Under Gul'dan's order, the Ancient One turned and walked away slowly.
She didn't raise a hand against the battlefield raging on the other side. She didn't even pause to glance back at Luke or Gul'dan. Her figure simply faded into the shadows of the London Sanctum, her golden robes trailing lightly against the stone floor as if she were retreating to a place where no one could follow.
It was a jarring sight.
Such indifference, such quiet retreat, it was utterly inconsistent with the woman who carried the title of Sorcerer Supreme. By every standard, it was a betrayal of her duties.
And yet, in her heart, a storm churned. Two voices warred inside her mind, like white fire clashing against black smoke.
The white voice whispered with clarity, urging restraint. "Hold back. Protect the Earth. Drive the invaders away. This is your path, your purpose."
But the black voice hissed with hunger, and its words dripped like poison. "Why restrain yourself? Why defend when you could conquer? Take the fel energy. Make it yours. Grow stronger."
The duel within her mind raged for long minutes. Her expression barely shifted, but her clenched fingers and faintly trembling breath betrayed the conflict no spell could conceal.
And at last… the darkness won.
The irony was sharp enough to wound. She, the woman who had once stared Dormammu himself in the face without bowing to temptation, faltered now before the lure of fel energy.
But perhaps it wasn't because of her own weakness, not entirely. Fel energy was not like ordinary dark magic. It was older, more corrosive, and far more insidious. Even in its native world, the so-called World of Warcraft, countless great beings had been claimed by it.
The Guardian of Azeroth, Medivh, was perhaps the most famous of them all. A mage born to protect his world, corrupted until he nearly destroyed it.
The comparison to the Ancient One was unavoidable. Two titans of magic. Two guardians of mankind. Both drawn into the same abyss.
As her figure disappeared into the Sanctum's shadows, the rooftop grew still. Only Gul'dan remained, standing motionless against the night air, his silhouette crooked and ominous.
But he didn't act. Not yet.
Instead, he lifted his head, glowing green eyes fixed firmly on the sky, on Luke.
It was a patient, expectant look. As though awaiting judgment. As though waiting for orders.
Luke narrowed his eyes and a faint smirk curved his lips. An idea had sparked.
This Gul'dan, would he truly obey? Or was his obedience just a mask hiding inevitable rebellion?
Luke needed to know. An existence as dangerous as Gul'dan, if not bound completely, could become a disaster.
With a sharp breath, Luke crouched, then dropped from the helicarrier without hesitation.
Boom!
The impact split the air like a thunderclap. His landing cracked the rooftop of the London Sanctum, the stone groaning under the force until fissures spiderwebbed across it. Dust plumed upward, swallowing the scene in a gray haze.
Inside, faint sounds echoed, but no sorcerers came. The Ancient One had dismissed them all. She was alone within, consumed by her own turmoil.
As the dust cleared, Luke stood tall and faced Gul'dan directly.
Two figures, eyes locked.
Luke's gaze was steady, calm as still water. Gul'dan's, however, betrayed a flicker of struggle.
The warlock's broad shoulders rose and fell with controlled breaths. Though he had declared loyalty earlier, the reality of standing before this young master seemed to kindle doubt.
In his own world, he had commanded the entire orc race, a ruler of millions, feared and obeyed without question. Even when stripped of his throne, his name alone carried enough weight to command armies.
That pride, etched deep in his bones, resisted kneeling to anyone, let alone to a human from a world where life seemed so fragile, so pitifully weak.
And yet… the system's leash burned within his chest. Its grip was absolute, more binding than chains, more invasive than any mind-control artifact. Even the fabled Mind Scepter's influence paled in comparison.
Gul'dan's hesitation flickered only briefly. In less than five seconds, his struggle faded. Respect, no, submission, filled the void.
With deliberate weight, he lowered himself onto one knee.
Among orcs, this was not their way. His people saluted with a fist to the heart, never bowing. Yet here, before Luke, he bent deeper, almost instinctively adopting a gesture that went beyond respect, it was complete surrender.
"Fel Warlock Gul'dan," he intoned, voice gravelly yet resolute, "at your command."
Luke exhaled slowly, a breath of relief escaping even as his eyes stayed sharp.
Part of him still marveled. Gul'dan, the terror of Azeroth, truly bowed before him.
After his system's evolution to level five, Luke could now summon Gul'dan at will through spatial mutation, a constant presence, a weapon to wield whenever he chose.
And Gul'dan's specialty? War on a scale few could imagine. The warlock thrived in chaos, turning armies into his playground.
Luke's voice cut the silence, calm and testing.
"Gul'dan, how many subordinates do you command?"
He remembered how Gul'dan had asked the Ancient One for help creating a Fel Legion here on Earth. If this warlock was bound, then surely his forces were bound as well.
Gul'dan bowed his head deeper. "In my world, I hold dominion over the orc race itself. An army of millions awaits your call, master. At any moment."
Luke's brow lifted slightly. He gave only the faintest nod, but inside, his thoughts leapt with joy.
Millions…
Even if that number was an exaggeration, there would still be hundreds of thousands. A force that vast, savage, yet disciplined, and bound by fel corruption, would be enough to tilt even Marvel's universe into chaos.
His mind spun with possibility.
An orc legion under his control… who could stand against him then?
But outwardly, he kept his voice smooth, his posture composed, hands clasped behind his back like an emperor addressing a vassal.
"Well. Good. Continue building your Fel Legion. Keep your strength hidden. When I require you, I will summon you."
As a longtime World of Warcraft player, Luke knew well the orcish fate. Wars upon wars had bled them dry, their numbers waning, their legacy scarred. He needed Gul'dan to preserve what remained.
"Yes, my master," Gul'dan said, gravel voice full of reverence.
"Good. Then return." Luke waved a hand casually.
But Gul'dan stiffened, hesitating. "Master… I cannot. To open the Dark Portal, I must sacrifice thousands of lives. Without them, there is no path home."
Luke blinked. Then a slow grin stretched across his face. "Ah, right. I forgot."
He lifted his hand, closing his eyes briefly. Power thrummed, and space itself seemed to ripple.
"Then I'll send you back myself."
Before Gul'dan could respond, his form blurred, the air folding around him like water. Within seconds, the fel warlock's hulking body shimmered and was gone.
Silence returned to the rooftop.
Luke opened his eyes, his smirk lingering. The spatial mutation wasn't just teleportation, it was command. He could summon and dismiss subordinates at will. A loyal army at his back, ready whenever he wished.
The thought filled him with quiet confidence.
Meanwhile, across the distance, the clash between Malekith and Doggo was reaching its own conclusion.
…