The Sanctum Sanctorum

A portal opened in space and time and both Doctor Stephen Strange and Daimon Hellstrom stepped into the sitting room of the Sanctum Sanctorum. John Blaze sat nearby, waiting in his wheelchair and eyeing Strange with a look of dissatisfaction.

“Someone mind telling me just what the hell’s going on here, Strange?” asked Blaze. “First you tell me you’re not doing jack for me, and then your manservant here tells me I can’t leave?”

“There are factors at work and they involve both you and Daimon here,” said Doctor Strange.

Blaze looked at Strange’s traveling companion. “Son of Satan?”

“I go by Hellstorm now,” said Daimon.

“Good, both your old name and that stupid cape were ridiculous,” said Blaze.

Daimon looked down at the wheelchair. “On the other hand, seems you’ve seen better days.”

“Fuck you,” said Blaze. “I’ve got Hell to thank for my current situation, so I’d watch the lip if I were you, ’cause I’m itchin’ for some payback.”

The trident emerged from Daimon’s hand and he slammed it on the ground, sparks emitting once it struck the carpet. “As you can see, I’m quivering.”

“Gentlemen please,” said Doctor Strange. “That’s a very valuable rug, a gift from the Emperor of the Anshir dimension and I’d hate to see it ruined.”

“What factors involve the two of us?” asked Hellstorm. “Something to do with Heaven?”

“Perhaps they’re a factor, but I fear this goes beyond them,” said Doctor Strange.

He brought his legs up into the lotus position as he hovered in the center of the room. His eyes began to glow and several cards rose from a table in another room and flew through the corridor, passing through the kitchen and right by Wong. The servant had been busy preparing tea and barely even registered the cards—such sights were hardly uncommon in the home of Doctor Strange.

The cards flew into the sitting room and one by one arranged themselves in midair, the faces turned towards Hellstorm and Blaze. There were nine cards in total, each of them featuring a different image with a label at the bottom.

One image resembled Hellstorm and had THE EMPEROR written beneath it. Another had a flaming skeleton and the word DEATH beneath it. A third featured an image of Strange himself and read THE MAGICIAN.

“What does this mean?” asked Hellstorm.

“I have used these cards before, when I needed to assemble the so-called Secret Defenders,” said Doctor Strange. “They’ve remained dormant for years, but now they began appearing to me, showing me these images. And look at the others—The Devil, The Hermit, Strength, The Fool, The Hanged Man and The Hierophant.”

“So we have to find the remaining six,” said Hellstorm.

“There’s more,” said Strange. “I consulted a higher being and I was told to assemble the seven soldiers. There are nine cards.”

“You’re the one doing the assembling, so that rules you out. And unless I can turn this thing into a Hellfire wheelchair, that means I’m not much of a soldier,” said Blaze. He produced a cigarette and lit it. “Seems pretty simple.”

“It’s that simple, is it?” asked Doctor Strange.

Blaze began coughing. Suddenly, it felt extremely hot in the room. “Jesus Strange…*kaff* if you didn’t want me smoking, all—*koff*—all you had to do was ask.”

His hands pulled off his leather jacket to try and cool down, but instead the temperature only grew hotter. Blaze’s skin began to turn bright red as his coughing became more and more violent.

“Enough Stephen,” said Hellstorm.

Blaze gagged as if he had something stuck in his throat. His eyes bulged before rolling back and his skin grew more and more bright. His hands grabbed his chest, he felt like he was having a heart attack and the pain in his legs was almost unbearable.

“Stephen, I said that’s enough!” Hellstorm pointed his trident at the Sorcerer Supreme.

“This isn’t me,” said Doctor Strange with an eerie calm in his voice.

Blaze’s eyes suddenly burned up inside his skull and his entire body spontaneously combusted. The skin melted off his bones, leaving his clothes intact, and that melted skin seemed to reform itself and calcify into spikes on his shoulders.

From his legs, bones burst forth, destroying his wheelchair and transforming into a new sort of structure and the flames from his body circled down it, forming wheels at each end.

The demon that stood where John Blaze had once been slowly raised his head, the empty eye sockets glowing with flames in the center. Except something was different about the Spirit of Vengeance this time. Now, his bike was fused to the lower half of his body, to compensate for the lack of legs.

“Zarathos I presume,” said Doctor Strange.

“How did you cause him to transform?” asked Hellstorm.

“I didn’t.”

“The sorcerer speaks the truth. Innocent blood has been spilt this day.” The Sanctum Sanctorum

A portal opened in space and time and both Doctor Stephen Strange and Daimon Hellstrom stepped into the sitting room of the Sanctum Sanctorum. John Blaze sat nearby, waiting in his wheelchair and eyeing Strange with a look of dissatisfaction.

“Someone mind telling me just what the hell’s going on here, Strange?” asked Blaze. “First you tell me you’re not doing jack for me, and then your manservant here tells me I can’t leave?”

“There are factors at work and they involve both you and Daimon here,” said Doctor Strange.

Blaze looked at Strange’s traveling companion. “Son of Satan?”

“I go by Hellstorm now,” said Daimon.

“Good, both your old name and that stupid cape were ridiculous,” said Blaze.

Daimon looked down at the wheelchair. “On the other hand, seems you’ve seen better days.”

“Fuck you,” said Blaze. “I’ve got Hell to thank for my current situation, so I’d watch the lip if I were you, ’cause I’m itchin’ for some payback.”

The trident emerged from Daimon’s hand and he slammed it on the ground, sparks emitting once it struck the carpet. “As you can see, I’m quivering.”

“Gentlemen please,” said Doctor Strange. “That’s a very valuable rug, a gift from the Emperor of the Anshir dimension and I’d hate to see it ruined.”

“What factors involve the two of us?” asked Hellstorm. “Something to do with Heaven?”

“Perhaps they’re a factor, but I fear this goes beyond them,” said Doctor Strange.

He brought his legs up into the lotus position as he hovered in the center of the room. His eyes began to glow and several cards rose from a table in another room and flew through the corridor, passing through the kitchen and right by Wong. The servant had been busy preparing tea and barely even registered the cards—such sights were hardly uncommon in the home of Doctor Strange.

The cards flew into the sitting room and one by one arranged themselves in midair, the faces turned towards Hellstorm and Blaze. There were nine cards in total, each of them featuring a different image with a label at the bottom.

One image resembled Hellstorm and had THE EMPEROR written beneath it. Another had a flaming skeleton and the word DEATH beneath it. A third featured an image of Strange himself and read THE MAGICIAN.

“What does this mean?” asked Hellstorm.

“I have used these cards before, when I needed to assemble the so-called Secret Defenders,” said Doctor Strange. “They’ve remained dormant for years, but now they began appearing to me, showing me these images. And look at the others—The Devil, The Hermit, Strength, The Fool, The Hanged Man and The Hierophant.”

“So we have to find the remaining six,” said Hellstorm.

“There’s more,” said Strange. “I consulted a higher being and I was told to assemble the seven soldiers. There are nine cards.”

“You’re the one doing the assembling, so that rules you out. And unless I can turn this thing into a Hellfire wheelchair, that means I’m not much of a soldier,” said Blaze. He produced a cigarette and lit it. “Seems pretty simple.”

“It’s that simple, is it?” asked Doctor Strange.

Blaze began coughing. Suddenly, it felt extremely hot in the room. “Jesus Strange…*kaff* if you didn’t want me smoking, all—*koff*—all you had to do was ask.”

His hands pulled off his leather jacket to try and cool down, but instead the temperature only grew hotter. Blaze’s skin began to turn bright red as his coughing became more and more violent.

“Enough Stephen,” said Hellstorm.

Blaze gagged as if he had something stuck in his throat. His eyes bulged before rolling back and his skin grew more and more bright. His hands grabbed his chest, he felt like he was having a heart attack and the pain in his legs was almost unbearable.

“Stephen, I said that’s enough!” Hellstorm pointed his trident at the Sorcerer Supreme.

“This isn’t me,” said Doctor Strange with an eerie calm in his voice.

Blaze’s eyes suddenly burned up inside his skull and his entire body spontaneously combusted. The skin melted off his bones, leaving his clothes intact, and that melted skin seemed to reform itself and calcify into spikes on his shoulders.

From his legs, bones burst forth, destroying his wheelchair and transforming into a new sort of structure and the flames from his body circled down it, forming wheels at each end.

The demon that stood where John Blaze had once been slowly raised his head, the empty eye sockets glowing with flames in the center. Except something was different about the Spirit of Vengeance this time. Now, his bike was fused to the lower half of his body, to compensate for the lack of legs.

“Zarathos I presume,” said Doctor Strange.

“How did you cause him to transform?” asked Hellstorm.

“I didn’t.”

“The sorcerer speaks the truth. Innocent blood has been spilt this day.” The Ghost Rider turned his head away and the flaming wheels began to spin, setting the rug on fire and bursting through the wall and out onto the night street.

Doctor Strange looked at the damage done to his home and sighed. “The Defenders have apparently returned…”

THE BEST DEFENSE

Part IV: Into The Void

By Dino Pollard

Leonard Samson lowered the bottle of whiskey as his head snapped to the sound of the loud explosion in the distance. He got to his feet and adjusted his glasses, seeing a ball of flames rising into the air.

No…not flames. Not real flames anyway. They were black flames.

“That’s somethin’ you don’t see every day,” said the Hulk.

“Hulk, you have to get me over there,” said Samson.

“Oh I do?” The Hulk’s glowing yellow eyes fixed themselves on Samson. “And why the hell do I gotta do anything you tell me?”

“People could be hurt, we have to see what’s happening.”

“Please, every one out of five New Yorkers is a superhero, let someone else do it.”

Samson sighed. “Hulk, if you help me, I promise I’ll help you figure out who you are.”

“You’re gonna do that anyway, Samson.”

The gamma-powered psychiatrist crossed his arms over his chest as he stood. “And why would I do that?”

“’Cause if you don’t, then I’ll rip off your head and use your neck as a toilet.”

“And then you’d have no one to help you.”

The Hulk rose to his feet, staring down at Samson, who may as well have been an ant compared to him. He wrapped a massive red hand around Samson’s waist, pinning the man’s arms to his sides and raised him to his head.

“You…you don’t scare me,” said Samson. Speaking had now become something of a struggle as the behemoth squeezed him. “You won’t kill me…’cause youneed me…And I won’t help you…unless you help me first.”

“Quid pro quo, huh?” asked the Hulk.

Samson nodded. He could hear a low growl in the Hulk’s throat.

“If you fuck me, I’ll violate orifices you never even knew you had.”

“Fair…enough…” said Samson. “You fuck me…you won’t know…the truth.”

“Fine.” The Hulk loosened his grip enough so Samson could breathe normally. He then leapt off into the distance, still holding his new partner in his hand.

Sleepwalker hovered in the air, his attention drawn by the sudden explosion. He flew towards the source of it and once he arrived, he could see a man dressed in a black trench coat and a fedora, clutching a child by the neck. The man looked up at Sleepwalker, but his face was pitch black, save for his eyes which glowed brightly.

“Oh look, it’s one of those loser Z-stringers.” He held the kid up, who had tears streaming down his face, so Sleepwalker could watch as the child’s neck snapped. “Whoops.”

“BASTARD!” Sleepwalker dove from the sky towards the strange creature. The man opened his trench coat and black tendrils shot out, ensnaring the alien body with the mind of a human.

“Actually, my name is the Void,” he said. “And these infini-tendrils of mine are telling me you’re Sleepwalker…but not the real Sleepwalker. You’re just taking his body for a joy ride, huh?”

Inside his mind, Rick Sheridan felt the pain of dying, the trauma of every bad thought he ever experienced, amplified by a factor of a thousand. Somehow, he could even feel the neglect and alienation that the Sleepwalker felt when he had been attacked by the very people he sought to defend.

“I know the feeling,” said the Void. “See, I’m taking this body for a cruise myself. But you, you look like someone I could have some fun with. Maybe I should see if I can get into this Dreamscape of yours, eh? Or…now she’s a tasty treat, that little girlfriend of yours!”

In Rick’s mind, he saw Alyssa and he felt the rage beginning to grow as the Void projected images of every twisted thing he would do to the girl.

“Maybe I should say former girlfriend, looks like she wants nothing to do with a freak like you.”

The Sleepwalker opened his eyes wide and the beams that were his trademark fired at the road beneath the Void’s feet, causing it to rise up and wrap around him. The Void, however, did nothing but laugh and he shifted shape, dripping down like a thick, black oil. The viscous fluid surrounded Sleepwalker in a circle and then twelve identical Voids rose up from it. All at once, they pounced on the alien creature, each one possessed of strength that easily rivaled Sleepwalker’s own. Whenever he tried to utilize his eye-beams on them, they were able to reform almost instantaneously.

One of the Voids was crushed by a massive red hand, spraying black fluid everywhere. The Hulk had now arrived and he swatted another one away as if it were a fly. The Voids turned their attention to the crimson-skinned monster, attacking him and Doc Samson moved to Sleepwalker’s side, helping him to his feet.

“You okay?” he asked.

Sleepwalker nodded. “I think so. What’s going on here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” said Samson. “What are those things?”

“Actually, it’s just one thing, singular. Calls itself the Void. And as far as I can tell, it’s pretty damn-near unstoppable.”

“I guess we’ll see how well this new Hulk fares against it,” said Samson.

Sleepwalker gave Samson a questioning glance. “New Hulk?”

Samson nodded. “Apparently there’s more than one now.”

The Voids remerged together into one entity, one which changed into a facsimile of the Hulk, but completely black with glowing red eyes. “How does it feel not knowing who you really are, Hulk? Taking someone else’s name since you don’t even have one of your own?”

“Try asking me if I even give a shit,” said the Hulk. He drove his fist into the Void’s head—literally into it. The Void’s head exploded against his fist and the black ooze began to roll down his arm.

The Hulk tried to shake off the Void, but it just spread faster across his body. “The hell is this?”

“This is what happens when you take on a god, Hulk,” said the Void.

“Yeah well, never been much of a church-goer myself,” said the Hulk. He pounded his fists against the pavement, trying to get the Void loose, but nothing seemed to shake its grasp on him.

“I can see into your mind, Hulk. I can see everything you’re afraid of. I can see your deepest, darkest fears.”

“You don’t know shit about me,” said the Hulk.

“Oh really? Tell me, Hulk—how does it feel knowing you’ll never get out of your uncle’s shadow? How does it feel knowing that you failed him? That you’ll never be half the man he was?”

“Shut up!”

“You sound angry, Hulk. Am I getting you angry?”

“Yeah,” said the Hulk as his eyes began to crackle with energy. “And the madder Hulk gets, the hotter Hulk gets!”

The Hulk’s red skin seemed to pulsate along with his eyes and Doc Samson and Sleepwalker could feel the rising temperature as the Hulk’s body began to give off radiation. The Void, however, could only laugh.

“Yes, Hulk! That’s it! Go into one of those blind rages, all you’re doing is giving me more power!”

“Hulk, stop!” shouted Samson, but the Hulk just roared in anger and continued to pound his fists against the street. His body was now almost entirely covered with the Void and he couldn’t see a thing. And the Void just continued to soak up the radiation that seeped from the Hulk’s pores.

“I’ve got him,” said Sleepwalker. He hovered in the air and fired his eye-beams, causing the street to open up and swallow the Hulk whole. Sleepwalker lowered to Samson’s level but still kept his gaze on the spot where the Hulk was now imprisoned.

“It won’t hold him for long—either of them,” he said.

Samson could hear something in the distance, almost like the sound of a motorcycle engine. But there was something else with it as well. Sounded almost like…screaming. As if the engine was made up of the voices of people in agony. He could see a trail of flames blazing towards him before it came to a stop and the Ghost Rider now sat in front of him, his legs somehow merged with his mystical bike. Following Ghost Rider was a chariot drawn by hell horses and with flaming wheels and on it stood the man called Hellstorm with Doctor Strange by his side.

“You’ve got great timing, Doctor,” said Samson.

“Timing has nothing to do with it, Leonard,” said Doctor Strange.

“Then what does?” asked Sleepwalker. “What’s going on?”

“There will be a time for explanations later,” said Doctor Strange. “But now…”

The Ghost Rider’s bike spouted Hellfire into the ground, bursting the prison that Sleepwalker had created for the Hulk/Void.

“What the hell are you doing?” asked Sleepwalker.

“Vengeance will be mine,” said the Ghost Rider. He raised his hand and flames arched out from his fist, forming into a long chain which he wielded as a whip. The chain seemed to stretch out further than possible, wrapping around the neck of the Hulk.

“You wanna take me on, little demon? I’m game!” said the Hulk, although he spoke with the Void’s voice. He grabbed the chain and spun around until the Ghost Rider’s grip loosened and the Spirit of Vengeance flew off into the distance.

Hellstorm lunged forward, plunging his trident through the Hulk’s back. His eyes crackled and the mark on his chest burned brightly as the Hulk’s entire body became engulfed in flames. “You may have bested a demon, but let’s see how you do against a Hell Lord.”

The Void grabbed the trident and pulled it free from Hellstorm’s grip. He spun around and slammed his hand down on the Son of Satan, burying him into the pavement. When he raised his hand, expecting to see Hellstorm as nothing more but a stain, he found nothing. Meanwhile, a portal opened behind the Void and Hellstorm’s eyes unleashed pure Hellfire at him. The Void slowly looked over his shoulder.

“Neat trick,” he said. “Now it’s my turn!”

Searing heat burned from the Void’s eyes, so hot that it could even burn the figure of Daimon Hellstrom. He writhed in pain as he struggled under those flames. Doc Samson was about to intervene when some sort of invisible barrier blocked him.

“No,” said Doctor Strange.

“What are you doing?” asked Samson. “He’s going to kill him!”

“Only if we do nothing.”

“I’m trying to do something!”

“No, engaging him will only mean your death, thus it’s the same as doing nothing.” The Sorcerer Supreme’s eyes began to crackle with energy as the golden eye that fastened his cape glowed. “The Eye of Agamotto shows something else at work here, a form that we can reach. But I need your skills to help me.”

“Help you with—” Samson’s words faded away as the rest of his surroundings did, until he found himself in a pitch black void with seemingly no ground, no walls, nothing.

“There,” said Doctor Strange, gesturing with his hand. “That’s the man we need.”

In the darkness of the void, Doc Samson could see what Strange meant. There was a cage crafted of gold and inside sat a man dressed in a dirty and ragged costume of gold with a blue cape, complete with long blond hair and a beard that had grown out of control.

“Who is he?” asked Samson.

“His name is Robert Reynolds, and he was foolish enough to believe he could keep his existence a secret from the Sorcerer Supreme.”

“What’s this mean?” asked Samson as he approached the cage, kneeling before it. “Robert, can you hear me?”

Reynolds slowly rose his head to meet Samson’s gaze. “…Leonard?”

“You know me?” asked Samson.

“He believes he does,” said Strange.

“You helped me…like you did with the Hulk…brought the Void and I together,” said Reynolds.

“The Void, you mean…? You and the Void are the same?”

Reynolds curled into a ball and Samson could hear him weeping. “He’s back again, Leonard…and this time I’m not strong enough to stop him…” He looked up at Samson, his eyes glowing with golden energy. “I was the Sentry, I was the Golden Guardian of Good. I was the greatest hero the world had ever known. But now, I’m the greatest hero the world has never known.”

Samson looked back at Doctor Strange, who remained completely stoic and unreadable throughout this entire exchange. Slowly, he looked back at Reynolds. “Robert…”

“Bob…you always called me Bob…”

“Okay Bob, listen to me,” said Samson. “I need you to do it again, okay? I need you to be the Sentry once more.”

“But no one believes in me, no one knows who I am…I can’t be the hero, not anymore…I’m too afraid…”

“Bob, if you don’t, the Void will destroy the entire world,” said Samson. “We need the world’s greatest hero to put a stop to him once and for all.”

“But this cage…”

“You built this cage, Bob. You can let yourself out. If you just let yourself accept who you really are.”

Reynolds looked up and his body radiated a bright light. Samson pulled back and shielded his eyes from the brightness of it, and when it faded, he found he was back on the street again.

The Void cried out as he was pulled from the Hulk. A new figure had entered the battle, and Samson recognized him as Robert Reynolds. Except now, his gold costume was immaculate, his cape billowed in the wind, his hair was cut short and his face was clean shaven as his eyes glowed as bright as the sun and a golden aura surrounded his body.

The Void struggled in the Sentry’s grasp, but the hero managed to keep him in place and his eyes crackled brightly. Cries of pain and anguish issued from the Void as he seemed break apart under the light of his nemesis, his alter-ego until there was nothing left whatsoever.

“The Void is gone,” he said as he hovered before the gathered contingent. “Only the Sentry remains.”

The Sanctum Sanctorum

John Blaze sat in one of Doctor Strange’s chairs, marveling at how his legs had already began to slowly grow back. Strange had been right, if he had allowed himself to transform before, he would have healed a lot sooner. Of course, he would never give the sorcerer the satisfaction of admitting that fact. The Hulk sat crouched in a corner, feasting on the meal Wong had prepared for him. And the Sentry stood at the window staring out, ever vigilant.

In Doctor Strange’s library, the Sorcerer Supreme stood with his back to the other three men—Daimon Hellstrom, Leonard Samson and Rick Sheridan trapped in the body of the Sleepwalker.

“I’m worried about this,” said Samson. “This Sentry has a dangerous power and he’s under the impression that he’s the greatest hero the world has ever known. If not for him, the Void could have destroyed us all and god knows how many more.”

“That’s a delusion you helped fuel, Dr. Samson,” said Daimon.

Samson’s head dipped. “I know. But what choice did I have? After Bruce, I swore I would never do that again, manipulate someone like that.”

“Yet you did, both because it was necessary at the time and because it was necessary now,” said Strange. “These are dangerous times and we’ve all been gathered for a larger purpose.”

“Look, this is all kind of new to me and I’m really not sure I belong here,” said Rick. “I mean, I only share a body with Sleepwalker, I’m not him and I barely got a handle on these powers of his. And even still, Sleepy was always a loner type anyway.”

“Your reservations are understood, Mr. Sheridan. Yet you are a part of this as much as any of us, that much I know for certain,” said Strange.

“Now that you mention it, there was something strange going on with one of my—I mean one of Sleepy’s enemies. He was ridiculously souped up.”

“Gabriel Rosetti suddenly awoke with large levels of power also,” said Daimon.

“Could be a coincidence,” said Samson.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” said Strange.

“Well, both the Hulk and the Sentry are involved in this and that means I’m sticking around,” said Samson. “They’re both wild cards and I want to keep an eye on them, see if I can help them out in some way.”

“I’ll stay, too. At least until I can figure out what happened with 8-Ball,” said Rick.

“The same will be true of myself and Rosetti,” said Daimon. “What about Blaze?”

“He’ll stay, for now at least,” said Doctor Strange. “And once more, the Defenders have been reborn.”

NEXT: Starlight Run