I'm starting a mythology craze at Marvel

Chapter 117 Strange in Pain

Grrrrrrrrrrrr.

Strange took a bottle of wine and kept pouring it into his mouth.

He lost his job, his long-time job, and his nimble hands.

Everything was caused by the car accident that day.

He luckily survived the damn car accident, but his hands were shattered and he could never pick up a scalpel again.

This meant that he was no longer the renowned neurosurgeon he once was, nor was he Yahweh’s gift to the surgical profession.

Now he is just an alcoholic, and maybe he will become a homeless person.

Originally, Strange had not given up, but ever since that night when the Son of God, Hong Xiuqing, descended to earth and performed miracles, he immediately went to pray before the statue and sought help from the priests of the Church of the Son of God.

but.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Strange, but while the Son is omnipotent and benevolent, we mortals are not.

We are powerless to heal the wound on your hand, so please accept my condolences. If you can pray sincerely, perhaps one day the miracle of the Son of God will appear in your life."

Will the miracle of the Son of God appear on me?

How can it be!

After going from heaven to hell, from hope to despair, Strange no longer has any hope.

Strange stood up shakily, and the bottle of wine fell to the ground with a crisp and hollow sound, just like the echo in his heart at this moment.

He staggered out of the dim hut. The night wind whistled past, and it seemed that even the wind was mocking his incompetence and desolation.

The street lights lengthened his shadow, making it look particularly lonely and long.

He wandered aimlessly on the empty streets, his heart filled with nostalgia for the past and confusion about the future.

Once upon a time, he was so proud. Standing in front of the operating table, every precise operation was like a display of art. Saving lives was his mission, honor, and endless money.

But now, those once nimble hands could only hang limply by his side, as if it was the biggest irony to him.

Strange stopped and leaned against a dim street lamp. The biting cold wind penetrated his thin clothes, making him shiver.

He lowered his head and stared at his hands with empty eyes. Those hands were once surrounded by countless praises, but now they were as heavy as scrap metal.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and finally slid down silently, dripping onto the cold ground and instantly swallowed up by the night.

Just then, an unusual wind blew, and a beautiful figure stood in front of him.

"Doctor Strange, you can't go on like this."

Strange quickly wiped the tears from his eyes, looked up at the person in front of him, and found that it was his colleague and friend Christine Palmer.

She is also a highly skilled surgeon, although her skills are nowhere near what she once was.

Christine's eyes were full of concern. She gently put a coat on Strange's trembling shoulders, trying to use the warmth to dispel the coldness and despair around him.

"I know how you feel now. Losing everything feels like the whole world has collapsed. But please believe that this is by no means the end, but the beginning of another journey."

Strange looked up, his eyes flashing with complex emotions, including surprise and gratitude.

"Christine, why are you here? I am already a useless person." Christine shook her head, her tone gentle but firm: "No, Strange, you will never be a useless person. Your wisdom, your experience, and your love for life are all wealth that can never be taken away.

The scalpel may be temporarily out of your hands, but your medical skills and spiritual strength remain. You can find new ways to help others and continue your mission. "

As Strange listened to Christine's words, a long-lost warmth surged in his heart, but he did not answer.

Although Kristen said it beautifully, the reality is cruel. Once it’s ruined, it’s ruined.

While Strange was finding some comfort, the Church of Dagon was also redeveloping in full swing.

Under the temptation of gold and fish, the seaside town of Gro Town quickly fell and prostrated itself at the feet of the Church of Dagon.

The townspeople smashed down the statue of Yahweh and began to worship Dagon instead, regarding him as the god of wealth.

As the Church of Dagon became more deeply rooted in Gro Town, an unprecedented atmosphere of fanaticism enveloped the entire town.

At night, beside the bonfire burning on the seashore, believers gathered around the statue of Dagon, chanting ancient and mysterious hymns, praying for the blessing and protection of the sea god.

Their eyes sparkled with an endless desire for wealth, as if as long as they were devout enough, the waves would bring endless gold and full fishing nets.

The church bells resounded through the sky in the early morning and at dusk. They were no longer the melodious and solemn tunes of the Temple of Yahweh in the past, but notes full of primitive power and wild calls, inspiring believers to follow Dagon's footsteps more firmly.

The craftsmen in the town became busy, carving more statues of Dagon to decorate the streets and houses, making the entire Gro town seem to be swallowed up by the breath of Dagon overnight.

Except for a few people, all the townspeople of Gro Town have fanatically worshipped Dagon.

"High Priest, the church is finally on the right track."

Evans looked delighted, the days of uncertainty were finally over.

“Yes, our efforts have not been in vain. Gro Town will become a new holy place for Dagon’s faith.

Next, we will develop along the coast of this country, and eventually slowly plant our faith inland, and finally, New York."

Speaking of New York, Casillas suddenly became angry. He would never forget how he escaped from New York in a miserable way that day.

He wanted to return to New York all the time, but he was afraid of the power of the Son of God, so he could only take things slowly.

"Your Excellency the High Priest, I feel like the church seems to be missing something."

Casillas frowned slightly when he heard this and turned to Evans, the loyal and insightful deputy who always gave him constructive advice when he needed it most.

"Oh? What do you mean, Evans?"

Evans took a step forward and lowered his voice to prevent the believers around him from hearing: "Your Excellency the High Priest, I feel that our church has always lacked a strong figure and a backbone."

"Are you saying that I am incompetent and unworthy of leading the Church of Dagon?"

Casillas was immediately unhappy. If it weren't for Evans's repeated achievements and his loyalty to him, he would have been dead the moment he said this.

"No, High Priest, I mean that the suffering of the Son of God should be over and he should return to the church."

"I see. I have already made arrangements for this matter, and the hidden plan has already been activated."

For the sake of the great Cthulhu, Casillas did not mind handing over the leadership of the church to the Son of God, but in the end, he would still have to suffer a little.

How can a mature leader not suffer hardships?

(End of this chapter)