The more he discovered his own traces throughout history, the calmer the Emperor became.
Just as Victor von Doom had comforted him after he told the Regent of his discovery, sometimes things were simply like that. Accept the fate bestowed by The One, complete the journey of one's life while continuing to struggle, rather than falling into the abyss of nihilism. "If someone claims you are Attila, then you are Attila. I think dying in a ridiculous way like choking on a nosebleed in your sleep sounds very much like something I would come up with. I am someone who likes jokes, after all. What do you think?"
Mordo merely widened his eyes, his face full of fury, and did not answer. "He used a gun!" the Kamar-Taj apprentice instructor said angrily through the pain. "A despicable traitor, a shameless coward! If he had not used a gun, he could never have beaten me fairly!"
"Yes, yes, who told you two to fight to the death?" The Emperor nodded dismissively, one hand still resting beside the nightstand as he continued reading by the light in Mordo's room. He had once known nothing about firearms, but now he could determine the situation from a gunshot wound alone. "The wound is not bad. A through-and-through wound, fired at close range. The instant pain and blood loss made you lose your combat ability and concentration. That bruise on your head came from that, didn't it? Hah... Victor hit a little too hard. You need a CT scan to determine whether you have a concussion. A hematoma would not be a good thing. Apprentice Stephen Strange, am I correct?"
"Absolutely not!" Mordo sulked and refused to answer such a humiliating question. Though he wanted to sit up, the lingering anesthetic left him temporarily unable