The Soul World

The Soul Stone

Peter was drifting on the edge of a void. His entire reality had been consumed by a black cloud - except that this wasn't quite black. Black is simply an absence of light. This... This was like the opposite, an anti-light. It was a seething pot of ebony, pitch, tar, onyx, ink, oil, dusk; it was a darkness that was so thick and stifling that light could not penetrate it, made from nightmares and black holes and the stygian shadows where monsters lurked.

This darkness was a tangible, malevolent thing, and Peter shrank away from it even as it loomed ever closer. Tendrils of smoke pulled at him, tugging and scraping hungrily, until he cried out in anguish. Only silence echoed back... He had no body. He had no voice. Here, he was only a soul drifting away from reality.

Then, as quickly as it had seized him, the darkness spit him out. Peter choked and gasped, bolting upright.

"Kid, you alright?" Silhouetted in an orange glow, there was a figure standing over him. Peter flinched and scrambled back. Before he could yell, the person said, "Hey, hey! Take it easy man! It's me, I'm on your side."

Peter's eyes started to swim into focus and he recognized Quill, who looked mildly concerned.

"Quill?" He said groggily, "Strange..and, you guys?" He caught sight of all the people who, a minute ago, he had seen turn to dust. "Whaaaa...?" Trailing off, Peter looked around for the first time at the place they had found themselves in. He forgot about the others for a moment as his eyes widened:

Orange. That was the first word to describe it. As if someone had painted a sunset but forgotten the sun. Amber oozed across the horizon, melting into an oily hue of honey, and the whole environment was illuminated by a rosy, pink-tinged radiance. Below him, the ground shimmered with a slightly reflective quality, like glass. He could see for miles - although there wasn't much to see. The ground stretched on forever in every direction without a hill or landmark in sight, till it hurt his eyes to look. But he could see it was empty. They were alone...

"No," he whispered, then said a bit louder, "no!" He stood up quickly, ignoring the rush of blood to his head, and staggered backwards slightly. Contorting his face with emotion, he clenched his hair in his fists and spun around desperately, searching, looking for someone who he knew wouldn't be there.

Dr Strange reached towards Peter. He held out a hand to stop the boy's agonized movement, concern written across his face. Suddenly, Peter spun around and grasped Strange's wrist with a steel grip that belied his youth. Though every fiber in his body quivered with tense energy, he stood perfectly still and held Strange's gaze with blazing eyes.

Strange, however, was a doctor, and he had seen enough patients facing surgery to know that behind the fierce, red eyes and the defiant scowl, there was a dam of tears just waiting to spill over and relieve the pressure of all the loss and hopelessness that had been building up ever since Peter abandoned his field trip on Earth.

Strange was also not a fool, so it was blindingly obvious why Peter was most upset, and who he was looking for. Not only had Strange already seen the kid's interactions with his mentor, he had also seen 14 million futures where Tony Stark went to war with fate itself to bring Peter back.

Whilst the Guardians looked on, alert but unsure of what to do, Strange stared right back at Peter and waited.

And waited...

And then said, gently but firmly,

"He's not here,"

As he had expected, Peter's expression crumpled and he let go of Strange to collapse onto the ground. Peter pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them, rocking back and forth. His vulnerable body shook with sobs.