Warning(s]: Graphic fight scene, depictions of body horror.

He shouldn't have returned here. Like sun-spun gold did those tresses spill about the grizzled visage of Thor–no, only Odinson now, he reminisced. A bitter taste upon an embittered tongue, he wields a Mjolnir that is not truly his own. Once of another's, a falsehood, one that still scorched something foul upon his mind. But he cannot dwell upon that. Not when this was here, wresting his attention from where the heart longed to journey and to where it must go. But, must…it was too wayfaring a want, too imbued with a discordant wanderlust that feels hardly even that. They. The Black Priests. Their numbing chatter of this strange world, spoken in tandem from minds hardly living yet interconnected. Something had felt wrong in this incursion, something that had dragged the stone-weight of his feet into a noticed and ungainly trudge. Yet, his readiness to his weapon was sound, and though it wasn't truly his own, though his had been lost, such a detached familiarity made him cling to it, if not an overt desire, than it was noticed by how fingers drifted and skimmed along the shaft whilst it was holstered at his flank.

Multitudes of voices suddenly arose in the din, a chorus, an unsteady and resonant unison that reminded him. This was indeed the place. Thor recognized that easily, especially whence the last he'd heard of it. Yet…he couldn't help how he stood, nothing like this even close to the multitudes of things he'd encountered in adventures and missions past. These voices were not struck to a tune of a human conductor, or even of their own kind. They sung in a language of trills and whistles, capturing a dialect that had only been rumored of, a tongue that the Allspeak could not comprehend. It sounded above, through the corridors peaked and carved by a natural essence, a thick gloam with air thick and damp permeating and clogging the senses, Thor hardly one to be perturbed. Fear is not what thrilled him. The tensity of a preemptive strike is what corded his muscles and made brilliant azures flick about. No, he did not fear–or, at least, he did not want to.

With steps never made for stealth did he cross into an obscuring shadow that did not block his view of what appeared to an enormous amphitheater, of ghoulishly carved architecture and vaulted ceilings pinnacled high and impossibly so, this a place he had not seen upon his last encounter. Their–but that was a memory seemingly long away. Oh, and yet–nothing would prepare him for the spectacle to behold. "…Stephen Strange?" Thor's voice resonated too strongly, struck like thunder throughout, causing the Black Priests to abruptly cease their chanting, their delirious song. Thick and masculine his modulation was, unable to be stifled by silence. Especially with what he was witnessing before him.

On a terribly regal throne, mired in smog and shadow yet illumined by fearfully golden light, not of a heavenly divine, but more the last light seen before being swallowed by an abyss. Thor could only blurt as much, for he remembered the last whom had led them, whom had derailed their hive mind and replaced it with his own will. The headdress and helm were tarnished with rust and patina, worn and weathered as though by a fierce and merciless wave of seawater, calcium clogging intricacies of detail and the turquoise melding sickly like disease into the rust, all discombobulated by the royalty this unnamed monarch bore. Cloaks of a once livid and passionate crimson were dyed winedark maroon and clung heavily to the form seated there. A sleepless yet dreaming vigil, like the prophet Cthulu beneath the waves. Dead but dreaming. Something had died and was dreaming in the monster seated there. An audience of tentacles and massive appendages still swathed in murky shadow writhed restless behind, almost knowing, almost telling. The very sight of it sent Thor reeling in shock–who…was this phantom?

"Ｃｏｏｏｏｏｍｅｅｅｅｅ ｎｏ ｆｕｕｕｒｔｈｅｅｅｅｒｒｒｒｒｒｒ…"

The voice that spoke thence stilled him, made him pause with such tensity he could feel his very heart pound against his chest. The massive eldritch abomination knew he was here, could do so without even so much as glancing blindly in that direction. Stephen arose from his throne, and Thor finally felt it. That fear. Paralysis, not borne of a true fear, but some deep and primal that all living things feared. The abyss. "You–you can't be Stephen! I refuse to believe it, monster! Unhand me! Let me free!" Thor bellowed with great and thunderous loudness, gritting his teeth with skin flushing red. But oh, he couldn't. His limbs refused before the presence of such a monster.

"Ｉ ｗａａａａａａｒｎｅｅｅｅｅｅｄ ｙｏｏｏｏｏｏｕｕｕｕｕｕｕ," Stephen maundered in his monstrous and guttural intonation, rising and striding towards Thor with his tentacles gamboling in lieu like legs themselves, cloak of levitation seeming weakened, unable to move of its own accord. Stephen came with such closeness, such a terrible stride that one might not even expect it of it. This was no longer the Sorcerer Supreme. The Vishanti had abandoned him, and the Sanctum was no longer his to dwell within. It was across dimensions and to fulfill the wonts of new masters did he abide. And their voices screamed upon him, even through the chaotic chorus of the Black Priests that encircled above in their wide and hypnotic radius. Fervently, faster–swirling dervishes of untraceable speed.

A jarring bolt of lightning tore with abandon throughout, and it struck the former Sorcerer.

Calamitous, it bolted and strayed upon him, riveting his insides that became ignited and phosphorescent from within, illuminating igneous the skeletal frame and innards inhuman. Stephen screamed with a thousand voices, ricocheting from the helm of a head that shook with agonized frenzy, talons clutching whilst the Thundering Prince's cuckold was freed, he standing and knowing that a battle was inevitable now. "What has become of you? Why are you like this, Stephen? Answer me!" They were both afraid. One who didn't know why and another who couldn't remember.

"Ｉ ＤＯＮ'Ｔ ＫＮＯＷ Ｉ ＤＯＮ'Ｔ ＫＮＯＷ Ｉ ＤＯＮ'Ｔ ＫＮＯＷ!"

Stephe screamed with such agony that several massive tentacles flailed with abandon and were enough to brutally strafe the Thunderer, the Asgardian barely able to halt the collision as he was impeded and slammed into an opposite wall, the Black Priests' chorus now rising to a deafening cacophony, Stephen snarling and bristling hotly as anger and rage and wrath poured and scaled him red hot. The helm was torn, and he roared his fury, jaws practically unhinging as his very throat flamed with an inner inferno. Thor blearily began to recover before he saw Stephen gallop towards him in all roaring fury, upon all fours and gamboling before a hand seized a crushing hold upon his skull, the Thunderer screaming as it became greater as he was suspended off the ground.

"ＩＤＯＮ'ＴＫＮＯＷＩＤＯＮ'ＴＫＮＯＷＩＤＯＮ'ＴＫＮＯＷ!"

He tried to remember, but his mind only hurled back chaos and discord that pained him! The Alizarine King was blindsided by a great hit by Thor, charged with enormous volts of lightning. They ignited the Alizarine King so intensely the he was consumed within the bolts, an outline of black and the stink of flesh curdling and burning as he raised his limbs in dreaded exaltation as it rocketed throughout him to the very core, plumes of thick smoke coiling from his incinerating flesh. It lasted for moments too long and drawn before Thor was freed, Stephen slumping to the ground in a seemingly defeated morass. Thor breathed with labored breath, sagging even from such a battle.

He strayed near yet afar, swallowing in such a parched throat, gazing long and forlorn upon the defeated and seemingly lifeless slump. "What has become of you?" he asked aloud and again, this time rhetorical and almost grieving. Brows furrowing, expression drawn by a hollow and ironic smile, Thor laughed in shock aloud. "Nay–what has become of us?" What…had happened. Mjolnir felt threateningly heavy in his grasp, Thor staring long and hard at it, brows furrowed and waiting in shocked anticipation.

A deep rumble emitted wrathfully from the Alizarine King, he rising with precipitous deliberation and Thor froze at it, turning slowly to avail to the sight of those trio of hellion eyes, fangs torn open and snarling. Such slowness, he was more akin to a rabbit mesmerized by a crouching snake ready to strike.

With such speed that he could not hope to deflect, Stephen lunged at him in a hateful roar encumbered with vengeance, power and discord bristling and all Thor saw before he became swallowed by a purest chaos.

To Be Continued…