Chapter Text
"You've got one job: kill her. Take all the time you need, just make sure it's done." With fierce determination, the fiery demon ordered. Facing him was his most powerful weapon, ready to carry out the task without a question.
The Goddess of Fire, Y/n.
Maintaining her composure, she lifted her chin defiantly, offering him a confident nod. A smirk played across her lips as she retorted, "Sure thing, boss. But hey, Sursur, those horns of yours might need a little fixing. They seem like they could fall off with just a flick," she quipped, prompting a grumble from the beast.
"It's a crown! And quit calling me that," Surtur protested, anxiously fussing with the garland atop his head. "Now, go away."
Y/n chuckled under her breath, taking a step back to give herself some room. "Sure thing, Cheetos. Take it easy," she teased. Before Surtur could protest further or brandish his Elderstahl at her, the goddess had vanished, concealed by the red flames enveloping her body as she teleported away.
Surtur shook his head in bemusement at the woman's sharp wit. After millennia of acquaintance, he still couldn't quite fathom the depths of the goddess and her peculiarities. Only she could dare to jest with the beast and escape unscathed.
Despite being the most powerful being in the universe, the goddess's sarcastic humor sometimes left even him puzzled and uneasy.
He let out a deep sigh, his beastly voice rumbling with resignation. "This woman is going to be the death of me,"
_
"Insane, inside. The danger gets me high. Can't help myself, got secrets I can't tell," Y/n sang along to her favorite song, 'Play With Fire,' (how fitting eh?) as she danced and twirled through the bustling streets of New York. She couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement with each beat. To her, the earbuds playing the music were one of the best inventions mortals had come up with.
Wearing a black 'Thrasher' t-shirt and grey washed jeans—perhaps not the most comfortable, but they were the only pair she had from her last visit to Earth 616—she bobbed her head to the melodious voice of Sam Tinnesz.
Y/n's steps halted in front of the three-story building, her gaze fixed on the symbol adorning its peak—the Seal of Vishanti, serving as a window.
A wave of red caught her attention, passing by the window and prompting her to tilt her head in curiosity. "That was... strange," she murmured to herself, approaching the darkened door.
Y/n knocked firmly on the wooden surface, waiting for a response. "21st century, and you'd think they would have doorbells by now," she muttered, half to herself. As the door slowly creaked open on its own, she raised an eyebrow. "Oh."
Stepping inside cautiously, Y/n's eyes adjusted to the dimly lit interior of the mansion. "Helluuuuu," she called out, her voice echoing slightly. "Anyone there?" She ventured further into the mansion, her footsteps echoing softly on the floorboards. "I'm just here to talk."
A smug smile graced Y/n's lips as she sensed a presence creeping up behind her. A tap on her shoulder made her pivot around to face the man, who stood in a stiff yet defensive stance, an uncanny expression on his face as he observed her. "Who are you?" he spoke grimly.
As if that would daunt the goddess.
"Who are you?" Y/n countered, attempting to mimic his grim tone but failing miserably as a chuckle slipped out upon a single glance at his costume.
He wore a blue robe secured at the waist with a belt, topped with a red cape that seemed to have a life of its own.
"I asked you first,"
"Well, I asked you second," Y/n retorted with a smirk.
The man with the cape let out a frustrated groan. "I'm Strange," he stated firmly, maintaining his 'scary dad' stance.
"That you certainly are. I mean, with that hideous get-up and that self-moving cape—" Y/n began, but her words were cut off by another groan from the man. Even his cape seemed to perk up, appearing annoyed by the visitor as well.
"It's a cloak, and my name is Strange! Dr. Stephen Strange. And you're the one to talk about my get-up when you're the one wearing a Thrasher t-shirt?" he retorted, causing Y/n to furrow her eyebrows and glance down at her shirt. "You're like 7 years late with that fashion," he added.
Y/n frowned, looking down at her favorite t-shirt. "But it fits my personality," she said, tracing the outline of the flaming font.
"Yeah, well, this fits mine. Now, are you going to tell me who you are, or do I need to find out for myself?" he threatened, now levitating a little above the ground.
The woman snorted at his attempt to intimidate her. She raised her hands as if in mock surrender. "No need to go all testosterone on me, Floaty," she quipped, unimpressed.
Seemingly unfazed by her humor, he began performing intricate hand gestures. As he formed a rope of magic and shot it towards the woman, she was quicker. Her own hands conjured a rope, wreathed in flaming fire, and collided with his magical one, overpowering it effortlessly.
With a simple flick of her wrist, the levitating man was brought to his knees. Another flick, and fiery energy bound his hands and ankles, restricting his movement. The sensation and heat from the bindings were enough to make the sorcerer squirm, though he did not cry out in pain.
"You shouldn't have done that, Stephen," she husked, approaching the struggling man.
"Don't they teach you at Kamar Taj not to attack strangers?" she smirked, bending down to his level. With a flicker of her eyes, the flames intensified, casting an eerie glow on her face as she leaned in closer. "You may be the Sorcerer Supreme, but I am beyond your realm of understanding," she whispered, her voice laced with a dangerous edge.
The man's struggles ceased as he gazed up at her, a flicker of fear crossing his features. He had underestimated her, and now he found himself at the mercy of a force he couldn't comprehend.
The sight of the third eye opening on his forehead caught the goddess's attention, and she grimaced at the disturbing sight. Tilting her head, she met Strange's gaze squarely. "Darkhold, huh?" she asked rhetorically, though she already knew the answer.
The grip of her fiery restraints loosened but did not release completely. Strange took in deep breaths, the sensation now much more bearable.
As the tension eased, the eye on his forehead closed on its own accord. "I-I couldn't—" he began, his voice strained, still gasping for air. "The eye, it-it makes me see people's souls. Their intentions, their entire life..."
"..I couldn't see yours. Why?...Who are you?"
His gaze remained wary, searching for answers in the enigmatic figure before him.
Y/n's smile took on a sinister edge as she regarded the man before her. "Now now, Stephen. I don't think you're in any position to ask questions," she remarked, her tone dripping with authority. She sauntered over to the base of the stairs and settled herself on one of the steps, her posture relaxed yet commanding. "However, I do want to finish this swiftly, so I'll indulge you," she continued, turning to meet his gaze.
"The name's Y/n, Goddess of Fire. Pleased to make your acquaintance, sorcerer."
A chill ran down Strange's spine as he absorbed Y/n's words and presence. Even her voice held a captivating power. He had faced many villains before, even gods and titans, but this was different. She was different.
As he gazed at her, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had just encountered something far beyond his comprehension. With a silent nod, he acknowledged her introduction, knowing that it would be wise to tread carefully in the presence of the Goddess of Fire.
"What do you want from me?" Stephen whispered, beads of sweat trailing down his forehead.
The goddess sneered, clasping her hands together. "Ah! Now we're talking, finally a good question." she remarked.
Deciding to release him from his agony, she made the fiery restraints fade away with a snap of her fingers. Stephen immediately rubbed at his wrists, using his magic to alleviate some of the lingering pain. "What is it?" he pondered aloud, glancing at the goddess seated in front of him.
"So tell me," she began, her expression turning serious, a look that could evoke a sense of unease in even the most powerful of Sorcerer.
"Where is the Scarlet Witch?"