Kaecilius returned in high spirits, leading his followers back to a hidden sanctuary—the secret stronghold of Dormammu’s loyal cult.
Not long ago, he had completely destroyed the New York Sanctum and even stabbed his former master, the Sorcerer Supreme, in the back. Now, Kaecilius was triumphant, brimming with pride as he fantasized about the rewards his dark lord would bestow upon him once the world was conquered.
But the moment he stepped into the grand hall, he froze.
Sitting on his throne was a figure cloaked in dark gray armor, with a long green cape flowing behind him. His crimson eyes glowed with disdain as they locked onto Kaecilius.
He sat there as if the throne was made for him—an aura of pure dominance radiating from his presence. Like a monarch born, not made.
"...Who are you?" Kaecilius narrowed his heavily shadowed eyes, glaring at the intruder on his seat.
Their gazes collided in the air—an invisible clash of immense dark energy exploded between them.
Kaecilius was the first to flinch.
A low grunt escaped him as he was pushed a step backward. Just from that brief exchange, he realized the man before him was no ordinary intruder. He was another apostle of Dormammu.
"You’re far too slow," the man on the throne said in a cold, raspy voice. "Always dragging your feet, making no real progress."
"We’ve already destroyed the sanctums in New York and London," Kaecilius retorted, his tone icy. "We’re gathering the faithful for a final assault on the last remaining sanctum in Hong Kong. And you? Who even are you? If you’ve done nothing, then don’t sit there spouting nonsense."
"But it looks like you’ve run into a few... complications," the stranger said with a mocking grin. "Kamar-Taj has now mobilized all its forces to defend the Hong Kong Sanctum. You do understand, don’t you? That final sanctum isn’t going to fall so easily."
He leaned forward slightly, voice low and taunting.
"In fact... there may be ten powerful variables you haven’t accounted for."
Kaecilius’s mind flashed with the image of a dark figure cutting through their followers like a reaper—swift, precise, unstoppable.
"I’m confident my followers and I can handle it," Kaecilius snapped. "But first, there’s something more important we need to settle."
His eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Leadership. Just who the hell are you? Get off my throne."
Without another word, Kaecilius attacked first.
A blade of translucent magic formed in his hand as he launched himself like a black missile toward the throne.
The man—Doom—remained seated.
His hands moved... or maybe they didn’t. No one could quite tell what he did.
But the next moment said it all.
Kaecilius flew backward like a broken kite, slamming hard into the ground. The impact shattered the ornate tiles beneath him, sending splinters across the room.
"So weak," Doom said, rising slowly to his feet. "How can someone like you be a servant of a god?"
He stepped toward Kaecilius, his voice dripping with scorn.
"I’m beginning to seriously question your combat capabilities."
Kaecilius roared and sprang up from the rubble. The blade in his hand twisted into a ghostly longsword. With a furious cry, he swung at Doom, aiming to cleave him in half.
Doom snorted, unimpressed.
A similar translucent sword appeared in his hand, effortlessly blocking the blow. Then—without hesitation—he drove a boot into Kaecilius’s chest.
Kaecilius was blasted backward like a cannonball, flipping midair to avoid a humiliating faceplant. He landed hard but stayed on his feet, his boots grinding deep grooves into the stone floor as he skidded back.
In a blur, Doom was in front of him again.
Nobody saw how he moved—he just appeared, right in Kaecilius’s face.
He grabbed Kaecilius’s arm, executed a perfect over-the-shoulder throw, and slammed him into the floor with bone-rattling force.
Kaecilius screamed and unleashed a surge of dark magic from both hands, forming a shield in front of him.
Even with the shield, the sheer impact left him dazed, ears ringing.
Before he could recover, Doom grabbed him by the collar and drove a brutal kick into his gut.
Kaecilius flew across the hall like a ragdoll, carving a trench into the floor before collapsing in a heap.
"Anyone else want to challenge my authority?" Doom’s gaze swept the room, his voice glacial.
"You?" Doom turned to the groaning sorcerer struggling to stand. "Kaecilius?"
Covered in dust and blood, Kaecilius lowered his head in shame. His voice was stiff, almost forced.
He hadn’t wanted to hand over leadership so easily—but Doom’s power was simply overwhelming. There was no room for debate. The gap between them wasn’t just large—it was a chasm.
"Good." Doom flicked his green cape and returned to the throne with regal finality.
"Now," he said, "everyone get yourselves together. We have a lot of work to do."
Kaecilius stepped forward, swallowing his frustration.
"The final sanctum is heavily fortified. Kamar-Taj’s sorcerers have all gathered there. We must—"
Doom cut him off with a wave.
"No. We’re not attacking that sanctum."
"What?" Kaecilius looked stunned. "But... weren’t we—?"
"I said, we’re not attacking it." Doom sounded irritated. "You were told that destroying all three sanctums would allow the god to descend. But I have a better way."
He paused, and then added:
"By combining science and magic... we can bypass the sanctums’ control entirely."
Kaecilius frowned. "But the machine was destroyed. Rebuilding it would take too many resources—"
"We won’t need the old one," Doom said calmly.
"Because I was the one who invented the dimensional traversal device in the first place."
His red eyes gleamed.
"Give me a few hours... and I’ll build a new one myself."
Access Advance Chapters on my
P@treon: [email protected]/MPHFics