I'd kill to fit in, now there's blood on my hands
'Cause I only like my rubies red
My name is Doctor Stephen Strange, Master of the Mystic Arts, World Class Neurosurgeon, and Sorcerer Supreme of Earth-666 in the year 2021. This message is to my successor who has now inherited my mantle. The fate of this universe and its protection from otherworldly incursions is in your hands now. It is critical that you renew the veil, a complex spell that prevents other realities and spaces from bleeding into and colliding with our own.
DO THIS NOW.
The spell will have expired with my passing. You will have only received this message in the event of my death.
Good luck.
Stephen
P.S. Wong will have the ledger with other spells that need to be renewed. See to these within twenty four hours of my passing.
It is Hallow's Eve in the universe designated as Earth-666. The veil separating our world and the next is precariously thin, held together by my will. The Genoshan mutants resurrect the dead en masse; our universe, 666, already finds itself more susceptible to devilry; and on Halloween, the veil comes to its thinnest point as the dead walk the land. I am less than a ghost. I can do nothing more than watch as my life's work is undone.
But where are you?
Perhaps you are at a party like I was, celebrating this magical evening. Perhaps you wander the woods alone, pining after all you have lost. Perhaps you were safely tucked away in bed, dreaming of wonders you might not live to see. It doesn't really matter where you were - only the when.
A blinding light strikes you. A cloak finds itself on your shoulders, and jewelry on your neck. These were mine. The Cloak of Levitation. The Eye of Agamotto (no, it does not contain the Time Stone - nice try). These are now yours. I am no longer the Sorcerer Supreme, but you are. The magic of the most powerful wizard in our universe is now yours.
But your celebration - or mourning, I might hope - will be cut short. As soon as this light hits you, so does another. A strange yellow disc. You fall through it, falling down, down, and down. Until you hit the ground. You find yourself alone - without another soul in sight. The area is mountainous and rocky. What appear to be vultures circle above you in the crimson sky. The air tastes of pain and suffering - a taste you might be all too familiar with. It is heavy in your lungs.
You are in Limbo. A realm that exists outside of space-time. A realm that twists and turns upon itself. A realm that fractures the soul. Perhaps you are familiar. Perhaps you are not. In the pocket of the cloak, you will find my letter. I wish I had written what you needed to know.
INTRODUCING THE NEW SORCERER SUPREME OF EARTH-666, IN THE YEAR 2021?
Runa the Grey - Sorcerer Supreme of Resurrection?
Prudence Knight - Sorcerer Supreme of Curses?
Carolina Reed - Sorcerer Supreme of Divination?
Madalyne Crane - Sorcerer Supreme of Evocation?
Edus Penior - Sorcerer Supreme of Thaumaturgy?
Klara, Daughter of Thor - Sorcerer Supreme of Love?
Jack Hawthorne - Sorcerer Supreme of Umbramancy?
Maximillian Gray - Sorcerer Supreme of Reality?
Annika Falling Star - Sorcerer Supreme of Transmutation?
Why are there nine...???
Runa the Grey - Sorcerer Supreme of Resurrection?
Prudence Knight - Sorcerer Supreme of Curses?
Carolina Reed - Sorcerer Supreme of Divination?
Madalyne Crane - Sorcerer Supreme of Evocation?
Edus Penior - Sorcerer Supreme of Thaumaturgy?
Klara, Daughter of Thor - Sorcerer Supreme of Love?
Jack Hawthorne - Sorcerer Supreme of Umbramancy?
Maximillian Gray - Sorcerer Supreme of Reality?
Annika Falling Star - Sorcerer Supreme of Transmutation?
Why are there nine...???
Runa the Grey
Location: the Dead Woods of a Distant Future -> Limbo
Skills: N/A
Spells: Kosmisk Ild
She had done this for quite some time. Little life remained on this plane of existence. None of it sentient - besides her. The last creatures who could speak her tongue had died long ago by her own hand. She found it odd at first that some animals had survived the wrath of Surtur - and then her own. But now, she was glad. She could run with the wolves. She hunted small game.
Her knife made quick work of the rabbit. She carved out the part that would provide her sustenance - and tossed aside the rest to the wolves. It must have been a trick her mind played on her, but she could still feel the rabbit's heart beating. She devoured the organ all the same. Her chest throbbed painfully, a ghost tremor, as her heart had long since been sacrificed. But she felt the strength return to her weak body and a sense of calm settled over her.
They had long since abandoned keeping a calendar, but the changing of seasons and the weakening of the veil told them all the same. It was Álfablót. The time to sacrifice to the elves and other dark spirits, in order to assure a return to the light in the new year. "Kanskje det er du som bør ofre til meg,"1 they said, staring off into the trees even though they could not see. The wolves had finished devouring the remains of the rabbit. "Kom, bli med meg ved bålet. Jeg blir lei av denne karaden."2
Twitching their finger, a fire roared into being in front of them. There was no wood for it to burn. No source of life. Only their power. And that was enough.
Runa the Grey sat in silence for a while more. No one came to join them. The sky darkened, heralding the night. The air grew cold. The wolves howled, eyeing the sorceress for a moment, before dashing off. They did not pursue them. They knew that the wolves would return. For eons, it had always been like this. And for many more, it would continue to be, even as Runa felt the twilight of their life drawing in.
She did not see the light that engulfed her, but she felt it - she felt its intense heat pressing in on her skin. She felt the weight of a cloak on her shoulders and a necklace around her withered neck. And the next thing they sensed, they were falling. Perhaps someone else would have screamed. If she had a heart to beat, it would have been pounding in excitement. This was something new. They could smell the thick magic wrapping around them, such that had not been in their realm since the ascension.
Their back hit the ground and they groaned. Feeling with their hands, it was some sort of rocky surface. The air was thick and heavy, settling uncomfortably in their lungs. It was a place that they did not recognize. That was different. They had traveled the remains of the realms a thousand times or more. It almost reminded them of Surtur's realm, yet there was something different.
There was a tugging at her back. She found herself standing, propelled up by the cloak. This was not unusual. Runa had had a cloak like this once, when she first became ruler of her realm. She felt the necklace she bore. It was as she suspected. "Oh, Stephen... To come to me, you must truly be a fool," they said.