[ It's a night just like any other, an ordinary and completely normal night, as a man named Doctor Strange in an exaggerated warlock bat cape and a body made of 100,000 monsters strolls down the road and sees something kind of weird.
Stephen stops, squints down the sidewalk. Also normal: Tendrils of unfathomable cosmic perception spreading out from his writhing ocean of astral essence to identify the odd thing ahead – one threaded with magic subtle and unknown, the other soaked like a kerosene rag in the warped cosmic atoms of this malevolent universe. Abnormal: ...Is that a shovel?
Stephen frowns, steps into the shadow of the brick building beside him, a patch of darkness cast on the alley by the fluorescent glow of the streetlight outside it. A massive form crawls across the face of the building, over poster bills and graffiti, silhouettes of countless limbs – tendrils, wings, bony joints bent at impossible angles – as the monstrosity slinks into a patch of shadow a couple yards behind the man with the shovel. The man raises it for another strike and– ]
Oh. [ Stephen lets out a sigh of relief, now standing in the same streetlight's cone of light, a perfectly normal man in perfectly normal attire at the perfectly normal hour of one AM. ] It's a mannequin, I – sorry, thought something weird was going on.
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Stephen stops, squints down the sidewalk. Also normal: Tendrils of unfathomable cosmic perception spreading out from his writhing ocean of astral essence to identify the odd thing ahead – one threaded with magic subtle and unknown, the other soaked like a kerosene rag in the warped cosmic atoms of this malevolent universe. Abnormal: ...Is that a shovel?
Stephen frowns, steps into the shadow of the brick building beside him, a patch of darkness cast on the alley by the fluorescent glow of the streetlight outside it. A massive form crawls across the face of the building, over poster bills and graffiti, silhouettes of countless limbs – tendrils, wings, bony joints bent at impossible angles – as the monstrosity slinks into a patch of shadow a couple yards behind the man with the shovel. The man raises it for another strike and– ]
Oh. [ Stephen lets out a sigh of relief, now standing in the same streetlight's cone of light, a perfectly normal man in perfectly normal attire at the perfectly normal hour of one AM. ] It's a mannequin, I – sorry, thought something weird was going on.