THE LAND OF CAMELOT EONS AGO
The shining stone castle that was once home to King Arthur Pendragon was a shadow of its former glory. Men armed with axes that had blades blacker than the skies above roamed the perimeter of what as of just hours ago was Tintagel castle.
Thick, thorned vines twisted up the castle walls and spilled into its rooms, turning the once proud stronghold of Camelot into a wasteland. A lone warrior rode up the path to the castle, a string of land that was littered with the broken bodies of the men who had taken up to defend the castle from the legions that now possessed it.
The warrior reached the gates of the castle as the drawbridge was lowered once more to allow him entry. As his horse strode across the wooden bridge, all eyes alongside the castle’s walls were on him as he entered.
Once inside the entrance hall, poison-dipped blades held by knights with eyes darker than their souls surrounded him momentarily, but backed away once they realized who was underneath the face covering.
“Lord Belasco!” One of the knights cried, causing all the rest to fall and kneel in his presence. The sorcerer had come a long way from his own country to help in the demise of this kingdom, and with the news he was there to share, he didn’t have time for their ceremony and pageantry.
“The Queen, where is she!?” He demanded, his face far too menacing for any of them to dare look directly at him.
“In the king’s chamber’s, my lord, patiently waiting your arrival.” One of the cowering men informed, far too terrified to say more than that.
Belasco's curse reverberated through the echoing chambers of the castle, shrouded in shadows as he dismounted his steed. His footsteps were deliberate, each one a taciturn declaration of his resolve, as he made his way towards the room that Morgan Le Fay had taken from her
half-brother, King Arthur. With every step, the burning embers of his vengeful determination cast eerie, flickering shadows on the cold, stone walls.
The room that Belasco entered was no longer the opulent bedroom it once had been. Morgan Le Fay had twisted it into a macabre theater of dark sorcery. The pentagram, etched in the blood of Queen Guinevere, stood at the room's center, an ominous stage where malevolence
would soon unfold. The decapitated head of the fallen queen rested a few feet away, a grotesque offering to the sinister ritual, surrounded by an eerie congregation of candles.
Belasco's hood fell back, revealing his hellish visage, the grotesque emblem of his allegiance. A malicious sneer danced across his lips as he confronted Le Fay, her own cloak's hood falling to reveal her powerful presence.
Le Fay's words cut through the tension like a sharpened blade, her voice laced with the arrogance of a woman who had taken everything from King Arthur. "You were not able to retrieve the blade?"
Belasco's eyes burned with resentment as he answered, "The bastard was able to return it to its origins before we could seize it."
Morgan Le Fay, undaunted by the loss of Excalibur, returned her focus to the ritual, her incantations poised to awaken the horrors of another realm. "It matters not," she hissed. "The sword would have been ideal, but we have more than enough to open the doorway of dimensions."
Amid the flickering candles and the malevolent aura that engulfed them, Belasco raised another dire concern. "My legions have heard of troubles that you need to be aware of, before we can move forward."
Le Fay's eyes, once brown, turned into pools of utter darkness as her powers surged within her. She demanded, "What is it?"
In a seething tone, Belasco's frustration with the obstacles that still hindered their ascent to power came to the surface. "There is still one other threat that stands between us and ruling this world."
Morgan whipped around, her fury a tempest she struggled to contain. "How could he have possibly survived the attack by your hordes?" Her voice trembled with the disbelief she was desperately trying to suppress, though she couldn't deny the formidable nature of the adversary they had sought to snuff out.
Belasco's response was a venomous admission, "He must have more power left in him than you anticipated. Nevertheless, he will come here as a last line of defense for this kingdom and the world. And I will place his head right next to the queen." His words were accompanied by the eruption of flames, an eerie manifestation of the otherworldly abilities that set him apart from ordinary mortals. To some, these abilities were a gift; to others, a curse, depending on where one stood in the eternal battle between light and darkness.
Morgan, standing at the precipice of her long-cherished revenge, could feel the seething anger radiating off her co-conspirator. She licked her lips with envy, knowing that he would be the
instrument of finally ridding the world of the sorcerer supreme who had aided King Arthur in defending Camelot for years.
"Kill him quickly. I need you here to complete the ritual. Only then will the freedom to burn this world finally be mine. Ours," she implored, her voice holding a haunting edge. Belasco's response was little more than a guttural growl, the primal, bestial nature of his powers beginning to consume him. The silent promise hung in the air, unspoken but understood: once Camelot had been thoroughly decimated, their partnership would dissolve quite permanently. In the vast expanse of the earth and the universe beyond, Belasco knew there would be no place for his legions and himself if Morgan Le Fay had her way.
Without another word shared between them, Belasco marched out of the room, pulling his hood back over his head to conceal his demonic visage. Meanwhile, Morgan closed her eyes and resumed her incantations, the circle glowing with black and purple sparks, like a nascent fire struggling to ignite. A sinister smile curled upon her lips as she envisioned the impending culmination of her malevolent desires.
The shining stone castle that was once home to King Arthur Pendragon was a shadow of its former glory. Men armed with axes that had blades blacker than the skies above roamed the perimeter of what as of just hours ago was Tintagel castle.
Thick, thorned vines twisted up the castle walls and spilled into its rooms, turning the once proud stronghold of Camelot into a wasteland. A lone warrior rode up the path to the castle, a string of land that was littered with the broken bodies of the men who had taken up to defend the castle from the legions that now possessed it.
The warrior reached the gates of the castle as the drawbridge was lowered once more to allow him entry. As his horse strode across the wooden bridge, all eyes alongside the castle’s walls were on him as he entered.
Once inside the entrance hall, poison-dipped blades held by knights with eyes darker than their souls surrounded him momentarily, but backed away once they realized who was underneath the face covering.
“Lord Belasco!” One of the knights cried, causing all the rest to fall and kneel in his presence. The sorcerer had come a long way from his own country to help in the demise of this kingdom, and with the news he was there to share, he didn’t have time for their ceremony and pageantry.
“The Queen, where is she!?” He demanded, his face far too menacing for any of them to dare look directly at him.
“In the king’s chamber’s, my lord, patiently waiting your arrival.” One of the cowering men informed, far too terrified to say more than that.
Belasco's curse reverberated through the echoing chambers of the castle, shrouded in shadows as he dismounted his steed. His footsteps were deliberate, each one a taciturn declaration of his resolve, as he made his way towards the room that Morgan Le Fay had taken from her
half-brother, King Arthur. With every step, the burning embers of his vengeful determination cast eerie, flickering shadows on the cold, stone walls.
The room that Belasco entered was no longer the opulent bedroom it once had been. Morgan Le Fay had twisted it into a macabre theater of dark sorcery. The pentagram, etched in the blood of Queen Guinevere, stood at the room's center, an ominous stage where malevolence
would soon unfold. The decapitated head of the fallen queen rested a few feet away, a grotesque offering to the sinister ritual, surrounded by an eerie congregation of candles.
Belasco's hood fell back, revealing his hellish visage, the grotesque emblem of his allegiance. A malicious sneer danced across his lips as he confronted Le Fay, her own cloak's hood falling to reveal her powerful presence.
Le Fay's words cut through the tension like a sharpened blade, her voice laced with the arrogance of a woman who had taken everything from King Arthur. "You were not able to retrieve the blade?"
Belasco's eyes burned with resentment as he answered, "The bastard was able to return it to its origins before we could seize it."
Morgan Le Fay, undaunted by the loss of Excalibur, returned her focus to the ritual, her incantations poised to awaken the horrors of another realm. "It matters not," she hissed. "The sword would have been ideal, but we have more than enough to open the doorway of dimensions."
Amid the flickering candles and the malevolent aura that engulfed them, Belasco raised another dire concern. "My legions have heard of troubles that you need to be aware of, before we can move forward."
Le Fay's eyes, once brown, turned into pools of utter darkness as her powers surged within her. She demanded, "What is it?"
In a seething tone, Belasco's frustration with the obstacles that still hindered their ascent to power came to the surface. "There is still one other threat that stands between us and ruling this world."
Morgan whipped around, her fury a tempest she struggled to contain. "How could he have possibly survived the attack by your hordes?" Her voice trembled with the disbelief she was desperately trying to suppress, though she couldn't deny the formidable nature of the adversary they had sought to snuff out.
Belasco's response was a venomous admission, "He must have more power left in him than you anticipated. Nevertheless, he will come here as a last line of defense for this kingdom and the world. And I will place his head right next to the queen." His words were accompanied by the eruption of flames, an eerie manifestation of the otherworldly abilities that set him apart from ordinary mortals. To some, these abilities were a gift; to others, a curse, depending on where one stood in the eternal battle between light and darkness.
Morgan, standing at the precipice of her long-cherished revenge, could feel the seething anger radiating off her co-conspirator. She licked her lips with envy, knowing that he would be the
instrument of finally ridding the world of the sorcerer supreme who had aided King Arthur in defending Camelot for years.
"Kill him quickly. I need you here to complete the ritual. Only then will the freedom to burn this world finally be mine. Ours," she implored, her voice holding a haunting edge. Belasco's response was little more than a guttural growl, the primal, bestial nature of his powers beginning to consume him. The silent promise hung in the air, unspoken but understood: once Camelot had been thoroughly decimated, their partnership would dissolve quite permanently. In the vast expanse of the earth and the universe beyond, Belasco knew there would be no place for his legions and himself if Morgan Le Fay had her way.
Without another word shared between them, Belasco marched out of the room, pulling his hood back over his head to conceal his demonic visage. Meanwhile, Morgan closed her eyes and resumed her incantations, the circle glowing with black and purple sparks, like a nascent fire struggling to ignite. A sinister smile curled upon her lips as she envisioned the impending culmination of her malevolent desires.
Issue #2 by Jake Hawkins
Oct 2023 Dr. Strange
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Far on the other side of Camelot, a young boy fought his way up a curving hill, struggling against the relentless wind. He dared not look up at the ominous black sky, instead, tightening his scarf around his face and clutching his meager blankets closer to his shivering body.
Curses escaped his lips, curses not meant for a boy of his age but fitting for the woman responsible for the calamity that had befallen the kingdom. His mother, long gone, would have chastised him for such words, but there was no one left to reprimand him since the arrival of the monstrous hordes that now roamed the land. With legs on fire from the arduous journey, the boy finally reached a humble cottage. His bloodied knuckles, soaked through his gloves, pounded against the oak door with what little strength remained in him. The door swung open as he collapsed, but instead of hitting the ground, he awoke scant minutes later, miraculously refreshed and enveloped in warmth. His tattered clothes had transformed into the finest linens, offering respite from the biting cold. In the room, a man with a long gray beard and a balding head turned to face the boy. It was Merlin, the legendary wizard. The boy's words tumbled out, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and anguish. "Merlin, they've overtaken the castle. My village... I..." His voice trailed off as the weight of his losses pressed upon him. Merlin approached, pulling a chair from the lone table in the cottage and placing it by the boy's bedside. He comforted the distraught child with a calming hand on his shoulder, channeling a touch of his magic to ease the boy's emotional burdens. "I found it, sir, just where you said it would be." The boy carefully unwrapped a cloth bundle clutched to his chest, revealing a mystical, glowing totem. He handed it to Merlin, who accepted it with a sense of purpose. The Wand of Watoomb's power surged through the mage, who harnessed it with precision, focusing its channels as he formulated a strategy in his brilliant mind. With Camelot on the brink of destruction, there were few options left, and the fate of the world hung in the balance. Merlin rose to his feet, pulling the hood of his purple cloak over his head. "Go, boy, far from this land. Trust that through your sacrifice, this world will not perish. But Camelot will still fall today, as was assured with Arthur's last breath." The boy watched as Merlin's hands came together, and the totem's eyes lit up with a radiant yellow aura. Time itself seemed to slow as Merlin transformed into pure energy, streaking out of the cottage with time-bending speed. The heavy oak door slammed shut, leaving the boy unconscious once more, his strength depleted. In the Grand Hall of the castle, Belasco stood alone, seated in the once-reserved throne of King Arthur. He toyed with the stolen crown, its jewels glinting in the dimly lit room. The battle had cost many of his followers their new lives, but it had brought him to the brink of altering the world. A sudden commotion outside the hall drew his attention. Glimmering beacons of light pierced the dark sky, and Belasco's snarl revealed his realization: Merlin had arrived. On the castle walls, one of Belasco's generals bellowed orders to the demonized soldiers as shimmering rays continued to burst through the stormy clouds. The wind howled, tearing trees from their roots and carriages from the earth. The general's voice, laced with pride, rang out, "Defensive formations! THAT WIZARD WILL NOT ENTER THIS CASTLE!" Their blades were imbued with black magic, and their armor strengthened by Morgan Le Fay's dark rituals. They stood resolute, unwavering in their belief that they would not falter. The drawbridge creaked and clanked as it was raised back into the castle, sealing off the demon soldiers within the formidable walls of Tintagel. Belasco's generals had prepared their troops, but nothing could have readied them for the devastating force that rushed out of the dense forest and engulfed the castle grounds. A swirling mist of energy descended upon Tintagel, eviscerating the demon soldiers and turning them into mere particles of dust. High above, in the midst of the swirling clouds, Merlin remained shrouded in a protective aura, his eyes closed in deep concentration. His enhanced vision allowed him to peer down at the castle below, where he could see that his attack had been successful. With a graceful movement, Merlin's body transformed into a mass of energy, hurtling down from the skies. The swirling spire of energy dissipated upon landing on the other side of Tintagel's moat, revealing Merlin as he removed his hood. With a wave of his hand, he cast a spell to amplify his voice, ensuring that both Belasco and the witch aiding him would hear his warnings. Whether they chose to heed his words or not was a question Merlin already had an answer to, but he would make his demands known regardless. "YOUR TERROR ACROSS CAMELOT IS AT AN END. END THIS CHARADE, BOTH OF YOU, AND GIVE ME THE NECRONOMICON SO THAT IT MAY BE DESTROYED," Merlin bellowed toward the castle. He waited with a patience that seemed eternal, though for him, time flowed differently. Eventually, he decided they had been granted enough respite, undeserved as it may be. He extended his arm, palm up, and gradually curled his fingers toward his wrist. The drawbridge, once sealed, slowly descended, offering him a pathway inside the castle. As he approached the entrance hall, he was met at the final gate by Belasco. For a long, tense moment, they locked eyes, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Finally, Belasco growled and reached a gnarled hand to his side. A black, oval-shaped portal appeared briefly, emerging directly from his palm. He reached into the portal, and as it vanished, he withdrew a black-hilted sword. The blade, long and curved, was now aimed toward his formidable opponent. Merlin studied the weapon with his magically enhanced sight, his eyes focusing on the ancient markings etched into the silver blade. His worst suspicions were confirmed right before his eyes. Morgan had assisted Belasco in finding the eternal sword of darkness, just as she had evidently aided in the discovery of the ancient Sumerian funeral book, the Necronomicon. Merlin steeled himself, knowing he was the last line of defense standing between Belasco and the destruction of the world. THE SANCTUM SANCTORUM GREENWICH VILLAGE, NEW YORK\ PRESENT DAY Dr. Stephen Strange strode gracefully through one of the opulent bedrooms inside the mansion on Bleecker Street. His distinguished features, including perfectly coiffed gray hair, were framed by his deep red cloak, which gracefully swirled around him as he moved. Each step seemed measured, deliberate, as if he were a master of time itself. Without uttering a word or the need for physical contact, he approached the room's only exit and stepped into a mysterious void. In a matter of seconds, he emerged in the grand foyer of the mansion. He checked his watch with a tinge of disappointment, realizing he was running late for an exceedingly crucial house call. "Better make it count then, I suppose," he murmured to himself, a quiet promise that hung in the air as he snapped his fingers and conjured a path to transport himself to his destination. Upon arrival, he found himself standing on the doorstep of a modest one-story flat in Odessa, Texas. The house was nestled among a crowded cul-de-sac, where homes of nearly identical size and shape stood shoulder to shoulder. Dr. Strange, ever the enigmatic sorcerer, rapped twice on the door, each knock sharp and short, with two knuckles. The sound was met with the unmistakable chorus of multiple locks being undone. Soon, the door was thrust open, revealing a short, exhausted Hispanic woman who bore the weight of her troubles in the lines of her face. Even before any words were spoken, Dr. Strange could sense the immense pain that radiated from her. It was palpable through the delicate tendrils of her astral force, or what remained of it. "Good evening, ma'am. I'm Doctor-" "Stephen Strange, thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for coming. I promise I will pay you whatever I can-" "You don't owe me a thing, Mrs. Hernandez. Please, may I enter?" Mrs. Hernandez pushed open the screen door, and with a hasty step to the side, she gestured for Dr. Strange to come inside. "Yes, please do. Of course." As Dr. Strange stepped into the living room, his gaze was drawn to the photographs scattered across the tables and mantels. Each frame held precious memories of Mrs. Hernandez's family, a testament to the love and connection that had been a cornerstone of her life. Turning back to face her, Dr. Strange couldn't ignore the signs of anxiety etched into her features. The woman standing before him had not slept in days, and her nervous glances in his direction spoke volumes. As they moved through the house, he made a conscious effort not to scrutinize the chaotic state of the kitchen, knowing that her usual meticulous standards had been compromised by the circumstances that had brought him here. "You mentioned your father has been acting quite peculiar lately. Exactly how long would that be, if you had to hazard a guess?" Dr. Strange inquired, trying to gather essential information before beginning his examination. Mrs. Hernandez's gaze fell to the frayed, light green carpet, and she rubbed her hands together with a trembling touch. Dr. Strange couldn't help but notice the burns and scars that marred her hands and forearms, further testament to the ordeal she had been enduring and the desperation that had brought her to seek his help. "It started last Thursday," she began, her voice laden with worry. "He... hasn't eaten. He won't sleep. I'm worried, my daughter... she's scared that her grandfather is going to-" Dr. Strange draped a reassuring arm around Mrs. Hernandez, offering her a comforting presence to prevent her from breaking into tears. He understood that she had shed too many of those already due to her father's affliction. As they reached the bedroom at the end of the hall, he silently vowed to himself that she would spill no more. Maintaining his hold on Mrs. Hernandez, Dr. Strange gently turned her away from the bedroom door. The malevolent energy emanating from the other side was overwhelming, even for a seasoned sorcerer like himself. "Your children, where are they?" Dr. Strange asked, his tone urgent. She pointed towards the back of the house, indicating where their bedrooms were. He fixed her with a stern gaze before issuing clear instructions. "If you have a basement or shelter, get them there. Don't come out until I come to get you personally." She nodded fervently and backed away down the hall, then sprinted to call her children. "Gabriella, Devon, come on. Hurry up!" Dr. Strange listened to the sounds of footsteps and the children's protests as they were torn away from whatever they had been doing, likely trying to distract themselves from the malevolence that surrounded them. For the first time in two years, Dr. Strange's hands shook. Two years had passed since the accident, and he had believed he had conquered fear. His mentor had exposed him to the true horrors lurking beyond the physical plane. He knew that his fear was irrelevant in the face of the unknown. Yet, what was besieging Mrs. Hernandez's father was not just fear; it was a malevolent force leeching away at her astral energy, growing stronger with each passing day. With a deep breath, Dr. Strange gripped the doorknob, but it burned like white-hot metal, causing him to recoil. The doorknob turned slowly on its own, and the wooden door creaked open, revealing the room beyond. The bedroom was dimly lit, its windows covered by outdated orange blinds. A record player by the twin bed played Carlos Santana's music at an unnaturally slow pace. The boxy tube TV with a built-in VCR displayed nothing but static. What struck Dr. Strange as particularly odd was the unplugged power cable lying on the floor next to the nearest outlet. Sitting in front of the television was Gabriel Hernandez, and Dr. Stephen Strange's heart sank when he realized that the man had been dead for at least the past two days. The lifeless body turned its head in Stephen's direction, the eyes rolled back into their sockets. Stephen had seen enough. Whatever had transpired in this house over the last week needed to come to an end now. He gathered his resolve and spoke a powerful hex, commanding, "Reveal all wraiths in this domicile to me." The room was bathed in a cleansing blue light, and he stifled a gasp at the horrifying creature he saw in the far corner of the room, clinging to the ceiling. "Stephen Strange. I've heard of you," the cockroach-shaped demon cackled, its voice somber and slurring. "They whisper your name across the veils of time and space. I wonder what brings you here." "As a protector of this dimension, I order you to leave it," Stephen demanded. He kept his hands concealed beneath the cloak of levitation and avoided blinking, knowing that he needed to remain focused while facing the monstrous entity his spell had exposed. "I can't do that until I'm finished with my four-course meal. As a human, surely you understand not wanting to be interrupted when eating," the creature replied, toying with Stephen much the same way it had toyed with the old man it had possessed days ago. "You're far too reckless of an apparition to be acting on your own accord. What master do you serve, desolate one?" Stephen inquired. He hoped that learning the source of the demon's intrusion into this dimension might provide him with a better chance of banishing it. The demon only smiled, or rather, contorted its features into a grotesque version of a smile as it descended from the corner and onto the floor. "I'd heard whispers you were rather pompous, but you do those whispers a disservice, mage," the creature taunted, its confidence unwavering as Gabriel Hernandez's body continued to wither, while the demon across the room doubled in size. "After I rip you in half, Stephen Strange, they will call me a hero across the dark dimension." "Then I suppose I'll have to operate now," Stephen replied calmly, refusing to be intimidated by the monstrous entity. He swiftly unveiled the wand of Watoomb from beneath his cloak, pulling it from his belt sash. It was the demon that now tasted the bitter tendrils of fear, an emotion it had never experienced in all its eons of existence. It had underestimated the apprentice to Earth's Sorcerer Supreme and sought to rectify its mistake as quickly as possible. Stephen's magic was swifter and far more potent. With a mere flick of the wand of Watoomb, the demon found itself pinned to the wall by mystical restraints. Stephen turned his hands counterclockwise, twisting the very room itself sideways. He walked across the wall until he stood above the immobilized demon, resembling a surgeon preparing for a critical operation. Clasping his palms together, Stephen recited an incantation that he had practiced relentlessly for months on end. A massive, astral-projected scalpel emerged from his hands and loomed menacingly above the paralyzed demon, which was now nearly incapacitated by fear. "I will ask you once more before dismantling you. WHO is your master? What forces aided you in breaching the planes between this dimension and yours?" Stephen's voice was firm, and he was determined to unravel the source of this menace. What felt like hours had passed in the basement for Anya Hernandez. She clutched her children tightly in her arms, both of them having fallen asleep while hiding from the menace she had rushed them away from. Her heart skipped a beat as she heard the basement door swing open at the top of the stairs. Footsteps descended the stairs slowly, each creak echoing loudly. She whispered a prayer to herself, meant only for her children's ears. When she saw Dr. Strange entering the basement, with flecks of blood on his face and his cloak wrapping around him, tears of relief welled up in her eyes. "Mrs. Hernandez... this place is safe for your family once again. I'm so sorry I couldn't save your father... I-" He was cut off as she wrapped both arms around his midsection and squeezed him tightly. She couldn't stop thanking Stephen until the moment was abruptly interrupted. "Stephen Strange," a booming voice echoed, and a swirling metaphysical portal opened at the foot of the stairs. Emerging from it was none other than Stephen's fellow apprentice, a young Filipino man in his early twenties, dressed in his signature elegant robes. "Wong, how did you know where to find me?" Stephen inquired as he broke away from Mrs. Hernandez's embrace. Wong shook his head, pushing his long black hair out of his eyes. "We don't have time for your quips, Stephen. The Master has requested your presence in Avalon." Stephen was visibly shocked by the revelation. He turned back to Anya and offered a deep bow of respect. "Should you ever need my services again, Mrs. Hernandez, please don't hesitate to reach out." With that, Stephen and his cloak turned on his heels and walked through the portal created by Wong. As they crossed through time and space on their way to Avalon, Stephen initiated a conversation with Wong. "What could possibly be so urgent that he has you tracking me down during house calls?" Wong's expression turned grim. "The apostles of Dormammu have begun to emerge." Stephen's heart nearly stopped, and he stared at Wong, hoping against hope that it was some sick joke. But the gravity in Wong's demeanor left no room for doubt. TO BE CONTINUED |