Act Two
Earlier That Day
The day had begun with more excitement than usual.
For several weeks, Stephen had been referencing and translating the books Wong had provided him, interspersed with having to deal with a few minor inter-dimensional threats.
This morning, while bent over a mountain of notes, and books, he suddenly jerked to his feet, nearly knocking over the tall backed chair.
'I think I have something,' he exclaimed, excitedly, shuffling papers, moving books, flipping pages.
Cloak, who, as always, was hovering close by, enjoying the music that had become a regular part of life, quirked its' collar.
A broad smile claiming his features, as he nodded, Stephen chortled,
'This…this might be it. I need to get another book, or two, from Kamar-Taj,…but finally, I should have enough information to present to Hank Pym.'
Cloak did a jolly little jig, pulling a hearty laugh from Stephen.
He laid the volume aside, rubbed his hands together, feeling as if he was finally going to make some serious progress in his search for Master Jade.
'Off to Kamar-Taj,' he decided.
Then, his phone rang.
Irritably, he looked at the caller ID, gave an exasperated sigh.
'Stark,' he grumbled, to Cloak, and answered.
Cloak gave an annoyed ripple, because any time its' Chosen had dealings with Tony Stark, it was certain to completely mess up whatever plans had already been laid.
This time was no different.
It was much later in the day when Stephen and Cloak were finally able to head off to Kamar-Taj, and visit the library.
When they finally returned to New York, it was the small hours of the morning. While the city certainly never slept, all was quiet at 177A Bleecker street, the only light in the building being a soft yellow glow in the giant round window topping the roof.
Stephen made his way thru the unlit Sanctum, confidently, not much in need of light to navigate this building, anymore. There was also lightning flashing outside, offering more than enough ambient illumination to traverse his home.
He stepped into his dark study, and Cloak floated from his shoulders, giving a shake as Stephen went to lay the books on his desk.
He reached toward the small desk lamp, but froze before touching it, as an unfamiliar sound caught his attention.
The hair at the nape of his neck prickled, an intuition of danger.
Brow furrowed, he turned, faced the shadows on the far side of the room.
'Show yourself,' he growled, freeing his hands to raise either shield, or weapon. Instantly, Cloak flew to his shoulders, prepared to defend Stephen.
Lightning lit the room, briefly, but long enough for Stephen to see a sable form, with bright eyes, solidify in the shadows. He came forward, confidently, a cloak swirling from his shoulders. Hands emerged from its diaphanous folds, clenched around something sparkling. It drew back, threw, and Cloak intervened, blocking all the glittering shards that flashed thru the air.
Except, it didn't.
They tore thru Cloak, as if it didn't exist. Into Stephen, who gave a surprised grunt of pain, stumbled back against the desk. Looking down, he saw blood spring from half a dozen punctures covering his chest.
The raven colored figure stepped closer, and Cloak, confused, raised itself between Stephen and him, again.
Stephen found his feet, managed to conjure a shield just as the second assault was launched.
Whatever the weapons were, the shield scattered them, pinging to the floor like hail.
The assassin laughed, ducked back into the shadows as a bolt of lightning lit the room.
Gasping, Stephen gripped his chest with his free hand, realizing one lung was filling with blood.
Another bright flash from outside revealed the assassin, flanking them, already launching another assault.
Stephen's shield crackled, partially failed, allowed more of the shards through.
This was bad. Stephen and Cloak both knew it.
The storm was really ramping up, outside, keeping the room almost continuously lit. Rain began to slam against the glass, crinkling the shadows into bizarre patterns.
Stephen kept scanning the gloom, reforming his shield as large as he could make it.
Cloak held its' edges up, protectively, despite its earlier failure to block the weapons.
'You need to distract him,' Stephen panted, voice low, into Cloaks collar, pulling on his sling ring.
'We have to get out of here. I can't open a gateway, and keep the shield up.'
Cloak jerked a sharp nod, indicating it understood, swiveling its collar in an attempt to locate their assailant.
'There,' Stephen hissed, a tip of his head.
The ebon figure hesitated, just beyond the edge of light flickering thru the windows, a feral snarl twisting its features. Both hands were balled up, prepared to launch a double barrage.
'Now!' Stephen barked, and Cloak flew straight at the astonished attacker, blasted him backwards, into the wall, hard. He hit with a loud thump, went down. His cloak seemed to dissipate, like a mist, but quickly reformed around him.
Cloak spun, raced back toward its Chosen, who already had the gateway open. The assailant snapped to his feet, just in time to see Stephen and Cloak disappearing into the closing gateway.
With a bemused smile, the assassin laughed,
'Excellent. I was afraid this was going to be easy.'
He tugged up the smokey, ethereal collar of his own cloak, opened a flat black gateway, and left, to continue the hunt.
Stephen collapsed to the hard tile floor of the hospital, hands and knees, bowed with pain. Spat a mouthful of blood, sat back on his heels, struggling to pull his phone with one hand while gripping his chest with the other.
Cloak floated, anxiously, swaying back and forth, uncertain what to do.
Stephen sent out a text to Christine Palmer, short and simple;
-Emergency my theater need anesthesiologist-
Hit send, looked up at Cloak.
'Alright, listen. You have to wrap around my chest,' he wheezed, watching the blood pool beneath him as his head began to swim.
'Tightly, do you understand, tight….'
Cloak suddenly realized, with horror, just how badly its Chosen was injured, and instantly wrapped round his chest, like a compression bandage.
'Whoof…' Stephen huffed, 'I have to breathe…' and Cloak loosened, slightly.
Stephen nodded, approval, fighting for each breath now.
His phone pinged, Christine's reply,
-On my way-
Stephen clenched his eyes, tight, relief, jammed his phone back into his pocket. Instructed,
'Don't loosen until Doctor Palmer is ready, or I will most certainly bleed to death. You remember her?'
Cloak nodded, turning in a confused circle in the unfamiliar, dark hallway.
'You can trust her…do whatever she says.'
Stephen gripped Cloak, gasped,
'Down…Down this hallway…left turn…first door…on the right….' And fell limp in Cloaks grasp.
Cloak shook him, urgently, but gently, and when it got no response, bolted down the hallway to the room Stephen had directed him to.
Cloak blasted thru the door, and The Woman burst in, immediately behind, turning on blazing bright lights.
She froze, uncertainly, but saw Stephen's pale face, his unmoving body, held by the crimson guardian, and pulled herself together.
She leaned over him, insisted, urgently,
'Stephen. Stephen.'
He moaned, eyelids fluttered, but didn't open.
'Damn,' she hissed, looking at Cloak.
She'd seen the garment, before. Didn't claim to understand what was going on, but that story could wait.
'On the table,' she ordered, and Cloak complied, gently, without loosing its grip.
Christine's experienced gaze made a lightning fast diagnosis, and she ordered, briskly,
'It's alright, you can let go. My assistant will be here, any second. You need to wait in the hallway. If he sees you, he isn't going to be any help, at all.'
She was already assembling instruments, bandages, with crisp, practiced ease.
Slowly, hesitantly, Cloak unfurled its' beloved Chosen, shuffled aside so The Woman had access to him.
She took a sharp breath at what she saw, then tossed a glance at Cloak, jerked her head toward the door, insisted,
'Please,' and Cloak left.
It was cold; bitter, black cold.
Completely silent.
Cloak couldn't even hear the swish of its' own fabric as it swirled, profound confusion, which was rapidly turning to terror.
It raced in circles, searching for the edges of its' prison.
Up, down.
No ceiling, no floor, no walls.
No light, of any kind.
Cloak knew the relic that had captured it, the stories of the horror of being confined within.
What it didn't know was how its Chosen would ever find it.
How he would ever even know what to look for.
If he was even alive.
Realizing it had failed to do its job: protect its' Chosen.
What kind of companion was that?
Finally, it slowed to a halt.
Hung, trembling.
Absolutely alone, in the endless silence.