Blind Eyes

Small lungs are weighed down by smoking, charred rubble. Dull green eyes are glazed over with pain, gazing up at a small opening to the outside world. He can’t feel his body. 

He takes in a shuddering breath after a long moment, coughing violently, squeezing his eyes shut in pain. 

An orange glow curls around the edges of the triangle far above him, something huge moving the rubble. He feels the weight lift off his chest, gratefully opening his eyes again… faced with a pair of less than friendly faces. 

Two sets of teeth greet him, a low growl coming from one orange throat as the silent pair of jaws grabs him, closing around his arms and yanking him from the rubble. He cries out in pain as he feels his arms try to dislocate, skin quickly starting to heat up. He’s dropped on the ground, the two heads seeming to inspect him, pinning him down with one heavy clawed foot. 

The boy wheezes at the new pressure on his already frail chest. 

His gaze goes white as he hears the snapping of bones, vaguely feeling his arms burn. 

“...Are you alive?” A strange voice comes into focus in his ears as he pulls himself back into the realm of the living. A hand stops him as he tries to move where he lay. 

“Hey, you’re alive, that’s good. Try not to hurt yourself even more.” The voice sounds relieved. 

He slowly opens his eyes, squinting in bright sunlight filtering through makeshift windows. A blurry figure is looming over him, messy hair accompanied by some sort of glow at chest height. He frowns in confusion at it, trying to raise an arm to shade his face… and finding he can’t. 

The figure shifts to block the sunlight, “Can you talk? What the hell happened? Why were you out in the Burns on your own?” He can make out light blue eyes and tan skin coated with streaks of ash and dirt. There’s a noticeable lack of a shirt, the boy’s chest instead criss-crossed with wires and magic threads, extending from a triangular core at the center of his chest. 

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, gathering himself, “....Lost… I.. got lost… got.. got trapped….” He feels how raw and rough his voice is. 

“You looked like death, y’know,” The boy looming over him reaches to adjust something. He cranes his neck to see the boy is adjusting bandages around his arms, from the elbows down. 

“...Thanks…” He manages sarcastically, “...Who’re.. you…..?” 

“Anthony Starkrest, at your service,” The boy bows, running a hand through his messy hair, “Who do I have the pleasure of saving?” 

“....Stephen…. Strange….” 

“Let’s get you fixed up, then, Stephen.” Tony grins at him, “Mr. Cripple Fingers.” 

He manages an unimpressed look before he feels himself drifting off again. 

Gentle fingers run through his matted hair as everything goes dark. 

. . .

There’s the rhythmic drop of water as he slowly comes to, someplace dark and damp. His skin burns from head to toe, the rubbing of his clothes agonizing. He opens bright orange eyes, forcing his gaze to focus as he tries to sit up. He groans in pain as his clothes scrape his burned skin. 

He manages to sit up, entire body aflame with pain. He tries to summon his magic to light up his surroundings, finding only sparks remain of his powers. 

Right… I gave it to him. For safekeeping. 

He blinks blurry eyes, moving slowly to avoid sparking too much pain. It doesn’t work too well. 

He’s startled as something moves nearby in the dark, the sound of clothing shifting on the stone floors. He turns toward it, moving slowly, somewhat dragging himself toward the sound. 

“...Hello..?” He rasps, feeling his long hair fall over his face. He starts to make out subtle shades in the darkness, picking out the crumpled form near him as it shifts. He reaches to gently touch the figure, wincing as his skin burns with the contact. Through the pain he feels soft cloth and a cold, smooth metal. He flinches back again as the figure moves under his hand. 

The boy groans softly, slowly blinking bright green eyes up at him. They’re full of confusion for a long moment, before they open wide, the boy frantically scrambling away from him, “Are you- What the Candor-“ 

“Hey… Calm down… Are.. you okay…?” He coughs, feeling how dry his throat is. 

The boy slowly calms down, “I’m.. Everything kinda hurts, but.. I’m okay, I guess?” He looks confused. 

“What’s your name…?” Stephen reaches to try and help the boy up. 

“Uh.. Peter? Peter Parker?” The small wizard slowly gets up, helping the tall man to his feet. Stephen has to lean heavily on his smaller counterpart. 

“Nice.. Nice to meet you.. I’m Stephen…” He mumbles hoarsely. 

“Are you the same Stephen that disappeared?” 

“I..Guess I am…. Do you know Tony..?” 

“He’s my mentor,” Peter pauses, “Oh my God, is he okay? Where did the Hydra go? How long have I been out? Oh no-“ He jumps away, Stephen stumbling after him, hitting the wet floor again with a thump and a shockwave of pain through his body. 

He hears the footsteps rapidly retreating as Peter runs away, failing to fight off the wave of exhaustion following the pain. 

. . . 

Stephen wakes up to a cold but soft nose nudging his face, cracking his eyes open to be greeted by a buck face sniffing at him. The deer pulls back a bit as Stephen moves, ears and a crown of feathers around tall antlers perking up as round blue eyes gaze at him. 

He knows this face. 

“Hey, Wong… I was wondering where you went…” 

Peter skids to a stop in the middle of the empty street, the rain having stopped for now, leaving only a dark sky above the city. 

Heart pounding, he looks around, mind muddled by worry and panic, everything happening at once. 

He’s pulled out of his spiral as he feels something move in his shirt, something very indignant and loud. 

“Loki! You’re still here!” Peter exclaims, pulling the collar of his hoodie away from his chest, looking down to be greeted by a less than happy black ball and green eyes, loud meowing coming from this angry piece of the void. He pulls the large cat out of his shirt, cuddling him close, “Oh my god, are you okay? Did you get burned?” 

The cat squirms in his grip as he checks him over. For the most part, the black cat is fine, if a bit ruffled. 

Loki squirms out of his arms, yowling loudly at him, moving to head down one of the streets. Peter follows after a moment, figuring the magically inclined cat has a solid idea of what he’s doing. He hopes. 

The indignant ball of fluff leads him out to the main plaza, sniffing at something on the ground. Kneeling down, he gingerly picks up a small artifact, something bronze, laced with bright green streaks and runes. It’s warm in his hand, buzzing with soft, gentle energy. It’s almost familiar, this energy… he can’t put his finger on it. 

He shakes his head slightly, trying to clear his thoughts, focusing back on the artifact itself. It resembles a type of ring, more like two rings stuck together, the knuckle side offering a flat portion. 

“A ring…?” 

“A sling ring. Interesting…” 

“What’s interesting?” 

“It seems to be imbued with a unique magic. Mortal magic.” 

“Huh…” He hums, looking at it curiously. It’s comforting in his hand. “I wonder who’s magic it is…” 

Stephen sits against the wall of the sewer tunnel, exhausted and in pain, his large familiar nosing at his face. He manages to pat the deer creature’s nose, the only noise being his breathing and his familair’s hooves and claws on the concrete. He startles as something shuffles in the darkness, the sound of cloth rustling coming from nearby. 

He peers into the darkness, squinting, somewhat adjusted to the low light. An amorphous shape moves nearby, something odd. Not human, not animal… 

Wong at his side gives the thing a curious look, but doesn’t seem to be threatened by whatever it is. Stephen takes a bit of solace in the idea that it’s not lethal. He hopes. 

The form moves again, rising up a bit from the floor. He picks out more of the shape, looking almost like a blanket. 

He blinks as he recognizes the shape, metal clasps glinting in what little light there is coming from the grates far above them. 

Peter paces in the dorm lobby, combing through the pages of the journal for anything that might be helpful, anything that would let him locate the Hydra.. or Tony. 

“Come on… there has to be something…” He flips through the pages again, scanning the notes and spells frantically. 

“Another is coming. Hide, quickly!” 

Peter feels his body respond before his brain has a chance to, putting the book away in his jacket and ducking into a hidden corner, bright green eyes peeking to look at the front doors. 

A tall, red headed woman strides through the doors, flipping her hair over one shoulder as she looks around the lobby, eyes hidden by sharp triangular sunglasses. Inhumanly stiletto heels click on the tile as she steps toward the front desk. 

“Is Peter Parker here? I’m his aunt, I heard the dormitory caught on fire.” 

. . . 

“So, do I get to ask what all the stuff coming out of you is for while my arms heal?” Stephen tries to gesture with one bandaged forearm, “You look like something out of a fantasy book.” 

Tony looks down at his chest and arms, light blue eyes reflecting the glow of his accessories. Energy flows in and out of the triangular core in his chest, rhythmically, resembling some sort of bizarre heartbeat. Trace tubes slip down his arms and legs, though only the top half of the system is visible in his skin. 

“I’m working on making it more subtle. Science is a thing too, y’know.” He huffs, “It’s what kept you from bleeding out.” 

“That thing in your chest is not all science. And you didn’t answer my question.” 

“I assumed it was obvious what it’s for. It’s not like the big honkin’ core is right where my heart should be or anything.” 

Stephen rolls his eyes, “If you don’t wanna tell me why you have it, you can just say so. I’m not about to force you to give me sensitive information.” 

“Let’s just say we’re both in the infirmary for good reason,” Tony shrugs, “I’m helping the doc out since I can’t leave anyway.” 

“Doesn’t seem like this place is busy enough to warrant help.” 

“Doc is out most of the time to make sure people come back alive enough for us to fix,” The older boy raises an eyebrow. 

Stephen grimaces, “Right… Hey, how did I get here, anyway?” 

“Some weird deer thing brought you to the doc. It bit him and then flew off.” 

“That’s.. definitely normal.” 

“Nothing is normal about anything outside the camp.”

Stephen cranes his neck to look around the infirmary tent again, seeing the ash sweeping in from under the door flaps. He coughs, wincing as his lungs burn. He feels Tony adjust one of the tubes running under his bandages, gentle fingers running under the edge of his bandages. He swallows hard at the unexpected touch, glancing back at the boy next to his bed. 

Tony looks quiet and focused as he tends to the equipment, both Stephen’s and his own. He sits back down in the chair next to Stephen’s bed, reaching to tend to the core in his chest. Stephen winces subconsciously as he watches Tony’s fingers open up the core and reach in. 

“Doesn’t that hurt?” 

“Huh? Does what hurt?” His companion looks up. 

“That. The whole…” He vaguely gestures with his chin toward the other boy’s chest, “Tech thing.” 

“Oh. Uh… I guess it’s a little uncomfortable sometimes. I just got used to it, I think.” He pulls out a small crystal, his core’s whirring beginning to slow down. He very quickly cleans the crystal off with a spare cloth and delicately sets it back into the core, a subtle shudder running up his body as the system is reenergized. 

Stephen is quiet for a long moment as he watches. “...Does it keep you alive?” 

“I.. guess you can say that. I have maybe an hour without it on.” The older boy mumbles. 

“And… what’s that crystal?” 

“Just something I found a while ago.. I dunno what it is exactly.”

. . . 

Stephen lets the cloak settle back around his shoulders, finding the weight oddly comforting. 

“Okay… lets.. see what I’ve missed..” He moves to try and stand, feeling.. lighter than he should. He blinks, looking at his familiar in confusion. 

The peryton looks back at him, silent as always. He feels the cloak lightly squeeze his shoulders. 

“Oh? Are you helping me out?” He looks down at the red fabric around his shoulders. 

Something gives him a sense of happiness in the back of his mind. 

He smiles a bit, “So you are sentient…. guess all that time was just as painful for you, huh…?” 

A sense of agreement comes from the garment. 

“Will you help me fix all this?” 

He’s overcome with a sense of excitement. 

“Then… let's go.” He moves to climb onto his familiar, painfully hoisting himself up onto the deer’s back, “Can you help me up to the surface, Wong?” 

Wong stretches feathered forelegs and wings, shaking out his neck and moving to tap through the tunnels, finding a suitable place to get back up onto the surface. The creature pushes the grate aside, climbing back up with claws and hooves, Stephen clinging to his feathers. 

Stephen tilts his head back as he feels the warm, damp air of the surface, taking a deep, if painful, breath. “Malek.. I missed this…” 

Peter peeks around the corner, at the red headed woman. 

“Your memories have not mentioned this ‘Aunt’ woman.” 

“Because I don’t have a red headed aunt.” Peter hisses under his breath, “Especially not one like that.” 

“I was able to sense her magic. That is peculiar for mortal magics to be strong enough for us to sense.” 

“Well, she’s either a powerful wizard pretending to be my aunt, or something worse.” He ducks back behind the beam as the woman turns around. 

“Let us hope she is mortal.” 

“That really gives me confidence that she is.” He rolls his eyes, looking to peek back around the corner. 

The woman is still talking with the person at the front desk, arms crossed as she’s presumably told Peter isn’t in the building. 

“I’m worried about my nephew! He wasn’t here when the building burned, was he? Is he alright?” Her voice is sultry and smooth, even with an overtone of concern. 

“Ma’am, I assure you he and his familiar were out of the building when the fire started. The fire department doesn’t know what exactly caused the fire, but for the moment we’re having the building on shut down to check the gas pipes.” The exasperated desk worker reassures her. 

“Do you know where he is?” 

“I’m afraid I cannot tell you directly where the students have been relocated to, but I’d be glad to give him a message for you if you give me your name.” 

“Hmph. Alright,” She huffs, shifting her weight on her stilettos, “I’m his aunt May. May Parker.” 

“...I don’t have an aunt May..” Peter mumbles, “Last relative I knew about was Uncle Ben.” 

“You have memories of an older man. He seemed to be close with your mentor.” 

“Tony is my godfather, I think. He adopted me when my uncle died.” 

“Hm…” 

Peter ducks down to hide as he hears the sharp stiletto heels click back toward the door, waiting until the footsteps fade back outside. 

“Well.. that was close.” 

“I suggest we avoid that woman if we are to continue our mission.” 

“Agreed.” Peter sneaks over into the elevator, waiting silently until the door shuts behind him to pull out the ring from his pocket, “Do I get to know how to use this now? We lost the big ass book.” 

“I may be able to teach you how to use a sling ring, yes.” 

“Finally, a real lesson in magic!” Peter exclaims, exasperated. 

He feels judgement from Motto. 

“I’m not apologizing.” 

“We know. Please just get somewhere secluded so we can practice discreetly.” 

“I’m going, I’m going.” He sighs as the elevator doors open to the fifth floor, stepping out into the still-smoky hall. He coughs, “Is this good enough? Everyone else got moved.” 

“This will suffice, we suppose.” 

“Back to the ‘we’ again, huh?” 

“Many of us are needed to teach you the intricacies of the sling ring.” 

“I… guess that makes sense.” He looks down at the still-warm ring in his palm, the runes glowing a soft green. He looks over the bronze accessory with bright green eyes, “Why is it so warm?” 

“The energy within heats up the metal. A normal sling ring is not this warm.” 

“Huh. Is that why humans are so warm? Our natural internal magic? Are living things only warm because of natural magic?” 

“Please stay focused.”

“Right, yeah.” He slips the ring on slowly, onto his left index and middle fingers. It magically adjusts to fit his fingers. He flexes his hand a few times, finding it surprisingly comfortable and barely inhibiting at all. “So how do I use this thing?” 

“We will begin with a simple portal.”

Stephen sits on the edge of the fountain, looking up into the cloudy sky. He tries to ignore the large bloodstain on the concrete near his feet, the long claw marks across the plaza, the blood trail leading back into the city. 

“Nothing is like I remember… How am I supposed to help him?” He runs bony hands through scraggly hair, “Malek.. what am I supposed to do?” 

He looks up as he hears the clicks of Wong’s claws and hooves landing back on the concrete. The peryton shakes his head and neck, coming back up to him and nuzzling his cheek. He pats his soft nose. 

“Hey, bud, find anything?” 

The creature clicks at him, ears flicking. 

He makes himself look at the blood trails and claw marks. “Something took him… Was something else released?” 

The silence as he thinks — or rather, worries — is broken by the frantic fluttering of feathers and loud cawing, something light with small talons landing on his shoulder with a whacking of feathers in his face. 

He spits the feathers out of his mouth, leaning his head away from the offender, “What the- Jarvis?” 

The crow caws at him, hopping up and down on his shoulder. The cloak does not appreciate being jumped on. 

Stephen reaches to have Jarvis step onto his hand instead, setting him on his lap, “What’s up, Jarvis? Is it Anthony? Do you know where he is? What happened to him?” 

“Red! Red Red Red!” Jarvis squawks, “Red and spiky! Dark! Tunnels!!” 

“What did ‘red’ look like?” 

“Large spikes! Scaly! Dangerous!” The bird flaps his wings frantically, shedding black feathers, “Tunnels! Tunnels tunnels!” 

“Where? Tunnels where?” 

“Under! Underground! Blood! Fog! Maze!” The crow hops around in a circle on his thin knees. 

Stephen slowly, hesitantly, looks down to the concrete beneath his feet. “Anthony…” 

Something cackles, in the distance, something ancient, something delighting in pain. 

“Hey, I think I’m finally getting the hang of this,” Peter’s words of confidence are immediately undermined by the portal inches from his hands snapping closed with a spray of sparks and a loud pop, Peter stumbling back in surprise. 

“Try again. Adjust your circular motion. Steady your hands.” 

“Easier said than done when the fate of the world is in the balance.” 

“Perhaps you require a more specific target.” 

“Like what?” 

“A location you are very familiar with. Your childhood home, a room you spend much time in, something like that.” 

“Uhh… what about Tony’s office? I’ve been there plenty of times.” 

“That may work. Try again.” 

Taking a deep breath, the boy wizard raises his hands again, slowly beginning to trace a circle into the air. The red circle spirals back into existence in front of him, slowly widening as the energy picks up speed, Peter speeding up his movements with it. 

The red circle of sparks opens up to an image of Tony’s office in the staff building. Peter quickly steps through, turning to close the portal behind him in a controlled way, the red spiraling back into a small ball of energy, then dispersing. The boy grins. 

“Finally! I got it!” 

“Excellent work. Perhaps our timeline for preparation is shorter than we anticipated.” 

“I told you I’m a fast learner,” Peter turns to look around the dark office, his smile slowly fading. 

“We do not recall you saying anything of the sort.” 

Peter ignores the voice, slowly stepping in the office, turning a circle. The office is a mess, papers everywhere, drawers left open, the perch knocked over and the desk lamp off the desk and on the ground. 

“What… happened here…?” 

Stephen quietly tames the anxious bird in his lap with gentle head scratches as he thinks. Jarvis clicks happily with the pets, settling on his thighs. Wong has gone to patrol the area, though the peryton is staying close by enough to protect his partner. The rain has started to lighten up somewhat, the clouds harboring a subtle red tint. 

Stephen circles through his thoughts, trying to decide what to do. 

What am I going to do? Anthony, why couldn’t I just find you first? Malek, what have we gotten ourselves into? I can’t come find you, I can barely stand on my own.. 

His stomach growls, as he’s reminded by the water dripping down his face how thirsty he is, how hungry he is. He looks up, looking around for anything nearby that might offer food or water… 

And suddenly he realizes how different everything is. 

Where there were heaps of smoking rubble, are now tall buildings, dirt roads paved with stones under his feet, nothing the way he remembers it. The fountain is rebuilt, the statue now a replica of the Dragon of Creation, Malek. Buildings are built where tents were before, former cabins now refined. 

Nothing is how he remembers.. None of the architecture is the same.. 

Just how long has he been with the creature…? 

He shivers as he remembers where he’s been for however long, a place of orange webs and golden chains. 

And oh, so, so much pain… and that voice… Those. Voices. 

He never wants to hear those voices ever again. 

Stephen is snapped out of his thoughts by Wong’s soft nose pushing at his face. He reaches to pet the deer creature, letting himself relax a bit as he feels the stones beneath his feet again. 

“Okay… lets go find our stupid idiot,” He reaches to climb back onto his familiar’s back, scarred and shaky fingers clinging to feathers. The peryton stretches his wings in anticipation. 

“Into the sewers, Wong.” He pats his neck. 

Both the peryton and the cloak around his shoulders are unhappy with this decision. 

“Don’t give me that. He’s more important than that.” 

He is promptly doused in doubt. 

“I can always just go by myself, you don’t have to come with me.” 

The peryton shakes out his neck, snorting and taking to the skies. 

Stephen covers his face as they plunge back into the underground, through a manhole cover. 

Peter digs through the carnage in the office, hoping he doesn’t find any sign of a break in and Tony was just in a rush, ignoring Agomotto’s voice in his head. 

Peter. 

Peter! 

“PETER!”

He jumps as he hears a voice behind him, whipping around to face the speaker. 

MJ stands in the doorway, arms crossed and eyebrow raised, “What the Candor have you been doing in here? I thought there was a burglar or something.”

“MJ! I, uh, I can explain,” He stutters, hastily dropping the object in his hands. The metal object drops with a thud, Peter yelping as it lands first on his foot and then onto the floor. 

MJ snickers. 

“This isn’t what it looks like, I swear, it uh… was like this when I walked in,” He tries to fumble for a valid excuse. 

She rolls chocolate brown eyes, stepping into the room, putting long curly hair back in a ponytail. She walks over to where Peter stands by the desk, reaching to grab the small artifact from its place on the floor. Peter takes a step back as she straightens back up with the thing in her hands, watching her as she inspects it. 

“I, uh, was trying to figure out what that was,” He hastily explains, “It looks like a compass, but the directions are all off.” 

She purses her lips, turning it over in her hands, quiet for a tense moment, “Oh, I know what this is.” 

He blinks in surprise, green eyes vibrant even in the dark, “What is it?” 

“It’s a Tempor Compass. Or a very good replica of one. They used these hundreds of years ago to navigate the Burns.” 

“Like, the wastelands that used to be everywhere? How would a broken compass help?” 

“Jeez, you think the history protege would pay more attention in history class.” She snorts, cradling the compass in delicate hands. 

“I pay attention in class,” He whines, “I just don’t remember very many artifacts.” 

She rolls her eyes at him, “Suuure, that’s the reason. It’s a compass that follows the six Spirits’ energies. Supposedly, the points glow with whatever energy is closest. Each point is a different energy.” 

They both look at the carved metal artifact for a long moment, both jumping in surprise when the star in the center jolts to life, spinning frantically a few times before it settles down again. Three points are lit. 

One green, the brightest, pointing at Peter himself. 

One orange, somewhat faint, pointing somewhere past Peter. 

One red. It shifts back and forth, seeming to drag along the metal beneath it. 

MJ has wide eyes as she watches, “Well… I guess it’s not a replica.” 

. . . 

A small form darts through a maze of rubble and smoke, coughing up ash and soot, a darkly stained hand covering an equally filthy face. Quickly ducking into a nook, the boy pulls out a palm-sized metal object, groaning softly at seeing the points flickering and jerking around. 

“Stupid thing… Come on, work!” He hisses, slapping the compass. It flickers and sparks in his hands, before going completely dark and still. “Shit.” 

“Is someone there? A soul I hear, lost in my territory?” He holds his breath and ducks deeper into the nook as he hears the hissing, ethereal voice echo nearby. Too close for comfort. 

“Won’t you answer, little one? Come greet me.” A humming fills his ears as something dark red and slick slithers by outside, long and pointy claws scraping along the ground. “I so love the company of mortals.” 

He holds his breath, feeling his heart pound in his chest and his blood rush in his ears, wide green eyes watching the giant creature slip by. It moves slowly, a long and slim form, tail dragging back and forth along the ash-covered ground. Ash and soot swirls up into the air in clouds as it passes, obscuring his gaze and making his eyes sting. He squints, covering his mouth with his hands to suppress a cough, his eyes watering. 

It seems like an eternity as he waits for the creature to move on. He waits until the footsteps fade completely to breathe again, gasping for air for a moment before he digs his compass back out, trying to read it. 

It’s still dark, only a flicker of blue pointing him in the direction he’d already been heading. 

“Camp of Malek.. I’m so close..” He whispers hoarsely, “Please let them still be alive..” 

. . . 

“You’re sure it's in the sewers?” MJ sounds incredulous as their footsteps splash in the damp underground, a few yellow lanterns following them both in the dark. 

“Positive. It’s where the compass is pointing, at least.” Peter’s chin is practically against his chest as he peers at the compass in his hands, focusing on the red point. “A little hard with the point moving all the time though.” 

“Hm.. I’ve never heard of anything in the sewers before. Why are we searching for it?” 

“It.. it's a long story. Maybe you should go back up, MJ.” He stops, looking up at her, “All this is dangerous.” 

“As if you can defend yourself? Come on, we both know you were the worst at combat,” She huffs, crossing her arms as she turns to face him. 

“I can handle myself!” He protests. 

“Against ethereal sewer demons?” 

“I.. well.. it’ll be fine…” 

“Uh-huh. Sure. I’m coming with you,” She turns back around, continuing down the dark hall. 

Peter jumps to catch up as the lanterns follow her, not wanting to be left in the dark. Puddles catch the lights as they walk, sparkling, reflecting the yellow energy. Their footsteps leave ripples in the pools of water. 

The sewers is silent as they walk, echoing the sounds of their breaths and footsteps back at them, the compass pointing through the winding, maze-like tunnels. At a certain point, Peter is jolted out of his focus on the compass by MJ stopping him dead in his tracks with a firm hand on his chest. 

He looks up, mouth opening to question it, her other hand slapped over his mouth with a hissed “Shh!”. He gives her a confused look, but he quickly realizes why, hearing a second pair of footsteps nearby in the tunnels. 

Odd, stuttering steps, almost zombie-like, or like someone in crutches is wading through the puddles. 

The intersection in front of them is the source of it, something coming down the right path. MJ’s lanterns flicker back out of existence, plunging them into darkness as it steps into the intersection, stopping to look around. 

Peter recognizes the flowing cloak and long hair. Pulling MJ’s hand from his mouth, he calls out to it. “Hello?” 

The figure startles, turning toward them, “Who’s there?” 

“It’s me, Peter Parker!” He summons a few red lanterns of his own, casting a dull light around him and MJ. 

Stephen relaxes a bit at seeing the kids, “Oh. Hey. Why are you here? Kids shouldn’t be in the sewers.” 

“We’re looking for Mr. Starkrest,” Peter pats MJ on the shoulder reassuringly, looking back at her. 

She’s wary, confused by the entire situation. “Mind telling me what’s going on?” She eyes Stephen, keeping a hand protectively on his arm. 

“I.. uh… remember how I said it’s a long story?” Peter mumbles. 

“We have time, the sewers are massive.” She huffs at the boys, “So spill it.” 

The young wizard and the old wizard look at each other, both unsure how to explain it all. 

“I might be able to be of assistance with that,” Stephen offers, “It would be better if we searched together. The Red Spirit is… not one to take on alone.” 

“The Red Spirit?? You mean Candor? Reality itself?” MJ yells, incredulous. 

“Please calm down, our best bet is to work together and be as quiet as possible,” Stephen raises shaky hands in a calming gesture. 

MJ scowls at him, looking back at Peter. 

Peter doesn’t meet her gaze, clearing his throat, “..I mean… He would know what he’s doing…” 

“Urgh. Fine.” She huffs, stalking past them both to venture deeper into the labyrinth, “Now, you better explain the exact shit going down.” 

“I sent my familiar, Wong, to scout topside. Perhaps he can spot the Cage for Reality from up there.” Stephen limps along beside the two young wizards in the darkness, feeling the Cloak keeping him on his feet. It gives him a comforting feeling as they traverse the darkness. 

“What would it look like?” Peter hums, unconsciously holding MJ’s hand. Definitely not because he’s scared of the dark. 

“Could be anything now, if the Temple is disguised like you say. Only the top of the Cage was visible above ground back then… perhaps something in a park? A monument?” The old wizard theorizes. He stops dead after a moment, “...Oh dear Malek.” 

The teens stop and turn to face him. “What is it?” MJ asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“I know what it is.” The color has drained from his face, bright orange eyes wide with horror. 

“Are you going to share? Are you alright?” MJ steps back toward him. 

“...It’s the fountain.”

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.

.

Tony slowly comes to, face burning, like the skin around his eyes is peeling away. He winces, trying to reach to heal his wounds. His movement is stopped by something wrapped around his wrists, thin and painful, like barbed wire. 

He tries to blink and see in the darkness around him, forcing himself to squint into the darkness. Everything is pitch black, surreally black, almost like he isn’t seeing at all. He focuses on where he feels his hand is, trying to summon a bright spark of some kind. He grits his teeth in pain and frustration as his magic barely offers anything, drained, his energy low. 

Ignoring the barbed wire around his throat, he tries to look down, seeking comfort in the familiar golden glow of his core. 

He can’t see that either. There is no glow, no pulse of his artificial heartbeat. Panicking, he reaches up under his shirt to feel his core, feeling the heat and rhythm of the energy under his calloused hand. 

“Thank Malek… I’m not dead yet.” He whispers to himself, his voice rough and dry, “Yet being the operative word.” 

He leans down, trying again to touch his face. 

He immediately regrets it, yanking his hand away in disgust as his fingers touch something painful and wet, definitely not skin, warm liquid leftover on his fingertips. 

He tries not to think too hard about what it is, suddenly aware of the warm liquid covering the top half of his face and dripping down his neck. 

“I’m so glad you were able to wake back up, little one. I’ve missed the delicious taste of mortals.” 

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.

.

Stephen pants as he sprints through the tunnels, lungs burning, pants soaked from the knees down from sewer water as he splashes in puddles. He vaguely hears the two lighter sets of footsteps behind him, keeping pace. 

“Mr. Stephen, wait!” Peter calls behind him, finally grabbing the Cloak and managing to slow him down. 

He skids to a stop, turning to face the teenager. “What is it?” 

Peter holds up the compass, “It’s not this way! We’re going in the wrong direction!” 

The older wizard freezes at the sight of the lit compass points. “Where did you get that?” 

“It.. It was in Mr. Starkrest’s office. Why?” Peter takes a small step back, suddenly unsure about his company. 

“That’s mine. It.. hasn’t worked since I last had it.” He shakes his head, “Nevermind. I know this labyrinth. This is the way we need to go to get to the Cage.” 

“The compass points in the opposite direction. We should follow it.” 

“No. The compass will lead you to Candor. Not to the Cage.” 

“But wouldn’t it be in the Cage?” Peter lowers the compass again, watching him. 

“Not if it has Anthony. It has a lair in the labyrinth that moves around. The Cage stays static. It would keep him in the Cage, I’m sure of it.” 

Determined neon orange eyes meet unsure neon green. 

MJ interrupts the tense moment, “Look, he’s our best bet right now for getting into and out of this place in one piece.” She steps between the two, lightly pushing them away from each other, “So we’ll follow you until you give us a reason not to. Okay?” She pointedly looks between them, “Sound like a plan?” 

The boys mumble in agreement. 

“Good. Lead the way, Mr. Strange,” She sighs, gesturing in the direction they’ve been running. 

“R.. Right..” Stephen gives Peter a confused look, but turns and starts to limp back down the hallway. 

Thin red eyes follow their silhouettes, a light, yet grating chuckle blending in with their footsteps. 

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.

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“They are quite determined to find you, little one.” That voice scrapes in his ears, like metal on metal. Tony can’t help but wince. 

“They’ll.. They will find me, I’m sure of it..” He feels the uncertainty in his words, “Might as well just.. let me go, Candor…” 

His core whirs, working hard and fast to combat the blood leaking from his face. It’s getting hard to stay conscious. 

“Oh, but that would be no fun, now wouldn’t it?” Something slithers up around him, the hot wires around his wrists tightening, forcing them up over his head. Equally heated claws dig into his chest. 

He clenches his jaw in pain. 

“I’m afraid you have the wrong power source, little Warrior. You should return it.” 

The thin crystals covering the inner core crack. 

Tony sucks in a breath, artificial heartbeat suddenly pounding much faster. “Give… Give me time to replace it.. Please..” 

“You live on borrowed time, Red Warrior.” Something slimy briefly slides around his throat. “You have no right to use a piece of us to defy us.” 

“I.. I can’t go yet… Let me.. Let me see him.. Feel him.. Something… first…” He begs. Salty tears sting the painful areas under his eyes, “I have to tell him…” 

. 

.

There’s the sound of shattering glass as sharp claws plunge into a beating blue core. 

A scream of pain echoes into the labrynthine halls.