Soren didn't say much more about Jean. This wasn't the time.
With the threat of Malekith looming ever closer, personal feelings had to take a backseat.
Instead, he changed the subject and reached into the side pouch of his cloak.
Glass vials of glowing liquid clinked softly as he brought out a leather-bound case and unlatched it.
"Alright, let's move to the next priority, surviving."
The group gathered around as Soren began distributing the small, color-coded potions.
"This." He held up a vial glowing with a cool blue hue. "It's a healing potion."
"Take it after injury, it will accelerate tissue repair instantly."
He gestured to others.
"This emerald one is the Essence of Mystery. It enhances arcane awareness and protects against magical corruption."
"The crimson one, Strength Serum. Temporarily boosts physical strength and endurance."
"And the violet one, Agility Elixir. Heightened reflexes, sharper coordination."
As the group took in his words, their eyes widened.
Tony, flipping the vial in his gloved hand.
"You've been holding out on us, doc. These are cheat codes."
"It's alchemy, not science fiction." Soren replied with a sly grin.
"But yes, they're effective. I've spent the last 72 hours straight perfecting them."
"They'll give us a critical edge." Natasha noted, slipping a set into her belt pouch.
"Exactly." Soren agreed. "With these, we stay alive longer and hit harder."
The team's mood lifted noticeably. Confidence surged through the group, the road ahead was treacherous, but they weren't walking into it unarmed.
Soren turned to the Ancient One, who had been quietly observing.
"Would you open a portal for us? It's inefficient to teleport this many one by one… and I think a few of us are dying to see real magic in action."
The Ancient One raised an eyebrow at Soren's 'excuse,' but obliged with a knowing smile.
She held up her Sling Ring, making slow, precise movements in the air. A fiery red spark flared out, and within seconds, the familiar swirling mandala of a portal opened.
Through the circular gateway, a quiet street in Greenwich could be seen, bathed in the pale light of an overcast sky. The buildings seemed to hold their breath.
"Let's move." Soren stepped toward the portal and turned back.
"Some guests are arriving from another world... and as their hosts, we must greet them properly."
The others didn't need convincing. A collective surge of battle spirit rippled through the group.
For Earth, for their homes, for the people they swore to protect.
One by one, they stepped through.
They arrived in Greenwich, the old city a place of history, and time itself, now stood on the verge of collision.
Soren quickly took command, his presence no longer that of the kindly doctor, but the leader he truly was beneath it all.
"Ancient One."
"Lead the magi. Focus on containment. Prevent any rifts or dimensional tears from spiraling out of control."
She nodded and gestured to her followers, who fanned out in practiced formation, murmuring incantations and readying spells.
"Avengers," Soren continued, turning to the others.
"You're the front line. Interception. Keep them from advancing beyond the observatory. If they break the perimeter, we lose control."
"Scott." He turned to Lang.
"You're mobile, unpredictable. You'll be our wildcard. Hit and run, destabilize, distract."
"Do not, I repeat, do not, let any of them breach our flank."
Scott nodded firmly, slipping his helmet on. "Time to get tiny."
Everyone locked into position.
"As for me... I'll be handling Malekith."
His aura shifted, calmness giving way to sheer resolve.
It was the first time many of them had seen Soren like this.
"Today."
"Malekith will learn what it means to face a world that defies him."
"And we will leave him with a final lesson, one written in blood."
Just then, the sky over Greenwich began to darken. Not with clouds, but with converging cosmic forces. The Nine Realms, aligned once every five thousand years, began to overlap.
Time bent. Space rippled. Reality itself distorted around them.
The observatory was now the epicenter of a coming interdimensional war.
Everyone felt it.
A subtle vertigo.
A pulling at the edges of perception.
The trembling of the veil between worlds.
Through these rifts, one could slip from Earth to another realm, any of the Nine Realms, or perhaps even to uncharted dimensions, chaotic and unknown.
No map, anchor, only the pull of gravitational fate.
The rifts multiplied as the cosmic alignment drew closer.
The Realms, bound by destiny to coincide once every five thousand years, were converging, and the point of contact was right here, Greenwich.
Even ordinary people, if any had remained, would have noticed the disturbances.
Birds flew overhead, mid-flight, and vanished without a trace. Swallowed whole by an invisible force, gone in an instant.
Moments later, they'd reappear miles away, dazed and scattered, if at all.
Buildings buckled as portions of their structure were sucked into the gaps, as though an unseen god were slicing chunks of reality away.
Fortunately, the evacuation had been swift. Greenwich's flat geography made for easy coordination, and no civilians remained. They had spared innocent lives, but not the land.
"The convergence is nearly upon us." Thor said grimly.
His blue eyes surveyed the strange phenomena. "Malekith means to plunge the universe back into the Long Night."
The group braced themselves.
Weapons were gripped tighter. Hearts raced behind calm faces.
"There!" Soren called sharply.
Everyone froze.
He had felt it first. A ripple in the spatial weave. A tremor at the edge of dimensional perception.
On the still waters of the lake before the Royal Observatory.
The surface began to sink, warping inward like a transparent blade had been driven into its heart. Waves crashed outward. The lake recoiled.
Then, from the churning depths rose…
A dark, angular warship slowly emerged from the water, black metal gleaming faintly under the gray skies, its form alien, its movements ominous. Stealth-cloaked, it had hidden just beneath the surface, waiting for the perfect moment.
Now, it revealed itself.
The Dark Elves had arrived.
Thor's eyes burned with fury the moment he recognized the ship.
"Svartálfar scum..."
His grip tightened around Mjolnir, and the mighty hammer responded in kind, glowing with an intensity that matched his rage.
"Ancient One." Soren said, cool and composed. "Let's wipe the board clean."
The Ancient One gave a silent nod, raising her hand.
Around her, the Circle of Magi followed in perfect rhythm. A hauntingly beautiful chant filled the air, a harmony of ancient syllables, low and reverent, echoing through the battlefield like the chime of a divine bell.
It was a spell known only to the highest orders of mystics.
A spell with a deceptively gentle name.
"Sunset."
Soren's eyes narrowed, and he smiled faintly.
He knew this magic.
Though the name evoked softness, Sunset was a destructive incantation, its power rooted in convergence, much like the realms themselves.
Its strength depended on both the number of casters and the depth of their mana wells. In the hands of a single mage, it was a weapon.
But when dozens cast it in unison under the Ancient One's guidance?
Cataclysm.
꧁𓊈𒆜༺⚜༻𒆜𓊉꧂
PhantomDream