Time, like water, slips through the cracks of days, months, and memories.
In the blink of an eye, a full month had passed since the catastrophic New York Incident, a tragedy that sent shockwaves across the nation.
But like all things, even chaos settled.
The smoke had cleared. The streets were swept clean. The wounded had mostly recovered. News coverage waned as the world moved on.
Yet one thing remained constant, an unwavering line that coiled like a serpent outside the Everlife Medical Center.
It wasn't only New Yorkers in that line anymore.
People from across the United States and even overseas had begun making pilgrimages to this once-obscure clinic, nestled between the shadows of skyscrapers and the scent of roasted peanuts from street vendors.
Everlife had become a miracle in the heart of Manhattan.
And at the center of that miracle was one man.
Soren Macaluso.
The name now echoed in online forums, whispered in crowded train stations, and printed on headlines with reverence usually reserved for saints.
Some called him The Healing Ghost. Others, The Hand of the Divine.
The public sentiment was near-mythical. Some patients claimed they were cured of conditions long thought incurable.
Broken bones healed overnight. Chronic pain disappeared after a single session. Even the blind had reportedly walked away seeing again.
And yet, Soren remained unchanged.
The sign at the entrance still bore his name in weathered letters. The rules of the clinic, strict and unbending, were followed without exception.
No appointments. No bribes. You lined up, you waited, and you hoped.
What struck people most was not just Soren's miraculous skill, but his fairness. Despite the skyrocketing demand and legendary reputation, he never raised his fee.
Rich or poor, local or foreigner, everyone paid the same modest sum.
It was... unbelievable.
That evening, as the sun dipped behind the horizon and shadows stretched across the clinic walls, Soren prepared to close for the day. Only one patient remained.
"Next."
The door creaked open, and in stepped a man, tall, slightly hunched, wearing a tailored coat that had once been expensive, now worn and dusted.
His gait was stiff, his aura subdued. A beard, thick and untamed, masked the man's gaunt face, and yet his eyes shone with intellect.
"Doctor, thank you for seeing me… and for seeing my hands."
He reached up, struggling slightly, and began removing his gloves with trembling fingers.
The leather peeled away, revealing a pair of hands covered in deep, angry scars. Steel pins jutted out like cruel vines, the flesh around them was marred by time and trauma.
Soren's eyes narrowed, not with judgment, but recognition.
The damage was familiar.
"What's your name?" Soren asked quietly.
The man blinked in surprise. That was against the clinic's rules. Soren never asked names, birthplaces, or backgrounds. Just symptoms and pain.
"Strange." The man replied after a pause. "My name is Strange. I… I was a doctor too. Before… this."
He glanced down at his broken hands.
A ghost of bitterness passed through his voice when he said the word doctor, like it once held meaning, like it was all he ever was, and everything he lost.
Soren remained silent for a moment. In that silence, memories flickered behind his eyes.
Without a word, he motioned for Strange to sit.
As the man lowered himself into the chair, a faint spark of hope glinted in his otherwise exhausted expression.
"Can I recover?"
Stephen Strange…
A universe of heroes and gods, and one man who stood before the ruler of the Dark Dimension and said, again and again:
"Dormammu, I've come to bargain."
In that world, Doctor Stephen Strange had been more than a man of science, he became the Sorcerer Supreme. The protector of Earth from interdimensional threats.
And here he was… broken, desperate, and on the cusp of a decision.
Soren leaned forward. "Strange, since we're colleagues, I'll be honest with you."
He extended his hand over the scarred ruins of Strange's.
"I can heal you. Fully. Your hands will be stronger than they ever were. You'll be able to hold a scalpel again, perform miracles in surgery, reclaim your old life."
Strange's eyes widened, hope glistening in them like morning dew.
He had waited more than a week outside Everlife, shivering in the cold, ignored by most, clinging to the belief that this clinic might be the end of his long nightmare.
But Soren wasn't finished.
"…Or."
A slight smile appeared on his lips, "I can show you another path. One you may not understand yet. It's a path that leads to power, yes, but also to purpose. To a future where you protect this world not with scalpels, but with magic."
Strange blinked, confused. "You mean… like a superhero?"
Soren didn't answer directly. Instead, he gestured calmly. "You must choose. One path restores your hands."
"The other may cost you everything, but lead to somewhere brighter. I will not pressure you."
"Here, all things come at a price, but the choice is always the patients."
"I want my hands healed!" Strange did not hesitate.
Soren released a quiet sigh that passed through his mind. So this is the man… before destiny tempered him.
"As you wish."
He raised a hand, and the air shimmered. A green aura, pure, radiant life energy, began to form, crackling like lightning, yet gentle as a stream.
Strange felt a jolt as that power poured into him, surrounding his ruined hands.
Agony bloomed through his arms as steel nails twisted and forced themselves out of bone and sinew, clattering to the floor. Strange cried out, not from fear, but pain deeper than he had known since the accident.
And finally… warmth.
Skin healed. Nerves reconnected. Scar tissue peeled away like old parchment. His fingers straightened, flexed, and moved with clarity.
When the glow faded, his hands were reborn.
Strange stared at them in disbelief, then clenched his fists and broke into silent, sobbing laughter.
"I… I can feel everything, even better than before. I…"
Tears streamed down his face.
"Thank you, Doctor."
Soren gave a faint nod, but inside, a flicker of disappointment danced in his chest. The Strange he knew walked a harder road, but it made him who he needed to be.
But then, Strange surprised him.
"Doctor Macaluso."
"I~I want to pay. All of it. My savings, my home, everything! You saved my life."
Soren waved the offer away. "The price has already been paid."
Strange hesitated, then added, "About what you said earlier… the superhero path."
"Can we… talk about that again?"
꧁𓊈𒆜༺⚜༻𒆜𓊉꧂
Fellow Phantoms and aspiring Phantoms to be, if you seek to access advanced parts of this story procced to my shadowy realm of p@treon.
PhantomDream