Sorcerer in the Marvel Universe

Evenson stepped beneath the awning of Richter’s Curio Shop, crimson hood shadowing his face.

The Corruptor’s armor gleamed with black fel runes. A skull-studded mantle rested across his shoulders. Green streams of energy flowed from the fortress behind him into his back, sustaining the Artifact Weapon gripped in his hand.

Planting the Scepter of Sargeras before him, he shouted toward the floating platform overhead.

"Hey, bald monk! Come down here and fight me!"

The Ancient One looked down at him.

She had long since noticed that Evenson stubbornly refused to cross into her isolated pocket dimension, remaining just beneath the edge of his own fortress’s protection.

Without missing a beat, she called back,

"Why don’t you come up here?"

Evenson glanced sideways at the fel conduits attached to his back.

The Scepter’s power depended entirely on those streams of energy. Step beyond their range, and his ability to wield the Artifact would disappear.

His neck stiffened.

"Then why don’t you come down?"

The Ancient One replied calmly,

"Come up here."

"Come down."

"Come up."

"Come down."

...

The stalemate lasted several exchanges.

Finally Evenson snorted.

"Fine. Stay up there."

He leveled the Scepter toward her.

"I’m not one of those battle-mage lunatics who insists on solving everything in melee. I can hit you perfectly well from right here."

The Ancient One ignored the jab.

Instead, she continued rotating the glowing green ring around her wrist.

Since the Scepter had appeared, her entire pocket dimension had been trembling.

The very fabric of space seemed ready to split apart beneath its presence.

Evenson noticed.

"It’s useless, Sorcerer Supreme."

He smiled faintly.

"I told you. This staff destroys things at their foundation."

"Time included."

"Your little treasure won’t help you."

"Perhaps."

She continued adjusting the Eye of Agamotto.

Then she looked directly at him.

"But can you truly control that staff?"

It was a simple question.

And a devastating one.

The Scepter of Sargeras possessed no independent will.

Anyone strong enough to lift it could invoke its power.

That was precisely what made it so dangerous.

How much power should be released?

Where should that power be aimed?

How could the wielder ensure the destruction stopped at the target... instead of consuming everything, including themselves?

Every decision rested entirely upon the user’s control.

Failure meant catastrophe.

History had already proven that.

Ner’zhul had once forced himself to wield the Scepter despite being a shaman rather than a warlock. His intention had merely been to tear open portals to other worlds and escape.

Instead...

The Artifact ran wild.

Rather than opening a controlled gateway, it ripped reality apart, hurled him into Kil’jaeden’s grasp, and shattered the world of Draenor itself, leaving behind the broken wasteland later known as Outland.

Using a warlock Artifact as a shaman had been reckless.

It had also been extraordinarily foolish.

But Ner’zhul had still been one of the greatest spellcasters the orcs had ever produced. Even Gul’dan had once served beneath him.

If he had lost control...

Evenson had no illusions about himself.

Aside from being considerably more handsome than Ner’zhul...

...and possessing a few personal advantages he’d rather not list...

He wasn’t about to claim he surpassed the old orc in magical mastery.

That was exactly why he feared even the slightest mistake.

One trembling hand.

One misjudged surge of power.

Best-case scenario?

A few city blocks erased.

Worst-case scenario?

There wasn’t one.

After all, the Scepter of Sargeras had been forged to pierce the boundaries between worlds.

A fragile pocket dimension like this would shatter like glass.

Evenson merely gave a dismissive snort.

Whether he could fully control it or not...

There was no reason to admit that aloud.

"I’ve heard that question a lot lately."

He looked up again.

"But today..."

"I finally get to ask someone else."

His smile widened.

"Tell me, Sorcerer Supreme."

"Can you fully control the Time Stone?"

The Ancient One didn’t answer directly.

"You watched our battle."

She inclined her head toward the Eredar Twins.

"I’d say I demonstrated rather competent control."

The Twins visibly twitched.

Salyssra nearly hurled a Shadow Bolt on reflex.

Only the sight of Evenson stepping onto the field reminded them that this was still part of the plan.

She swallowed her irritation.

Evenson laughed.

"Control?"

"You call rewinding a small isolated battlefield ’control’?"

He shook his head.

"That’s the most primitive application imaginable."

"Just as you’ve never truly learned how to make full use of your own enormous magical reserves..."

"...you’ve never truly learned how to wield time."

The Ancient One remained unconvinced.

She had carried the Eye of Agamotto for centuries.

Who understood it better than she did?

"I’ve seen someone who does."

Evenson’s voice became oddly serious.

"A being capable of traveling freely across countless timelines without relying on any external artifact."

"They could summon alternate versions of themselves from different timelines to fight beside them."

"They could travel into the future and kill their future self."

"They could journey into the past..."

"...and kill their past self."

He looked directly into her eyes.

"Can you do that?"

For the first time since arriving...

The Ancient One hesitated.

Such manipulation of time bordered on absurdity.

Multiple versions of oneself existing simultaneously.

Paradox without collapse.

If such a being truly existed...

Its mastery of time surpassed hers by an unimaginable margin.

"Even so," Evenson continued, "even someone capable of all that would hesitate before facing this staff."

"Perhaps."

The Ancient One recovered quickly.

"Whether your story is true or not doesn’t change the present."

"If someone like that fears the Scepter..."

"...then the person holding it clearly isn’t you."

Evenson didn’t deny it.

Instead, he smiled.

"Care to find out?"

"We fight."

"We’ll see who wins."

"I was about to suggest the same."

She nodded.

"But first..."

Evenson’s tone suddenly became solemn.

"When your tide of time collides with my power of destruction..."

"...this entire city could be thrown into temporal chaos."

He lowered his voice.

"Tens of millions of lives."

"Doesn’t that concern you?"

The Ancient One answered without hesitation.

"If destroying you saves tens of millions..."

"Then it’s worth the risk."

She met his gaze steadily.

"And if you continue to exist..."

"The number who die may be far greater."

Then she asked quietly,

"Can you see the future of those lives?"

"No."

Evenson answered immediately.

"I’m a black warlock."

"If you don’t care..."

"Why should I?"

Yet despite the bravado...

There was unmistakable unease beneath his words.

Watching from inside the shop, Clea felt as though she were looking at two strangers.

The wise, compassionate Sorcerer Supreme.

The easygoing, kindhearted man she’d fallen for.

Now both stood discussing the possible deaths of millions with chilling composure.

The Ancient One settled into her stance.

The Eye of Agamotto blazed emerald green.

"Then let us begin."

Evenson’s fel conduits flared brighter in response.

"Fine."

"Let’s begin."

Neither moved.

Seconds passed.

Then another.

Silence stretched between them.

Finally...

Evenson sighed.

A long, weary sigh.

He reached up and removed his hood.

The exhaustion on his face was impossible to hide.

"You win, Sorcerer Supreme."

His grip on the Scepter loosened slightly.

"My heart isn’t as hard as yours."

"I can’t gamble with millions of innocent lives."

His eyes darkened with bitter resentment.

"Perhaps..."

"...you’re the one who’d make the better black warlock."

...

Read up to 75 Chapters ahead and access exclusive novels by joining my Patreon!

/Sinmerry

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!