The Sorcerer Supreme, Ancient One, stood at the portal with one hand raised, effortlessly holding its unstable edges in place while watching Evenson’s dramatic entrance unfold.
"He really is wielding an extraordinary artifact," she murmured.
Unlike her disciples, she could perceive what had truly awakened within Ulthalesh, the Deadwind Harvester. The scythe wasn’t merely powerful. It devoured souls. Wherever its shadow reached, even the lingering echoes of a spirit seemed eager to surrender to oblivion.
That realization troubled her.
Such a weapon had no business existing on Earth.
The black warlock’s inheritance was even more dangerous than she’d imagined.
Yet another thought quietly eased her concern.
My purpose is to witness the despair and destruction of invaders.
Judging by both his declaration and his actions, Evenson clearly stood against the invasion.
Perhaps...
When the battle ended, she would need to reconsider how she approached him.
Nearby, the exhausted Clea, finally relieved from reinforcing the portal, pulled a small notebook from her robes and began scribbling furiously.
"My purpose is to witness the despair and destruction of invaders..."
She underlined the sentence twice.
That entrance line is incredible.
Maybe I should borrow it someday.
As for Evenson...
His proclamation had sounded spectacular.
Whether anyone else had been impressed hardly mattered.
He certainly had.
If you’re going to say something that dramatic, you have to commit.
With a flourish, the demonic wings unfurled behind him.
Black feathers stretched wide against the burning New York skyline.
He grinned beneath the shadows.
"My wings are finally broken in."
He leaped from the rooftop.
"Alien filth... harvest time!"
Then reality arrived.
"...Huh?"
"...AAAAAAAH!"
People always claimed those who jumped from great heights only regretted it halfway down.
Whoever started that rumor deserved a stern conversation.
Evenson regretted it the instant his feet left the roof.
Because a horrifying realization struck him.
...How do I actually fly these things?
He’d never flown before.
This was only the second time he’d ever grown wings.
Instead of soaring majestically...
He dropped like a grand piano.
"Oh no no no no no!"
"Why could Carter figure this out immediately while I’m just reenacting gravity?!"
Of course Carter had managed.
The man had fought with the Howling Commandos. Gliders, parachutes, aerial insertions... he’d spent years learning how not to become pavement decoration.
Evenson, meanwhile, had apparently assumed that growing a pair of oversized demon wings automatically came with an instruction manual.
It did not.
By the time he plummeted past the third floor, sheer panic had finally taught him enough instinct to beat his wings properly.
The fall became a glide.
Then actual flight.
He hovered shakily above the street, chest heaving.
"...That was way too close."
Had he splattered across Manhattan seconds after awakening Ulthalesh, history would remember him as the only Avenger to activate his ultimate power... and immediately eliminate himself.
Possibly the most embarrassing owner Ulthalesh had ever possessed.
Landing at last, Evenson found another wave of Chitauri closing in.
Excellent.
Something needed to pay for his humiliation.
He lowered Ulthalesh.
"My pain."
"My suffering."
"My hatred burns in the abyss."
The scythe pointed forward.
More than a dozen Seed of Corruption projectiles erupted from the artifact and buried themselves inside the nearest Chitauri.
The aliens immediately dropped their weapons.
Some collapsed, clutching their stomachs.
Others slammed their fists into the pavement or writhed helplessly across the broken street.
Agony consumed them.
Moments later, every one of them clawed desperately at their throats.
Their bodies began swelling in grotesque, unnatural ways.
Then...
Pop.
Pop.
Pop!
Like overinflated balloons, they burst apart.
Except this wasn’t blood and flesh.
A tidal wave of shadow magic exploded outward.
Before awakening Ulthalesh, Evenson’s Seed of Corruption had been devastating enough to resemble a handful of high explosives.
Now?
Each detonation struck with the force of an anti-tank rocket.
Shadow erupted across the battlefield, swallowing entire squads.
Even low-flying Chitauri skiffs disappeared into the expanding darkness.
When the spell finally faded...
No corpses remained.
No wreckage.
Only an enormous crater filled with drifting black ash.
The display would have shattered the morale of almost any army.
The Chitauri weren’t an army.
They were manufactured weapons.
Broken souls wrapped in disposable flesh.
Fear wasn’t part of their design.
Another wave charged.
Evenson slowly turned toward them.
Beneath the veil of living shadow, his lips curled into a smile.
Black smoke escaped between his teeth.
"Begone."
Shadowflame exploded from his mouth.
A torrent of pitch-black fire swept across the street.
The Chitauri vanished before they could even scream, their bodies vaporized almost instantly.
Then, impossibly, the inferno reversed.
Like film played backward, every strand of black flame flowed neatly back into Evenson’s mouth.
Only a few stubborn embers remained, clinging to ruined vehicles and shattered masonry, refusing to die until everything they touched had burned away.
From the New York Sanctum, its guardian Oliver watched the entire exchange in stunned silence.
"What terrifying power..."
"And what terrifying evil."
For the first time in years, he felt genuine relief that he hadn’t tracked down the mysterious black warlock sooner.
Had he confronted Evenson before today...
He suspected his fate would have been little different from the Chitauri currently evaporating across Manhattan.
So that explained it.
Evenson hadn’t hidden himself because he feared the Masters of the Mystic Arts.
He’d simply been wary of the Ancient One.
Oliver finally accepted a difficult truth.
Within the entire order, only the Sorcerer Supreme stood any chance of defeating that man.
Thinking back to the days when he’d imagined dragging Evenson before a tribunal...
The memory now felt painfully arrogant.
Some would probably claim the warlock was only dangerous because of the weapon.
Take away the scythe and anyone could do the same.
Oliver nearly rolled his eyes.
Anyone saying that clearly hadn’t looked at the thing.
Simply focusing on Ulthalesh for too long made his own soul tremble.
Trying to seize it?
He’d likely become an empty shell before he ever reached its handle.
Even so...
His expression hardened.
"He’s still walking a dark path."
"The power is extraordinary, but he lacks proper discipline."
"His combat style is chaotic."
"The Sorcerer Supreme would still suppress him."
After all, Oliver’s idea of proper sorcery remained wonderfully traditional.
Conjure two glowing eldritch blades...
Rush the enemy...
Hit them until the problem stopped moving.
Standing at range and annihilating entire armies with impossible shadow magic?
Utter heresy.
Evenson paid no attention to the distant judgments of unseen sorcerers.
He walked calmly through the battlefield, leaning lightly on Ulthalesh like a traveler carrying an old staff.
"You lives are meaningless."
"You will fall like harvested wheat."
His left hand drifted lazily through the air, dismissing the charging Chitauri with the casual gesture one might use to wave away flies.
Any alien foolish enough to enter his reach simply...
Melted.
Armor dissolved first.
Then flesh.
Then bone.
Within seconds, nothing remained but foul pools of liquefied corruption staining the broken streets of New York.
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