In the heart of New York City, the Sanctum Sanctorum stood as a bastion against mystical threats. Inside, Doctor Stephen Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme, delved into ancient texts, seeking wisdom for an emerging anomaly in the fabric of reality. Wong, his loyal friend and ally, stood by his side.
"Stephen, we have an unusual disturbance," Wong reported, his brow furrowed in concern. "It's as if time itself is fracturing."
Doctor Strange nodded, already feeling the subtle shifts in the temporal flow. "I'll investigate. Prepare for anything, Wong. If this is what I think it is, we might be dealing with a time paradox."
Channeling the Eye of Agamotto, Strange focused his energy, opening a portal to the disturbance's epicenter. He stepped through and found himself in a desolate wasteland, where the remnants of civilizations lay in ruins, and the sky was a turbulent swirl of colors.
Before him stood an older version of himself, clad in tattered robes and bearing the marks of countless battles. The elder Strange looked up, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and determination.
"You've come," the elder Strange said, his voice a raspy echo of the younger Doctor Strange's own. "I was beginning to lose hope."
"What happened here?" Strange asked, taking in the devastation around them.
"A temporal rift," the elder explained. "In my timeline, I made a grave mistake. I tried to alter the past to prevent a great catastrophe, but in doing so, I unleashed a paradox that consumed everything.
No comments:
Post a Comment