BOOM!
BANG! BANG! BANG!
CRACKLE!
The sounds of battle echoed from the world outside, a distant cacophony of thunder and magic that penetrated even the strange environment where they now found themselves. David and Strange floated in what appeared to be a vast, limitless void, their faces alight with satisfaction.
"Perfect," Strange said, his voice carrying a note of genuine delight. "While they battle each other out there, we'll find what we came for in here." He nearly clapped his hands together in celebration, the Cloak of Levitation rippling around his shoulders as if sharing his excitement.
David nodded, his expression equally pleased. With a casual gesture of his hand, a small cloth bag materialized from his belt. It hovered in the air before them, then began to expand, disgorging figure after figure into the void.
Under the watchful gaze of Mephisto and Dormammu, a sizeable contingent of fallen sorcerers appeared, each wearing distinctive robes that marked their various allegiances and magical traditions.
Mephisto observed the gathering with calculating eyes. The demon lord immediately noted the clear division among the assembled magic-users. They were split into two distinct factions—not openly hostile to one another, but separate nonetheless.
The first group centered around David and Strange. These sorcerers possessed moderate power—nothing extraordinary by cosmic standards, but far from insignificant. They represented the newer wave of fallen practitioners, those influenced by Grindelwald's philosophy of magical freedom and autonomy. Some still referred to themselves as "free sorcerers" rather than fallen ones, rejecting the moral judgment implied by the latter term.
The second faction carried themselves differently. These were the veteran renegades—powerful wizards who had originally defected from Kamar-Taj years ago. Their allegiance to David was visibly tenuous, a marriage of convenience rather than conviction. Though superficially united with the others through various magical pacts and shared objectives, the underlying tensions were obvious to an entity as ancient as Mephisto.
This coalition was bound by mutual interest, not loyalty or friendship—a distinction that brought a smile to Mephisto's lips. Discord among his mortal allies would only benefit him in the long run.
What Mephisto failed to notice, however, was the significance of one particular figure standing beside Strange. This sorcerer—who appeared to be just another defector—was none other than Gellert Grindelwald himself.
The legendary dark wizard had wisely chosen not to disguise himself as Strange or any other specific individual. When dealing with entities as powerful as Mephisto and Dormammu, such transparent deceptions risked immediate discovery. Instead, Grindelwald had opted for the perfect camouflage—appearing exactly as himself, merely another fallen sorcerer in the ranks. Without probing his memories, nothing would betray his true identity or significance.
"Leader David, Master Strange, what is our current situation?" Grindelwald asked, his voice carefully modulated to convey appropriate deference mixed with the excitement expected of a subordinate in unfamiliar territory.
As he spoke, he took in their surroundings with calculated wonder. They floated in what appeared to be infinite nothingness—not empty space, but a dimensional void without physical matter. Yet it wasn't truly empty. The void teemed with pure energy, a swirling mixture of spiritual and life forces that permeated everything. The air—if it could be called that—carried a subtle fragrance that refreshed the mind and invigorated the senses with each breath.
A blessed realm, Grindelwald thought, recalling conversations with Lockhart about such mythical spaces. This was like a sorcerer's pocket dimension, but vastly more advanced and potent—a place where magic itself was enhanced and transformed.
While Grindelwald contemplated their environment, several of the less disciplined sorcerers had already begun attempting to harness the abundant energy surrounding them. The temptation was understandable—such pure power, seemingly limitless, floating freely around them.
But their rashness was immediately punished.
PUFF! PUFF! PUFF!
Three sorcerers who had extended their magical awareness to absorb the ambient energy suddenly convulsed. Their expressions shifted from eager anticipation to shock and pain as violent energy fluctuations tore through their bodies. Blood erupted from their mouths as they doubled over in agony.
The seemingly gentle energies had betrayed them. What appeared soft and malleable had proven immovable—like attempting to digest stone. Not only could they not assimilate the cosmic energy, but it actively resisted their efforts, struggling against containment and forcing its way out of their systems with devastating backlash.
Mephisto and Dormammu exchanged glances, undisguised contempt in their otherworldly eyes. These mortals were truly presumptuous—attempting to steal energy directly from a Celestial, even an embryonic one. Had the cosmic entity been fully conscious rather than dormant, these fools would have been instantly absorbed and digested, their essence converted to fuel for the Celestial's growth.
"Everyone, please refrain from impulsive actions, especially attempts to absorb the surrounding energy," David warned, though Grindelwald noticed a fleeting expression of amusement cross his face before being replaced by an appropriate mask of concern.
David had spent enough time with Mephisto to anticipate the outcome. He had deliberately allowed the other sorcerers to make this mistake, knowing the painful lesson would be more effective than any verbal warning.
"These energies originate from the Celestial embryo," Strange added, his tone academic but firm. "They're fundamentally incompatible with our magical systems and impossible for us to properly assimilate. Even if small amounts could be processed, any significant absorption risks alerting the embryo to our presence. We would all be in grave danger if that happens."
Grindelwald seized the opportunity to assert his role in the hierarchy. "Everyone, please form up according to our practiced formations and remain vigilant for potential threats."
The newer fallen sorcerers—those who had trained under Strange's guidance—responded immediately, arranging themselves in a complex geometric pattern. As they settled into position, their magical auras began to synchronize, creating a resonant field that amplified their collective power. The display of disciplined coordination drew appreciative glances from both the older fallen sorcerers and the demonic lords.
Even Mephisto had to admit the formation was impressive. Against most adversaries, such unified magical resistance could hold for a considerable time.
"Thena," Strange addressed the lone Eternal they had brought with them, "can you determine where we should proceed from here?"
The golden-armored warrior closed her eyes in concentration, extending her unique perception outward. As one of the Eternals—artificial beings created by the Celestials themselves—Thena possessed an intrinsic connection to their makers that the sorcerers hoped might serve as a guide within this alien environment.
After a long moment, her eyes opened, confusion evident in her expression.
"I cannot pinpoint any specific direction," she admitted. "The Celestial's essence permeates everything around us. Its presence is... omnidirectional. I cannot locate the central consciousness we seek."
Strange nodded, unsurprised by this response. His gaze shifted to Mephisto, their reluctant guide in matters of the soul.
There were strategic reasons why Thena was the only Eternal they had brought along. First, the loyalty of other Eternals remained questionable—if any had been too deeply programmed by their Celestial masters, they might instinctively attempt to awaken the embryo, with catastrophic consequences. Second, preliminary investigations had already revealed that the Eternals possessed minimal knowledge about Celestial physiology and internal structure. The Celestials had created them as tools, not confidants—no master shares their vulnerabilities with their servants.
Thena's presence was merely an experiment, a wild card played on the remote chance it might yield unexpected insights.
Sensing Strange's expectant gaze, Mephisto allowed a faint smile to cross his features. Without comment, he closed his eyes and began the work for which he had been included in this expedition.
As the Lord of Hell, Mephisto had spent eons manipulating, trading, and consuming souls. In the realm of spirit and consciousness, few beings in any dimension could rival his expertise. While others might navigate physical space with precision, Mephisto could chart the geography of consciousness itself.
BZZZZ!
An invisible wave of spiritual energy emanated from the demon lord, expanding outward to encompass their surroundings. Most of the assembled sorcerers remained oblivious to this subtle probing—only David, Strange, Grindelwald, and those who had undergone significant soul modifications could perceive the demonic lord's workings.
Minutes passed in tense silence as Mephisto extended his awareness through the Celestial's mental domain.
Then suddenly—
PUFF!
Mephisto's composed facade cracked. His face paled dramatically as a thin trickle of blood escaped from the corner of his mouth. The backlash from whatever he had encountered had physically manifested, an alarming development for an entity of his power.
Most of the assembled sorcerers failed to notice this momentary weakness, but Grindelwald caught the flash of expressions that crossed the demon's face before he could master himself again—initial shock, followed by an instant of ecstatic realization, then carefully controlled disbelief.
Whatever Mephisto had discovered within the Celestial mind had simultaneously wounded and excited him—a concerning combination that Grindelwald filed away for later consideration.