Eager! Satisfied! Fulfilled!
Like a starving ghost who had been hungry for thousands of years suddenly presented with a feast, the god's soul trembled with shock and delight. The entire space between the eyebrows began to quiver, sending ripples through the mystical dimension.
All present could clearly feel the joy emanating from the surrounding ether—spontaneous and heartfelt elation that seemed to pulse with ancient power. The very fabric of reality thrummed with anticipation.
"Quick!" Mephisto's voice cut through the charged atmosphere.
"Break it!" he commanded, his usually composed demeanor shattered by urgency.
Before Mephisto could elaborate further, everyone understood that something had gone terribly wrong. They cast spells one after another, their hands weaving complex patterns as they attempted to sever the dark yellow tentacles writhing before them.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The tentacles appeared deceptively soft but proved remarkably resilient. After all, they were manifestations of the original power from the God of Twilight—an ancient deity whose very existence predated the cosmic order Strange had sworn to protect.
Several thunderous impacts echoed through the dimension as spell after spell collided with the pulsating appendages. The surface of each dark yellow tentacle vibrated violently under the magical assault, yet remained intact.
But soon...
Crack!
One of the tentacles finally fractured. Dormammu, Lord of the Dark Dimension, waved his hand with deliberate precision, channeling the primal power of darkness to tear the tentacle into fragments that dissolved into the ether.
Simultaneously, Mephisto unleashed a barrage of devastating spells in rapid succession, his fingers tracing sigils that burned with hellfire as he methodically shattered another tentacle.
However, at this moment, the True Spirit Light Ball had already shrunk by more than half. The anxiety knotting in their hearts formed a stark contrast with the joy rising in the surrounding space—a dissonance that spoke volumes about the gravity of their situation.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
A gentle breeze seemed to caress the space around them—the breath of the true spirit itself. The depths of the soul sphere glowed with white-gold light that, upon closer inspection, appeared tainted with a faint yellow hue.
David's true spirit was being assimilated, or perhaps more accurately, the true spirit of the god was becoming contaminated by his essence. David's soul had already undergone a second transformation, and his true spirit was barely maintaining his intelligence in conjunction with the original power of the God of Twilight.
He eventually surrendered to the inevitable.
Because, even if he could resist, how long could he truly endure? Better to completely integrate into the true spirit of the gods, he reasoned. The god would own his memories, possess his experiences, inherit his personality.
So, what remained? A David who carried the memory of a god? Or a child who retained only fragments of David's life?
How significant was the difference?
Or perhaps, more accurately, a god named David would emerge.
In a sense, his plan had succeeded. The true spirit was coalescing, and the true self was awakening once more.
The surrounding mystical dimension shuddered violently! The world of gods seemed to emanate pure joy, as if the very fabric of reality celebrated this momentous occasion.
They were rejoicing, heralding the imminent birth of a new deity that would reshape the cosmic order.
But the next moment, suddenly...
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The immense god's soul began to rupture, black flames erupting from within and consuming it like a ravenous beast. Almost instantaneously, the once-magnificent god's soul sustained catastrophic damage.
Outside the soul sphere, Dormammu's lips curled into a knowing smirk as he recognized the familiar hellish magic ravaging the god's essence. The Ancient One had once warned him of such tactics—Mephisto's specialty.
As expected, Mephisto's true strategy had finally revealed itself. The Lord of Hell had never been one to disappoint when it came to treachery.
Dr. Strange and Grindelwald immediately fixed their piercing gazes upon Mephisto. The dark wizard from the wizarding world seemed particularly intrigued, his wand hand twitching as if eager to learn this new form of magic.
Mephisto, for his part, felt somewhat aggrieved. Earlier, he had managed to glimpse part of the mystery surrounding the god's soul. This insight had allowed him to guide their group while simultaneously establishing a secret contingency—using hellfire to contaminate a portion of the soul's power.
This particular stratagem was one he had employed countless times throughout millennia. He had disguised his intentions so masterfully that even the nascent god hadn't detected his influence. Of course, the deity's lack of rational thought had been a significant advantage.
So when the power condensed into the massive god's soul, Mephisto's hidden magic had seamlessly integrated with it. This explained his apparent indifference to David's plan to seize the divine body—regardless of whether David succeeded, the god's soul would sustain severe damage through Mephisto's intervention.
Naturally, he had also intended to buy time—time he needed to fully assume control over this colossal soul through the magical tether he had established.
However, the unexpected awakening of the god's true spirit had disrupted all his carefully laid plans.
Once the awakening succeeded, the residual hellfire magic within the soul could be dispelled at will by the newly conscious deity. After all, an awakened god and an unconscious one existed in completely different paradigms.
One relied on pure instinct; the other possessed conscious wisdom. The difference was as vast as that between beast and human.
Observing the massive soul body now engulfed in his own hellfire, Mephisto's heart filled with a complexity of emotions impossible to articulate. All his meticulous planning had been rendered futile in an instant.
The true spirit had consolidated, but the process of self-recovery was now interrupted. The surrounding mystical space gradually returned to an eerie calm.
The true spiritual light ball before Mephisto had diminished by more than half its original size. This development brought visible relief to the assembled sorcerers and even to Dormammu himself.
The process had finally ceased; otherwise, they all might have been held accountable for cosmic consequences beyond imagination.
Mephisto scrutinized the diminished sphere of light before him with calculating eyes. He had lost so much in this venture and desperately needed to recover what he could.
At this precarious moment...
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Around the calculating Mephisto, black shadows materialized from the ether. A large contingent of robed figures appeared, forming a tight circle around him. Their sudden arrival created a barrier, effectively separating Mephisto from the wounded god's soul.
The leader of this unexpected intervention was none other than Gilderoy Lockhart, the flamboyant wizard who had once claimed fame in the halls of Hogwarts. Standing beside him was Thor, the God of Thunder, resplendent in his crimson cloak and wielding the mighty Mjölnir, which crackled with barely contained lightning.
Their collective gaze fixated upon Mephisto with unwavering intensity.
Yet, surprisingly, none of this particularly shocked the Lord of Hell. What truly astonished him was the presence of two particular individuals among the newcomers.
"Why are Tony Stark and Lockhart's student Ian among them?" Mephisto thought, his composure momentarily shaken.
"Weren't those two secretly eliminated?" he wondered. "How is it possible they still draw breath?"
"Mephisto, Dormammu—it's been too long," Lockhart greeted with a disarming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. The wizard's demeanor had changed dramatically from his days as a fraud professor; power now emanated from him in palpable waves.
"Thank you sincerely for providing this extraordinary spectacle," Lockhart continued, gesturing toward the damaged god-soul. "I never anticipated that an unborn deity could present such... interesting complications. I'm genuinely grateful."
"Had it not been for your intervention, I fear we would have expended considerably more effort to achieve similar results."
Hearing Lockhart's words, Mephisto remained outwardly impassive. His gaze methodically assessed the assembled forces—the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj standing alongside Asgardian warriors, an alliance he had believed fractured beyond repair.
His attention lingered significantly on Wanda Maximoff, who stood quietly at Lockhart's side, crimson energy dancing between her fingers.
"Yes, that's her!" Mephisto realized with sudden clarity.
"I questioned why she wasn't present on this battlefield," he thought. "It appears she was merely staging her death during the supposed civil war—a performance for our benefit."
Mephisto regarded Wanda with a smile that masked his growing apprehension.
Meanwhile, Dr. Strange approached Mephisto, his brow furrowed with confusion. "What's happening here?" he asked nervously. "Could this be Mr. Wong's doing? How are Tony Stark and the others still alive? And why aren't Kamar-Taj and Asgard at war as we believed?"
"Perhaps they've been acting all along," Mephisto replied dismissively, showing little interest in providing Strange with a proper explanation.
By now, virtually every sorcerer from Kamar-Taj and warrior from Asgard had focused their attention on him—or more precisely, on the diminished spiritual light ball hovering before him.
"Mephisto," Lockhart addressed him coldly, all pretense of cordiality vanished. "Surrender the god's true spirit now, and we may spare your current incarnation."
Mephisto glanced at the anxious sorcerers surrounding him and noted Dormammu's indifferent expression with interest. The Lord of the Dark Dimension seemed almost amused by his predicament.
Suddenly...
Mephisto laughed!
It began as a chuckle but quickly escalated into wild, unrestrained laughter that echoed throughout the dimension. Even Thor tightened his grip on Mjölnir, disturbed by the demonic mirth.
"Lockhart," Mephisto finally declared between fading laughs, "you cannot obtain what I myself cannot possess."
His eyes gleamed with malevolent purpose as he raised his hands in a grand gesture.
"Let the Earth be reduced to a sacrifice for the birth of gods—and be destroyed!"
The spiritual light ball pulsed ominously as Mephisto's words hung in the air, a promise of cataclysm that none present could ignore.