Stephen Strange was desperate.
After learning that his hands would almost never fully heal, his heart sank into an abyss. In the hospital ward, broken, he screamed out in helplessness.
"Kaecilius!"
The name was carved into his soul like a burning seal.
Tears of rage and despair streamed down his face. But what could he do? He was just an ordinary man, an ordinary man with crippled hands. How could he deal with someone who possessed superhuman powers and magic?
At that moment, the space beside his hospital bed suddenly distorted, as if reality itself twisted into a spiral.
"This…?" Strange was speechless.
It was a sight as if the world flipped for a single moment, space cracked, tilted, and called him inside. As if a voice whispered and pulled:
"Fight! You have nothing left to lose anyway!"
Strange gritted his teeth.
Enduring the pain, he freed his hands from the bandages and, staggering, crawled toward the distortion. He leapt, and in the same instant his body vanished from the hospital room.
"Stephen! I contacted fourteen of the best neurosurgeons…" Christine Palmer opened the door.
But she found only an empty room. The bed was vacant, Strange had disappeared without a trace.
---
Limbo
In Limbo, the hellish dimension where rivers of magma flowed through wastelands of black obsidian, Nastir sat by a burning channel, lost in thought.
As always, he waited. Waited for Aron and Hela to return from Asgard. When that happened, the entire army of Limbo would march with them into a new war of dimensions.
"I never imagined that I, Nastir, would one day take part in a dimensional war…" he muttered proudly.
He completely forgot that in the last such war, he had been defeated and barely escaped with his life.
But now he didn't care.
"What's wrong with being a dog? Better to be a loyal dog than a dead demon! To be the dog of my Lord Aron means, eating the biggest chunks of meat and standing under the protection of the strongest!"
Lost in this self-confident thought, suddenly – paf!
A human figure appeared at his feet and collapsed to the ground.
"Ahhh!" Strange screamed, slamming his injured hands against the ground. The pain tore through his body.
When he looked up, he froze. In front of him stood a horse-faced demon – Nastir.
"Demon…" Strange's eyes widened, his pupils shrinking.
The pain vanished before the surge of horror. He looked around and realized: he had arrived in a place like hell. Everywhere magma, smoke, and sharp obsidian.
"Human?" Nastir stared at him in confusion.
"Demon… is this the opportunity fate has given me to take revenge?" Strange whispered to himself, then, gritting his teeth, stood and fell to his knees before Nastir.
"Hey! Don't kneel! Don't kneel!" Nastir panicked, hastily raising his hand and using demonic force to prevent Strange from dropping to his knees.
"You are a human! How can you kneel before me, a demon!?"
If Aron were here, Nastir would have to kill himself instantly to prove his loyalty. The very thought made his skin crawl. He quickly looked around in fear that another demon had seen him.
"Great hellish demon!" Strange shouted, trying to muster strength.
"I am Stephen Strange! Right now I am in great trouble on Earth and I need your power! For that I am ready to give my soul!"
Nastir stared at him. "…??"
"Really?"
Strange nodded. "I am ready. My soul belongs to you, just give me power!"
Nastir frowned and sighed.
"Man… it's not that I don't want to give you power. But next time you try to trick a demon, could you at least change the words? This is so cliché it insults our pride! Like I'm reading a beginner's manual: 'I give you my soul in exchange for power.' Don't you have anything more original?"
Strange was utterly confused. "I didn't lie to you! I truly am ready to sacrifice my soul!"
"Yeah, yeah, I believe you, of course…" Nastir shook his head, looking as if he didn't believe a word.
Strange was speechless.
And so, one man and one demon sank into a strange, absurd quarrel of distrust.
But then – crash!
A sound shattered the sky of Limbo.
All demons raised their heads and stared. On the heavenly vault, a massive crack opened, tearing the dimension.
From it began to emerge something unimaginable, a giant pale ship, a sailing vessel the size of a mountain.
Its hull was made of white bones, and its planking of compressed nails of the dead. All around it spread icy air, and as it descended, snow began to fall in the scorching Limbo.
"What is that…?" the demons whispered, never before having seen snow, nor felt cold.
Strange trembled. When he looked at the ship, he felt his heart stop. The stench of death was everywhere.
"Roooar!"
On the prow of the ship came a terrifying roar. A giant wolf, Fenrir, appeared, and on his head stood Aron and Hela.
"Hela… isn't this a bit too much?" Aron laughed. "Besides Fenrir, you've also brought the warriors of Valhalla. Odin's vault is now completely empty."
On the deck of the pale ship stood the heroes of Valhalla, soldiers whom Odin had once kept in the glorious realm of dead warriors.
Hela smiled proudly, stroking Fenrir's fur.
"My dear, this is what I deserve. And you surely don't think… that Odin's Valhalla is the true Valhalla, do you? Trust me, don't believe that old man. He is a liar."
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