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Oscrop Medical – Manhattan
Stephen Strange stood stiffly in the consultation room, eyes hollow. The lead physician across from him glanced apologetically at the scan results.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Strange. There's nothing more we can do."
Strange didn't blink. He had heard that phrase too many times.
Since the demonic incident, he had undergone seven surgeries in desperate attempts to restore his hands. But each one had failed. The regenerative spray could only do so much. His fingers could grip… but the refined dexterity his surgical touch was gone.
Permanently.
"Your nerve endings were eaten away by something foreign," the doctor added. "We believe it's an invasive, mutagenic agent possibly magical in nature. The self-healing compound can't even stabilize it. Honestly, you're lucky you can still hold a coffee cup."
Strange's voice was quiet. "Then I'm done."
The physician gave a half-hearted shrug. "Not entirely. You can live a normal life. Just… not as a surgeon."
Not as a healer. Not as a genius. Not as Stephen Strange.
Strange stumbled out into the lobby, where Christine Palmer was waiting. She stood as he approached, her expression hopeful.
"Well?"
Strange shook his head. "It's over."
He collapsed onto a bench and buried his face in his hands. "Everything I had… everything I was… it's gone."
Christine hesitated. Then she said, "What about… that place? The one the sorcerer came from. Kamar-Taj?"
Strange looked up.
"Kamar-Taj?" The name echoed in his mind. That strange cloaked figure who'd saved them during the demonic attack. He had mentioned nothing, yet everything about him whispered power and mystery.
"You think they can help me?" Strange asked.
"I don't know. But I think it's your last shot."
---
One Month Later — Kathmandu, Nepal
Stephen Strange wandered the packed streets of Kathmandu, ragged and desperate. His once-pristine suits replaced by worn jackets. His expensive watch the only remnant of his old life.
"Excuse me," he asked a passerby, holding out a battered tourist map. "Do you know where Kamar-Taj is?"
Most ignored him. Some stared. A few chuckled.
After days of searching, his only lead came from a paraplegic patient he had once turned away. The man had somehow made a miraculous recovery and, begrudgingly, told Strange: "Kamar-Taj. It's real. But if your heart isn't in the right place, you'll never find it."
Now here he was, searching every alley in the city.
Late in the afternoon, with the sun low and his hope lower, Strange turned down a quiet alley—and froze.
Three men stepped into view. Hoods up. Hands tense.
Muggers.
Strange sighed. "Look, I don't have anything."
"Watch," one said, pointing to the glinting timepiece on Strange's wrist.
"It's the last thing I own," Strange replied bitterly.
When they advanced, Strange threw a punch but his weak, trembling hands barely made contact. One of the men grunted, then retaliated, punching Strange in the gut and dropping him to the ground.
They began kicking him.
Strange curled into a ball, protecting his face as boots struck his ribs and back.
Then suddenly the attack stopped.
A figure in a black cloak had entered the alley. In a blur of movement, the muggers were dispatched each knocked unconscious within seconds.
Strange looked up through swollen eyes as the figure reached down, retrieving his watch and holding it out.
The hood was pulled back, revealing a calm, dark-skinned man with piercing eyes.
Mordo.
"You're looking for Kamar-Taj?"
Strange, stunned, nodded furiously.
"Follow me."
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They arrived at what looked like… a dilapidated food stall, nestled between crumbling brick walls.
Strange's expression soured. "This is it? This is Kamar-Taj?"
Mordo didn't respond. He glanced at Strange's hands. "Demonic corruption. You're lucky it didn't spread."
"You… you can tell?"
"Of course. You've been marked."
Strange's heart pounded. No one else had recognized the source of his injuries. But Mordo? He saw through it instantly.
They entered the structure and everything changed.
Inside was a vast, open chamber lined with ancient architecture and glowing glyphs. The walls pulsed with mystic energy. The broken-down façade was a mere illusion.
Strange turned back the doorway was gone.
He had stepped into another world.
At the far end of the hall stood a man in a lab coat, flipping through an arcane tome.
Strange's jaw dropped.
The man looked up and in that instant, Strange's breath caught. It was like gravity itself had intensified. A weight bore down on his chest. His vision blurred.
He could feel power emanating from this man like a nuclear reactor.
Nolan.
The same man who had defeated the demon weeks ago.
"You've finally arrived," Nolan said, closing the book. "You're late."
Strange staggered slightly, the pressure nearly overwhelming.
"I…"
"You can call me the Sorcerer Supreme."
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