Deep within the Himalayas—Kamar-Taj.
In the plaza before the main hall, twelve sorcerers in orange robes stood in formation, holding spell arrays as golden runes shimmered in their hands. They were the most elite guardians of the sanctuary, each with over thirty years of training.
Yet now, every one of them looked tense.
Three minutes ago, a golden rift had torn open the sky above Kamar-Taj—ripping straight through its defensive barrier.
Hang's clone stepped out of the rift, hovering in midair as he looked down.
He said nothing.
He only glanced once.
All twelve sorcerers froze.
Their bodies locked in place, spell arrays still glowing in their hands, lips frozen mid-incantation.
Pure psychic suppression.
Hang's mental force descended like a mountain, crushing their consciousness. Their prideful mental defenses meant nothing under such pressure.
He drifted over their heads and moved deeper into the sanctuary.
His destination was clear—the Forbidden Library, Level Seven, the innermost chamber.
The information extracted from Mordo's mind was precise down to every turn.
He passed through the main hall, corridors, and one rune-covered gate after another. Defensive arrays lit up, attempting to block the intruder.
But before they could activate, they extinguished themselves.
Not broken—frightened into silence.
A faint smile curved Hang's lips.
This universe's magical system was indeed sophisticated—but only to a point. Before true power, even the most intricate formations were nothing more than decoration.
He descended the stairs to the seventh level and stopped before a massive stone door.
Complex runes covered its surface, emitting a faint white glow.
The mark of the Vishanti.
A gust of wind came from behind.
Baron Mordo had arrived.
His face was ashen, dust from the streets of Manhattan still clinging to his robes. It had taken him only three minutes to return from the Illuminati headquarters.
Still too late.
"You cannot enter!" Mordo shouted.
He formed a seal with both hands. Runes lit up beneath his feet, spreading through the stone floor, through the corridors, through the entire structure—
Until they encompassed all of Kamar-Taj.
The Vishanti Defensive Array.
The final safeguard left behind by Doctor Strange—channeling the power of the three Vishanti. Strong enough to repel even Dormammu-level threats.
Golden light surged from all directions, forming a massive cage around Hang's clone.
A hint of triumph flashed in Mordo's eyes.
"This sanctuary has stood for thousands of years. Countless evil beings have tried to claim its knowledge," he said, regaining his arrogance. "They all failed."
"You will be no exception."
Hang's clone stood calmly within the golden prison, examining the surrounding runes.
It was indeed exquisite. The intertwined power of the three Vishanti formed an almost perfect sealing structure. An ordinary Skyfather-level being might truly be trapped for some time.
Unfortunately—
He wasn't ordinary.
Hang raised his right hand and lightly tapped the golden barrier with his index finger.
Just one tap.
The entire array shattered.
Like glass.
Golden runes broke into countless motes of light, scattering into the air. The ancient symbols carrying divine power crumbled like autumn leaves before his touch.
Mordo's face went from pale to deathly white.
His strongest defense hadn't lasted even a second.
"N-no… impossible…"
His voice trembled.
Hang withdrew his finger and turned to him.
"You sorcerers have a bad habit," he said flatly. "You think that just because you've grasped a bit of the universe's mysteries, you can judge everyone else."
"But you don't understand one thing."
He took a step forward. Mordo instinctively stepped back.
"In the face of true power, your mysteries, your arrays, your gods… are nothing."
Mordo wanted to argue, to cast more spells—to do anything.
But he couldn't move.
Not because he was restrained—
But because his body refused.
It was instinct. The primal fear of prey before an apex predator.
Hang ignored him and pushed open the stone door bearing the Vishanti's mark.
Inside was a circular chamber, its walls carved with ancient runes glowing softly.
At the center floated a heavy tome.
The Book of Vishanti.
The supreme text of white magic, containing all the light-based spells granted to humanity by the Vishanti.
Hang stepped forward and reached out.
The book reacted.
A blinding white light burst forth from its pages, striking his palm.
Hang glanced down.
The light hit him—and left no mark.
He looked back at the floating tome, amusement flickering in his eyes.
Interesting.
The book had a will of its own.
That light wasn't an attack—it was rejection. Like a proud noble expelling an unwelcome guest.
Pages flipped rapidly. Ancient runes emerged, forming a luminous barrier around the book.
Hang read them.
"Those with darkness in their hearts may not touch."
"Those who seek to plunder may not approach."
"Only a pure heart may receive the Vishanti's blessing."
He smiled.
"A pure heart?"
He stepped forward. The runes flickered violently.
"Do you know how many powers exist within me?"
Another step.
"Law of Death. Law of Life. Law of Power. Law of Space. Law of Time. Law of Reality. Law of Mind. Law of Soul. Law of Body. Law of Devouring. Law of Alchemy… the Phoenix Fo—"
He trailed off. Even he had lost count.
The barrier trembled harder, its light intensifying in desperate resistance.
"By your standards, I'm probably the most impure being in this multiverse."
He stopped before the barrier and raised his hand.
"But you've misunderstood something."
A crimson glint appeared deep within his pupils.
Not anger. Not killing intent.
Something more fundamental.
Greed.
His core concept—the foundation of his rise to cosmic overlord.
"I'm not here to ask for knowledge."
His voice dropped, carrying absolute authority.
"I'm here to take it."
The Concept of Greed spread, tangible, enveloping the entire chamber.
This wasn't energy. Not a law.
It was something higher—on the level of concepts themselves.
Greed represented endless acquisition—the desire to claim everything.
The runes began to distort.
Symbols of purity, justice, and selflessness dimmed one by one under its erosion.
The Book of Vishanti let out a mournful resonance.
Like a proud deity forced to bow for the first time.
"You Vishanti—Agamotto, Hoggoth, Oshtur," Hang said calmly. "In my universe, you're notable beings."
"But you've never interfered with me."
"So what gives this book the right?"
The barrier shattered.
The ancient runes dissolved into starlike fragments.
The Book of Vishanti floated there—defenseless.
Its pages stopped turning. Its light dimmed.
Like a tamed beast, it surrendered completely.
Hang did not touch it.
He simply raised his hand, palm facing the pages.
Mental Law activated.
His consciousness split into countless threads, piercing into the book. Every page, every rune, every spell structure—laid bare under his scan.
This wasn't reading.
It was plundering.
In the most brutal way possible, he copied thousands of years of accumulated white magic knowledge into his mind.
The book's glow faded further.
Its once-pristine pages turned dull, as if drained of life.
From outside came Mordo's despairing scream.
"No—!"
Hang ignored him.
Thirty seconds later, he lowered his hand.
The Book of Vishanti fell to the ground with a dull thud.
It was still the same book—
But no longer the same.
The knowledge remained, but the sacred will—the force that rejected darkness—was gone.
It had become an ordinary spellbook.
Hang turned and looked at Mordo, who knelt trembling at the entrance.
"I'll return the book to you."
He kicked it over.
"I'm taking the knowledge."
Mordo picked it up with shaking hands.
The pages were unchanged. The runes remained.
But the divine glow—the will—was gone.
An empty shell.
He looked up, trying to speak—but only a rasp escaped.
Hang had already reached the door.
He paused, glancing back.
"Don't be too upset," he said casually. "The knowledge is still there. If you're capable enough, you might learn something from it."
"Assuming you can understand it."
Then he left.
Mordo's suppressed roar echoed behind him—but Hang didn't turn back.
He walked the same path out. The frozen sorcerers remained locked in place, only their eyes moving frantically.
He passed through them like a visitor in a wax museum.
At the gates of Kamar-Taj, he looked up.
Snow-covered peaks. Blinding sunlight.
Next destination—
Mount Wundagore.
The Darkhold.
He raised his hand to tear open space—
Then stopped.
His brow furrowed slightly.
He sensed something.
Somewhere in this universe, a familiar energy was awakening.
Chaos Magic.
Almost identical to Wanda's in his own universe—
But not quite.
Weaker. Suppressed. Or perhaps willingly dormant.
He closed his eyes. His mental force spread outward like ripples.
He found the source.
Westview, New Jersey.
Inside an ordinary suburban house, a red-haired woman prepared dinner. Two children played nearby. A sitcom flickered on the TV.
Wanda Maximoff.
This universe's Wanda.
A normal housewife. A husband. Children. A seemingly perfect life.
But beneath that calm surface—
Something stirred.
Chaos Magic was calling to her.
And the trigger… was likely his plundering of the Book of Vishanti.
The desecration of white magic's supreme text had disturbed the balance—and as the natural vessel of Chaos Magic, Wanda had felt it.
Interesting.
Hang opened his eyes, a faint smile forming.
But this wasn't his concern.
His target was the Darkhold—not this Wanda.
Whether she awakened… wasn't his problem.
He raised his hand and opened a portal.
Beyond it lay a mist-shrouded black mountain.
Mount Wundagore.
The resting place of the Darkhold.
Rumor had it—the guardians there were nothing like the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj.
Hang stepped through the portal and vanished.
Far away, in Westview—
Wanda paused mid-cut.
For a brief moment, her eyes lost focus, as if hearing a distant call.
"Mom?"
Her child's voice brought her back.
She looked down at the knife in her hand, then smiled faintly.
"It's nothing, sweetheart… I just got distracted."
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