Wanda was willing to learn from the Darkhold for Alex Ray's sake—even if it meant straying into darkness.
As for Chaos Goddess Wanda, she was more than happy to teach her. After all, it was entertaining.
In the swirling chaos of her dimension, time had lost all meaning. There was only infinite darkness and void all around.
The Chaos Goddess lounged lazily on her throne, resting her chin on one hand, eyes gleaming with chaotic delight.
"Alex Ray, Alex Ray... I hope you bring me some fun. Better yet—bring down those so-called gods who love to play overlord."
She laughed maniacally. She'd never once stood with the high and mighty gods.
She and Loki, the God of Stories, had something in common—they had become gods later, forged by suffering and tragedy.
They despised the gods who were born into power, who wrote the rules of the universe like they were sacred texts. Why should beings like them dictate how the story unfolds?
But the Chaos Goddess was different from Loki in one key way—she was unrestrained. She didn't care for rules, morality, or cosmic balance. She followed only the voice inside her and her ever-changing desires.
So when little Wanda first summoned her using Alex's [I Treat Myself] skill, the Chaos Goddess hadn't refused. Quite the opposite—after witnessing Wanda's memories, she had chosen to stay.
"No wonder the entire universe is descending into chaos," she muttered, gazing into the void as if peering through time and galaxies. "Should I give the little mortals some space to play?"
"Kang... Just a pathetic nuisance who fiddles with time. Leave him to that liar."
"Victor? Forget him. We were comrades once."
"Reed and his Council of Hypocrites—boring."
"Now, where's that mutt... Thanos? No, forget him too. Let's go bash in the Death's skull instead."
She had found herself a worthy opponent.
Her form flickered, growing faint. And then, in a pulse of entropy, the Chaos Goddess vanished from her throne.
. . . . . . . . . .
It wasn't only Alex's allies who were seizing their moments.
Other heroes across the universe were meeting their own trials.
Asgard.
Thunder rumbled across the celestial plain.
Thor Odinson was locked in battle with a woman. But it wasn't much of a fight—Thor was being mercilessly overpowered.
"Weak! You're so weak! This is the heir Odin chose? What a joke!"
"How can someone like you rule Asgard? Hand over the throne. If there's no better option—then I will be king."
"I'm not finished yet!"
"Then prove it. If I win, our past grudges are wiped away. But if you win... I'll concede the throne. Fair?"
. . . . . . . . . .
The White Magic Dimension shimmered like a dream beyond mortal comprehension.
Countless radiant stars floated across a space saturated with ancient magical power.
Stephen Strange stood before the Vishanti, the threefold Lords of White Magic.
"Stephen Strange of Hell's Kitchen. I greet the Vishanti, Lords of the White Magic Dimension."
"Please… accept me as your disciple."
At the same time—
In the Dark Dimension.
Another Stephen Strange—a variant—stood before Dormammu, Lord of Dark Chaos.
"Dormammu, I've come to bargain."
. . . . . . . . . .
Night in New York was thick and starless.
Inside a resplendent banquet hall, crystal chandeliers poured golden light over a gathering of the elite—politicians, industrial magnates, shadow brokers, and high-ranking federal officials.
Champagne flowed like water. Music drifted lazily through the air, mingling with the scent of imported perfume and cold calculation.
Everyone in that room—the most powerful in America—had their eyes fixed on one man:
Wilson Fisk. Kingpin.
His name alone made the city tremble.
From criminal overlord to incoming Mayor of New York, Kingpin ruled everything from Wall Street to the sewer lines. Every coin that dropped in the Big Apple might as well bear his face.
Guests swarmed him, eager for favor, groveling in designer suits.
Fisk handled them all with ease, offering smiles that never reached his eyes.
But just as the party reached its peak, Fisk abruptly ended his greetings. With only a brief farewell, he turned and left the banquet.
His sudden exit swept through the crowd like a gust of icy wind. The chatter fell silent. People exchanged nervous glances and whispered speculations.
Fisk's motorcade sped through the sleeping city, cutting toward the edge of civilization—until they stopped at a heavily fortified compound hidden in the woods.
A Hydra base.
Barbed wire wrapped around concrete walls. Armed guards in black saluted at the sight of the convoy.
"Hail Hydra!"
Fisk offered only a slight nod.
But as soon as his car window closed, a flicker of cold contempt flashed across his face.
He'd only joined Hydra recently. Not out of loyalty—but for power.
At first, they'd treated him as a peripheral player.
But Kingpin had paid the price of entry—then removed every obstacle in his way.
His superiors? Dead. Missing. Exposed. Eliminated.
One by one, the path cleared.
Now he stood among Hydra's top elders.
But he wasn't doing this for himself.
He was doing it for Alex Ray.
As Alex's godfather, he didn't know what his godson was up against—but he felt the crushing weight Alex carried.
He couldn't explain it. But instinct told him—something terrible was coming.
And so, to protect the boy he'd raised, he would embrace darkness.
His reason for joining Hydra?
They had something he needed.
That night, he received a message from his agents—Alex was suffering. Whatever had happened, it had broken him.
Fisk couldn't sit still.
He left the gala. He came here. He needed strength.
Now.
Fisk stormed into the lab, eyes burning with resolve.
"Is the Golden Serum ready?"
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