Flashback: 12 years ago.
Kristoff Vernard Von Doom is fifteen years old. Fifteen, and frightened, and guilty.
But he couldn't let him do it. The Master of Latveria had always valued his honor. Kristoff just could not have stood right there as he sullied it by killing the Fantastic Four that way. When they were effectively helpless and had only been trying to help. It had been a clear violation of the makeshift truce -- in spirit anyway. Possibly not to the letter; possibly Kristoff had missed something...
At any rate, Kristoff's pleading protestations, his interference, had bought the Four the time to get away, earlier. And now he stood, his mask off and clasped in his hands behind his back, looking at the floor. Waiting for his sovereign and his guardian, whom he loves very much, to say something.
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