[Starting as a Class 5 Mutant] Chapter 307/308 (Patreon)

As the rumors spread, countless factions and powers became aware of the events on Earth.

The planet Terra had drawn their attention once again.

Two individuals, in particular, now occupied their thoughts:

The White Knight and Messiah.

Messiah aside, the White Knight had reportedly destroyed over a hundred Sovereign warships with ease and even killed a Celestial?

What kind of power was this?

Many doubted the authenticity of such claims, finding them almost too absurd to believe.

But some dared to investigate further, questioning several Sovereigns. To their surprise, the rumors turned out to be true.

Some factions even obtained video footage.

Seeing the White Knight floating mid-air, summoning a sea of red light and obliterating a fleet in an instant, countless individuals felt a chill down their spines.

"How could such a powerful being come from Terra?"
"Wait… is he a god from Asgard?"
"Asgardian gods are this strong?"

What shocked these factions most was another rumor making the rounds:

The recent cosmic upheaval was tied to Earth.

And the culprit responsible for altering the universe?

The White Knight.

This rumor left many in disbelief.

"That's ridiculous!"
"Exactly! I refuse to believe it. Only fools would fall for such nonsense."

Most dismissed the idea outright.

The universe was vast and infinite, far beyond the reach of any single being. Altering the cosmos was nothing short of a dream.

The majority of the galaxy refused to believe it.

Elsewhere

In a dimly lit chamber, a massive figure with purple skin sat on a grand throne. Thanos' expression was a mix of skepticism and contemplation.

"The White Knight…" he murmured, the name tinged with unease.

While others might dismiss the idea as impossible, Thanos considered it plausible.

The White Knight's ability to manipulate reality seemed capable of such feats.

After some thought, Thanos shook his head.

To alter the universe would require an unimaginable amount of energy. Did the White Knight truly possess that much power?

Thanos doubted it.

Still, his thoughts turned to a more pressing concern—how to wrest the four Infinity Stones from the White Knight's grasp.

One scheme after another began forming in his mind.

Earth

As factions across the universe reeled, Syd had returned to his secluded location.

Once there, he resumed absorbing faith energy and training in Sunshine.

Meanwhile

In the dim glow of twilight, Dr. Stephen Strange, having just completed a difficult surgery, drove his sleek sports car along a winding mountain road.

His phone buzzed, and he answered via the car's hands-free system.

"Billy, what do you need?" Strange asked casually.

A voice replied on the other end, "I've got a 35-year-old Air Force colonel with a crushed cervical spine and thoracic burst fractures caused by experimental armor."

Strange, the world's top neurosurgeon, wasn't fazed.

"Easy. Any competent surgeon could handle that," he replied dismissively. "Give me something challenging."

Billy chuckled, then offered another case:

"A 68-year-old woman with a terminal brainstem glioma."

Strange scoffed. "You trying to ruin my reputation? Pass."

Unperturbed, Billy added, "How about a 22-year-old woman with a brain implant for schizophrenia, struck by lightning?"

That piqued Strange's interest. "Now that's intriguing. Send me the file."

As he spoke, Strange attempted to overtake a slower vehicle on the winding road.

Distracted by the medical images Billy had sent, he didn't notice the car ahead in time.

Crash

The sound of screeching tires filled the air as Strange's car collided with the vehicle ahead.

His sports car spun out of control, shattering glass and flipping down the hillside.

Sharp fragments embedded themselves in his hands as the car tumbled violently before crashing into the rocky riverbank below.

Bloodied and unconscious, Strange lay slumped in his seat as emergency lights blinked feebly on the wreckage.

Time passed. Strange, now stabilized, was wheeled into surgery.

When he finally awoke, he found his hands wrapped in thick bandages and held in place by stabilizers.

"What… what have they done to me?" he whispered hoarsely, his breathing ragged.

Christine Palmer, standing nearby, quickly explained.

"They airlifted you here, but it took time to find you. You missed the critical window for nerve repair."

Strange repeated her words in disbelief. "What have they done to me?"

Christine sighed. "They inserted 11 steel pins into your bones. Multiple ligaments were torn, and your hand nerves suffered severe damage. The surgery lasted 11 hours…"

Strange stared at his trembling, immobilized hands, his voice rising in anger.

"I could've done better!"

Christine tried to calm him. "No one could have done more."

But Strange refused to accept it. "I could have done better!"

As time passed and his wounds began to heal, Strange demanded the bandages be removed.

"You need patience to recover," his surgeon advised.

Ignoring the warning, Strange stared at his hands—once steady and precise, now trembling uncontrollably.

"You've ruined me," he said bitterly, his tone filled with despair and rage.

(End of Chapter)

Despite repeated surgeries and consultations with renowned specialists, Dr. Stephen Strange's hands remained crippled, trembling so severely he couldn't even shave without cutting himself.

Frustrated, he sought answers from other experts, only to face rejection after rejection.

"Even the best doctors can't help you."

A top neurosurgeon on a video call bluntly refused his pleas.

"Stephen, this isn't about skill. You're beyond help. I can't risk my reputation on this."

Before Strange could respond, the call abruptly ended, leaving him seething with anger.

He hurled his laptop across the room just as Christine Palmer entered.

"He won't help?" Christine asked softly.

"Another coward," Strange growled, pacing. "There's a new technique in Tokyo—stem cells and 3D-printed bone scaffolding. I just need funding."

Christine sighed. "Stephen, you're already broke. You've spent everything you have."

"I'll find the money."

"Maybe it's time to accept this, Stephen. Some things can't be fixed."

"No!" Strange snapped. "I can't give up now!"

"Stephen," Christine pressed, her voice gentle but firm, "a life without surgery is still a life. It's not the end of the world. There's more to life than your career."

"Oh, really? Like what? You?" Strange retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Hurt and frustrated, Christine left.

Determined, Strange accessed hospital records, searching for any leads.

One name caught his attention: Jonathan Pangborn, a former paraplegic whose recovery defied all medical explanation.

Strange tracked him down to a basketball court.

"Jonathan Pangborn. Paralyzed from the chest down, spinal damage at C7 and C8…" Strange muttered as he approached.

Pangborn, startled, turned to face him. "Who are you?"

"I'm Stephen Strange, former neurosurgeon."

Recognition dawned on Pangborn's face. "Oh, I remember you. You didn't even bother to see me back then. Your assistant turned me away."

"I couldn't help you," Strange admitted, his voice heavy with regret.

"You mean you quit before you even tried," Pangborn replied sharply.

Desperate, Strange raised his trembling hands. "Please, tell me how you did it. How did you recover?"

After a long pause, Pangborn relented. "I went to Kamar-Taj. The teachings there… they opened my mind and healed my body."

"Kamar-Taj?"

"It's not just about healing. It's about enlightenment. But be warned, the price is steep."

"How much does it cost?"

"It's not about money," Pangborn said, walking away. "Good luck."

Following Pangborn's cryptic advice, Strange traveled to Kathmandu, Nepal, wandering the ancient streets in search of answers.

Passing an old sign advertising spiritual healing and inner peace, he muttered, "Kamar-Taj…"

Unbeknownst to him, Mordo, dressed in a black robe, overheard the name. His gaze followed Strange as he disappeared down a narrow alleyway.

Strange soon found himself cornered by three men armed with sticks.

"I don't have any money," Strange said quickly.

"Hand over the watch," one of them growled.

"This is all I have left—please don't…"

"Give me the watch!"

When they advanced, Strange threw a desperate punch, but the fight quickly turned against him.

Before things could escalate further, Mordo intervened. With swift, precise movements, he incapacitated the assailants.

"You're looking for Kamar-Taj?" Mordo asked, extending a hand to the battered doctor.

Kamar-Taj

Guided by Mordo, Strange entered the ancient sanctum. Its walls were adorned with mystical symbols, and an air of tranquility enveloped the space.

When Mordo led him to the Ancient One, Strange couldn't hide his skepticism.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in Kamar-Taj, Kaecilius received word of Strange's arrival.

"Mordo brought someone to see the Ancient One?" Kaecilius mused aloud, intrigued.

"What's so special about this person that he warrants such attention?"

A sinister smile spread across his face.

"Perhaps," he said to the group of zealots around him, "we should introduce this newcomer to our great Father and Savior."

(End of Chapter)

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