A Mutant Collector Quest

"That must feel lonely," I say softly, sensing her loneliness through my emotion smelling power.

"No, not at all," Clea says quickly, her smile brightening. "I still have my father, so it's not lonely." She picks up a crudely carved stone doll from the ground beside her.

"Although… Father is always busy with his duties, so he mostly stays at the palace," she adds, running her fingers along the doll's edges. "But I understand. He is the Chief Disciple of our Lord, so he must always be available to serve him."

I don't call out her half-truths and instead shift the topic. "Did you make that doll?" I ask with a smile.

"Yes!" she says, her excitement returning.

I could have guessed as much. As everything in this room, from the chairs to the decor, seems to be her handiwork.

"It is well made," I say, offering a small white lie.

"Thank you!" she replies brightly, placing the doll back down and focusing on me with the same happy smile.

"So, Princess, where are your maids?" I ask, glancing around.

"Maids? What's that?" she asks, tilting her head in confusion.

"Uh, I mean servants. And shouldn't you be living in the castle with your father?" I ask with a wry smile looking at this crude room.

"Oh! How could I have servants?" she exclaims. "Only our God is meant to have people serve Him, as all of the Dark Dimension rightfully does," she says, bowing her head in reverence.

I smile wryly, while thinking that this is the same Clea who, in the comics, goes on to become the Ruler of the Dark Dimension, the disciple and wife of Doctor Strange, and even the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth.

I let out a soft sigh. It seems I will have to help this princess realize just how extraordinary she truly is. Her lineage and power alone make her a force to be reckoned with—perhaps even more so than most protagonists out there.

"So, Princess, what do you do around here for fun?" I ask, pushing aside those swirling thoughts in the back of my mind for now.

"For fun?" She tilts her head, looking genuinely puzzled.

"Uh… what do you do in your free time?" I rephrase, smiling wryly. Maybe asking the denizens of the Dark Dimension about 'fun' isn't the best question.

"Hmm, I am always free," she says, tapping a finger thoughtfully against her chin. "Most days, I spend my time going to the city, waiting here for Father, worshiping our god, and playing with my doll," she adds, picking up the doll again with a bright smile.

As I watch this beautiful yet isolated creature, an overwhelming sense of pity wells up inside me.

"Well, Clea, today we are not doing any of that," I declare, turning to her with an extended hand.

"We are not?" She looks confused, setting the doll down as she places her warm, fair hand in mine.

"Nope. Today, we are going to have some real fun!" I smirk, hoping my confidence will be enough to sell the idea.

"Sounds good," she agrees readily, her blue eyes lighting up with excitement. "What are we going to do?"

"Uh…" I falter for a moment, realizing the limitations of outer space—a realm with no atmosphere and minimal gravity—don't leave many options.

"Let me introduce you to my Phoenix companion," I finally say, channeling my Phoenix Flames to conjure a small bird of fire.

KEEEE!

The fiery bird forms, chirping loudly, as it's visible to me only through my Mana Sight.

"Oh, it's adorable!" Clea exclaims with delight, scooping it up in her hands. The flames dance harmlessly against her skin, leaving her unharmed.

I smile, relieved that my magical constructs can exist in this dimension.

"Next, let me tell you a bit about the planet Earth," I continue, using my Phoenix Magic and Holy Fire Manipulation to shape a glowing replica of Earth in the air.

"Are you going to tell me a story?" she asks excitedly, hugging the fiery phoenix close to her chest as it nestles contentedly against her.

"Yes, it will be a story," I reply with a soft sigh of relief, glad to have found something that she can enjoy so quickly.

---

"Scissors." "Rock!"

"Ugh, this is not fair! How do I keep losing to you, Luke?" Clea groans, flopping onto the stone bed in mock frustration.

"Heh. I am just better at this than you, Princess," I tease, grinning as I lie beside her.

"Hmph! I told you not to call me that," she says with a pout.

"Alright, alright. Clea, happy?" I concede, gently tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear.

Her cheeks flush faintly, the soft red hue accentuating her fair complexion and luminous white hair.

"So, what do you want to play now, Clea?" I ask, glancing around the room as we have both been playing for hours.

Her bedroom is simple, with just a stone bed and little else, but now it's filled with a variety of purple-coloured creations—chess pieces, cards, and other scattered items.

All of these were crafted by Clea herself, following my instructions. She is remarkably skilled at creating things with her 'fire,' as she calls it. We have played countless games together, and her quick grasp of the rules made it all the more enjoyable.

She even demonstrated her unique magic by making clothes. The purple robe I am wearing right now is her handiwork—she insisted I dress like the locals here.

"How about I take you to the city, Luke?" Clea suggests eagerly, sitting upright with that ever-present smile on her face. "I can show you all the monuments, and even the castle where my father resides!"

"Uh, no, let's just stay here, Clea," I reply with a nervous chuckle. The thought of venturing into the city fills me with unease. I am fairly certain the other residents, especially her father, wouldn't take kindly to an Earth dweller being here. He would probably hand me over to the Dread Dormammu in a heartbeat.

"Alright then. How about more stories about Earth, Luke?" she asks, her bright smile never fading. "Oh, how I wish I could visit your home! Maybe after I am accepted as a student of the Lord, I can ask him to let me go to Earth!" she adds, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

My smile falters slightly. I hesitate, not wanting to tell her too much from my meta knowledge as it could be dangerous for her to know more right now. But a part of me worries that if I stay silent, this innocent soul might unwittingly become a devout supporter of Dormammu in this alternate Marvel reality.

"Clea," I begin, taking her hand in mine, "Why don't you tell me something about the Dark Dimension instead?"

"Of course! I know lots of things," she beams. "What do you want to know?"

"How about you tell me, why you worship Him as your God?" I ask, keeping my tone light despite the weight of the question.

"Oh, everyone knows this story!" she exclaims as if it's common knowledge. "The Dark Dimension was once ruled by tyrants—cruel beings who oppressed us. The worst was King Olnar, who was power-hungry and reckless. He even provoked the powerful soulless brutes—the Mindless Ones," she shudders, "plunging the world into chaos. So many were killed, even the King himself. When all seemed lost, our Lord and Saviour, the Dread Dormammu, appeared!" Her tone becomes reverent. "He defeated the Mindless Ones and trapped them behind a magical barrier at the edge of the Dark Dimension. They are still imprisoned there because of him. Isn't he amazing?"

I sigh inwardly, reflecting on how history is always written by the victors. The proud Mhuruuks, the first race to bring light and magic to this dimension, had once ruled peacefully for countless ages. Yet they were overthrown, their legacy tarnished by the deceit of the so-called 'Lord' himself.

"To even banish the Mindless ones, isn't the Lord incredibly powerful?" Clea asks, her excitement brimming.

"That is one thing I can't deny," I reply with a deep nod. The Dread Dormammu's power is undeniable. As a Faltine—a race of energy beings who sustain themselves by consuming energy—he stands out even among his kind. Dormammu is unique in that he had learned to devour matter as well not just energy, absorbing it all into himself.

The thought sends a shiver down my spine. I can hardly fathom how powerful he must be now, having consumed countless dimensions to fuel his strength. It is a sobering realization—and a testament to the Ancient One's incredible power that she is able to stand against him.

"By the way, Clea, what's your father's name?" I ask gently, still holding her hand.

"My father's name is Orini," she replies with a soft smile.

"Don't you find it odd that Olnar, the previous king, and your father's name sound so similar?" I ask with a measured tone.

"What? What are you trying to say, Luke?" Clea looks at me, her expression puzzled.

What I want to tell her is that she is half Mhuruuk herself, that Olnar the previous king is her grandfather, and her father, Orini, is unknowingly or knowingly serving the man who played a part in killing his own father.

But I shake my head with a sigh, knowing that revealing this truth would only lead to turmoil. If she confronts her father, after hearing this then it would likely lead to a calamity. The consequences are too great, and I can't help but imagine that even Dormammu himself might get involved.

The future would be grim for Clea, and I can't bear to be the cause of her suffering!