"Heh!" Strange rubbed his forehead with a bitter smile, then gave Aaron a thumbs-up. "You really are something. That's just too damn underhanded!"
"Mr. Stephen Strange, you must understand that every gift fate bestows has its price secretly marked.
I healed your hands, let you confess to the girl you secretly loved, and gave you the chance to learn magic and understand the universe. And now you're planning to dust yourself off and leave.
Search your conscience. Do you think that's appropriate? Is that reasonable?"
"Let me correct you. I'm not planning to dust myself off and leave," Strange immediately said. "I'm not planning to be a deserter. I just don't want to throw my life away for nothing."
"I'm... too weak."
"Didn't someone say earlier that he felt terrifyingly strong?"
"I was wrong. I take back those ignorant words." Strange promptly backed down, then sighed helplessly. "I can wave flags and cheer in the mystical war."
"We don't need cheerleaders," Wong said irritably. "And we don't want them either."
"It's a metaphor, okay?
What I mean is, I can do what most sorcerers do.
I can even charge into battle and do what you and Mordo do.
But I can't..." Strange deliberated for a long while before reluctantly pointing at the Earth model overhead, which was being consumed by darkness. "I can't handle that.
I don't know how the Ancient One resisted Dormammu, but any spell I know would probably not even make a splash if I threw it in there."
"Mm... When that time comes, fate may offer a hint."
"Forget hints—even a clear instruction wouldn't help!
I'm not you. My magic..." Strange stopped halfway through, then looked meaningfully at Aaron. "You're far stronger than we are. Even the Sorcerer Supreme praises you highly.
If it were you,