The wind howled as Stephen Strange and Wong stood at the edge of the desolate village, gazing out over the remnants of what had once been Daleport, now designated SCP-1936. The town, long abandoned, sat in ruins, its buildings crumbling and covered in thick layers of ash and dust. The overcast sky above was heavy with clouds, casting the entire landscape in a gray, oppressive light. Everything about this place was wrong. It felt dead—not just in the absence of life, but in a way that tugged at the very fabric of reality itself.

Strange adjusted the Eye of Agamotto hanging around his neck, feeling the weight of the magic thrumming within it. His sharp senses picked up on the distortion in the air around them, a lingering energy that didn't belong. Even without magic, Daleport would have felt eerie, but this—this was something much worse.

"This place feels... sick," Wong muttered, his expression grim. "Whatever happened here, the land still remembers."

Strange nodded, his gaze sweeping over the decaying town. The SCP Foundation had reached out, informing them of the anomaly, though even they were reluctant to set foot in this place. Strange had seen the reports—an entire village, torn apart by an unknown force, left to rot, with the very air itself carrying the echoes of the disaster that befell it. SCP-1936 was listed as a potential reality-bender, something that could twist and break the rules of space and time.

Wong scanned the area cautiously, his staff at the ready. "Why did the Foundation need us here? I thought they had this place locked down."

Strange's eyes narrowed. "They lost contact with their containment teams. Three agents disappeared last week, and the Foundation believes that whatever happened in the past might be happening again."

Wong nodded. "A time loop?"

"Perhaps," Strange said, though he wasn't entirely convinced. The threads of time in this place felt fractured, as though something had broken them long ago and left them bleeding into the present. "But we need to find out why the village fell in the first place. The Foundation's files are incomplete—vague references to 'sudden environmental degradation' and 'anomalous phenomena.'"

"Doesn't sound like much to go on," Wong muttered, his eyes scanning the area for movement.

The two sorcerers ventured deeper into the village, their steps slow and cautious. Every building they passed seemed frozen in time, as if abandoned in the middle of some terrible event. Strange noted the twisted metal and broken stone that lay scattered across the streets, remnants of a catastrophe no one could fully explain. Windows were shattered, doors hung off their hinges, and the ash-covered ground felt like it had never known life.

But the most disturbing part wasn't the decay—it was the silence. There were no birds, no insects, no wind rattling through the ruins. Just an oppressive, suffocating quiet.

"There," Wong said suddenly, pointing toward the center of the village.

At the heart of Daleport, a strange, unnatural light pulsed faintly from beneath a collapsed building. The energy felt off—warped, twisted, like a tear in the very fabric of reality. It was like staring into a wound in the world.

Strange stepped forward, conjuring a spell to shield them from any immediate threats. His hands glowed with mystical energy, the sigils of protection forming in the air around them. As they approached the source of the disturbance, the air grew thicker, heavier with each step.

"That's no ordinary tear in reality," Strange muttered. "It's… alive, in a way."

Wong's face tightened. "Alive? You mean it's aware of us?"

Strange nodded, feeling the energy pulse in response to their presence. "Yes. And it's watching."

They reached the glowing fissure in the ground, where the collapsed building had crumbled away to reveal a dark, shifting mass of energy. Strange crouched beside it, studying the rippling effect in the air around the tear. It was almost like a vortex, a swirling mass of time and space collapsed in on itself.

"Something broke here," Strange said softly. "Something beyond this world."

Wong looked at the fissure, his voice low. "Is it a portal?"

"Not exactly," Strange replied, running his fingers through the air, feeling the vibrations of energy around them. "More like a wound. Time and space collapsed in this spot, creating a rupture in reality. And whatever caused it—"

Suddenly, a sharp whisper echoed through the village, cutting through the silence like a knife. Strange stood up instantly, his eyes scanning the empty streets.

The whisper came again, low and insistent, as though carried on a wind that didn't exist.

Wong gripped his staff, preparing for an attack. "That's not normal."

"No," Strange agreed, his brow furrowing. "It isn't."

Then, out of the shadows of one of the ruined buildings, a figure emerged. It was human, but something was wrong—its movements were jerky, unnatural, as if it were being pulled along by invisible strings. The figure was dressed in tattered clothes, covered in ash and grime, its face obscured by a mask of shadow. It moved with an unsettling grace, its head tilting in unnatural angles as it approached.

Strange raised his hand, summoning a barrier between them and the figure. "Who are you?"

The figure stopped, standing just beyond the barrier, its head cocking to the side. Then, in a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, it whispered, "It is broken."

Wong exchanged a glance with Strange. "What is broken?"

The figure didn't answer. Instead, it took a step closer, pressing its hands against the barrier. Its voice grew louder, more desperate. "It is broken. The sky is broken. The land is broken. We are broken."

Strange felt a cold shiver run down his spine. The entity wasn't human—it was something else, something left behind in the aftermath of whatever had torn Daleport apart. But it wasn't just a ghost or a memory—it was part of the anomaly itself.

"What happened here?" Strange asked, his voice steady. "How did Daleport fall?"

The figure twitched, its body contorting unnaturally. "We were forgotten. Left to rot in the shadow. They opened the gate. They let the light in."

Strange's heart skipped a beat. "The gate? What gate?"

But before the figure could answer, the whispering grew louder, swelling into a cacophony of voices. The ground beneath their feet trembled, and the dark mass at the center of the village pulsed violently.

"We need to go," Wong said urgently, backing away. "Now."

Strange nodded, but before they could retreat, the ground split open with a violent crack. The air around them distorted, and the fissure in the ground expanded, consuming the village in a blinding flash of light.

Everything went white.

For a moment, Strange felt like he was floating, weightless in a void of nothingness. Then, slowly, the light faded, and he found himself standing back in the center of Daleport, the village eerily quiet once more. The figure was gone, the fissure closed, and the unnatural energy had dissipated.

Wong looked around, his face tense. "What just happened?"

Strange shook his head, still processing what he had seen. "The village... it's caught in a loop. Whatever broke here, it's repeating itself. Over and over again."

"But the gate," Wong pressed. "What did they mean by 'the gate'?"

Strange frowned, his mind racing. "I'm not sure. But something was unleashed here—something that never should have been. And until we find the source, Daleport will remain trapped."

They turned to leave the cursed village, but as they walked away, Strange couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched—by the village itself, by the shadows lurking in the corners of reality.

Whatever had happened in Daleport, it wasn't over.

It had only just begun.