𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄, doctor strange.

Sorcerer Supreme

                   Steven Strange stood in the middle of the training room in the New York sanctum, the Eye of Agamotto glowing brightly on the chain around his neck. The Cloak of Levitation was hovering in the far corner, seeming to glare at Steven. He scowled at it, raising his hands in front of him. They trembled feverishly, the scars where his bones were white against his skin. Gritting his teeth together, the memory of the car accident that had ruined his career flashing through his mind, he waved his hands through the air, bright fire-like lines appearing in the air before him. His fingers traced invisible lines as a symbol appeared, and raising his other hand, he pushed it forward, and the lines drifted into disappearance, dissolving. Steven grunted, running a hand through his grey-streaked dark hair. The meeting just a few hours before still singed his mind, and he set his jaw tensely as it came to mind.

                      Sorcerers from every sanctum of the world gathered around a large oak table,  each one restless and anxious. Steven stood at the high end of the table, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. The sorcerers had called him there after his fight with Kaecilius, whose destruction left scars on every sanctum. Steven gulped, glancing around the table at the frightened faces around him. Finally the London sanctum leader stood. " Mr. Strange, we have called you here to discuss an urgent matter. As you know, after your previous fight with Dormammu and Kaecilius, and the... um," he paused, swallowing as he looked down at the table with a solemn expression. He inhaled sharply. " The death of the Ancient One, the place of Sorcerer Supreme is left open, and the need for the position to be filled is of top priority." He said this all in one breath, frowning slightly. He inhaled deeply. " We think that... you should take the place of Sorcerer Supreme," he said, and Steven felt his throat clench. He set his jaw, his eyes widening at the London sorcerer, and he tapped his fingers against the wooden table rhythmically. He struggled to find the right words. " I, um, I've barely had my relic for a month; I can't just take the place. There are far more sorcerers with more experience than me," he said, stuttering over his words as he felt a bead of sweat slide down his face. The leader of the London sanctum sighed, glancing nervously around the table,  before they all lowered to their knees slowly, bowing towards Steven. He backed away from the table, his heart beating wildly in his ears as he gasped for air. 

                         The thought still  burned his mind, making his skin tingle. Clicking his tongue, he straightened his robe, his hand brushing over the eye around his neck. He gripped it in his fist, feeling the magical heat radiate off of it. The Ancient One had told him the Eye would only open to him if he changed from his arrogant self to someone different. He had changed, in his opinion, inside and out. 

                          His brunette hair was unruly, a single cowlick falling over his forehead as small grey streaks were above the tips pf his ears. His ocean-green eyes were sharp and concentrated, his thin eyebrows looming over them, creating an ominous shadow. His gaunt cheekbones made his face seem authoritative, his nose covered in a single white scar across the bridge. His mouth was lined with a single cut on his upper lip, the white standing out against the color, and his pale skin color had darkened considerably. What he would have called normal clothes were now foreign to him, his casual clothing consisting of a knee-length robe with a belt around the waist, pants tucked into boots underneath.

                             He swallowed irritatingly, running his tongue over his lips as he twisted in a circle, taking in his surroundings. The New York sanctum was huge, consisting of three floors, each floor as elaborate and decorated as the previous one. The training room was on the second floor, carved designs in the stone serving as the floor, wooden planks serving as surrounding walls with strong mystic barriers on them to keep any magic from leaving the room once inside. The first floor held all the relics, going from the Amulet of Vishanti to the smallest dagger, and the the foyer, where a large staircase led to the second. The third floor was the portal windows in the nook against the far wall, and in a room beside that, the library, where every sorcerer book on the mystic arts was held. Steven's room, where he now spent his days instead of his penthouse down on Main, was down the hall, a few doors away from the place where all the world's sanctums merged together, elaborate carved doors representing a different portal.

                            Running his hands across his face, they brushed over his goatee, and he scratched at it, thinking deeply as he paced, his boots echoing about the room. He jumped when a portal opened in the middle of the room in front of him, the sparking rings blinding him momentarily when a sorcerer walked in, an air of authority about him as he entered. Steven furrowed his brows, standing in front of the man. The latter inhaled sharply, tension filling the air. " There's been an attack at a cafe in New York," the man said in a deep Bronx accent, his dark eyes filled with panic. Steven nodded, waving a hand over as his cape floated and landed softly on his shoulders, and Steven nodded, the man twisting on his heel and going back through the portal, Steven following after him.