BOOM!
CLASH! CLASH! CLASH!
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The sky above the Thames had transformed into a hellscape of dark crimson fire. Hellfire rained down like incendiary bullets, each impact punctuated by the distinctive sound of supernatural flames consuming matter. The barrage was relentless, a constant assault against the mystical defenses below.
Standing firm against this onslaught, the sorcerers maintained a massive shield of pale golden energy. The barrier shimmered and flexed under each impact but held steady—a testament to the combined will of dozens of magic practitioners working in unison.
The Hulk, caring nothing for strategy or self-preservation, hurled himself repeatedly against this arcane wall. Each thunderous impact sent shock waves rippling through the magical barrier, yet Banner's alter ego showed no concern for the spells and explosions that scorched his verdant hide in return. His only objective was to break through, to smash as he always did.
Ghost Rider circled above, his skull wreathed in hellfire as he wielded a chain of dark red flames like a whip. The supernatural weapon extended and retracted with impossible physics, lashing out at any sorcerer who ventured too close to the perimeter.
Higher still, Iron Man's gold and crimson armor darted through the air with precision and speed. The suit's repulsors flared as Tony executed complex evasive maneuvers, while simultaneously directing the remaining Iron Legion in coordinated attack patterns.
On the ground, the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj worked with disciplined efficiency. Their hands wove intricate patterns as they alternated between sling rings and wands, casting spell after spell to counter the technological and supernatural threats arrayed against them.
At the center of this mystical defense stood Ian and Vera, Lockhart's former students who now commanded the sorcerers with the authority of field generals. Their expressions were grim as they surveyed the battlefield, issuing precise orders to maintain their tactical advantage.
"Team Five, employ restricted-movement enchantments! Target the aerial mechanized units and reduce their mobility!" Ian called out, his wand directing a squadron of sorcerers.
"Team Six, maintain constant high-impact offensive spells! Keep those suits locked down!" Vera added, her eyes tracking Iron Man's flight pattern.
"Team Three, reinforce the eastern flank of our barrier!"
"Team Eight, healing contingent to sector four immediately!"
"Team One, implement tethering spells on the Hulk! Limit his striking range!"
The stream of commands flowed continuously, transforming what might have been a chaotic defense into a coordinated military operation. The Masters of Kamar-Taj, who had initially seemed disorganized in the face of the unexpected assault, now executed their roles with machine-like precision.
This organizational efficiency concerned Tony Stark. Despite their numerical advantage and technological superiority, the Avengers were gradually losing ground. The carefully constructed algorithms he had developed to counter magical attacks were proving insufficient against such disciplined opposition.
The Hulk, normally an unstoppable force, found himself increasingly hampered by crimson energy ropes that materialized around his limbs. Though he could snap them with a flex of his massive muscles, new bindings replaced the broken ones almost instantly, creating a constant drain on his momentum and rage.
Ironically, Ghost Rider—typically the most unpredictable and difficult to control member of their group—was faring best against the mystical onslaught. The Rider's hellfire and semi-corporeal state rendered him highly resistant to conventional magical attacks. The sorcerers largely avoided direct confrontation with him, forcing Ian to dedicate multiple teams to casting wide-area spells designed merely to contain rather than harm the Spirit of Vengeance.
Even in his skeletal form, the Rider possessed a significant advantage—complete immunity to pain. Attacks that would incapacitate living combatants simply passed through him or were absorbed by his hellfire. Only the most powerful mystical assaults could slow his relentless advance.
From his command position, Ian surveyed the battlefield with growing concern. While they maintained a tactical edge, the strategic picture was becoming problematic. Their side required hundreds of sorcerers working in concert to hold off just three primary combatants.
More concerning was the mission objective: accessing the Celestial embryo's dimensional space through the light beam. Even victory in this skirmish would be meaningless if they couldn't complete their primary task. Being held at bay, regardless of their combat effectiveness, ultimately represented failure.
As Ian considered how to break this stalemate, a new development demanded his attention.
RATATAT! RATATAT! RATATAT!
From the direction of the Thames embankment, a sizable contingent of agents in black tactical gear emerged, weapons raised. They advanced in formation, firing controlled bursts at the sorcerers' position. Bullets ricocheted off magical shields or embedded themselves in hastily conjured barriers of solid energy.
Ian's expression hardened as he observed these newcomers. These Muggles—non-magical humans—were involving themselves in matters beyond their comprehension. In ordinary circumstances, he might have shown restraint, but today's stakes were too high for mercy.
"Team Two, deploy illusion and mind-manipulation spells! Target the new agents," he commanded coldly. "Redirect their aggression toward the Avengers."
The designated sorcerers immediately responded, sending waves of subtly colored magic—pale yellow, light red, and iridescent blue—washing over the advancing agents. The effect was immediate and dramatic. The tactical formation faltered, then reformed with a new objective as the agents turned their weapons toward Iron Man, Hulk, and Ghost Rider.
"JARVIS, what the hell?" Tony exclaimed as bullets pinged harmlessly against his armor. "I thought we agreed there was no point in deploying ground forces! Why is S.H.I.E.L.D. sending in agents? Contact Fury immediately and tell him to pull these people back!"
Tony's frustration was palpable. Earlier, S.H.I.E.L.D. had offered conventional military support—agents, aircraft, even missile strikes. He had categorically refused, recognizing two fundamental problems: first, standard operatives would be nothing but casualties in a mystical conflict of this magnitude; second, their opponents weren't alien invaders or terrorist cells, but the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj—allies under normal circumstances.
This wasn't a war where Tony wanted to count bodies afterward. Every death would be a permanent scar on what should be an enduring alliance.
"I apologize, Mr. Stark," JARVIS responded, "but these are not S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel. Facial recognition and tactical pattern analysis indicates these operatives belong to British MI6."
"You've got to be kidding me," Tony muttered, a headache forming behind his temples. "Why is British intelligence inserting themselves into this mess?"
The situation had become exponentially more complicated. These weren't even American agents he could order to stand down—they were foreign operatives acting on who-knew-whose authority. And now they were firing not just at the sorcerers but at the Avengers themselves, clearly affected by whatever spell had been cast.
Tony felt the impacts as bullets struck his armor. While they posed no threat to the integrity of his suit, the principle of the matter was maddening. These were supposed to be allies, and he couldn't—wouldn't—respond with lethal force against manipulated humans simply doing their jobs.
________________________________________
Along a secluded section of the Thames riverbank, far enough from the main battle to observe without being observed, four figures stood watching the chaos unfold.
David, Strange, Dormammu, and Mephisto observed the battle with varying degrees of satisfaction. The cosmic entities maintained a respectful distance from their human allies, their forms partially masked by dimensional distortion.
"David," Mephisto's silky voice carried an unmistakable note of sarcasm, "are you supporting Kamar-Taj, or merely ensuring neither side gains a decisive advantage?"
David's expression darkened at the implication, but he maintained his silence, jaw clenched tightly.
Strange, ever opportunistic, seized on the tension. "At least we've taken concrete action," he interjected with a smirk. "Two so-called cosmic powers, and all you do is watch from the sidelines? Perhaps you're not as formidable as legends suggest."
The moment the words left Strange's mouth, a flicker of murderous intent flashed across Mephisto's features. The temperature around them dropped perceptibly as the Lord of Lies considered the insect who dared speak to him with such disrespect.
This mortal had been insufferable from their first meeting—arrogant, disrespectful, constantly testing boundaries. If not for the binding covenant between their factions and the strategic necessity of their temporary alliance, Strange would have been reduced to screaming ash long ago.
As if sensing the shift in Mephisto's mood, Strange suddenly felt a creeping darkness at his back—a cold pressure that whispered of eternal torment. His instinct for self-preservation finally overrode his desire to provoke, and he fell silent, sweat beading on his forehead despite the chill.
David, noting Strange's sudden discomfort, allowed himself a small smile. Having a subordinate like Strange was reassuring in many ways—his ability to draw fire away from David being chief among them. In that moment, David understood precisely what it meant to witness someone else being humiliated in his stead.
The appreciative glance he gave Strange conveyed a silent message: Well played, though perhaps too recklessly.
Dormammu, who had maintained a dignified silence throughout this exchange, finally spoke. His voice resonated with cosmic power, even in this diminished incarnation.
"This petty bickering serves no purpose," he intoned. "Our priority must be ensuring Kamar-Taj and Asgard continue to exhaust themselves against each other, deepening their mutual enmity. Should they reconcile and turn their combined attention toward us, our position would become... problematic."
Dormammu's diplomatic intervention succeeded in defusing the tension. Both parties stepped back from the brink of conflict, recognizing the wisdom in his words.
After a moment of contemplative silence, Mephisto spoke again, his voice now calm and calculating. "More blood must be spilled," he stated matter-of-factly. "Particularly from figures of significance. With each notable casualty, the possibility of peaceful resolution diminishes exponentially."
Both Dormammu and David nodded in agreement with this cold assessment.
Then, as one, they turned their attention to the most valuable targets on the battlefield: Iron Man, whose technological genius and resources made him irreplaceable to the Avengers, and Ian and Vera, whose strategic command was the linchpin of Kamar-Taj's effective defense.
The true orchestrators of this conflict had selected their next victims.