Three Doors And No Keys

Dormammu was the beginning of the end.

In a dimension beyond comprehension, unbound by human concepts of mortality, Stephen Strange began to shed their skin.

In the moments between their demise and time respooling, they felt an acute jolt of pain that shot through their entire being from the left hand. It began with a grotesque crack of the skin as flesh parted itself, their bones slithering like snakes under their skin as talons began to elongate.

The agony was unbearable, but they did not have time to contemplate the viscous black blood that seeped out from the crevices of the cracks before the words slipped out of their mouth, an almost mantra that kept them company throughout the decades that they’ve endured in this self-made prison of time.

“Dormammu, I’ve come to barg—”

A different kind of agony lit up their entire being as iridescent beams of light eviscerated their body. Time began anew.

It is yet again in the stolen moments in between their torment that they notice their mangled left hand burning with a sweltering heat that rivaled the intensity of the sun. Their talons took on a shade akin to the vast void that surrounded them in the Dark Dimension. The heat spread throughout their arm and with it the darkness that tainted their talons. The words force themselves out of their mouth.

“Dormammu, I’ve come to bargain.”

The entity lets them finish the sentence this time before tearing them in two. Time began anew.

Rinse and repeat. The changes to their body develop further in the gaps of time in between, giving them very little opportunity to contemplate it. Neon tentacle imprints appearing upon their skin, always slinking about in a haphazard manner. The Cloak of Levitation’s form warped as well, it shuddered when feathers sprouted between its folds, eventually engulfing it entirely in a burst of flames. A phoenix reborn.

Deep down Stephen knew that they were the reason for the Cloak’s affliction. It was their mystical proximity, the intimate bond between a sorcerer and relic that soared and perished together endlessly. Stephen wept for it in sorrow, they felt the Cloak’s consciousness brush against their mind, a silent comfort and unconditional forgiveness swept through them.

Eventually, the Eye of Agamotto also began to distort. A century or so had passed by then, Dormammu still livid about being entrapped by time, still taking out their anger on Stephen, but their patience was wearing thin and Stephen knew that the end was in sight. Dormammu would soon be amenable to listening to their requests. But for now, they must persevere.

The squirming power from beyond, leaking through the cracks in so many respooled deaths, reached out to the Eye of Agamotto. A different kind of bond had formed between Stephen and this relic— one of spellwork and barter. The Eye cracked. When it shattered, the sensation was more than physical. Shards of bronze and links of shattered chain burned beneath Dormammu's assault, but Stephen felt the immaterial splinters lodge in their sternum. It burned. Stephen ducked their head, eyes squeezing shut. Light still burned in the corner of their eyes. When they respooled again, their skin was washed by green— the light of dozens of Eyes, too other to focus on, forming a circle around their head.

Despite the halo’s position, Stephen could still feel the phantom weight of the Eye in their chest, as if it had burrowed itself into it and nestled in the deepest crevices of their soul. They felt a gentle hum that permeated through their entire being, something as old as time had found a home inside of them.

It took exactly twenty-two more time loops for Dormammu to concede, a coincidental amount that aligned with the number of Eyes that framed their face. Stephen tried not to dwell about it as they uttered the familiar words.

“I’ve come to bargain.”

“What do you want?”

Their demands were swiftly met, and for the first time in centuries, the neon green circlet around their wrist broke apart as time ceased to respool. Everything else that followed was a blur, the cloak levitated their body through the portal and back to earth. Words came out of their mouth as they confronted a surprised Kaecilius, but Stephen could not find it in themself to focus on the situation at hand. They felt unmoored.

The appearance of their otherworldly transformation had left their companions in a momentary daze, it saddened Stephen that their fear was so palpable. Despite the disconcerting feeling of finally being set free of the loop, there was no sense of dysphoria about the transformation they had undergone. However, the solace that they found in this form was clearly not shared with their companions.

Mordo left with a warning and a look of disgust.

------

Time passed on earth without beginning anew. Weeks had gone by, memories of Dormammu and the world beyond death suppressed deep inside of Stephen; nevertheless, the changes to their body and soul remained.

What frightened them the most was how right the metamorphosis had begun to feel. Stephen never found the need to be bound by binaries, but the sheer comfortableness of just existing in this transformed body was an altogether new experience.

It became natural, as if their ink dipped limb had always been that way. The bright coloured tentacles that wrapped around their arm were playful and temperamental; they shifted about and pushed at the boundaries of Stephen’s limb, as if they were trying to escape and explore the rest of Stephen’s body. The Cloak of Levitation seemed to enjoy its new form as well, flapping its wings as it zoomed around the sanctum with an added flair of dramatics.

The halo of Eyes had retreated deep inside of them, yet thoughts of the time loop never failed to manifest the Eyes, the green wash of light provided a sense of comfort as the relic’s consciousness brushed against theirs.

Nevertheless, Stephen’s thirst for knowledge and knowing was a fundamental part of them. Despite being at ease with their metamorphosis and in no hurry for a cure, they needed answers. Thus, Stephen began pouring through the ancient tombs in Kamar-Taj’s library, longing for some sort of explanation.

Their research proved futile as there seemed to be no records of similar occurrences. The fruitless endeavour fed into Stephen’s frustrations and anxieties, almost tangible in the air. Their trusty Cloak wrapped around them in an attempt to console. It was in one such instance that the halo of Eyes made an appearance without prompt, Stephen’s eyes glazed over as a vision overtook them.

They gazed down and saw a tangle of limbs and fluorescent tentacles protruding from the shadow of the Cloak. They could barely comprehend the shape of their body, the blackness that plagued their left arm had spread all over, blending into the darkness of the surrounding. Yet, when they shifted one of their many limbs, the air seemed to shudder in protest. Stephen blinked, they felt more than a dozen eyes flutter, a gasp of shock escaped their lips. However the vision was cut short before they could explore further.

Stephen was brought back to reality, the halo of Eyes dispersed. They stared at their hands, one void-like in colour while the other still a human tone, both still heavily scarred from their past hubris. Stephen’s mind raced, their mentor had once used the Eye of Agamotto to peer through time, it only made sense that the vision was a glimpse into the future, one of many. But that would mean—

Oh.