American comics: Damn it, I’m surrounded by those who worry about their fathers!.

Chapter 1070 Doctor Strange in the New Universe
"If there is one person who can stop Wanda, it is Peter Patrick."

Stephen's voice sounded somewhat hollow in the damp alleyway. He gazed at the endless stream of car lights in this otherworldly New York, his tone carrying a complex emotion.

"He is the most special...variable in the multiverse, an existence that we cannot understand, yet always changes form at crucial moments."

America followed behind him, her mind still replaying the unsettling descriptions of Peter's "uniqueness" and "control over dreams."

Hearing Stephen's words, she couldn't help but ask, "Just how strong is he? I mean, compared to Ms. Wanda now..."

She wanted to know if Peter could defeat Wanda.

Peter seemed to be the master of the farm, and even the blonde girl who defeated the eye demon seemed to listen to him.

This led America to place her hopes on Peter.

Steve hesitated for a moment, then shook his head: "I don't know. I've never seen Peter go all out, and I can't even imagine what it would look like."

He paused, as if remembering something, "But I've seen him use the Time Stone...it was during the Endgame against Thanos."

His gaze drifted into the distance, lost in memories: "Back then, the battle was almost hopeless. Thanos had collected all five Infinity Stones; a single snap of his fingers could wipe out half of all life. We tried almost everything... until Peter appeared."

"so."

America swallowed hard and asked Stephen, "Was it Mr. Patrick who helped you defeat Thanos?"

Stephen nodded. "You could say that."

America was stunned.

She never imagined that Peter would achieve such success.

Could Peter be someone like himself, capable of traveling through the universe at will?
How did he acquire this power?
America couldn't help but drift into daydreams.

Lost in her own thoughts, the two of them walked out of the dark alley and into the bustling streets of New York, a world unfamiliar to them.

The surrounding noise and energy slightly eased some of America's tension.

Looking at the cityscape of New York, after a moment of silence, America suddenly spoke in a low voice, her tone tinged with melancholy.

“Um, Dr. Strange…you asked me before why I couldn’t control my powers…”

Stephen looked at her, his gaze softening slightly: "Yes, that's important. Fear is the key, but understanding the source of fear is the key to finding how to control it."

America took a deep breath, as if she had made a great decision, "It's because of... my mother."

She began to speak, her voice somewhat heavy:
“When I was very young… I had no idea what abilities I had. Once, my mother and I… had a very fierce argument… I was very angry, extremely angry… and then… I don’t know what happened, but my fist emitted that kind of light… a passage… a hole like the one just now, suddenly appeared behind my mother…”

Her eyes reddened. "She...she lost her balance and fell in. I didn't even have time to grab her before the passage closed. I...I can never find her again..."

America said painfully, "Everyone says... it was an accident, but I know it was me, I killed her, it was my uncontrollable, damned ability that killed her."

“Since then, every time I’m scared, angry, or emotional, it comes out and I can’t control it at all. I hate it and I hate myself.”

In the end, America could no longer control her emotions and couldn't help but shed tears.

She quickly turned away so that Stephen wouldn't see her lapse in composure.

Stephen listened quietly without interrupting.

He could sense the immense guilt and trauma in the girl's heart.

America's inner demons, like the strongest locks, firmly bound her innate talent, preventing her from truly touching and controlling it.

"America."

Stephen's voice became exceptionally low, carrying a soothing power, "That wasn't your fault, it was a tragedy, an accident. Your ability is a gift, not a curse, it's a part of what your mother left you."

“I believe she would never want you to live in fear and self-doubt forever because of this.”

He stopped and looked at her intently: "Child, if you want to truly take control of it, you must first forgive your past self. You must understand that you are not the murderer; you are just an unfortunate little girl who caused the accident."

America turned around and stared blankly at Stephen.

Stephen's words were like a ray of light, piercing through the heavy gloom in her heart and easing her inner pain and self-blame.

Stephen wanted to say something more, but his gaze was quickly drawn to a huge statue in the center of the square.

The bronze statues standing in the street are tall and magnificent, appearing solemn and dignified under the city lights.

The statue depicts a figure wearing a cloak of levitation, with his hands forming a mudra and a resolute expression on his face—it is Doctor Strange.

Stephen froze, and subconsciously touched his face.

America looked at the statue in surprise, then at Stephen beside her.

Is this the Doctor Strange of this universe?!
The two approached the statue, where an inscription was carved on the base:

In memory of:
Dr. Stephen Vincent Strange
The Sorcerer Supreme, Avenger

In the final battle, they bravely sacrificed themselves to protect Earth and the multiverse.

His wisdom and courage will live on forever.

-

"Sacrifice...self?"

Stephen muttered to himself, his heart filled with turmoil.

Did Doctor Strange in this universe perish in the final battle?
So... who is the Sorcerer Supreme of this universe?

Who will protect the sanctuary?

Who will deal with cross-dimensional threats like Wanda?

A strong sense of unease gripped him.

What if they can't find Doctor Strange in this universe for help?
As the two stared blankly at the statue, a deep, slightly surprised voice sounded from behind them: "Stephen?... Is it really you? No, this shouldn't be, this... how is this possible?!"

Stephen's body stiffened abruptly; that voice... he knew it all too well.

He turned around instantly, the remaining magic power within him surging unconsciously, and he raised his hands slightly, assuming a defensive posture.

Behind him, a man wearing a dark blue robe and with short hair stood not far away, looking at him with a complicated expression.

It was Baron Karl Mordo!

The senior brother who once led him into Kamar-Taj, but later turned against him due to ideological differences and extreme views.

"Modu...it's you!"

Stephen's voice was full of vigilance, and he instinctively pulled Amelie behind him.

In his own universe, Mordo is a staunch believer in the "magic surplus" and argues that all mages who abuse magic should be eliminated, making him an extremely dangerous figure.

However, to Stephen's surprise, Mordo of this universe, though showing shock and confusion, did not harbor any hostility.

His eyes even revealed a look of surprise and disbelief at seeing his old friend come back from the dead.

"Gods above, I have seen you with my own eyes... It is truly incredible!"

Mordo strode forward, staring at Stephen in disbelief.

"Your aura... Yes, it's you! But... how is this possible? How... did you get back?"

Modu's tone was full of genuine concern, without a trace of hypocrisy.

Stephen was stunned.

He keenly realized that the Mordo of this universe seemed to have embarked on a completely different path from his senior brother.

“I…I am not Stephen Strange of your universe.”

Stephen spoke cautiously, slightly relaxing his guard, "I come from another universe. We ran into trouble and were forced to flee here."

Mordo's surprise deepened. He carefully sensed the magical aura emanating from Stephen and slowly nodded: "I see... The multiverse... It is truly vast and unfathomable. Welcome to this universe."

He gave a somewhat friendly smile. "It seems you always manage to get into trouble, Stephen, no matter which universe you're in."

He glanced at America behind Stephen and their disheveled appearance, then gestured to the side.

“This is not the place to talk. Come with me. My place is not far from here. You need help.”

Stephen hesitated for a moment; it seemed there was no better option at the moment.

He nodded, grabbed America, who was still somewhat frightened, and followed Mordo.

Mordo's residence was not a sanctuary, but a secluded apartment filled with various mystical symbols and ritual implements.

With a creak, Mordo pushed open the door and welcomed the two in. He poured them hot tea and listened to Stephen recount their ordeal.

From Strange the Defender protecting America from falling into the DC Universe, to Peter bringing America to his universe, to Wanda's corruption and cultivation of the Dark Book, to the destruction of Kamar-Taj and their escape.

When he heard the "Dark Book," Mordo's expression became extremely solemn.

"The Dark Book..."

Mordo slowly put down his teacup, his expression turning serious. "You don't know, Stephen, that book of curses... it's not just a tool for summoning demons and acquiring forbidden knowledge... it also contains the most evil and dangerous spell..."

He paused, lowered his voice even further, and solemnly addressed Stephen:
"A forbidden technique that turns practitioners into 'sleepwalking wizards'."

"A sleepwalking wizard?"

Stephen frowned; he had never seen the word in the Kamar-Taj collection.

"Yes."

Mordo nodded solemnly, “This spell is extremely evil. It allows the caster to project their soul and consciousness across the cosmic barrier into another ‘self’ in another universe, thereby achieving possession and control.”

Stephen and America both gasped when they heard Mordo's words.

"Possessing...myself in another universe?"

Stephen felt a chill run down his spine. "This...how is this possible?"

"The power of the Dark Book far exceeds our imagination, Stephen."

Mordo said in a deep voice, "It distorts not only reality, but also identity and the essence of existence. Once the sleepwalking is successful, the caster can use the body and power of 'himself' in another universe, or even... stronger. The original consciousness of the possessed 'self' will be suppressed."

He looked at Stephen, his eyes extremely serious: "If Wanda Maximov really has complete control over the Dark Book, as you say, then her desire to find Miss America is probably not just as simple and direct as her teleportation energy..."

"She might...be trying to use sleepwalking witchcraft to possess the 'Wanda' in the universe where her child is, and then...replace her forever."

Upon hearing Mordo's bold speculation, Stephen took a deep breath.

If that's the case, then Wanda's madness and ambition are far more terrifying than they imagined.

She not only wants to traverse the universe, but also to directly steal the life of another version of herself.

"No, that's not right."

Stephen quickly shook his head. "Wanda cares about her two children, but she cares about Peter even more. She won't enter another universe and take over another Wanda's life, because Peter isn't there, unless..."

Thinking about this, Stephen had an idea that he himself found absurd.

Does Wanda intend to abduct Peter along with her child to the universe?!
at the same time.

The Padrick Farm created by Wanda.

The afterglow of the setting sun spilled onto the porch, gilding everything with a warm golden hue.

Peter stood in the yard, his gaze calmly sweeping over the overly neat fences, the flowers that never faded, and the faint, sweet scent in the air.

Very good, it seems Wanda sees herself as Vision, trapped here forever, wanting to live with herself.

Also, Wanda, is it really okay for you to tell your neighbors that I am your husband?
Peter sighed, lamenting that "being too handsome is also a mistake," and turned his gaze to Quicksilver.

Quicksilver was sitting listlessly on the swing on the porch, swinging at supersonic speed, with a blade of grass in his mouth. He looked as carefree and cheerful as ever.

Peter coughed, walked in front of him, and blocked the sunlight.

“Pietro”.

Peter spoke, but his voice betrayed no emotion.

"Ok?"

Pietro stopped swaying, looked up, and smiled without a trace of gloom. "What is it, sir? Would you like me to go to town and buy some more beer? Or would you like to try my new recipe for roasted ribs?"

Peter ignored his interruption and went straight to the point: "Where is your sister, Wanda? Why hasn't she come back yet?"

Pietro's smile froze for a moment.

He blinked, his tone becoming lighter. "Sis? Who knows where she's off off to research her new recipes or those plants? She's always like that, so secretive. Maybe she went to the New York Sanctum to borrow a book from Strange? Oh well, don't worry about her. She's a grown woman, she can't just disappear, can she?"

Quicksilver's answer seemed to be fine.

But Peter's gaze grew increasingly profound.

"is it?"

Peter responded softly, took a step forward, and closed the distance between himself and Pietro.

There was a hint of apology in his eyes. "Pietro, I'm sorry, it seems I'll have to trouble you for now."

Pietro paused, a confused look on his face: "Feeling wronged? What...?"

Before he could finish speaking, a strange light suddenly shone in Peter's eyes.

A deeper, more fundamental power fluctuation—originating from the top-tier Legilimency technique of the Hogwarts system, unleashed by Peter's extraordinary spiritual power.

Silently and without a sound, the powerful divine sense, like the finest probe, instantly pierced Pietro's mind.

But unexpectedly, what Peter "saw" was not the expected resistance or real fragments of memory, but a flawless, recurring "scene".

He saw Wanda smiling and telling Quicksilver to watch the house as she left; he saw Quicksilver mowing the lawn in the yard...

All the scenes were filled with sunshine and warmth, without any flaws, and without any clues about Wanda's true whereabouts or the truth of this illusion.

Pietro's thoughts perfectly matched all the memories and emotions he should have in this "Happy Farm," without the slightest flaw.

Peter frowned slightly.

Could it be that I didn't put in enough effort?
Peter then increased the output of his mental power, attempting to delve into the subconscious level.

However, just as his divine sense attempted to reach deeper, a powerful and familiar chaotic magical energy erupted like a triggered landmine, violently intercepting and dispelling his probe.

"Uh!"

Pietro let out a painful groan, clutched his head, and his eyes instantly became vacant and confused, as if he had just woken up from a brief nightmare.

"Sir? What...what just happened? My head hurts so much..."

Peter quickly withdrew his divine sense and looked at Pietro, who was rubbing his temples in pain, and understood.

Wanda not only constructed this enormous illusion, but she even tampered with Pietro's consciousness beforehand.

She placed a powerful magical barrier deep within his mind. If anyone tried to use their mental powers to investigate the truth, the defense would be triggered immediately, causing the possessed person to feel uncomfortable and thus naturally interrupting the investigation.

What a meticulous plan!

It seems I underestimated Wanda.

Peter sighed, realizing that trying to understand Pietro's thoughts was a dead end.

Wanda, you really went all out; you even sold your brother for me.

Peter thought to himself, then steadied the swaying Pietro and said in his usual gentle tone, "It's alright. You probably swung on the swing too fast and got a little low blood sugar. Go inside and rest for a bit."

He helped the bewildered Pietro into the house, watched as he collapsed onto the sofa, and quickly regained his sunny and cheerful demeanor as if reset, starting to talk about what to eat for dinner.

Peter stood in the center of the living room and slowly closed his eyes.

It seemed impossible for him to force his way out of the illusion; he needed a more subtle and covert method.

Peter quickly realized that he possessed the power of the Sandman.

Peter stroked his chin, lost in thought.

His physical body may be unable to leave for the time being, but his consciousness, as part of the master of "dreams," can transcend the constraints of this reality.

Dreams...the most blurred boundary between reality and illusion, and also the deepest connection point of all consciousness.

After some contemplation, Peter chose to fall asleep, actively immersing his consciousness into the vast and boundless dimension of dreams.

He sat in the armchair, his breathing becoming long and steady.

The surrounding illusion seemed to ripple slightly, as if a pebble had been thrown into the water, but it quickly returned to calm.

Peter's consciousness broke free from the constraints of the farm and merged into a bizarre and fantastical sea of ​​dreams, a convergence of the subconscious minds of countless beings.

Here, he sensed an external consciousness with a faint connection to this illusory farm.

Great, it's you!
(End of this chapter)