Stephen Strange was terrified.
A moment ago, when the mysterious man appeared, he thought, even hoped, that this person had come to save him. His body was still aching from the beating, his hands useless, his pride already shattered. He desperately wanted someone to step in and help.
But the "help" that arrived was nothing he could have imagined.
His "savior's" skin had deepened into a dark green hue, veins faintly glowing beneath the surface like streams of molten emerald. And his eyes… two burning coals of green light, fixed on the world with hunger.
If it had been night, Strange knew with absolute certainty that he would have screamed until his voice broke. Instead, under the sunlight, he only froze, every instinct begging him to run yet his limbs refusing to obey.
Then Mordo smiled.
The expression was wrong. It wasn't a smile of reassurance, but of something far more primal, predatory, hungry even. With an almost casual motion, he extended a hand, fingers curling as if plucking invisible strings.
Three green bands of light burst forth.
Strange's eyes widened. The bands slithered across the air, crackling faintly as if alive, before latching onto the three robbers. The green tendrils connected their bodies to Mordo's hand, forming a grotesque chain of life itself.
Then, he saw it, something being pulled out of them, some kind of energy.
The robbers convulsed. Their screams caught in their throats, twisted into weak gasps. Their hair whitened in seconds, faces hollowing, skin clinging to bone as though they were fruits left too long in the sun. Within moments, their bodies shriveled like dried husks, collapsing in on themselves with horrifying finality.
Decades of life, stolen in less than a minute.
Strange's heart pounded violently. His vision blurred as he stumbled back, falling onto his backside. His hands clawed against the dirt as he scrambled away, feet kicking helplessly. "No—no, no, no, no…" The words tumbled out of him in a desperate chant.
This wasn't real. It couldn't be real. He had trained as a man of science, a surgeon who believed only in what could be measured, tested, proven. And yet here before him was something that defied every truth he had built his life on.
A man feeding like a vampire on life itself.
Strange's throat felt raw. Is he the devil? Did I stumble into hell itself? His worldview cracked, splintering under the weight of what he had just seen.
When Mordo finally released them, the three robbers lay motionless. Corpses drained not of blood, but of life itself.
Mordo inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering shut, and a strange look of bliss spread across his face. Compared to a moment ago, his features looked sharper, younger, even radiant. His hair shimmered as if a hidden light now flowed through each strand.
For ten full seconds, he savored it.
Then his eyes snapped open, and the glow inside them was brighter, more dangerous. He licked his lips slowly, the way a man might after tasting a forbidden delicacy.
"This feeling…" he murmured to himself, almost in awe. "So wonderful."
It wasn't just pleasure, it was an addiction forming in real time. Every nerve in his body hummed, every muscle alive with energy. He had trained years under the Ancient One, clawing for scraps of strength through meditation and discipline. Yet here, in less than a minute, he had grown more than in months of grueling practice.
The temptation was unbearable.
He turned his gaze toward Strange.
The surgeon froze. That hungry gleam in Mordo's eyes wasn't the look of a teacher or savior. It was the look of a predator spotting fresh prey. Strange's breath quickened, his chest tightening painfully. He pressed his back against the wall, whispering shakily, "Stay away from me…"
For one terrible moment, Strange thought it was the end, that he would join the corpses in a few short breaths.
But Mordo didn't move. His lips twitched, and with visible effort, he forced himself to breathe, to calm, to remember his original purpose.
The Ancient One's words echoed in his mind, restraining the hunger that clawed at his chest. This man is important. He couldn't harm him.
Slowly, the glow in Mordo's skin faded, leaving only the faint traces of green in his eyes. He approached Strange carefully, extending a hand, not as a predator, but as a guide. His smile, though still unsettling, softened into something that could be mistaken for kindness.
"I heard you were looking for Kamar-Taj," Mordo said evenly.
Strange's lips parted, but no sound came out. His gaze darted toward the husks on the ground, then back to the man's extended hand. His mouth was dry as sand, his voice hoarse when it finally emerged: "Wh-who… who are you?"
He wanted to run. He wanted to scream. He wanted to wake up. But none of those were options. Right now, all he could do was cling to survival.
"I am the senior disciple of Kamar-Taj's Sorcerer Supreme," Mordo replied smoothly. "My name is Mordo."
The name barely registered. It was the first half of the sentence that struck Strange.
Kamar-Taj.
So this man was from the place he had come searching for. And yet… wasn't Kamar-Taj supposed to be a sanctuary? A place of harmony and healing? Not this. Not whatever this green sorcery was.
His mind raced. If this is their kindness… what sort of monsters call themselves sorcerers?
"I heard you were looking for Kamar-Taj," Mordo repeated, voice low, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
Strange flinched. His instincts screamed at him to deny it, to get as far away from this man as possible. But another instinct, a far more primal one, warned him that saying the wrong thing might seal his fate.
Before he could respond, Mordo seized his arm, pulling him effortlessly to his feet. Strange staggered, too shocked to resist.
Without another word, Mordo dragged him forward.
Strange swallowed the rising panic. 'If I resist, I'll die. If I follow, I might die slower.' Neither was a comfort.
Minutes later, they reached a small, unassuming wooden door tucked between stone walls. Mordo pushed it open, and what lay beyond made Strange's breath catch.
A sprawling courtyard unfolded before him, ancient stone glowing under the sun. Dozens, no, hundreds of robed figures sat in neat rows, meditating in unison. Their presence was overwhelming, a tide of quiet power that seemed to hum in the air itself.
And at their head stood her.
The Ancient One.
She opened her eyes, and Strange nearly recoiled again. For behind the serene smile, behind the graceful composure, he saw it, just for an instant. That same green light glimmering in her pupils, the same unnatural hunger he had just witnessed in Mordo.
The Sorcerer Supreme rose gracefully and stepped toward him, every movement calm and deliberate.
Mordo released Strange and retreated into the crowd of disciples. He sat cross-legged like the others, but his posture betrayed him. His eyes darted across his fellow students, and for the first time, he no longer saw comrades.
He saw food.
His hands trembled as he clenched them into fists, forcing his eyes shut. Meditation had always been tedious before, but now it was unbearable. Why should he waste time with this when there's a faster way?
He tried to banish the thought. But the taste of vitality lingered, sweet and irresistible, gnawing at him from within.
Meanwhile, Strange found himself face-to-face with the Ancient One. She smiled gently, but it did little to ease the terror in his heart.
…