Midnight.
Rain tapped softly against the bookstore windows while the rest of Brooklyn slept beneath layers of smoke, exhaustion, and forgotten dreams. The city never noticed how close monsters truly were.
That ignorance protected humanity more than any government ever could.
Below the shop, hidden behind false walls and stacked crates, Elias Rogers sat alone inside the ritual room.
The chamber was small.
Circular.
Silent except for the low crackling of candle flames.
Silver lines covered the wooden floor in carefully measured patterns while black cloth concealed every reflective surface except one mirror placed directly before him. Unlike the rushed rituals of his earlier years, this room had been built with patience.
Layer by layer.
Mistake by mistake.
Elias trusted preparation more than talent.
Especially now.
Because tonight he intended to touch something far more dangerous than potion advancement.
Tonight, he intended to ascend above the gray fog consciously for the first time.
His fingers rested lightly atop an old tarot card.
The Fool.
Handmade.
Worn from repeated use.
He closed his eyes slowly.
"Fool that does not belong to this era…"
The ancient honorific emerged softly from his lips.
The moment the words left his mouth—
The candle flames froze.
Not flickered.
Not dimmed.
Frozen.
Like time itself hesitated.
Elias' spirituality surged violently.
A pressure descended upon the room.
Heavy.
Ancient.
Endless.
For a split second, instinct screamed at him to stop immediately.
But he continued.
"The mysterious ruler above the gray fog…"
The silver markings beneath him began glowing faintly.
The air thickened unnaturally.
Whispers echoed from impossible distances.
"King of Yellow and Black who wields good luck…"
The mirror cracked.
A single thin fracture spreading across the glass.
Elias' heartbeat accelerated.
This was wrong.
Not the ritual.
The reaction.
The response was too strong.
Far too strong for Sequence 7.
Then darkness swallowed everything.
—
Elias opened his eyes slowly.
Gray fog stretched endlessly around him.
Silent.
Infinite.
Ancient beyond comprehension.
He stood alone before a long bronze table illuminated by dim starlight from nowhere and everywhere simultaneously. Twenty-one towering high-backed chairs surrounded it like forgotten thrones abandoned by dead gods.
The familiar scene from Lord of the Mysteries stood before him exactly as remembered.
And yet—
Different.
The fog here felt… unstable.
Not weak.
Fragmented.
Like reality itself had cracked somewhere long ago.
Elias remained perfectly still.
Even after years of preparation, standing here made his soul tremble instinctively.
This place existed beyond ordinary dimensions.
Beyond logic.
Possibly beyond Marvel's cosmic laws themselves.
Carefully, Elias approached the long bronze table.
His footsteps echoed strangely despite the absence of walls.
At the highest seat rested a throne larger than the others.
The Fool's seat.
Elias stared at it silently.
In the original story, Klein Moretti eventually occupied this position.
But Klein did not exist here.
At least… Elias hoped he didn't.
Because if another transmigrator carrying Lord of the Mysteries knowledge existed in Marvel's universe—
Things could become unimaginably dangerous.
He slowly sat at the lower end of the table instead.
Respect mattered in places like this.
Even empty thrones carried symbolism.
The moment he sat down—
Information exploded into his mind.
Fragments.
Images.
Voices.
Not coherent enough to understand fully.
But enough.
Hydra symbols carved into ancient ruins.
British occult organizations conducting failed rituals.
A glowing cube hidden beneath frozen stone.
Something sleeping beneath the Atlantic Ocean.
And—
Elias' eyes widened suddenly.
A woman.
Tall.
Golden-haired.
Dressed in dark green robes covered with stars.
She stood somewhere in Europe staring toward the sky with glowing eyes while murmuring an unfamiliar prayer.
Then another image surfaced.
A man wearing primitive armor holding Mjolnir centuries before Thor Odinson's birth.
Another.
A hidden temple in Tibet surrounded by shattered corpses and impossible geometry.
Another.
Johann Schmidt kneeling before a black stone altar stained with blood.
The visions stopped abruptly.
Elias inhaled sharply.
"…The timelines are merging."
Not perfectly.
Not completely.
But enough.
Marvel's mystical forces were interacting with pathway symbolism.
And that was catastrophic.
Because Beyonder pathways corrupted through concepts as much as ingredients.
If ancient Marvel artifacts began acting as substitutes for pathway uniqueness or mystical authority—
Entire sequences could mutate unpredictably.
A sudden sound interrupted his thoughts.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Elias froze instantly.
Someone else was here.
Slowly…
He looked toward the opposite end of the bronze table.
A figure sat there.
Blurred.
Indistinct beneath layers of gray fog.
Not visible moments ago.
Now present.
Watching him silently.
Elias' entire body went cold.
Impossible.
This space should belong only to him unless—
The figure tilted its head slightly.
Human-shaped.
Maybe male.
Maybe not.
The fog around it moved unnaturally like living tendrils.
Elias immediately lowered his gaze.
Sequence 7 or not, curiosity killed Beyonders faster than madness.
The figure spoke first.
Its voice sounded distorted, layered beneath whispers and static.
"…Interesting."
Every candle in the real-world ritual room exploded simultaneously.
Elias felt blood drip from his nose.
Danger.
Extreme danger.
Yet the figure made no hostile movement.
Instead, it leaned back slightly against the chair.
"You carry his scent."
Elias' thoughts nearly froze.
His scent?
Who?
The Original Creator?
Klein?
The Fool?
Before Elias could respond, the figure continued softly:
"But not his fate."
The gray fog trembled violently around the table.
Elias felt an overwhelming pressure descend onto his spirit body.
Sequence suppression.
No—
Something greater.
Far greater.
The figure rested one hand against the bronze table.
"I wondered who had disturbed the pathways."
Pathways.
Plural.
That single word confirmed everything.
This entity understood Beyonder systems.
Which meant one horrifying possibility:
Marvel's universe already possessed existing high-level pathway entities.
Or something close enough to them.
Elias forced himself calm despite the pressure crushing against his spirituality.
"…Who are you?"
A dangerous question.
But silence felt worse.
The figure became quiet.
Then—
It laughed softly.
The sound resembled pages turning inside a coffin.
"Names possess power."
Fair.
Very fair.
Elias chose his next words carefully.
"You aren't human."
"No."
The answer came instantly.
No hesitation.
No emotion.
Just truth.
Elias' thoughts raced rapidly now.
Could this be an Outer Deity equivalent?
A corrupted ancient god?
A pathway angel adapted into Marvel cosmology?
The figure slowly stood from its chair.
The surrounding gray fog distorted violently around its silhouette.
For a brief instant—
Elias glimpsed countless eyes opening beneath the robes.
Then the vision vanished.
"Be careful, little Seer."
Its voice became quieter now.
"Your world is waking up."
The moment those words ended—
Everything shattered.
—
Elias gasped violently as consciousness slammed back into his physical body.
The ritual room was a disaster.
Candles melted.
Silver lines burned black.
Blood covered the floor beneath his chair.
The mirror had completely shattered.
Elias immediately checked his spirituality.
Unstable.
But intact.
Barely.
His hands trembled slightly as he processed everything that just happened.
Someone else existed above the gray fog.
Something ancient.
Something aware of the pathways.
And worst of all—
It knew he did not belong here.
A sudden cough echoed upstairs.
Steve.
Elias instantly rose despite the dizziness.
The boy must never see this room.
Never.
As Elias hurried toward the staircase, he failed to notice one final change inside the ritual chamber.
Upon the bronze-colored table at the center of the room—
A new tarot card now rested silently where none existed before.
The card depicted a figure hanging upside down beneath a black sun.
The Hanged Man.