Doom Crossover Archive Novels & Stories

"Six minutes, Jax. And that was while I was being cute." I leaned over his shoulder, my finger hovering over a specific directory on his main drive. "I see a folder here called 'Ultima_RPG_Collection_1980-2010_RARE'. It would be a shame if a 'damsel accidentally deleted the entire library, including your save files." Jax turned white. He looked at me, then at the delete confirmation window I had just popped up. "You wouldn't. Those are original rips! Some of those translations are one-of-a-kind!"

The hum wasn’t mechanical anymore; it carried cadence, whispering syllables that almost formed words. Eli swept his flashlight across the room. “What is this place really?” “The Archive,” Damian said. His voice was low, reverent and horrified at once. “Carter used it to store neural backups. Each line of code on these walls—someone’s memories, rewritten to run the tower.” Eli touched one of the consoles. The surface rippled like water, showing a flicker of a woman’s face—eyes wide, mouth moving soundlessly—before dissolving back to static. He jerked his hand away. “They’re alive in there.”

“She kills them. Or feeds them to her father.” His breath stilled. His pulse quickened under my fingertips. “And do you know what happens to someone who lies to me?” He shook his head, trembling. I leaned close. “I find out anyway.” He fainted. At least I didn’t kill him. Not yet. THE THIRD FACILITY: THE ARCHIVES Hidden beneath a 19th-century manor in Vienna, accessible only through an elevator disguised as a wine rack, sat Cross’s most sacred place: The Archives. Tens of thousands of documents.

The fluorescent lights in the sub-basement archives buzzed their familiar drone. Aria sat at her metal desk, sorting through merger documentation that seemed to multiply every time she looked away. Her mind kept drifting back to yesterday’s brunch—Cassandra’s cruelty, the bruises hidden under her sleeves, the weight of silence. The internal line rang, cutting through her thoughts. “Aria Hale,” she answered. “Aria, it’s Sarah.” Damian’s assistant sounded brisk, efficient. “Mr. Cross needs you to handle a pickup.”

The morning sunlight attacked me like it had been waiting all night for this exact moment. Right through my thin curtains, stabbing me in the face like I’d personally offended the sun. I groaned and rolled over, pulling the blanket over my head. Not today. Please not today. But the second I shut my eyes, last night came rushing back. The alley. The men. Him. And that voice, low and final: “Doom has begun.” I sat up so fast my pillow hit the floor. My heart thudded against my ribs, too loud for morning.

“Do we have any idea how long a vampire/werewolf hybrid will take to come to term?” “I have no idea,” I say, looking at Drake. “We’ll have to look and see if there is anything in the archives at the castle.” “If not, call Lily. I understand from Alpha Rik that there are significant archives of all supernaturals in the fae land,” my father says. “I was planning to invite both of them to my coronation. Aolis spoke to Drake when we were at the council dealing with Rich’s trial. We’re hoping to create an alliance between the vampires and the fae.”

He stood before us, his chest heaving, his indigo runes slowly dimming into a beautiful, permanent pattern on his skin. "I felt it," Leo said, his voice clear and steady. "The 'Archive' is trying to send one last signal from the deep South. It’s not an army, Mother. It’s a Call to Return. The last 'Clean Zone' is offering a treaty. They want to 'Merge' the West’s technology with our Marrow."

It’s in the notes from a ten-year-old file. Cross Legal. Not Cross Industries. Not Nathaniel. But his father’s old legal team — the one that handled the mess when his father died and the will got ugly. They had a shared archive. I shouldn’t still have access. But no one ever cleans things as well as they think they do. It takes three tries to get past the dead passwords. On the fourth, I’m in. The archive is a graveyard of contracts and settlements. Ninety percent of it is useless to me. But then there it is — a document with a shell company name I remember seeing on Cross’s old offshore filings. I click it open.

Those credentials are long expired. But security archives don't expire, Damien typed. Old access logs, old email backups. Still on the servers. Still accessible if you know where to look. A long pause. Then: What are you asking me to do? Help me find out who's running this now. Who authorized the new trials. Who's been covering for Webb. Another pause. You want me to hack into Cross Industries' security archives. I want you to access files that belong to both of us, Damien corrected. Your father and mine built this together. We have a right to know what they created.

Marco gave me an apologetic look and stepped out. Silence stretched and ten minutes passed since Marco left me here waiting for him. Then the door opened again but it wasn't Marco. The man from the night before walked in. Same dark shirt. Same controlled presence. I didn't need an introduction. His name was on every floor of the building: Axel Valenti. Founder and CEO of Aurelian Group. He entered calmly and took the seat that had belonged to Marco moments earlier. "Where's Marco?" I asked before I could stop myself.