The figure that materialized from the swirling, abyssal folds of the living cloak was not a demon, nor a savior—at least, not by appearance. It was Ben, currently inhabiting the nightmarish form of Ghostfreak.
He had moved with impossible speed, crossing the continent from Washington D.C. to New York in the blink of an eye, slipping through the cracks of reality.
Under normal circumstances, breaching this specific pocket dimension—a construct woven by Madame Hydra's dark magic and bolstered by the eldritch authority of the Darkhold—would have been a headache. Ben likely would have needed to track down the caster physically holding the book to force an entry. However, Doctor Strange's desperation had provided a shortcut. The Sorcerer Supreme's incantation had cracked the door open just a hair, creating a metaphysical dark passage.
Ben had seized the opportunity, slipping through the shadows like oil through water.
He just hadn't expected the "door" to be a person.
Ben floated free from the darkness, glancing back at the young man known as Cloak—Tyrone Johnson—whose body served as a conduit to the Darkforce Dimension.
Just my luck, Ben thought, his single, purple eye narrowing in mild annoyance. I travel through dimensions and I come out of a dude. Couldn't it have been a beautiful girl? If traveling through the multiverse involved emerging from supermodels, I wouldn't mind this job nearly as much.
He paused, his internal monologue shifting. Wait. I'm a teenage billionaire superhero who owns a galactic empire. I already drive luxury cars and live in mansions. Never mind. I'm good.
Pushing aside his wandering thoughts, Ben's singular eye rolled in its socket, sliding along the track of his skull to survey the room.
The atmosphere in the Sanctum was already tense; his arrival shattered it completely.
His appearance as Ghostfreak—a floating, spectral entity with pale, withered skin, clawed hands, and an upside-down skull—was the stuff of primal nightmares. Doctor Strange stiffened, his magical mandalas flaring to life. Beside him, Claire Temple, the Midnight Nurse, instinctively dragged the unconscious form of Tandy Bowen, also known as Dagger, further back. Luke Cage stepped in front of them, his jaw set and fists clenched, ready to punch something that looked like it couldn't be punched.
They clearly thought a demon from the border of Hell had just successfully breached their defenses.
Doctor Strange, whose eyes had seen horrors beyond comprehension, hesitated. He had assumed Ben was a manifestation of the Dark Dimension, a minion sent to finish them off. But the creature simply floated there, observing them with an intelligence that felt... distinctly un-demonic.
"Who are you?" Strange demanded, his hands trembling slightly from magical exhaustion.
Ben's raspy, whispering voice echoed not just in the air, but inside their heads. "Me? I'm the Sorcerer Supreme."
Strange blinked, his concentration faltering. What?
For a split second, the Doctor wondered if the eccentric librarian, Wong, or perhaps some other faction at Kamar-Taj had staged a coup and elected this monstrosity while he was busy saving reality.
"Kidding," Ben wheezed, a dry, rattling sound that might have been a chuckle.
He drifted closer, his face inches from Strange's. The Doctor could feel the unnatural chill radiating from the Ectonurite form, a cold that seeped into the marrow. But as terrifying as Ben looked, the malice Strange sensed wasn't directed at him. It was directed at the concept of the job itself.
"That old hag, the Ancient One, keeps trying to pawn her business off on me," Ben rasped, his eye spinning to lock onto Strange's gaze. "Dream on. 'Sorcerer Supreme'... what a joke. It's a glorified title for a cosmic janitor. You spend your whole life cleaning up other people's magical messes. Only a dog would want that job. Don't you agree?"
Ben paused, tilting his head. "Well? Am I right?"
Strange stared at him, mouth slightly agape. He didn't know how to answer. The description was offensively reductive, bordering on blasphemy against the mystic arts.
And yet... as Strange thought about his recent weeks of terror, pain, and constant crisis management...
"It... has its moments," Strange equivocated, his guard lowering slightly. "So, you're not the enemy."
"That's not entirely accurate," Ben mused, tapping a claw against his chin. "I mean, technically I'm here to blow up the Earth. In a specific, multi-dimensional chess sort of way. But for right now? I'm here to help you leave."
Strange's face lit up with a desperate hope. "You can cast teleportation spells inside this barrier?"
Ben shook his head, the folds of his ghostly skin swaying. "Nope. Not my style."
"Do you know a hidden passage? A fracture in the Darkhold's boundary?"
"No clue."
Strange's hope withered. "I understand. Then you must know where the spellcaster is. If we neutralize the one controlling the book, this dimension should collapse, returning us to reality."
"Haven't the foggiest," Ben admitted cheerfully.
Strange looked at him, his expression turning numb. "You're insane. You know nothing, you have no exit strategy, and you're trapped in here with us. How exactly do you plan to lead us out? By killing Dormammu?"
Strange meant it as a sarcastic retort, a highlight of the absurdity of their situation.
"Hey!" Ben's voice pitched up, echoing with genuine delight. "Look at you! You got it right on the first try!"
"Huh?" Strange froze.
"Is... is he serious?" Luke Cage rumbled from behind, looking between the ghost and the wizard.
"Do you have any idea what you're saying?" Strange sputtered, pointing an accusing finger at the floating spectre. "Dormammu isn't some street thug! He is a Demon God! The absolute ruler of the Dark Dimension! A being of infinite malice and hunger! And you want to find him? What do you take him for? A side dish?!"
"You are on a roll today, buddy!"
Ben burst into laughter. It was a terrifying sight.
The seam running down Ghostfreak's chest split open with a wet, tearing sound. His ribcage peeled back like a blooming, grotesque chrysanthemum, revealing a writhing mass of black-and-white tentacles inside. The tentacles wiggled joyfully, reaching out as if to pat Strange on the cheek.
Unbelievable, Strange thought, his stomach churning. This thing is an abomination.
"Alright, Strange," Ben said, retracting his tentacles and stitching his chest back together with a thought. "You've tangled with him before. You know where he is. If you want to leave this dimension, you're going to be my GPS. Take me to him."
"You don't understand," Strange argued, his voice rising in panic. "Taking you there is suicide. You cannot comprehend the scale of Dormammu's power—"
Strange's words died in his throat.
The room, previously dim and oppressive, was suddenly bathed in a blinding, magenta radiance.
Ben had engaged the Omnitrix.
The terrifying, withered form of Ghostfreak vanished, replaced by a being of pure, unadulterated light. He stood taller now, a silhouette of humanoid energy composed of deep purples, vibrant pinks, and blinding whites. He was an Anodite—a being of pure mana.
He was no longer a ghost; he was a star.
"What were you saying?" Ben asked.
His voice was no longer raspy. It was resonant, harmonizing with the hum of the universe itself. He bent down slightly, his glowing eyes—vast and devoid of pupils—staring into Strange's soul.
The sheer density of the life energy radiating from him was staggering. It felt like standing on the shore of an endless ocean of power.
Behind them, Tandy Bowen gasped. The Lightforce user, who had been drained to the point of a coma, was instantly revitalized by the ambient radiation of Ben's form. She sat up, eyes glowing, looking as if she had just slept for a week and consumed a pure adrenaline cocktail.
"I feel... incredible," she whispered, looking at her hands. "I could glow for a month."
Beside her, Tyrone Johnson underwent his own transformation. The oppressive magic of the Dark Dimension had destabilized his connection to the Darkforce, leaving him amorphous and shadowy. But in the presence of Ben's overwhelming mana, Tyrone's physical form solidified. He looked human again, blinking in surprise as he touched his solid face.
Strange stared up at the glowing entity, his jaw working silently. The magical pressure was immense, yet strangely comforting—like the warmth of the sun.
His demeanor shifted instantly. The arrogance vanished, replaced by the pragmatic survival instinct of a man who realized he was standing next to a nuclear reactor.
"I said," Strange corrected himself, rubbing his hands together with a servile smile, "I would be honored to take you to him immediately, sir."
Ben tilted his head, the energy creating a halo effect. "Gross. I preferred the rebellious attitude. Bring back the snark, Strange. This bootlicking doesn't suit the Sorcerer Supreme."
"I... I had no idea you were a Dimensional Lord," Strange stammered, trying to salvage his dignity. "If I had known, I wouldn't have hesitated. I've wanted to deal with that idiot Dormammu for ages. He's been a thorn in the side of reality for too long."
Strange paused, sensing the boundless mana radiating from Ben. It was tantalizing.
"By the way... Boss," Strange ventured cautiously, "Since we are about to face a Demon God... could you perhaps lend me a small chaotic amount of that magical energy? Just a drop?"
Ben glanced at him sideways, the energy flaring slightly.
Strange immediately raised his hand in a solemn oath. "I know the rules of the trade! Nine out, thirteen back! Predatory interest rates! My teacher, the Ancient One, borrows power all the time. The credit rating of the Sorcerer Supreme is impeccable!"
"I know exactly what that reputation is worth," Ben deadpanned. "You're talking about the biggest cosmic deadbeat in the multiverse. You're making her sound like a reliable borrower?"
Strange flushed, looking embarrassed. Ancient One, if you can hear this, I'm sorry, but I need the juice.
"You're still a bit lacking compared to her," Ben commented, shaking his head.
Strange nodded humbly. "My magical skills are indeed far inferior to the Master's—"
"I meant in shamelessness," Ben clarified. "You actually look embarrassed asking for a loan. If the Ancient One were here, she'd rob me blind with a smile and call it 'balance.' You have much to learn."
Strange: "..."
"Fine," Ben said, waving a hand dismissively. "You want Mana? Take it. I'm not worried about you paying it back. In fact, the more you use, the stronger the connection becomes. Consider it an investment."
He gestured to the swirling void outside the windows.
"Now. Take me to Dormammu."
The Dark Dimension. The Borderlands.
This realm was a kaleidoscopic nightmare of neon geometry and consuming shadow. Once, eons ago, it had been ruled by Olnar, a sorcerer-king who sought to conquer other realities. But Olnar had fallen, and in the vacuum, the entity known as Dormammu had risen.
Dormammu was a cancer on the multiverse. He was an outsider who had usurped the throne, his hunger for physical matter insatiable.
After his humiliating defeat on Earth—trapped in a time loop by a mortal with an Infinity Stone—Dormammu had shifted his gaze. He had turned his attention to the borders of Hell, expanding his dominion there.
Conquering two dimensions should have been enough. But the hunger never ceased. Dormammu still yearned for the jewel he had failed to claim: Earth.
He floated in the center of his reality, a colossal face comprised of rippling energy and cosmic debris, larger than a planet.
Suddenly, he felt a disturbance. A familiar signature.
Doctor Strange was approaching. Voluntarily.
"Doctor Strange," Dormammu's voice boomed, shaking the very fabric of the dimension. "You dare appear before me again?"
The giant face sneered, looking down at the speck of a man floating on a disc of magic. "You do not have the Stone this time, wizard. You cannot trap me. Are you here to beg for your miserable life?"
"Oh, I'm not here to negotiate," Strange shouted back, his voice amplified by magic. He shrugged, looking surprisingly relaxed. "And I'm not the one looking for you."
Strange stepped aside, his cloak billowing.
From behind him, Ben stepped forward.
He was still in his Anodite form, a blazing beacon of pink and violet light against the sick green and purple of the Dark Dimension. He looked up at the mountain-sized face of the Demon God, showing zero fear.
Dormammu paused, sensing the strange, potent energy radiating from this new interloper. "And who is this gnat?"
Ben grinned, his body flaring with power.
"Hey, Dormammu," Ben called out, mimicking Strange's iconic line with a dark twist. "I haven't come to bargain."
He cracked his knuckles, the sound like thunder.
"I'm here for a snack."
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