[The Space Between Universes. The Gap Junction.]
They ran across floating islands of ancient stone, suspended in a cosmic void. Below them, the fabric of reality shimmered like oil on water.
Doctor Strange led the way, his cloak flapping. America Chavez stumbled, exhausted. Sebastian Michaelis brought up the rear, constantly checking behind them.
"We lost her," America gasped. "Right?"
"She's Dreamwalking," Strange said, not stopping. "She's piloting a corpse from another universe. It takes a toll. We have a few minutes."
They reached a massive, ornate podium. Floating above it was a book glowing with pure white light.
The Book of Vishanti.
"The antithesis to the Darkhold," Strange breathed. "It gives a sorcerer whatever they need to defeat their enemy."
He reached for it.
"Finally," Sebastian muttered, adjusting his torn coat. "A manual."
[The Destruction]
Suddenly, a red mist curled around the book.
"No," Strange whispered.
Wanda Maximoff (the possessed 838 variant) materialized from the mist. She looked worse—her skin was grey, her eyes were black pits, and she was covered in the oil and blood of the Illuminati.
"I don't need a manual," Wanda whispered. "I need my children."
She clenched her fist.
The Book of Vishanti burst into flames. The pages turned to ash. The white light died.
"The book!" America screamed.
Wanda grabbed America by the throat. "You have so much power, little one. And you don't even know how to use it."
"Let her go!" Strange cast a spell.
Wanda waved a hand. A blast of chaos magic hit Strange and Sebastian, knocking them backward—not onto the stone, but through a tear in reality she had just opened.
"Find your own way home," Wanda sneered.
She threw them into the void.
[Earth-Sinister. New York City.]
They fell.
They crashed onto a roof in a version of New York that was already dead. The sky was a swirling vortex of purple clouds. Buildings were disintegrating into dust. Gravity was failing; cars floated upside down.
Strange groaned, standing up. "Incursion universe. Two realities collided here. Everyone is dead."
Sebastian stood up. He looked at the ruined city. It smelled of sulfur and regret.
"Charming," Sebastian dusted off his lapels. "It reminds me of the Master's sock drawer. Chaotic and depressing."
Strange looked at him. "Back there... with the Iron Man. You tried to save him."
Sebastian paused. He looked away.
"It was a reflex," Sebastian lied smoothly. "A butler protects the house. Even if the house is built on a foundation of arrogance."
Strange didn't press him. "We need a way back. The Sanctum. If there's a version of me here, he might have a Sling Ring."
[The Sinister Sanctum]
The Sanctum Sanctorum of this universe was a ruin. The stairs were broken. The windows were shattered. Water leaked from the ceiling.
They walked up the grand staircase.
Sitting at a piano, playing a haunting melody, was a man.
He looked like Doctor Strange, but older. His beard was unkempt. His robes were dark blue and tattered. And on his forehead... a third eye blinked open.
Sinister Strange.
"Stephen," the Sinister variant stopped playing. "And... a demon. How novel."
"We need your help," our Strange said. "We need to get back to our universe. A witch has the girl."
"A witch?" Sinister Strange chuckled. "I had a witch once. Christine. I lost her. So I used the Darkhold to find a universe where we were happy."
He stood up. The Third Eye stared at Sebastian.
"But I couldn't find one. So I started... erasing the ones where I wasn't happy. To narrow the odds."
"You caused the Incursion," Sebastian realized. "You killed this universe."
"I streamlined it," Sinister Strange corrected. "And now... I want your ticket."
He looked at the Sling Ring on our Strange's belt.
[The Music Duel]
Sinister Strange raised his hands. He didn't cast bolts of fire. He struck a chord on the piano with magic.
BONG.
The musical note—a physical, purple shape—flew through the air like a shuriken.
Our Strange dodged. He summoned magic, grabbing a sheet of music from the piano. The notes peeled off the page, turning into golden daggers.
The air filled with a cacophony of sound. Beethoven versus Bach. Chaos versus Order.
Sebastian watched from the shadows. He saw our Strange struggling. The Sinister variant was empowered by the Darkhold; his notes were heavier, sharper.
"This composition lacks discipline," Sebastian murmured.
He stepped forward. He didn't cast a spell. He reached into the ether—or perhaps just his pocket dimension—and pulled out a violin case.
It was a Stradivarius. Black wood. Silver strings.
Sebastian opened the case and lifted the instrument. He tightened the bow.
"Allow me to provide the accompaniment," Sebastian whispered.
He placed the violin under his chin. His eyes flashed fuchsia.
He began to play.
Tartini's Devil's Trill Sonata.
The sound was piercing. It wasn't just music; it was a scream made beautiful.
SCREECH.
A wave of purple notes from Sinister Strange flew toward our Strange.
Sebastian slashed his bow through the air.
A razor-sharp line of black music cut through the purple notes, shattering them into dust.
"You're sharp, Doctor!" Sebastian called out, playing a rapid staccato. "Adjust your tempo!"
Our Strange grinned. He synced his magic to Sebastian's rhythm.
The golden notes began to dance around Sebastian's black melody. It became a symphony of violence.
Sinister Strange roared, summoning a massive crescendo—a wall of purple sound.
"Fortissimo!" Sebastian yelled.
He played the final trill—a high, vibrating note that shattered glass.
The sound wave hit the purple wall. It cracked.
Our Strange launched a final volley—a single, perfect high C.
It pierced the wall and hit Sinister Strange in the chest.
BOOM.
Sinister Strange was thrown backward. He crashed through the stained-glass window of the Sanctum.
He fell.
He hit the spiked fence below.
[The Aftermath]
The music died. The room was silent, save for the dripping water.
Sebastian lowered his violin. He checked the strings.
"A bit rushed in the third movement," Sebastian critiqued. "But passable."
Strange breathed heavily. He walked to the window and looked down. Sinister Strange was impaled on the fence. Dead.
"He had the Darkhold," Strange said, pointing to a book lying on the floor near the piano. "We can use it."
"Use it for what?" Sebastian put his violin away. "We have no Sling Ring. The girl is gone."
"Dreamwalking," Strange picked up the Book of the Damned. "We can't go there physically. But we can project our consciousness into a body in our own universe."
"A body?" Sebastian asked. "Who? Everyone there is fighting Wanda. Or dead."
Strange looked at Sebastian. A grim realization crossed his face.
"Not everyone," Strange said. "There is one body we can use. One that Wanda won't expect."
"Who?"
"Me," Strange said. "My corpse. The one I buried in the alleyway at the start of the week. Remember?"
Sebastian stared at him.
"You want to possess your own rotting corpse?" Sebastian asked, disgusted.
"It's the only way," Strange opened the book. "Are you coming?"
Sebastian sighed. He looked at the ruined city. He looked at the desperate wizard.
"Possessing a corpse," Sebastian straightened his tie. "How delightfully gothic. Very well, Doctor. Lead the way."
[End of Chapter 69]
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