The longer Voldemort stayed in the Sanctum, the more his fa?ade began to crack—not in front of Strange, who was still half-curious, half-arrogant—but around the magic itself. It whispered to him.

  One whisper grew louder than the rest.

  The Darkhold.

  He first saw the mention in an obscure scroll Strange left open in the library. A book of chaos magic, written by the demon Chthon, said to corrupt any who dared read it. It was sealed away, hidden after the Scarlet Witch’s fall, according to a footnote scrawled by Wong.

  A smirk crept across Voldemort’s lips.

  He had peered into death itself, fragmented his soul into pieces—what was one more descent into darkness?

  One night, as Strange meditated in the Astral Pne, Voldemort crept through the Sanctum’s inner sanctum—past mirrors that trembled at his presence, past relics that dimmed or shivered.

  He spoke a charm from his world—Alohomora, amplified with Chaos Magic he had mimicked from observation—and a shimmering panel of stone slid aside.

  There it was.

  Bound in twisted flesh-like leather, inked in blood that never dried—the Darkhold.

  The moment he touched it, his mind cracked open.

  Visions flooded him: Wanda Maximoff floating over Mount Wundagore, screaming in tongues; Agatha Harkness being cast into shadows; entire realities folding like paper.

  And something deeper.

  A voice.

  "You are not of this world, but you could rule it. You already tore apart one. Why stop there?"

  His eyes glowed. The pages turned on their own.

  He saw ways to reform Horcruxes without soul fragmentation, to open doorways into dreamwalking, to rewrite the ws of death.

  He didn’t notice the footsteps.

  Doctor Strange stood in the doorway, his face pale. The Cloak of Levitation was rigid behind him, as if ready for battle.

  "Thomas... step away from the Darkhold."

  Voldemort turned slowly. No pretense now. No disguise.

  Just the cold smile of Lord Voldemort in his prime.

  “You know... you really should keep dangerous things better locked.”

  Strange summoned energy in his hands. “You don’t understand what you’re holding. That book destroyed the Scarlet Witch. It warped universes. It nearly tore apart the multiverse.”

  Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

  “Then I’m reading the right book.”

  The room’s torches fred.

  The relics trembled.

  And the Sorcerer Supreme realized far too te:

  The war had already begun.