Doctor Strange Imagines

Painting on the wall

This Male x reader is for Battles_in_Time This is the first part. I'll post the second part soon! Consider this as an introduction ^0^

-PurpleTrekkie

(Y/N) remembers.

He remembers the war all too well.

He remembers the clashing of bolts and relics, clashing powerfully, drawing blood from already sensible wounds. He remembers the battle cries and the nonstop murdering that seemed to be wiping out the sorcerers in seconds.

No one was ready for it. No one was prepared for the genocide that was about to unleash at the numerous population of sorcerers in Kamar Taj. Five thousand and thirty three used to be the number. Five thousand and thirty sorcerers that would cease the mighty duty that destiny had chosen for them.

Two of the remaining three were never the same. Their nights were spent in mourning, roaming the shell of a place that used to house sorcerers of different gender, race, physical characteristics, each withholding a unique personality that had faded along the moving current of wind that bristled by at night, gently producing that twinkling sound from the wind carillons that perched all around.

The two had lost their essence, leaving them empty, cold, without a will to live, a will to go on in life with what they had presenced just bare days ago carved in their minds. They had promised (Y/N) they would fight in his absence, but no matter how much they tried, the whispers that the wind carried, delivering the helpless cries of their dying companions, it haunted them at night.

It made them struggle to keep their eyes shut, somehow driving them into a crazed desperation. They clawed at their hair, scratching raw the tender skin, ripping off locks of bloodied hair, wanting to just scratch that desperation out of their minds, why didn't the voices stop?, why were they still tormenting them at night?, Why wouldn't they go to sleep now?, Why couldn't they just leave them alone at night! Maybe if they scratched a bit more, they would finally leave them be- just- just a bit more... Just a bit deeper- Just- a bit- more...

The sanctum suddenly became completely quiet one night, reducing the count of survivors...

A note had been left back, along a cloak of levitation that still somehow remained in place despite of the vanishing of the sorcerers.

It read:

'Only one left...'

What would that exactly mean? Ancient One had asked herself that same thing upon arriving at the scene, footsteps silently thumping against the smooth flooring of Kamar Taj, the blood shed dried already and the bodies removed by the group of sorcerers that had gone along with her.

Would that mean there still was another survivor left? But where were they? Why would they vanish so suddenly?

Her thoughts had died when she looked up from the note that stuck to the wall, eyes travelling upwards until landing on a painting she had seen there far too many times. A painted scenery, that of a river that swerved down a hill beautifully. She remembers liking it for the detail the artist had imposed in it, adding a too realistic touch, almost as if you could reach in and be there yourself.

But she couldn't recall of a man being part of the picture.

Neither did she know how to get him out of there.

No one did.

—
"Why didn't you tell me of this secret chamber of relics, Wong?" Stephen accused, moving in between the uncountable rows of objects. Swords, capes, hats, all types of relics could be found, even those such as a simple pair of purple scissors, giving out a dim pulsating glow every few seconds.

He started reaching for them.

Wong slapped his hand away. "Don't touch them." The librarian warned gravely. "Those are The Blades of The Evil Spirits. Touch them with bare hands and you'll be transported to Purgatory." Wong continued his explanation as he guided Stephen away from them to wander deeper into the infinite rendering room.

"The Blades of The Evil Spirits? I don't know Wong, it sounds too made up for a simple pair of scissors." The Sorcerer Supreme replied doubtfully and a tad bit too amusedly.

His friend stood still, eyes going through a specific shelf that held jars with... There certainly was something inside them... A bit moving much to his dismay. "That's what the last one said. I did warn Javier but he was too stupid to realize the dangers it withheld."

"Javier who?"

"Exacly."

Stephen didn't ask further.