Dr. Stephen Strange had barely stepped out of surgery when he and Christine Palmer were paged for an emergency.
The hospital director stopped them in the hall, face flushed and urgent. "Dr. Strange, you're needed immediately. It's... someone important."
"Important how?" Strange asked.
"Don't worry about that. The VIP's family requested you specifically. If you save this kid, we're talking promotion. Deputy Director of Surgery. This could be your shot."
He glanced at Christine. "Prep the OR. Let's go."
"You sure?" she asked. "You just got out of surgery."
"That last one was barely a warm-up. And this is an opportunity I won't waste." He added, "Make sure the regenerative spray is ready."
They entered the operating room. The patient, a young man, already lay unconscious on the table. But as Strange examined him, he frowned.
"These injuries… these aren't from a car crash."
The wounds were too clean. Sliced, not crushed. They resembled knife slashes or something worse. Still, he pushed the doubt aside. The hospital director said this was a chance to move up. He wasn't going to blow it now.
"Severe internal bleeding. Bone fractures. Organ trauma... but manageable," he muttered. "Let's start with the fractures."
Anesthetics were administered. Strange's hands went to work his restored fingers dancing like a pianist's. Bone shards were removed. Organs stitched. Damaged tissues repaired.
And with the regenerative spray, the procedure was seamless. Easy, even.
He felt himself beginning to smile.
After his accident, he had hit rock bottom. But now? His hands worked. His skills were sharp. His future was back on track. Promotions. Prestige. Maybe even a future with Christine.
"Almost done. Use the spray," he said.
Christine stepped forward and began applying the self-healing compound.
"What… is that?" she whispered.
Strange turned toward the patient only to see his torso glowing.
A pentagram, sharp and symmetrical, burned into the man's chest like a ritual seal. Strange recognized the sigils etched around it. Ancient. Infernal. Something… demonic.
"Demon cult markings?" he muttered. "That can't be right…"
He had heard rumors. Fringe conspiracies about people channeling entities beyond comprehension. Demonic cultists who served dark gods in exchange for power.
But he'd never believed it.
The operating room temperature dropped sharply. Frost spread across the steel cabinets.
The patient's eyes snapped open pure black voids.
He sat up. His joints cracked. A grotesque grin stretched across his face.
Strange and Christine instinctively backed toward the door.
Then the man the demon laughed. "Such tender souls… yours especially," he said, pointing at Strange. "So refined. So ripe."
Strange lifted a scalpel defensively. "Don't come any closer. I swear I'll—"
"Please," the demon sneered. "That toy? Useless."
He waved his hand, and black energy lanced out, striking Strange's hands.
Agony exploded up his arms. The demonic energy corroded everything it touched. His skin hissed. His nerves lit up in pain. Flesh burned from the inside out.
"You fragile little mortals," the demon said with a sick grin. "So weak. So… soft."
A ring of golden sparks flared open beside the OR wall.
Nolan stepped through, his cloak billowing behind him. His expression was stone.
"A demon foot soldier? In my city?" he said, disgusted.
He thrust his arm forward. Mystic bindings orange, glowing, ethereal ropes lashed out, wrapping around the demon like chains.
"Kamar-Taj?" the demon gasped.
Nolan didn't answer. With a tug, he yanked the bound creature toward him, dragging him across the room like a captured animal. The demon shrieked and struggled but it was no use.
Nolan glanced at Strange just once.
Then he turned and vanished back through the portal, dragging the demon with him.
The room fell silent.
Christine rushed to the floor, fumbling for the regenerative spray. She grabbed it and sprinted to Strange's side, misting his blistered, blackened hands.
At first, the healing process appeared to begin with new tissue, fresh skin.
But Strange's face twisted.
"I… I can't feel my hands," he whispered.
"They're numb. Completely numb."
Christine froze. "No… the spray should've worked…"
Strange stared at his fingers. They looked healed. But they didn't move.
"They're dead," he said, horrified. "I can't even flex them."
Worse than after the accident. Then he had at least some control. Some hope. But now… nothing.
"I'm not a surgeon anymore."
The words broke from him like glass.
Christine tried to speak, but he didn't hear her.
His mind was already spinning.
Oscrop Medical. They healed him once. Maybe they could do it again.
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