and studying abroad, he'd relied on wisdom far beyond ordinary people. That intellect had opened doors, shown him the mechanisms of power.
He'd gradually understood the laws of the world's upper-class society. Seen the dirty thoughts that could never be exposed to light. The hypocrisy. The calculated cruelty. The systems designed to perpetuate suffering while maintaining plausible deniability.
Therefore, the cynical Doom despised those who shouted about light and justice with their lips while remaining condescending behind their backs. He held particular contempt for powerful individuals or organizations that would rather sit back and watch Latveria or other war-torn areas continue in chaos all year round than actually lend a helping hand.
They had the power to intervene. They simply chose not to. And that choice was unforgivable.
This was also, after Doom vaguely guessed Nolan's origin and identity, one of the reasons why he'd decided to join the team without much hesitation.
Here was someone who acted. Who put power behind principle. Even if the principles were brutal, they were honest.
As a person proficient in witchcraft and aware of supernatural things, Doom naturally knew about the existence of the Blood Cult. Their activities. Their victims. The trail of corpses they left.
It was just because he'd been concerned about the safety of his homeland's people, and because he was incapable of addressing everything simultaneously, that he hadn't moved against them.
It would be difficult for him alone to completely eliminate the Blood Cult. Their organization ran deep, had connections, operated in shadows he couldn't reach by himself.
Therefore, the idea of saving those other victims had been temporarily extinguished. Domestic problems first. Foreign threats later.
Unexpectedly, The Guardians of Terra had issued an extermination order against the Blood Cult in behavior that was difficult for outsiders to understand. No negotiation. No prisoners. Just systematic annihilation.
Speaking of this, Doom changed the subject. His green eyes studied Nolan's face, searching for answers.
He asked about Nolan and his Guardians of Terra. Specifically, the reasons why heretics and alien were so deeply hated. What drove such absolute responses?
Many things were simply inconvenient for Nolan to explain clearly. The full truth would sound insane. The Warhammer 40K simulator? Impossible to prove. Experiences lived in other timelines? Even harder.
He simply selected some things that could be disclosed to the outside world as conversation topics between them. Partial truths wrapped in plausible explanations.
For example, he explained that he'd actually inherited the great legacy and part of the technology of an ancient human civilization led by someone called the Emperor. That he intended to create a more glorious future for mankind, something that could even be called a golden age.
Remarks that mixed truth and falsehood in equal measure. Honest about intent. Vague about methods.
Of course Nolan knew that smart Doom wouldn't completely believe it. The man's intelligence was too sharp, his bullshit detector too finely tuned.
However, it was also a way to increase understanding and trust between leaders and subordinates. A dance they both recognized.
After all, knowing someone was playing you, but choosing to cooperate with them in that performance anyway, was an extremely interesting dynamic. It spoke to mutual respect. To acknowledging that some truths couldn't be shared, but intentions could be aligned regardless.
Soon after, the exchange between the two came to a natural end. Topics exhausted. Understanding reached. Silence fell comfortably.
At this time, Nolan suddenly remembered something. His expression shifted slightly with the recollection.
He turned to Doom, offering a correction. "Actually, our group isn't called The Guardians of Terra."
Doom's eyebrow rose. "Oh?"
"That was a name I randomly said casually at the beginning," Nolan admitted with something approaching sheepishness. "Made it up on the spot when you asked."
He paused, considering. "If you really want a team name, something official, we can claim to be the 'Justice League' for now."
At this moment, after listening to Nolan's words, the expression on Doom's face was slightly startled at first. His eyes widened fractionally, processing the admission.
Then understanding bloomed. He looked at Nolan with a smile spreading across his features, and let out a deep laugh. The sound was genuine, warm, carrying real amusement.
"Justice League," he repeated, testing the words. "I like it. Straightforward. Honest about intent."
About twelve hours later, mountains crossed and valleys navigated, the group finally arrived.
The people who had stayed alert day and night, maintaining vigilance throughout the journey, reached the mountain stronghold of the resistance army as dawn broke over the peaks.
The changes were immediately apparent. Now, with the arrival of David's fleet of Scyllax Guardian-automata, transformation had occurred.
All the underground caves where the rebels lived had been re-excavated and expanded. David's work was thorough, systematic. Structural integrity improved. Living space increased.
Large underground caves had been built specifically for gathering meetings and storing supplies. No more cramped quarters. No more scattered equipment. Everything organized, optimized.
Moreover, even the open space outside the cave mouths was almost filled with neat stacks of wood. Cord upon cord, arranged precisely. Fuel for heating and boiling water, enough to last through winter.
At this moment, a group of middle-aged and elderly resistance soldiers with much rosier faces than before stood in the clearing. David towered over them, patiently teaching.
They held Terra I lasguns, getting constantly familiar with the structure and shooting feel of the weapons in their palms. Fingers finding trigger guards. Shoulders adjusting to stock placement. Old farmers learning to be soldiers.
Thump, thump, thump.
The sound of heavy footsteps announced arrival. Power armor approaching, servos humming with exertion after the long march.
Nolan and the Stormtrooper team, their ceramite shells covered in dust from the journey, entered the stronghold. And beside them walked Doom, his dark green cloak swirling with movement.
In an instant, the transformation was electric. Countless middle-aged and elderly rebels immediately dropped what they were doing. Lasguns set aside carefully. Training forgotten.
They rushed forward one after another, surrounding the arrivals in a press of bodies. Excitement radiated from every face.
The middle-aged and elderly rebels, expressions unconsciously bright with joy, patted Doom on the shoulder first. Hands reaching out. Touching. Confirming he was real, alive, returned.
Then, as a group, they turned to Nolan and the Stormtroopers. Their expressions shifted to something more solemn, more formal. They bowed and saluted, the gesture carrying genuine respect and gratitude.
Nolan did not choose to dodge the recognition. Didn't deflect or minimize. After all, everyone here was now a comrade in the same trench. Fighting the same war. No need to maintain artificial divisions.
At this moment, a shout rang out. Young. Excited. Full of surprise.
"Brother Victor!"
Little Kane, who had been carrying a lasgun on his shoulder that was almost as tall as he was, threw the weapon aside without care. His short legs pumped, struggling to squeeze through the crowd of adults.
Then his whole figure plunged into Doom's arms like a small cannonball, impact absorbed by the sorcerer's prepared stance.
"Haha, Brother Victor! I knew big uncle and the others would be able to rescue you!" Kane's voice was muffled against Doom's chest, words tumbling out in a rush.
Doom's arms closed around the boy automatically. His expression softened, the hard edges carved by torture and vengeance smoothing into something gentler.
Nolan, who had just removed his metal helmet and tucked it under his arm, watched the scene with a helpless smile. Warmth and loneliness mixed in equal measure.
He waved his hand, dismissing the Stormtrooper team that had been following him. "Get some rest. Clean yourself. We'll debrief later."
They nodded, dispersing toward their own quarters.
Nolan turned to Doom, who still held the giggling child. "Doom, I'll give you twenty-four hours to rest, and then come back to me to discuss."
Strategy could wait. Let the man have this moment.
Doom seemed to hesitate, clearly torn between duty and desire. But he nodded, accepting the gift of time. "Thank you."
Nolan watched as Doom's arms adjusted, holding Kane more securely. The sorcerer's face carried a smile that transformed his features completely.
He walked straight toward Zora, who had been hiding behind the crowd of resistance soldiers. Waiting. Hoping. Afraid to believe.
"I've made you worked hard these days, Zora." Doom's voice carried warmth and relief in equal measure. He stared at the woman whose eyes were reddish, swimming with unshed tears.
At this moment, Zora, who bit her lip tightly with white teeth, trying desperately to maintain composure, found words impossible. Speech failed her completely.
She simply opened her arms and rushed forward. The motion was graceless, desperate. She collided with Doom, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders with crushing force.
Even the braid swinging behind her head struck Kane's face hard in her haste. She didn't notice or care.
"Welcome back," she whispered against his shoulder. "Welcome home."
"Ow!" Kane protested the braid's impact, but his complaint carried no real annoyance. He was squeezed between them, part of the reunion.
However, at this time, Nolan felt suddenly, profoundly alone.
He didn't bother to watch this scene of family reunion play out further. The warmth there was not for him. Could never be for him.
He held his metal helmet in one hand and walked toward David, who stood observing from the side.
"David, prepare meat for five people and bring it to the cave." His voice was steady, professional. Commanding. But something underneath carried exhaustion.
"As you command, my lord." David's metal head shook slightly in acknowledgment.
The Man of Iron bowed as Nolan passed, ancient servos bending in respect. Then David's eyes, glowing blue in their sockets, turned to observe the scene Nolan had abandoned.
He watched Doom and Zora, who occasionally laughed quietly together not far away. Saw Kane wedged between them, chattering excitedly. A family reunited. Joy earned through suffering.
Then David turned to look at the tall figure walking alone toward the cave. Power armor gleaming dully in the morning light. Shoulders set. Back straight. Utterly solitary.
David, who stood up slowly from his bow, found himself speaking aloud. The words emerged unbidden, processing observation into conclusion.
"Tsk, tsk, this is my lord's fate..."