AN: Unfortunately, I won't be able to dedicate as much time as I'd like to this piece for a good while. I ship in February and won't have access to this story (nor my imagination) for approximately two months. I hope to return to this in May. This will more than likely be my final update until then, but hopefully I can churn out a few more chapters before I depart.
Thank you to the lovely readers who have liked and followed this so far. Cheers!
2. Here You Come Again
"That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?" Strange sighed.
The Cloak of Levitation floated in the uppermost corner of the ceiling, stubbornly remaining out of its master's reach. The corner of the cape was cupped inward, and the object of their disagreement rested in the nook.
Exasperation creased the skin between the doctor's brows. Patience taxed, Strange snapped, "Or do you think? Are your fibers capable of intelligent thought?"
The cloak visibly bristled at the insulting inquiries.
The pair squared off in the first floor library. Their fantastic chase had begun in Wong's living quarters on the floor above, continued into the artifact room on the third floor, and took them through a majority of the Sanctum's endless expanse before Strange was able to successfully corner the Cloak of Levitation. Now, he kept it pinned in the ceiling's corner with a barricade of magic shields.
"Give me the phone. I'm done playing keep away," Strange persisted sternly, "Give me the phone or I'll think of new and creative ways to wash you." The cloak held the same opinion on baths as most toddlers; the comparison was founded, Strange noted, considering the manic relic's current behavior.
A violent burst of wind whipped open a window behind Strange. The doctor gave a startled yelp, whirling around to face the offending noise. His shields dropped as his concentration broke and his quivering hands fell.
The Cloak of Levitation took advantage of the distraction and made a beeline for the library entrance. Its train lashed through the air wildly. Alerted by the sound, Strange swiveled on his heel to face the direction of his fleeing prisoner. He thrust his hand out, barked a quick incantation, and mobilized a shield that entirely encompassed the exit. The cloak swiveled to a halt, just able to avoid crashing into the barrier.
The cloak swam in place as it considered its options. The collar bent as though regarding the disputed iPhone, still firmly constricted in the corner of its train. Then, the relic straightened and turned on an intently staring Strange. It floated quietly for a moment, making the doctor all the more suspicious. As the cloak reared back to lend itself momentum, Strange's eyebrows flew up in realization. He looked behind him at the window – the only viable exit remaining.
He turned back to the relic with only enough time to throw up his hands in defense. "No; no, no, no—"
The Cloak of Levitation rocketed forward and smacked into the doctor. It enveloped him in a frenzy of flailing fabric, collar straining to pull the rest of it past its master. Strange's shields evaporated once more. The sorcerer grunted from the impact, his hands grabbing at the irksome artifact in an attempt to keep it pinned.
"Cold water! And soap! Lots of soap!" Strange snarled. His renewed threat to wash the cloak only gave it more reason to escape. Feeling less like a Master of the Mystic Arts and more like a luchador, Strange wrestled the cloak to the hardwood floor, splaying out his limbs to restrain as much of the enormous relic as possible.
The cloak pined for the window, but in its haste, it loosened its grip on the smartphone. Strange saw his opening and snatched it from its captor. The cloak abandoned its escape attempt and fought valiantly to retrieve the possession, but Strange now had the hindsight to seal the device in an astral domain inaccessible to all but him. The relic tried to swipe the phone out of Strange's hand, but the train's edge passed through the space. The image of the phone was reflected from where the actual object resided in its new pocket dimension. It was only able to be manipulated by the doctor, as became evident when he held it up in triumph.
"Ha!" Strange declared, clutching the iPhone to his chest and grinning madly at his entangled foe. Deflating with defeat, the Cloak of Levitation disengaged, rose, and sashayed back to its corner in the ceiling.
"Nobody likes a sore loser," Strange chided, curling his fingers into his palm. The motion summoned an invisible force that snugly secured the open window.
The cloak sulked.
Strange stood, brushing his robes off with his free hand. He picked a seat at one of the library's mahogany tables and set Wong's iPhone on its surface, hunching over it and focusing while his hand traversed the dimensional barrier separating the phone from his reality. He flicked the tip of his unsteady index along the screen. It unlocked with a soft click. Strange began scrolling through Wong's apps, hunting for clues.
The cloak floated quietly in its chosen corner, facing him. Strange shot the moping relic a pointed glare.
"Don't give me that look," he warned, pointing a long finger at the hovering artifact, "This is not an invasion of privacy. This is an investigation. And since when are you an advocate for privacy?"
The cloak's collar flicked up and it turned its back on Strange.
"I'm doing this because Wong hasn't given me a choice," Strange explained.
Wong's iPhone buzzed, and the doctor fumbled with the device in a panic, nearly losing it in its dimension's vacuum. He finally got a grasp of it with an aggravated hiss, pinching the bridge of his nose between two trembling digits.
"Because Wong hasn't given me a choice," Strange reestablished, returning his attention to the cloak. It bobbed up and down, the edge of its fabric lightly brushing the ground upon its descent.
Stephen narrowed his eyes at the relic, subtle wrinkles accentuating his suspicion. He didn't pursue the argument. The cloak had stopped fighting for the iPhone, and the sorcerer was used to its silent judgment.
"If I get him a birthday present, he might stop making tentacle soup," Strange muttered, only partly kidding. He vigorously searched through Wong's multitude of apps for any gift ideas. He had developed a nasty habit of thinking out loud. He blamed the omnipresent relic: it made acknowledging and talking to what were supposed to be inanimate objects deliriously normal for the doctor.
Wind assaulted the Sanctorum, sending shudders of protest throughout the building. Unimpressed by nature's uproar, Strange shifted to glance askew at the nearest window pane to ensure its stability. It rattled beneath the autumn storm's assault, but persevered. Snow was unlikely, but freezing rain was a possibility, especially as New York City neared the end of November. Even so early in the morning, the grey cloud cover had begun to sour to a tumultuous black.
Strange returned his attention to his mission, though he soon found himself enraptured by Wong's list of music artists. An amused grin crept across the sorcerer's lips. "Aerosmith. Beyoncé. Dolly Parton—Beyoncé?"
The library door slammed aside. Strange leapt out of his chair, fumbling with the smartphone. He tried to slip the device into his tunic, but it passed through his clothing like an apparition through a wall. The phone instead floated peacefully when Strange lost his grip on it. The doctor abandoned its retrieval and shifted to face Wong's wrath, wincing at the expected tirade.
Wong wobbled in the doorway, stance unsteady and gaze bleary. He wielded what was left of the Wand of Watoomb. The weapon had been cleaved in two. Wong held one piece in each hand. His usually impeccably pressed robes were crumpled and tattered. The guardian released a weak moan before stumbling forward.
"Wong!"
Strange flung his seat out of the way and jettisoned into Wong, catching the man before he collapsed. The doctor bowed under Wong's weight, but stubbornly shouldered his friend and limped with him to a dusty reading chair. The Cloak of Levitation swept across the back of the cushioned seat and thrust it into the pair's reach.
Wong nearly crushed the furniture under the might of his fall. It groaned in protest, ancient legs creaking from its unexpected load, but it didn't break. Strange crouched in front of Wong and shifted him every which way, searching for visible wounds. He pursed his lips, goatee twisting with the movement. His brown brows drew together over his piercing, evaluative gaze.
"Several abrasions, but nothing broken or bleeding. Look at me."
Strange snapped his fingers, and Wong's slipping gaze drifted to the doctor. Strange raised two fingers and indicated that Wong follow them with just his eyes. He tested Wong's cardinal fields of gaze and his eye convergence, frowning at the results.
"Disorientation. Dizziness. Possible concussion. Wong, can you talk?"
Wong slowly reached a hand into his tunic, rummaging into a pocket. The Cloak of Levitation slipped over Wong's lap, offering itself as an amenity to the injured guardian.
"One sentence and one lap around the library, then you can rest. I need to ensure your symptoms don't warrant a hospital visit. Wong?"
Wong pulled the Eye of Agamotto from the safety of his tunic. As concerned as he was about Wong's condition, Strange was briefly mesmerized by the etched bronze of the glittering amulet and the palpable power emanating from the Time Stone it sheathed. Even having harnessed the power of the mystical relic, the sight of it still felt foreign and dangerous to the doctor.
The Eye spiraled open. Its haunting, emerald gaze latched onto Strange with sentient purpose. The Seal of Vishanti superimposed over the glowing gaze of the Eye helped ease some of Strange's trepidation in seeing the artifact again. He recognized the symbol as an emblem of protection. However, the familiarity did nothing to soothe Strange's sense of dread upon realizing the Eye awakened of its own accord.
"What—"
What is going on? What happened? The Eye echoed. Where its telepathic presence could have held a mocking tone, Strange was instead met with understanding.
The Eye of Agamotto rose from Wong's weak grip. The Cloak of Levitation raced off Wong's lap and swiveled to rest across Strange's shoulders, protective of its master in the presence of unexpected magic. With a blinding flash of green light, the relic consumed Strange in its memory.
A sudden roar from the trespassing god shook the foundation of Kamar-Taj and the cores of its inhabitants. The buildings composing the ancient site collapsed brick by brick. A few students fell to their knees, raising their hands to the all-powerful entity and praying in his name. Dormammu smote them where they knelt, a calm hand passing over their bodies and sapping the life from their corpses. They disintegrated into invisible particles.
"Tell your Sorcerer Supreme I have come," Dormammu repeated with deceptive calmness. His gnarled claws rested on either side of Wong and he knelt to properly dwarf Kamar-Taj's defenders. The god concentrated fully on the master. A temporary break in the man's façade bespoke the terror flooding his heart. Dormammu's enormous maw grinned. His mouth was like a furnace, uncoiling ribbons of fire from its edges and spilling waves of heat from its entrance.
"The Ancient One has fallen," Wong began carefully, expertly masking the tremor that nearly alighted in his reply, "And if you are here, then our masters and their Sanctums have fallen, as well." Wong had not felt the energies that would have dispensed in the event of the Sanctums' destruction, but their annihilation was the only explanation for Dormammu's presence.
"FOOL!"
Dormammu raised his claws and slammed them back into the ground, the individual talons scraping up handfuls of stone. Wong stumbled and crashed onto his knees, joined on the ground by the remaining students. Though he balanced on one hand, the master remained with a surreptitious grip on the weapon at his back. The violent quake rocked the area for several moments before the energy gradually dispersed and the faux calm returned.
"Your defenses stand. My herald is not affected by Earth's shields, but I am – for now."
Wong's relief at the news of the Sanctums' survivals was shortly experienced. Though his body rose, his spirit fell. If this powerful projection of Dormammu's power could occupy their planet with the Sanctums' defenses intact, then they were truly defenseless.
The glowing coals occupying Dormammu's eye sockets shifted to take in the trembling perimeter of sorcerers. "I am an endless entity with unlimited power. Your planet's shields may diminish my might, but never deter it. My energy resonates throughout the multiverse. I am the Dark Dimension – I am Dormammu."
"You are Dormammu," Wong conceded with a reluctant reverence, his bold gaze meeting the god's, "But this is Earth. We have defended and will continue to defend ourselves from your rule. You said so yourself: our shields deter you."
Dormammu let Wong argue. The silence that resounded after the master finished speaking was interrupted by only the crackling of the god's projection. Prickling, plump raindrops hissed as they connected with the omnipresent flames engulfing Dormammu's herald.
"Why do you think I am now able to send my herald to your world?"
Silence answered him.
Dormammu's dark voice incinerated the thin, cool air. "The Ancient One drew upon me for power. The Ancient One preserved your pathetic planet with my borrowed might. Now, their power has been dispelled. The Ancient One has left this realm and has been replaced with nothing."
A burst of lightning framed the massive entity. "Your shields have weakened. Your defenses are crumbling. Your magic is bleeding. Your Sorcerer Supreme draws upon the planet's energy and they do not revitalize it."
With sudden enthusiasm, Wong brandished the Wand of Watoomb and raised it against the god. Dormammu snatched the weapon from the man's hands before a command could even form in his mind. With horrifying ease, the god split the relic and let its pieces fall carelessly from his fingers. The Wand's remains clattered noisily, rolling to a stop at Wong's frozen feet.
A cruel laugh echoed throughout the courtyard and seeped into the veins of Kamar-Taj. The students wept, and Wong mirrored their terror with a vacant stare. Apprehension coiled in his upending stomach.
"Tell your Sorcerer Supreme I have come," Dormammu bellowed. "They will face me; I will destroy them; and your world and its souls will have the privilege of joining my Dimension."
Strange gasped as he was knocked onto his back, the Cloak of Levitation unable to lift him in time. The impact made his breath catch, and he coughed raggedly, clutching his constricted chest.
However long he had been ensnared in the Eye of Agamotto's memory, Wong had used the time to recover. Despite the circumstances, the guardian looked as indifferent as ever, even as the Eye of Agamotto sank from its position in the air into the guardian's lap. The Eye dulled and its bronze lids winded closed. Wong had set the halves of the Wand of Watoomb on a library desk, and now patiently waited for the Master of the New York Sanctum to recover.
"What was that?" Strange demanded through wheezes. His eyes locked onto Wong's, completely forgetting his friend's previously discombobulated state.
"How much did the Eye of Agamotto show you?" Wong countered.
"'Show me'?" Strange cried, "Let's talk about how it talked to me."
Wong thought privately while Strange stood. The doctor watched the Eye with a mixture of awe and anger. Wong scooped up the relic.
"Its power is not fully understood," he said simply, extending his arm and offering the Eye to Strange. The doctor had the overwhelming urge to knock the devious little Eye right out of Wong's hand; instead, he took an uneven breath and plucked it from the guardian's palm. He hesitated while holding the metal cords the amulet was strung on, but ultimately donned the Eye of Agamotto. It had the decency to remain dormant.
"I saw you standing up to Dormammu. He looked different than he did in the Dark Dimension—less evil kaleidoscope and more hellfire," Strange began, struggling to organize his racing thoughts. He slumped into a chair opposite Wong, his scarred hands flopping into his lap. The Cloak of Levitation hovered beside them.
"He said to tell the Sorcerer Supreme that he was here," Strange added, "He said it a couple of times, actually."
"Not much followed this declaration," Wong explained, "Few of us managed to escape. One of the students offered me a portal before…Dormammu began his rampage."
Wong and Strange sat in uncomfortable isolation, each considering the Dark Dimension ruler's reappearance and both too afraid to give voice to the ramifications.
"Dozens of Kamar-Taj's residents were slaughtered, Strange," Wong warned, flinching as he straightened in his seat. Stephen rested his curved lips against his steepled, shaking fingers, his frown deepening the crevices prominent in his forehead.
"Even with Dormammu's power contained by the restrictions of a herald, he remains a powerful threat." The severity of Wong's tone finally interrupted the doctor's private brooding. "A fraction of his power has already surpassed our worldly defenses."
"'Herald'. What is a 'herald'?"
"It is black, forbidden magic. A herald is an entity without a corporal form. It resides permanently in the astral plane. It can invade our dimension; it can even manipulate our dimension's physical properties; but it is an astral projection that can only contain a sample of its conjurer's power."
"It's a puppet," Strange murmured thoughtfully, his attention briefly wandering from the imminent threat as he struggled to comprehend the new concept.
"It is as you say; however, Dormammu's herald has destroyed Kamar-Taj and slain most of its population with only this so-called 'puppet'."
Stephen bowed his head. The thought of Kamar-Taj decimated, with blood soiling the ancient, sacred grounds where he had first discovered the Mystic Arts was almost too much to process. Everything altogether was too much to process. Guilt threatened to swallow him. He should have been there to face Dormammu – he should have been there to protect his fellow sorcerers. Anger boiled in Strange's gut, flowing inward and outward. Would he have made a difference had he been there? What good was his newfound knowledge of the Mystic Arts if he didn't apply it in the field? What use was he?
"And you're sure this herald belongs to Dormammu?" Strange asked, a growl escaping his dry throat.
Wong hesitated before he answered. When he spoke, there was a noticeable gravity in his response that drained the doctor's fury. "I do not practice the Mystic Arts as you do, Strange, but I can sense magical imprints. They are unique to their conjurers. The imprint of the herald possessed elements of the Ancient One's imprint."
Strange's eyes met Wong's. At first, he was nonplussed. When understanding did strike him, the rage that had begun to cloud his thought process dissipated. Strange chose his next words cautiously, worried of sounding blasphemous but seeking confirmation. "She drew power from him, and because of that, they share…imprints?"
"I suspect so."
Conflict warred in the doctor. Acceptance and denial, pride and disappointment, hatred and sympathy: all fought to seize dominance in the man. He had undergone this same unpleasant melee once already, when Kaecilius had first revealed the Ancient One's connection to the Dark Dimension. Strange had tried to abandon the Mystic Arts and its responsibilities then. It had been a selfish attempt, but at least he had reacted. Now, Strange was plagued with inaction.
Sensing Strange's fluctuating moods, the cloak faithfully crept onto his lap. Strange mindlessly stroked the velvet cape, too mentally exhausted to fathom the reason for his doing so but finding a sliver of comfort in the action.
The doctor closed his eyes, seeking internal equilibrium. He acknowledged his battling emotions and separated them from logic. Knowledge; information; data: they were the answers, not his opinions or mental state. Even the Mystic Arts were irrelevant without the dictation of logic. He was safe with logic. He could relinquish control to logic. Power was fleeting, magic was corruptible; logic was consistent. Logic could be victorious over a god: Strange had already proved it.
Strange's muscles relaxed, his face softened, and his mind cleared. When his eyes opened again, conviction simmered in the centers.
"Well, so be it," he decided, his voice buoyed by reinvigorated confidence. He gently shifted the cloak off his legs and returned to his feet. The Cloak of Levitation maneuvered around the doctor to reclaim its beloved position across his shoulders.
A glint of gold caught the warm light of the library's lamps. Stephen looked down at the artifact resting with seeming inactivity against his chest. He admired the tiny Sanskrit inscriptions carved into the interlocking curves of the amulet. He marveled at the warmth of the mysterious relic. He touched the Seal of Vishanti overlaying the Eye of Agamotto and thought of the protection it represented. He thought of the protection provided by the sacrifices of sorcerers in the war against Dormammu, and the most recent lives lost because of him. They would not be disregarded.
His resolution made, Strange set his jaw and approached Wong.
He clasped Wong's shoulder, startling the guardian into meeting his gaze. The doctor provided a brief, reassuring smile, decision gleaming in his cool eyes. Hope resurged in Wong, and in that moment, he was inspired by the sheer determination radiating from Stephen Strange.
"Come on," A smirk tugged at Stephen's lips. "We've had crazier Tuesdays."