Two months later:
Training under Dr. Strange was...odd, to say the least. It honestly felt both exhilarating and deeply confusing at the same time. I also had to constantly resist the entire pantheon of easy and obvious "Strange" puns that presented themselves on a daily basis.
I had to study and research extensively before I could even attempt the most basic spells. On top of that, I had to meditate constantly to allow my mind to access what he called magic. Honestly, I needed a different word for it — screaming "I can do magic!" just sounded ridiculous. Strange might be comfortable with it, but I wasn't.
The man was an extraordinary teacher — and that was the least I could say about him. He understood the mechanics of magic on such a fundamental level that he could explain it to me the way someone might explain the weather forecast.
It took me a while to really grasp it at first, but now I understood what magic was. And once I understood...well, I began to experiment.
BOOM!
Strange walked into my room and looked around. My spartan quarters were trashed — scorch marks across every surface, and me embedded in a crater in the wall. I wore the dull red robes of an apprentice; they weren't half bad, honestly.
He looked at me and sighed. "Let me guess — you tried to recreate the storage pouch I gave you, forgot about conservation of mass, and attempted to simply flood the container with raw magical energy, yes?"
I blinked. "...Yes."
Strange sighed. "Peter, I told you — just because you understand how something works doesn't mean you can immediately replicate it." He snapped his fingers. The room glowed gold, then rearranged itself back to its previous state as if the explosion had never happened.
I found myself lifted out of the wall and set down in my chair in front of my desk, on which sat a backpack — no longer a pile of ash.
Strange came up beside me and took the bag. "Let's see what you did wrong, shall we?" He examined the inside of the seams and hummed as he found the runes I had drawn. "Ah. I see."
"What did I do wrong?"
"The Kuru rune — it's too long." He produced a white quill, which we used for rune inscription, and corrected the error. When he was done he set the bag on my desk. "There. Now try it."
I nodded, closed my eyes, and focused, pouring the extra-dimensional energy he called magic into the bag. It glowed bright red for a moment — I braced for another explosion — but this time it held.
The mouth of the bag shimmered gold as I felt its interior expanding to near-infinite capacity. Strange smiled. "I have to say, I'm impressed. Only one month of training and you are already crafting enchanted objects."
I smiled. "Honestly, I'm embarrassed it took me this long."
"It took me years to learn magic, Peter."
"Yeah, but there's nothing wrong with overachieving, is there?" I smiled.
Strange nodded. "True. Now — since you're here rather than in the training room, I assume you've finished the assignment I set?"
I smiled as I stood up and moved away from Strange. I swept my arms in a clockwise arc, then thrust both hands forward, generating a giant magical circle of reddish energy that expanded to encompass my entire body.
Strange smiled. "The Shield of Sharum — impressive, Peter. But let's see if it holds its form under pressure." He snapped his fingers and summoned a ball of plasma on his fingertip.
"Wait, wha—"
TANG!
The plasma bolt struck my shield hard. I was pushed back a few feet, but I held the structure intact. I looked up — and widened my eyes as more plasma bolts came flying at me. I raised the shield and braced.
TANG! TANG! TANG!
They stopped. I lowered the shield. "A little warning next time!"
Strange smiled. "In real life, there will be no warning. Also — behind you."
He didn't need to say it. My spider-sense was already screaming. I ducked as the plasma bolt sailed over my shoulder, clipping Strange's wall and breaking off a chunk of stone.
"Your spider-sense continues to impress me, Peter," Strange said, snapping his fingers to repair the wall. "Tell me — have you had time to practise it deliberately?"
I shrugged. "Not really. Why? Is it magic?"
"I told you — magic is simply another word for science. And I believe your spider-sense may carry some...prophetic qualities. It might be worth exploring," Strange replied.
"Huh. Interesting." I lowered my shield and let it discharge. "So — what's next?"
"Something special," he smiled.
"Teleportation?!"
"No. Astral projection."
I groaned. "I don't want to be a ghost! I want to teleport!"
Strange smiled. "You can learn both, if you wish. But first — astral projection. Come, Apprentice Parker. We have work to do."
I grumbled but followed him into his meditation room, where I dropped onto the pile of cushions I had claimed as my spot. Strange sat opposite me and took a slow, deep breath.
"Close your eyes and focus. Imagine the world as two layers overlapping each other. The incantation to access the second layer is 'Bachim' — pronounce it mentally, and you should be able to feel the vibrations in your soul reach outward, allowing you to slip free of your physical body."
I nodded. "Right." I took a deep breath and focused. Bachim. I felt the power I had learned to channel respond — like peeling a bandage free from skin, only without any pain. But it wasn't enough. I needed to go deeper.
I let myself sink further into the meditative state, feeling my mind settle into that familiar stillness. Accessing my magical abilities had become almost second nature by now. I felt a distinct boundary form between my soul and my body, my spiritual form pressing slowly outward.
And then — I felt free.
I opened my eyes and found myself looking at the back of my own head. I blinked, slowly floating backward, the open space around me behaving more like water than air, a gentle pressure against my whole form.
"This, my Apprentice, is your spiritual form." I turned to find Strange floating before me, now translucent.
"This is cool," I grinned, looking at my transparent hands. "So cool!"
"Indeed. Now — shall we—"
"STRANGE! HELP ME!" The cry hit with such force it severed my concentration, snapping my spirit back into my body.
I opened my eyes and gasped. "What the hell?!" I saw Strange's spirit re-enter his body as well — he gasped in shock. "Master — what was that?!"
"A friend calling for help," he replied as he tried to rise to his feet, only to stumble, dropping to one knee.
"Master." I was beside him immediately, steadying him. "Are you all right?"
"H-he was in such pain," Strange frowned as he got to his feet with my support. "I have never felt him so...powerless."
"Who was it? Who called for help?" I asked.
"Mordo," Strange gasped.
"Wait — isn't Mordo your worst enemy?!" I cried out.
Strange nodded. "He is...but he is also my friend. Over the years we came to respect one another, even if we could not agree. Though I do not share his views on magic, I can understand them...we need to help him."
I clicked my teeth. "The last time I helped an enemy of mine he came back and tried to tear me in half. Granted he didn't know who I really was at the time, but still..."
"Mordo's pride would never allow him to ask for help unless he truly had no other choice," Strange said as he snapped his fingers, summoning several books from his shelf. They opened themselves and floated before him as he scanned their pages.
"All right — what do you need from me?" I asked.
"Nothing," Strange said, summoning a cauldron and several jars of ingredients. "You stay out of this. Whatever this is...it's far too dangerous for you. Leave." He dumped the ingredients into the cauldron and turned the water red. "Now, Apprentice."
I sighed. "Fine. But don't call me when you throw your back out."
"O mystical waters of Asagiri — reveal to me the location of the one I seek." Strange focused and drew out a ball of magical energy from within himself. But it felt wrong — it didn't feel like his. It felt like someone else's. Mordo's. He must have implanted it in Strange, a tracking beacon for exactly this ritual.
Slowly the waters in the cauldron began to build and churn. Strange peered in. "Show me what I seek — show me the location of Baron Mordo!" The pot glowed. Strange's eyes went wide. "Oh no..." He looked up sharply. "Run!"
I didn't move. I couldn't leave him alone — especially not after seeing his face like that.
BOOM!
The cauldron exploded as a flaming portal tore open in the middle of the floor. Strange was flung backward before being arrested in midair — and then pulled in the opposite direction, straight into the portal.
And then I felt the portal pull me in too. "What the—?!" I activated my adhesive grip, pressing my feet to the floor. The pull was overwhelming. Before I could extend my claws for purchase, I was ripped off my feet and yanked straight in, plunging downward through a tunnel of churning flames.
"ARGH!" I cried out — and then I hit the ground.
I groaned as I pushed myself upright and looked around, my breath catching in my throat.
Everything was on fire. And I mean everything. The sky, the distant plains, even the cavern ceiling far above was dotted with patches of burning light. And rising from the center of it all was a castle that clawed its way up to the cavern roof, well over a hundred feet tall.
Gothic spires, walls embedded with human bones, a lake of dark crimson surrounding the base. I got to my feet. Around me stood a gathering army of red-skinned imps — horned, tailed, armed with daggers and pitchforks.
"Ah — Strange? Master Strange?!" I called out, looking around. I appeared to be completely alone. Where the hell is he? I gulped as the army closed in. "Okay...this is new."
"ATTACK!" a demon screamed, and the horde lunged.
"DAMN IT!" I cried out, throwing my energy outward to summon the Shield of Sharum and expanding it into a dome around myself, protecting me from all sides.
"KILL HIM!" they screamed.
"BURN HIM ALIVE!"
"FLAY HIM!"
The impacts kept coming, but my will held. They couldn't break the shield as long as I held my concentration.
"Someone alert the lord! We have the Sorcerer Supreme!" The imp standing tallest among them cried out as the army kept me pinned, their forked tongues practically dripping with excitement.
"I'm not the Sorcerer Supreme!" I focused and pushed the shield outward as a shockwave, slamming the first three rows of attackers off their feet.
An imp with a dagger launched itself at me. I ducked under its swipe, and before it could recover I kicked it in the ribs, sending it tumbling away.
I turned — three demons charged. I deflected one, but one raked my bicep and another cut my cheek. By the time I had shaken them off, five more had joined in.
Their sheer numbers began to overwhelm me. I was being piled on, pushed down under dozens of shrieking imps. I growled. I felt the rage building. I was cornered, and I was going to die if I didn't act. And I refused to die.
SKIT!
I stopped holding back. I knew that if I restrained myself, they could take my head — and I didn't think I could survive that.
"GRRAAAH!" I roared as I surged to my feet, hurling the pile of imps off through sheer force. My blue-grey claws gleamed in the hellish firelight.
I charged into the thinning wall of imps ahead of me, moving like a projectile, swiping my claws in wide arcs, cleaving through their weapons and fingers, carving a path through the mass of bodies. Their flesh offered barely any resistance — and the moment I cut through it, every stroke felt profoundly satisfying.
I broke through their encirclement and turned — the imps were already climbing over their injured to come back at me. They charged again.
And then a massive shadow fell over everything, bringing the entire horde to a dead halt.
I turned slowly.
Staring down at me was a figure standing ten feet tall — blood-red skin, a lean and imposing frame, a jackal-like face, pupilless white eyes, and a smile of absolute cruelty framed by a widow's peak of jet-black hair. He wore only a crimson cloak and a loincloth, his nails long and curved like claws.
I knew exactly who he was. I didn't need to think twice.
He smiled down at me. "Now...why are you here?" He snapped his fingers.
Darkness.
The last coherent thought I had was: Why does Marvel's version of the devil — an omnipotent being — choose to wear only a loincloth?
---
Some time later:
My eyes blinked open — only to find the entire room was upside down.
Not the room. Me.
I was hanging from the ceiling, chained hand and foot, suspended upside down above a swimming-pool-sized cauldron filled with molten lava, runes carved along its rim. I recognized a few; the ones I didn't, I committed to memory for later.
I looked around and found myself inside some kind of throne room — a great hearth burning at its center, two feasting tables stretching away on either side, and on the throne before me, one leg thrown over the armrest, elbow propped on the other, chin resting in his palm — Mephisto. The ruler of this particular corner of hell.
He looked bored.
Chained to the base of his throne was a man dressed in black and green tatters, his hair white and his face deeply lined. He looked old and broken — his body covered in cuts and bruises, his eyes darting between Mephisto and myself with a frightened, skittish energy, knees pulled to his chest.
I recognized him. Baron Mordo — once a genuine threat to the world in his own right. Now he looked like a man who had been slowly ground down into dust, though behind the fear I could see a core of iron will that Mephisto had not yet managed to extinguish.
"What do you think of our guest, my pet?" Mephisto asked in a singsong voice.
"He's nobody important," Mordo replied, his voice soft but carrying a steely undertone.
Mephisto smirked. "And that's precisely why I believe the opposite." He turned to me, his white eyes meeting mine immediately. "Ah — so you're awake. How nice. I thought we'd have to wait a few more hours."
Fear hit me like cold water. I was not ready for this. Not even close. This being could kill me without getting up from his throne. I needed to get out of these chains immediately.
"Tell me, Apprentice Sorcerer — what is your name?" Mephisto asked with a cruel smile.
"Ah...my name's Bruce Wayne. Pleasure to meet you," I said.
"You fool!" Mordo hissed.
"Silence!" Mephisto snapped his fingers, conjuring a metal gag over Mordo's mouth before turning back to me, smile unchanged. "Bruce Wayne. Interesting. Tell me, Bruce — what brings you here?" Magic flowed into my body's system as he spoke, probing for a hold.
It was trying to take root. If a sufficiently powerful magic user knew your true name, they could use it as a lever — a way to compel answers, bend your will. But since I had given a false name, I had a window. I played along, feigning the slow heaviness of someone losing control. "I tried to summon a succubus."
Mephisto's expression fell. "I beg your pardon?"
"I tried to summon a succubus." Mordo blinked behind his gag in profound confusion.
"...Why?"
"To have relations with her."
"Could you not simply have used magic to charm some human woman into your chambers?"
"Nah, too boring. Besides, I have a thing for women with tails and, you know, significant assets. Wait — that's accurate, right? The rumor that all demonesses are...generously proportioned?"
Mephisto stared at me for a long moment before sighing. "Your name isn't really Bruce Wayne, is it?" Behind his gag, Mordo's eyebrows shot up — and despite everything, a burst of muffled laughter escaped him.
"Nope!" I grinned. "My apologies."
"It's fine," Mephisto waved it away. "Such cunning. You humans are all alike. Why, just last week Mordo..." His jackal-like face stretched into a smile so vile it sent ice down my spine. "I see — so you are Strange's apprentice. Very interesting indeed."
I raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think that?"
"Because only he would ever take on an apprentice with a mouth like yours," Mephisto laughed. "I can feel your fear, Bruce — and it is delicious. But you simply push it aside and make jokes. Why, if I didn't know better, I would say..." His eyes widened comically. "Impossible."
He practically flew from his throne. In an instant his white eyes were on me — gazing, searching, probing. He sniffed the air. He closed his eyes. The intensity dissolved into something that looked almost like amusement.
"A dimension-walker," he scoffed. "Not only Strange's apprentice, but a traveler of dimensions. And...oh, what's this?" His eyes widened with genuine shock. "You're not even really you, are you?"
"I don't—"
"Shush." He silenced me with a look. He raised one enormous arm, flexed his fingers, and conjured a magical circle of pure black. He held it before me and began to rotate it.
I felt his magic hit my gut like a fist.
"ARGH!" And then it was just sound — white noise. I was too consumed by pain to register anything else. It was as if a thousand blades were being drawn through me simultaneously. Slowly, piece by piece, sensation left me — my fingers, my toes, my arms, my chest.
He was ripping through me. Looking for something. The pain was so overwhelming it shattered my concentration entirely, and I slipped under.
I found myself in my mental landscape — the city of my mind, now featuring a new building: the Sanctum Sanctorum. I was moving toward it when the sky turned red.
Mephisto had entered my mind.
He stood like a colossus over the cityscape — the skyscrapers not even reaching his waist. He looked down, narrowing his eyes at me. But then his attention shifted — drifting toward the great dark tower near the edge of my mindscape, the one that held all the knowledge of my world.
Hope surged through me instantly. I knew this was my only chance. Mephisto felt it — he turned back toward me. But I was already moving, flying through my own mind toward the tower.
"You can't escape, little spider," Mephisto said calmly as he followed, crushing buildings under his feet. I didn't stop or look back.
BOOM!
My memory of Hell's Kitchen disintegrated. Matt...Matt Murdock. He was Daredevil, but — what had he meant to me? I could feel the memory unraveling.
BOOM!
The Baxter Building. The FF. Had I spoken with them? Had we been friends? Whatever it was, it was gone.
No — he was making me forget. He was deliberately erasing the people in my life.
Mephisto raised his foot again — and this time the target was a rooftop. The rooftop where I first met Felicia.
"NO!" I stopped and spun around. I swept my hands in a circle, summoned a whip of magic, and cracked it across his shin.
"Oh? Is this memory precious to you?" He smiled — and brought his foot down.
"I won't let you!" I pulled everything I had inward and hurled it outward, throwing several whips of magic simultaneously. They took the form most natural to me — strands of web. A giant web snapped into existence over the building, halting Mephisto's descent.
"Not bad," he said, lifting his foot. My webs slowly dissolved as I panted. "Very few could stop me through sheer force of will — and using the Whips of Vástha in that form, no less." He snapped his fingers — and my energy drained away like water through a cracked dam.
I felt powerless as he flicked me across my own mindscape, sending me flying through layers of memory before I crashed into the outer wall of the Dark Tower.
"Now then." He raised his foot and brought it down, hard.
CRASH!
I looked down at the ruins. The sign read: Midtown High. Was that important? It sounded awful. Yeah...horrible place, I was sure of it.
BOOM!
A house. Why did it look familiar?
BOOM!
A mansion — large and stately. Why did I remember a red-haired woman living there? Was she someone I knew?
The Dark Tower cracked open behind me, drawing me inward. Knowledge began to flow — Midtown High, where Spider-Man went to school! So cool!
And that house — that was where Spidey lived. Wait. I was Spider-Man. Did I live there? And that mansion — the X-Men's mansion. No wonder it seemed so large.
"And what is this?" Mephisto asked, running a hand along the tower's surface. He cast a spell against it and received nothing back. "Stubborn little thing, aren't you? Very well — let's crack it open!" He raised his fist.
I remembered someone else trying exactly that. It hadn't gone well for him.
KRAKOOOM!
The interior of the tower blazed gold. Every memory within sent a pulse of energy outward — a shockwave that hit Mephisto square in the chest and detonated on impact.
As the golden wave expanded outward, Mephisto's form dissolved, expelled from my mind. The energy seeped back into the rubble around me — and I watched the ruins slowly rebuild themselves.
Jean...Jean Grey! My friend! I had forgotten her. And not just her — Logan, Xavier, Ororo, Scott, Rogue, all of the X-Men. Gone, and now returned.
May. Ben. Matt. Felicia. MJ, Liz, Johnny, Sue, Reed! They all came flooding back. My eyes burned. How had I ever let them go?
I opened my eyes — I was back in the real world, still suspended upside down. Mephisto lay on his back on the throne room floor, staring at his right hand in absolute horror.
"H-how?! How did you do this?!" He turned to me and leaped forward, striking my suspended body hard enough to snap the chain from the ceiling. I went flying across the throne room and hit the wall.
CRACK!
Something broke on impact. I landed in a heap. My body was already healing, but I gasped in pain and looked up, afraid of another blow.
Mephisto loomed over me. He growled, clutching his right arm — it was bleeding. Carved into his forearm was the mark of a spider. Mephisto, an immortal being who consumed cosmic deities, had been scarred.
"I am immortal — I devour cosmic deities! And you scarred me?!"
I smiled. Not because I was happy. Because I knew it would infuriate him. "Well — next time don't go rummaging through my things."
"You insufferable—"
"Crimson Bands of Cyttorak — I summon thee to bind my foe!" Strange's voice rang out as a wave of ruby-red energy flooded the throne room, coiling around Mephisto's body, binding him with five bands of deep crimson.
"Strange!" the devil snarled as he was driven to his knees, his magic sealed. And floating in the air behind him, looking absolutely furious, was Strange himself.
"Mephisto...this time, you have gone too far." Strange snapped his fingers. The chains holding me loosened. I gasped as I felt relief wash over me, my cells burning hard to repair the damage.
"You're late," Mordo said as he walked up to us, the metal gag gone. "I called you days ago."
"Time flows differently here," Strange replied before turning to me. "My Apprentice — are you all right?"
I rolled my shoulders. "Nothing a little rest won't fix."
"STRANGE!" Mephisto roared, straining against his bonds. One snapped instantly.
"We need to leave — now," Strange said. "He'll break free soon."
"No!" Mordo pointed toward the hearth before the throne. "We can't leave — not without saving her!"
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
"Look, boy! Look with your third eye — not the two you are currently using!"
I did — and suddenly I saw it. Inside the flames was something...divine? No. Holy. A soul — pure and radiant. And looking closer with my actual eyes I could see the shape of a small child within.
Strange gasped. "A pure soul? Mordo, why..."
"Redemption, Strange," the old sorcerer replied simply.
"I...what?" I asked.
"I have done a great deal in my life that I regret, boy," Mordo explained. "In my final years I wish to repay some of that debt. Saving a pure soul from Mephisto's grasp is one path toward it."
PING!
A second crimson band snapped. Three remaining.
"When I'm free of these, I'll feed you to my dogs, boy!"
"Ah — we have the actual devil standing right in front of us, and you want to have a therapy session!" I cried out. "Can we maybe move this along?!"
"This will take time," Strange replied, summoning a magical circle to analyze the flames. "A pure soul is a powerful accelerant for certain magical disciplines! If someone as evil as Mephisto uses one, his power would be amplified enormously!"
SNAP!
Two bands left.
"I hate this!" I summoned every strand of the Whips of Vástha I could manage and hurled them at Mephisto, binding him over and over.
The devil raised an eyebrow. "You can't be serious."
I growled. "Bite me."
He snarled. "Happily!" He rose to his feet and flexed his arms.
SNAP!
He tore his right arm free. One band remained, holding his left arm to his torso. "Come here, boy! I'm not finished with you! You will suffer for marking me!"
I stared at the scar on his forearm — and suddenly felt a spark of real hope. He wasn't a true immortal. He wasn't God. He could be hurt. That mark was proof. He could bleed.
His free arm shot out and wrapped around my throat, lifting me off the ground. "Peter! No!" Strange cried out.
"Hold the flames, Strange — I'll help your Apprentice!" Mordo called out, launching a green magical circle at Mephisto. The devil barely seemed to notice. Mordo's expression grew desperate as he began a long, complex chant — a powerful working.
"Any last words?" Mephisto narrowed his eyes and squeezed.
I coughed. "Yeah. Tell me — do you bleed?"
Skit!
I drove both sets of claws across his forearm — right through the spider scar, which glowed gold for a fraction of a second as my claws sank in and through. A genuine weakness in his armor. And I used every last bit of it.
SLICE!
I landed on the ground. His severed arm fell beside me, blood pouring from the stump.
"ARGH!" Mephisto screamed, clutching the ruin of his wrist.
"I, Baron Mordo, call upon the power of the Living Tribunal! Banish this form from my presence!" Mordo's spell reached its climax. A green and gold arrow of energy struck Mephisto in the back — and vaporized him in a blinding flash.
I stood there panting, Mephisto's blood still wet on my claws. I looked at Mordo — he looked even older than before, somehow. Hands on knees, gasping for breath.
"Is he dead?" I asked.
"No — merely transported elsewhere," Mordo answered, studying the enormous stump of the severed limb pooling blood at our feet. "How did you manage to hurt him?"
"I...honestly don't know." I knew the spider scar had helped, but I didn't understand how. "I do have fairly sharp claws."
"Perhaps," Mordo narrowed his eyes at them. "But I believe other forces were at work — forces that have chosen to remain hidden, for reasons of their own."
"Mordo! Come quickly!" Strange called from across the room.
"Right," Mordo nodded to me. "Good work, Apprentice. Now — pick up that stump. It is your spoils of war. Preserve it." He cast a stasis charm over the severed limb, stopping the bleeding.
I got to my feet, opened my infinite storage pouch, placed the arm inside, and zipped it up before jogging to Strange's side.
"It cannot be retrieved unless by someone of sufficient strength and virtue," Strange told us as he lowered his magical scanners. "The flames are from the Brazier of Truth — continuously consuming the soul, rendering it tender for use. Only the hands of someone good and pure may reach through and remove it."
"So? What are you waiting for, Strange? Grab the soul and let us leave!" Mordo cried out.
"No," Strange stepped back. "I am not pure. I am not virtuous enough to—"
"—Oh, for the love of — we don't have time for this! I just cut off the devil's arm and he is absolutely going to come back for revenge, so can we please skip to the next part?!" I thrust my hands into the fire.
"Peter, no—"
My fingers closed around the form of the soul and I pulled.
BOOM!
I was blasted backward. In midair I found my balance, twisted, and landed on my feet like a gymnast. In my right hand sat a small, warm sphere of light. I looked down at it — and for just a moment, I saw the face of a small child gazing back at me.
"Remarkable," Strange said as he and Mordo picked themselves off the floor. The explosion had sent all three of us back.
"Not a bad apprentice you have there, Strange," Mordo said, eyeing the soul carefully. "The girl's soul still feels whole...for the most part."
"We'll discuss that later," Strange swept his arms wide and spun them, generating a portal of golden sparks. Through it I could see the living room of the Sanctum Sanctorum. "Come — quickly!"
"BOY!" I heard Mephisto's roar in the distance.
"Move!" I cried out as Mordo ran through. I turned and leaped through after Strange — and as I cleared the portal I caught a glimpse of the throne room doors exploding inward, a tide of imps flooding through with Mephisto at their head, his gaze bloodthirsty.
"Close it!" Strange cried out — but not quite fast enough. A single imp made it through, launching itself through the air directly at me. I moved instantly — claws out — and cut straight through it.
The imp dissolved into a cloud of red dust that covered me entirely. I blinked, wiping it from my face. "Did that thing just explode on me?"
"Yes — is this your first time getting imp remains on yourself?" Mordo chuckled as he dropped heavily into an armchair. "What a rush. We're getting too old for this, Strange."
"And why exactly did you think you could take on Mephisto alone?" Strange asked with an amused expression.
"Arrogance, most likely," Mordo grumbled, then looked at me. "Now then — what do we do with this one? He does have potential, doesn't he?"
"He does," Strange nodded, crossing to me. "You did well, Peter. Very well. The soul?"
"Oh — right." I looked down and passed it carefully to Strange. The man took it with both hands before slowly ascending into the air and summoning a small red circle through which the soul gently passed, disappearing from sight.
"What did you do with it?" I asked.
"It's safe," Mordo waved my concern away. "But what you should be worried about is yourself. After your stunt today — Mephisto will be coming for you."
Skit.
"I managed to de-arm him once. I'll manage," I smiled, holding up my claws. They were still stained deep red. I frowned. "That's strange — the stain hasn't faded at all."
"That is the blood of the devil himself. Trust me — it will remain for some time," Mordo grumbled. "But be warned, child — he won't come at you directly. He is weaker in this world, and direct confrontation isn't his preference. He'll wait. He'll wait until you want something desperately — and then he'll strike."
"He'll be ready," Strange assured the old sorcerer. "I'll make certain of it."
I nodded. "I know how tempting he can be...and I'll be ready for him."
"We'll be ready," Strange corrected gently as he snapped his fingers, summoning a tea service for the three of us. "Now then, Mordo — how exactly did you—"
"ARGH!" I doubled over.
Dum. Dum.
My heart began pounding against my ribs. I grabbed my chest. The rhythm grew louder and louder — like a drumline inside my ribcage.
Strange and Mordo were immediately at my side. Strange steadied me. "What's wrong?"
I felt it — my latent magical abilities responding to some vast dimensional pull coursing through my body. "I think...I think I'm going back," I told him. "I can feel it. The dimensional energies are pulling me home."
Strange summoned several magical circles around me and scanned rapidly. "Yes — you are correct. Your exposure to the energy generated by Mephisto's realm must have activated the latent dimensional forces within you."
"I—" So much to say, and no time to say it. I turned to Strange. "Tell May to be safe. Tell her to think before she leaps and to never, ever fight for vengeance. Tell Peter that he's my hero — that he was right. That I can't give up being who I am...that I'll be putting that suit back on. Tell those morons calling themselves Avengers that they need to become better heroes. Tell the FF—"
"ARGH!"
The surge came hard. I used what little control I had to slow the pull — just for a few more seconds. I turned back to Strange, who now looked as solid and unreadable as stone. I pressed on. "Tell Felicia her daughter will always love her. Tell Felicity to realize her mother loves her more than anything in this world. Tell Franklin his mother would be proud — I know she would. And Master Strange..." I met his eyes. "Thank you. For everything."
The man smiled. "You're welcome, Pe—"
ZOOM!