A white leather shoe, its sole bearing just a few drops of fresh blood that hadn't yet dried, slowly stepped with deliberate care over the body of a tall black man whose chest had been violently torn open by razor-sharp claws.
The victim's bloody internal organs had been scattered across the surrounding floor in a grotesque display, spread out in patterns that would have made a forensics expert weep. The viscera continued exuding faint wisps of heat into the cool air, steam rising from still-warm tissue.
This represented the last desperate effort made by Daniel Drumm, the guardian sorcerer of the New York Supreme Sanctum, with the final moments of his life. He had fought until his body simply stopped functioning, refusing to yield even as death claimed him.
At this moment, the white-haired elderly gentleman known as Faust wore a faint smile on his distinguished features, an expression of mild satisfaction as though he'd just concluded a pleasant afternoon stroll through a park.
He walked with unhurried confidence through a long corridor where space itself was constantly folding and changing, reality bending around him like water flowing past a stone. The geometry was impossible, walls shifting, distances refusing to remain consistent.
Right behind him, following with ponderous steps, two massive black puppets moved. Each stood easily five meters tall, towering constructs that resembled giant sheep-headed beasts merged with humanoid bodies in a fusion of animal and man that offended natural law.
They moved their heavy sheep hooves with deliberate placement, each footfall making solid sounds against the ever-changing floor. The creatures were clearly demonic in origin, summoned things that should not exist in the mortal realm.
One of the giant sheep-headed beasts appeared to be missing an enormous hand tipped with sharp claws, the appendage severed at the wrist in what had obviously been a recent injury. The wound hadn't healed, couldn't heal through normal means.
Occasionally, thick drops of dark, fishy-smelling, viscous blood dripped heavily from the unhealed wound cross-section. The corrupted ichor fell to the ground in slow motion, constantly corroding and eating away at the ever-shifting floor with its magnificent mystical patterns.
Each drop left a smoking pit in the enchanted stone, the protective spells unable to prevent the damage from demonic essence.
"One of Ancient One's little mice managed to escape the trap, slippery thing." Faust mused aloud, his cultured voice carrying traces of amusement rather than concern. "I just wonder what sort of help he'll manage to summon? More desperate mages rushing to their deaths? Or perhaps those tedious agents from S.H.I.E.L.D. who always enjoy meddling in affairs beyond their comprehension?"
He paused, considering other possibilities with genuine interest.
"Or will Ancient One herself finally take direct action? That would be genuinely exciting, I must admit. The Sorcerer Supreme, forced to respond personally."
Faust's smile widened slightly, taking on a more genuine quality.
"Oh, but no matter who eventually arrives, they'll be welcome guests as long as they can provide me with some rare pleasure and entertainment. It's been so terribly dull lately."
His expression shifted, becoming momentarily wistful, almost melancholic.
"It's genuinely unfortunate that all the old rivals who knew me personally, who fought against me for countless years across centuries of conflict, are now buried and forgotten. From this perspective, immortality is not actually the blessing it appears to be. Everyone interesting eventually dies, and you're left alone with only memories."
Wearing his distinctive monocle that glinted in the shifting light, Faust continued stepping forward across the ever-changing ground. The corridor kept transforming around him, trying futilely to disorient or trap him.
Soft sounds almost like murmuring continued emerging from his mouth, private thoughts given voice simply because there was no one worth the effort of keeping secrets from.
At this moment, he held a gentleman's walking cane in one pale hand, the implement emitting subtle waves of black light that pulsed with dark power. The artifact was clearly more weapon than mobility aid.
As he waved the cane with gentle, almost casual movements, countless invisible protective spells and layered defensive enchantments positioned in front of him simply shattered. The wards broke like glass under a hammer, their power dissipating into nothingness.
And as more and more spells and mystical protections gradually became ineffective, rendered useless by Faust's superior understanding of magical theory, the corridor space that had been constantly changing and turning in an attempt to confuse intruders seemed to finally stabilize.
The defensive mechanisms were failing, giving up.
An underground passage leading deeper into the Sanctum's most protected areas was slowly revealed, emerging from behind layers of broken illusions.
Soon after, as Faust rounded a final corner, a bronze door came into view. The portal was tightly wrapped in heavy metal chains that glowed with power, and covered extensively in glowing spell runes that pulsed with protective magic.
This was clearly important, the final barrier before something critical.
The door gradually fully appeared in front of Faust's patient eyes, revealing itself in all its warded glory.
However, just as the smiling white-haired old man raised his cane and prepared to wave it once more, ready to continue his systematic destruction of the Sanctum's defenses, something changed.
"Huh?" Faust's eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. "Why did they arrive so quickly? That's quite interesting, actually. Faster response time than I'd anticipated..."
The elderly man suddenly raised his head, looking upward with sharp attention. His gaze seemed to penetrate through numerous intervening spaces and building structures, seeing through solid matter to focus on events occurring above ground level.
"Dear Naberius, my faithful servant," Faust spoke aloud, his tone remaining conversational despite giving combat orders. He slowly withdrew his upward gaze and turned slightly to address his demonic constructs. "Please take your brother and buy me some additional time to complete my work here. I believe the Great Shadow Demon will remember and reward your faithful contribution."
Faust stared at the two giant black beasts with sheep heads and disturbingly human-like bodies, regarding them with calm expectation.
The next moment, the sheep-headed demon puppet called Naberius, which had shown no previous reaction or independent thought, suddenly pivoted its five-meter-high body with surprising speed for something so massive.
Both constructs immediately rushed back in the direction they had originally come from, moving to intercept whatever was approaching. Their hooves struck the floor like hammers, leaving cracks in the enchanted stone.
And as their massive backs gradually disappeared around the corridor's bend, the surrounding space seemed to shift and change once again. Reality rippled, reasserting the defensive confusion now that Faust's attention had moved past.
"Come now, Faust, focus on the task," the old man muttered to himself with anticipatory satisfaction. "Give the Great Shadow Demon a truly magnificent gift to celebrate its return to influence! Something it will appreciate!"
Faust turned his full attention back to the task at hand. He stared with intense focus at the bronze door with its glowing spell runes, studying the final barrier between him and his objective.
The smile on his distinguished face became even brighter, more genuine, lit from within by dark purpose.
Located directly beneath the floor of the vestibule of the New York Sanctum, under meters of enchanted stone and protective wards, something new was happening.
An extremely hot red laser beam, cutting with the precision of surgical equipment but on a massive scale, easily penetrated the surface from below. The concentrated light carved through stone, metal, and protective spells with equal ease.
The beam traced out a huge perfect circle with a radius of five meters, the cut so precise that it could be measured with calipers.
Along with the heavy landing of the circular surface section as it fell inward, there came a tremendous splash of pulverized dust and debris. A loud roar echoed through the chamber as tons of material crashed downward.
Before the dust cloud could even begin to settle, before visibility returned to the chamber, automatic servo-skull drones with lasguns mounted beneath their anti-gravity engines quickly penetrated the obscuring particles.
They rushed aggressively into the interior of the Supreme Sanctum with weapons armed and targeting systems active, securing the breach point with mechanical efficiency.
Immediately afterward, more substantial forces followed. Combat servitors whose lower bodies twisted and coiled back and forth like serpents' forms, giving them disturbing mobility, emerged from the opening.
The Scyllax-class Guardian-automata, with metal skull heads mounted atop their heavily armored upper bodies, jumped out of the underground entry pit one after another. They waved inactive chainswords that hadn't yet been triggered to roaring life, saving power for actual combat.
Their tremendously heavy metal bodies, each weighing several hundred kilograms of reinforced materials, crushed the gorgeously patterned floor beneath them with casual indifference. A series of sharp cracking and shattering sounds marked their passage as irreplaceable mystical artwork was destroyed under combat boots and tracked wheels.
Thoom, thoom, thoom.
After more than one hundred automatic drones and dozens of Breacher guards had quickly occupied the ground throughout the front hall, spreading out to establish defensive positions and maintaining alert awareness of the surroundings, the true commander arrived.
A massive suit of Terminator power armor that appeared to have four additional metal limbs extending from its back, creating a six-armed silhouette that was both impressive and intimidating, slowly descended.
Nolan stepped carefully on metal stairs that were being carried and held steady by multiple Breacher guards working in coordination. He entered the Supreme Sanctum with the measured confidence of overwhelming force.
At this moment, Nolan, wearing his diamond-shaped helmet that completely concealed his features, looked through the enhanced targeting eyepiece. The system provided perfect visibility despite the remaining dust, multiple spectrum analysis painting a clear tactical picture.
At a single glance, he immediately saw over a dozen mutilated corpses with bloody, torn flesh lying in various positions not far away. The bodies were scattered across the entrance hall, each representing a failed defense, a life spent trying to protect this place.
Broken magical weapons and shattered focuses lay scattered all over the ground among the dead, discarded or knocked from dying hands.
This seemed to be the only remaining trace of whatever desperate battle had been fought by Kamar-Taj's mages and apprentices. The scene told a story of courage and ultimate failure.
"Separate thirty automatic drones for comprehensive scanning and reconnaissance operations." Nolan's deep voice emerged from vox-speakers built into the diamond-shaped helmet, carrying clearly despite the armor's insulation. "Don't overlook anything registering vital signs, no matter how faint. All non-human entities and monsters will be killed without mercy on contact!"
Nolan's orders had barely finished echoing through the hall when the automatic drones suspended in mid-air immediately separated out exactly one-third of their number with programmed precision.
The detached squadron flew quickly toward other locations throughout the Supreme Sanctum's extensive interior, spreading out to map and secure the entire structure.
Then Nolan, moving within his Terminator armor with practiced ease despite its massive bulk, slowly turned his body to face back toward the entry breach.
He extended the huge metal palm wearing a dark green power fist toward the bottom of the circular pit they'd cut. The armored hand gestured slightly, beckoning.
"David, the immediate scene is secure for now." Nolan's tone was calm, professional, delivering tactical assessment. "No trace of the enemy has been detected in this area yet. You can safely bring Wong up here now."
Nolan spoke with measured confidence, trusting his forces to maintain security.
Soon after receiving confirmation, David, with distinctive blue light flashing in his optical sensors, emerged from the pit. The Man of Iron carried the sweating, clearly uncomfortable Wong in his metal arms with surprising care for something mechanical.
At this moment, Wong, who found himself somewhat undignifiedly clamped under one of David's arms like a piece of luggage, raised his pale and notably plump face with visible effort. The position was awkward but necessary given his weakened state.
He first directed his gaze toward the bloody and mutilated corpses scattered across the hall. Profound sadness filled his eyes as he recognized faces, identified fallen colleagues and students.
Then Wong turned his attention away from the dead and stared at Nolan's huge armored back, addressing the towering figure softly.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Nolan, truly." Wong's voice carried guilt and frustration in equal measure. "If my body wasn't still far too weak from recent trauma to properly open and stabilize a portal for passage, this approach wouldn't need to be so complicated and destructive. You wouldn't have needed to breach through the floor like invaders..."
He paused, then asked the question weighing on his mind.
"Do you think there's any possibility, any chance at all, that survivors from the Sanctum managed to survive this massacre?"
"That possibility is extremely low, realistically approaching zero." Nolan's response was honest, tactically frank rather than cruel. "Regardless of what their ultimate objective might be, your enemies cannot afford to leave anyone alive who might raise alarms or provide intelligence. Survivors represent unacceptable risk."
"Wait, stop!" Nolan suddenly raised one armored palm and waved it urgently at David and Wong, the gesture sharp and commanding. "The reconnaissance drones are detecting very weak vital signs on the second floor! Someone's still alive up there!"
The report was coming through his communication systems from the scouting automatons, information scrolling across his helmet display.
Without even looking back, Nolan immediately moved within his Terminator armor and began running as quickly as the massive plate would allow toward a specific location on the second floor. His heavy footfalls shook the floor as he accelerated.
The very next moment, responding to transmitted orders, more Scyllax-class Guardian-automata immediately jumped up out of the circular pit in the floor. Their dense numbers occupied almost all available ground space throughout the front hall on the first floor.
Some of the combat servitors wielded the chainswords gripped in their mechanical tentacles and began systematically exploring other directions inside the Sanctum. They moved in coordinated search patterns, clearing rooms and corridors with mechanical thoroughness.
Others formed a protective cordon and stayed close, carefully guarding David and Wong as they made their way toward the staircase leading to the second floor. The Man of Iron and the wounded sorcerer were priority assets requiring protection.
One full minute later, having reached the second floor and located the source of the life signs, everyone found themselves surrounded by a protective ring of automatons maintaining security.
From a corner deliberately concealed behind piled, mangled corpses that had been carefully arranged to hide something beneath, Nolan reached down with his power-armored hands.
He dragged out a dying middle-aged man with extremely weak, shallow breathing. The man was barely clinging to life, his vital signs critically low but still present.
Nolan, staring through his diamond-shaped helmet's eyepiece at the familiar pale face now revealed in the light, felt recognition click into place despite the injuries.
A question emerged from his mouth almost subconsciously, surprise coloring his tone.
"Wong, why is this man here in the Sanctum? He shouldn't be in this location, certainly not at this time! What's he doing here?"
Hearing Nolan's inquiry and the confusion it carried, Wong, who had been gently placed on the ground by David with consideration for his recovering condition, could only shake his head. He smiled bitterly at the terrible timing.
He responded in a heavy tone saturated with regret.
"Just before the attack on the Sanctum commenced, mere hours ago, we had encountered what can only be described as an unreasonable disaster. This man was caught up in..."
VROOM, VROOM, VROOM!
At precisely that moment, the sudden fierce roaring of a chainsword being brought to full activation completely interrupted Wong's explanation. The distinctive sound was unmistakable, aggressive, filling the air with mechanical violence.
Immediately afterward, before anyone could react or reposition, one of the Scyllax-class Guardian-automata was violently lifted completely off the ground by tremendous force applied from below.
The multi-ton combat servitor sailed quickly through the air in an arc, its trajectory taking it upward with shocking speed.
After smashing completely through the reinforced ceiling of the first floor of the Supreme Sanctum, punching through meters of enchanted stone and support beams, it fell heavily back downward into everyone's direct line of sight.
The servitor crashed onto the second floor in a shower of debris, sparks flying from damaged systems.
The next second, Nolan's attention locked onto the source of the attack. His targeting systems tracked movement, identified the threat.
He stared at the creature now clearly visible. It stood there almost completely unscathed by the exchange, showing no damage from the brief contact with military-grade weaponry.
The demon puppet merely adjusted its stance. It twisted its snake-like lower body with sinuous grace, coiling and uncoiling. The metal skull head it wore as a mockery of humanity tilted slightly, as though assessing new prey.
Then it rushed forward again toward the first floor, moving to engage additional targets with terrifying speed.
A low voice without any emotional inflection, cold and professional, slowly penetrated through Nolan's diamond-shaped helmet. The words were crisp, clear, carrying absolute command authority.
"David, you will immediately send this injured man back to the underground base for emergency medical treatment. He cannot be permitted to die. His survival is priority."
A brief pause, then Nolan's voice took on a harder edge.
"Everything that happens next is my responsibility. This is my job now."
"As you command, my Lord!" David's response was instant, the blue lights in his optical sensors flashing acknowledgment. The Man of Iron immediately leaned down and carefully picked up the unconscious Strange, cradling the wounded surgeon with surprising gentleness.
At the same time, accompanied by subtle sounds from electro-fiber bundles contracting and servo-motors engaging throughout the armor, the Terminator suit driven by Nolan immediately pivoted.
The massive armored form took heavy, purposeful steps toward the stair platform, heading down to confront the demon puppet directly.
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