My aching body sinks into the winged, cushioned chair of the second floor reading room as I finish explaining my last twelve-ish hours to the Sorcerer Supreme before me, his yellow-gloved fingers interlocked over his stomach as he leans back into his own chair, a focused expression on his face. My initial panic has settled now that I've had time to relax and get out of my combative state, with a lot of help from the self-assured demeanour of Strange, which carries through in every one of his actions.
In the time it took to walk up here from downstairs, the trip taken in silence, I've realised that my worry of potential death at the hands of the Mad Titan is slightly unnecessary. I'm confident in my strength and abilities, and of what progress I can make before he reaches Earth, so if I go by the power he displayed during the last two Avengers movies, he's probably not as much of a threat to me as I fear. Well, unless he's more aligned with his comic-self; then Earth, and I, are fucked.
His danger mainly comes from his mindset and his reliance on powerful, external sources, such as his adopted children, the Black Order, and his armies of Chitauri and Outriders. Should his enemies get over their fear of him and group their resources, they could stop him from his genocide of the universe quite quickly. Even the heroes of earth, their limited power greatly lesser than that of the interstellar civilisations, managed to defeat him after a prolonged battle.
While I understand that the movies portrayed the heroes engaging Thanos in close-combat for the spectacle, that's not how it would go down in reality. If one really wants to stop someone like Thanos from achieving their goals, you don't punch them to death; you bombard them from orbit. Although Thanos managed to beat a full-powered Thor, along with Cap and Iron Man, on his own, they, for some reason, didn't rely on the long range capabilities of Thor and Stark to wear him down.
Hell's, I could conjure a portal behind him while others pull his focus, then behead him, putting an end to his reign of terror. Or, even simpler, just portal him into the Sun. There are so many other ways to combat him, without having to actually engage him, that's its not even funny, more sad. In the end, without the Infinity Stones, Thanos is not that overwhelming of an individual.
My contemplation on the nature of madmen is broken by Strange raising a hand, a metal-bound, chained book appearing within his grasp with a sparkle of orange mist, a green Seal of the Vishanti carved on both covers. I lean forward with curiosity, my tired body protesting, as he taps the chain, causing it break and retract into the book, before he opens it up to its first page. I see him go to speak at it, when a quick, blank look shows on his face and he looks up at me, "Your name?" He asks.
Telling him it, wondering what he's doing, I watch as he speaks it to the book, my name sounding odd to my ears when spoken by an american. The pages start to rapidly flip, running through its contents, before reaching its final page and closing with a snap, a knowing expression, as if he expected this result, appearing on the face of Strange as it does. He looks up at me and sees me staring at him quizzically, then speaks, "Well, you're definitely not from this reality." He says with certainty.
I frown, and ask, "How can you be sure?" I may have only lived in a time of little documentation for a small number of years, keeping myself secluded away in temples up in the mountains, distancing myself from the outside world... Okay, I can see how there might be little evidence of my existence. Still, surely my life would've created identifiable ripples in the timestream, especially with what I am.
"This," He lifts the book to me, indicating at it, "is the Book of Mystics, an updating index that documents every being who joins the Masters of the Mystic Arts. But, even though your near-mastery of sorcery is clear, your name is not recorded within, ergo, you must not be a sorcerer of this reality." The book is layed down on the small table between us as he finishes speaking. The existence of the book was previously unknown to me, so I suspect it might be something belonging to those who become Sorcerer Supreme.
My thoughts race as the words of Strange permeate my mind, a tension I didn't know I had relaxing, a small amount of my tiredness alleviating. Suddenly, a jolt of new fear shoots through me, a worrying thought coming to mind as I learn that I've found myself in an alternate reality; is the TVA gonna come after me now? I focus on my breathing and get my fear under control, using my training to level my emotions, before realising that I'm probably worrying over nothing.
Ever since Loki took up the throne at the Citadel at the End of Time, fulfilling his glorious purpose and becoming the God of Stories, the TVA has switched from their mission of pruning realities, to keeping the multiverse safe from Variants of He Who Remains. As long a Variant doesn't appear in this timeline before I escape, hopefully within the next six months, I should be safe from them. If not, then I'll see If I can cooperate with them in exchange for them returning me home, though that's not likely to succeed.
Looking at Strange, who's been staring at me in silence, an eyebrow raised, waiting for me to gather my thoughts, I ask him, my tone rushed, "What does that mean for me? Can you get me home? Am I a danger?" His second eyebrow joins the first as he listens to me ramble, my voice tapering off at the look on his face, when he speaks,
"Done?" He wonders, causing me to give him a hesitant nod, "Wonderful. Then, firstly, you'll need to stay in the Sanctum for the next few days, until I finish banishing whatever god is hunting you. The wards will keep you safe, okay?" The amount of stuff that has happened to me in the last few hours has almost been enough to make me forget that some unknown deity has hunted me across realities, trying to kill me. Thankfully, from what I know of the wards of the Sanctums, they should keep it from me, as Strange says.
"Yeah, thank you." He gives me a smile at that, then moves on.
"Secondly, can I send you back your reality? Perhaps. I don't know how much your home knows of the Crossroads, but here, it's a dimension we understand very little about, and one that we try and steer clear of. I can open the way for you, yes, but from there I won't be of much of assistance." Strange look at me apologetically, sorry that this is all that he can offer.
"Finally," He sits up straight in his chair, crossing his hands in front of his chest, then pulling them apart, the Eye of Agamotto on his chest opening, revealing the Time Stone within. As he does, I brace myself, giving him a nod, having an idea of what he's doing. "Witnessed Ways of Neith!" A green magic circle forms between us, the image of an eight-legged spider at its centre, as golden strings, the same ones I saw in Appetentia, wrap around me.
Strange gets up from his seat and moves around the magic circle, coming to stand beside me, a conjured, hooked stick in his hand that he touches to the strings. He pulls on one, the bundle shifting as he does, swimming through the air slightly towards him, as he lifts it to him. Strange peers at it and follows its path, a focused look in his eyes, the Eye projecting its light, before he twirls his stick, the strings pulling taut and retracting into space, disappearing.
Dissipating his stick and closing the Eye with a gesture, he sits back down opposite me, "Good news, your presence in this reality poses no danger to the fabric of the universe." He smiles, "That said, I'd rather you refrained from using too much magic until your existence settles; it's unknown how the mystical energies will react, you might go kaboom." I cringe at that thought, but believe him. The slightest difference in how our magics function could lead to catastrophic consequences.
I go to speak, telling him my acceptance, when a yawn escapes me. Covering my mouth, I raise a hand and look at him apologetically, my day catching up to me. My Chi may be able to keep my body energetic, but mentally, I'm tired; physically, and emotionally. Battle may be my bread and butter, something that excites me, but I've still killed over a hundred beings today. They may have been demons, creatures of evil, intent on murdering me and consuming my soul, but their blood was warm on my skin as I cut them down.
I need a shower, and I need somewhere comfortable to lay my head, to rest and recover.
"Tired?" Strange asks, empathy in his eyes, "I'm not surprised." He stands, moving over to me and holding out a hand. Grabbing it in thanks, he helps me up, "Most of the beds in the Sanctum are taken, but there are enough open for you to choose from." A portal spins open next to me, through which I can see a large room, grander than my own at Kamar-Taj, "Get some sleep, we'll continue tomorrow." Bowing slightly to him, I step through, the portal closing behind me.
A wooden, four poster, double bed, its covers red silk, stands against the wall to my right, filled bookshelves on either side, while a small desk and wide window sits opposite. Working out of my torn, bloody robes and removing my undergarments, I stand nude in the centre of the room, holding my robes up before me, a heavy feeling in my heart as I look at the large patch of blood on their front. Although I managed to escape the Hell-dimension, it was only through a combination of wits... and luck.
If Zhurong decided, for whatever reason, to not lend me his power, or respond to my ritual, I would be dead right now; my body eaten by literal demons, while it's uncertain if my soul would pass on. Clenching the robe with shaky hands, I lower my head, my hair falling over my eyes, and kneel down, tipping over and laying spread out on the floor. Throwing my robe aside, I stare up at the ceiling with unfocused eyes, passively tracing its lines.
The fact that I came so close to death, through mostly my own actions, is terrifying. For someone who's so scared to die, who's seeking eternity, I purposely put myself in harms way, in danger. But, I know that I couldn't just let my allies die, not when I could help, could prevent their own deaths. I promised myself when I came to this world, that I wouldn't be one to gain power for power's sake, and would put it to use when I can in defence of the defenceless.
With a small sigh, "Fuck." I roll over, limbs heavy, and get to my feet. Rubbing my face, I move over to the open ensuite door, a small tub visible, and enter, closing the door and starting to run the water. Once the room is filled with steam, wetting my skin, I climb in, the scalding water rising over me and burning my skin, my scars stinging, then close my eyes, allowing it to punish me.
...
Waking up groggy, the room dark, my dark cotton, two-piece buttoned pajamas rubbing against me and my arms wrapped around the bundled quilt, I spend five minutes in silence, thinking about nothing, then throw the cover off me. Getting up and sitting on the edge of the bed, my bare feet falling on the smooth, wooden floor, I move to the desk and lean over it, opening the quarter-pane window. Taking a seat on the sill, the winter-night air brushing over me, the waxing moon lighting the New York cityscape, I listen to the ambient sounds of the sleeping city.
It's nice being back in modernity, even if temporarily, with its comforts and... access. While drifting off to sleep earlier, thinking on the future, I came to realise that my circumstances could also be an opportunity, one that I'm unlikely to come across again. Though the reason is unknown to me, a great majority of powers and cosmic forces are focused in this time period, with central characters emerging one after another, opening up the world to a wider universe.
I've been worrying recently on how to progress my cultivation, the aimless searching with my Chi I've resorted to slowing my advancement. With a bit of good fortune during a shitty situation, my time in Appetentia provided me a clue on how to quicken the process; the Lightforce. It's a concept I read about back in Kamar-Taj, in a book on the forces of reality; a Living Light present in every being, derived from the inner light of the soul.
The Lightforce is a cleansing energy associated with purification, healing, and balance, that manifests as a radiance that restores vitality to living beings and the world around them. I'm hoping that should I gain access to it, it will resonate and feed back into my Chi, my life-force, increasing my cultivation and enhancing my own healing. But, unfortunately, it's incredibly rare, with only six documented users encountered by the Masters of the Mystic Arts, at least by the time I joined.
Before I was stranded here, I thought it would be centuries until I discovered someone who could manifest it. But here, in the modern era, there exists the greatest generator of Lightforce to ever live; Tandy Bowen, better known as Dagger. Going by the timeline, and what I know of their show, they should have already left New Orleans, and helped the Runaways, a team of superpowered teenagers who fought against their cultist parents, deal with Morgan Le Fay, a powerful sorceress who has been attempting to escape the Dark Dimension for over a thousand years.
As soon as it's safe to leave the Sanctum, the first thing I'm going to do is track her down, magic or no magic.
Getting chilly, I close the window, blocking the night from reaching in, and move over to the wardrobe. Picking out a pair of grey slippers and a dark blue dressing gown, I put them on, wriggling my toes in their covers and fixing my hair, then leave the room. The halls are quiet as I walk, the Sanctum dark and haunting in the absence of day, the eyes of painted figures following me. Turning a corner, the stairs to the ground floor coming to view, I place a hand on a wooden rail and make my way down.
Moonlight beams through gaps in the hall curtains, lighting my way forward, breaking as I pass through them, until I come to my destination; a closed door, warm, orange light shining out from under it, quiet sounds of life emanating from within. Raising a hand, I give the door a small knock, then open it inwards, revealing a cozy kitchen, with an asian man standing over a stove, and a steaming pot of something cooking away. Letting a soft "Hello", but receiving no reply, I enter.
Walking around the wooden table, an open journal on its surface, the rough, dark stone under my feet, I stop a distance away from him and peer, the low light of the stove illuminating the man, revealing his face to me. A smile comes to my lips as I look upon the swaying figure of Wong, his body moving to the music faintly audible from the pair of earbuds he's wearing. Moving a little closer, I extend a hand and put in his sight, then give a little a wave, causing him to startle, flinching back and dropping his ladle, a Mandala forming in defence.
He adopts a stance, before seeing who frightened him, dropping his magic and reaching up to remove his earbuds, tucking them into a pocket of his robe. Wong looks back to me, frowning, when I speak, keeping my voice down, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."
He drops his frown, a more neutral expression settling on his face as he looks me over, realisation coming to him, "Oh, you must be the woman out of time that Strange mentioned." Wong glances at what he's cooking, then back to me, "Soup?"
Smiling, I answer, "If you're offering." Nodding, he gestures for me to take a seat. Sitting down opposite the journal, I stop myself from peeking, watching the shadowed form of Wong as he grabs a second bowl and spoon and scoops some soup, pouring it out. Turning off the stove, he picks up the food and moves closer, placing one down in front of me, then taking his own seat. He sees the open book and glances at me, then closes it and pushes it to the side.
Taking the spoon in hand, I run it through the soup, creamy mushroom, starting to eat. We focus on eating, the kitchen silent apart from the settling of the oven, the soup warming my body, when Wong speak, breaking the quiet, "Trouble sleeping?" He asks. Looking up at him from my food, spoon hanging between my fingers, I think, wondering how to answer. Finally,
"...Yeah."
"Me too." He gets up from his seat, my head following him as he moves over to the counter, grabbing two plates and opening up a bread bin. Picking out two thick slices, he retakes his seat, passing one plate over to me. Nodding my head in thanks, I pick it up and fold it, dipping it in the soup and soaking it, then bringing it to my mouth and taking a bite.
He speaks again, his own bread in hand, "Do you want to talk about it?" He inquires, head down. Swallowing, I lean back in my chair, the steam from my soup rising in front of me, the kind face of Wong beyond it. Running my hands through my hair and letting out a sigh, I respond,
"...Why not." Hearing me, Wong places his spoon down, food abandoned, focusing his attention on me, waiting for me to talk.
Taking a breath, my scars throbbing, I begin, "I almost died today," I pause, gathering my thoughts, "It isn't the first time, nor, I'm sure, will it be the last... but all the same, I'm not sure how to feel about it. I knew the risks when I decided to become a sorcerer, so I'm okay that with it, but at the same time, I want to run home and curl up into a ball, seeking the comfort of my mother." Finishing, I lower my eyes, keeping them on the soup, half-finished, waiting to be eaten.
The voice of Wong brings my eyes back up, finding him staring at his journal, a solemn look in his eyes, "...I did die." My eyes widen slightly at his words, before I remember what he's talking about; the battle against Kaecilius in Hong Kong. I wait, letting him gather his thoughts, watching as he places a hand on the journal, sliding it in front of him, staring down at it. "My death was reversed and I was brought back, and I can't remember dying, but I know it happened."
He runs a finger along the edge of the journal, then slowly opens it, stopping on a page, the prominent word at its header recongnisable even while upside down; Dormammu. Tapping the page, Wong continues, "Sometimes, when that fact keeps me up, I write, documenting the events of that day." He looks up at me, his eyes deep, "It helps."
Snapping the book shut, breaking the atmosphere, Wong picks up his bowl and places it on his plate, then grabs them and stands, moving over to the sink and washing them up, my eyes on him the entire time. Finished, he puts them away and dries his hands with a teatowel, then turns to me, locking sight with me. Folding the cloth, he places it on the side then moves to leave, patting me on my shoulder as he passes. I hear the door open behind me, feeling him stop in the frame, "Goodnight, traveller."
The door clicks closed as the sound of his footsteps moves away, fading into the dark, the new silence of the kitchen and its remnant warmth wrapping around me. I lean forward, resting my arms on the table and picking up my spoon, stirring the last of my food, bringing it to my mouth.
His words resonating within me.