Chapter 127: Old Friends
"You…" Stephen stared at the figure behind him, his expression frozen in shock and disbelief.
He knew this was a ritual to summon a demon—one from ancient legend—and he'd been fully prepared for the cost, all to heal his broken hands.
He had imagined countless versions of this encounter: a towering demon cloaked in shadow, horns like a ram's, hooves, a flaming whip, molten lava flowing from its skin…
But he never expected this.
Standing behind him was a stunning woman—voluptuous, seductive, with long, flowing black hair cascading over her shoulders. She wore a sleek black dress that hugged her curves, every inch of her radiating sensuality.
"What's wrong, handsome? You look so surprised. You're the one who summoned me, remember?" the demoness purred with a smile.
"You… You're really a demon?" Stephen asked, his voice trembling.
"Of course," she replied, stepping closer and lifting his chin with a finger. "I know everything about you, Stephen Strange."
"!!" Stephen's eyes widened as he stared into hers. Her pupils shimmered crimson, with black ripples dancing like waves.
"You're quite something. Probably delicious, too," she teased. "So, what is it you want from me? Let me guess—healing your hands? That's such a minor request…" As she spoke, her fingertips brushed his damaged hands.
Instantly, the tremors in his hands ceased. They steadied.
"It's real… It really worked!" Stephen's face lit up with joy as he looked at his hands—no longer trembling.
Snap. The demoness smirked and snapped her fingers.
In the next second, Stephen's hands began trembling again—uncontrollably, just like before. She had lifted the magic.
"No! Please—turn them back! Fix my hands!" Stephen cried, clutching her shoulders desperately.
"Alright, alright, no need to panic," she said, brushing his hands off gently.
"Now let's talk business. You summoned me, which means you understand the rules. So—what are you offering in exchange for your wish? Your soul?" She leaned in, eyes gleaming like a predator eyeing prey.
"I want my hands to work—just like they did a moment ago!" Stephen blurted out.
"If that's your wish, then I shall grant it. The pact is sealed." She cupped his face with both hands, her alluring red lips moving closer—
---
Meanwhile, Frank had already left Stephen behind and boarded a flight to Albuquerque, New Mexico.
During his time with Stephen, Frank had managed to scrape together some decent cash—enough to buy a plane ticket, at least.
"308 Negra Arroyo Lane, Albuquerque, New Mexico…" Frank muttered, reading the address scribbled in his notebook.
"The sun here is brutal," he said, squinting up at the cloudless sky and shielding his eyes with a hand.
New Mexico was part of America's southern region—wide open land, mostly deserts, red rock cliffs, and barren plains. Compared to New York or Chicago, it was sweltering.
The contrast was like that between northern and southern China. In March or April, the south was already warm, flowers blooming, people in light dresses and T-shirts—while the northeast was still seeing snow and down jackets.
But unlike China's prosperous south, New Mexico was the epitome of "vast land, sparse population." You could drive for hours through nothing but open desert, dust swirling up behind your car, without seeing another soul.
Albuquerque was a small town, sparsely populated. Walter had settled here and now worked as a high school chemistry teacher.
Frank headed straight to the school, stopping just outside Walter's classroom. He stood at the door, quietly watching him teach.
"'Chirality' comes from the Greek word for 'hand,'" Walter was explaining at the blackboard, glasses perched on his nose. "In chemistry, it means that a molecule's structure can be like your left and right hands—mirror images, the same yet opposites. So, organic compounds often exist as chiral pairs at the molecular level."
Walter looked like any average middle-aged teacher—slightly pudgy, wearing a plaid shirt, completely ordinary.
Soon enough, the bell rang. Students packed up and filed out.
"Hey, Walter," Frank said, stepping into the room.
"!!" Walter jumped, startled by the familiar voice behind him.
"Frank!" He turned and let out a breath of relief, then broke into a big smile and hurried off the podium to hug him.
"It's been a while, old friend. But wow—you're really this excited?" Frank laughed, patting Walter on the back, surprised by the enthusiasm.
Frank had emailed Walter that he might visit soon but didn't mention a specific time—mainly because he hadn't decided yet. So his sudden appearance was, understandably, a pleasant surprise.
"You came at just the right time—I need your help," Walter said quickly, grabbing Frank's arm. "But I'm kind of in a rush. Come with me."
Frank looked confused. He'd come here for help himself—how was he already being recruited?
Walter led him to the chemistry storage room. Looking around nervously, he unlocked the door and pulled out two containers of liquid.
"Hold these," he said, shoving them into Frank's arms before locking the room again.
"What's going on?" Frank asked as they got into the car.
"A lot's happened recently," Walter muttered.
Just then, he spotted someone walking ahead on the street and his eyes went wide.
Frank followed his gaze and saw a man stumbling along—barely able to walk straight, like he was about to collapse.
"Hey! Hey!" Walter ignored Frank and pulled up beside the man, rolling down the window and reaching out.
The man was in a terrible state—filthy and disheveled, reeking of chemicals. Not just the grime of a homeless person, but a sharp, acrid scent—like lab fumes or solvents.
"!!" The man turned at the sound of Walter's voice—and his face twisted in terror, as if he'd seen a ghost.
Then he bolted.
He dashed off blindly, crashing straight into a flowerbed—and smacked headfirst into a tree.
"Oh my god! Oh my god!" Walter panicked and rushed over, quickly unbuckling his seatbelt.
"You know him?" Frank asked, jumping out after him.