"What the hell are these things..."
Marcus stared at the bizarre objects scattered around him, his confusion warring with an undeniable surge of excitement. The items looked like nothing he'd ever seen before—twisted fragments that seemed to bend light around their edges, crystalline shards that pulsed with an otherworldly glow, and metallic chunks that appeared to phase in and out of reality.
He had no idea what they were supposed to be, but the dimensional energy radiating from each piece was unmistakable. It hummed through the air like a tuning fork struck against his very soul. More importantly, he could sense how this energy connected to the dimensional demons that had scattered across the realms during the battle. These strange artifacts would be his hunting tools.
Finally, a way to track down every last one of those bastards.
Marcus methodically gathered each fragment, his hands tingling with residual power as he stored them away. The moment he secured the last piece, he began his descent from the floating debris field that had once been the dimensional battlefield's epicenter. The roaring flames that had engulfed his body slowly pulled inward, condensing into intricate flame patterns that danced across his skin like living tattoos.
As the last of the fire faded, his Ember Warframe underwent a dramatic transformation. Sleek metallic ornaments materialized across the frame's surface, each piece perfectly integrated with the existing design. The flame-like crown that had adorned his head shifted from solid metal to pure, dancing fire—a magnificent display that made him look less like a warrior and more like some ancient fire deity.
"You've gotten stronger again."
The Ancient One's voice carried a note of both admiration and concern as she approached. Void energy still clung to her robes like dark smoke, but she moved with purpose despite her obvious exhaustion. Marcus could feel her probing his power levels with that subtle magical sense she'd perfected over centuries.
"I can sense the increase in your abilities," she continued, her eyes narrowing slightly. "But something feels... incomplete. Like you're still in the middle of a transformation rather than at its end."
Marcus nodded, feeling the truth of her observation in his bones. The power surge from absorbing the dimensional battlefield's energy was substantial, but it felt raw, unrefined. Like he'd gained access to a new instrument but hadn't yet learned how to play it properly.
"You're right. The upgrade isn't finished yet," he admitted, then gestured toward her void-wreathed form. "But first things first—let's get that corruption off you before it does any permanent damage."
The Ember Warframe dissolved into streams of void energy that flowed back into Marcus, revealing his normal appearance underneath. He looked perfectly human again, if you ignored the way reality seemed to bend slightly around his edges.
Seeing the Ancient One struggling to contain the void energy that was actively trying to consume her magical defenses, Marcus couldn't help but shake his head with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. She was putting up a hell of a fight, but even the Sorcerer Supreme had her limits.
"Come here," he said, crooking his finger in her direction.
The effect was immediate and dramatic. The void energy that had been clawing at the Ancient One's magical barriers suddenly reversed direction, streaming toward Marcus like iron filings drawn to a magnet. Within seconds, every trace of the corruption had been pulled from her body and absorbed harmlessly into his own energy reserves.
"There we go. But you need to rest after this," Marcus said firmly, studying her pale complexion and the way she swayed slightly on her feet. "And I mean actually rest, not your usual 'meditate while monitoring seventeen different dimensions' kind of rest."
The Ancient One hadn't fully recovered from their previous battle against the Dark Dimension's forces. The overlapping energies of void power and Dormammu's dark magic had pushed her to her absolute limits. Even with Marcus's temporal intervention helping to resolve the immediate crisis, her body and spirit needed time to heal properly.
But instead of getting that recovery time, she'd been dragged almost immediately into this mess with the Nine Realms Convergence. Her already overloaded system had been forced to engage in another dimensional-scale conflict before she'd had a chance to recuperate.
If Marcus hadn't shown up when he did, the Ancient One would likely have resorted to using the Eye of Agamotto to create temporal loops, fighting the same battles over and over until she found a winning scenario. Even if she succeeded, the magical and physical toll would have been catastrophic.
"Rest?" The Ancient One's lips curved in a tired but genuine smile as she glanced toward the dimensional rift. Through the gap, they could see the other mages maintaining their protective barriers, magical shields glowing as they held back the residual heat and energy still pouring from the battlefield. "I suppose I could consider it. Especially since I've found my successor."
Marcus followed her gaze, immediately spotting the figure she meant among the assembled sorcerers. Even from this distance, Stephen Strange stood out—partly because of his distinctive appearance, but mostly because of the way he held himself. There was a confidence there that hadn't existed when Marcus had first encountered him, back when the former neurosurgeon was still struggling with basic portal magic.
"The doctor, right?" Marcus asked, though he already knew the answer. "I ran into him a while back when I was looking for you. He was still having trouble with those portal rings at the time."
"Yes, Stephen will make an excellent Supreme Sorcerer," the Ancient One confirmed, unsurprised that Marcus had already identified her chosen replacement. "Though I suspect you've seen glimpses of his future already."
She wasn't wrong. Marcus's mastery over temporal energy gave him an unusual relationship with time itself—past, present, and future often blurred together in his perception. He'd caught flashes of Stephen Strange's potential destiny, seen the crucial role he'd play in upcoming cosmic events.
"What can I say about Strange..." Marcus mused, raising his hand toward the dimensional rift. The scorching air that had been pouring through the gap suddenly reversed its flow, condensing into a sphere of superheated energy in his palm. "He'll be a good Supreme Sorcerer. Arrogant as hell, but good at the job."
With the immediate magical crisis contained, Marcus took a moment to survey the dimensional battlefield one last time. The space that had once been a chaotic war zone between multiple realities was now empty except for lingering energy signatures and the occasional spark of residual magic.
"I'll leave this cleanup to you and your people," he told the Ancient One. "I need to go help the others finish up in Greenwich."
The main dimensional crisis might be resolved, but the ground battle was still raging. Marcus could sense the ongoing conflict even from here—Thor and his allies were locked in combat with Malekith and his remaining dark elf forces. The convergence event had given everyone superhuman stamina, but even enhanced endurance had its limits.
Back in Greenwich, the situation was exactly as Marcus had expected. Malekith kept making desperate rushes toward the dimensional battlefield, clearly sensing that something significant had happened there. Each time, Thor's team managed to drive him back, but barely. Their coordination had improved dramatically under pressure, but they were still struggling against an opponent who had centuries of combat experience.
For Malekith, the tactical situation was irrelevant. He could sense the ether particles—the Reality Stone that was rightfully the property of the dark elves. Nothing else mattered. Not the casualties among his soldiers, not the futility of his position, not even his own survival. He would reclaim what belonged to his people and use it to return the universe to the darkness it had known before the light of stars polluted the cosmos.
The moment Marcus materialized on the battlefield, Malekith's entire demeanor changed. The dark elf leader's eyes locked onto the small jar hanging casually from Marcus's belt, and his expression shifted from determined to absolutely obsessed.
"Aether particles!" Malekith's voice carried across the battlefield as black mist began pouring from his body. "Return to the dark elves! Return to my hands!"
The intensity of his chanting seemed to have a direct effect on the Reality Stone. The jar began vibrating violently, pulling against Marcus's belt as if trying to tear itself free and fly to its original owner.
Tap.
Marcus flicked the jar with one finger, and it immediately stopped moving.
"Oh, you want what's in here?" Marcus asked conversationally, allowing superheated energy to gather in his free hand. The air around his fingers began to shimmer with barely contained power.
Malekith didn't bother responding with words. Instead, he transformed completely into dark mist and launched himself directly at Marcus, abandoning all pretense of strategy or caution. This was his last chance to reclaim the power of his people.
"Yeah, I'm really not in the mood to play games right now," Marcus said with a sigh.
He reached out casually and grabbed the dark mist as if it were solid matter. Malekith's incorporeal form suddenly condensed, and Marcus found himself holding the dark elf leader by the head like he was picking up a basketball.
"Let's just skip to the end, shall we?"
The superheated energy in Marcus's other hand erupted outward, engulfing Malekith's head in flames that burned hotter than the core of a star. The leader of the dark elves—the being who had dreamed of returning the entire universe to primordial darkness—died without even having time to scream.
Marcus dusted off his hands and looked around at the other fighters, who were still engaged in combat with the remaining dark elf soldiers.
"Seriously, guys? All that trouble for someone this weak?"
His question wasn't meant to be insulting, but it clearly caught everyone off guard. Steve Rogers straightened up from where he'd been using his shield to hold off three dark elves at once, while Tony's repulsors powered down as his opponents suddenly found themselves without leadership or direction.
"Look, I get it," Steve said, pulling his shield back and surveying the dark elf corpses scattered around his position. "You're strong enough to handle these guys solo. The rest of us? Thor's the most powerful person on our team, and he could barely fight Malekith to a standstill."
It was a fair point. The New York invasion a year ago had significantly improved Earth's defensive capabilities and response protocols, but that didn't mean human-level fighters could suddenly compete with cosmic threats. These dark elf soldiers were still incredibly dangerous to normal people—it was only the presence of enhanced individuals and Stark's technology that had kept the casualties from being catastrophic.
Marcus was about to respond when he noticed a convoy of vehicles approaching their position. Multiple black SUVs flying official government flags, accompanied by what looked like half the British military.
"Looks like the local authorities want to have a chat," Marcus said with amusement. "That's your department, not mine."
He turned away from the incoming officials and focused on Thor, who was currently engaged in what could generously be called a passionate reunion with Jane Foster. The sight of the god of thunder locked in a romantic embrace while surrounded by alien corpses was surreal even by Marcus's standards.
"Ahem." Marcus cleared his throat loudly enough to get their attention. "Hey Thor, quick question—how exactly did it take you that long to beat a dark elf who's been sleeping for thousands of years and operating at maybe a quarter of his original strength? Maybe you should consider changing your name to 'God of Hammers' instead."
Thor's eye twitched, but he couldn't really argue with the assessment. Marcus wasn't wrong—Malekith had been severely weakened by his long hibernation, and the fight should have been much more decisive.
"You know what, forget I said anything," Marcus continued before Thor could formulate a comeback. "We've got bigger problems. You need to get in touch with Odin immediately."
"Why? What's wrong?" Thor asked, his romantic mood evaporating as he shifted into warrior mode.
Marcus gestured vaguely toward the horizon, where traces of an ominous energy signature were becoming increasingly noticeable to those with the right senses.
"Ever since Tony and I arrived in London, I've been picking up traces of death magic. The only source of that kind of power on Earth should be Odin's daughter—the one he sealed away on that little island. And unless I'm very much mistaken, she's starting to wake up."
The implications hung in the air like a storm cloud. If Hela was beginning to stir, it meant Odin's bindings were weakening. And if those seals failed completely...
"We're going to need to have a very serious conversation with the All-Father," Marcus concluded grimly. "Because family reunions in your household tend to get apocalyptic pretty quickly."