Manhattan, Greenwich Village. 177A Bleecker Street.
Inside this Sanctum that existed invisible to mortal eyes, hidden behind layers of reality and protected by ancient wards, tragedy had already unfolded.
Sorcerer apprentices wearing simple training robes moved back and forth across the hall on the second floor with hurried steps. Their young faces were drawn and pale, marked by exhaustion and barely suppressed horror at what they'd witnessed.
In their open palms, held steady despite trembling from fatigue and shock, countless blue runes continuously manifested. The mystical symbols jumped and danced as healing spells were cast repeatedly, magical energy scattering throughout the chamber in waves of soothing light.
And on the cold floor decorated with gorgeous geometric patterns, patterns that had been designed to focus and channel mystical energy but now only reflected suffering, wounded sorcerers lay in rows.
One by one, the formal mages with shattered limbs or severe burns covering large portions of their bodies could not help but release uncontrollable painful moans. The sounds echoed through the hall, a chorus of agony that no amount of training could fully suppress.
Some had arms bent at unnatural angles, bone visible through charred flesh. Others bore wounds that wept not blood but strange energies, magical backlash that refused to heal naturally. Several showed burns so severe that their robes had fused with their skin.
Only when the cool, blessed energy of the healing spells completely enveloped their damaged bodies, washing over them like gentle rain, could they barely find relief from the severe pain they were enduring. The magic worked to knit tissue, to ease inflammation, to counter the supernatural damage that had been inflicted.
At the same time, even Stephen Strange, who remained in a state of deep unconsciousness, his breathing shallow and irregular, was lying among the wounded. He received continuous treatment from apprentice sorcerers who worked over him in shifts, their spells focused on his extensive injuries.
The surgeon had survived the Ghost Rider encounter miraculously, though whether that survival would ultimately prove a blessing remained to be seen. His hands, in particular, received concentrated healing attention, the apprentices working to save whatever function remained.
At this moment, accompanied by circles of golden sparks that sputtered and crackled in the air, reality began to fold in on itself.
A circular portal suddenly manifested above the gorgeous floor not far from the wounded, the gateway opening with practiced precision to connect this location with distant Kamar-Taj.
Then Wong, the slightly heavy-set master sorcerer known for his encyclopedic knowledge and steady temperament, stepped through the portal into the New York Sanctum. His expression was grave, features set in lines of deep concern.
He paused just beyond the threshold, allowing the portal to close behind him with a soft whoosh of displaced air. His experienced eyes swept across the chamber, taking in the full scope of the tragic scene before him with mounting alarm.
Then he walked with purposeful strides straight toward the tall black man who was leaning heavily on a long staff not far away, using the weapon for support rather than mere symbolism. The man's face was almost pale from significant blood loss, his dark skin carrying an ashen undertone that spoke of serious injury.
"Master Daniel, how is your injury recovering?" Wong asked quickly, his voice carrying genuine worry beneath the professional concern. He studied the other sorcerer carefully, cataloging visible damage and estimating severity.
"I'm not dying quite yet, though it was a close thing," Daniel responded, his voice rougher than usual, strained by pain and exhaustion. He wore a sorcerer's robe draped across his broad shoulders, the fabric stained dark with dried blood in several places.
He subconsciously glanced downward at his bare chest, now wrapped extensively in blood-soaked bandages that would need changing soon. The white fabric had turned mostly crimson, though the bleeding had finally stopped.
Then he blinked slowly, as though the simple action required conscious effort, and stared at Wong with a puzzled expression creasing his features.
"Why did you come specifically to assist our rescue operation? Where are the others?"
He continued questioning, his tone taking on more urgency. "Where is Mordo? Where is Kaecilius? Surely they should have been the first responders. Has Master Ancient One been informed about our situation here? Does she know what happened?"
"Not long ago, a highly unusual situation involving cannibalistic zombies suddenly erupted near the Hong Kong Sanctum." Wong's explanation was concise but comprehensive, delivering bad news with practiced efficiency. "Master Hamir took Mordo and the majority of our available formal mages to respond to an emergency request from the Chinese organization S.P.E.A.R. They're dealing with an impending zombie tide that threatens to breach containment."
He paused to let that sink in, then continued.
"The remaining formal mages are required to remain stationed at Kamar-Taj itself for defensive purposes. We cannot spare additional personnel beyond what I brought with me. The situation is stretched thin across multiple crisis points."
Wong shook his head slightly, the gesture conveying both regret and frustration at circumstances beyond anyone's control.
"As for Master Ancient One, all of our urgent messages have been sent through every available channel, but we have received absolutely no response from her." His voice carried a note of worry that he rarely allowed to show. "Perhaps the Master is also dealing with some major supernatural event of such magnitude that we cannot participate in or even comprehend its full scope."
After listening carefully to Wong's simple but troubling narration, Daniel took a deep breath. The action caused visible pain to flash across his features, his chest wound protesting the expansion.
He tried valiantly to suppress the acute discomfort radiating from his chest and throughout his body, frowning as he spoke.
"What about Kaecilius then? He didn't participate in the Hong Kong mission, did he?" Daniel's tone took on a harder edge. "Whether it was the zombie attack on the Hong Kong Sanctum or this catastrophic experience here at the New York Sanctum, surely he should have assumed the important responsibilities expected of a Kamar-Taj master sorcerer? Where is he?"
Daniel's expression darkened further as he continued, voicing concerns that had been building for some time.
"Kaecilius's dissatisfaction with Master Ancient One has been increasing almost daily, especially after he was severely injured by some mortal visitor during that incident weeks ago. I can see it clearly in his eyes now, the way he looks at her." Daniel's voice dropped lower, more intense. "That hatred growing in the depths of his gaze has gradually obscured his heart and judgment. This is absolutely taboo for a sorcerer. Darkness leads to corruption, always."
Wong stared at the pale, wounded Daniel and sighed with deep, earnest concern. The sound carried years of friendship and shared experience.
"Whether Kaecilius is willing to guard the Sanctums or perform his duties properly, I find myself deeply worried about allowing him to leave Kamar-Taj unsupervised at this point." Wong's admission was reluctant but honest. "Master Daniel, the Kaecilius that you and I used to know and trust, the brother we trained alongside, may no longer exist. Something fundamental has changed within him."
Wong's expression grew more somber.
"It was fate, or perhaps simply his damaged personality, but regardless, Master Ancient One probably should not have listened to his desperate pleading all those years ago. She should not have taken him in after his family's deaths, not when his grief was so fresh and poisonous. Sometimes kindness plants seeds of future tragedy."
At this moment, Daniel, whose face remained deathly pale from blood loss and shock, nodded slightly in reluctant agreement. The movement was careful, measured, as though he feared jostling his injuries.
He moved his dry, cracked lips and whispered hoarsely, "Forget it. This is not something you and I have the authority to decide or change. The Master makes her own choices for reasons we may never fully understand."
He straightened slightly, forcing himself to focus on immediate rather than philosophical concerns.
"Wong, let's discuss the urgent business at hand. You should have been briefed on the initial situation report. The infamous Ghost Rider has lost control again, and this time the circumstances appear far more serious and dangerous than any previous incident."
Daniel's voice gained strength as he delivered his tactical assessment, years of experience overriding pain.
"Almost all of the more than thirty formal mages who deployed to suppress the entity were seriously wounded, myself included. We're looking at months of recovery time for most of them, and some may never fully heal from the mystical damage they sustained."
He paused, then continued with grim emphasis.
"The magic power of Vishanti that we typically rely upon can hardly control or even slow the current Ghost Rider's rampage. If we hadn't arranged the Mirror Dimension in advance and managed to trap it within that space, I have no doubt that not only would none of us have survived to return, but the nearby city would be facing catastrophe. All of New York would be drowning in supernatural disaster..."
Daniel's eyes were haunted as he contemplated the implications.
"Seven or eight million mortal civilians. How many of them could possibly withstand the Penance Stare of the Ghost Rider? How many innocent souls would burn before someone managed to stop it? The death toll would be unimaginable, unprecedented in modern history."
"Fortunately," he added, though his tone suggested the fortune was limited, "the endless, self-reinforcing layers of the Mirror Dimension can still trap the entity for some time. The spatial construct should hold for a while longer. But I am deeply worried that containment will not last indefinitely, because this time, the out-of-control Ghost Rider seems to be actively recovering its lost memories from ages past."
Daniel leaned more heavily on his staff, fatigue showing through.
"When its gradually returning memories unlock the truly terrifying power it once wielded in ancient times, when that force expands to the point where the Mirror Dimension can no longer contain it, then perhaps only the invincible Master Ancient One herself will be able to help us resolve this crisis. No one else will be strong enough."
Hearing Daniel's comprehensive report and tactical analysis of their current precarious situation, Wong fell silent for a long moment. His expression was thoughtful, calculating, weighing options and risks.
After considering the variables carefully, Wong finally nodded slowly and spoke with renewed determination, his voice carrying the firmness of decided action.
"Then we absolutely cannot give it the opportunity to continue accumulating strength unchallenged. Every moment we delay increases the risk of catastrophic failure. Otherwise, it will inevitably cause an even greater disaster when it finally breaks free."
Wong's hands moved in unconscious gestures as he thought aloud.
"I will contact Mordo immediately to assess whether the Hong Kong Sanctum can spare even minimal personnel to assist us here. Perhaps they can send three or four mages, enough to make a difference without compromising their own crisis response."
He met Daniel's eyes directly.
"Also, since Vishanti's white magic has proven ineffective against this particular entity, then we must fight poison with poison. We should seriously consider employing some black magic techniques, ones we would normally avoid. We cannot permit the out-of-control Ghost Rider to continue wreaking havoc across the mortal world unchecked, surely?"
Wong's tone carried conviction despite the moral ambiguity.
"I believe Master Ancient One will understand and approve our decision when circumstances are explained. Sometimes dark tools must be used to combat darker threats."
At this moment, Wong's words immediately earned Daniel's approval. The reasoning was sound, the logic inescapable given their limited options.
The tall black master sorcerer nodded with solemn agreement, understanding perfectly what Wong was suggesting and accepting the necessity.
He subconsciously tightened his grip on the long magical staff held firmly in his palm, feeling the weapon's familiar weight and the power thrumming through it.
Then, with tremendous difficulty and obvious pain, he forced himself to rise from his half-collapsed position. His strong body, though gravely injured, refused to remain down. Duty demanded he stand ready.
At precisely that moment, without any warning, a violent sound accompanied a sudden burst of space tearing apart. The noise was distinctive, wrong, carrying frequencies that hurt to hear.
A spatial rift with jagged, broken edges suddenly manifested on the main stairs of the New York Sanctum's front hall, appearing exactly where the defensive wards should have prevented such intrusion.
The tear in reality simply opened, as though something had cut through the fabric of space itself with a blade sharp enough to wound the universe.
In an instant, before anyone could react or raise defensive spells, two sorcerer apprentices who had been returning from an errand outside, their arms laden with medical supplies desperately needed for the wounded, stepped directly into the affected area.
Their fragile mortal bodies were silently shredded by space fragments flying in all directions. The debris of broken reality cut like invisible knives, each fragment carrying edges sharper than any blade.
Those extremely terrifying spatial forces, energies that existed outside normal physical law, kept systematically tearing apart the flesh and blood covering their bodies in strips and chunks. But somehow, impossibly, the destructive power did not damage their skeletal structures at all.
The result was a walking nightmare. Two apprentices stood there, skinned alive by spatial forces, their musculature and organs exposed while their bones remained intact and supporting them.
The endless, indescribable pain of being unable to die quickly, of remaining conscious while their bodies were destroyed around their inviolate skeletons, forced both apprentices to release absolutely miserable howls of pure agony. The screams were inhuman, animal, the sounds of minds breaking under torture.
The next second, before Wong or Daniel could move to help or attack, a tall figure emerged from the spatial rift with casual ease.
The newcomer wore a finely crafted white suit, impeccably tailored and somehow remaining pristine despite traveling through the violent space rift. Every detail of his appearance spoke of wealth, refinement, and complete unconcern for the suffering around him.
The white-haired old man had a monocle positioned precisely in front of one eye, the lens glinting in the Sanctum's light. His hands were clasped casually behind his back in a posture of leisurely confidence.
He stepped out of the space rift slowly, deliberately, as though he had all the time in the world.
At this moment, this white-haired elderly gentleman appeared entirely at ease, relaxed. He stared with an expression of mild amusement at the sorcerer apprentices who had been torn into bloody, mobile skeletons by the spatial debris his entry had created.
He praised their suffering with complete indifference, his tone conversational.
"If you hadn't returned from your trip at precisely that moment, the defensive ward array protecting this Sanctum would have been genuinely difficult for me to penetrate. Such annoying magical security, really."
The old man's smile widened slightly.
"Thank you, thank you so much for your unwitting cooperation, young men. Your timing was perfect."
The white-haired old man had not yet finished speaking when the spatial rift behind him began slowly closing. The tear in reality sealed itself gradually, edges knitting back together, until it finally disappeared into the air completely. Normal space reasserted itself, leaving no trace of the violation.
"Who are you?!" A roar from behind the intruder interrupted his hypocritical reminiscence and false pleasantries. "Why have you invaded the New York Sanctum?! State your purpose!"
At this moment, hearing the challenge, the elderly man smiled pleasantly. He slowly turned his tall, strong body around with unhurried grace to face the source of the voice.
His peaceful eyes, visible through the monocle's lens, studied the scene behind him with calm assessment. He stared at the rightfully angry-eyed Master Daniel and the livid-faced Wong, who both stood ready to fight despite their injuries and exhaustion.
"Allow me to introduce myself properly, as courtesy demands." The old man's voice was cultured, refined, carrying traces of European accent. "My name is Faust."
He inclined his head slightly in mock courtesy.
"I am a tourist from Europe, you see, and I also happen to be something of a great magician, though I practice purely out of personal interest rather than any institutional affiliation. A hobby, if you will."
Faust's expression remained pleasant, conversational, as though they were meeting at a social gathering rather than a scene of carnage.
"I originally came to your fascinating country to investigate rumors of the so-called Guardian of Terra. Quite intriguing reports have been circulating, you understand. After all, we elderly gentlemen need our diversions to relieve the crushing loneliness of long life and to provide ourselves with adequate entertainment."
His tone shifted slightly, taking on a note of genuine interest.
"But not long ago, the great demon shadow that had been silent and dormant within my awareness for such a long time suddenly stirred. It provided me with a new omen, a fresh vision of interesting events to come. The timing seemed providential."
Faust's smile faded, his expression becoming businesslike though still disturbingly pleasant.
"I'm sorry, young master sorcerers. Truly, I am. I hold no personal enmity whatsoever with Kamar-Taj or its membership. Your organization has always been most professional and careful not to interfere in affairs that don't concern you."
He spread his hands in a gesture of false apology.
"But for the sake of my sincere faith in forces greater than ourselves, and for the sake of the entertainment I so desperately require to fill my immortal years..."
The old man's eyes went cold, all pretense of friendliness vanishing in an instant.
"I'm afraid I really must ask you all to die now. Nothing personal, you understand."