Above the Doomsberg looms the very seat of calamity and mock grandeur, a site for the stage set, so to speak. Eternal green with glints of luster from his lair, incandescent armor stands for uncompromised authority. Moods perhaps, but expression is a forgotten thing on that cold visage while the genius mind behind it concocts one foray after another into realms that prove how powerful he is both as a strategist and a sorcerer. The darkly exquisite throne of Doctor Doom, festooned with wicked carvings and foreboding symbols, is the very embodiment of his dominion. So much so within the power-laden aura that surrounds him, an indication of mastery over the science and the arcane. One arm rests over the armrest, with the other wielding the scepter, the symbol of his insatiable desire to rule. Loyal Doombots lurk in the shadows, poised to grant him their very existence at a thought. This is Victor von Doom, King of Latveria, who knows not how to bend before any man. But is a man whose ambitions know no bounds.
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