‘YOU ARE PROBABLY WONDERING WHY I GATHERED YOU HERE…’
The sky was grey and heavy with clouds. It gave off the oppressive feeling that bad weather was coming.
A man walked down Bleeker Street, his shoulders hunched, his head down, weighed down by life. He was huddled into his overcoat, as though in hope that it would shield him from not just the weather, but the surrounding city, itself.
The man was barefoot and the ragged hems of his purple pants stuck out from under the coat.
He walked up the three steps, of a three-story brownstone, with an ornate skylight window. He knocked on the heavy, oaken front door.
It creaked open, and a bald Asian man, dressed all in green, trimmed with gold, stood in the doorway.
“Welcome, Doctor Banner,” he said, in a low, cultured tone. “And thank you for coming.”
“Not entirely sure I had a choice, Wong,” Bruce Banner replied, stepping into the ornate foyer.
Wong took his overcoat, giving no indication that the new arrival’s wardrobe, no shirt, a pair of ragged, purple pants, belted with a length of rope, was at all inappropriate attire for a visitor.
The foyer had a high ceiling and was dominated by large staircase.
Wong led Bruce Banner past the stairs and down a side corridor.
The kitchen was surprisingly modern looking, considering the old world look and feel of the house.
It was an oasis of light and pristine white, surrounded by dark oak and wrought metal.
Bruce eyes widened slightly, at the fact that he wasn’t the only guest.
Seated at the old-fashioned green and white Formica kitchen table was a figure resembling a statue formed from silver.
Norrin Radd had been born on a distant planet. He then traveled the cosmos, as the herald of Galactus. Now, he was, currently, in exile on Earth.
He sat at the kitchen table, a glass of water set in front of him, his cosmic surfboard leaning against the refrigerator. “Greetings, Bruce Banner.”
“Hello, Surfer.” The thin, shirtless scientist said, sitting down. “Why am I here?”
“I do not know,” The Silver Surfer replied. “I was hoping to find answers, myself.”
“Great,” Banner muttered. “I’m not even sure how the Hulk got me here, or what kind of damage he caused along the way! I’m now in the middle of New York…?”
Further anxious questions were interrupted by a pounding on the back door.
Wong moved to open it, and no sooner had he turned the knob when it was flung open, and another stranger clad in an overcoat entered the kitchen.
“Why have you summoned me here!” The new arrival demanded, flinging his dripping wet coat aside.
He was a tall, athletic man, clad in a green bathing suit with a yellow belt. His black hair was slicked back and his ears were slightly pointed. His face was set in a near permanent angry scowl.
“Good evening, your highness,” Wong said, closing the door and moving to hold out a chair for the monarch of Atlantis.
“Namor.” Bruce Banner said, but weither in greeting or just an expression of exasperation was unclear.
“Banner, Surfer,” The Sub-mariner said, ignoring the chair and instead, standing, glaring accusingly at the others.
“Which one of you is responsible for this?”
“I am,” Wong said, quietly.
The other three turned to look, confused and surprised, at the Asian manservant to the Earth’s Sorcerer supreme.
“Something has occurred. The master has disappeared,” Wong continued.
“He is a magician, after all,” Namor grumbled.
“Wait…Stephen’s gone…?” Bruce Banner asked. “Why’d he bring us here…how’d he bring us here, if he isn’t here?”
“He was here,” Wong explained. “I fear something has happened to him. The master has not merely left, he has vanished.”
“Curious.” The Silver Surfer said.
“That can’t be good.” Banner nodded.
‘This is absurd…!” Namor muttered. “Strange is always wandering off, to some other realm.”
“Except that’s not what Wong’s saying,” Banner said. “And, if it was planned or important, Stephen would have, at least, told Wong, if no one else. Sounds like he needs our help.”
“What can we do?” The Surfer asked.
“Maybe, if you show us where you last saw him,” Banner mumbled, thoughtfully. “We could…”
“What?” Namor snapped. ‘We could what? We are not mystics nor detectives. This is all pointless…!”
“If you don’t want to help,” Banner muttered, peering intently down at the table, rather than at the surly Atlantean, gripping the edge of the table, until his knuckles began to whiten. “You could keep quiet…for five minutes, so I could think…!”
A vein in his temple started to pulse, and the scientist struggled to keep his breathing steady.
“You dare…!” Namor said, his voice dangerously low. “If you think…!”
“Your tea, Doctor Banner,” Wong said, moving between the two men and holding out a delicate, steaming, china cup.
Banner exhaled slowly, and with obvious effort, reached out, his hand trembling slightly, and took the offered cup.
“If this is such a crisis,” Namor growled. “Why are we stopping for tea?”
“It is a special herbal blend, that Doctor Strange created,” Wong explained, in his quiet even tone. “For its calming attributes.”
“This seems like a situation better suited to my helping,” Banner said, in between sips. “Rather than the… other guy.”
He nodded his thanks to Wong, as he handed back the now empty cup, and then got to his feet. “Let’s have a look where you last saw Stephen and see what we can do.”
He glanced at Namor, and then, with an obvious effort to keep his breathing calm, walked out of the kitchen.
Wong moved, quickly, but effortlessly, to catch up and then to lead the way.
After several moments, Namor, still frowning, followed.
“I will never understand humans,” The Silver Surfer said, tucking his board under his arm, before moving to join his teammates.
Up the main staircase, and down a corridor, Bruce Banner didn’t remember having seen in any of his previous visits, until Wong halted before an ancient looking door, made of dark oak.
Wong made a brief gesture, before touching the heavy, wrought-iron doorknob.
The door swung open with an ominous creak, revealing a good-sized room, three of its walls lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves. There was a shag rug as green and lush looking as a golf course. In the center of the room was a large desk, wood, but a lighter shade than the shelves around it.
The trio of heroes stood, peering into the doorway, unsure what they had been expecting to see, but the general impression seemed to be the room was quainter and cozier, then the dire scene they thought they would encounter.
“There is nothing here,” Namor grumbled, moving to enter the library.
“Wait,” Banner said, touching the sea monarch’s arm.
“I can think of no reason for you to be touching me,” Namor said, peering at the smaller man. “That does not end in violence.”
“Just stop for a moment,” Banner replied, impatiently.
“I grow tired of this farce.” Namor growled back.
“Then leave,” Banner said, through gritted teeth. “If you don’t want to help, you could get out of the way or at least, listen to, those of us who do want to…!”
He gripped the doorway, as though to steady himself, though his knuckles seemed to take on a greenish tinge.
“Enough,” The Silver Surfer said, thrusting his cosmic board between the two. “This bickering is pointless, not to mention, quite tedious.”
He gently reached over and removed Banner’s hand from the door frame.
“Prince Namor, your anger serves no purpose. Doctor Banner wishes to help in finding Doctor Strange. Perhaps you might actually listen to him, before belittling his efforts.”
The alien being’s tone was quiet and even, but the flash of cosmic power in his eyes, told the Sub-Mariner he would do well to listen.
“What do you suggest?” Namor asked Banner.
“Um…well,” Bruce Banner replied, put off by Namor’s sudden shift to reasonableness.
“What are we looking for?” The Surfer asked, glancing around the room.
“I was hoping there would be some obvious signs of an attack,” Banner shrugged, his forehead wrinkling in thought. “But it seems whatever happened, was fairly quiet and…subtle.”
“We are not detectives,” Namor said. “I am not saying that to be contrary, but rather as an honest assessment. Let us be honest, none of us are known for being great thinkers.”
Banner studied Namor, unsure if he was actually being a contrary jerk, or if he was in fact putting forward an honest thought.
“We are thinkers.” He replied, intently. “I know that’s not what I’m known for, but that’s…the other guy. While you, Namor, have had to navigate the politics of a kingdom and Norrin has senses far beyond the human range. It’s not what any of us are known for, but we are thinkers, and Stephen must have believed it, otherwise, why summon us?”
Namor studied the pale, thin scientist for several heartbeats.
“Fine,” he said, simply.
“How can we help?” The Surfer added. Unlike Namor and Banner, the herald of Galactus seemed to be treating the whole situation with a vague curiosity.
“Can we now be allowed to actually enter the room?” Namor asked, impatiently.
“Wait a minute,” Bruce Benner said, holding up a hand, to keep the other two from pushing past him. “Just look for a moment…what do you see?”
“Nothing,” Namor shrugged. “I see an empty room.”
“That seems wrong, if, in fact, Doctor Strange was abducted from this room,” The Surfer said, stroking his shiny chin with his free hand.
“Exactly,” Banner nodded. “That’s a thick shag rug, there aren’t even scuff marks or footprints. There’s no sign of a struggle of any kind.”
“True,” Namor conceded. “Strange is not a warrior, but he could comport himself in a fight. So, he was taken by surprise?”
“Had to have been,” Banner said. “But that would have taken some major magical power…there should be some sign…?”
While the other two talked, the Silver Surfer let go of his board. It rested, floating several feet above the floor. He then sat on it and floated into the room.
Banner and Namor, a bit taken aback, watched him float around the room.
“The only marks I see,” The Surfer said, peering downwards. “Seem to be when Doctor Strange entered the room. Interesting…?”
Curiosity winning over caution, his teammates entered the room and joined him by the large desk.
The highbacked chair was pushed back, at a slight angle and there was a book on the floor.
Namor knelt down, aware enough not to touch it. Whether it was a clue or not, he’d learned the hard way that the most innocent objects, in Doctor Strange’s house could be a powerful, mystical artifacts.
It was an ancient looking tome, bound in leather weathered almost black and strapped closed.
“It’s like one of those old, Victorian Journals,” Banner said. “Doesn’t look like there’s a key…?”
“This room is full of strange energy,” The Surfer said, glancing about.
“I would expect nothing less, from the home of a sorcerer,” Namor said. He stood, then crossed his arms.
“That’s great,” Banner muttered. “Very helpful.”
“I am helping,” Namor snaped in reply. “I’m doing as you asked, I’m thinking.”
“About what?” The scientist asked, skeptically.
“This room,” The Atlantean hero replied. “Strange was seated at the desk, reading his book, when…whatever occurred…occurred.”
Namor began to pace.
Bruce Banner leaned on the corner of the desk, waiting to see what Namor was thinking.
“The attack must have been very sudden and effective, as there’s very little disruption to the room. Also, how did the attacker even get into the house?”
“So, some form of teleportation or a…um…magic portal? Norrin, could you trace it?”
“I do not think so,” The Surfer responded, thoughtfully. “The energies in here are…chaotic.”
“That’s what I said,” Namor grumbled. “This house is saturated with mystical energies. Trying to find one spark is a needle in an enormous haystack. None of us are wizards, we need to think it through.”
“Okay, go ahead,” Banner nodded, impressed that the Sub-mariner was able to put aside his anger and was piecing together clues and facts, that Banner might not have noticed.
“Catching Strange off guard is not hard to imagine,” Namor continued. “But the house must have defenses.”
He frowned for a moment and then walked to the door and shouted down the corridor for Wong.
The manservant quickly returned.
“Wong, there are defenses…spells that protect the house from outside attack?” Namor asked.
“Yes,” Wong said. “The master has numerous wards and spells to protect the house, especially when he is away.”
“That’s it!” Namor said, turning towards the others. “The house’s defenses are…weaker when Strange is in residence or he has to perform some incantation or whatever he does, to activate these…wards.”
“That would be the opening to allow the…um…attackers to gain entrance to the sanctum,” Bruce Banner nodded.
“But, how did they get out, with Strange a helpless captive?”
“My other concern,” Namor added. “Is, with Strange gone, how well defended is this house?”
There was an anxious moment of silence, as the other three pondered this new thought.
“If the master was taken before he could recast the defensive wards…?” Wong added.
“What if that was the whole purpose?” Bruce Banner exclaimed, before catching himself and calming down. “It might not have been an attack, but rather a spell that trapped Stephen, somehow.”
“Leaving a massive collection of mystical artifacts free for the taking,” Namor said, grimly.
“So, were we summoned to be detectives or guards?” Banner asked, frowning.
“We need to be sure the house is secure, before we can continue the search,” Namor stated. “Show us what we need to do, Wong.”
“If you can do without me,” The Silver Surfer said. “I would like stay. There are energy traces here, that I would like to investigate further.”
Banner nodded and followed quickly after Namor and Wong.
The Surfer floated over to the desk, hopped off his board and seated himself at the sorcerer supreme’s desk.
He reached to move the ancient bound book and quickly drew back his hands, his silver fingers tingling.
The former herald of Galactus glanced from his hand to the book, and frowned, thoughtfully.
Wong led the two heroes through the house, inspecting windows and doors. They were baffled by some of the runes they encountered or when Wong would adjust some innocent seeming pierce of bric a brac.
“Without the master, the wards are weak,” Wong explained, as they reached the front foyer. “The spells in place, and the few I can cast on my own, will tell us if there are any attempts to breach the sanctum.”
“Or we could just look out the window,” Banner said, anxiously gesturing towards one of the front windows.
Outside, it was still grey and dreary. The wind, sullenly, blew the trash about, on the street and the heavy clouds grew darker and threatened rain.
Coming down the street was an armored figure on horseback. The knights’ armor shown metallically under the streetlamps. From the seams in his armor came tongues of flame.
He held his lance loosely, and it raised sparks as the tip dragged along the pavement.
“It would seem, whoever is behind Strange’s disappearance is making their move,” Namor said, grimly.
“Or word has gotten out that the Doctor’s not home,” Banner said, pointing to the window on the other side of the front door.
A manhole cover blew off and tentacles, each thick as a man’s leg, came snaking out, grasping blindly, greedily towards the front door.
Across the streets, three shadows, without anyone casting them, detached themselves from the sidewalk, and floated towards the sanctum of Doctor Strange.
“If it is not one thing, it is another,” Namor muttered, seeming more irritated than fearful. “We must go deal with them.”
“If I may…?” Wong said, moving to the hall closet.
He brought out a tall, golden trident.
“You left this, on a previous visit,” The servant explained, handing it to the Prince of Atlantis.
Namor accepted the trident, hefting it easily with one hand, clapped Banner on the shoulder with the other and then strode towards the front door.
“Now, let us teach those foul creatures a lesson!”
“I don’t think…!” The skinny scientist mumbled.
“Good,” Namor said, reaching back, and grabbing Banner by the arm. “As the time for thinking has passed!”
He then hurled his teammate, like a rag doll, out into the street.
Bruce Banner lay on the wet pavement, battered and bruised.
“I…hate…ow…him,” Banner muttered, as he felt one of the tentacles wrap around his bare ankle.
He flinched, as its slimy touch burned his flesh, like acid.
“Arrggghh!”
Gone was the meek scientist. It was the Incredible Hulk that stood up.
“Who hit Hulk…?” He growled, taking a step and then stumbling, when the tentacle tried to pull him back towards the open manhole.
“Stupid snake thing!” The Hulk growled, struggling to pull his leg free. A half dozen slimy tentacles shot out, enveloping the angry, green behemoth.
Namor closed the doors behind him, cast a glance at the Hulk, decided he seemed to have the situation under control and strode down the steps to face the hellfire knight.
Back upstairs, the Silver Surfer was still seated at the desk, his hand held several inches above the book, his eyes closed and his cosmic senses stretched to their fullest.
Being unlearned of mystical energy, he was unsure what he was sensing, but everything pointed to the ancient tome being incongruous when compared to the other exotic energies that flowed through Doctor Strange’s house.
His shiny brow furrowed in concentration and his fingertips began to glow.
The leather-bound book was soon enveloped in a nimbus of blue and silver energy.
There was a faint click, as the lock on the book released and the ancient-looking volume opened. Instead of printed words on paper, the book became a portal, the size of a garage door and the Surfer found himself tumbling in, like he’d been caught up by a powerful wave.
He had the presence of mind to grab his board as he fell through the multi-verse.
Namor’s trident struck the knight’s lance, raising sparks and sending both combatants staggering back.
The flaming knight reared up on his horse. Coming down, the hooves gouged the asphalt.
The knight charged. Namor staggered, the heat pouring off the knight sapping his strength.
The next strike, the lance gashed his shoulder.
Namor half spun, barely avoiding the next attack.
As the demon knight turned, his lance pointed directly at the sea monarch’s heart.
Namor leapt up into the air, propelled by his ankle wings.
He spun his trident, and plunged it downwards, pinning the lance to the pavement.
This manuever caught the knight off balance and he tumbled from his demonic horse.
The knight shook his armored head, got to his feet, drawing a sword from his belt, that erupted with flames as soon as it was free of the scabbard.
Nearby, the Hulk was slowly losing his tug of war with the tentacled creature that lurked in the sewers.
The trio of shadows were pounding against the door, desperately seeking any small flaw in the home of the sorcerer supreme. Any way in.
Elsewhere…
The Silver Surfer raced through an otherworldly realm, past floating islands and dodging bizarre, winged creatures.
Allowing himself a moment to savor the feeling of soaring free through space, the one-time herald of Galactus, then focused his cosmic senses.
Despite the deluge of exotic energy swirling around him, the Surfer could still sense a tiny, familiar. It guided him along.
Following this trail of mystical breadcrumbs, he flew, making his way through the floating islands and flying creatures, unsure if he had discovered a clue or had walked into a bizarre trap.
The faint energy trail led to a slab of alien rock, the size of a city block.
The Silver Surfer touched down, tucked his board under his arm, and walked along.
There was no clear line of sight, as the floating island was a mass of steep inclines, sharp drop offs, and narrow canyons.
Squeezing between two stalagmites that resembled huge, melted candles, the Surfer came to a clearing: a smooth bowl-shaped area.
In the center, Doctor Strange was chained to a pillar of stone.
His body sagged, appearing to be held upright by the faintly glowing chains that bound him.
Doctor Strange struggled to raise his head, peering at his friend with bleary eyes.
“Norrin…?” The mystic muttered, blinking. “You got my message…! Are the… the others…here?”
“No, they were busy with other matters,” The alien hero replied. “What has happened to you?”
“I did!” A new voice cackled.
On the ridge, the air shimmered like heat haze and a figure on a crude stone throne appeared.
He was a gnomish being, a scrawny body with an over-sized bald head. His skin was a green-ish shade and his prominent ears were pointed.
His extravagant, golden, high-collared robe left his thin arms bare.
He sat hunched forward, leaning on a golden staff.
“Should I know you?” The Silver Surfer asked, offhandedly.
“I am Tiboro!” The being on the throne screeched, striking the rocky ground with the end of his staff, drawing purple sparks. “I rule the sixth dimension! I have challenged the might of Earth’s sorcerer supreme! You…you’ve never heard of me?”
“No,” The Surfer shrugged, apologetically. “I do not mean to seem rude, but I have come to retrieve Doctor Strange. His absence is causing some disruption. So, if you will just release my friend…?”
“Never!” Tiboro raged, leaping to his feet and striking the rocky ground with the butt of his staff, again raising sparks. “Strange is my prisoner! At my mercy, and no earthly power can free him!”
“Well, about that,” The Silver Surfer replied, his hands glowing with cosmic energy. “I am not from Earth.”
The first blast of energy shattered Doctor Strange’s chains. The second cracked the stone beneath the sixth dimensional tyrant’s throne and Tiboro came tumbling down the embankment.
Tiboro flailed about, stumbling on the hem of his robes, as he got to his feet.
“Gaaaaghhhh!” He shrieked, swinging his golden staff. “You will pay for that!”
Doctor Strange, supported by the Silver Surfer, concentrated, bringing his hands up, his fingers traced arcane patterns in the air.
“No, I don’t think so, Tiboro,” He muttered, struggling to focus. “I’ve grown a bit tired of your brand of hospitality.”
Suddenly, the green mystic’s wrists were bound together by a band of crimson energy, causing him to drop his staff.
A blast from the Silver Surfer sent it tumbling away from the rocky island and out floating through the surrounding void.
While Tiboro struggled against his bonds, attempting to bring forth his sorcerous powers, the Surfer summoned his board closer, and aided Doctor Strange to step on it.
“Are you all right?” He asked.
“A bit groggy. Tiboro’s chains were leeching my mystical energies.,” Doctor Strange explained. “It was a cunning trap and I don’t think we’re finished dealing with it.”
“There was some mention of your foes sensing you were gone,” The herald of Galactus nodded. “But, I believe Prince Namor and Doctor Banner are protecting your house.”
“We need to return,” Doctor Strange said, holding on to the Surfer’s arm, as the cosmic board flew away. “Tiboro had the ability to hold me prisoner in his realm, but he had to have had assistance, back on Earth, in order to plant the book in my sanctum. The others may be in more peril than they know…!”
Meanwhile, back in New York, things weren’t going well.
Despite his struggling and stomping and the cracked pavement, the Hulk was enveloped in tenacles and was within inches of being dragged down to whatever lurked below.
Namor was still on his feet, but just barely. The demon knight had been joined by a quartet of zombified ninjas.
Drained of his strength, by the knights’ hellfire sword, scratched, bleeding and bruised, the prince of Atlantis struggled to keep his feet, leaning on the trident more for support, than as a weapon.
In the midst of this chaos, a portal opened in the air and a robed figure stepped out, followed by a parade of the followers of a variety of nefarious mystical cults, covens and cabals.
The leader of this macabre parade was Kaluu, a tall, thin man, and sporting a pointed beard and a sardonic expression. His robes gave him the appearance of the head monk of an Asian monastery.
Once his feet touched the ground, he strolled, almost casually, past the combatants, casting a glance and nodding in vague approval, as he passed Namor and the Hulk.
He paused at the foot of the front steps, raising a hand to halt his diverse following.
“Allow me a moment,” he said, with quiet command. “Once we enter, you all know your tasks. Seek out the items I have listed. Touch nothing else, without consulting me.”
There was a murmur of ascent from the cowled and robed cultists, as Kaluu placed his slippered-foot on the bottom step.
As he reached for the doorknob, the double doors swung open, and Doctor Strange stood in the doorway, bookend by Wong and the Silver Surfer.
“Can I help you?” Doctor Strange asked. “Stop by to borrow a cup of sugar?”
For a brief moment, Kaluu faltered, his outstretched hand still extended. He quickly recovered, tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe.
“Well, it was a noble effort,” He shrugged.
“There is nothing ‘noble’ about you, Kaluu,” Doctor Strange said, his hands moving into a mystical gesture.
“Now, Stephen, let us act like civilized men.” Kaluu said, his hands up in a casual, placating gesture.
“Kaluu, I have had a long, tiring day, and have no interest in indulging in violence over your petty manipulation.” The sorcerer supreme explained.
“Well, good.”
“My friends, on the other hand…”
The dark mystic then realized that his demonic allies had abandoned him and that the Hulk and the Sub-mariner were standing right behind him.
“Is this over-dressed cretin responsible for all we’ve gone through?” Namor asked, scowling, his arms crossed.
Hulk pointed at Kaluu with a massive, green finger.
“This bad man?” Hulk asked.
“I must say,” Kaluu grumbled. “I am disappointed in you, Stephen.”
With a flourish, a portal opened beneath his feet and he sank into the sidewalk.
“That was oddly unsatisfying,” Namor muttered.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Doctor Strange said, gesturing towards the assortment of cultists and minor mystics, now standing around, in the empty street.
Namor shrugged and turned to his large, green teammate.
“Hulk,” he said. “I’ve lost my interest in combat, so feel free to, as you are so fond of saying, smash.”
The emerald behemoth, turned, cracked his massive knuckles and snarled at the assortment of robed figures.
Minutes later, the Defenders were gathered in the sanctum’s gothic looking dining room.
As none of the chairs would support him, the Hulk sat on the floor. Wong had opened a half dozen cans of beans for him, and the jade giant was contentedly slurping them down.
Namor’s place held several pitchers of water, most of which he had just poured over his head, restoring his strength and vigor.
Doctor Strange sat at the head of the table, looking wane and tired from his ordeal. He had shrugged off his cloak and was savoring his cup of tea, while he filled in his teammates on recent events.
“And so, Norrin was able to attune his cosmic energy with that of the book,” He explained. “And was drawn through the portal, into Tiboro’s realm.”
“It was a cunning trap,” Namor nodded, refilling his glass and drinking deeply.
“Fortunately, for me,” Doctor Strange said, raising his teacup in a mock salute. “Kaluu underestimated my friends.”
Authors note:
I love the original Defenders line-up. One of my all-time favorite teams.
I know it would be a logistical nightmare, but I’ve always been toying with the idea of an ongoing series featuring them.
I’ve also had this story idea kicking around for a while.
So, what I want to do is for standalone Defenders stories, where each one a different member is responsible for bring the four together.
This time, it’s Doctor Strange. The next one will be Namor summoning the Defenders.
The sky was grey and heavy with clouds. It gave off the oppressive feeling that bad weather was coming.
A man walked down Bleeker Street, his shoulders hunched, his head down, weighed down by life. He was huddled into his overcoat, as though in hope that it would shield him from not just the weather, but the surrounding city, itself.
The man was barefoot and the ragged hems of his purple pants stuck out from under the coat.
He walked up the three steps, of a three-story brownstone, with an ornate skylight window. He knocked on the heavy, oaken front door.
It creaked open, and a bald Asian man, dressed all in green, trimmed with gold, stood in the doorway.
“Welcome, Doctor Banner,” he said, in a low, cultured tone. “And thank you for coming.”
“Not entirely sure I had a choice, Wong,” Bruce Banner replied, stepping into the ornate foyer.
Wong took his overcoat, giving no indication that the new arrival’s wardrobe, no shirt, a pair of ragged, purple pants, belted with a length of rope, was at all inappropriate attire for a visitor.
The foyer had a high ceiling and was dominated by large staircase.
Wong led Bruce Banner past the stairs and down a side corridor.
The kitchen was surprisingly modern looking, considering the old world look and feel of the house.
It was an oasis of light and pristine white, surrounded by dark oak and wrought metal.
Bruce eyes widened slightly, at the fact that he wasn’t the only guest.
Seated at the old-fashioned green and white Formica kitchen table was a figure resembling a statue formed from silver.
Norrin Radd had been born on a distant planet. He then traveled the cosmos, as the herald of Galactus. Now, he was, currently, in exile on Earth.
He sat at the kitchen table, a glass of water set in front of him, his cosmic surfboard leaning against the refrigerator. “Greetings, Bruce Banner.”
“Hello, Surfer.” The thin, shirtless scientist said, sitting down. “Why am I here?”
“I do not know,” The Silver Surfer replied. “I was hoping to find answers, myself.”
“Great,” Banner muttered. “I’m not even sure how the Hulk got me here, or what kind of damage he caused along the way! I’m now in the middle of New York…?”
Further anxious questions were interrupted by a pounding on the back door.
Wong moved to open it, and no sooner had he turned the knob when it was flung open, and another stranger clad in an overcoat entered the kitchen.
“Why have you summoned me here!” The new arrival demanded, flinging his dripping wet coat aside.
He was a tall, athletic man, clad in a green bathing suit with a yellow belt. His black hair was slicked back and his ears were slightly pointed. His face was set in a near permanent angry scowl.
“Good evening, your highness,” Wong said, closing the door and moving to hold out a chair for the monarch of Atlantis.
“Namor.” Bruce Banner said, but weither in greeting or just an expression of exasperation was unclear.
“Banner, Surfer,” The Sub-mariner said, ignoring the chair and instead, standing, glaring accusingly at the others.
“Which one of you is responsible for this?”
“I am,” Wong said, quietly.
The other three turned to look, confused and surprised, at the Asian manservant to the Earth’s Sorcerer supreme.
“Something has occurred. The master has disappeared,” Wong continued.
“He is a magician, after all,” Namor grumbled.
“Wait…Stephen’s gone…?” Bruce Banner asked. “Why’d he bring us here…how’d he bring us here, if he isn’t here?”
“He was here,” Wong explained. “I fear something has happened to him. The master has not merely left, he has vanished.”
“Curious.” The Silver Surfer said.
“That can’t be good.” Banner nodded.
‘This is absurd…!” Namor muttered. “Strange is always wandering off, to some other realm.”
“Except that’s not what Wong’s saying,” Banner said. “And, if it was planned or important, Stephen would have, at least, told Wong, if no one else. Sounds like he needs our help.”
“What can we do?” The Surfer asked.
“Maybe, if you show us where you last saw him,” Banner mumbled, thoughtfully. “We could…”
“What?” Namor snapped. ‘We could what? We are not mystics nor detectives. This is all pointless…!”
“If you don’t want to help,” Banner muttered, peering intently down at the table, rather than at the surly Atlantean, gripping the edge of the table, until his knuckles began to whiten. “You could keep quiet…for five minutes, so I could think…!”
A vein in his temple started to pulse, and the scientist struggled to keep his breathing steady.
“You dare…!” Namor said, his voice dangerously low. “If you think…!”
“Your tea, Doctor Banner,” Wong said, moving between the two men and holding out a delicate, steaming, china cup.
Banner exhaled slowly, and with obvious effort, reached out, his hand trembling slightly, and took the offered cup.
“If this is such a crisis,” Namor growled. “Why are we stopping for tea?”
“It is a special herbal blend, that Doctor Strange created,” Wong explained, in his quiet even tone. “For its calming attributes.”
“This seems like a situation better suited to my helping,” Banner said, in between sips. “Rather than the… other guy.”
He nodded his thanks to Wong, as he handed back the now empty cup, and then got to his feet. “Let’s have a look where you last saw Stephen and see what we can do.”
He glanced at Namor, and then, with an obvious effort to keep his breathing calm, walked out of the kitchen.
Wong moved, quickly, but effortlessly, to catch up and then to lead the way.
After several moments, Namor, still frowning, followed.
“I will never understand humans,” The Silver Surfer said, tucking his board under his arm, before moving to join his teammates.
Up the main staircase, and down a corridor, Bruce Banner didn’t remember having seen in any of his previous visits, until Wong halted before an ancient looking door, made of dark oak.
Wong made a brief gesture, before touching the heavy, wrought-iron doorknob.
The door swung open with an ominous creak, revealing a good-sized room, three of its walls lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves. There was a shag rug as green and lush looking as a golf course. In the center of the room was a large desk, wood, but a lighter shade than the shelves around it.
The trio of heroes stood, peering into the doorway, unsure what they had been expecting to see, but the general impression seemed to be the room was quainter and cozier, then the dire scene they thought they would encounter.
“There is nothing here,” Namor grumbled, moving to enter the library.
“Wait,” Banner said, touching the sea monarch’s arm.
“I can think of no reason for you to be touching me,” Namor said, peering at the smaller man. “That does not end in violence.”
“Just stop for a moment,” Banner replied, impatiently.
“I grow tired of this farce.” Namor growled back.
“Then leave,” Banner said, through gritted teeth. “If you don’t want to help, you could get out of the way or at least, listen to, those of us who do want to…!”
He gripped the doorway, as though to steady himself, though his knuckles seemed to take on a greenish tinge.
“Enough,” The Silver Surfer said, thrusting his cosmic board between the two. “This bickering is pointless, not to mention, quite tedious.”
He gently reached over and removed Banner’s hand from the door frame.
“Prince Namor, your anger serves no purpose. Doctor Banner wishes to help in finding Doctor Strange. Perhaps you might actually listen to him, before belittling his efforts.”
The alien being’s tone was quiet and even, but the flash of cosmic power in his eyes, told the Sub-Mariner he would do well to listen.
“What do you suggest?” Namor asked Banner.
“Um…well,” Bruce Banner replied, put off by Namor’s sudden shift to reasonableness.
“What are we looking for?” The Surfer asked, glancing around the room.
“I was hoping there would be some obvious signs of an attack,” Banner shrugged, his forehead wrinkling in thought. “But it seems whatever happened, was fairly quiet and…subtle.”
“We are not detectives,” Namor said. “I am not saying that to be contrary, but rather as an honest assessment. Let us be honest, none of us are known for being great thinkers.”
Banner studied Namor, unsure if he was actually being a contrary jerk, or if he was in fact putting forward an honest thought.
“We are thinkers.” He replied, intently. “I know that’s not what I’m known for, but that’s…the other guy. While you, Namor, have had to navigate the politics of a kingdom and Norrin has senses far beyond the human range. It’s not what any of us are known for, but we are thinkers, and Stephen must have believed it, otherwise, why summon us?”
Namor studied the pale, thin scientist for several heartbeats.
“Fine,” he said, simply.
“How can we help?” The Surfer added. Unlike Namor and Banner, the herald of Galactus seemed to be treating the whole situation with a vague curiosity.
“Can we now be allowed to actually enter the room?” Namor asked, impatiently.
“Wait a minute,” Bruce Benner said, holding up a hand, to keep the other two from pushing past him. “Just look for a moment…what do you see?”
“Nothing,” Namor shrugged. “I see an empty room.”
“That seems wrong, if, in fact, Doctor Strange was abducted from this room,” The Surfer said, stroking his shiny chin with his free hand.
“Exactly,” Banner nodded. “That’s a thick shag rug, there aren’t even scuff marks or footprints. There’s no sign of a struggle of any kind.”
“True,” Namor conceded. “Strange is not a warrior, but he could comport himself in a fight. So, he was taken by surprise?”
“Had to have been,” Banner said. “But that would have taken some major magical power…there should be some sign…?”
While the other two talked, the Silver Surfer let go of his board. It rested, floating several feet above the floor. He then sat on it and floated into the room.
Banner and Namor, a bit taken aback, watched him float around the room.
“The only marks I see,” The Surfer said, peering downwards. “Seem to be when Doctor Strange entered the room. Interesting…?”
Curiosity winning over caution, his teammates entered the room and joined him by the large desk.
The highbacked chair was pushed back, at a slight angle and there was a book on the floor.
Namor knelt down, aware enough not to touch it. Whether it was a clue or not, he’d learned the hard way that the most innocent objects, in Doctor Strange’s house could be a powerful, mystical artifacts.
It was an ancient looking tome, bound in leather weathered almost black and strapped closed.
“It’s like one of those old, Victorian Journals,” Banner said. “Doesn’t look like there’s a key…?”
“This room is full of strange energy,” The Surfer said, glancing about.
“I would expect nothing less, from the home of a sorcerer,” Namor said. He stood, then crossed his arms.
“That’s great,” Banner muttered. “Very helpful.”
“I am helping,” Namor snaped in reply. “I’m doing as you asked, I’m thinking.”
“About what?” The scientist asked, skeptically.
“This room,” The Atlantean hero replied. “Strange was seated at the desk, reading his book, when…whatever occurred…occurred.”
Namor began to pace.
Bruce Banner leaned on the corner of the desk, waiting to see what Namor was thinking.
“The attack must have been very sudden and effective, as there’s very little disruption to the room. Also, how did the attacker even get into the house?”
“So, some form of teleportation or a…um…magic portal? Norrin, could you trace it?”
“I do not think so,” The Surfer responded, thoughtfully. “The energies in here are…chaotic.”
“That’s what I said,” Namor grumbled. “This house is saturated with mystical energies. Trying to find one spark is a needle in an enormous haystack. None of us are wizards, we need to think it through.”
“Okay, go ahead,” Banner nodded, impressed that the Sub-mariner was able to put aside his anger and was piecing together clues and facts, that Banner might not have noticed.
“Catching Strange off guard is not hard to imagine,” Namor continued. “But the house must have defenses.”
He frowned for a moment and then walked to the door and shouted down the corridor for Wong.
The manservant quickly returned.
“Wong, there are defenses…spells that protect the house from outside attack?” Namor asked.
“Yes,” Wong said. “The master has numerous wards and spells to protect the house, especially when he is away.”
“That’s it!” Namor said, turning towards the others. “The house’s defenses are…weaker when Strange is in residence or he has to perform some incantation or whatever he does, to activate these…wards.”
“That would be the opening to allow the…um…attackers to gain entrance to the sanctum,” Bruce Banner nodded.
“But, how did they get out, with Strange a helpless captive?”
“My other concern,” Namor added. “Is, with Strange gone, how well defended is this house?”
There was an anxious moment of silence, as the other three pondered this new thought.
“If the master was taken before he could recast the defensive wards…?” Wong added.
“What if that was the whole purpose?” Bruce Banner exclaimed, before catching himself and calming down. “It might not have been an attack, but rather a spell that trapped Stephen, somehow.”
“Leaving a massive collection of mystical artifacts free for the taking,” Namor said, grimly.
“So, were we summoned to be detectives or guards?” Banner asked, frowning.
“We need to be sure the house is secure, before we can continue the search,” Namor stated. “Show us what we need to do, Wong.”
“If you can do without me,” The Silver Surfer said. “I would like stay. There are energy traces here, that I would like to investigate further.”
Banner nodded and followed quickly after Namor and Wong.
The Surfer floated over to the desk, hopped off his board and seated himself at the sorcerer supreme’s desk.
He reached to move the ancient bound book and quickly drew back his hands, his silver fingers tingling.
The former herald of Galactus glanced from his hand to the book, and frowned, thoughtfully.
Wong led the two heroes through the house, inspecting windows and doors. They were baffled by some of the runes they encountered or when Wong would adjust some innocent seeming pierce of bric a brac.
“Without the master, the wards are weak,” Wong explained, as they reached the front foyer. “The spells in place, and the few I can cast on my own, will tell us if there are any attempts to breach the sanctum.”
“Or we could just look out the window,” Banner said, anxiously gesturing towards one of the front windows.
Outside, it was still grey and dreary. The wind, sullenly, blew the trash about, on the street and the heavy clouds grew darker and threatened rain.
Coming down the street was an armored figure on horseback. The knights’ armor shown metallically under the streetlamps. From the seams in his armor came tongues of flame.
He held his lance loosely, and it raised sparks as the tip dragged along the pavement.
“It would seem, whoever is behind Strange’s disappearance is making their move,” Namor said, grimly.
“Or word has gotten out that the Doctor’s not home,” Banner said, pointing to the window on the other side of the front door.
A manhole cover blew off and tentacles, each thick as a man’s leg, came snaking out, grasping blindly, greedily towards the front door.
Across the streets, three shadows, without anyone casting them, detached themselves from the sidewalk, and floated towards the sanctum of Doctor Strange.
“If it is not one thing, it is another,” Namor muttered, seeming more irritated than fearful. “We must go deal with them.”
“If I may…?” Wong said, moving to the hall closet.
He brought out a tall, golden trident.
“You left this, on a previous visit,” The servant explained, handing it to the Prince of Atlantis.
Namor accepted the trident, hefting it easily with one hand, clapped Banner on the shoulder with the other and then strode towards the front door.
“Now, let us teach those foul creatures a lesson!”
“I don’t think…!” The skinny scientist mumbled.
“Good,” Namor said, reaching back, and grabbing Banner by the arm. “As the time for thinking has passed!”
He then hurled his teammate, like a rag doll, out into the street.
Bruce Banner lay on the wet pavement, battered and bruised.
“I…hate…ow…him,” Banner muttered, as he felt one of the tentacles wrap around his bare ankle.
He flinched, as its slimy touch burned his flesh, like acid.
“Arrggghh!”
Gone was the meek scientist. It was the Incredible Hulk that stood up.
“Who hit Hulk…?” He growled, taking a step and then stumbling, when the tentacle tried to pull him back towards the open manhole.
“Stupid snake thing!” The Hulk growled, struggling to pull his leg free. A half dozen slimy tentacles shot out, enveloping the angry, green behemoth.
Namor closed the doors behind him, cast a glance at the Hulk, decided he seemed to have the situation under control and strode down the steps to face the hellfire knight.
Back upstairs, the Silver Surfer was still seated at the desk, his hand held several inches above the book, his eyes closed and his cosmic senses stretched to their fullest.
Being unlearned of mystical energy, he was unsure what he was sensing, but everything pointed to the ancient tome being incongruous when compared to the other exotic energies that flowed through Doctor Strange’s house.
His shiny brow furrowed in concentration and his fingertips began to glow.
The leather-bound book was soon enveloped in a nimbus of blue and silver energy.
There was a faint click, as the lock on the book released and the ancient-looking volume opened. Instead of printed words on paper, the book became a portal, the size of a garage door and the Surfer found himself tumbling in, like he’d been caught up by a powerful wave.
He had the presence of mind to grab his board as he fell through the multi-verse.
Namor’s trident struck the knight’s lance, raising sparks and sending both combatants staggering back.
The flaming knight reared up on his horse. Coming down, the hooves gouged the asphalt.
The knight charged. Namor staggered, the heat pouring off the knight sapping his strength.
The next strike, the lance gashed his shoulder.
Namor half spun, barely avoiding the next attack.
As the demon knight turned, his lance pointed directly at the sea monarch’s heart.
Namor leapt up into the air, propelled by his ankle wings.
He spun his trident, and plunged it downwards, pinning the lance to the pavement.
This manuever caught the knight off balance and he tumbled from his demonic horse.
The knight shook his armored head, got to his feet, drawing a sword from his belt, that erupted with flames as soon as it was free of the scabbard.
Nearby, the Hulk was slowly losing his tug of war with the tentacled creature that lurked in the sewers.
The trio of shadows were pounding against the door, desperately seeking any small flaw in the home of the sorcerer supreme. Any way in.
Elsewhere…
The Silver Surfer raced through an otherworldly realm, past floating islands and dodging bizarre, winged creatures.
Allowing himself a moment to savor the feeling of soaring free through space, the one-time herald of Galactus, then focused his cosmic senses.
Despite the deluge of exotic energy swirling around him, the Surfer could still sense a tiny, familiar. It guided him along.
Following this trail of mystical breadcrumbs, he flew, making his way through the floating islands and flying creatures, unsure if he had discovered a clue or had walked into a bizarre trap.
The faint energy trail led to a slab of alien rock, the size of a city block.
The Silver Surfer touched down, tucked his board under his arm, and walked along.
There was no clear line of sight, as the floating island was a mass of steep inclines, sharp drop offs, and narrow canyons.
Squeezing between two stalagmites that resembled huge, melted candles, the Surfer came to a clearing: a smooth bowl-shaped area.
In the center, Doctor Strange was chained to a pillar of stone.
His body sagged, appearing to be held upright by the faintly glowing chains that bound him.
Doctor Strange struggled to raise his head, peering at his friend with bleary eyes.
“Norrin…?” The mystic muttered, blinking. “You got my message…! Are the… the others…here?”
“No, they were busy with other matters,” The alien hero replied. “What has happened to you?”
“I did!” A new voice cackled.
On the ridge, the air shimmered like heat haze and a figure on a crude stone throne appeared.
He was a gnomish being, a scrawny body with an over-sized bald head. His skin was a green-ish shade and his prominent ears were pointed.
His extravagant, golden, high-collared robe left his thin arms bare.
He sat hunched forward, leaning on a golden staff.
“Should I know you?” The Silver Surfer asked, offhandedly.
“I am Tiboro!” The being on the throne screeched, striking the rocky ground with the end of his staff, drawing purple sparks. “I rule the sixth dimension! I have challenged the might of Earth’s sorcerer supreme! You…you’ve never heard of me?”
“No,” The Surfer shrugged, apologetically. “I do not mean to seem rude, but I have come to retrieve Doctor Strange. His absence is causing some disruption. So, if you will just release my friend…?”
“Never!” Tiboro raged, leaping to his feet and striking the rocky ground with the butt of his staff, again raising sparks. “Strange is my prisoner! At my mercy, and no earthly power can free him!”
“Well, about that,” The Silver Surfer replied, his hands glowing with cosmic energy. “I am not from Earth.”
The first blast of energy shattered Doctor Strange’s chains. The second cracked the stone beneath the sixth dimensional tyrant’s throne and Tiboro came tumbling down the embankment.
Tiboro flailed about, stumbling on the hem of his robes, as he got to his feet.
“Gaaaaghhhh!” He shrieked, swinging his golden staff. “You will pay for that!”
Doctor Strange, supported by the Silver Surfer, concentrated, bringing his hands up, his fingers traced arcane patterns in the air.
“No, I don’t think so, Tiboro,” He muttered, struggling to focus. “I’ve grown a bit tired of your brand of hospitality.”
Suddenly, the green mystic’s wrists were bound together by a band of crimson energy, causing him to drop his staff.
A blast from the Silver Surfer sent it tumbling away from the rocky island and out floating through the surrounding void.
While Tiboro struggled against his bonds, attempting to bring forth his sorcerous powers, the Surfer summoned his board closer, and aided Doctor Strange to step on it.
“Are you all right?” He asked.
“A bit groggy. Tiboro’s chains were leeching my mystical energies.,” Doctor Strange explained. “It was a cunning trap and I don’t think we’re finished dealing with it.”
“There was some mention of your foes sensing you were gone,” The herald of Galactus nodded. “But, I believe Prince Namor and Doctor Banner are protecting your house.”
“We need to return,” Doctor Strange said, holding on to the Surfer’s arm, as the cosmic board flew away. “Tiboro had the ability to hold me prisoner in his realm, but he had to have had assistance, back on Earth, in order to plant the book in my sanctum. The others may be in more peril than they know…!”
Meanwhile, back in New York, things weren’t going well.
Despite his struggling and stomping and the cracked pavement, the Hulk was enveloped in tenacles and was within inches of being dragged down to whatever lurked below.
Namor was still on his feet, but just barely. The demon knight had been joined by a quartet of zombified ninjas.
Drained of his strength, by the knights’ hellfire sword, scratched, bleeding and bruised, the prince of Atlantis struggled to keep his feet, leaning on the trident more for support, than as a weapon.
In the midst of this chaos, a portal opened in the air and a robed figure stepped out, followed by a parade of the followers of a variety of nefarious mystical cults, covens and cabals.
The leader of this macabre parade was Kaluu, a tall, thin man, and sporting a pointed beard and a sardonic expression. His robes gave him the appearance of the head monk of an Asian monastery.
Once his feet touched the ground, he strolled, almost casually, past the combatants, casting a glance and nodding in vague approval, as he passed Namor and the Hulk.
He paused at the foot of the front steps, raising a hand to halt his diverse following.
“Allow me a moment,” he said, with quiet command. “Once we enter, you all know your tasks. Seek out the items I have listed. Touch nothing else, without consulting me.”
There was a murmur of ascent from the cowled and robed cultists, as Kaluu placed his slippered-foot on the bottom step.
As he reached for the doorknob, the double doors swung open, and Doctor Strange stood in the doorway, bookend by Wong and the Silver Surfer.
“Can I help you?” Doctor Strange asked. “Stop by to borrow a cup of sugar?”
For a brief moment, Kaluu faltered, his outstretched hand still extended. He quickly recovered, tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe.
“Well, it was a noble effort,” He shrugged.
“There is nothing ‘noble’ about you, Kaluu,” Doctor Strange said, his hands moving into a mystical gesture.
“Now, Stephen, let us act like civilized men.” Kaluu said, his hands up in a casual, placating gesture.
“Kaluu, I have had a long, tiring day, and have no interest in indulging in violence over your petty manipulation.” The sorcerer supreme explained.
“Well, good.”
“My friends, on the other hand…”
The dark mystic then realized that his demonic allies had abandoned him and that the Hulk and the Sub-mariner were standing right behind him.
“Is this over-dressed cretin responsible for all we’ve gone through?” Namor asked, scowling, his arms crossed.
Hulk pointed at Kaluu with a massive, green finger.
“This bad man?” Hulk asked.
“I must say,” Kaluu grumbled. “I am disappointed in you, Stephen.”
With a flourish, a portal opened beneath his feet and he sank into the sidewalk.
“That was oddly unsatisfying,” Namor muttered.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Doctor Strange said, gesturing towards the assortment of cultists and minor mystics, now standing around, in the empty street.
Namor shrugged and turned to his large, green teammate.
“Hulk,” he said. “I’ve lost my interest in combat, so feel free to, as you are so fond of saying, smash.”
The emerald behemoth, turned, cracked his massive knuckles and snarled at the assortment of robed figures.
Minutes later, the Defenders were gathered in the sanctum’s gothic looking dining room.
As none of the chairs would support him, the Hulk sat on the floor. Wong had opened a half dozen cans of beans for him, and the jade giant was contentedly slurping them down.
Namor’s place held several pitchers of water, most of which he had just poured over his head, restoring his strength and vigor.
Doctor Strange sat at the head of the table, looking wane and tired from his ordeal. He had shrugged off his cloak and was savoring his cup of tea, while he filled in his teammates on recent events.
“And so, Norrin was able to attune his cosmic energy with that of the book,” He explained. “And was drawn through the portal, into Tiboro’s realm.”
“It was a cunning trap,” Namor nodded, refilling his glass and drinking deeply.
“Fortunately, for me,” Doctor Strange said, raising his teacup in a mock salute. “Kaluu underestimated my friends.”
Authors note:
I love the original Defenders line-up. One of my all-time favorite teams.
I know it would be a logistical nightmare, but I’ve always been toying with the idea of an ongoing series featuring them.
I’ve also had this story idea kicking around for a while.
So, what I want to do is for standalone Defenders stories, where each one a different member is responsible for bring the four together.
This time, it’s Doctor Strange. The next one will be Namor summoning the Defenders.