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The warehouse in Brooklyn's industrial district looked like a thousand others corrugated metal siding, broken windows, and the kind of urban decay that made property developers weep. Constantine had chosen it precisely because it was unremarkable, the sort of place where a man could work in peace without drawing unwanted attention.
He'd been wrong about that.
Three days had passed since his encounter with Daredevil in the Hell's Kitchen alley, three days of careful experimentation with Marvel's peculiar magical framework. The revelation that he might be carrying two souls one native to this reality, one decidedly not had driven him to seek answers through the only method he trusted: practical application of supernatural forces.
"Right then," Constantine muttered, stubbing out his cigarette on the concrete floor. "Let's see what happens when we really push things."
The summoning circle he'd spent the better part of an hour crafting was a hybrid creation traditional symbols from his own reality combined with what he'd intuited about Marvel's more systematic approach to dimensional magic. Instead of chalk or salt, he'd used spray paint to mark the concrete, the modern medium somehow feeling more appropriate for this universe's technological approach to the mystical arts.
Nergal lounged against a support beam, his massive frame incongruous with his casual pose. The demon had proven surprisingly helpful over the past few days, serving as both test subject and advisor as Constantine mapped the differences between the two realities' supernatural ecosystems.
"You sure about this, Johnny?" Nergal asked, golden eyes reflecting the harsh fluorescent lighting Constantine had rigged up. "We've already established that your presence here is causing... complications."
Constantine lit another cigarette, hands steady despite the magnitude of what he was attempting. "That's exactly why we need to understand the scope of those complications. If I'm going to be stuck in this reality, I need to know how my abilities translate."
He stepped into the circle's center and began the incantation not in Latin, as tradition demanded, but in a pidgin combination of Enochian and what his instincts told him were the proper harmonic frequencies for Marvel's dimensional framework. The words felt clumsy on his tongue, like trying to speak a language he'd only read in books.
The response was immediate and overwhelming.
Power flooded through him not the familiar trickle of energy he was used to manipulating, but a torrent that threatened to tear him apart at the molecular level. This wasn't just dimensional energy; it was raw cosmic force, the fundamental forces that held reality together.
"Christ!" Constantine staggered, blood streaming from his nose as the circle around him erupted into flames that burned without heat. "It's too much the system here, it's not designed for "
The warehouse door exploded inward, torn from its hinges by an invisible force. Through the smoking doorway stepped a figure that Constantine recognized from glimpse and rumor tall, aristocratic, with a perfectly trimmed goatee and wearing robes that seemed to shift between blue and red depending on the viewing angle.
Doctor Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme of the Marvel Universe.
"Enough," Strange said, his voice carrying an authority that made the very air around him vibrate with power. He gestured with one gloved hand, and Constantine felt the torrent of dimensional energy cut off as if a valve had been closed. "Your reckless experimentation ends now."
Constantine collapsed to his knees, the sudden absence of power leaving him feeling hollow and drained. But even through his exhaustion, he could appreciate the elegant precision with which Strange had shut down his spell. No wasted motion, no dramatic flourishes just pure, controlled application of will made manifest.
"Impressive," Constantine croaked, wiping blood from his nose. "Though your bedside manner could use work."
Strange's cold gaze flicked to Nergal, who had straightened from his casual pose and now radiated predatory attention. "A demon from another dimensional framework entirely. Fascinating." His eyes returned to Constantine. "And you the dimensional displacement I've been tracking for three days. You have no idea what forces you're meddling with."
"Enlighten me," Constantine said, struggling to his feet. Even that simple motion left him dizzy drawing on dimensional energies in Marvel's reality was like trying to drink from a fire hose.
Strange stepped further into the warehouse, and Constantine noticed that reality seemed to bend subtly around the Sorcerer Supreme. Not obviously, but in small ways shadows fell at slightly wrong angles, distances appeared to shift when he wasn't looking directly at them.
"The barriers between dimensions exist for a purpose," Strange explained, his tone carrying the weight of hard-won experience. "They prevent contamination, maintain cosmic order, ensure that each reality's unique properties remain stable." He gestured toward the still-smoking summoning circle. "Your presence here is already causing ripples across multiple dimensional planes. Your continued experimentation threatens to tear holes that may not be repairable."
Nergal laughed, the sound like grinding stone. "The pot calling the kettle black, wouldn't you say, Sorcerer Supreme? How many times have you yourself breached dimensional barriers in service of your crusades?"
"Under controlled circumstances," Strange replied coolly, "with proper preparation and safeguards. This man is conducting the mystical equivalent of nuclear testing in a populated area."
Constantine lit another cigarette, buying time to think. Strange was clearly more powerful than him that much was obvious from the casual way he'd shut down the summoning. But power wasn't everything in the supernatural world. Sometimes cunning and desperation could level the playing field.
"You said you've been tracking me for three days," Constantine observed. "That suggests my presence is significant enough to warrant the attention of the Sorcerer Supreme himself. Why not just banish me back to where I came from?"
For the first time, Strange's composed expression showed a crack of uncertainty. "Because I cannot determine where or when you came from. Your dimensional signature is... unique. It suggests origins in a reality that shouldn't be able to interact with ours at all."
"The plot thickens," Constantine murmured. "And what does that mean for someone like me, trapped between worlds?"
"It means," Strange said, his voice carrying a note of genuine concern, "that your very existence here represents a fundamental violation of cosmic law. The abstract entities that govern multiversal stability will not tolerate such an anomaly indefinitely."
"Abstract entities?" Constantine asked, though he suspected he wouldn't like the answer.
"Beings of unimaginable power who maintain the balance between realities. Eternity, Infinity, Death itself." Strange's expression grew grim. "They have ways of... correcting... such violations. Ways that typically don't end well for the violator."
The warehouse fell silent except for the distant hum of the city beyond its walls. Constantine felt the weight of Strange's words settling over him like a shroud. If what the Sorcerer Supreme was saying was true, then his presence in this reality was more than just an inconvenience it was a cosmic crime that would eventually demand punishment.
"So what do you suggest?" Constantine asked, though he was already formulating his own plans. He'd spent his entire career finding ways around impossible situations, and this was just another puzzle to solve.
Strange studied him for a long moment, and Constantine got the impression he was being evaluated according to criteria he couldn't guess at. "You will come with me to the Sanctum Sanctorum. Your abilities and the circumstances of your arrival require thorough investigation. If there's a way to return you to your proper reality without destabilizing both, I will find it."
"And if there isn't?"
Strange's expression was answer enough.
Constantine took a final drag of his cigarette and flicked the butt toward the ruined summoning circle. "Right then. Lead the way, Your Mystical Majesty."
But as they prepared to leave the warehouse, Nergal stepped forward, his massive frame blocking the doorway.
"I think not," the demon said, his voice carrying new overtones of menace. "Johnny and I have unfinished business from our reality. I won't see him spirited away by some preening mortal sorcerer."
Strange's hands began to glow with eldritch energy, complex geometric patterns forming in the air around his fingers. "Stand aside, demon. This matter transcends your petty vendettas."
"Does it?" Nergal's smile revealed rows of predatory teeth. "Because from where I stand, this looks like an opportunity to finally settle accounts with John Constantine. And in a reality where the normal rules don't apply..." The demon's form began to shift, becoming larger, more monstrous. "The possibilities are endless."
Constantine found himself caught between two supernatural forces, each powerful enough to destroy him without effort. But as the tension in the warehouse ratcheted toward violence, he realized something that changed everything.
The dimensional energy he'd been channeling hadn't dissipated completely. It was still there, thrumming beneath his skin like a second heartbeat, waiting to be used.
And for the first time since arriving in this reality, John Constantine smiled.
/-\
If you wish to read more and if you like the story don't hesitate to support me because I really get exhausted of this work than check out my Patreon at
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