(Y/N) stood by the fireplace in the living room as Agatha Harkness filled his satchel with books, scrolls, and a water canteen. She'd done a good job of washing the coat Howard Stark had given him, although it was beginning to become threadbare at the hems. He'd managed to scrub off the dirt from his combat boots, and now they were almost as shiny as they'd been on the day he'd been given them in nineteen forty-two.
'Here you are,' Agatha said, placing a red cloak over his head and pulling it over his shoulders, smoothening out the creases in the hood. (Y/N) thanked her, buckling his satchel close and fiddling with the hem of his new cloak. It was made of a soft cotton material which he could imagine offering much needed warmth during the colder seasons. 'Now,' Agatha spread the map over the coffee table and took a few steps away from him, 'remember how you travelled last time?' (Y/N) (L/N) nodded his head. 'Just do the same this time, but think of the Sorcerer Supreme, focus on your desire to speak with her.'
(Y/N)'s face screwed up as his mind began to focus on meeting with the Sorcerer Supreme. He thought about the Darkhold, wondering what information it held, and whether or not it would offer him the power to bring back the man he'd fallen in love with.
A few red sparks trickled out from his fingertips, but nothing sufficient enough to transport him. 'Try vocalising the spell,' suggested Agatha, 'speak what you want aloud.'
'I want to see the sorcerer supreme. I want to see the sorcerer supreme. I want to see...'
A flash of red engulfed him and suddenly he was no longer in his living room. Instead, he was kneeling down in front of a large circular window. Light from outside shined through the panes, blinding him slightly. (Y/N) got to his feet, letting his bag drop to the floor with a clatter. He crept towards the window and looked down at the street. This isn't Nepal, he thought, why am I in the Village?
Footsteps from behind him got louder and louder as a stranger approached, 'who are you? What are you doing here? How did you get in?' a man's voice asked. (Y/N) removed his hood, turning around to face the stranger. 'Dr (L/N)...'
'I need to speak with the Sorcerer Supreme.'
'I am the Sorcerer Supreme,' replied the man, 'Dr (L/N), people are looking for you.' (Y/N) thought that would be the case, what he hadn't been expecting was the Sorcerer Supreme to be a man.
'Let them search,' said (Y/N), apathetically, 'what's your name?'
'Wong,' answered the man, taking a step back as (Y/N) (L/N) began to walk towards him.
'Wong, I need to know the location of the Darkhold.' Wong's face turned to stone, (Y/N) could sense his breathing hitch slightly. 'Do you know where it's being kept?'
'The Darkhold?'
'The Book of the Damned,' he clarified, 'I want it.'
The Sorcerer Supreme shook his head, meeting (Y/N)'s (E/C) eyes, 'the Darkhold has been locked away for centuries, and for good reason. It's power corrupts the user's mind and soul.'
'I just need to know where it is,' (Y/N) told him, 'Then I'll leave.' Wong looked him up and down, as though trying to decipher what his next move might be. 'I'm not going to hurt you, Wong, not if I don't have to. So just tell me where the book is.'
'Even if I told you, there's enchantments protecting it,' the Sorcerer Supreme shrugged, 'and only the Ancient One has survived the journey to where it is kept.'
'Just give me the location, that's all I ask.' (Y/N) was becoming increasingly frustrated now.
'I can't do that.'
'Alright,' he cocked an eyebrow, raising his hands, balancing crimson coloured magic in his palms. 'If you won't give me the information I need, I'll take it.' He fired a beam at Wong, knocking him into a stone pillar. A strange ring fell from his fingers, sliding across the wooden floorboards. The Sorcerer Supreme conjured yellow, glowing, shields in his hands. 'What sort of magic is that?' asked (Y/N), intrigued.
'Eldritch,' responded Wong, 'the mystic arts.'
'So, you're a witch.'
'No,' he shook his head, 'we do not associate ourselves with your witchcraft,' he spat. Wong swiped his right hand through the air, flinging forward a dozen rings which tore through (Y/N)'s clothes, cutting the side of his torso.
'I don't want to fight you, Sorcerer,' he spat, 'you just need to tell me where the Darkhold is.'
'Never, Mage,' scoffed the Sorcerer Supreme, firing a blast towards (Y/N) which had him sliding back towards the window. He got to his feet unsteadily, cracking his knuckles.
Their battle continued. Wong conjured a sparkling, amber, whip, using it to bind his arms to his body, burning holes through his cloak. He struggled against the restraints, feeling them burn against his flesh. 'I can't let you get the Darkhold, Dr (L/N),' exclaimed the sorcerer, 'it'll be the ruin of you.'
(Y/N) closed his eyes, summoning all the magic he could find. When he opened them, the (E/C) was all gone, replaced with a radiant blood-red glow. 'I'm getting the book,' he shouted, breaking free from the ropes Wong had held him in. 'You can either tell me where it is...' he picked Wong up with his magic, forcing his arms and legs to splay out, 'or you can suffer whilst I pry the information from your mind.'
'You're going to kill me?' Wong choked out.
(Y/N)'s head tilted as he focused on the sorcerer suspended in the air before him, 'I'm not a killer, Wong,' he told him, 'now, tell me, where can I find the Book of the Damned.' The sorcerer's eyes rolled into the back of his head as (Y/N)'s magic possessed him. (Y/N) felt his pain, saw his worst fears, sensed the desperation in his magicks.
'Wundagore Mountain,' a deep voice left the Sorcerer Supreme's mouth, 'Transia.' It was Wong speaking, and yet at the same time it wasn't. There was a dryness in the voice which hadn't been present previously.
'What enchantments protect the Darkhold?' he demanded to know.
'Blood seal.'
(Y/N) smiled, he'd gotten what he'd come for, he'd succeeded in the first task of his mission. 'Cheers, Wong,' he half-smiled before letting the sorcerer drop to the floor, 'now, why don't you go to sleep,' a scarlet haze projected itself from his fingertips, connecting with the Sorcerer's temples, 'and forget this ever happened.'
He picked up his satchel, slinging it over his shoulder before letting his hands charge themselves with magic once more. 'I want to go to Wundagore. I want to go to Wundagore. Take me to the Darkhold. I want to go to Wundagore...'
***
Snowflakes pelted his face, drenching his hair and causing his teeth to chatter. (Y/N) pulled a pair of fingerless leather gloves out from his bag and slipped them on before pulling up his hood. He was glad Agatha had given him a cloak now. (Y/N) (L/N) treaded carefully up the mountain, slipping slightly on the ice which lay beneath the blanket of snow.
When he'd reached the peak, he could finally see his destination. An enormous stronghold built out of black stone lay atop the summit of Wundagore Mountain, looming ominously over the rocky chasm below. The Book of the Damned lay within it. (Y/N) grinned, he could feel the Darkhold's magicks drawing him closer, beaconing him towards his destiny.
Soaring through the air towards the fortress (Y/N) understood why there was only one person to survive the journey. Jagged boulders lay below him threatening to impale his body should he lose focus for a second and fall. He breathed a sigh of relief when his feet made contact with the stone flooring. (Y/N) glanced around the room, taking notice of the pillars and the engravings on the rocky walls.
At the far end stood a proud engraving of a witch, her head adorned with a pointed crown, her hair cascading in all directions as though she were suspended in the air. To her right, embellished into the wall, was the depiction of a man with an uncanny likeness to himself. (Y/N) crossed the room, running a finger through the dust on a large, rounded, table. He stared up at the statue, noticing its wild hair and torn clothes. A circlet resembling a Celtic knot wrapped itself around its head, concealed at the sides by its hair.
(Y/N) felt his magic growing stronger the longer he remained in the castle. The power seemed to freely flow into him, clearing his mind and rejuvenating his soul. With an outstretched hand he caressed the statue. The wall seemed to quiver upon meeting his touch. Thinking back to what Wong had said about a blood seal, (Y/N) returned to the table, setting his satchel upon it and pulling out the books Agatha had given him.
His eyes scanned the pages, searching for any information which could be of use. Eventually, he found the passage he'd been looking for.
Blood Seal:
A blood seal is an exceedingly strong protective spell, which may only be broken by the blood of those it was cast for. This blood magick should not be attempted lightly due to the immense amount of power needed to effectively cast the spell. Those who were not gifted with witchcraft at birth are discouraged from attempting this magick due to the toll it takes upon ones soul. Upon contact with the blood, the protection spell will break. For more information on blood magick refer to page 466.
(Y/N) chuckled to himself, believing the Ancient One to be pretty thick for casting a protection spell he could simply overpower with his own blood. What an idiot. She should have read this book, he thought to himself. He made his way toward a broken pillar, bending down and picking up an edged piece of stone. When he'd returned to the statue, he removed the glove on his left hand, studying the lines in his palm for a second before digging the jagged side of the stone into one of them. (Y/N) gritted his teeth, accidentally biting his tongue as he groaned in pain and the sharp edge cut through his flesh. He spat out a mouthful of blood and tossed the stone to the side, watching the blood trickle down his hand.
When he was happy with the volume of blood staining his palm, (Y/N) swiped it across the statue, tainting it's leg. A deafening grinding sound ensued, echoing throughout the considerably sized hall. The wall before him swung backwards, revealing a small dark room. (Y/N) (L/N) entered cautiously, holding out a hand full of magic in order to illuminate his surroundings. Tucked away in the corner stood what seemed to be an altar. Half-burnt candles were placed around the surface, their melted wax sealing them to it.
(Y/N) crept forwards, a smirk playing across his lips as he looked upon the book laying on the altar. An unfamiliar symbol emblazoned its stony, deteriorated, cover. He felt it calling to him, desperate for his touch.
He'd finally found it. (Y/N) (L/N) had the Book of the Damned.