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She hovered above them all, watching with a ravenous intent as her pawns made a decisive move against the enemy. She had pondered about the rather erratic strike she had ordered, though only briefly. The secret war had been going on for years now, and its conflicts were pitiful and sparse. Then the enemy had suddenly introduced a third party. 

"Latveria." She hissed, to none but herself. A cacophony of cultivated fields were split roughly by the border - a large and imposing stretch of stone and steel, manned and defended by the Latverian monarch's soldiers. She had never seen the monarch himself, though the name 'Doom' had been a topic of conversation throughout her entire life, and the rumours were often unbelievable and terrifying. She was greatly interested by the man - if he was even mortal - and the drastic move by the enemy to target his state had made her chuckle with excitement. She knew it would not be long until this 'Doom' was before her. 
The strange defenders of the border were unlike anything she'd expected. They were all identical, large and stationary - like gargoyles defending a medieval keep. Penetrating colours of green and silver shone with the moon's glare as her pawns approached.
If they had the audacity to steal under the guise of me, then what else is there for me to do but raise the stakes?
She sneered as her gift held her high in the air. It was a picture of twisted beauty if one were to see her up close.
She focused on the menial response of the Latverian soldiers as her Shadows let loose with silenced gunfire. They appeared remarkably stalwart, barely even fazed by the bullets that should have proven fatal. They began to mechanically move towards her pawns. She wasn't particularly unnerved by the strange soldier's formability - if dead bodies were produced in Government uniforms then she didn't care, even if they were disguises. She had worked with one of her Conquerors, a drunkard but efficient strategist named Ivan Jankovic. They had agreed on this course of action shortly before she had sent the man to dispose of the potentially threatening Zebediah Killgrave.
She giggled to the clouds amongst her. She was manoeuvring the pieces of the war chessboard with a meticulous pragmatism. No matter how far her pawns made it into Latveria, the first signs of conflict would still have sufficed. Doom would be alert soon enough, and the monarch's weaponry would let her crush the enemy once and for all after she had twisted his strings into a trade agreement. And if not... well, she had her gift.
For was she not Wanda Maximoff, master of Chaos? Was she not the Scarlet Witch?

Her pawns fell. They had delivered some significant damage to the queer sentinels of the border, admittedly, though it didn't matter to Wanda what happened to either of the groups. As long as they had recognised the Government insignia inscribed into the deceitful uniforms, then nothing else mattered. Her Shadows deployed during the battle were all fresh meat, new recruits to the syndicate. If they survived the encounter with Doom's forces, then she would allow them to continue their training as fully fledged Shadows. If they perished, however, then they were clearly unfit to be counted among her ranks. 
She was beginning to leave when a blurted outburst of cries echoed out from below. Having her curiosity piqued, Wanda dispelled the obfuscating barrier around her and flew down towards the sound. A long abandoned shack sheltered the pained resident, she observed, and it's close proximity to the area of diminishing battle could mean only one thing. Cowards.

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Carl 'Crusher' Creel lay panting on the floor of the shack. Blood poured out of a wound from his chest, the consequence of a brutal conflict with the strange metal men. The worst part was that the wound was due to a gunshot, and from one of his accomplices, no less. One of the first barrages upon the border guards had seen a bullet repel off of one of the sentinel's armour, only to embed itself deep within Creel's stomach. The man who had fired the shot hadn't noticed, and the people around him who had did not heed his cries for help. This was for all of them their greatest opportunity - the chance to be elected into the esteemed ranks of the Shadow Conquerors, the just and efficient caste pitting itself against the despicable Government. Creel had only lived in Sokovia for a short while, he and his daughter had had to leave the States due to a precipitous situation between Creel and his drug dealers, but the instant the retired boxer had received full citizenship - he had been thrown quite literally into a coal mine. His daughter, only just maturing at thirteen years of age, had been carted off for hours each day to parts unknown. When the father and daughter were reunited after a day or even more, the man was caked with dirt and bloody cuts, and the girl was bedraggled with cheap lipstick staining her face. Needless to say, Creel's patience had soon run out. If he could be drafted into the Conqueror's forces, then maybe he could change things in the isolated country. With his strange power... [i]No, that barely ever happens. I ain't a mutant, not one o' those freaks.[/i]

Creel twisted his head to see the decrepit wood start to creep up his fingers, like he was a sponge - absorbing the properties of things that he touched. This phenomena had only ever happened twice before, in very dire situations. Creel hated to think about it - as if one of the old great boxers could be classed as a mutant. It would tarnish his reputation. It would -
The withering wood on the far side of the ceiling began to crumble, and then spasm and vanish into thin air. The illuminating moonlight shone through the ever expanding hole in the roof, and as it did a silhouette began to be visible to the wounded man. 
[i]A mutant? Like me?[/i]
She drifted through the gaping hole in the ceiling, dragging her long and elegant auburn hair behind her as the compelling shine of scarlet drew his eyes. She was impossibly beautiful, yet in her eyes he could see clearly that something wasn't right. 

"Coward." She spat.

"Please, you don't understand."

"[i]Do you think I am mad? Do you think I don't see you quivering here before me!?[/i]" She shrieked, anger rippling off her in waves.

"I - I... I can help - against the Government. Please! I'm a mutant!" He threw his hand up before her, showing the dirty brown wood extending up to his elbow. She raised her eyebrows at that, but as soon as the contact between Creel and the wood was gone, his arm began to return to it's usual skin. She giggled maniacally. 

"You're weak. You would be nothing but detrimental to my forces." She began to raise her arms.

"I - I'm stronger than the others! Please!" He dug a phrase out of the back of his mind, a phrase that had flurried around in the coming of mutants, "Homo superior!" Her arms snapped up in a sort of demonic dance, with much more rage than before.

"Do not even [i]attempt[/i] to relate yourself to those of my calibre! The Shadow Conquerors were created by true mutants! We were the original Brotherhood, we were powerful enough to accomplish anything! You - you are but a runt of what we are!" Her voice was rising by octaves, taking on unnatural qualities. She gestured brutally at Creel.

The power erupted within him. The blood from his wound spurted all around, as his mutant ability - fuelled by the aura of the witch, changed his skin to blood wherever the substance appeared. He eroded from the inside and from the out, as his organs were touched by the blood flowing through his veins. It covered his mouth as he spat the sanguine fluid out, rolled into his eye sockets and up his nostrils. He did not even have a second to scream.

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She gazed upon the puddle of gore with utter contempt. The power of her hex field still moved throughout the shack - warping the old wood as it went and causing unnatural cracks to appear in the stained windows. Her breath ran ragged and hard, as she still stood enraged due to the recruit's words. [i]Homo superior. As I am the superior to this man.[/i] She wasted not another moment upon the liquefied corpse, instead turning and flying out through the hole she had created. The scarlet of the man's blood trickled down her face and outfit from where it had splattered, joining the weaves of red that completed the Witch. She felt invigorated by the blood as she travelled back towards the city, where her doomed enemy awaited.