---Leon POV---
“… and that brings us to the present state of the cosmos. We have less than fifty years before the whole of creation we call home is purged from existence.”
I paused, allowing the assembled Mystical Principalities a moment to process the sheer weight of what I had shared.
As hushed whispers rippled through the gathering, a withered figure stepped from the sea of faces, his gaze cold and calculating. He bore the guise of an unassuming old man, yet the suffocating darkness coiled beneath that fragile shell told me everything I needed to know. He was not an entity to trifle with. Had he wished it, half of those present would have perished before their minds registered the intent.
“Child of Man, I have but one question for you.” A hairline fracture in his disguise vented outward, the surrounding void twisting under the strain. “Supposing we grant you our strength to halt the unraveling of creation and strike down Davoth—how do you propose to pull off such a feat? Immortals vastly more powerful than you have marched against his hordes, only to fall and feed his endless power.”
“I possess knowledge and technology they never dreamed of.” I held his gaze without a flicker of hesitation.
The murmurs died instantly as the crowd turned to listen. Many had surrendered to despair, believing the timeline doomed beyond salvation, but the quiet certainty in Leon’s voice bought their attention.
“Davoth has grown far too entrenched for brute force to decide the day. First, we must sever the All-Black Necrosword from its connection to the Headless Celestial, stripping him back to his original limits. To accomplish that, I have two specific relics to hunt down: a De-Mat Gun or the Ultimate Nullifier. Either can excise an entity or object from the timeline without causing universal collapse.”
I closed the distance between us, standing toe-to-toe with the ancient entity.
“From there, we must unravel the fused timelines. For that task, I will route the resonance of all six Infinity Stones directly through my TARDIS. Its temporal matrix possesses the raw processing capability and dimensional manipulation necessary to stitch reality back together.”
The withered man leaned closer, unimpressed. “And you believe Davoth will sit idly by while you assemble the pieces? The instant your hand moves, he will seek to grind you beneath his heel, just as he did ten thousand years ago.”
“I am not the broken man he faced in that era. Ten thousand years of unrelenting torment carved away whatever softness remained. Sacrificing myself on an altar for the sake of others is no longer an option. Only swift, merciless action will pull us back from the brink.” I leaned into the old man’s face, unyielding. “I do not hear you offering a viable alternative. Unless you possess a superior plan, keep your lectures to yourself.”
A collective gasp echoed across the space as thousands of mystical entities scrambled backward, terrified by Leon’s tone. They anticipated an apocalyptic clash of wills to tear the realm apart.
Instead, the withered man threw his head back and roared with dry, echoing laughter.
“You have steel in you, Child of Man. Very well—let us forge a pact. Though my domain has withered since the fall of Earth, I will grant you my power and the full breadth of my arcane knowledge.” The elder thrust a weathered, calloused palm forward. “In exchange, I demand three things of you: restore the Earth to its original position and state, bring me Davoth’s severed head for my trophy room, and if that wretch, the Maker, still breathes… kill him.”
“Very well, I agree to your terms, but I have conditions of my own.” I raised my hand between us. “For the duration of our pact, I retain complete sovereignty over my physical body, unless I explicitly grant permission for a predetermined duration measured by the Mortal Realm. You are forbidden from tampering with either my conscious or subconscious mind; telepathic contact remains strictly limited to advisory guidance. Above all else, my soul remains mine alone. It is not, and never will be, for sale.”
A wide grin cut across the elder’s weathered face. He was thoroughly enjoying the defiance. Giving me a sharp nod, our hands met in a firm grip.
“When you have need of my power, invoke the name of Chthon.” His physical form dissolved into swirling black mist. “A copy of my Darkhold rests within your ancestor’s vault. Look to its pages to command my knowledge.”
I stood frozen for two heartbeats, working to process the exchange. The very first Mystical Principality to sign onto my campaign was the Elder God of Chaos himself. It was an unexpected, yet undeniably potent asset for the trials ahead.
‘With the knowledge and power of an Elder God, I can restore my fallen brothers: Ferrus Manus and Sanguinius. And if I can cure his madness, Konrad Curze would be an invaluable ally. Beneath his self-loathing cruelty, a good man was buried alive beneath endless nightmares. Had he been guided to defy fate instead of becoming a monster, he would have stood among the finest of us.’
While my thoughts lingered on the Primarchs, heavy footsteps echoed through the shimmering void. Another colossal entity closed the distance, making no attempt to conceal his identity. Dark, jagged plate armor caught the ambient glow radiating from his blazing, crown-like skull.
“Leon, was it? Let us forge a contract as well.” Dormammu thrust a massive, armored gauntlet toward me. “Davoth’s rabble carved away a full quarter of the Dark Dimension and continues encroaching on my borders. In exchange for my flames, I expect you to tear Davoth’s vanguard to ribbons and give me an outlet to vent my fury. Just ensure they provide a decent warm-up.”
“Chthon is one thing; you are something else entirely. Do you honestly believe I would enter into a pact with you on those terms? You desire the exact same prize as Davoth: absolute dominion over creation. You are liable to plant a dagger between my shoulder blades the second he falls. At least Chthon possesses a vested stake in seeing my plan through. You do not.”
A quiet rumble of amused chuckles echoed from Agamotto and his companions. They clearly enjoyed watching someone speak to the dread lord with unvarnished bluntness, a welcome departure from the terrified groveling most mortal mages offered.
“Are you claiming you have no need of my power…?” Dormammu’s blazing eyes narrowed, heat rippling across the void as his temper flared.
“Not at all. The Flames of the Faltine would prove devastating in my campaign against Chaos.” I folded my arms across my chest, unyielding. “The risk-to-reward ratio is tilted absurdly in your favor. If you expect me to accept your patronage, sweeten the pot. To be entirely transparent, I already have five specific entities lined up for you to vent that burning fury upon.”
The Lord of the Dark Dimension paused, his flames settling into an ominous simmer as I projected images into his mind: Khorne, Tzeentch, Nurgle, Vashtorr, and Malice. Since each of those cosmic parasites sought to devour the material plane for themselves, slaughtering them was an offer he found difficult to refuse.
“A reasonable counter. I will amend my terms. I demand Davoth’s demise, along with the severed heads of those five lesser abominations.” A jagged, molten grin broke across his helm. “In return, you may channel my flames to reduce your foes to cinder—and claim my twin sister as your bride, provided you can locate her. Umar walked the Mortal Realm when reality warped; she has been lost to the winds ever since.”
I let out a slow sigh. “My conditions remain identical to the terms I set for the Elder God of Chaos. With one mandatory addition: you are strictly barred from conquering, or attempting to conquer, the Mortal Realm until our campaign reaches its conclusion. Once the crisis is resolved, you may do as you please.”
“Your terms are acceptable.”
Our hands met, the searing heat of his armored gauntlet sealing the bargain before the entity dissolved into a plume of suffocating black smoke.
‘He is simply unloading his sociopathic sister onto me because he caught wind of my household. Umar is gorgeous, but her soul is rotten to the core. A vain, indolent sadist who thinks nothing of murdering mortals or pulling strings for personal amusement. She abandoned her husband and daughter the moment she grew bored with domestic life. If I cross paths with her, I will need to tread carefully.’
Mephisto manifested from the shadows next, his oily smile already forming an opening pitch. I did not grant him the luxury of speaking. A single dismissive wave of my hand rejected his presence outright; the demon prince was notorious for twisting contractual syntax into soul-binding traps, and I had no intention of jeopardizing my family or myself for the sake of his hollow bargains.
Sensing my absolute refusal, the arch-fiend slunk back into the dark with a hiss. In his wake, the three towering presences of Agamotto, Hoggoth, and Oshtur glided forward.
“Under normal circumstances, we would never entertain bestowing the mantle of Sorcerer Supreme upon an individual bonded to our greatest adversaries. Yet creation stands at the precipice of oblivion, leaving us little room for orthodoxy.” Hoggoth’s deep, resonant voice reverberated through the astral plane. “We will sanction your ascension until this cataclysm is averted. Once the dust settles, however… you must choose which path your soul will walk.”
“Once our mutual objective is accomplished, take your title back and bestow it upon someone who can better shoulder your cosmic duties. I have my own responsibilities to the people of the Imperium. They have been used, abused, and led astray by the very institutions meant to protect them; now it falls to me to undo the damage ten thousand years of rot has wrought.” I held the towering entity’s gaze without blinking. “My family and my people need me far more than you do.”
Rather than responding with indignation, the three patron deities offered a shared smile and a slow nod of approval. A faint, golden flash bathed my chest as the Eye of Agamotto materialized around my neck, an immense reservoir of pure mystical energy rushing into me.
Oshtur glided forward, resting a gentle, radiant hand against my shoulder.
“You grasp what your brothers never could. Your people do not require an overwhelming display of martial terror or another endless strategy; they need a shepherd to guide them toward greener pastures. Ten thousand years ago, you were not yet whole; today, you stand ready. Become the guardian and stalwart defender your father envisioned.”
At the mention of the Emperor, the corner of my mouth twitched. Not wanting to derail the negotiation into a bitter rant, I forced the resentment back down into the pit of my stomach, willing my expression to remain neutral.
“Throughout my travels, I will use the authority you have granted me to aid those in need. Rest assured, your power will never fall upon the innocent—only upon those who have earned judgment.” I offered a respectful nod.
“Before we withdraw our presence, is there any final boon we may grant to aid your cause?” Hoggoth leaned forward, catching the quiet hesitation lingering in my eyes.
“The power granted by the entities assembled here is immense, but I remain a single man. What I require most are capable warriors by my side—allies who can confront the cosmic horrors that dwell in the darkest parts of the Mortal Realm. Is there an artifact or rite capable of calling forth lost heroes to fight alongside me?”
Without a word, Agamotto produced a pristine, translucent crystal, letting it hover between us. Immense mystical power pulsed within its facets, yet the energy felt volatile, like a coiled spring on the verge of snapping. The slightest disruption to its containment lattice could trigger a cataclysmic detonation.
“What you see before you is pure, concentrated essence harvested from fallen realities.” He guided the levitating gem toward my palm. “I will impart an ancient incantation capable of calling forth champions to your side. Because of the severe instability within our universe, you will have no control over who answers your call. Furthermore, the crystal contains only enough reserve to summon five souls. May fortune favor your choices.”
He reached outward to project the incantation directly into my thoughts, but the psychic probe slammed into my mental barricades and rebounded instantly. Only after I lowered my inner firewall and granted explicit permission did the complex mystic architecture rush into my mind like an open floodgate.
With our bargain sealed, the Vishanti faded back into the celestial mist. Their departure became the signal for a sea of lingering principalities to surge forward, all clamoring for terms.
Knowing that years could pass within this pocket dimension while mere seconds ticked away back home, I took a breath and prepared to hear them all out. If I were going to pull our reality back from the brink of total annihilation, I would take every shred of leverage these gods were willing to offer.
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