City of Chaos #4

THE MARVEL KNIGHTS GROUP
PROUDLY PRESENTS...

ISSUE #4 written by D. Golightly

Darkness.

A booming maelstrom of noise.

Clea, wife to this realm’s Sorcerer Supreme, and incredibly powerful magician in her own right, blinked the haze from her eyes. The cold touch of stone embraced her once her senses came back. She felt it sapping away her warmth, bleeding off her will. She heard a commotion and tried to remain conscious, if only just long enough to witness what was happening.

The fog lifted and she saw clearly now that she had managed to raise her head up. She was in Stephan’s basement ritual chamber, a room she seldom came to lest her husband required her assistance with an incantation. She propped herself up on her arms and fought the desire to pass out.

“Death is only a door…”

That voice. She recognized that voice. That evil and malevolent voice. She had waged battles that would rip the cosmos asunder against the owner of that voice. She imagined that when she finally passed away, that voice would be present, mocking her. Was she dead? Had she died here in the ritual chamber?

She blinked again, focusing and pushing the darkness out of her eyes that had begun to creep in again. In the center of the room, propped up on a stone pedestal, was the Ja’ti Prism, a relic she had only heard of during her interdimensional travels.

But it wasn’t the Prism that precisely caught her attention, rather the imagery of her husband and another trusted ally being physically yanked inside it. The pink vortex that had sprung forth from the top of the Prism had now inversed, pulling the two magicians inside its eerie edges.

At the center of the vortex was the face of the otherworldly nightmare, the being whose words had shaken the cobwebs from her mind.

Dormammu.

The steps seemed endless inside the mansion. One black boot was placed in front of another, steadily moving town the spiraling staircase, yet a bottom hadn’t yet been seen. The Batman had dealt with magic before, but it was never something he felt comfortable with. He prided himself on accounting for all variables, but with magic, the variables even had variables. It was nearly impossible to expect the unexpected when the world could be turned upside down with the wave of a wand.

His cape clung to his back, pushed there in an effort to hasten his flight. He had left Killer Croc incapacitated, but the sooner he could wrap this case up and find a better containment for not only him, but the other villains in the household, the better. He doubted that someone like the Punisher, one of Strange’s supposed heroes from this world, was qualified to round up his rogue’s gallery.

As he rounded another bend in the staircase, he suddenly saw the first sign of something existing in the house other than simple stairs since he started his descent: a hallway. The stairs continued down, but since the hallway was the last chance he knew of to detach from the never-ending drop, he took it.

Red carpet draped the floor with several doors, all closed, lining the hallway. He carefully walked down the corridor, wondering how close he was to the basement chamber where this all began.

If his reflexes hadn’t been honed by years of constant practice, the Batman may have been tackled by the body that was thrown through a nearby wall.

“Son of a…” Green Arrow muttered as he staggered to his feet. He stretched his back, trying to shake out the kinks in his spine from hitting the wall. “Bats. Just the man I’d like to smack. Give me a hand here, will ya?”

The cavalier attitude of Oliver Queen was one that Batman was used to. Truthfully, it was one of the reasons he respected the pseudo-Robin Hood. He knew that Ollie thinly veiled his own personality behind the playboy routine, which was something the man beneath the cowl had come to understand.

Batman nodded, subjecting himself to Green Arrow’s lead. The archer bound back into the hole he had just punched through the wall with his body and dropped down the dozen feet to the cold ground of the courtyard within the middle of the mansion. The night air struck Batman’s exposed chin and cause him to sharply breathe in. The sky was no longer filled with either the raging black storm that had first alerted him to the chaos in his city, or the pink hue of a supposed mystic shield they had recently put into place. Something had changed.

The first thing the Dark Knight noticed was the Scarecrow, a repugnant man that used fear as a weapon, bent over a man in red, screaming obscenities. A few feet from them was a man in purple and orange who was bouncing from one foot to the other gleefully.

“Batroc has not taught this newcomer a lesson, oui?” he said. “Come, dark one, so that I may school you as I did your green friend.”

“Keep flappin’ those gums, Frenchie,” Green Arrow said as he wiped the back of his fist across his mouth. “Won’t be getting any easier once I give you a fat lip.”

“Arrogant Americans.”

Batroc ducked under Green Arrow’s first punch and easily spun away, lightly kicking him in the lower back as he turned. Batman knew that Ollie needed his help, but the man in red needed it more. The Scarecrow would grow tired of bullying his prey and would soon move in for the killing stroke.

“Tell me…what do you see?” the Scarecrow asked. “Are worms burrowing into your fingers? Is your skin flaking off to reveal some inner demon?”

Daredevil’s screams were beginning to die down as his throat became raw. He didn’t know how long ago he had succumbed to the fear toxin in his system, but even a few minutes was long enough. Without his eyesight to propel the horrifying visions, his mind was free to wander and make the illusions more real. He could feel the pressure on his skin. He could taste the sweat dripping down his face. He could hear the cries of those he couldn’t save.

“Genophobia, kakorrhaphiophobia, or nostophobia? Perhaps a touch of nyctophobia with a dash of ochlophobia. Or are you more complex? Given your attire, I might even wager uranophobia.”

The Scarecrow removed a slender knife from his belt and bent over the shaking Daredevil. He gently cut into the vigilante’s shoulder, but the mental trap that the Man Without Fear was held in kept him from even twitching.

“Without further input I’m afraid this bit of my research will have to conclude.”

Scarecrow raised the knife and shifted his weight forward, intending to plunge the blade into Daredevil’s neck. As he brought his clasping fist down, something struck his wrist and caused him to drop the knife. He clutched at his hand, sensing the familiar pain. He ripped his attention from Daredevil, knowing who was nearby.

He didn’t get the chance to say a single word before the Batman was on top of him. They rolled, Batman’s cape fluttering over them both, blocking any watcher from what was happening. When they stopped, Batman stood; Scarecrow did not.

The Dark Knight rushed to Daredevil’s side. He pulled a hypo-spray from his utility belt and pressed it against Daredevil’s neck. Within seconds the angst-filled euphoria that plagued the Man Without Fear died away and his breathing returned to normal.

He gasped and tilted his head. “Thanks,” he told Batman. “I’ve never seen Hell, but I imagine that wasn’t far off.”

He helped the red-garbed vigilante to his feet. “Can you walk?”

“Yes. I…what’s happening over there?”

Green Arrow charged Batroc, slamming the butt of his bow into the Frenchman’s chin. It was one of the few strikes that he had been able to land, given how fluid the villain was. Batroc returned the hit with a quick jab to Green Arrow’s ribs, followed by an uppercut that knocked Ollie down.

Batman moved to action, but Daredevil pressed his hand against the Dark Knight’s chest. “Wait. I’ll handle it.”

For someone who had undergone the torturous methods of Dr. Jonathon Crane, Daredevil seemed very acute. His breathing was becoming more tempered and his general demeanor had barely changed to reflect the trial he had undergone. Batman reasoned he must have undergone training as intense as his own if he was recovering this quickly.

Daredevil’s hand swept to his thigh, grasped a thick pronged stick, and launched it at Batroc. The distance of thirty feet made no difference; his aim was exact. The club smacked Batroc in the back of the skull just as Green Arrow was about to charge again. The French martial artist fell to his knees and then slumped over, unconscious.

“Oh, sure, after I loosened him up for ya,” Green Arrow said.

Batman eyed up Daredevil, realizing that there as more to this man then he first assumed. No one could have done what he had, not after being brutally assaulted by Scarecrow in his signature manner. Batman had felt the fear toxin before. He knew he hard it was to shake off, even with the antidote.

The three heroes came together in the center of the courtyard. Green Arrow rubbed at a bruise on his face, saying, “You got anything we can tie these guys up with before we look for the others?”

“Ask and ye shall receive!”

A thick gob of webbing sheathed the bottom of Batroc’s legs. The heroes heard twin thumps to the right and turned to see two other villains wrapped in a similar manner. A man, whose grotesque features marked him as none other than Two-Face, and a woman, the punk-style Shriek, lay bound inside cocoons of solidified webbing. With one heel propped up on Two-Face’s side, Catwoman returned their stares with a smile and a purr.

Spider-Man dropped down beside her and traced their stares, then looked back at them, then back at Catwoman again. “I know, right?” he said with a thumbs-up. “Can you believe it? She’s with me. Felicia’s going to be pissed.”

“Fitting, is it not?”

Dormammu stood over both doctors, Strange and Fate, hovering with pride like a vulture ready to feast. Between the cracks of dimensional barriers, inside the Ja’ti Prism, the wizards were at his mercy. Chained to shards of rock on either side of Dormammu’s makeshift throne, both cloaks of the sorcerer’s were now ragged and useless.

“I say it is fitting,” Dormammu continued as he turned to gaze down the hill they were atop, “because we first met in a dimension very similar to this. The Dark Dimension, I believe most call it. I would prefer to end your life there, Strange, but I will take what I can get.”

“You have a history with this lower demon?” Fate asked.

“Silence!” the amalgamated enchanter now called Herald screamed as he slapped the back of Fate’s helmet. “My master is more powerful than you could dare dream, and when the crossing is complete—”

“I will arise to be a Lord of Chaos,” Dormammu finished. “I have already bested you, Fate. Strange knows better than to make lowly remarks. My Herald, a perfect blend of our worlds, is but a demonstration of how magnificent I will become.”

“Without a soul to sell,” Strange interrupted, “how did you come across the means to orchestrate this? Jumping across the gaps of reality, hiding away inside the Ja’ti Prism, manipulating the laws of the universe. It is beyond you.”

Herald cast a small spell of agony and spiraled it around Strange’s head. The green energy ripped into his psyche and tortured his mind, but Strange did not scream. He refused to give them the satisfaction.

“Nothing is beyond my master,” Herald chanted.

“When we last met and you banished me yet again, I found myself caught in a sort of Limbo,” Dormammu explained. “It nearly killed me to do so, but I pulled my spirit into a hallway between dimensions, a link to what some I have heard call the Multiverse. Rooms upon rooms reached into endless possibilities. I daresay I might even go back there when I ascend, to a place of pure power referenced as hypertime. But I saw the tower of Fate, learned of the Lords of Chaos, and knew that to fulfill my destiny as a conqueror I must become one of them.”

Dormammu waved Herald away, who was delighting in the torment he cast on Strange. “But to ascend…I would risk extinguishing my own power to do it. Therefore, I used you to gather the panoramic fearful energy of an entire city, funneling their angst directly into me. I am nearly ready. All I need is one last bit of magical fuel to ignite the spell.”

The demon lord snagged a handful of Strange’s hair in his hand, clasping it between his pointy fingers. “And you shall provide it for me.”

With his free hand, Dormammu stabbed his fingers into Strange’s stomach. No blood was spilled, yet Strange was thrown into deep pain and panic. He felt his connection to magic itself, the life essence of the very universe, begin to slip away. His power, his ability to manipulate the fundamental energy of existence, was being drained away.

Dormammu swiped his claw out of Strange’s stomach and sneered. “Do you see? I have already taken a portion of your power. Soon I will take it all, and then your life. I want you to die a worthless shade of your former self. I want you to be helpless.”

“Strange!” Fate cried. His bound arms struggled against the chains, and if it were not for the enchantments he would have already broken free and come to his new friend’s aid. “Focus! You must concentrate!”

“You are nearly ready, my master!” Herald shouted. He possessed a similar look on his face as their plans were nearly coming to fruition.

“One more bite at your soul, Strange,” Dormammu said. “One more and you will be as you once were, a lame physician unable to hold a scalpel.”

Dormammu raised his hand again, ready to plunge it into Stephen Strange’s ebbing power. A thin whistle came from somewhere behind him, and before he knew what had happened, something stabbed into the back of his hand and exploded.

The demon roared, sending a shockwave of unearthly power rippling through the air. The stump where his hand had just been pulsated with black ooze. On the ground was the remnant of the weapon that had harmed him: a thin wooden shaft. He turned and narrowed his eyes as he watched a man garbed in green and gray ready another of his weapons, a simple arrow with a large explosive head on the tip.

Behind this archer were the other “heroes” that Strange had collected. The red Daredevil he knew well, but there were others that belonged to Fate’s home. Dormammu concentrated and he delighted in watching his hand begin to reform. “Kill them, my Herald!”

The twisted dark wizard leapt into the air to meet the heroes as they filed out of a portal that had been conjured by the green oaf known as Rintrah. Strange’s apprentice though he may be, he would be no match for Herald, or the horde of demonspawn he summoned as he flew.

Rows upon rows of grotesque netherworlders sprung up from the rocky terrain. Herald’s summoning gave him control over them, even inside the compact universe that was the Ja’ti Prism. Fangs, claws, and tails snapped at the heroes as they collided.

“For a big green goat, you got some cool tricks,” Spider-Man said as he sprung into the air and spun webbing over the closest demons.

“Goat?” the fledgling sorcerer inquired.

“Ignore him,” the beautiful and luscious Clea answered as she cast a simple displacement spell to shatter the frail body of a demonspawn. “Get to Stephen. Wong?”

“Yes, my mistress,” the warrior and servant of Doctor Strange responded. Twin swords leapt from his back and into his hands, where they quickly slashed through the throngs of demons threatening to overrun them.

The Batman flung a handful of his patented batarangs into the horde, slicing through their appendages. His cape swirled as he fought, careful to be mindful of his surroundings. The landscape was uneven and they were mostly out in the open. Tactically, it was not the best place to make their final stand. The coming Herald and his demonspawn had the high ground.

He heard bones shatter to his left, and when he turned he saw Daredevil standing over a demon that had flanked him. The demon shuddered before slipping into what he assumed was unconsciousness. Batman nodded in appreciation to his fellow vigilante and returned his attention to the task at hand.

Catwoman’s whip sliced through the demon flesh easily. Her lithe body bounded between their striking claws, which rarely connected with his soft skin. Green Arrow, who had claimed the first strike, was having less luck now with hitting his mark. Spider-Man’s great agility proved the best asset as he weaved between the dark soldiers, providing back-up where it was most needed.

But it was the trinity formed by Strange’s entourage that made the most progress up the hill. Clea blazed through the demons with fiery spells lighting her way. Wong cut down any that slipped by her. Rintrah, with his great strength, picked away at the demons that tried to surround them. They had come to the foot of the hill and Dormammu was coming within reach.

“I’m coming, Stephen!” she cried.

Wong slashed down a sickly demon that nearly came close enough to his lady Clea to touch her. His service in the field was reserved for a time most needed, and today there seemed to be no greater need within his memory. He had been there when his master had first met with Clea and brought her to their home, and he was proud to fight beside her.

Both of his swords spun through the air like lightning, striking down any adversary that came near. Physical charges were like nothing to him. As long as they worked in tandem they would reach the top of the hill and have victory secured.

But as nearly invulnerable as he was when it came to hand-to-hand combat, he wasn’t nearly as protected against mystical offense.

A bolt of green energy smashed into his face and struck him down, sending him into Rintrah’s stout legs behind him. Herald, the distorted melding of two men called Mordo and Mordru, swung down and blasted Clea’s magic defenses with a spell powerful enough to split the ground. She recoiled and stumbled back, and the nearly silent hum of her magical shield died off.

Herald landed in front of her and preened. He grabbed her by the hair and said, “Foolish little girl that likes to play with magic.”

A lance of green power made solid extended from Herald’s hand. With a disturbing cry of adulation he stabbed down into Clea’s throat, easily slicing into her delicate body.

Stephen watched in horror as his beloved, his betrothed, fell to her knees. She clutched her throat but she could not stop the flow of blood from her open veins. She wobbled and fell at Herald’s feet. Doctor Strange screamed in agony and struggled against his bonds again, this time fueled by the rage that filled him.

“Enough,” Dormammu scolded as he slapped Strange across the face. “She is dead. I only regret that her death could not be by my own hand, and that I could not draw it out more in front of you. If there was one that I could possibly despise more than you, it was her.”

The wicked demon lord bent down and picked up Strange by his torn collar. His bruised and bloodied face barely resembled the handsome surgeon from years ago. His head tilted to the side, his neck too frail and his muscles too tired to hold it up properly. A trickle of blood drooled out of the corner of open mouth.

“Believe me when I tell you, Strange…this moment will forever mark when I became a god.”

A blast too loud to be anything natural stopped Dormammu from dealing the killing stroke. The echo of the boom stretched into the distance of the rolling and rocky field upon which the grouped heroes made their last stand against the demon horde. Most paused, shaken by the sudden explosion, and looked back to the portal.

Herald lazily fingered the gaping wound in his stomach. Directly behind him, stepping out of the portal, was a man bearing a weapon larger than his own arm. The muzzle puked out smoke and its owner, the Punisher, pulled back the firing pin to load the next round.

“A 50-calibur might be overkill,” the Punisher said as he hobbled through the portal, “but it sure as hell gets the job done.”

The entity comprised of Mordo and Mordru, Herald, fell down beside the woman he had just murdered. The hole punched through his abdomen by the Punisher’s weapon was too much for his body to cope with, despite the lashing tendrils of black magic trying to support him. Herald slowly stopped breathing and the fire behind his eyes extinguished.

“Don’t know why someone didn’t do that before,” Frank Castle said.

“You arrogant fool!” Dormammu cried out.

Strange shook free of Dormammu’s grasp and dropped back to the ground. With his arms still bound, he charged the demon lord at the knees, hoping to knock him down at the very least. Even though he was hurt and nearly dead, there was fire behind Strange’s actions.

The feeble attempt to dismount Dormammu from the hill failed as Strange merely succeeded in bruising his shoulder. The pseudo-Lord of Chaos struck Strange aside in irritation, tossing him into Doctor Fate. The pair collided and tumbled over, sliding partially down the slope.

“Has the universe gone mad,” Dormammu exclaimed, “that simple ants could hope to defy me? I will strike you all down one by one!”

“Strange!” Fate whispered. Behind his golden helmet the agent of the Lords of Order watched his only ally barely stir. “Strange, can you hear me?”

“Fate…”

“Strange, you must focus! Listen to what I have to tell you or we will all be doomed!”

Dormammu leapt through the air and landed at the base of the hill. He swatted aside the demons that Herald had summoned, which were now running amok since their summoner was dead. The fire that encapsulated the demon lord’s head burned blue, its intensity having grown considerably from his mounting anger.

A pair of batarangs latched to the side of Dormammu, which he plucked out easily and discarded on the ground. “Toys!” Dormammu said. “You assault me with toys!”

Within the blink of an eye, the Batman’s neck was between Dormammu’s fingers. The Dark Knight clutched Dormammu’s wrist but he couldn’t hope to break the grasp, no matter how much leverage he could muster.

“If you fight like a child then you shall die like one, weeping from the terror and pain that I will show you. Dormammu cannot be stopped!”

Spider-Man entangled Dormammu’s legs in thick webbing but with a shrug of his mystic aura the webbing snapped. Catwoman slashed her whip at Dormammu’s back but it was nothing more than a breeze to him. Wong, breathing heavily from where he watched over Rintrah, who cradled the body of Clea in his furry arms, gripped his sword tightly and prepared to charge. An arrow from Green Arrow’s quiver raced toward Dormammu’s head but it splintered with but a look from the demon lord’s gaze. Daredevil looked up from where he was helping the Punisher keep his balance, aware that there was nothing he could do.

“This is the reason I exist,” Dormammu said.

A shimmering golden energy mixed with Dormammu’s fragrant fire, sealing off the blue flame atop his head. The demon lord choked back his breath, as if something had disconnected him from his surroundings.

“And this is the reason I exist,” Doctor Strange said as he floated through the air toward them.

Golden power engulfed the battlefield, shimmering out of the pristine helmet of Fate that was now worn by Stephen Strange. His bonds broken and his power changed by the helmet, Doctor Strange descended on to Dormammu with magicks he had never touched before, magicks from another dimension.

Atop the hill sat Fate, his helmet freely given to Strange. Fate had lacked the power alone to shatter his bonds, but at his command the helmet gifted to him by Nabu had been transferred to Strange’s brow, where it mixed with the residual power of the Sorcerer Supreme. It had opened avenues of magic never accessed before, empowering Strange to break free of Dormammu’s chains.

Dormammu dropped Batman, who bounded back up out of instinct and slipped away immediately. A golden shell formed around Dormammu completely and the flames around his head completely died away. A wisp of smoke was all that remained.

“No! This cannot be! Impossible!”

“You are so ready to deal out death,” Strange said. “I wonder…will you greet her with open arms?”

Magic had always seemed astounding to Stephen Strange, even after he had mastered its practice. From the first days of his apprenticeship under the Ancient One to his private studies in his home, magic was an amazing thing that he found great mystery in. Now that he wore the helmet of Nabu, a true Lord of Order, he saw magic in a different light. What had once seemed mysterious now looked methodical. Instead of hidden secrets he saw disguised truths. Whatever universe Fate hailed from, the very concept of magic was different from what he understood.

“No!” Dormammu said defiantly with his hands pressed against the gold capsule that held him in place.

“This reality, or any other, will shed no tears for you.”

The helmet masking his face glowed brilliantly as Strange mixed his own understanding of magic with the operations of Fate’s powerbase. Dormammu cried out one last time as the interior of the golden bubble he was trapped in filled with energy. It burned away his demon flesh and pain the demon lord never conceived of feeling overtook him.

There was a blinding flash.

And then there was nothing.

EPILOGUE

His magic had been ripped from him.

Stephen Strange, the prideful Sorcerer Supreme of his home dimension, tugged his red overcoat closer. The leather coat had replaced his typical swirling shroud, which was now in tatters. A chill wind had swept through, adding a plague of discomfort to the already dismal day.

The crisis was over. Dormammu destroyed. Fate had reclaimed his helmet and stolen away with those that belonged elsewhere. It should be a time for cheer.

He felt as if a piece of him was missing, and in a sense, it was. Dormammu had bitten away a segment of his power. Upon the demon's death it had been dispersed instead of returning to Strange as it should; perhaps a final act of bitter defiance. He couldn't help but question his role as Sorcerer Supreme now. Was the rank still his if his magic had been cut in half?

But these thoughts weren't at the forefront of his mind. He kept that problem nestled somewhere behind his emotions, which were in danger of bowling over his consciousness. Strange counted himself among disciplined men. Allowing his emotions to get the better of him wasn't something that could happen.

“Rintrah has the portal open, master. We should leave.”

Strange didn't budge. His assistant and longtime confidant, Wong, silently bowed and stepped away. A glimmering portal, not unlike the one that Rintrah had conjured the day before during the battle with Dormammu, or the one Fate used to take his people back to their own dimension, waited on the other side of the floating boulder upon which they all stood. In the Dark Dimension, Clea's true home and now final resting place, segments of rock floating through the abyss were commonplace.

He had first encountered Clea in this place, and while he was unaware of her past at the time, he knew that she was special. She had always been there when he needed her, as she had proven in the final battle.

Leaving her body buried on this rock was against his wishes, but not against hers. It was where she waited to be placed. Even though it pained him to turn away from her grave and enter the portal back to Earth, he did it.

Rintrah and Wong waited quietly at the portal's entrance. Strange paused before stepping in to join them, looking over his shoulder one last time at the marker placed above Clea's grave. He kept his thoughts to himself and entered the portal, choosing not to brood.

There was work to be done.

THE END?

Make sure you check out the City of Chaos one-shots that help to further expand on this story!

And look for the new ongoing series DR. STRANGE, coming soon!