Strange had never experienced the "infinite loop" in the sacred timeline. He fought against the Lord of the Dark Dimension in a different way.
The Ancient One had taken him back into a secret past, then returned him to the moment after his magic had been perfected.
Later, Strange personally killed Kaecilius and the other dark disciples who had drawn on the power of darkness, sealing the dimensional gap with his own hands.
But from that final glance, he had felt the immense power of the pair of purple eyes staring at reality from beyond the gap.
The malice and the roar within had made his scalp tingle.
As for Dormammu's flame necromancer form, Strange only learned of it afterward, from the forbidden records stored within the library of Kamar-Taj.
So now, seeing Dormammu appear before him, he was naturally shocked.
A pitch-black spike instantly appeared in his palm, stabbing forward!
But Dormammu merely lifted a finger and stopped the spike in midair.
He grinned and said:
"Tsk tsk… if you keep using Chthon's power, you'll be beyond saving."
With a flick, the black spike shattered instantly.
Even though Dormammu was no longer the ruler of his dimension, his power from the peak—when he had reached the end of time—had not diminished.
Dealing with a small Sorcerer Supreme was nothing to him.
Strange staggered back, horror written on his face.
The moment they clashed, he knew without a doubt—he was no match.
But then… why had this Supreme brought him here?
Were these two working together? Were they planning to attack the real world?
His face paled, dark energy crawling beneath his skin, writhing unnaturally.
Chthon's power was on the verge of reaching its breaking point.
Just as Strange began to panic, he suddenly saw Dormammu bowing slightly, smiling humbly at the Supreme:
"Master, you may begin."
This title struck Stranger harder than Dormammu's very appearance.
His jaw dropped, his mind exploded as if with thunder, leaving him unable to think at all.
Snap!
A crisp snap of fingers echoed, and an invisible force swept away the black magic that had been corrupting Strange's mind.
He gasped, regaining himself, fear filling his eyes.
He had been just a step away from being devoured—only for another being, comparable to Mephisto, to save him.
Grinding his teeth, Strange turned toward Russell and pleaded desperately:
"Kill me!"
The black magic within him prevented suicide. At this moment, his only hope was that this Supreme truly bore goodwill toward the real world.
But the next second, he heard the other party speak lightly:
"That's not necessary."
A milky-white light appeared from Russell's eyes and sank into Strange's forehead.
Strange suddenly froze, then his hands began to weave magic.
A dark magic circle took shape, and the Darkhold was summoned.
Russell spoke at that moment:
"Dormammu, you may use my power of deception."
The power of the Word Spirit manifested, and a white sigil briefly appeared on Dormammu's forehead before vanishing.
Russell's eyes grew deep as he said:
"It's up to you now, Dormammu.
If you succeed, I will release my control over you and grant you part of the fragments of Hell.
But don't harbor thoughts you shouldn't. Remember—I am watching you."
Dormammu smiled ingratiatingly:
"Of course. Please rest assured. For my own future, I will give it my all.
Besides, Mephisto from the other dimensions is hardly a reliable partner."
Russell nodded and vanished instantly.
Dormammu showed no displeasure. He simply took a deep breath, his expression turning serious.
The next moment, he seized Strange's face with one hand and pulled violently.
In an instant, all the black magic parasitizing Strange was ripped out, swirling in the air like dark streamers.
Dormammu summoned the Darkhold into his grasp, and the corrupting dark energy tried to surge into his hand.
He snorted coldly, suppressing the pollution with his own dark power.
Then, with a wave of his hand, the black currents floating in the air were absorbed into the Darkhold.
As the last wisp of energy merged, the Darkhold floated uncontrollably.
The Scarlet Witch's temple began to tremble and shift.
From the dead shadows of the hall, hideous monsters crawled out.
But the moment they stepped onto the altar, they were blown apart, their flesh and blood defying gravity as they streamed toward the Darkhold, wrapping around it endlessly.
Seconds later, the Darkhold constructed a humanoid body, black as shadow.
At that moment, space itself trembled!
The shadow opened a pair of blood-red eyes.
An ancient malice radiated outward—primal, as if it had existed since the dawn of creation.
Yet Dormammu remained unaffected. He laughed aloud:
"Don't play games with me, Chthon. I'm the one who summoned you."
The shadow lowered its head, crimson eyes widening in surprise as it blurted:
"Dormammu?
You're not dead yet!"
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