The divine essence hovered high above them, a sphere of pure light suspended in the void.
Below, countless gray tentacles of magical energy surged upward like predators pouncing on their prey—sorcerers attempting to capture a god's very soul.
The light sphere, sensing the imminent threat, changed color instantly from luminous gold to an ominous dark crimson.
Then—
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The entire space between the god's brows began to tremble violently. The milky white mist that had peacefully drifted throughout this realm transformed to deep crimson in an instant.
This domain, which had seemed serene and pristine moments before, suddenly became oppressive—heavy with ancient power and the unmistakable aura of divine wrath.
A howling wind materialized from nowhere, its mournful keen blending with the swirling crimson mist as overwhelming pressure descended upon the intruders.
WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH!
Countless blood-red tempests spun into existence, rotating with devastating speed as they rushed toward the divine essence as if to shield it from the invaders.
Simultaneously, innumerable crimson threads blossomed across the surface of the now-darkened sphere—their density so great they appeared as a single glowing mass.
In an eyeblink, these threads pierced through the massive gray tentacles extending from below.
BZZZZZ!
A resonant hum filled the void as the crimson threads vibrated at impossible speeds.
The next moment—
SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!
The gray tentacles shattered like glass. The sorcerers maintaining the binding array below turned deathly pale, their faces contorting in agony as waves of backlash magic surged through their bodies. Many collapsed, vomiting blood as their life force was violently drained.
Their collective magical strength diminished drastically in seconds.
Yet, with desperation born of greed, they continuously channeled new power into the nearly-broken array, struggling to prevent the divine essence from escaping their grasp.
Mephisto observed the unfolding chaos with cold calculation, a hint of satisfaction playing at the corners of his mouth.
The blood-red tempests, now resembling natural disasters more than magical phenomena, drew closer to the assembled sorcerers.
Those who had managed to remain conscious frantically manipulated their sling rings, attempting to establish a defensive perimeter against the approaching storm.
"Mephisto, stay your hand!" Strange shouted urgently.
Though he hadn't vomited blood like many others, the magical backlash had inflicted considerable damage. His voice carried both warning and tension.
"Remember the contract we signed. If we cannot withstand this assault, we must prioritize survival!"
Mephisto glanced at Strange with undisguised contempt, though he too began constructing defensive barriers with elaborate gestures.
Even he recognized the peril. This was merely his avatar, after all. Even with Dormammu's assistance, subduing the divine essence completely would be challenging at best. The fallen sorcerers, now half-incapacitated, offered negligible support despite their numbers.
As Mephisto and Dormammu channeled their formidable powers, layers of light gray defensive shields materialized around the remaining sorcerers. Complex, ever-shifting runes flowed across these barriers' surfaces, exuding ancient, primordial magic.
WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH!
The howling winds drove the blood-red tempests forward, encircling the fallen sorcerers completely. Dozens of these crimson storms gathered around them, rotating with increasing velocity, generating violent gales that resonated with an eerie harmony.
No—it wasn't merely harmony. The tempests were connecting, resonating directly with the central divine essence.
The light sphere was like an emperor; the blood storms, its loyal army rushing to defend the throne. The fallen sorcerers represented usurpers attempting to seize divine power.
But beyond the tempests, the divine essence itself demonstrated formidable resistance. The sorcerers could barely maintain their restraints, and the slightest lapse in concentration invited immediate counterattack.
They found themselves caught between two devastating forces—the divine essence within and the blood tempests without. A crisis both internal and external.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The blood tempests rotated ever faster, gradually closing distance. Countless blood-red wind blades projected from their swirling mass, striking the defensive shields with thunderous impacts.
Feeling the mounting pressure, Mephisto's expression remained impassive. He raised his hands in fluid, deliberate motions, summoning vast quantities of black mist that surged outward with explosive force.
The mist coalesced rapidly, its particles combining into a coherent form.
Within moments, an enormous black dragon materialized before them. The monstrous construct fixed its gaze on the nearest blood tempest, opening massive jaws to release a bone-chilling roar.
ROAAAAAAR!
The sound reverberated through the void, carrying waves of dark, malevolent energy that assaulted the senses of everyone present.
This was no ordinary conjuration—this was Mephisto's puppet dragon, forged from countless tortured souls. One of many trump cards he had brought to Earth.
Meanwhile, Dormammu observed the surrounding blood tempests with cold detachment. He tapped his left foot lightly against the non-existent floor.
Instantly, the space surrounding him began to warp and distort. Humanoid figures clad in black robes emerged from these spatial anomalies—puppet believers answering their master's call.
Among them stood unmistakable figures wearing the distinctive attire of dark sorcerers. Their sling rings identified several as former disciples of Kamar-Taj who had fallen to darkness.
They were not alone. Orcs with bulging muscles, elves wielding enchanted bows, and even several powerful Asgardians materialized from the void.
These were Dormammu's dark disciples, collected over eons of conquest. Though he had appeared to come to Earth alone, alongside Mephisto, the power he commanded extended far beyond his singular presence.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The first blood tempest broke through, crashing against the light gray defensive shield with devastating force. A thunderous explosion followed as the tempest halted abruptly against the barrier.
Yet it continued spinning relentlessly, hammering against the shield, seeking weakness.
Mephisto's brow furrowed slightly.
He could sense the rapidly increasing energy expenditure required to maintain their defenses. This was unsustainable.
BOOM!
Another deafening explosion—the blood tempest shattered into crimson mist, yet the defensive shield held.
But immediately, more tempests rushed forward from all directions.
Mephisto's frown deepened. He could withstand one or two such assaults easily enough, but dozens of blood tempests would inevitably outlast his reserves—especially with more continuing to form behind the first wave.
The blood tempests cared nothing for the demon lord's calculations. They knew only their purpose: attack and protect.
Meanwhile, the divine essence grew increasingly agitated within its partial restraints. The fallen sorcerers maintaining the binding array grimaced with effort, desperately channeling what little power remained in their bodies to prevent the essence's escape.
Then—
ROAAAAAAR!
With another earth-shaking roar, the black puppet dragon summoned by Mephisto surged forward to meet the blood tempests head-on.
Mephisto never revealed his true capabilities without purpose. As the ancient saying went: strike first and gain advantage; hesitate and court disaster. Passive defense was decidedly not his style.
The black dragon plunged directly into the nearest blood tempest, submerging completely within the crimson vortex.
ROAAAAAAR!
Another primal roar erupted as waves of conflicting energy clashed visibly. The blood tempest's surface rippled, the shadowy form of the massive dragon emerging briefly through the crimson swirls.
Within seconds—
BOOM!
The tempest exploded violently, disintegrating into scattered mist.
Immediately, the black dragon soared toward the next blood tempest.
Dormammu, observing from nearby, remained silent. With a single wave of his hand, his dark disciples dispersed throughout the battlefield. The former Kamar-Taj sorcerers among them joined the fallen sorcerers' magical array, lending their corrupted power to further constrain the divine essence.