Couple notes here.
The ancient one is still alive in this one, many more superheroes so fates and destinies for some characters can change because of the butterfly effect.
Next, this is a short few chapters where characters are finally meeting Erik. I will also start distancing Lady Death and Erik a little. Not like they wont be together or anything but some conversations or experiences, i feel would be more impactful by himself then with her.
Lets try to get in the 200 powerstone rankings this week. Leave some powerstones please and thank you.
Hope you enjoy it.
Also I'll be starting up an SCP fic soon. Maybe tomorrow or the next day. Stay tuned.
__________
Diana did not begin with questions.
That would have been rude.
Instead, she began with observation.
She stood alone on a high terrace of the Watchtower, armor unfastened at the shoulders, the stars spread before her like a familiar map. She had fought gods, spoken with titans, walked realms that predated Olympus itself. She knew the difference between power that demanded attention and power that simply existed.
The man Batman had shown them was the former's opposite.
The woman, however.
That was something else.
Diana closed her eyes and reached inward, not with magic, not with force, but with memory. The old ways. The way the Amazons were taught to feel truth without naming it.
She had felt that presence before.
At the edge of battlefields.
At the moment a hero fell.
At the quiet breath between last words and silence.
Death.
Not as an enemy. Not as a threat.
As a certainty.
Diana opened her eyes.
"She walks freely now," Diana murmured to herself. "That alone is unusual."
She turned.
She was no longer alone.
Lady Death stood a few paces behind her, leaning casually against a structural column that should not have supported anyone's weight in that way. She wore the same simple, modern clothes she favored on Earth. No crown. No cloak. No symbols.
Just a woman.
"You're staring at the stars like they owe you money," Death said lightly. "That usually means you're thinking too hard."
Diana did not reach for her sword.
That alone said a great deal.
"I was wondering when you would come." Diana replied calmly.
Death smiled. "I was wondering when you would notice."
They regarded one another in silence, two beings shaped by different eternities, neither hostile, neither naïve.
"You are not hiding," Diana said finally. "But you are also not announcing yourself."
Death shrugged. "I never do. People tend to overreact."
Diana allowed herself a faint smile. "That is accurate."
She stepped closer, studying Death not as a warrior studies an opponent, but as a diplomat studies a sovereign.
"You walk beside him," Diana said. "The one Bruce encountered."
"Yes."
"You are involved," Diana continued. "Not incidentally. By choice."
"Yes."
Diana inclined her head slightly. "Then I will ask plainly."
Death raised an eyebrow. "I appreciate plain."
"What is he to you."
Death did not answer immediately.
Not because she was unsure.
Because she was choosing honesty.
"He is someone I care about," she said. "Someone learning how to live without being alone."
Diana absorbed that.
"You speak of him as a person," she noted. "Not as a force."
"That's because he is one," Death replied. "The universe has plenty of forces. People are rarer."
Diana folded her arms loosely. "Bruce believes him restrained."
"He is," Death said. "Deliberately. Constantly."
"And you trust that restraint."
Death's expression softened, just a fraction. "I trust his effort. That matters more than perfection."
Diana studied her carefully. "You sound like you freed him?" she said pointedly.
Death's gaze sharpened.
"That," she replied calmly, "is not a question you're meant to be asking."
Diana held her gaze, then nodded once.
"Very well," she said. "Then I will ask what I am meant to ask."
She took a breath.
"Is he dangerous."
Death considered that.
"Yes," she said. "In the way all powerful beings are. Including you."
Diana did not bristle.
"And does he seek dominion," Diana asked.
"No."
"Worship."
"No."
"Control."
"No."
Diana let out a slow breath.
"What he seeks, then."
Death smiled faintly. "A life."
That answer lingered.
Diana turned back toward the stars. "Bruce fears imbalance."
"He always does," Death said. "That's why he's usually right."
"And you," Diana said. "Do you fear it."
Death joined her at the railing. "I fear stagnation more."
Diana glanced sideways. "You believe he represents change."
"I believe," Death replied, "that he represents choice. Something he was denied for a very long time."
Diana did not press further.
Instead, she placed a hand over her heart, an Amazon gesture of sincerity.
"Then hear this," Diana said. "As long as he walks this world with restraint, he will not be my enemy."
Death smiled, genuine this time. "I'll let him know."
Diana hesitated, then added, "And if others move against him unjustly."
Death's smile did not fade.
"Then they will learn," she said gently, "why I don't usually intervene."
The Watchtower hummed softly around them.
Below, Earth turned.
Diana straightened. "You understand that some of my allies will not be as patient."
"I do," Death replied. "And he understands that too."
Diana nodded. "Then I believe we are done here."
She turned to leave, then paused.
"One more thing," Diana said, glancing back.
Death raised a brow.
"You chose him," Diana said. "That is unusual for you."
Death's eyes softened, ancient and fond. "Everyone can change."
Diana left without another word.
Alone again, Death looked out at the stars, then down toward Earth, toward a man who was learning how to exist in a world that watched him too closely.
"Careful, Erik," she murmured. "You're making allies."
Far below, Erik felt a quiet shift, not pressure, not threat.
Someone decided at this time to visit him as well.
__________
Between one breath and the next, space bent inward, not violently, not theatrically, but with the practiced precision of someone who had done this for centuries. A circle of golden sigils flared briefly on the rooftop across from Erik and Lady Death's apartment, then collapsed into silence.
The Ancient One stepped through.
She wore simple robes, weathered by time rather than battle. Her presence did not announce itself with power. It settled.
The air around her felt old in the way temples felt old, layered with memory and restraint.
Erik felt her presence immediately.
Not as sound.
As weight.
He turned to face her fully.
Then the Ancient One stood a few paces away, hands folded within the sleeves of her simple robes, bald head catching the city light. Her expression was calm, observant, neither curious nor afraid.
The Ancient One studied him the way a master studies a paradox, not seeking to solve it, but to understand how it persists.
"You are not magic," she said at last.
Erik inclined his head politely. "That is a common conclusion."
"And yet," she continued, "you bend perception, probability, and response without invoking spells, symbols, or extradimensional contracts."
"Yes."
She smiled faintly. "How refreshingly inconvenient."
Erik returned the smile, smaller. "You are… not what most expect either."
"I rarely am," she replied. "You may call me the Ancient One."
"I know you," Erik said gently. "And Stephen Strange as well. You share the title now."
Her eyes sharpened, but there was no anger there. Only confirmation.
"So you see," she said.
"I listen," Erik corrected. "Names carry intent. Yours is well-anchored."
She nodded, accepting the distinction.
They stood in silence for a moment, city noise filling the space between them. Unlike Batman, unlike the League, she did not posture. Unlike Tony, she did not probe.
She simply observed.
"You unsettled the mystic lattice," she said calmly. "Not by force. By presence. That is rare."
"I am trying not to," Erik replied.
"I believe you," she said without hesitation. "Which is why I am here."
Erik looked at her, curious. "Not to warn me."
"No," she said. "To set context."
She gestured outward, not to the city, but beyond it. "Reality has many frameworks. Science. Magic. Faith. Each believes itself fundamental. Each is wrong."
She looked back at him. "You do not belong to any of them."
Erik considered that. "I have noticed."
The Ancient One allowed herself a quiet chuckle. "Good. That humility will keep you alive."
She stepped closer, still leaving respectful distance. "Stephen reacts to anomalies like problems to be solved. I react to them like weather. You are a change in season."
"I do not wish to be a storm," Erik said.
"And yet storms are not evil," she replied. "They are simply honest."
Her gaze softened. "Tell me this, then. Are you anchored."
Erik frowned slightly. "Anchored?"
"To this reality," she clarified. "To consequence. To choice."
"Yes," he said after a moment. "I choose to be."
That answer mattered.
The Ancient One nodded slowly. "Then you are not a threat to the mystic order."
Erik blinked. "That was, easier than expected."
She smiled. "That is because I am not here to control you."
She turned slightly, looking out over the city. "There are beings who bend reality because they cannot bear it. Others because they wish to rule it. You bend nothing deliberately."
"I try very hard not to," Erik said.
"That effort," she replied, "is why I will not oppose you."
She met his gaze again. "But hear me clearly."
Erik listened.
"If you ever lose that restraint," she said evenly, "Stephen and I will act. Not as enemies. As surgeons."
Erik nodded without offense. "That is fair."
She smiled approvingly. "Good. You understand balance better than most sorcerers."
She stepped back, her presence already beginning to thin, not vanishing, but disengaging.
"One more thing," she added.
"Yes."
"You are not alone," she said. "Not anymore. That is both your greatest strength and your greatest vulnerability."
Erik absorbed that quietly.
"I am aware," he said. "Every day."
The Ancient One inclined her head, respect given freely.
"Then may your choices remain your own," she said.
And she was gone, not with drama, but with finality, as if she had never needed to arrive at all.
Erik exhaled slowly.
"That went well," he murmured.
Somewhere nearby, Lady Death finished her own conversation and returned, glancing at him with knowing eyes.
"She spoke to you," Death said.
"Yes."
"And you survived."
"I believe," Erik replied, "that was the intention."
Death smiled, slipping her hand into his. "Congratulations. You've just been evaluated by the mystic half of reality."
Erik looked out at the city, feeling the layers of attention around him, not hostile, not welcoming, just aware.
"I seem to be collecting those lately," he said.
Death squeezed his hand. "That's what happens when you choose to exist."
__________
(Location - Sanctum)
The Ancient One did not seek Stephen immediately.
She waited.
Not out of hesitation, but out of understanding.
Stephen Strange was brilliant, reactive, and deeply principled. Those qualities made him an excellent Sorcerer Supreme and a terrible first responder to anomalies that refused to fit into known systems. If she confronted him while his curiosity was still sharpening into suspicion, he would push.
And pushing, in this case, would be a mistake.
She found him hours later in the Sanctum, standing barefoot on the floor of the relic vault, coat discarded, hands moving through slow diagnostic gestures as the ambient wards responded.
Stephen Strange stopped mid-motion.
"You already checked." he said without turning around.
"Yes," the Ancient One replied calmly. "And so did you."
He exhaled through his nose, finally facing her. "Then you felt it too."
The Ancient One inclined her head. "I did."
Stephen folded his arms. "It's not magic. It's not extradimensional. It's not cosmic radiation or divine interference. Whatever he is, he's wrong."
The Ancient One smiled faintly. "You say that as though reality has an obligation to be tidy."
"This isn't tidy," Stephen snapped, then caught himself. He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not saying he's hostile. But something that bends perception without spellwork, without artifacts, without contracts… that's unprecedented."
"Yes," she agreed. "Which is why you are not to confront him."
Stephen blinked. "I'm sorry?"
She met his gaze evenly. "You are not to approach him. You are not to test him. You are not to provoke him into explaining himself."
Stephen's brows knit together. "That's not how we do things."
"It is how we survive this," she replied.
He took a step forward. "You don't give orders lightly. That tells me you're worried."
"I am cautious," she corrected. "There is a difference."
Stephen paced once, then stopped. "Did you speak to him."
"Yes."
"And."
"And he did not lie."
Stephen stared at her. "That's not reassuring."
"It should be," she said. "He does not think like a liar. Or a conqueror. Or a mystic seeking mastery."
Stephen leaned against a pillar. "Then what does he think like."
The Ancient One chose her words carefully.
"Like someone who is constantly restraining himself," she said. "Not because he is told to. Because he believes it is right."
Stephen was quiet for a long moment.
"That makes him fragile," he said finally.
"Yes," she agreed. "Which makes you dangerous to him."
That got his full attention.
"You think I'd hurt him," Stephen said, incredulous.
"I think," she replied, "that you would try to understand him."
Stephen frowned. "That's literally my job."
"And in doing so," she continued, unflinching, "you would reduce him to a system. A theorem. A rule set. You would pull at threads that should not yet be tugged."
Stephen opened his mouth, then closed it.
"He's anchored," he said slowly. "Isn't he."
"Yes."
"Chose to be here."
"Yes."
"And he's emotionally, human."
The Ancient One nodded. "Painfully so."
Stephen looked away. "Then if I interfere, I destabilize him."
"Yes."
"And if others interfere."
"Then you protect him," she said simply. "From them. And from yourself."
Stephen let out a humorless laugh. "You're asking me to do nothing."
"I am asking you," she corrected, "to do the hardest thing you've ever done."
He thought of Dormammu. Of the Dark Dimension. Of bargains struck with eternity.
"Wait," he said quietly.
"Yes."
Stephen straightened. "Batman made contact."
"Yes."
"And Death walks beside him."
"Yes."
Stephen looked up sharply. "You're certain."
"I am," she said. "And that should tell you something."
Stephen exhaled slowly. "Death doesn't choose companions lightly."
"No," the Ancient One agreed. "And she does not protect foolishness."
Silence stretched between them, filled only by the soft hum of wards and the distant city below.
Finally, Stephen nodded.
"Alright," he said. "I won't approach him. I won't test him. I won't dissect him."
She watched him carefully. "But."
"But I'll be ready," Stephen finished. "If he falls. If he loses control."
The Ancient One smiled, satisfied. "That is all I ask."
She turned to leave, then paused.
"One last thing, Stephen."
"Yes."
"He is not here to challenge you," she said. "Do not make him your mirror."
Stephen swallowed. "I'll try."
"That," she replied gently, "is enough."
She left the Sanctum without another word.
Stephen remained where he was, staring at nothing.
Somewhere out there was a man powerful enough to unsettle reality and gentle enough to fear doing so.
For the first time in a long while, Stephen Strange chose restraint.
And that might have been one of the smartest decisions he has ever made.
__________
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And that's all for this chapter.
Got an SCP fic coming soon. I think its going to be an interesting concept so let's see together.