Using an Artifact Weapon was nothing like casting an ordinary spell.
For lesser magic, Evenson could conceal his presence with masking arrays or the arcane techniques he’d learned from Mephistroth. But the power radiating from Ulthalesh, the Deadwind Harvester was in an entirely different league.
Its aura devoured light.
It silenced souls.
There was no spell on Earth capable of hiding it.
The instant Ulthalesh settled into the ritual circle, every master of the mystic arts in New York felt it.
Inside the New York Sanctum, Clea froze.
She had only recently returned from her training and was still adjusting to life within the Sanctum when an overwhelming wave of darkness washed over her.
Her blood ran cold.
Even in her worst nightmares, she had never imagined power like this.
It was ancient.
Malicious.
The kind of darkness that made the body recoil and the soul mourn.
"Master!"
She pointed toward the distant rooftop.
"Look!"
Her mentor, Olivan, turned to follow her gaze.
He, too, was visibly shaken.
Yet after only a brief glance, his attention shifted elsewhere.
"So..."
"So that’s the dark warlock I’ve been searching for."
His eyes narrowed.
"I don’t know what he’s trying to accomplish..."
"...but he doesn’t appear to be working with the invaders."
Around Evenson’s ritual circle lay several living Chitauri, bound as sacrifices.
If the warlock had intended to aid the invasion, ordinary civilians would have made far easier offerings.
His choice of victims made his allegiance obvious.
"Clea."
Olivan’s voice sharpened.
"Stay focused."
"Yes, Master."
He made his decision immediately.
Whatever the warlock was planning, it could wait.
Nothing he did was more urgent than the catastrophe unfolding overhead.
Even if the man truly intended something dangerous...
Surely he wasn’t about to summon an even larger alien army.
The sky above Manhattan had split apart.
Anyone with functioning eyes could see the invasion.
From the day the Order of Masters had been founded, one principle had stood above all others.
Repel extradimensional threats.
Protect Earth.
Alien invaders qualified.
Without hesitation, Olivan issued his orders.
He hadn’t become keeper of the New York Sanctum by lacking judgment.
With only a few dozen sorcerers under his command, attempting to chase Chitauri across the city was hopeless.
As long as the portal remained open, the enemy would never stop arriving.
So he reached the same conclusion countless battlefield commanders had reached before him.
Forget the army.
Destroy the gateway.
As for the Chitauri already inside New York...
They weren’t mystical creatures.
Let conventional armies deal with conventional invaders.
Humanity boasted endlessly about its military strength.
Now was the perfect opportunity to prove it.
Besides...
This disaster existed because ordinary governments had been recklessly experimenting with powers they barely understood.
If mortals insisted on tearing holes in reality, someone had to clean up the mess afterward.
"Understood."
Clea resumed channeling her magic.
Even so, she couldn’t resist glancing toward the distant rooftop once more.
The warlock’s face remained hidden beneath his hood.
Yet...
Something about him felt strangely familiar.
Returning to the Sanctum after months away hadn’t been easy.
Compared to the outside world, life inside the Sanctum felt painfully quiet.
Thankfully, the Sorcerer Supreme had eventually relented and allowed the Sanctums to install wireless internet.
She could still watch her favorite shows.
Still play online games.
It kept the boredom manageable.
Even so...
Something had always felt missing.
It took her weeks to understand what.
She missed having someone beside her.
Someone who mocked terrible television with her.
Someone who complained about obnoxious children in online games.
Someone willing to indulge every ridiculous idea she came up with.
Without realizing it...
That person had become far more important to her than she’d ever admitted.
Then she’d remember the night they parted.
The memory always irritated her.
Coward.
Even then, you couldn’t bring yourself to say what you really meant.
Though...
Would it have changed anything?
Probably not.
Nothing could have come of it.
She shook herself free of the memory.
No...
It can’t be him.
Her eyes drifted toward the glowing runes branded across the warlock’s exposed arms.
He’d never had those.
"Master..."
One of the sorcerers gasped.
"We can’t... hold it..."
"The portal... it’s too powerful..."
The desperate voice snapped Clea back to reality.
The young sorcerer’s face had turned deathly pale.
Sweat poured from every inch of his body.
He was nearly at his limit.
The others looked little better.
Olivan’s strategy had been straightforward.
Gather every sorcerer in the Sanctum.
Combine their strength.
Draw upon the Sanctum itself, one of Earth’s great magical nexuses, and use that power to force the portal shut.
It was a sound plan.
In theory.
Unfortunately...
The portal had been opened by the Tesseract.
The Space Stone.
An Infinity Stone.
No gathering of ordinary sorcerers, no matter how disciplined, could simply overpower one of the fundamental forces of the universe.
Realizing the portal couldn’t be closed, they settled for a lesser objective.
Prevent it from growing larger.
If they could stabilize its current size, fewer Chitauri reinforcements would be able to pass through.
Even that...
Was nearly impossible.
Olivan and Clea, the two strongest sorcerers present, poured more magic into the ritual, easing the burden on the others.
"Hold the line!" Olivan shouted.
"Defending Earth from extradimensional threats is our duty!"
"Our honor!"
"Our pride!"
The Order’s confidence had always bordered on arrogance.
Not merely because they possessed extraordinary power...
But because they believed they alone understood the true nature of reality.
Ordinary people lived inside a cage without ever seeing its bars.
The Order stood outside it.
That belief carried responsibility.
And responsibility became pride.
A pride worth dying for.
"For our sacred duty..."
One exhausted sorcerer cried out.
"...we do not fear sacrificing ourselves!"
"We do not fear!"
Voices answered from every direction.
"We do not fear!"
Again.
"We do not fear!"
To abandon their responsibility was to abandon everything that defined them.
For one brilliant moment, the weary sorcerers seemed revitalized.
Yet the surge felt less like renewed strength...
...and more like the final flare of a candle moments before the flame went out.
"I am proud of all of you, my children."
A calm, gentle voice echoed through the Sanctum.
A circular gateway rimmed with golden sparks unfolded behind them.
From it stepped an elderly woman in flowing yellow robes.
"The Sorcerer Supreme!"
"Master!"
"You’ve returned!"
The Ancient One smiled warmly.
"My apologies."
"I arrived later than I wished."
She looked toward the unstable sky.
"The surrounding space has become dangerously unstable."
"I had to proceed with great care."
The activation of the Tesseract had done more than create a portal.
The visible gateway was merely its most obvious effect.
The surrounding fabric of space had already begun to distort in subtle, dangerous ways.
It was precisely why Evenson had never considered using the Scepter of Sargeras here.
He had no desire to accidentally carve a permanent passage into the Twisting Nether while reality itself was already coming apart.
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