Blind Eyes

Part One -- After All 

"C'mon, hurry up! The moons are almost up." 

"Remind me again why your favorite spot is all the way out here?" 

"You'll see when you get up here." 

Stephen is somewhat yanked the rest of the way up the pile of rubble by ashy hands, stumbling, reaching to hang onto Tony's ratty shirt. 

"Jeez, calm down, what is it you want to show me?" 

"Just come ooonnn!" The older teen groans at him, dragging him across the plateau of the rubble, "The clouds are clearing, you're gonna miss it!" 

"Miss what? I'm coming, Anthony, you don't have to drag me," Stephen huffs at him, following him in the darkness. 

"Just come here and look!" 

The two stumble to the highest point of the unnatural hill, Tony dragging Stephen down to sit beside him, looking toward the sky. 

Tony points, "There! Watch!" 

Dull green eyes turn toward the sky, widening as they see the three moons all at once. As he watches, the largest moon, named Tempor, silver and grey, is overlapped by the two smaller moons. The blue moon, named Dormammu, and the red moon, named Candor, eclipse their larger sister, one at a time, the twin moons held close together in the sky.

A small gasp escapes Stephen as he watches, the two sitting in silence and awe for a while. Eventually, Stephen speaks up again. 

"Yeah, I see why this is your favorite spot." 

"Told ya," Tony grins at him, leaning into him for a moment. 

"How often does that happen?" 

"Once every few years I think. But I guess it doesnt matter for us, huh?" 

"Right, yeah... I forgot about that." 

Solemn silence wraps around the teenagers. 

"....Do you think we're supposed to keep the Burning from happening?" 

"Maybe? I don't know what's causing this loop." Stephen mumbles, subconsciously reaching for Tony's hand. "I hope we can find a way out of it soon." 

"At least we get more time together this way," Tony jokes, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "We'll fix it. I just know it." 

Stephen hums, still unsure, letting the vibrations echo into the darkness around them. 

"Hey, trust me, it'll be okay." Tony assures him, resting his head on his shoulder, "If we can survive what lead up to the loop, we can take whatever's in it." 

"I hope you're right.." 

"I'm always right, baby." 

Stephen snorts, cracking a smile, "I'd love to see where it says that." 

"The certificate is back at camp, I can totally show it to you when we get back." Tony insists, grinning at his taller companion. 

Stephen shakes his head in amusement as a more comfortable silence falls over them. 

"And after all this, we'll have forever, right?" Scarred fingers are interlaced with soot-covered ones under a starry sky. 

"Yeah, forever." Distant starlight is reflected in blue and dull green eyes, the darkness hiding hopeful smiles.

. . .

A celestial clock stops ticking as blind eyes stare blankly at a decrepit sanctum ceiling. Lungs take a shuddering breath as a core growls back to life. Bones ache and muscles are tense as an ancient body begins to move again. Dusty vocal chords groan, the sound muffling in thick layers of dust around and on the old body. 

Anthony Starkrest manages to shift to be sitting up, rubbing his face, feeling bruising around his eyes with skeletal fingers. His skin is cold, coated in dust, like he’s been dead, here, for years. 

The smells of mold and rot surround him, faint scuttling of hundreds of tiny feet able to be heard all around him. It’s cold, damp, reeking of ancient parchment and dead things. 

He jumps as something long scuttles, slithers across his feet. Something slim, climbing up one of his legs, three pairs of fin-like limbs tapping as tiny talons lightly grip his pants, and a moment later, his shirt, his face. These tiny talons grip his face, a long, slender nose rubbing across his face before it seems to curl around his shoulders. He tries to reach and feel whatever it is, but his fingers only meet his shirt and shoulders. 

It’s okay. You are okay. 

This overwhelming feeling of comfort keeps him calm, his shoulders feeling warm with the lingering presence of that tiny creature. He moves to stand, slowly rising on shaky, creaky legs. Both the rotting floorboards underneath him and his knees and ankles groan in protest. 

As he reaches out in front of him, unfamiliar with his surroundings, lungs filling rhythmically with dusty, mildew-ridden air, his mind has one overhanging thought. 

Where’s Stephen? 

He moves creaky joints, slow and staggering, almost zombie-like as he moves through the surprisingly empty building. Cold drops of water hit ragged and thin clothes, quickly soaking through the fabric. The silence is only interrupted by the creaking of the floorboards under his feet and the dull puttering of his core. 

He wanders aimlessly, feet feeling the uneven flooring, a strange mix of rotting floorboards, rocks and sand, and long-dry, brittle sea plants. Bare feet pick out the familiar shapes from wading at a beach or through a river, stones and plants. Some parts are damp, from the leaks he’s starting to pick out all around him. 

As he slowly comes back to himself, he can pick up his senses again, tuning in to his surroundings more and more as he gets his bearings back. 

Along with his senses, the dripping all around him, the crunching beneath his feet.. a tug is in his chest, faint but warm, draws him deeper through the temple. 

“Peter,” Stephen starts, watching the thing in front of him carefully, “Let’s not do anything rash-“ 

“QUIET!” The creature hisses, voice booming throughout the Void, “You have no jurisdiction anymore. You are a False Guardian, a failure.” It lunges for him, grabbing his throat with long claws, slamming him to the ground. Long teeth hover inches from his face as the thing growls, “Certainly no Guardian of mine.” 

Purple eyes widen with a choked “Agomotto?”

Stephen winces as the claws around his throat tighten with a snarl from the creature above him. 

“You have no right to speak our name anymore. None of you mere mortals do. Disgraceful, useless.” Agomotto stands back up, lifting the old wizard up by his throat. Stephen grits his teeth in pain, reaching up to try and get himself free. 

“We should show you what you’ve done to us.” 

The figure holding him up is getting blurrier by the second as Stephen gasps for air. He panics as he sees bright green magic be conjured in front of him, squirming and kicking to try and get out of the vice grip around his throat. 

He can feel the twisted smile seconds before white-hot energy rips through him, tearing something from him suddenly and painfully. 

A scream echoes throughout the Void, one voice becoming two. 

Purple energy sparks and explodes outward in an artificial supernova, engulfing the two figures. 

Peter gasps for air, sitting upright, gripping his chest, still feeling the fading sting of the open wound that’s no longer there. He swallows hard, heart pounding in his chest. Around him, grey eyes pick out nothing, the area around him a deep darkness, a void even beyond the Void.

Taking a moment to compose himself, he manages to get to shaky feet, looking for someplace to go. He can’t feel anything around him, his skin is cold, tingling, searching for something to touch, any kind of pressure. There’s nothing beneath his feet either, somehow walking on something less than air. 

The feeling around him is uncanny… He feels himself starting to panic again, the feeling in his chest starting to build. 

Where am I?

He tries to take a deep breath, feeling something fill his lungs, but it’s not air.. It’s almost air. All of this is almost the Void… but not. 

It’s less than the Void. 

Without realizing it, his feet have started moving on their own, beginning wandering aimlessly as his mind steps in the opposite direction. 

Anxious breathing evens out as grey eyes unfocus, feet moving rhythmically, the boy moving as if possessed. 

He can’t help but think about the Void, the Planes.. Stephen, Tony. MJ. Loki. The familiars. Everyone, everything he’s known, everything he’s learned, all of… 

All of what? 

Wandering feet stop dead in their tracks as a wandering mind does the same. He backtracks through his thoughts, grasping at vague feelings of the moments before. 

“You know what happens here,” A familiar voice speaks behind him, kind, but ragged, wheezy. 

He whips around, opening his mouth to call out to this voice, he finds… He doesn’t know who it belongs to. 

“No one really returns from this place,” Another voice, one he’s known for forever, smooth and mischievous, comes from his right. He turns to face it, reaching out, fingers brushing against a cold phantom, an image with all the right features he knows, long curly hair, roughed up clothes, tan skin. 

But no face. 

His fingers rip through the image, causing it to ripple and disappear. He staggers slightly, into where the image was just a moment ago. It looked so familiar.. It… 

What was it? 

Murky grey eyes dance around. Everything is… wrong. 

A shiver runs up his spine, fearful of what’s happening to him. 

I need to find help. There has to be someone here, right? It… it can’t just be me. 

He tries to focus on this thought, forcing himself to move with purpose now, striding through the darkness. 

“Hello?” He calls into the darkness, “Is anyone here?” 

It seems to swallow the sound whole, a thick black mist shrouding him, silencing his every step. 

“Hello?” He calls again, “My name is Peter Parker, can anyone hear me?” 

I am Peter Parker, I need your help. The thought echoes in his mind. 

I am Peter Parker, I’m 17. I am Peter Parker, I have a familiar named Loki. I am Peter Parker, I’m a wizard. I am Peter Parker, I have a mentor named… named… 

A shake of the head. 

“Is anyone in here with me?” 

Black down softens the sound. All he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears, his heart racing. 

I’m Peter Parker, I’m 17. I’m Peter Parker. I’m Peter Parker. I’m Peter Parker. I’m Peter Parker. 

“Hello? Can anyone help me?” 

I’m Peter Parker. I’m Peter Parker. I’m Peter Parker. I’m Peter Parker. I’m Peter Parker. I’m Peter Parker. I’m Peter Parker. I’m Peter Parker. I’m Peter Parker. I’m Peter Parker. I’m Peter Parker. I’m Peter Parker. I’m Peter Parker. I’m Peter Parker. I’m Peter Parker. I’m Peter Parker. 

I’m… 

Sprinting turns to jogging. Jogging turns to walking. Walking becomes still. 

Who am I? 

Slow, careful footsteps interrupt the silence as Tony makes his way through the labyrinthine temple. He’s gotten more comfortable with the terrain underfoot, steps even, one foot occasionally tapping in front of him while his hands search for walls around him. The deeper he heads, the less the air smells of mold and mildew, and the more it smells of dry decay, of dust and stone. The air around him has gotten colder step by step, causing him to shiver. 

He follows that tug in his chest for the most part, having to occasionally stop and begin wandering when the feeling fades. If he weren’t so focused on not dying down here, he’d have a much bigger problem with being led through the halls this way. 

After a while, his foot hits something, his face close behind. A thwack! Of face-on-wood echoes through the dusty chambers as he stumbles back, landing on the floor again. 

“Ow… What the hell?” He reaches to rub his face, leaning forward to try and touch what he ran into. 

Old, but polished wood meets his fingertips, dusty and cold. A familiar feeling. Leaning forward into the hand, he uses it to get to his feet, listening for the other sounds that should be there. Rustling of paper. Creaking of shelves. 

Instead, he finds this library eerily quiet. Too quiet. 

He frowns, slowly moving deeper into the library, fingertips brushing the dusty spines of the books. 

His fingertips catch the edges of a pile of scrolls, pulling them off the shelves… but he doesn’t hear them hit the ground after he pulls his hand away. He turns back toward the pulled scrolls, carefully reaching out to where one of them should be, mid-air, hand held upside down to hold the ancient paper. 

He soon finds it, the scroll hanging in mid-air.. but it falls into his hand as soon as he touches it. He frowns, holding his hand up, turning it over to drop the papyrus. He waits several seconds, listening for the tap of it hitting the ground. 

Only silence greets him. 

“Well that’s certainly not concerning at all…” He mumbles, taking a deep breath of musty air, taking a second to reason out in his mind what’s going on. 

It is okay. Do not worry about this. 

That tug returns, stronger this time, accompanying the reassurances in his mind. Bare feet unconsciously step to follow the tug. 

He doesn’t know why, but he knows this voice in his mind is trustworthy. Almost like it’s just another part of him, the part that would urge him to explore when he was young. The part that kept telling him, time and time again, to go down to the sea. 

A smooth marble wall meets his hands after a while. He blinks, having not realized he began wandering again. The tug in his chest pulls him forward, beckoning him beyond the wall in front of him. He moves across the wall, hands feeling for any inconsistencies within the smooth stone. 

Finding no doorknob, thin fingers instead catch the edge of a lip in the wall, causing him to stop. Bringing both hands to this dip, he curls his fingers around the edge of it, bracing back and pulling. 

An ancient door, long sealed, cracks and creaks open, stone grating on stone. 

Stephen comes to suddenly, green eyes snapping open. Cold sand cushions his form, green embers in the darkness of the Void. Reaching to use the purple wall beside him to heave himself up, he freezes as his fingers touch not any form of rock or wood.. but feathers. He slowly turns his head to see what he’s currently leaning on. 

A giant, if slim, beaked face is feet from him, twin lines of feathers tracing over currently closed eyes, huge wings splayed out across the glimmering sand. Deep breaths kick up small swirls of sand. 

In the center of its forehead, a familiar shape sits, a rune shaped like an eye, the iris crossed with four curved lines. 

As Stephen slowly releases his hand, carefully getting up and stepping toward the face of the creature, reaching toward the rune. 

“Agomotto..” He murmurs, “What have you done…?” 

As if on cue, the hurt dragon curled on the sand opens its eyes, lifting its head, beak carving a deep fissure in the sand. 

Purple eyes meet green. 

“Dormammu,” Stephen begins, “I-“ 

A booming, distorted whistling, akin to a deep whale’s call, echoes throughout the Void, ringing painfully in his ears. Waves of pain and confusion wash over his mind as he covers his ears, stumbling back, feet sinking into the sand. 

He sinks further as the writhing of a long, serpentine body stirs the sand. Up to his knees, he regains his bearings, looking down to try and pry himself free. 

A shifting in the sand around him accompanies another booming call. As he winces, he glances up, seeing an open beak plunging toward him, throat aglow with purple energy. 

For a moment, there’s agony, skin burning, flesh pulling from bones. Then everything goes white. 

But only for a moment. 

Stephen gasps, jumping to his feet, wide eyes darting around him frantically. 

In front of him, Dormammu is plunging its beak into the sand with a pulse of magic escaping from its jaws. He barely has a moment to process what’s happening, before a writhing tail slams into him, razor sharp feathers slashing across his chest and neck. 

Letting out a choked cry, his vision blanks white again as the pain shoots through his body. 

And then, he’s once again laying in the sand, staring up at the Void, Agomotto’s words echoing in his mind. 

“We should show you what you’ve done to us.” 

His heart sinks into the growing knot in his stomach, a pain growing behind his eyes. Purple and blue feathers fall around him with the frantic, almost panicked slithering of the Purple Spirit above him. His chest aches with empathy for the pain and anxiety the Spirit must be feeling, having been in a similar situation not too long ago, alone and confused, pulled from his world and thrown into something new. 

I know how you feel. 

Instinctively, he reaches out, fingers brushing the feathers as the serpentine body swings over him. 

A wave of sand is pushed over him as Dormammu whips his head around, turning to see what touched its underbelly. 

“Dormammu…” The whisper comes from cracked, dry lips. 

More sand is thrown about as the Ampithere of Power curls around where he lies in the sand, nearly burying him in the process, the beak once again coming into view. 

A wave of power blows the sand off him as the beak comes closer, a scarred hand reaching toward it. 

“It’s okay, I promise…” Grey eyes silently beg for understanding. 

A long, tense moment goes by, the warmth radiating off the Spirit wrapping around his outstretched hand, waves of purple magic washing over him with the uneven, pained breathing of the dragon. 

Shattered hearts beat in tandem. 

The golden seal begins to flicker, and hope swells in an old wizard’s chest… If only for a moment. A blink of tired eyes, another seal he can’t see flashing into existence, green chains flashing around them, tearing at already damaged Souls, agony ripping through the pair. 

The second seal is gone as he opens his eyes once more, gasping, a scream reverberating through his bones from Dormammu. 

A thick tail slams into him with a new fit of pain, bones crunching sickeningly as he’s thrown from the sand, landing meters away with a painful thunk! His agony is drawn out this time, the white creeping in slowly around the edges of his vision while his entire body burns. 

“Fuck…” He manages, as the white of the reset consumes him yet again. 

A Lost Soul wanders the planes of Null, aimlessly, eyes clouded over, feet moving on their own. It’s dark here, and cold, with nothing to pull him back, no tethers left to the mortal planes. 

Time melds together, impossible to tell if it's been hours, or weeks. Eons pass, perhaps, as the young Soul wanders. 

He moves quietly, the illusion of a heart had stopped beating long ago, the Void muffling the shuffling footsteps, almost sticking to his feet, pulling him down into the darkness with each step. Thick, lazy waves seem to lap at his legs as his movements slow, wading deeper and deeper, step by step. 

Each step sinking further. One. Two. One. Two. One… 

Two. 

The nothing of Null closes over brown hair… 

A hand, coated in soft yellow power, plunges into the Nothing, grasping the edges of a fading Soul and pulling it from the thick darkness. For a moment, it lays there, a heap of red energy, slowly reforming into a familiar form. 

With a gasp, energy surging once more through him, Peter comes back to himself, to his surroundings, feeling warm hands help him sit up, an equally warm presence wrapping around him. He looks up with blurry eyes, making out a vague form, long red hair and gentle golden eyes… four of them. 

Unable to stay awake, his eyes drift closed again despite his best efforts. 

“It is alright, Child, but there is no time to rest.” A warm hand holds his face, gentle magic slipping through his muscles, the figure bringing him to his feet. 

He blinks his eyes open once again, looking up at the person helping him. 

May’s somewhat recognizable features look back at him, pale skin and long red hair. A silky cloak rests around her shoulders, golden jewelry adorning her neck. Two sets of warm golden eyes wrinkle as she smiles at him. 

“Come, Child, let us get you someplace safe. There is a location for Untethered Souls like you.” Making sure he is able to stand on his own, ‘May’ steps away from him, leaving him to follow her as she moves across the plane of Null. 

He stumbles a bit to catch up, falling into step at her side, “Where are we going?” 

“Knowhere.” She replies simply. 

Tony crawls through the ancient hidden passage, grimacing as his face and hands are quickly coated in dust and cobwebs, making his skin crawl with thousands of imaginary legs. He shakes his head, shivering at the thought. 

He’s distracted as his hand plunges down with a splash, cold water swallowing his arm and splashing up into his face as he falls forward. With a yelp, he pulls himself backward, shaking off his now-soaked arm. Waves lap at stone in his ears, the water sloshing in front of him. It sounds deep, the confined space making it echo. The ceiling of the stone tunnel brushes the top of his head as he sits up. His hand is cold and slimy, fingertips tingling. 

“Eugh…” He groans softly, trying to wipe off the now somewhat gelatinous water. 

Whispers come into his mind with the sound of the small waves, the sound of flecks of water hitting the pool. It calls to him, beckoning him into the water. 

Come in, there is more, you are safe on the other side, It calls. 

He hesitates, but reaches slowly back toward the moving water, running his fingers through the cold water. 

Hello, I am here, you are not alone, the water says. Or perhaps.. something within it. Something he knows, and doesn’t know. Something, or someone, he should know. 

They are waiting for you, come into the water, Anthony, It beckons, almost desperately, pleading with him. 

Please, Anthony. 

He frowns, slowly dipping his hand, then the rest of his arm, back into the water. He searches for the bottom, sinking further, up to his neck, his chin. 

He touches something, smooth, with minute textures to make scale-like shapes. As he pulls back, it grabs him, pulling him down into the deep water. 

His yelp of surprise is cut short as his mouth fills with water, cold and unnaturally thick, the cold shock ripping through his body, forcing him to freeze up as he’s pulled deeper. Water rushes into his ears, those same whispers swirling past his ears, around his mind. 

It is okay, you are safe with me, close your eyes, I know who can save all of this, They reassure him, warmth wrapping around his mind, eyes stinging with the cold water as they close, breath leaving his lungs in a burst of bubbles, as he’s pulled down into deep, dark waters. 

. . . 

Stephen has lost count of how many times he’s died. He’s stopped feeling, skin and Soul numb. 

He’s on his back once again, lying in the sand, staring at the endless nothing above them, listening to the form of Dormammu, the screams of agony. 

He can’t tell if they’re his screams. Not anymore. His throat is raw, stinging like the rest of his body. He can’t feel his fingers in the hot sand. 

“...Dormammu…” He offers another whisper to the Void. 

Give up, Guardian. Give up, give me your Soul. Accept your fate. You are a failure. 

Agomotto’s voice rings in his head, and for a moment… He agrees. A failure… that’s all he is. 

A guardian… that can’t protect anyone. He couldn’t protect Peter, or MJ. Or Tony. 

For a moment, grey eyes lose their spark as they close, for what might be the last time. 

. 

. 

. 

No. This isn’t supposed to happen. I’m not supposed to be here. Neither is Dormammu.

Grey eyes flash green with renewed determination, Stephen moving to sit upright, jaw clenching as he forces himself back to his feet. 

A wheezy breath. “Dormammu!” 

The Spirit turns around, feathered wings flared, ridge of feathers standing on end. 

He glares back at the Spirit, a snarl on his face. 

“Let’s bargain.”  

It screeches, and lunges at him once again. For a second, a brief moment, all those other times this has happened, every time he’s been mutilated, flash before his eyes again. 

Without thinking, scarred hands move on their own to grip the beak coming at him, purple magic searing into his palms as he digs his feet into the sand, gritting his teeth. A guttural roar rumbles up from his chest as he forces the giant Spirit to twist away, forcing it onto its side. It hits the ground, clouds of sand rising, the ground shaking with the impact. The golden seal glows prominently over its forehead as the Spirit lies dazed in the dark sand. 

“I’ve had enough of this, you shouldn’t be in pain because of me,” He huffs, stepping over to Dormammu, smoke trailing behind his hands, it hanging in the strange non-air around them, swirled into spirals by the sway of the Cloak. 

He reaches a burning hand toward the seal, wrapping stiffening fingers around the edge of it, gritting his teeth as he feels his skin burn and tighten. He starts to pull, the sigil glowing brighter, searing his flesh. 

His vision starts to white out, but he keeps pulling. He hears popping, cracking, snapping. He can’t tell if it's his fingers or the sigil as he feels something start to give, one foot braced against Dormammu’s skull. 

Come on, BREAK! 

He feels the Spirit shift under his foot, hearing a resounding SNAP! As he’s thrown backward, another screech coming from the giant beast, the wind knocked from his lungs as he hits the ground hard. His fingers tightly grip something, refusing to uncurl as he struggles to breathe, vision blurry. He can make out the vague purple form as it moves above him, his ears ringing. 

His mind fades in and out as he lays there, chest heaving silently, eyes frozen open. The burning in his hands creeps up his arms, into his chest, up his throat, behind his eyes. 

Two voices in his mind, talking over him, vague feelings of anger and sadness from languages he doesn’t understand, voices he can’t quite hear, or perhaps was never meant to. 

He tries to feel his hands, his body, the sand, anything around him. Now drying eyes are somewhat glossed over as he tries to feel something, missing the change in scenery around him, the pitch darkness beginning to be peppered with lights, the sand beneath him shifting into something more solid, a cave ceiling slowly coming into existence. 

As his eyes once again start to drift closed, there’s the flapping of wings, much smaller than Dormammu’s, and the tapping of many legs on stone. 

Whispers curl around him. 

“What is it? It doesn’t look like food…” 

“A human, perhaps? Bruk was saying something about new visitors.” 

A hiss of sorts is in place of a hum, “Should we bring it into town? See if we can eat it?” 

“It looks,” A pause, “And smells, like it’s already dead, what in Knowhere happened to it? I feel like we’d get sick if we ate it.” 

“Fair enough… let’s see if Bruk can do anything with it.” 

Peter stops by ‘May’s’ side, looking around in confusion, “Where are we?” 

“This is the door to Knowhere, Child.” She reaches forward, thin fingers slipping into the void, peeling back a layer of Null like a curtain, revealing a surprisingly plain door, painted ornately, boasting six different colors. Red, Blue, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, and Purple. It’s painted to resemble gemstones layered over and intertwined with one another, the handle a simple golden knob. 

She reaches forward to grasp the knob, soft yellow magic pulsing through the crystals as she turns it. Slowly, the door opens. 

Peter peers curiously through the doorway, blinking in surprise as he sees a small, colorful little town on the other side, the door opening onto what looks like a train stop. 

“You will be safe here. Find your other pieces, little Knight.” She smiles at him, “They are both here. We have made sure of it.” 

“Wait, what? What’s going on? Who are you, actually?” He takes a step back from both the portal and ‘May’, suddenly overcome with realization and memories of what she was, what felt like ages ago now. “Are you some kind of demon?” 

She laughs, the sound like ringing church bells, “Ah, good to see you have not lost your caution to Null, Child. But do not be afraid; I mean you no harm.” 

“That.. what are you talking about? What is all this? I don’t.. I’ve never seen any of this, who or what are you?” He rambles, hushed by a soft touch on the shoulder. 

“Calm yourself, Child. It is alright. The form you see is meant to be familiar, the Oracle has allowed us to use her Soul and Body. What you see is May’s true form in these planes of Void and Null.” 

“So you like, possessed her? How’s that supposed to make me feel better?” 

“Not possession,” They correct, “We are merely occupying the space her form takes up. Perhaps ‘merge’ is a better term.”

“Okayyy… and who are you?” 

“I am surprised you do not recall your own legends, Child. Do you not recognize that which has created all you know?” 

He blinks, looking at the four-eyed face in front of him, unsure for a long moment before it clicks with a soft gasp. 

“T… Tempor? The Spirit of Mind?”

She smiles, “I knew you would remember me.” 

“But… you… aren’t supposed to be anywhere near mortals..” 

“Here in Void and Null, all is as pure as it can be. And what are you, but a small part of me?” A sweeping gesture to the portal, “Come, Child, learn more within Knowhere, the domain of Candor. You will find allies here. Save your timeline, your world. Harness your powers.” 

He pauses, looking back at the doorway, at the town. He glances back at her, and slowly steps through the doorway at the gentle nod he receives. 

Looking around at the space, he finds a solid dirt road beneath his feet, and a colorful nebular sky above him. Small lanterns glow with red energy in the town in front of him, a small place, the houses mismatched, from all sorts of eras… old, new, futuristic, some look almost alien. No two homes look alike, put even more out of place by a few larger structures that he recognizes from his studies. A Sanctum, bearing the emblem of Reality — a set of sharp teeth, a spined rose within them —, a Library, bearing the emblem of Mind — A circle of six eyes, a seventh in the middle with a circular rune for the pupil —, and what looks like a large Mausoleum, somewhat decrepit, the carvings on it chipped away, the marble riddled with cracks. He finds himself pausing in front of this large stone structure, mesmerized, for a moment hearing rushing water within, the sound slowly rising. 

He pulls himself out of his stupor, shaking himself a bit, looking around to refocus his thoughts. Where to start… 

Gentle red eyes settle on the large Library at the end of the street. The sign, though in runes, can still be read. 

‘Library of the Minds’

Tony slowly comes to with a soft groan, slowly prying crusty eyes open to soft golden light from a lantern on the table to his right. He’s lying in some kind of cot, a homemade knitted blanket draped over him. He lifts his head to look around him, squinting in confusion at being able to somewhat make out what’s around him, having gotten used to the pitch darkness of before. 

As he peers at his blurry surroundings, the wooden door creaks open, a strange definitely inhuman silhouette stepping in. 

“Oh, you are awake,” A soft, clicking voice comes from the strangely-shaped form, “I was worried you had passed on.” 

It steps closer, and he can make out more detail, but he almost wishes he couldn’t. Standing in front of him is a huge mantis-like creature, huge, round orange eyes glinting with intelligence, small pupils looking him over unnervingly. Strange, half-claw hands reach to adjust his blanket, and he has to resist the urge to move away. 

“Who… What…?” He manages, throat raw, as if he gulped down sea water. 

“I found you within the Mausoleum of Malek, half-drowned. I am Bruk.” He pronounces it like ‘Bruce’, but his mandibles click and cause the name to end in a hard sound. Despite a hard exoskeleton, he is clothed in a carefully crafted, if obviously homemade, robe of some kind, created from what looks like white silk. 

Tony makes an attempt to sit up, wincing as sore muscles are forced to move. “Ow…” 

“Please do not hurt yourself, stranger,” The mantis tilts his head to one side, reaching to steady him, “I only know a small amount of healing magic, I was barely able to heal you how I found you.” 

“Y, yeah, that…” One hand rises up to his face, lightly tracing the bottom of one eyesocket, “I… How did you fix my eyes? They weren’t even there earlier.”

“Replacing a simple organ is not too hard. It was easier to entirely replace your eyes rather than attempt to fix what was already there.” 

“You replaced my eyes?!” He looks up at him, eyes wide, “How?” 

He puts his clawed hands up, “I merely used your own body to grow new ones. They are not perfect, but they should be partially functional.” 

“Yeah, they are.. bug-man..” He warily watches him, “Where am I, exactly?” 

“This is the Library of Knowhere, where I reside.” 

“Knowhere?” 

He nods, “The Domain of the Red Spirit, Candor. A place outside of the Realities they maintain.” 

“Huh… I didn’t know the Planes were… real.” He clears his throat painfully. “Is there any water in this place?” 

The mantis nods, “There is. I will get you a glass, stranger.” He turns away. 

“Tony,” He calls, making his host stop in the doorway and look back at him in confusion. “Er, my name. It’s Tony.” 

Bruk clicks in what he thinks is a smile, “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Tony. I will be right back with your water.” 

The wooden door creaks back closed behind him, leaving Tony alone once again. 

Part Two -- Infinity 

Peter feels eyes on him as he steps slowly through the town, though he can’t find the source of the feelings when he looks around him. A footstep or two behind him every few seconds makes him jump, constantly checking behind him and finding nothing. Whispers behind him, snippets of conversations he doesn’t understand, getting closer with every step, an undertone of hissing. 

A chill runs up his spine as he’s stopped dead in his tracks, a clawed hand placed on his shoulder. 

“Are you lost?” The voice is rough, coming from a mouth and throat not meant to speak Temporian, the words nearly lost in scratchy reptilian hissing. 

Slowly, he turns his head, looking over his shoulder at what’s there, full of dread at what he’ll find. 

He’s greeted by a huge, muscular reptile-looking creature, its face reminiscent of a python, bright blue eyes standing out from navy blue and silver scales. The reptilian towers over him, a long tail dragging along the ground behind its clawed feet. A silk cloth is tied around its waist. 

His throat goes dry, fear sinking into the knot in his stomach, the only thing escaping his mouth being a somewhat strangled ‘hi’. 

The giant reptile watches him, eyes full of concern, a long tongue flicking out from between scaled lips lined with heat pits. “Did I startle you?” 

Peter manages a slow, careful nod, unable to take his gaze off the figure next to him. “A… little..” 

“Apologies,” A soft hissing accents the word, “My companion and I were unsure what kind of newcomer you were.” 

“Companion?” He carefully leans to look behind the navy blue snake-man, finding another set of eyes peering back at them from a nearby alleyway, bright purple, hanging at about shoulder height. “Oh…” 

“He’s harmless, I assure you,” The clawed hand is finally taken off Peter’s shoulder, “His name is Bucky, and I’m Rodgers.” 

Peter blinks, looking back at him, “Those don’t sound very…” 

“Reptilian?” A chuckle escapes the snake, somewhat grating but still full of that human humor, “Well, our looks are really just a side effect of being here. It brings out your Soul’s true form, really. We’re from a place called Earth.” 

“...Huh. So you.. used to look like me?” 

Rodgers nods, “We come from human bodies, yes.” 

“Are you done, Captain? I think the kid can find his way around.” A harsh voice speaks from behind Peter, making him jump and whirl around to face the newcomer. 

Another reptilian, this one about the same height as Stephen, stands behind him. Bright purple eyes peer from a perpetually angry face, black and silver scales mostly covered by heavy protective gear. His face is stout, lizard-like, a frill lying flat against his neck. 

“Bucky, don’t be rude, he’s obviously lost and confused,” Rodgers huffs at his shorter counterpart, “The least we can do is help.” 

“Or leave it to Bruk to dump exposition, like usual,” Bucky points out, “He can see the Library from here.” 

“It can’t hurt to help him out, Knowhere can be intimidating. We were scared too,” Rodgers reminds his partner, a gentle repose, “If you don’t want to help, you can go back to the house and wait for me.” 

Bucky licks his lips, quiet a long moment. Peter wonders if he can sneak away while they’re talking. 

“I’d better come with, you never last long alone,” Bucky mumbles. 

“Uhm, guys,” Peter offers tentatively, “I think I’ll be okay going to the library alone, I am 17.” 

Stephen comes to slowly, lifting his head, blinking a few times as he tries to peer at his surroundings. It’s dark around him, dim lamplight offering the only light in the room. He looks down at himself, finding he’s bound from his shoulders down in a strange web-like substance. He squirms and strains, making the webbing creak and groan. 

A chittering, hissing voice interrupts his escape attempt, “Oh, he’s awake.” 

He snaps his head back up, looking around the dim room, making out a huge silhouette in here with him, two, then four, then six, then eight, bright red eyes peer back at him from the corner, long legs carefully tapping out onto ancient wood as a delicate hand reaches to brighten the lantern above them. 

“We were wondering if you were ever going to wake up again,” The giant half-spider towers over him in the small room, pulling her hand back away from the now bright lantern. Short red hair frames a somewhat monstrous face, long fangs sticking from deep red lips, four pairs of squinted red eyes peering at him with a mix of curiosity and wariness. 

“Who are you?” Stephen rasps, “Let me go.” 

“Not until we know you aren’t dangerous.” She clicks, crossing her human-like arms across her chest. 

The haggard wizard gives her an incredulous look, “I’m alone, hurt, starved, without any magic, and currently tied up. I’m not exactly a threat.” 

Eyes narrow at him, peering into dull grey eyes, through them, even, into the rest of his being. 

“Living people don’t just end up here.” 

“Of course I’m alive, you aren’t?” Stephen pauses, “...Where am I?” 

She steps over, looming over him, leaning down to be eye level with him. 

“This is Knowhere. A city of Lost Souls.” 

“Knowhere…” The ache in his body is overcome by his curiosity, “I’ve.. heard of it...I didn’t think it was real.” 

The wariness in her gaze shifts subtly to curiosity, “Is it not real in your timeline?” 

“It’s… all of this, the Spirits, they’re just.. legend. Superstition,” He hastily explains, becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the fangs in his face. “Can you.. let me go now? There’s, kind of, a world I need to be saving.” 

She leans back in surprise, Stephen resisting the urge to let out a breath of relief.

“What do you mean? Nothing is beyond here except Null. Even if you do leave, you’ll just be swallowed by it without knowing where to go.” 

“I just, I need to find my friends, okay? There’s a lot going on, and it’s outside of all of us, and we need to get back to our own world, okay?” He rambles, becoming more anxious by the second, “I don’t know how, but we just need to get back to our world.” 

The spider-lady pauses, before reaching to cut the webbing off of him. It sheds easily from his form without the tension to keep it in place. He moves stiff muscles to get up, wincing at the pain in his legs and back from the awkward positioning. He reaches to rub his shoulders, finding the familiar weight of the Cloak is missing. His already pounding heart pounds faster in his chest. 

“Do you.. did you see anything on my shoulders? I had a cloak,” He looks around the small room, frantic. 

“I didn’t touch any of your clothes.” She clicks, watching him. 

The wizard grips the lapels of his shirt tightly, becoming more and more distressed by the second, his breathing catching in his throat, vision blurring as the immensity of everything comes down all at once. 

All my fault. This is all my fault. Everything’s gone because of me. The thoughts repeat in his head, over and over, louder and louder, until it drowns out everything else. 

NONE OF THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT.

“Thank you,” Tony gratefully takes the cup from his new praying mantis companion, taking a long sip, eyes closing in quiet bliss as the cool water flows over his dry tongue and throat. 

“You are welcome,” Bruk tilts his head to one side, large eyes watching him curiously, “You have retained your current form, even with being in here this long. That is.. strange.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The bedraggled wizard gives the insect a confused look. 

Said insect gestures vaguely to himself, “Here, Candor reveals who you truly are. We are cared for in our purest forms. Yet you… have not changed, in the time you have been here.” A pause, “Though, Time has less bearing here than most locations.” 

“....Huh.” Tony looks down at his hands, calloused and scarred. Hands that have done so much, made so much… held his whole world in them. He can almost imagine, for a moment, the specific things he used to hold. Scarred and stiff, always shaking, always soot-stained, ginger fingers, bony hands in his. He flexes his hands, blinking as the imagery fades. 

“Were.. are there others like me? Here?” 

“Ah.. I don’t think so,” Bruk clicks a few times, “You would have to ask the others.” 

“Others? How many others live here?” Tony raises an eyebrow. 

“Many Souls reside here, it is a city created over what we would have known as eons.” 

“And.. how long have you been here?” 

The mantis’ mandibles click, filling in the silence as he thinks, “I am not sure I have ever been anywhere else. Perhaps I never existed as you know it at all.” 

“As in… you were like, made to be here?” 

“I do not know. I have presided over everything, as a Keeper, for as long as I dare to remember.” 

“Keeper?” 

“A Keeper of Knowledge. Surely you know of the classes?” 

“I, read about them briefly as a kid, I think.” Tony shakes his head. 

Tony is sure the insectoid would be pursing his lips in disappointment if he could. 

“Can you walk? I believe a trip up into the library will aid you on your quest.” 

The old wizard nods, shifting to get up, tightly clutching the cup as he forces stiff legs to move, only relatively unsteady next to Bruk. He follows to the doorway, then pauses, “...How did you know I was on a quest?” 

A hint of knowledge, a shimmer of green, flickers across the large eyes of his companion, “It was just a feeling. Come, what you seek awaits us upstairs.” 

Peter, sans his new reptilian allies, stands in front of the doors of the library. The large oak doors have a large eye surrounded by six others, each pupil a different shape. They seem to follow him as he moves, boring into him, staring through him. He tries not to shiver as he reaches to push open one of the doors. 

Warm light spills out onto the street from within, inviting him in. And he takes this invitation, stepping into the large space behind the doors. The creak and thud as the door closes behind him echoes throughout the space, the lantern lights dance far above him. 

The young wizard stands in an open space at the front of the library, the space lined carefully with tall shelves of books, a few desks occupying the empty space around him. The ceiling towers far above him, everything bathed in flickering gold light. It’s almost as if the knowledge itself is alive, watching him, curling around him, drawing him in. Step, by step, by step… he follows the pull. 

He finds himself in front of a shelf of ancient books, in texts he can’t read. For a moment, he stares, the sigils seeming to move and dance, the laughs of ancient peoples, the strange and the amazing from beyond the eons. The books speak to him, whispering ancient prayers and words of encouragement, these ancient ghosts caressing his face. Savior. They say. Catalyst. Vessel. Child.

“Kid?” The familiar voice breaks the teen out of his stupor. Turning his head, a gasp escapes him at what he sees. 

“Mr. Starkrest?” 

Moments earlier… 

A frantic wizard is running through a maze, dimly lit tunnels close around him. Too close. Each footstep is loud, the rhythmic tapping catching the downbeats between his heartbeats. 

“Stranger, wait!” The voice calls after him, quickly becoming distant with his panicked sprinting. He’s moving blindly, without cause, looking for… what, exactly? 

Is it Anthony? His Cloak? Peter? The Familiars? 

He can’t keep his thoughts straight. The hallways are a blur around him, grey eyes full of liquid stress as he tries desperately to catch his breath. His mind races as fast as his feet, step after step after step. Thud after thud after thud on the stone floor. 

His racing mind and body are interrupted by a flurry of feathers, crashing into another body, both of them hitting the ground and rolling in a tangled mess of feathers and legs, yelps of pain and surprise from both parties. 

“Hey, what-“ 

Stephen finds himself on his back, looking up at the dimly lit ceiling. No.. not dimly lit. The lantern light is blocked, by a shadowy mass above him, feathers floating down around them. 

Wide, bright eyes peer at him from the shadowed figure, a vibrant yellow-gold. Winged arms are braced either side of his shoulders. 

“Oh, huh.. hi. You’re… awake.” 

“I am,” Stephen can’t decide what emotion to settle on. Fear? Surprise? Uncertainty? “Uh, who are you?” 

“Hawks. We didn’t expect you to wake up.” 

“....Thanks.”

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” The feathered man awkwardly gets back to his feet, or talons, more accurately, offering Stephen a hand up. 

The frazzled wizard takes a second to look at the figure above him. His gaze starts with the hand extended to him. Three fingers and a thumb, bird-like scales coating the exposed skin, claws where fingernails would be. His feathers are long and sleek, well preened, black with a sheen of iridescent blues and purples as they catch the light. The primaries are tipped with white, his crown of feathers also splotted and tipped with white. The feathers frame a somewhat human face, albeit with odd features, almost owlish. Taloned feet peek from hand sewn, draping robes. 

Hesitantly, slowly, a scarred hand takes the offer, Stephen getting back to his feet. 

“Where am I, Hawks?” 

“This is the Mind Maze,” The harpy tilts his head to one side, “Beneath the Library.” 

“Mind Maze?” 

“It’s a kind of endless labyrinth that keeps us safe from the other Planes.” 

“Is there a way out of here?” I can’t be stuck here.

“Of course there is. My friend and I are in and out of here all the time. We needed to keep an eye on you, after all.” 

“I.. How long have I been out?” 

“No idea. Maybe a day or two? Time doesn’t exactly work here.” The feathered man shrugs, “You’d have to ask Bruk.” 

“Bruk… I feel like I’ve heard that name before..” Stephen mumbles, temporarily distracted from the storm of worries that had occupied his mind. 

“We can have you meet him, if you’d like.” 

Grey eyes look back up, finding two faces in front of him instead of just one. The harpy-face, yes.. and the monstrous, half-spider face from before. He instinctively backs up to the wall, away from them. 

“How do I know I can trust you two?” He peers at them, wary. The taller form is less intimidating in the light, but that’s not saying much. The half-spider towers over both boys. “As far as I know, you kidnapped me from wherever I was.” 

“We saved you from certain death,” Hawks huffs, crossing his arms, “If that can even happen here.” 

“If I’m even… alive, right,” The wizard is distracted once again for a moment, looking down at himself, before shaking his head to look back at the two, “Look, can you two just.. show me the way out of here? I want.. I have things I need to do, and that involves getting out of here. Like, right now.” 

The monstrous pair look at each other, having a short, silent conversation. Stephen holds his breath as they come to a decision, nodding subtly at each other and turning back to him. 

“Alright, we’ll help you out,” The spider-lady clicks her mandibles, reaching to grab his shirt collar, hauling him unceremoniously up onto her abdomen. He scrambles to sit up, the harpy-man Hawks sitting behind him. 

With a warning of “Hang on”, the three take off down the halls of the Labyrinth. 

“Kid, you’re okay!” Anthony Starkrest exclaims, running over to hug the younger wizard tightly. 

Peter blinks in surprise, before gratefully wrapping cold arms around his mentor, “I should be saying that, I thought.. I thought you were dead, we saw-“ 

“I don’t know what happened, but it's over now,” The old wizard holds him at arms’ length, looking the teen over, “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you? Why are you half transparent?” 

“I… think I died?” He tries to think back to earlier, what had happened, overcome briefly with that searing pain, the white noise of the Void. 

Tony shakes him out of it, “Hey, hey kid, it’s okay, look at me, it’s okay.” 

Gentle red eyes full of fear meet vibrant blue ones. Blue eyes full of that same, unshakable confidence that everything’s gonna be okay. 

“It’s all okay,” Tony repeats, a calloused hand brushing the hair out of Peter’s face. 

Peter nods, slowly, letting himself believe, if just for a moment, that he’s not lying. That it really will be okay. 

His mentor pulls him close again, and briefly, ever so briefly, nothing else matters. 

Nothing else matters. They’re both okay. 

“Anthony!” The familiar, hoarse voice snaps them both out of their moment, Tony’s head snapping up to look for the source. His eyes widen as he finds it, finds what he’s been looking for, who he’s been looking for, for three hundred years. 

Stephen Strange waves from the back of the spider-lady (who he’s since learned is named Widow), awkwardly sliding off to run over. Tony runs to meet him, wrapping his arms tightly around him, Stephen returning the gesture just as tightly, burying his face in his shoulder as tears begin to form. 

“I thought I lost you…” Stephen croaks, voice muffled by his partner’s shirt. 

“You lost me?” Tony lets out a shaky laugh, “I couldn’t find you for so long, I thought you died!” 

“I… had to get you out of there before I lost myself, I couldn’t… I couldn’t let you be trapped too.” 

“By the Spirits, shut up,” Tony leans back, hands moving to cradle Stephen’s face. The face he’s known for more lifetimes than he can remember. Stained with dirt and ash and blood, and now tears, but still the same face. The face he loves. 

“Anthony, I.. I’m sorry, for all of this,” Stephen starts. He doesn’t get any farther in his thinking, interrupted by rough, chapped lips meeting his. Surprise for a minute, then relief, scarred hands reaching to hold the hands on his face. A spark in his chest, a flood of magic and power, reaching into his fingers, his toes, his body alight with that familiar warmth he’s missed, drowns out everything else. 

When Tony pulls away again, Stephen wishes he hadn’t. 

That cocky grin on his partner, “I said, shut up.” 

Stephen is only dumbfounded for a moment, shaking his head, “I- you- That’s not fair, you can’t just win an argument by kissing me-“ 

“I think he just did, Mr. Strange,” Peter pipes from nearby, watching with a mix of awe and amusement. The others in the room badly hide their chorus of snickers. 

“Shut up, all of you,” Stephen huffs, red cheeks peeking from under the layer of grime on his face, “We need to plan, not, not sit here and snog-“ 

“And we will,” Tony calms, “It’s okay. If there’s one thing we have here, it’s Time.” 

.

.

.

In another plane, beyond anything any mortal knows, ancient beings surround another, four Souls surrounding a fifth Soul. 

)You cannot continue this, Eyes… You are no longer yourself… 

~Stop this! You have broken the Light! 

>This was not the plan, you have overstepped your boundaries. 

*We have done all that was asked of us, after all of this Time. Yet still you ask for more? 

>You act as if you are the Light, Eyes. We are merely messengers of it. 

*I have done everything! And more! You have taken everything from us! What more must you take from us to be satisfied, Hands? 

>I have not aimed to take from you. None of us have, we are supposed to work together. 

)Please… you are ripping my tapestry with your disorder… 

The fifth Soul rises higher than the others, green energy swirling angrily. 

*All you have done is take from us! We have woven you countless Timelines, countless Stories! Yet we are not good enough for you, you all want more! 

>That is not- 

*DO NOT LIE TO US, WE HAVE SEEN ALL THAT YOU HAVE DONE AND ALL YOU WILL DO. 

The Void around them shakes, cracks spreading from under the green Soul. 

*WE WILL NOT BE USED ANY LONGER. YOU ALL WILL SEE WHAT YOU HAVE CAUSED, AND YOU WILL FEEL OUR PAIN. 

Everything around the Souls fractures, the Void itself shattering, the Souls screaming, reaching to hold onto their plane, plunging into the Unknown. 

Two Souls land in the same Plane. The Red Hands and the Green Eyes land roughly, shaking the plane of Knowhere to its core. 

The Green Soul of Agomotto is the first to rise to its feet, once gleaming scales now dull and crawling with black energy. Broken fangs and decaying horns, their halos distorted. They roar, the sound painful, bending the Plane around them, rattling houses and cracking the area around them. 

The Red Soul of Candor gets to his feet, deep red eyes glancing around his domain as it starts to fall apart. 

“No… no, my children,” The Red Spirit is filled with panic, looking toward the city of Lost Souls. “I have to get you all out of here.” 

The Library shakes, lights flickering and books falling from their shelves. The Souls within are huddled around a table, looking up at the ceiling. 

“It has come,” Bruk clicks his mandibles, “This is the end of us.”  

“It can’t be, we’ve spent all this time preparing,” Hawks protests, “There has to be a way.” 

“How? You can’t just fight a god and win,” Widow points out. 

“No, but you can keep them busy,” Stephen hums. 

“You are not staying behind to fight a Spirit,” Tony glares at him. 

“I wasn’t gonna!” Stephen puts his hands up in protest. 

Peter is watching his mentors quietly, following the conversation with red eyes. In the back of his mind, something calls to him, drawing his gaze toward the windows. 

I am here, my Child, I can help you. Come outside.