"I just need access to your library."
"Absolutely not!" Strange set down his empty glass. "The Sorcerer Supreme's library has been gathered over millennia. It holds knowledge I've sworn to protect. I cannot allow an outsider in—especially a Ghost Rider. Zarathos' flame is uncontrollable."
"So there's no way I can convince you I won't lose my mind in there?"
"None."
"Oh, Steve, I really didn't want to go there, but—you owe me. And I mean big time. Library access is just a fraction of the debt. Your descendants will still be repaying me."
"Bold claim," Strange gave him a bored look. "And what exactly could a dropout magician have done for the Sorcerer Supreme?"
"I'm doing your damn job!" John slammed his beer mug onto the table. "The Sorcerer Supreme is supposed to protect people from magical threats—especially demons! Where the hell were you when Mephisto killed my father?! Throwing another damn party?!"
The guests turned their attention to him, but John didn't care. He'd been waiting a long time to say this to the arrogant prick.
"Mephisto took my soul! And what did you do, Supreme Shithead?! Nothing! I had to fight the devil myself! I beat Mephisto and drove him off this planet forever! I have spent years wiping out demons! So yeah, Steve, you owe me! Your whole damn organization owes me!"
"Enough!" Stephen rose from his chair. A thick magical aura radiated from him, instantly snuffing out Zarathos' flames on John's bones. "Considering your impending demise, I'll overlook your insolence. Now leave."
"I'm not going anywhere!" John stood up sharply, locking eyes with him. "You owe me!"
"No one owes you anything, Ghost Rider," Strange spoke slowly, drawing out every word. "Every so-called 'heroic deed' you've done was for yourself. And every misfortune that's befallen you—you brought on yourself. You should have never picked up Zarathos' Cross."
A murmur spread through the hall. Every guest was fixated on the argument. John glanced at them, but they immediately turned away as if he were a leper.
"Don't bother looking for support," Stephen read his expression correctly. "No favors or smooth-talking will help you. Every sorcerer and witch here knows you have one foot in the grave. No one will help you. Neither will I. Now leave."
"Mister Blaze," Wong placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Your presence here is no longer welcome."
"Gladly! Too many shitheads in this place anyway!" John shrugged off his hand and headed for the exit in dead silence. Then, he abruptly stopped and turned to the crowd.
"One of you is dealing with Dormammu."
The name of one of the Hell's lower circle kings sent a visible ripple of tension through the room.
"All the most powerful sorcerers on Earth, gathered in one place. How convenient. All it takes is one portal, and Dormammu crushes every last one of his enemies in a single move." John smirked. "Enjoy your party."
///
John walked through the city at night, the drizzle pattering against his skull. Just what he needed to cool off the searing heat.
Half the guests had rushed out of Strange's house right after him.
[Heh. Ruining a party with just a few words—not bad. But it's not what I wanted.]
He hadn't expected Strange to wave a magic wand and stop his soul from burning away. But he had counted on getting access to the Sorcerer Supreme's library—the greatest repository of magical knowledge on Earth. There was no cure there, of course, but there could've been clues about where to look. Or, in the best-case scenario, a ritual to extend his life by at least another year.
After tonight's fiasco, all those plans had collapsed.
[Stupid bastard!] He kicked an empty beer can.
The ringing of a nearby phone booth pulled him out of his thoughts.
Who the hell still uses a street phone in the smartphone era?
Sarcasm quickly gave way to cold logic.
John was standing alone in the middle of the street, and then a phone started ringing.
Coincidence? Hell no.
"...Yeah?" He picked up the receiver.
"Mr. Blaze, I witnessed your argument," said a mechanical voice on the other end. "This is Doctor Doom."
John's heart pounded faster.
[Yes! A real technomage. The ruler of Latveria. A man who has brought the entire Marvel universe to its knees more than once. Please, tell me you can help. I'll circle all of Hell in your honor!]
"I've seen enough tonight to make a precise conclusion—manipulating you is pointless," Doom continued. "So I'll be direct. I don't know how to cure soul decay, but I'm willing to search for a cure."
[One of the smartest men in the universe is willing to think about my problem—that's already huge.]
"What do you want in return?" John asked, keeping his voice steady.
"You will kill Strange and bring me the Eye of Agamotto."
[Kill an asshole and get a cure for it? Steve doesn't even qualify as 'innocent' on Zarathos' scale. This isn't even a question.]
"No," John said firmly. "Strange is an arrogant bastard and a snob, but he does do his job. Without him, we'd already be serving Dormammu."
"Then that leaves the other fifty percent."
"...What?"
"Before this call, I ran a mathematical calculation. The probability of you accepting my offer was fifty percent. The same as the probability of you refusing."
John wanted to ask if Doom used math to make every decision, but the line had already gone dead.
[I just turned down the last person who could have actually helped me. Was that the right call?]
He doubted it.
John sank to the filthy floor of the phone booth, burying his face in his hands.
[Now I'm truly alone. Earth doesn't want me. Hell will kill me the second I show up.]
The rain picked up, drumming against the glass.
A thunderclap split the sky, followed by a blinding bolt of lightning.
[It's a desperate idea… but it might work.]
John looked up at the raging storm, a tired smile creeping onto his lips.
[As they say in church: you are never alone—God is always with you.]
/////
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