Blind Eyes

Stephen shivers as a sense of dread crawls up his spine, stumbling, vision briefly vanishing as he feels a pain in his chest. He reaches out to steady himself, expecting the smooth concrete of the labyrinth. 

Instead, he finds a damp, rough and rocky surface, slimy with algae and coral. He startles, pulling his hand back away, wiping it off on his rough shirt. Looking around, he finds the labyrinth tunnels have turned into cave walls, rippling with glowing blue runes, veins of pulsing golden energy. Everything is damp, puddles covering the sandy floor, as if briefly unveiled as the tide rolled out. 

He finds Peter and MJ are no longer with him, and looks around frantically for a moment. 

Something passes over his mind, comforting, calming, almost melting his worries away. His shoulders can’t help but relax, slumping into the pull of the Cloak as it holds him up. 

“Come to me,” it says, rolling like ocean waves, “Come speak with me.”

. . . 

A young, orphaned wizard watches in horror and awe as something otherworldly looms above the smoldering camp, destroyed and aflame. Golden yellow scales, a crown of eyes, and a large eye in the center of a triangular shaped face. 

Many eyes meet the gaze of the hidden boy. He holds his breath, silently hoping it hasn’t found him. 

He squeezes his eyes shut as he hears the roars of the orange spirit that tore apart his home, the huge and heavy footsteps shaking the ground. His eyes sting with ash, watering as he closes them. 

His ears fill with a humming, like the reverb from bell towers, a burning in the center of his forehead as a vision fills his mind. One of another camp, much bigger than his home, ringed with blue and gold energy, protected. A vague form, a soft golden glow in their chest. A sense of safety. 

Go there.

He gasps and coughs as he snaps his eyes back open, pulling himself back to the present moment. He pulls his cloak around him, peeking out from his hiding spot. 

“Okay… Salvation.. I can make it..” He whispers to himself, stepping out from under the rubble of what used to be his house. 

. . . 

Limping, dragging footsteps echo in rough cave tunnels, the tunnels twisting and turning, illuminated only by the blue and gold runes rippling along the walls. A dull red cloak flows around frail ankles, worn boots coated with a layer of sand. 

“I think we’re getting close to whatever brought us here,” Stephen says hoarsely, turning to face the two young wizards at his side… and finding they’re not there. He looks around, confused and concerned, “Kids?” 

He hears their voices, faint, distant, echoing from someplace far back in the caverns. They’re calling out to him, he thinks. 

He moves to follow the voices, “Peter?” 

He stops as he feels something tug at his feet, the Cloak seeming to tug him back in the direction the runes follow. Whatever brought him here, it’s calling to him, wanting him to find it. He pauses for a long moment, unsure, turning back toward the deeper tunnels. 

Something calls him down the tunnels, a gentle melody he can’t quite hear, the ringing of church bells in the far distance. Something kind, benevolent, caring. Something all knowing, that has known every inch of the universe.

Something blue. Something gold. 

He takes a deep breath, taking in the stale sea air in the tunnels, before he steps deeper into the tunnels again, following the runes. 

He steps into a large cavern, pitch black, peering into the darkness in front of him. 

“Hello? Who’s here?” His rough voice bounces around the space, but it fades quickly, hitting something occupying the space. 

What’s in the cavern becomes apparent as four pairs of eyes open and look at him, a long and thin nose lifting off the ground as the giant creature uncurls to completely fill the space. Long, hooked horns connect to a frill on its jaw, three pairs of wings spreading out from a slim body as a tail uncurls from around long clawed fingers. 

“You are here, my Guardian. I need your help.” The voice is familiar, sounding… like Tony’s. “Please. I will guide you. Save your Warrior.” 

“Anthony? Is that.. you?” He reaches out, forcing stiff fingers open to touch the giant nose in front of him. He flinches back as the scales burn to touch. 

The distant voices echo around the back of his mind again, louder this time. 

“How will I find you, Anthony?” 

“Find your powers, my Guardian. It will open the way.” 

The voices speak again, louder this time. He looks over his shoulder at the way he came. 

“You should wake up now, my Guardian. We need you.” 

Stephen gasps as he startles awake, sitting bolt upright on the cold concrete floor of the sewers. Peter and MJ are leaning over him, looking concerned. 

“Are you okay, Mr. Strange?” Peter asks, “You passed out and we couldn’t get you to wake up.” 

The teenagers help him sit back up, the Cloak seeming to share their concerns.

“I’m alright, you two,” Stephen groans, pressing a hand to his head as it pounds, “At least, I think I am.” 

“What the heck happened?” MJ looks around them at the dark tunnels, “You looked like you were having a heart attack.” 

“That’s.. about what it felt like,” The older wizard gets back to his feet, hoisting himself up with the help of the cold, but dry, concrete wall. He freezes as he remembers the vision, “Anthony. Anthony is in trouble. We have to get to him, now.” 

His attempt to launch himself back down the hallways is stopped by the younger pair. Or rather, by his legs giving back out and the two catching him. 

“Woah, hey, you’re hardly in any shape to go anywhere,” Peter worries. 

“It’s amazing you got this far to begin with,” MJ hums as she hoists Stephen up with surprising ease. 

“I would have my familiar with me to help, but he’s not a fan of tight spaces,” Stephen mumbles, “Do either of you have familiars that could get us there faster?” 

Peter shakes his head, “I don’t think Loki will be of much help, he’s too small to ride or anything.” 

Loki meows indignantly from in his shirt. Peter mumbles an apology to the cat. 

MJ thinks for a moment, “I suppose my girl is technically big enough to ride.” She looks at the channel of water beside them, “That’ll be barely big enough for her, I think.” 

“And who is ‘her’, exactly?” Stephen raises a frazzled eyebrow. 

“Her name is Amanita,” MJ explains simply, taking a deep breath and letting out a loud whistle, the sound easily carrying throughout the tunnels. 

There’s a long few moments of silence as the boys look at each other, before they hear splashing rapidly approaching from the way they came. The three all turn and peer into the darkness, said splashing soon catching the glow from the lanterns as it gets closer. 

It’s big, and rowdy… and as they all watch, a giant alligator lunges out of the water at them, mouth wide open and teeth bigger than their fingers. 

“There’s my girl!” MJ grins with glee. 

“What is that?!” Stephen screams, dancing away from the giant reptile at their feet, much like a spooked horse. 

“Gah, I, uh, forgot, about her,” Peter swallows his own equally manly yelp, managing to only take an anxious half step back. 

MJ confidently reaches to pat the gator on its rounded nose, the reptile hissing in what seems to be appreciation? 

The boys are very subtly putting more distance between them and the giant gator. 

“Hey girl, wanna help us out? ‘Course you do,” MJ coos, rubbing the reptile’s head, over her eyes. The eyes close in happiness, toothy mouth closing in an equally toothy smile. 

“Guys, this is Amanita. She’s a big ole sweetheart, she won’t hurt ya.” MJ turns to face the boys, still smiling herself, “She should be able to get us where we’re going twice as fast.” 

“....If you say so..” Stephen mumbles, currently clinging surprisingly hard to Peter’s arm. The looks on their faces do not express confidence in the situation. 

“Oh c’mon you two. She’s fast and safer than most gators.” MJ huffs, turning back to the familiar, using hand signals to direct the gator back into the water, climbing carefully onto her back. Her legs dangle into the murky water, much to her boots’ dismay. She offers a hand to the boys, “Climb aboard.” 

Peter is the first to move after a long moment, taking her hand and carefully climbing onto the wide back of the alligator. 

The teens look at the older wizard expectantly as the familiar floats peacefully in the water. 

Stephen looks at the reptile, the rounded snout and large teeth briefly flashing him back to his time with the Hydra. He feels his throat close up as he sees the eyes flash orange, his body freezing and starting to shake. 

“Mr. Strange? Are you alright?” Peter snaps him out of the full body panic. Stephen swallows hard, still shaking as he goes to sit on the back of the alligator. 

“Y..Yeah, I’m okay. Let’s go.” 

A second scream echoes through the tunnels, chilling the group traveling through the tunnels. They all pause. Stephen’s face drains of whatever color it regained. 

“Anthony… Please no..” He clambers off Amanita, sprinting down the tunnel, into the area underneath the fountain. 

The Cage is a huge, circular room, lined with golden runes and carved bars, arching up to meet in the center of the ceiling. A large, golden crystal protrudes from the center of the ceiling, illuminating the room. 

In the middle of the room, is a tall red headed woman in an ornate, golden throne, one leg crossed over the other. 

“Oh, welcome to our Cage, little Guardian,” She grins at him, teeth uncanny, almost human but just too sharp. “We’ve been waiting for you.” 

Her eyes are a bright, glowing red. 

“Where is he?” Stephen demands, glaring at her as he stalks forward on shaky legs. 

“My, what a temper,” She purrs, watching him with amusement, “You would think the Disciple of Time would have more patience.” 

Red tendrils curl up from around his feet, fixing him in place as they slowly wrap around his legs and up his body. He grits his teeth as the slight warmth sears his already tender skin. 

“Where is he, Witch?” He spits, struggling against the magical bonds. 

“Oh? So you do remember me?” She stands up from the throne, a shimmering red and black dress falling around her feet as she steps toward him. Her stiletto heels click on the quartz floor. 

“How could I forget the Witch that destroyed my home?” He hisses through gritted teeth, “A fake oracle serving destruction.” 

The tendrils tighten, forcing him down to his knees, wrapping around his throat. 

The woman stops in front of him, eyes shifting to be pure red, with black slits for pupils. She bends down, grinning in his face with sharp teeth. 

“Oh, I am so much more than a mere pawn, Guardian of Time. My master has such a wonderful plan, and we can’t let you or the Warrior get in the way of it, now can we?” 

Peter and MJ are stopped dead in their tracks, runes outlining the closed archway in front of them. A crown of six eyes is etched into the door. 

One glows. It’s a deep red. 

“Mr. Strange!” Peter calls, pounding on the sealed doorway. Arcs of red energy curl up around his fingers as he touches the strange wall. He pulls away, flinching at the clash of Motto’s energy and this red, sinister magic. 

“Shit, what is this?” MJ hisses in annoyance at the wall, Amanita following suit at her side. “Some kind of magic?” 

“Whatever’s in here wants to keep us out,” Peter tries to force the wall down with a spell, yelping as he causes a pop of energy in his face. 

“Careful,” MJ cautions, “This is way too powerful for us to break through.” 

“We may be of help with that.” 

The two jump as Agomotto’s voice echoes around them, ringing in the curved space. 

Peter looks around first, suddenly feeling the weight of the sling ring on his left hand. “Motto? I didn’t think you were still around, you’ve been so quiet.” 

MJ gives him a look, “I’m sorry, what? Who?” 

“I am Agomotto, the Spirit of Time. We have been aiding the young Spider in his quest.” 

“What??” 

“Our student can explain later. For now, you want a way inside, yes?” 

Peter interrupts as MJ opens her mouth to respond, “Yes, absolutely, we want to help Mr. Starkrest and Mr. Strange.” 

“Your sling ring will aid you. It will open the path forward.” 

“How incredibly vague, voice in our heads,” MJ huffs. 

Peter swallows harshly, raising the hand with the sling ring. He looks it over, the green seeming to glow brighter, almost eager to get through the door, like it’s attracted to whatever’s on the other side. “I guess.. I could try something..” 

He raises his hands, slowly starting to trace the circle to open a portal. For a moment, nothing happens, and then a grating begins as sparks come off the wall, tracing the circle. It sounds like something carving through the strange rock, manually creating a doorway into the room. The sparks pick up speed and frequency as a vibrant red circle begins to appear, the doorway creeping in from around the edges. 

Peter grimaces as he focuses his energy, boring his magic deeper into the enchanted wall. Eventually, the portal opens enough to be stepped through. 

MJ steps through first. Everything is dark, dimly illuminated by the glowing portal behind them. She lights a lantern, letting it float by her. A choked gasp escapes her as she sees what’s in the darkness.

“MJ? What is it?” Peter steps through the portal behind her, stopping dead in his tracks as green eyes go wide.

“Oh.. My… Space…” 

. . . 

“Let us rejoice! We have been blessed by the Spirits, raise your hands toward the sky, praise Tempor for this year’s harvest!” 

A chorus of cheering erupts in a town as a festival begins, the harvest moon rising above the celebrating people. In a platform in the center stands a tall red headed woman, in intricate garb, her hands reaching toward the sky, golden jewelry sparkling in the town lights. 

A rainbow of magic lanterns populate the sky, moving around, a swirling mass of vibrant colors. 

A young boy gazes up at the sea in the sky, green eyes full of wonder as he holds his mother’s hand, feeling the familiar touch of cool metal in her sling ring against his small hand. He reaches up toward her, and is picked up to be put on her shoulders. He reaches excitedly up to the brightly colored lanterns, feeling the warmth of the collective magic swirl around small fingers. 

Tiny dragon shapes come down to curl around his hands, chirping and playing, chasing one another up his arm and back down, melding back into the river of energy. He watches them with glee, grinning widely with crooked teeth. 

Hundreds of miles away, another young boy is being brought back from the brink of death. The rest of the small industrial encampment outside is busy, alive with wizards and familiars alike at work as the deep orange of the harvest moon hangs in the sky, drenching the dark camp in a red-orange, almost eerie light. 

A primitive, experimental generator coughs to life in a small bedroom, the inventor anxiously watching over his son with bated breath, silently begging the small, fragile heart to start beating again. 

“Please.. grace of the Spirits, please let my boy stay,” The old man at the boy’s bedside prays, bony hands clasped together in front of a gaunt face, eyes squeezed shut. 

As if the prayers are answered, the generator stutters, then settles into a proper, gentle hum, as the heart it powers starts to beat, small lungs filling with air in a gasp of breath. 

The old man lets tears fall from dull blue eyes, gaze lifting to the heavens far beyond the small tent. 

“Thank you, Spirits. Let his time be long after I am gone.” 

The crow on the old man’s shoulder caws in agreement.

In the heavens, a war wages. 

. . . 

After char is all that is left, new buds will lock away the hands of creation, only released when the chains of Red and Green are dissolved. A warrior of metal, a guardian of life, guided by a naive spider’s web. 

All is revealed when eyes of seven open once again, waking from a deep slumber. 

Vague, warped voices swim into clogged ears as Tony is pulled back to consciousness. He can feel calming, comforting energy spreading across his skin, his face slowly healing. 

Both the voices and the magic winding across his body are familiar, but they don’t match. 

“Mr. Starkrest? Are you alright?” Peter’s voice is first to register, full of worry. 

“Peter, I don’t think he’s gonna be back anytime soon after.. that,” He recognizes the voice as MJ’s, to his left somewhere. 

He finds his body aches, everything stiff and burning. He can’t tell if his eyes are closed or not.. he hopes they are. He doesn’t want Peter to see his curse.. 

“Sir? Can you hear us?” Peter speaks again. The question is accompanied by another pass of magic over his face, a light brushing of fingers over partially numb skin. He can feel the skin on his face trying to peel back right after being healed again. 

He can make out a third voice, distant, but there. 

“Anthony…” 

Two forms kneel beside a crumpled figure, the only light being the gentle blue pulse of the exposed core in Tony’s chest. Small waves curl out from the container, reaching toward the two teens. 

Peter tries not to get nauseous at seeing the state his mentor is in, focusing on healing his wounds — the sling ring’s energy seems eager to help — while MJ tries to break the dark red shackles searing into his wrists. 

They work in tense silence for a long while, until Peter looks up to take in their surroundings. 

“...MJ?” 

“Mm?” 

“Where’s the labyrinth?” 

MJ stops, raising her head, looking at the dark room around them. “What do you mean? It’s really dark, I can’t see anything.” 

Peter looks back at her, confused, softly glowing green eyes standing out in the pitch black. “You can’t see? But the.. it’s light as day in here. You can’t see the doors are gone?” 

“I thought we drilled through a wall.”

“The.. The hole we made is gone.” 

“What?” MJ stands up, trying to summon a lantern. 

Peter tries to do the same with his own magic. 

They both find only sparks remain of their powers. 

The darkness is suddenly crushing. Ominous. 

Something is in here with them. 

Catlike, neon green eyes pick out four pairs of round, blue dots connected to nothing as even his sight begins to feel the darkness. 

And then… 

There’s nothing but them, and the eyes. 

The teenagers hold their breath, staring down whatever huge thing the bright blue dots are connected to.

The room seems to close around them, giant sheets of pitch darkness enveloping them, muffling even the soft glow from Tony’s chest. 

The floor falls away under them, and they’re left grasping for each other as they plunge into deafening silence and blinding darkness. 

Peter wakes up first, eyes snapping open as he sits up, gasping. He finds himself in his room, on his bed. Everything is intact, like nothing happened at all, like it was all a dream. 

Any inkling it was a dream is shattered as MJ groans and sits up on the floor nearby, a damaged Tony propped against the side of the bed. 

He reaches to itch at the metal necklace… and finds it’s not there. The sling ring is noticeably absent from his hand. 

“Is.. everyone okay?” Peter asks, trying to make sense of it all. 

“I’m good,” MJ rubs her head, “Is that Strange guy here too?” 

He looks around at his room, getting up, slowly investigating the rest of his dorm room. He quickly returns, finding MJ has begun to tend to Tony’s wounds with her magic. 

He shakes his head at her, “It’s just us.” 

“I hope he’s alright down there,” MJ quickly turns her attention back to their wounded mentor. 

.

.

.

Stephen is definitely not alright. 

Long claws grip his chin tightly, forcing his head back as he struggles to fend off the thing on top of him. 

The witch’s face has split into something monstrous, a wide, grinning mouth with a prehensile tongue, red hair raising and darkening into spines, horns curling from the now warped human skull. Red mist curls from around digitigrade legs, swallowing them both in a cloud of red power. 

Stephen hisses in pain as he grabs the tongue close to his face, acid saliva dripping down his arms and onto his face. 

He shoves the creature off of him, rolling away as it snaps at where he was. He manages to get back to his feet, eyes flaring green in anger as he turns to face the creature. 

A slim red dress rips and falls to the ground in shreds, and standing before him, albeit smaller than he remembers, is Candor, the Spirit of Reality, the ruler of the Overworld, bender of rules. 

“You could make a deal with me, little Guardian, and have everything you desire,” The Spirit hisses, its voice rattling in the domed room around them. 

Stephen grits his teeth, feeling a familiar weight on his right hand, a comforting presence around him, soaking into the cloak. Looking down at his hands, he finds his sling ring, the clasps of the cloak traced with vague eye designs. 

I am here, two voices tell him. One is familiar. Anthony. The other less familiar, but friendly, stirring a vague memory in his mind. 

He looks back at Candor, glaring as he feels his magic return to him, the rush going through his veins. 

“I would never make a deal with you. Not like the witch undoubtedly did,” He spits. 

Candor snarls, “Then you will never leave here. I will make sure you never see the Warrior ever again.” 

“If I’m not leaving, I’m making damn sure you aren’t either.” Stephen lunges toward the dragon, hands crackling with bright green energy. 

The two powers clash in the center of the room, a wave of energy rippling through the stone beneath their feet. Cracks begin to appear as Stephen wrestles the spiny creature, golden light seeping through the cracks. Candor hisses in pain at touching the light, wrenching away from Stephen, long tail slamming into his chest to throw him against the opposite wall as the Red Spirit backs away from the growing web in the floor. 

“Careful, Guardian. You wouldn’t want to wake up your Mind, now would you?”

Stephen looks at the growing cracks, spiraling out from the center of the room, unnatural, yet beautiful. 

Something beyond anything is down there. Beyond any of the Spirits. Something that started it all. 

And will end it too. 

He’s torn out of his stupor as he’s thrashed back against the wall by a long tail, realizing as he tries to regain the air in his lungs that he had started to wander into the cracks. 

“Your hand is not the one to wake them.” Candor’s long tongue goes over their strange, almost beak-like lips. 

“And what if it is? Who are you to stop me?” Stephen challenges, stepping forward again, this time ducking the lashing tail, lunging for the center of the floor with an outstretched hand. 

A spark erupts from his hand as it touches the center of the spiraling cracks. 

His chest hits the ground, knocking whatever wind he had in him back out. 

For a moment, nothing happens, the Red Spirit lunging for him, mouth open wide to snap at him. 

Then, the floor falls away beneath him, plunging him into blinding golden light. He closes his eyes, covering his face and curling up, expecting Candor’s sharp teeth in his stomach. The Cloak curls around him, expecting a fall, an impact. 

A fall that never comes. 

“This was not your fate, my child. This is not as it should be. Return, Guardian, and right what has been altered.” 

.

.

.

Peter blinks, confused, finding himself somewhere… and nowhere. The space around him is full, but empty, nothing but a black void. He looks up, around himself, trying to figure out what happened, when something stops his foot mid-step, and he’s flung face first into the fairly solid part of the void beneath him. Managing to sit back up, he turns to see what it was. 

Stephen groans at being accidentally kicked, now sprawled on his back, the cloak lying still beneath him. He blinks open green eyes, meeting Peter’s equally confused gaze. Or, well.. he thinks it's still Peter. The face is right, but the eyes peering back at him are gold rings in seas of green. 

“Peter?” 

“Mr. Strange?” 

Their voices have a strange, muffled echo in this place. The two wizards spend a long moment in silence, until Peter once again breaks it. 

“Where are we? What happened?” 

“I.. don’t know. I was in the Cage, and then…” Stephen winces as a throbbing headache washes over him. He lays back on the mostly solid darkness beneath them, rubbing his face. 

“Where is everyone else?” The growing fear is audible in the boy’s voice. 

Stephen is reminded that the wizard next to him is only seventeen, in an era without the wars, the Burns, the fear. He sits himself back up, reaching to put a comforting hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Try to stay calm, I’m sure this is just a spell gone wrong somewhere. We’ll find a way out of here.” 

He tries not to shiver as those strange eyes look at him, so very out of place in that face. Emotionless eyes in a worried face. The forehead wrinkles make a vain effort to thaw them. 

“I promise.” Stephen assures the boy. He hopes he’s not lying. “Why don’t we rest here for a bit, and then worry about leaving? It seems safe enough here.” 

Peter looks around them again, at the darkness. 

“Yeah… okay.” 

. . . 

Six warring factions. A universe torn apart, unraveling in clawed hands. Blue scales, bloodied and cracked. Screams of agony drowned out by hideous, grating laughter. A golden star split in six, falling from the sky as everything goes silent. A feathered serpent bathed in purple light, going dark. 

Green and orange become grey as in its final moments, a dragon curls around a tattered blanket shimmering with stars, breathing it’s final breath into the satin fabric. 

One by one, the tiny lights begin to go out. 

Six frozen figures, trapped in the Void. Soulless statues, looming over the bubble of Time. 

Golden insignias glow on belly scales, over five hearts. The sixth is in the center of the largest of seven eyes, on the largest of six statues. Watching. Waiting. 

A triangular core shifts from blue to gold. Chocolate brown eyes become green. Green magic becomes a deep purple. An Oracle surges red. A blue staff holds orange power. Darkness in deep waters is illuminated by blue light. 

A celestial clock begins counting backwards. 

Peter is pulled from his restless sleep by something soft batting at his face. As he floats back to consciousness, a rumbling can be heard and felt in his chest, by something warm sitting on top of it. Peeling open tired eyes, he finds a pair of huge and round green ones staring back at him, a soft paw continuing to tap his nose. He smiles softly, reaching to pet the fuzzy figure, as he would in the morning. 

Then he remembers where he is. His eyes snap back open, looking at the familiar sitting on his chest. “Loki?!” 

The cat chirps happily at him in response, in a ‘hi dad!’. 

The boy can only stare incredulously, mouth agape. 

Loki sticks a furry paw into his mouth. 

As Peter coughs and splutters, Stephen wakes up next to him, lifting his head. 

“What is it?” Bleary eyes grow wide as the mass on top of Peter turns to look at him, “Oh my Malek, what is that?” 

“This is uh, my familiar, Loki,” Peter explains, still petting the Maine coon. 

Loki squeaks in greeting. 

Stephen squints, “...Oh, is that a cat? I can’t tell in the darkness.” 

“Yeah, he’s a big black cat.” Peter turns his attention back to the already purring familiar, “What are you doing here, bud? Did you hitch a ride in my shirt?” 

The cat cuddles against him, seeming plenty happy to be here, wherever ‘here’ is. 

Stephen moves to sit up, looking around them at the darkness again, letting Peter rest for a bit longer. He gets up, stepping to explore a bit into the strange void around them. 

He stays close to Peter, keeping a close ear on the boy and his familiar as they fall back asleep. Even glancing at the exhausted-looking boy reminds him of how absurd this all is. 

None of this was supposed to happen. Not to a boy, a teenager barely starting to learn the Arts. 

He should protect Peter. After all, this is all his fault. 

All of this is his fault. 

He stops, blinking, realizing he’s wandered far from the boy. He turns back to face the way he came from, trying to pick out Peter in the darkness, finding he can’t see any sign of the boy or his familiar. 

Starting to walk back the way he came, he feels his feet begin to sink into the void below him, pulling him down, slowing him like walking through tar. He sinks deeper the more he struggles to keep moving, the void wrapping around his legs, his waist, his wrists. His heartbeat speeds up as he starts to panic. 

The Void shifts to feel like a mix of scales and feathers around him, a painful jolt going up through his sling ring. He winces, trying to look. 

Purple fills his vision. 

Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let us out. Let Us Out. Let us out. Let us out. Let Us Out. Let us out. Let us out. Let Us Out. Let us out. Let us out. Let Us Out. Let us out. Let us out. Let Us Out. LET US OUT. LET US OUT. LET US OUT. LET US OUT. LET US OUT. LET US OUT. LET US OUT. LET US OUT. LET US OUT. LET US OUT. LET US OUT. LET US OUT. LET US OUT. LET US OUT. LET US OUT. LET US OUT. LET US OUT. LET US OUT. LET US OUT, LET US OUT, LET US OUT LET US OUT LET US OUT LETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUTLETUSOUT

LET 

US 

OUT

Stephen sits bolt upright, gasping for air, vibrant purple eyes darting around frantically around them. 

He finds himself in a tent. A familiar tent. 

His tent. 

A noise nearby tells him Peter’s here too. He relaxes a bit as looking to his right confirms it, the boy curled up around his fluffy familiar. They’re both asleep. 

A soft green glow peeks from behind Peter’s eyelids. 

Familiar ashy air fills his lungs as he takes a breath and gets up from the cot he’s in. A soft smile comes to his face. A confident smile. 

He knows exactly where he is. 

This is his home. 

This is the camp of Tempor. 

He looks back at Peter and Loki, blinking as he watches the fluffy cat begin to shift. Long fur begins to shrink, a fluffy form slimming and elongating into something with coils. As he watches, the big black cat becomes a long python, iridescent black with white lips and a white belly. Bright green eyes catch the dim light of the lantern on the floor next to them. 

The now reptile slowly lifts its head, turning to look at him, offering a lazy tongue flick. 

Stephen slowly blinks back. Pulling himself from his confusion, he looks down at himself, realizing despite being set back in time, he’s still an adult, the cloak around his shoulders and the sling ring on his fingers. 

“We’re here to fix something.. but what is it?” He mumbles to himself. He steps toward the entrance of the tent, pulling back the flap. 

The dirt beneath his feet shifts as a wave rumbles across the area around the tent. In front of him, tall buildings block out the sky… for only a moment. Another tremor washes over his surroundings, a deafening crack echoing as the ground splits near his feet, tracing its way toward the city, the tall silhouettes shaking before one of them falls. The huge building crumples, folding into itself, a plume of dust and smoke joining the smog hanging in the air. 

Stephen can hear faint screaming coming from the city, the dark sky flashing red as a fire reaches high, the color even cutting through the thick smog. He reflexively covers his face at the flash, ducking back inside the tent as the shockwave rolls out from the city. 

Peter is sitting up by now, rubbing bleary eyes. “Mm.. where are we..? What happened?” 

They both startle as another tremor shakes the tent, throwing Stephen off balance. 

“What’s going on?” Peter looks around the tent with those unnatural eyes. 

“We’re in the End Times,” Stephen slowly realizes, “Before the Burns. This is what caused everything to stop.” 

“An earthquake?” 

Stephen hits the ground as a violent tremor accompanies another cracking of earth outside. Peter crawls over to help him sit back up, subconsciously checking the older wizard for wounds. Said older wizard bats the questioning hands away. 

“This can’t just be an earthquake.” Stephen mumbles, jumping as he feels the black python slither up around his leg. 

“Why are we here? Are we supposed to stop it?” An expressive face creases in worry around stiff eyes. 

Stephen moves to answer, mouth opening… when Peter blinks. And he feels time flicker. Pause, for just that instant. Nearly not enough to be noticeable. 

Sitting up straighter, he looks Peter in the face, brow creased with newfound confusion and concentration. “...Do that again.” 

“Do what?” An eyebrow raises. 

“Blink. Close your eyes.” 

“Okay….” Confused, Peter still does what he’s told, closing his eyes. 

And the constant rumbling beneath their feet stops. The screaming is cut short, paused at its height. Even the wind is caught mid-step, frozen tugging at the flaps of the tent. 

Stephen reaches toward the flaps of the tent, finding the fabric moves easily when he’s touching it, but freezes as soon as he lets go. Inklings of purple flicker around his hands, up his scars. 

“...Kid?” 

“Mm?” 

“I think.. I know how we’re going to fix things,” He looks back at Peter. 

“Can I open my eyes for you to tell me?” 

“Oh, yes, sorry, you can.” 

The boy opens his eyes, and Time around them resumes, throwing them back into the thick of the tremors. 

Loki tucks into Stephen's shirt, the tail sticking out from under the hem of his shirt.

They lean against each other, waiting silently for the tremors to pass. 

“...Okay, how are we gonna fix everything?” The smaller form eventually asks, when the earth has once again gone naturally quiet. 

“Can you Spirit Walk?” A pause, “I’m going to guess not, based off that look.” 

“I have absolutely no idea what that is.” 

“It’s fairly easy, I can teach you. It’s like.. lucid dreaming, but you’re still on this plane of existence.” 

“Huh.. And I can just start doing that?” 

“Well, there’s two ways to start. Years of practice, or..” Stephen pauses, feeling that blinding headache he felt for so long suddenly return, if only for a moment, as his skin crawls, two voices whispering in the back of his mind. He shudders, shaking his head to clear it, finding Peter is looking at him with concern. 

“Sorry. I’m fine,” He reassures the boy, “It’s either years of practice, or having someone break the barrier between the planes for your Soul, so you have a longer tie between your body and Soul.” 

Stephen’s chest aches where his own tether used to be as Peter speaks. 

“I’m guessing we don’t have time for practice?” The young wizard smiles wishfully. 

“Unfortunately, no,” A partial grimace accompanies the words, “But I can break that barrier for you, so don’t worry. We just need something to tie you to this plane…” Looking around, he feels keeled scales slide across his torso. He looks down his shirt. 

Bright green eyes stare back. 

“Perfect,” He smiles at the snake, “Nothing’s better to tie than something both sentient and portable.” 

A hiss comes from his shirt. 

“Um, why do we need to tie me to Loki?” Peter looks confused. 

“So that way I can fix what’s going on on this side of the plane, the Physical side, while you fix what’s on the Astral side of the plane,” He explains, “And, this way I can more easily make sure your tie to your body doesn’t get cut. I can’t exactly carry around an unconscious teenager and be productive, you know.” 

“Aw, why not?” Peter pouts jokingly, “I’m not that heavy.” 

“Kid, I guarantee you currently weigh more than I do.” The older wizard rolls his eyes, a hint of a smile tugging at cracked lips. “This way I don’t have to worry about you in the Burns, either.” 

“I guess that makes sense.. Probably safer here than out there,” Peter mumbles. 

“In about twenty four hours, I guarantee neither of us will make it out there for very long.” 

. . . 

~They aim to destroy us. 

/No! They Will Free Us. 

~Mortals cannot be trusted with our fate. The first ones failed us, why will these ones not? 

)They desire to save their own world… Surely they will do what is necessary…

~The small one holds the keys. It has already taken two from us. It will take more. 

/It Will Give Back, What It Has Taken And More. 

>Patience, my sibling. They will return to us. We will see the light soon. 

~They have destroyed the Light! They cannot rebuild it! 

)If the Light is gone… surely we would have ceased… 

>The Light is merely shrouded, young ones. Have faith in It. We will have control once again. 

~It crumbles beneath us. The Light will not last much longer. We can all feel it. 

/Yet Their World Still Turns. 

)The powers wane… but it will not go out… The Light and the Eyes will not abandon us… 

>Precisely. The Elders will not abandon all that is made. We must wait and see. 

~Too long spent waiting! We should interfere. 

/Do Not Be Hasty. 

>Listen to your better half, my sibling. My Eyes are ensuring all goes as it should. We will not be sealed away this time. 

~That is what you claim each cycle. 

/The Cycle Is Our Own Fault To Begin With. We Created It, We Must Allow It To Be Broken. It Will Repeat Until We Do That. 

)The Guardian harbors the wrong powers… The Oracle should possess the Light… Perhaps if we- 

~That was tried already, it did nothing! The Guardian always Falls. We should ensure it does not encounter them. 

/It Will Not Realize Its Purpose That Way. 

>We do not determine whether it does or doesn’t. Let this timeline play out. The Clock will correct anything we meddle with. It always does. 

~We should not have to wait so long for things to only be reset. 

/That Is How It Has Been For Eons Now. We Must Not Lose Sight Of Our Plans. 

)You seek to destroy what I’ve made… It’s unlikely any of the Elders will truly allow it… 

>I will not destroy it, dear sibling. I aim to improve it~

)... 

)They are once again progressing… We should pay attention… 

. . . 

Stephen is focusing very hard, sitting in front of an equally focused Peter. Scarred and dirty hands are pressing on either side of the younger boy’s forehead, thumbs pressed to his temples. 

“Are you ready? This is gonna hurt,” Stephen warns once more, just as nervous as the boy himself. 

“Yeah, just get it over with, we need to get moving,” Peter huffs at him, shifting anxiously. His eyes are firmly closed. 

“Okay. Three, two,” Stephen takes a breath, closing his eyes and sending a jolt of intense magic to his fingers, shocking the boy’s system. He grimaces as Peter cries out in pain and tries to thrash away. As soon as the jolt soaks back into his other hand, completing the circuit, he pulls his hands away and turns his attention to making sure Peter is okay, muttering desperate apologies. 

Peter leans back and curls up on the floor, gripping his head and gritting his teeth in pain, groaning. Orange streaks flash through his vision as his ears ring, drowning everything around him out. 

“Kid? Peter? Are you okay?” Stephen worries over him, bringing him up to rest against his chest, checking him over. Purple eyes are full of intense worry, looking over the young wizard. He tries to help calm the writhing boy, flickers of gentle purple magic curling around his head. 

Peter settles a bit after a few tense moments, resting against him, breathing evening back out. 

As the orange lightning flickering across his vision fades, Peter finds himself standing in the tent. He looks around, confused for a moment, startling as he sees Stephen holding him on the floor. He looks down at his hands, finding that he’s now semi-transparent, his feet half sunk into the floor below him. A subtle green aura outlines him. 

Taking another look around, he sees a similar aura around Stephen, a deep purple, the environment noticeably lacking color, still and silent. Stephen moves slowly, a single second stretched long, unnaturally so. He doesn’t seem to notice Peter standing there, hunched over his body. 

Looking at the scene in front of him, Peter finds seeing his body there is unsettling. 

“I really do look dead, huh?” He nervously laughs to himself, starting to regret this decision. 

A meow by his feet brings his attention to Loki. Or well… a version of Loki. His familiar is in the form he knows best, a large black cat, though he now looks more like a panther, coming up easily to his hip, still fluffy as ever. Large green eyes meet his gaze. 

He reaches out to touch his companion, finding with surprise that he can touch and feel the warm fur. Loki pushes his large head into the hand. 

“You here to help me out, bud?” Peter feels himself relax a bit. 

The panther chuffs in response, eyes closing happily with the continued head pets. 

On his back, a line of orange fur peeks from under his shirt collar, surrounded by deep green scales. 

Peter is distracted from giving his adoration by the panther looking him in the eyes.. and speaking. With Stephen’s voice. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m okay. Can you.. hear me?” He leans toward his familiar. 

“Oh thank Malek, you’re alive in there! I thought the break killed you,” Relief fills Stephen’s voice. 

“It hurt, but I’m okay. I think.” He looks down at his hands, put off by the translucency of his body. “How do I get back?”

“Just touch your physical body to return to it. I’ve tied you to your familiar too, so you can find and touch them to return to your body too. You should be able to move between planes freely now.” Stephen-Loki explains. 

“Okay… How are you talking to me?” Peter pets the large cat again. 

“Through the bond between you and your familiar. Loki, you said his name was? It seems strong. Anyway, I’ve found Familiars can act like radios between planes. Maybe I’ll show you my notes sometime.” 

Too late. Always too late. 

“He looks different in here.” 

“They take different forms depending on their surroundings and the time period.” 

“Oh.” He looks over the big cat in front of him, petting the soft black fur. 

The long black tail waves happily. 

“Why don’t you come back for now and we can work out a plan?” 

“Okay, yeah,” Peter looks around him, at the almost paused physical world he’s vaguely seeing. He quickly picks out the figures of his body and Stephen sitting on the floor, and moves to touch his own shoulder. 

Orange consumes his vision again as a cool Soul meets warm flesh. 

Soul Notes, 23/12/XX 

The Astral Plane is strange. Every Soul walks it fairly frequently, it's where we go when we sleep. Some meditate and can reach it, others use spells to break the natural tie keeping the Soul close to the body. 

Some old folktales in this library tell of people who spent too long in the Astral plane. Souls corrupted by outside forces, or consumed by whatever lurks out there. There’s plenty of stories of Soul Stealers and Face Takers, demons in the Astral Plane that trap and eat wandering, Untethered Souls, or take over bodies and walk around, stealing identities. 

There’s the odd mention here and there of a phenomenon known as “Consumption”, which seems to have something to do with being in the Astral Plane for too long. None of the records I’ve found are complete about this phenomenon. It coincides with frequent drawings of odd, half-man-half beasts, and dragons of different shapes and sizes. Incomplete records of men going mad from something on the other side, warping and coming back as monsters overnight. Growing fangs, feathers, claws… Nothing but rumors, really, rural legends like werewolves or vampires. Tricks of the night lights putting superstitious farmers on edge. 

Probably nothing, if the few records I’ve found mean anything. But more research never hurts. 

I’ll keep digging. 

If anyone sees this, note that my notes on this subject are also incomplete, as I’ve never encountered the Astral Plane in these ways, or any creatures in my dreams like these accounts claim to have seen. 

• S.S. 

Soul Notes, 25/12/XX 

I’ve found more accounts of creatures that roam the Astral Plane. Horrifying, vaguely humanoid abominations. Shadows, really, shifting in and out of existence. Anthony claims these drawings are over dramatic depictions of ancient Familiars. I’m skeptical these creatures exist at all, it makes no sense for these collections of energy to be sentient, much less hostile… 

Anthony tells me he’s met these creatures before, when he was young. However, his memories are hazy of these experiences. I can only hope they’re as tame as he recalls. 

Animalistic shapes, beastly shapes, almost human shapes… Souls ripped apart in dreams, bodies snatched away by demons. It’s uncanny, intimidating, these half-finished journals about these monsters. I believe some of these pages are stained with blood… 

It seems like the longer one spends in the Astral Plane, the more at risk they are of losing their ties to the physical world. “Consumption” is known as some kind of disease, without a cure. Men driven to madness from the Other Side, perhaps even consumed by their Familiars? There are accounts of Familiars turning on their partners, I wonder if there’s correlation. Can a Familiar sense corruption in their partner’s Soul? 

Souls seem more fragile than I first thought, yet very powerful in the Astral Plane. Magic there is a trade off, I’ve observed in these texts. A wizard is more powerful in the Astral Plane, but his Soul is vulnerable to disease and consumption. 

Perhaps I will perform my own research at some point. But for now, Anthony is calling me, we must head back to camp before it gets dark. 

Perhaps I will write my own notes on the peculiarities of the Burns in the future. 

• S.S. 

“Peter? You back?” Stephen’s voice and blurry form above him greets Peter as he wakes. 

“...Yeah, I’m back..” He brings dirty hands up to rub his eyes, “Ow.” 

“Are you alright? The break didn’t hurt you too much, did it?” Shaky fingers check over the boy’s face. Peter bats the hands away. 

“I’m okay, just a headache,” He huffs softly. 

A vague tremor goes through them, vibrating up through the ground. The smell of smoke and ash seeps through the tent flaps. 

Peter closes his eyes again, and everything stops once again, even the air he coughs freezing in front of his face. “So.. what’s the plan?” 

“The Burning started in the middle of the city.. If we go into the center plaza, that’ll be a good place to start.” 

“Okay,” Peter nods, sitting up, “And we’ll somehow stop this big disaster from happening?” 

“Hopefully.” 

The boy takes a deep breath, carefully getting up, feeling around for the cot and sitting down on it. “Then let’s go.” He slowly lies back down. 

“Are you sure you’re up for it right now?” 

“No use putting it off, right? Long as my eyes are closed we’ve got all the time in the world.” 

“I… suppose..” 

“Are you ready? We can take a bit to rest,” Peter offers. 

“No, no it’s alright. Just try to stay close to me when you’re on the other side, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

Stephen watches the young wizard take a deep breath, and relax rather forcefully back into sleep. He looks at the python now lounging around his neck. 

“Ready to go save the world?” 

The snake gives a lazy tongue flick in response. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Getting up, the ancient wizard dusts off his clothes, and steps back out of the tent. 

The world around the tent is shrouded in ash and smog, an ugly, desaturated yellow engulfing both worlds. It’s nearly impossible to see, Stephen’s eyes and lungs stinging with the fresh embers around him. Squinting, he covers his mouth and nose with his shirt, and moves toward the city, currently only made out by the backlighting of an eruption of bright red and orange, silhouetting the spires that towered above the city. 

Peter, likewise, tries to squint through the smog, finding the somewhat greyed-out world hard to navigate, even with the large panther at his side. He decides sticking next to Stephen is his best option, moving with the blurry form of the older wizard toward the city. 

. 

.

.

They eventually find themselves within the city itself, the steady light of the eruption at the center bathing everything in an eerie light. Skin crawls with unease as they make their way deeper through the streets. 

They pass people frozen in time, running from the quickly spreading disaster, clutching their belongings or families. The streets have caved into the deep chasms that opened, practically folding the city in on itself. Magma glows at the bottom of these chasms, gaping maws with jagged teeth below their feet. 

Occasionally, as they make their way deeper, they both catch glimpses of movements out of the corners of their eyes. Flashes of red skin and long tails, of glowing red eyes and horns. Something is here too. Many somethings. None of them friendly. 

Strangely, Stephen feels his nerves calm the closer they get to the center plaza. This is familiar, something he's done dozens of times. Deep in his mind, he knows what's ahead. 

He can only spare a moment to puzzle over the bizarre deja vu before something drops on him from behind, long claws raking through the thick red fabric of the Cloak and into his back. Yelling in pain, he whirls around to meet his attacker, a magic whip crackling with purple electricity snapping out from his hands, snapping across the face of the demon. 

It screeches, staggering back and clutching its face. Almost instinctually, Stephen shifts the whip into a sword, plunging it into the demon's chest. Its form freezes, then shatters like glass. 

Peter finds himself suddenly face to face with a monster, something slimy and red, a cross between a centipede and an eel. Loki is nowhere to be found as it lunges for him without hesitation. Peter lunges out of the way, rolling and sprinting toward the center of the city. 

He can hear more creatures forming behind him as he runs. 

Stephen cuts down the imps that attack him with practiced ease, eyes aglow with power. 

Not this time. Is his only thought. 

Peter reaches the plaza first, skidding to a stop feet from the eruption frozen in time, magma caught mid-air from the gaping vent that currently consumes where he knows the fountain to be. Behind him, a chorus of screeches and moans, a thundering of hundreds of footsteps, is gaining. 

Stephen calmly makes his way to a spot nearby, purple lightning flickering around his body, glowing purple sword still held tightly in hand. His clothes and skin are soaked in black blood. Glowing purple eyes peer from a face contorted with rage. 

Stepping closer to the center of the column of red and orange, two figures step out of it, both familiar, one on each Plane. One tall and sleek, the other shorter and bedraggled. Two pairs of eyes, both bright red, stare back at them. 

May grins at Stephen with sharp teeth, "I was wondering when you'd show." 

Stephen snarls back, "I should have known it was all your doing." 

"Not mine, dear Guardian. Candor himself has blessed me, to do his bidding." Clawed hands reach toward the sky as she once again shifts, into that sharp reptilian form. 

Purple eyes pick out the inconsistencies in this form. A snarl slowly shifts into an uncanny smile. 

"You are such a naive demon." 

Stephen lunges for the body-snatching demon that stands before him. It catches his sword with its teeth, twisting him to one side. He lunges again, both parties snarling, red and purple clashing with an explosion of sparks and electricity. 

“Unfortunate you see through my disguise,” The thing hisses, snapping at his face. 

He jerks back, set off balance, blocking the barrage of claws and teeth as he backs up. Eventually, he regains his footing, pushing back against the demon. 

“The real Candor wouldn’t stoop to such levels,” He hisses, lunging for it again, plunging his sword forward. 

The demon slips back around him, spiny tail wrapping up around his legs, throwing him to the ground. He wheezes for breath as the demon pins him down, holding off the wide jaws over his face with his sword. 

A triangular core glows a sickly red as the thing that was once Tony glares at Peter, black feathers sprouting from pale skin, his face contorted into a twisted mix of bird and human. A thick black liquid drips from his beak. 

Peter steps back, mouth agape in horror. "Mr. Starkest?" 

An unnerving, guttural noise comes from the thing, taloned feet staggering slowly toward him, beady red eyes fixed on his face. Peter takes a step back for every step it takes forward. 

“...Clo...ck…” It rasps, raising a twisted hand to point with bizarrely scaled fingers. Peter feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

“Tony?” He silently begs for all of this to be a dream, feeling burning tears trying to force their way forward. 

It stops, and so does Peter. A wave of hope washes over him, and he opens his mouth to speak to it again. 

He’s interrupted by a roar as Loki lunges out over him, landing squarely on the creature. A mix of gargled screaming and growling erupts as Loki tears into it, black fur rippling with bright green energy. 

“No!” Peter shakes himself out of his moment of shock, lunging to try and pry his familiar off his mentor, wrapping his arms around the panther and heaving back to flip them both onto their backs. Loki thrashes in his arms, growling and hissing. He can only close his eyes and hang on, hoping his mentor is still alive. Warm, thick liquid seeps down his arms, into his shirt, onto his face. 

He yelps in pain as he feels Loki’s teeth in one hand, forced to let go, eyes snapping open. His familiar jumps to its feet above him, roaring at the bleeding figure above them. Relief takes over as he sees the thing standing there… though the feeling is quickly replaced with fear and horror as it lunges. 

Stephen manages to wrench the reptilian demon to one side and roll away, jumping back to his feet, feeling magic flooding through his veins. 

“This is as it should be, Guardian,” The demon hisses, “Do not interfere anymore. We both know it will not work.” 

“The Burning was never supposed to happen,” Stephen spits back, “You doomed us all, and for what?” 

“We merely start the cycle, Guardian,” It lunges for him again, snapping at him as he dodges, “You are the one who perpetuates it.” 

Cycle? Something stirs in the back of Stephen’s mind at the word, giving him pause. As he hesitates, the demon snaps again, sinking long teeth into his arm. He yells in pain, wrenching painfully away, ripping open his forearm, having to switch the hand holding the sword as blood pours. 

Peter shoves Loki out of the way as the creature lunges, its beak sinking into his side. He yelps, twisting away, clutching the newly opened gash in his side, glowing red blood dripping through his fingers. 

“Tony, please!” He begs, barely dodging another attack from the creature while making sure Loki doesn’t lunge. 

He screams as a sharp yet warped beak plunges into his chest. He sees it pull away as Loki lunges before everything goes dark. 

Stephen grits his teeth, fighting back one-handed, albeit in vain. The demon forces him back, landing blow after blow on the wizard. He feels the power that had overcome him all this time begin to wain. 

No. Not again. Not this time. Please. 

The demon lunges, snapping at his throat as he loses his balance. He feels teeth sink in, first to something else, and then his own flesh. 

Peter feels something in his chest snap as he drops into unconsciousness, through the dull throb of the newfound hole. 

“...Clock…” 

Stephen is plunged into darkness as blinding pain overwhelms him. 

“See you again soon, Guardian.” 

. . . 

Stephen is the first to wake, gasping and sitting up, clutching at his throat. Darkness surrounds him, the floor rolling under his movements. 

Back here again. The thought stirs the back of his mind in that way again. He takes a moment to puzzle over it, before shaking his head, looking around him. Lying nearby is Peter, on his side. The boy’s form is hazy, almost transparent. Stephen has to squint to see him clearly. 

“Kid? You okay?” He scoots to be next to the young wizard, hand stopping mid-reach as he feels something’s wrong. 

He reaches for his throat again, but not for the wound that was there a moment ago. For familiar keeled scales. 

For a Familiar that isn’t there anymore. 

Oh no. 

He reaches to shake Peter’s shoulder, “Peter? Are you okay?” 

There’s no response for a long moment, before the boy shifts and groans. Stephen breathes a sigh of relief, sitting back again. Turning his back to Peter to guard him, he lets his mind wander after a bit of silence, it quickly going back to that strange feeling of deja vu. 

Cycle… what did it mean by cycle? 

Something tugs at his mind, telling him he knows more, there’s things he should remember… but what? How? He’s only been here, in this Void, twice now, right? 

… Right? 

He closes his eyes and moves to shake his head, wanting to clear his thoughts. 

He freezes mid-shake. 

No. 

Not only twice. 

So many more times than that. 

You know this. 

You knew. 

You’ve always known. 

Green eyes snap open, circles of gold filling them. 

Ancient locks are opened. 

And all at once, there’s so much more. 

Every time he’s been here. 

Every time he’s met Peter. 

Every time he’s met Tony. 

Every time he’s died. 

Every time he’s lived, and everyone else died. 

Every single time. Any of it. All of it.

Hundreds… Thousands of times. All of these lives flash before his eyes, all at once, filling his mind as previously locked doors fly open. The Void is as much part of him as he’s part of it. He’s done this all before, with all the knowledge of his previous attempts. It would always reset the same way. He had always known what had happened the last time, there was never… any of this. 

He had never met Peter before this time. Tony.. Tony was never missing like this. 

None of this is right. Not anymore. Not this time. 

Something is wrong. 

He and Anthony had always done this together… They had done everything together. 

Where is he? 

Another image flashes in his mind, this of a familiar shape, twisted, gruesome, leaking black blood from unnatural wounds. A face stretched, torn, bone exposed in a gruesome imitation of a bird’s beak, teeth and gums exposed. Eyes are sunken into sockets, bloodshot, pupils cloudy. Hands are twisted backward, fingers lengthened into bony, bloody talons. Black feathers sprout painfully from sickly grey skin. Torn vocal chords try to call out to him in that instant. 

“Ste...phen…” 

He almost catches himself reaching toward the vision, chest tightening with pain and desperation. 

“Anthony?” He blinks, and the vision is gone, leaving him staring once again into the Void. Shaking his head, he tries to focus back on his newly regained memories, trying to ignore the pain in his chest and mind. 

More memories come back to him, slower, in waves. Of all the good, the bad… of everything he’s done. 

One memory is especially painful, causing him to flinch away. He swallows hard as flickers of the worst timeline cross his mind. Of his hands, covered in blood, but it's not his. A sparking core going dark as dark red soaks into ash. A dark laughter from overcast skies, acid rain beginning to fall. His back, burning from deep wounds. 

Stephen staggers to his feet as the memories overwhelm him, turning back toward Peter, "Peter, I-" 

The thing standing in front of him wasn't Peter, not anymore. Canines are long and curved, somewhat dull teeth have sharpened, a short tongue lengthened and split. Antlers protrude from its head, ears long and pointed, its face wrinkled in a permanent snarl from it's long teeth. Scales cover once tan skin, claws where fingernails used to be. Flat feet have lengthened and bent to become toe-walking, a long tail made to balance its stance. Once brown hair is now bright orange, lining its back. Bright, golden halos circle its throat and body. 

Cold green eyes meet his, golden circles lined with ancient runes slowly turning over seas of green. 

"We have let you try this for too long. Now, we will fix this ourselves."