Marcus couldn't shake the feeling that something was fundamentally wrong with the energy signatures he was detecting. Whether it was a side effect of the Nine Realms Convergence creating dimensional instabilities or if Odin's ancient seals were finally beginning to fail after millennia of containing something that was never meant to be imprisoned, he couldn't be sure.
What he could sense was death magic—faint traces of necromantic energy drifting on the winds like the scent of decay after a storm. The power was incredibly weak, probably not even strong enough to kill a terminally ill old man, but its very presence on Earth was deeply unsettling. This wasn't the natural cycle of life and death that permeated all living worlds. This was something else entirely—something that had been deliberately bound and hidden away.
After hearing Marcus's urgent warning about contacting Odin, Thor stared at him with a mixture of confusion and growing concern. The Asgardian prince clearly had no idea what Marcus was referring to, but the mention of his father's sealed daughter was enough to get his attention.
"Why are you just standing there looking confused?" Marcus asked, his frown deepening as Thor continued to stare blankly. "Are you waiting for me to send you an engraved invitation?"
The sharp tone finally snapped Thor out of his daze. While he was intensely curious about what Marcus had discovered—especially anything involving family secrets that apparently even he didn't know about—the urgency in the other man's voice was unmistakable. If Marcus wanted Odin contacted immediately, there was probably a very good reason.
"Heimdall!" Thor called out, raising Mjolnir toward the sky. "I need passage to Asgard!"
The response was immediate and dramatic. A massive column of rainbow-colored light crashed down from the heavens, engulfing Thor in the brilliant radiance of the Bifrost. The transport beam lifted him from the ground and shot him toward the stars, leaving behind only a circular pattern burned into the grass where the rainbow bridge had made contact.
The spectacular light show had barely faded when the sound of multiple vehicles approaching filled the air. A convoy of black governmental SUVs and military transports pulled up to the makeshift battle zone, their occupants clearly having waited for the superhuman combat to finish before making their appearance.
The lead vehicle disgorged a man in full military dress uniform, his chest decorated with enough medals and ribbons to outfit a small parade. His bearing was crisp and professional, but there was something in his eyes that immediately put Marcus on edge—the kind of calculating look that spoke of someone who viewed cosmic battles primarily in terms of salvage opportunities.
"Thank you for your assistance, Avengers," the general said in clipped, formal tones. "The British Armed Forces will handle the cleanup and recovery operations from here."
He gestured broadly at the scattered debris from dark elf technology, the burn marks left by energy weapons, and the various pieces of advanced alien equipment that littered the Greenwich battlefield. His expression was that of someone who'd just struck gold.
"Of course, as this engagement took place on British soil, all recovered materials and technology will remain under British jurisdiction," he continued with barely concealed satisfaction. "These assets will be invaluable for our national defense initiatives."
Marcus raised an eyebrow and turned to Tony, who was just climbing out of a captured Chitauri dropship he'd been examining.
"Is this guy's brain actually functioning?" Marcus asked loud enough for the general to hear. "Because he seems to think he just won the lottery."
Tony shrugged, powering down his armor's scanning systems. "Hey, don't look at me for explanations. In my experience, military intelligence is usually an oxymoron over here."
The casual dismissal and mocking tone made the general's face flush red, his jaw clenching as he fought to maintain military composure. These were supposed to be heroes—people who understood duty and respect for authority. Instead, they were treating him like some kind of joke.
"This alien incursion occurred within British territorial boundaries," he said, his voice taking on a harder edge. "International law clearly states that recovery and analysis of these materials falls under our jurisdiction. I'm sure you understand the importance of following proper protocols."
The general's tone suggested he was prepared to make this a diplomatic incident if necessary. While Stark Industries might not benefit significantly from dark elf technology—they already had access to Chitauri tech and other advanced systems—for Britain, these alien artifacts represented a chance to leap decades ahead in military development. He wasn't about to let that opportunity slip away, even if it meant offending some American superheroes.
Marcus, however, was clearly not in the mood for bureaucratic posturing. Without warning, he raised his hand toward the largest piece of salvage on the battlefield—a partially intact dark elf Razor-class warship that had crash-landed in the middle of what used to be a park.
The effect was immediate and devastating. Thick waves of void energy erupted from Marcus's palm, engulfing the alien vessel completely. Within seconds, the entire ship had been disintegrated down to the molecular level, leaving behind nothing but a deep furrow in the earth where it had impacted.
"You—what have you done?!" The general's composure finally cracked as he watched his prize disappear into nothingness. His face went from red to purple as rage and disbelief warred for control. "That was invaluable strategic material! You had no right—"
But even as he started to work himself up into a proper fury, the general's survival instincts kicked in. This was the same man who had emerged from a hole in the sky after battling cosmic horrors that defied human understanding. The same individual who had just casually erased a piece of technology worth billions of dollars and decades of research without even breaking a sweat.
Maybe picking a fight wasn't the smartest career move.
"What exactly are you complaining about?" Marcus asked mildly, gesturing toward several smaller Razor fighters that were still scattered around the area. "I left you plenty of toys to play with. Or do you think fighter-class ships aren't good enough for your people?"
He began raising his hand toward the remaining craft, void energy already starting to coalesce around his fingers.
"No, wait!" The general practically shouted, his anger instantly replaced by panic. "Those are... those are perfectly acceptable! More than adequate for our needs!"
His tone had shifted completely from demanding authority figure to someone desperately trying not to lose what little he had left. The sight would have been amusing if it weren't so pathetic.
Marcus shook his head in disgust and turned away from the general, walking toward where the Kamar-Taj mages were maintaining their defensive positions. The idea that someone this easily rattled could achieve general rank made him seriously question the British military's promotion standards.
As he approached the gathered sorcerers, the Ancient One materialized beside the group, having just finished sealing the last of the dimensional rifts. Her robes were still singed from the energies she'd been channeling, but she looked far more composed than she had during the height of the battle.
"Is everything resolved?" Marcus asked as they fell into step together.
"The immediate crisis is contained," she confirmed, glancing back toward the space where the dimensional battlefield had existed. "Now that the Nine Realms Convergence is ending, the cosmic alignment will gradually return to normal. The dimensional barriers will restabilize, and Earth should be safe from further incursions for the foreseeable future."
They continued walking toward the assembled mages, who were finally beginning to lower their protective barriers now that the otherworldly energies had been contained. It was immediately obvious how exhausted they all were—several were swaying on their feet, and more than one had collapsed entirely from magical fatigue.
"Your people look absolutely wiped out," Marcus observed with something that might have been sympathy.
The comment earned him a collection of distinctly unfriendly looks from the Kamar-Taj sorcerers. They were too professional to voice their complaints, but their expressions made their feelings perfectly clear. After all, whose fault was it that they'd had to maintain maximum-strength protective barriers for extended periods?
If Marcus hadn't been channeling the power of an entire dimensional battlefield through the rift, they wouldn't be feeling like they'd been trampled by a herd of elephants.
"Resisting dimensional incursions is the sacred duty of every member of Kamar-Taj," the Ancient One said diplomatically. "Besides, if you hadn't intervened when you did, our situation would be far worse than mere exhaustion."
She was being generous with her assessment. The truth was that this particular crisis had been relatively manageable precisely because of Marcus's involvement. Instead of fighting off actual dimensional demons, the mages had primarily been tasked with containing the residual energies from Marcus's own power displays. It was exhausting work, but infinitely preferable to the alternative.
If the dimensional barriers had actually collapsed, they would have faced an invasion force numbering in the thousands rather than a handful of advance scouts. The protective circle they'd maintained would have been overwhelmed within minutes, and Earth's magical defenses would have crumbled.
"Alright, enough small talk," Marcus said, his expression becoming more serious. "I need to ask you something important."
Golden flames suddenly erupted from his palm, but these weren't the void-touched fires he'd been wielding earlier. These flames carried the distinct signature of dimensional energy—specifically, the raw power that emanated from the Fire Dimension itself.
"I want to know where I can find the home realms of the Flame King and the Blood Lord," Marcus continued, his voice taking on a predatory edge. "I feel like paying them a personal visit."
The Ancient One's eyes widened in alarm. She could sense the intent behind his words, and it definitely wasn't diplomatic.
"Marcus, I understand your desire for retribution," she said carefully, "but you need to understand the difference between facing dimensional demons in neutral territory versus confronting them in their own realms. In their home dimensions, these beings are essentially omnipotent. They have absolute control over reality itself within their borders. Unless you possess the power to literally tear apart an entire dimension, challenging them on their home ground is..."
"Suicidal?" Marcus finished with a grin that was entirely too confident for the Ancient One's comfort. "What if I told you I might have a way around that little problem?"
"What do you mean?" she asked, though something in his tone made her suspect she already knew the answer.
Instead of explaining, Marcus reached into his storage space and began pulling out the strange artifacts he'd collected from the dimensional battlefield. Each fragment pulsed with residual dimensional energy, and the Ancient One could sense the power contained within them even from a distance.
"These aren't just random debris," Marcus explained as he laid out the collection. "They're pieces of dimensional authority—actual fragments of the power that allows these demon lords to control their realms. When they sent their avatars into the dimensional battlefield, they had to invest them with enough authority to channel their full power across dimensional barriers."
The implications hit the Ancient One like a physical blow. "You're saying that when you destroyed their avatars..."
"I claimed their authority for myself," Marcus confirmed, his grin becoming distinctly predatory. "Dimensional demons are supposed to have perfect, absolute control over their own realms. But now that I possess fragments of that same authority..."
He didn't need to finish the thought. The Ancient One understood immediately what he was suggesting, and the idea was both brilliant and completely insane.
"Marcus, even with partial dimensional authority, you're talking about invading the home realms of cosmic entities that have existed since before human civilization began. The risks—"
"Are worth it," Marcus interrupted. "My Ember isn't finished evolving yet. I can feel that it needs something more, something it can only get from the source of fire itself. If I can find the Flame King and claim more of his power..."
The Ancient One could see the determination in his eyes, and she knew that nothing she said would dissuade him from this course of action. Marcus had made up his mind, and when he decided to do something, the universe had a tendency to bend around his will.
She just hoped he knew what he was getting himself into.