Under Luke's arrangement as an honorary consultant, Pietro officially became a member of the Avengers.
Unlike Thor, who vanished whenever the mood struck him, and unlike Luke himself, who rarely showed up unless Wanda tugged him along or it pertained to some important plot, Pietro would actually remain stationed at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. His position would be steady, like Steve's.
It wasn't so much that Pietro loved the idea of working for S.H.I.E.L.D., but rather that he had nowhere else to go.
Living with Wanda wasn't an option either. He had only just reunited with his sister, yet already he could see something that made him uncomfortable: Wanda's feelings for Luke ran deep, too deep for a brother's comfort. If Pietro stayed with them, he feared every meal, every quiet evening, every little glance would remind him he was the unwanted third wheel.
So, with a faintly bitter smile and a sense of resignation, Pietro accepted his place under Fury's roof.
For Fury, this was no small victory. He had seen Pietro's terrifying speed firsthand, that streak of silver lightning that even cameras struggled to track. To have such a weapon permanently under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s command, yes, Fury was quietly delighted.
From the windows of headquarters, Pietro watched Luke and Wanda climb into their car. A moment later, it roared into the sky and vanished among the clouds. He stood still for a long moment, jaw tightening, before turning his head away. His new life as an Avenger had begun.
…
While the Avengers busied themselves dealing with Ultron's wreckage and roasting Tony with snide remarks, elsewhere another story was beginning, one that would change the world in darker ways.
Dr. Stephen Strange, the neurosurgeon hailed as the finest in the United States, had just destroyed everything.
His hands, his future, his life.
The accident made headlines in every medical journal, shocking his colleagues. But beyond that narrow circle, the universe remained utterly indifferent. Wars raged, children were born, empires rose and fell, none of it paused for one man's tragedy.
But for Strange, it felt as if his existence itself had collapsed.
The trembling of his once steady hands mocked him every morning. Instruments slipped through his fingers. The precise control that had defined his career was gone. He called every contact, begged every surgeon, every specialist across the globe. Each gave the same answer, wrapped in pity: nothing could be done.
For a man who had defined himself by mastery, this was unbearable.
Hope only returned when a fellow patient spoke of a miracle he had once witnessed, a man crippled, then healed, walking again because of a place hidden in the East. A place called Kamar-Taj.
Strange seized on the name like a drowning man clutches driftwood. He didn't know if it was real, didn't know if his hands could be saved. But if not, he knew the truth: he no longer wished to live.
So he set out for Nepal. His last gamble.
…
Far away, at Kamar-Taj itself, the atmosphere was no longer what it once had been.
Since the Ancient One had allowed Gul'dan's Fel energy to seep into their order, every sorcerer's training had changed. Their basic spells remained, shields, wards, teleportation circles, but threaded now with veins of sickly green. Their incantations thundered louder, their fire burned hotter, their shields struck like hammers.
But the price was not only physical.
Fel energy whispered in their minds, corroding thought and intent until the sorcerers' wills bent toward one master alone: Gul'dan.
The courtyard echoed with hundreds of breaths as disciples sat cross-legged in rigid rows. From each body radiated a dim green glow. The air itself seemed to hum, heavy with power.
At the forefront sat the Ancient One. Her usually serene face was half-shrouded by the faint sheen of shifting green, liquid light running across her skin like molten glass. She drew in more and more energy with each breath. Inside her, Fel magic was consuming the remnants of the dark dimension's gifts, swallowing shadows until nothing remained but that poisonous green flame.
And all her disciples followed her lead.
But unlike the others, the Ancient One still retained her own mind, her own goals, though those goals now conveniently aligned with Gul'dan's will.
Today, as she meditated, the green in her eyes flared. A small, knowing smile crept to her lips. She opened her eyes and spoke, her voice smooth, commanding:
"Mordo. Go. Receive our new member."
Mordo, sitting nearest to her, opened his eyes as well. Twin beams of green flickered faintly in his gaze. Among all her students, he advanced the quickest, drinking deep of Fel's strength.
Without hesitation, Mordo inclined his head, rose silently, and strode from the courtyard.
The Ancient One's vision had shown her the truth: the man destined to inherit the mantle of Sorcerer Supreme was coming. Stephen Strange. He would be drawn to Fel as surely as a moth to flame.
Fel could even restore his ruined hands. Life magic, twisted though it was, could knit bone and nerve as if sculpting clay.
And when Strange embraced it, he would be one of them.
…
Meanwhile, in Kathmandu, Strange stumbled through crowded streets, asking questions to anyone who would listen. "Kamar-Taj," he muttered hoarsely, flashing scraps of money, describing the name in broken Nepali. Most shook their heads, some laughed, others simply walked away.
Days blurred together. His funds dwindled, hunger gnawed. And the despair returned.
And then, insult piled atop despair, thieves.
A group of young men cornered him in a narrow alley, their knives flashing under weak lantern light. They beat him down, tore his jacket, and finally ripped away his last treasure: the fine watch he had carried from his former life.
His knees hit the mud. His vision swam. Everything he had clung to was gone.
But not everyone in that alley was what they seemed.
From the shadows stepped Mordo. To Strange, he looked like just another traveler, no green light, no aura of corruption. His power was deeply hidden.
But when Mordo's gaze slid toward the thieves, a flicker of green glimmered in his pupils.
They were supposed to keep a low profile, but in this place, no one would ever know. No witnesses would be left.
Ever since his master had gifted him with Fel energy, Mordo had yearned to taste what it was like to drain the very life from another living being.
And now, in this forgotten corner of Kathmandu, the opportunity had finally arrived.
…