Post by jordan on Aug 4, 2014 1:02:18 GMT -5
All Star Marvel Proudly Presents
Lucifer, the Hood, & Michael Morbius
In
Dark City
Chapter III
Secrets We Want To Hide
By Jordan
*
Last Time in Dark City:
Years ago Michael Morbius’ wife’s life was taken by a strange, dark stone. Now, he has finally found one himself—what could it mean?! And Parker Robbins does damage to the Kingpin’s organization when he kills one of his men in the Kingpin’s own bar! The exciting first chapters of Dark City continue here!
*
Monday Morning
“We all have secrets that we want to hide, Don. That doesn’t mean that they have to stay hidden.” His voice comes out in almost a whisper. His cold, airy breaths collide against the warm, sweating skin of Don Fortunato. He sits in a small wooden chair in a dimly lit room, his green vest soaked in his sweat, tears and blood. His slicked back black hair thrown into a frenzy; a look of terror in his eyes. Above him stands a sole man, his eyes red as blood, his skin a dark, rose-red with markings drawn through it. He stands only clothed in a loincloth, his bare red skin made even more terrifying in the dim lights.
“P-please, Mephisto…please don’t do this to me. I-I’ll get you whatever you want! I swear!” Don Fortunato is silenced as the strong red hand comes down across his face. Blood shoots from his mouth, the momentum carried by a lone, bloody-red tooth.
“You know what I want!” Mephisto’s voice comes out strong, his glare bearing into the soul of Don Fortunato. “You promised me his head! Where is it?!”
“He’s too much for me! I told you that! I’m sorry!”
“I gave you back your love!”
“P-please…leave Cynthia out of this…please.”
“You have one week, Don Fortunato. If, by the end of the week, Lucifer Morningstar still breathes, Cynthia will not.” A strange breeze flutters through the room and Mephisto is gone, leaving Don Fortunato untied on a small wooden chair, his green vest covered in his own blood, sweat and tears.
*
Monday, 3.30 PM
“So now that we don’t have the element of surprise, how do you plan on taking the Kingpin down in a week?” Lucifer’s words come on tired as he follows his question with a sigh. His whole life seems to be one large load of work, preparing Parker Robbins for what is to come.
“Well, Lucifer, let’s figure out what our strengths and weaknesses are, shall we?” Parker Robbins, Lucifer Morningstar and their friend, Olivier, all sit around a small table in a rented out storage space just off 17th Avenue that serves as their meeting place. Once every four months, they move to a new storage block—but it’s always the same on the inside. One small table, one little light, one little fridge, and three men trying to figure out how to take New York by storm.
“Well obviously common sense isn’t your strong-suit, Parker.”
“You were the one who told me that human life is precious and that, if I were going to take one, I should ensure that I acknowledge they life they’ve lived.”
“And in what way is telling the Kingpin you’re after him acknowledging that life?”
“I’ve done my research, father. Kingpin went from rags to riches. He’s a fighter. He’s a survivor. Let’s give him one last fight, one last chance to survive. That’s my logic.” Parker Stares in the golden eyes of his father as a small smile breaks at the edges of Lucifer’s mouth.
“You really are my boy, Parker.”
“So, what exactly are our strengths?” Olivier, the brute with no last name, pipes up. His dark red eyes stare at the father and the son with admiration. He sits slouched, his hulking body covering most of the large table.
“Well, for starters, my jacket is a demon loyal to me.” Parker says, tugging at the red hoodi which responds by rustling around on top of him. “You are a demon literally made to break down the gates of Heaven.” A huge grin crosses Olivier’s face and a glint sparks in his eyes as he thinks of breaking down His Kingdom. “And my father may or may not be the biblical devil who fought a war against God and, for all intents and purposes, won.” Lucifer waves his hand, as if the war was nothing special. “So I’d say we have some serious strengths on our side.”
“But what about our weaknesses?” Lucifer tosses in, trying to force Parker to realize they aren’t invincible.
“Well, Kingpin has a massive army, he’s really pissed, and we only have a week. So, if anyone has a plan, speak now or forever hold your peace.” Olivier raises his hand, as though asking for permission to speak. Parker waves his hand at him, as though granting him that permission.
“Why don’t we just smash Kingpin?” Another glint in Olivier’s eyes as he no doubt is imagining crushing the skull of one of the most powerful men in New York.
“Because, Olivier, did you miss the part about the whole army Kingpin has that we don’t?” Parker says, the glint immediately dissolving from Olivier’s eyes.
“Why don’t we just get one?” Now his eyes are struck with confusion, staring at the large metal door that encloses their hideout.
“Don’t be an idiot, Olivier; we don’t have the kind of money for a whole damn army!” Parker screams, obviously fed up with his less than intelligent friend. But then the room is cloaked in silence. Olivier stares into the distance in confusion; Parker sits in his small, wooden chair trying to figure out a plan to kill the Kingpin; Lucifer sits, trying to recall the phone number of an old friend.
“I think he’s right, Parker.” Lucifer says, snapping Parker and Olivier from their respective gazes.
“What do you mean you think he’s right?”
“I’ll call Don Fortunato. He always has an army to loan.”
*
Monday, 7.14 PM
“Right this way, sir.” The brisk words are spoken with an Eastern accent—some mix between Middle Eastern and Chinese, Michael Morbius has a hard time pegging it. The man, known as Wong, has light brown skin and a full head of black hair, but his eyes are squinted and his face narrow. This man’s native land is an enigma.
The two men walk slowly into the dilapidated household, the windows boarded and the door falling from its hinges, stepping slowly into what, from the outside, looks like an abandoned crack house. Michael Morbius’s long blond hair trails behind him—his pale blue eyes searching to make sure this isn’t a trap. He can’t find anything that tips him off of anyone’s presence inside the building—not even the world renowned Doctor Stephen Strange, whom he is looking for.
“I hate to be rude, Mr. Wong, but are you sure this is the right place?” Morbius asks as they cross through boarded doorways and broken hallways.
“Of course, sir, Doctor Strange is waiting for you on the other side of this door.” Wong motions to a small pantry closet door in the back of the dusty old kitchen. Does this Wong think that Morbius is here to buy drugs? Because this feels like a drug sale.
“In the pantry?” Morbius’s eyebrows go up in confusion.
“That is not a pantry, sir, but instead a doorway to another dimension.”
“Another dimension, you say? I guess I’ve seen crazier shit than that.” Morbius slowly crosses the room, his arm extending towards the doorknob, shaking slowly. His hand finally touches the doorknob of the pantry. He stops. “Are you sure about this?”
“Either you go in that pantry, or the bodies of your questions will rot in your mind and bring upon you the disease of madness forevermore. I am sure of where the door leads, but are you sure you are ready to be led there?” Wong’s words ring out into the silence of the small, dilapidated household which holds the pantry to another dimension. Morbius closes his eyes and steels his resolve. He twists his hand, opening the door and before his eyes is a massive vortex of different colors.
“This is fucking insane. No. I can’t do this!” But before he can shut the door and turn away, Wong’s small hands hit his back and Morbius falls into the pantry to other dimensions.
Monday, 11.14 PM
“Don!” Lucifer exclaims, reaching into his old friend for a hug. “How long has it been now?!” Lucifer wears a strange subtle disguise of enthusiasm as he embraces Don Fortunato and Parker Robbins stands in the background.
“Well, Lucifer ol’ pal, I think the last time I saw you was when Parker over there blew up my bar two years ago. Sound familiar?” Don’s smile never fades as he talks about the old encounter, and neither does Lucifer. Parker stands aside wondering if it’s all an act or if it’s the strangest friendship he’s ever seen.
“All’s well that ends well, right?” Lucifer ends the embrace and moves himself towards the liquor cabinet. His smile widens as he opens the cabinet. He looks over at Don Fortunato as though asking permission and Don nods back to him. Lucifer rubs his hands together and pulls out a bottle of scotch from 1864. “Remember this bad boy?” Lucifer pulls out three glasses and fills them each about an inch up from the bottom. Parker walks forward and grabs a glass as Lucifer hands one to Don.
“It’s from when we blew Negative’s organization sky-high, isn’t it?”
“Damn right it is. He says his father gave it to him before he passed. To fallen enemies!” Glass clinks as the three toast the memory of a fallen enemy. Don crosses the room and takes a seat in his large, plush chair behind his even larger mahogany desk.
“So what is it that you need, Lucifer?” Don asks, taking a sip of the old scotch.
“I was hoping I could borrow a few of your top men. Fancy Dan and his Enforcers, maybe?” Parker stands still, sipping slowly at his drink. Just before they’d entered Lucifer told Parker to let him do all the talking. He certainly wasn’t going to argue.
“Ah, well about that, another fellow was here about, what, an hour ago,” Don begins, looking down at his wristwatch. “He asked for Fancy Dan and his Enforcers, and he paid a fine fee. He actually bought their contract and everything, so they aren’t really an open commodity from me anymore. Maybe you can talk to him about it.”
“Who exactly bought them?”
“The Kingpin, of course. Who else has enough money to buy the whole contract?” Lucifer’s eyes go wide and he sets down his scotch. He looks over at Parker and Parker’s eyes grow huge too.
“You’re an asshole, Hood, you know that?” Lucifer says, staring straight at his son.
“Yeah. When I told him he should get some enforcers I didn’t think he’d get THE Enforcers.” Don’s eyebrows perk up as he tries to decipher to conversation between father and son.
“So, let me get this straight, you two are trying to take on the Kingpin, right?” They both nod as they turn their attention back to Don Fortunato. “This guy,” Don starts, pointing at the Hood. “Told the Kingpin to get some enforcers.” They nod again. “And the Kingpin came and bought my Enforcers?” They nod once more. “Wow. Congratulations on being a criminal kingpin, Hood, but you just fucked yourself over. Would you be interested in having my next set of free agents, the Brothers Grimm?” Lucifer looks over at Parker and they share the same expression on their face. It couldn’t get worse, could it?
“Sure, we’ll take them.” Don nods.
“They’ll be waiting at Chelsie’s Dinner off 5th and Grant at three-o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Wire the money to the usual account.
*
Maybe Still Monday, A-Whole-Nother Dimension
Michael Morbius struggles to stand amidst the swirling vortexes of color surrounding him. His eyes dark from one flying monster to the next, as dragons, beetles and every other life form surround him in a vortex equally as disruptive to his senses as the colors. His feet shake as he slowly meanders forward. He bites his cheek, trying to hold in the shouts of pain suffered from the fall. Did Wong drug him?
As he slowly makes his way forward, a pathway amongst the colors begins to form, outlined in black. He attempts to concentrate on the blacks outlines as he comes forward at a crawl. He can’t look at the vortexes of monsters and colors, or he doesn’t know he he’ll be able to stop looking. As he walks slowly down the small path, he reaches a point where the outlines widen and create a circle. He lifts his eyes to see ahead of him and finds a lone man meditating; floating just inches above what Morbius assumes is an invisible platform. He reaches out but, despite walking forward, doesn’t seem to be getting any closer to the floating man.
“Are you Stephen Strange?” Morbius calls out, his voice sounding weak and as broken as the house above.
“Yes, Michael Morbius, I am Doctor Stephen Strange. What have you come to me for today?” The man’s voice rings out across the entirety of the dimension. Morbius is stunned by the power that this man commands.
“Y-yesterday I found a stone. A black stone. I took it to my lab to research and then I began to see things. The window opened. Then there was a man in a pinstriped suit. Then he disappeared and there was a man in a wheelchair and—“
“Silence.” Strange calls out, the air suddenly becoming frigid. Strange breaks his meditation and comes to his feet, turning swiftly on his heels to face Michael Morbius. He wears a green suit accented with a white shirt and black shoes. Hanging from his neck is a long golden necklace with three gems embedded in it—two smaller blue ones surrounding a large red one. His eyes are a furious red and his hair is jet-black with a streak of white running through it. His stubble stands on end. “The black stone, you said? The same one that claimed the life of your wife, Michelle Morbius, sixteen long years ago?” His voice now sounds rushed; he takes extra time to enunciate each word so that nothing is lost in communication.
“H-how did you about that?” Doctor strange walks briskly forward, his body being engulfed in a white flame. As he emerges from the mass of flames, a long red cape hangs from his shoulders, the collar popped up.
“These stones are of a dark nature, Michael Morbius, something that you shall not tamper with.” Strange stops inches from Morbius’s face, his quick, short breaths landing hit across Morbius’s chin. “You must take me to your lab so that I may secure the stone.”
“I need to know what it is first. If it really is the think that killed Michelle, I must know what it is.” The two stand in silence for a moment, their eyes locked and their breath hitting hot against each others’ faces. Strange sighs and then places his fingertips against Morbius’s forehead.
“Close your eyes, Michael Morbius, and I shall tell you the story of Cthon.” As Strange slides his fingers slowly down Morbius’s face, Morbius closes his eyes and, for the first time in what seems like hours, Morbius somehow manages to block out the swirling vortexes of monsters and colors. Now, in his mind, all that is present is the voice of Doctor Stephen Strange and a view of the Earth as it regresses from its grand metropolises of today into the dark, unloving world of yesterday.
Lucifer, the Hood, & Michael Morbius
In
Dark City
Chapter III
Secrets We Want To Hide
By Jordan
*
Last Time in Dark City:
Years ago Michael Morbius’ wife’s life was taken by a strange, dark stone. Now, he has finally found one himself—what could it mean?! And Parker Robbins does damage to the Kingpin’s organization when he kills one of his men in the Kingpin’s own bar! The exciting first chapters of Dark City continue here!
*
Monday Morning
“We all have secrets that we want to hide, Don. That doesn’t mean that they have to stay hidden.” His voice comes out in almost a whisper. His cold, airy breaths collide against the warm, sweating skin of Don Fortunato. He sits in a small wooden chair in a dimly lit room, his green vest soaked in his sweat, tears and blood. His slicked back black hair thrown into a frenzy; a look of terror in his eyes. Above him stands a sole man, his eyes red as blood, his skin a dark, rose-red with markings drawn through it. He stands only clothed in a loincloth, his bare red skin made even more terrifying in the dim lights.
“P-please, Mephisto…please don’t do this to me. I-I’ll get you whatever you want! I swear!” Don Fortunato is silenced as the strong red hand comes down across his face. Blood shoots from his mouth, the momentum carried by a lone, bloody-red tooth.
“You know what I want!” Mephisto’s voice comes out strong, his glare bearing into the soul of Don Fortunato. “You promised me his head! Where is it?!”
“He’s too much for me! I told you that! I’m sorry!”
“I gave you back your love!”
“P-please…leave Cynthia out of this…please.”
“You have one week, Don Fortunato. If, by the end of the week, Lucifer Morningstar still breathes, Cynthia will not.” A strange breeze flutters through the room and Mephisto is gone, leaving Don Fortunato untied on a small wooden chair, his green vest covered in his own blood, sweat and tears.
*
Monday, 3.30 PM
“So now that we don’t have the element of surprise, how do you plan on taking the Kingpin down in a week?” Lucifer’s words come on tired as he follows his question with a sigh. His whole life seems to be one large load of work, preparing Parker Robbins for what is to come.
“Well, Lucifer, let’s figure out what our strengths and weaknesses are, shall we?” Parker Robbins, Lucifer Morningstar and their friend, Olivier, all sit around a small table in a rented out storage space just off 17th Avenue that serves as their meeting place. Once every four months, they move to a new storage block—but it’s always the same on the inside. One small table, one little light, one little fridge, and three men trying to figure out how to take New York by storm.
“Well obviously common sense isn’t your strong-suit, Parker.”
“You were the one who told me that human life is precious and that, if I were going to take one, I should ensure that I acknowledge they life they’ve lived.”
“And in what way is telling the Kingpin you’re after him acknowledging that life?”
“I’ve done my research, father. Kingpin went from rags to riches. He’s a fighter. He’s a survivor. Let’s give him one last fight, one last chance to survive. That’s my logic.” Parker Stares in the golden eyes of his father as a small smile breaks at the edges of Lucifer’s mouth.
“You really are my boy, Parker.”
“So, what exactly are our strengths?” Olivier, the brute with no last name, pipes up. His dark red eyes stare at the father and the son with admiration. He sits slouched, his hulking body covering most of the large table.
“Well, for starters, my jacket is a demon loyal to me.” Parker says, tugging at the red hoodi which responds by rustling around on top of him. “You are a demon literally made to break down the gates of Heaven.” A huge grin crosses Olivier’s face and a glint sparks in his eyes as he thinks of breaking down His Kingdom. “And my father may or may not be the biblical devil who fought a war against God and, for all intents and purposes, won.” Lucifer waves his hand, as if the war was nothing special. “So I’d say we have some serious strengths on our side.”
“But what about our weaknesses?” Lucifer tosses in, trying to force Parker to realize they aren’t invincible.
“Well, Kingpin has a massive army, he’s really pissed, and we only have a week. So, if anyone has a plan, speak now or forever hold your peace.” Olivier raises his hand, as though asking for permission to speak. Parker waves his hand at him, as though granting him that permission.
“Why don’t we just smash Kingpin?” Another glint in Olivier’s eyes as he no doubt is imagining crushing the skull of one of the most powerful men in New York.
“Because, Olivier, did you miss the part about the whole army Kingpin has that we don’t?” Parker says, the glint immediately dissolving from Olivier’s eyes.
“Why don’t we just get one?” Now his eyes are struck with confusion, staring at the large metal door that encloses their hideout.
“Don’t be an idiot, Olivier; we don’t have the kind of money for a whole damn army!” Parker screams, obviously fed up with his less than intelligent friend. But then the room is cloaked in silence. Olivier stares into the distance in confusion; Parker sits in his small, wooden chair trying to figure out a plan to kill the Kingpin; Lucifer sits, trying to recall the phone number of an old friend.
“I think he’s right, Parker.” Lucifer says, snapping Parker and Olivier from their respective gazes.
“What do you mean you think he’s right?”
“I’ll call Don Fortunato. He always has an army to loan.”
*
Monday, 7.14 PM
“Right this way, sir.” The brisk words are spoken with an Eastern accent—some mix between Middle Eastern and Chinese, Michael Morbius has a hard time pegging it. The man, known as Wong, has light brown skin and a full head of black hair, but his eyes are squinted and his face narrow. This man’s native land is an enigma.
The two men walk slowly into the dilapidated household, the windows boarded and the door falling from its hinges, stepping slowly into what, from the outside, looks like an abandoned crack house. Michael Morbius’s long blond hair trails behind him—his pale blue eyes searching to make sure this isn’t a trap. He can’t find anything that tips him off of anyone’s presence inside the building—not even the world renowned Doctor Stephen Strange, whom he is looking for.
“I hate to be rude, Mr. Wong, but are you sure this is the right place?” Morbius asks as they cross through boarded doorways and broken hallways.
“Of course, sir, Doctor Strange is waiting for you on the other side of this door.” Wong motions to a small pantry closet door in the back of the dusty old kitchen. Does this Wong think that Morbius is here to buy drugs? Because this feels like a drug sale.
“In the pantry?” Morbius’s eyebrows go up in confusion.
“That is not a pantry, sir, but instead a doorway to another dimension.”
“Another dimension, you say? I guess I’ve seen crazier shit than that.” Morbius slowly crosses the room, his arm extending towards the doorknob, shaking slowly. His hand finally touches the doorknob of the pantry. He stops. “Are you sure about this?”
“Either you go in that pantry, or the bodies of your questions will rot in your mind and bring upon you the disease of madness forevermore. I am sure of where the door leads, but are you sure you are ready to be led there?” Wong’s words ring out into the silence of the small, dilapidated household which holds the pantry to another dimension. Morbius closes his eyes and steels his resolve. He twists his hand, opening the door and before his eyes is a massive vortex of different colors.
“This is fucking insane. No. I can’t do this!” But before he can shut the door and turn away, Wong’s small hands hit his back and Morbius falls into the pantry to other dimensions.
Monday, 11.14 PM
“Don!” Lucifer exclaims, reaching into his old friend for a hug. “How long has it been now?!” Lucifer wears a strange subtle disguise of enthusiasm as he embraces Don Fortunato and Parker Robbins stands in the background.
“Well, Lucifer ol’ pal, I think the last time I saw you was when Parker over there blew up my bar two years ago. Sound familiar?” Don’s smile never fades as he talks about the old encounter, and neither does Lucifer. Parker stands aside wondering if it’s all an act or if it’s the strangest friendship he’s ever seen.
“All’s well that ends well, right?” Lucifer ends the embrace and moves himself towards the liquor cabinet. His smile widens as he opens the cabinet. He looks over at Don Fortunato as though asking permission and Don nods back to him. Lucifer rubs his hands together and pulls out a bottle of scotch from 1864. “Remember this bad boy?” Lucifer pulls out three glasses and fills them each about an inch up from the bottom. Parker walks forward and grabs a glass as Lucifer hands one to Don.
“It’s from when we blew Negative’s organization sky-high, isn’t it?”
“Damn right it is. He says his father gave it to him before he passed. To fallen enemies!” Glass clinks as the three toast the memory of a fallen enemy. Don crosses the room and takes a seat in his large, plush chair behind his even larger mahogany desk.
“So what is it that you need, Lucifer?” Don asks, taking a sip of the old scotch.
“I was hoping I could borrow a few of your top men. Fancy Dan and his Enforcers, maybe?” Parker stands still, sipping slowly at his drink. Just before they’d entered Lucifer told Parker to let him do all the talking. He certainly wasn’t going to argue.
“Ah, well about that, another fellow was here about, what, an hour ago,” Don begins, looking down at his wristwatch. “He asked for Fancy Dan and his Enforcers, and he paid a fine fee. He actually bought their contract and everything, so they aren’t really an open commodity from me anymore. Maybe you can talk to him about it.”
“Who exactly bought them?”
“The Kingpin, of course. Who else has enough money to buy the whole contract?” Lucifer’s eyes go wide and he sets down his scotch. He looks over at Parker and Parker’s eyes grow huge too.
“You’re an asshole, Hood, you know that?” Lucifer says, staring straight at his son.
“Yeah. When I told him he should get some enforcers I didn’t think he’d get THE Enforcers.” Don’s eyebrows perk up as he tries to decipher to conversation between father and son.
“So, let me get this straight, you two are trying to take on the Kingpin, right?” They both nod as they turn their attention back to Don Fortunato. “This guy,” Don starts, pointing at the Hood. “Told the Kingpin to get some enforcers.” They nod again. “And the Kingpin came and bought my Enforcers?” They nod once more. “Wow. Congratulations on being a criminal kingpin, Hood, but you just fucked yourself over. Would you be interested in having my next set of free agents, the Brothers Grimm?” Lucifer looks over at Parker and they share the same expression on their face. It couldn’t get worse, could it?
“Sure, we’ll take them.” Don nods.
“They’ll be waiting at Chelsie’s Dinner off 5th and Grant at three-o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Wire the money to the usual account.
*
Maybe Still Monday, A-Whole-Nother Dimension
Michael Morbius struggles to stand amidst the swirling vortexes of color surrounding him. His eyes dark from one flying monster to the next, as dragons, beetles and every other life form surround him in a vortex equally as disruptive to his senses as the colors. His feet shake as he slowly meanders forward. He bites his cheek, trying to hold in the shouts of pain suffered from the fall. Did Wong drug him?
As he slowly makes his way forward, a pathway amongst the colors begins to form, outlined in black. He attempts to concentrate on the blacks outlines as he comes forward at a crawl. He can’t look at the vortexes of monsters and colors, or he doesn’t know he he’ll be able to stop looking. As he walks slowly down the small path, he reaches a point where the outlines widen and create a circle. He lifts his eyes to see ahead of him and finds a lone man meditating; floating just inches above what Morbius assumes is an invisible platform. He reaches out but, despite walking forward, doesn’t seem to be getting any closer to the floating man.
“Are you Stephen Strange?” Morbius calls out, his voice sounding weak and as broken as the house above.
“Yes, Michael Morbius, I am Doctor Stephen Strange. What have you come to me for today?” The man’s voice rings out across the entirety of the dimension. Morbius is stunned by the power that this man commands.
“Y-yesterday I found a stone. A black stone. I took it to my lab to research and then I began to see things. The window opened. Then there was a man in a pinstriped suit. Then he disappeared and there was a man in a wheelchair and—“
“Silence.” Strange calls out, the air suddenly becoming frigid. Strange breaks his meditation and comes to his feet, turning swiftly on his heels to face Michael Morbius. He wears a green suit accented with a white shirt and black shoes. Hanging from his neck is a long golden necklace with three gems embedded in it—two smaller blue ones surrounding a large red one. His eyes are a furious red and his hair is jet-black with a streak of white running through it. His stubble stands on end. “The black stone, you said? The same one that claimed the life of your wife, Michelle Morbius, sixteen long years ago?” His voice now sounds rushed; he takes extra time to enunciate each word so that nothing is lost in communication.
“H-how did you about that?” Doctor strange walks briskly forward, his body being engulfed in a white flame. As he emerges from the mass of flames, a long red cape hangs from his shoulders, the collar popped up.
“These stones are of a dark nature, Michael Morbius, something that you shall not tamper with.” Strange stops inches from Morbius’s face, his quick, short breaths landing hit across Morbius’s chin. “You must take me to your lab so that I may secure the stone.”
“I need to know what it is first. If it really is the think that killed Michelle, I must know what it is.” The two stand in silence for a moment, their eyes locked and their breath hitting hot against each others’ faces. Strange sighs and then places his fingertips against Morbius’s forehead.
“Close your eyes, Michael Morbius, and I shall tell you the story of Cthon.” As Strange slides his fingers slowly down Morbius’s face, Morbius closes his eyes and, for the first time in what seems like hours, Morbius somehow manages to block out the swirling vortexes of monsters and colors. Now, in his mind, all that is present is the voice of Doctor Stephen Strange and a view of the Earth as it regresses from its grand metropolises of today into the dark, unloving world of yesterday.