The colossal visage of the nascent god's head loomed before them, its features still undefined yet somehow radiating both majesty and menace. Suspended in the dimensional void, Lockhart, Thor, Mephisto, Dormammu, and a contingent of fallen sorcerers faced one another, an uneasy tableau against the backdrop of cosmic creation.
"Lockhart, what exactly are you waiting for?" Mephisto's voice cut through the charged silence, each syllable dripping with sardonic amusement. "The mandate assigned to you by the Supreme Sorcerer was unambiguous—kill the god."
The Lord of Hell's lips curled into a sneer, his eyes gleaming with malicious intelligence. "Your current inaction suggests you've perhaps surrendered to Asgard's demands."
Without pausing, he pivoted to challenge Thor directly: "God of Thunder, firstborn son of Odin All-Father, mighty prince of Asgard and future King of the Gods—do not underestimate Gilderoy Lockhart."
Mephisto gestured toward the wizard with an elegant, dismissive motion. "He lacks the righteous courage that burns in your heart, but his mind harbors as many schemes and deceptions as my own—perhaps more."
"Observe his restraint," Mephisto continued, his voice a persuasive whisper that somehow carried across the dimensional void. "He has done virtually nothing yet has manipulated us all, engineering the severe damage to the god before us."
Mephisto's eyes narrowed as he delivered his final barb: "If he isn't acting now, I assure you, some grand conspiracy gestates in his mind. You would be wise to exercise greater caution in your alliance."
Hearing Mephisto's words—seemingly friendly guidance that masked pure provocation—Thor frowned deeply, his grip tightening on Mjölnir until faint bolts of lightning crawled across his knuckles. The God of Thunder remained silent, but the storm brewing in his eyes spoke volumes.
Meanwhile, the fallen sorcerers gradually repositioned themselves, moving closer to Mephisto and Dormammu like moths drawn to twin flames of power.
"Lord Dormammu," one ventured nervously, "what course of action should we pursue now?"
"The forces of Kamar-Taj have virtually surrounded us," Strange added, his tone deferential yet urgent. The Sorcerer Supreme's apprentice maintained his cover masterfully, giving no indication of his true allegiance.
Similar inquiries flooded the otherworldly senses of both Dormammu and Mephisto as the other tribal sorcerers communicated their concerns through mystic channels.
The situation had crystallized with brutal clarity.
Kamar-Taj and Asgard had united their forces, leaving the fallen sorcerers no choice but to band together for survival. Their most formidable assets were undoubtedly Mephisto, the Devil of Hell, and Dormammu, the Dread Lord of the Dark Dimension—ancient entities whose power stretched across multiple realities.
Even the least perceptive among them recognized that the coming conflict would center on these two cosmic beings.
"Remain calm," Dormammu instructed, his voice unnaturally resonant in the dimensional void. "They have allocated substantial resources to contain the god's soul."
His fiery gaze swept over their assembled forces with cold calculation. "At worst, we face a significant battle, but not an unwinnable one."
Despite his reassurance, Dormammu appeared strangely detached from their predicament. His attention fixed exclusively on a single figure amid the chaos—Lockhart.
His burning eyes smoldered with naked avarice and desire, an intensity that surpassed even his earlier hunger for the god's true spirit.
Dormammu had first encountered Lockhart long ago, in circumstances known only to them. Throughout their intermittent confrontations, he had suffered numerous defeats at the wizard's hands. Yet each loss, rather than diminishing his interest, had only inflamed his obsession.
He had become absolutely convinced that Lockhart possessed some artifact or power of incalculable value—a treasure of such magnitude that it transcended ordinary magical relics.
So profound was this power that it seemed to illuminate a path forward for Dormammu himself—a means to ascend beyond even his current dominion. The object of his fixation appeared to be nothing less than a multiversal entity on par with Eternity itself.
Though Dormammu attempted to conceal his covetous gaze, the ever-vigilant Grindelwald detected it immediately. The dark wizard's perception, honed through decades of magical combat and political manipulation, missed nothing of significance.
Naturally, this crucial intelligence was promptly relayed to Lockhart through their established magical connection.
At that precise moment...
BOOM!
A thunderous roar reverberated through the void, and once again, waves of ineffable joy suffused the dimensional space around them. Every being present felt it clearly—a primordial emotion that transcended species and origin.
This surge marked the god's true spirit advancing further along the path to complete awakening.
"NOW!" Lockhart commanded without hesitation, his voice ringing with authority.
As though they had rehearsed for this precise moment, every sorcerer loyal to Kamar-Taj sprang into synchronized action.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Lockhart flourished the wand in his hand with practiced precision, and majestic waves of cold magical energy condensed into the signature emerald beam of the Killing Curse. The forbidden spell—one of the three Unforgivables from the wizarding world—streaked toward Mephisto with deadly intent.
Simultaneously, Thor, the God of Thunder, enveloped himself in crackling lightning that danced across his Asgardian armor. With a mighty roar, he swung Mjölnir in a perfect arc and launched himself toward Dormammu, becoming a living missile of divine vengeance.
Ian, Wanda, and the other sorcerers of Kamar-Taj directed their combined assault against the remaining fallen sorcerers, their coordinated attack a testament to rigorous training.
"DEFEND YOURSELVES!" Strange shouted, his voice carrying above the building chaos.
The fallen sorcerers reacted with practiced efficiency, their hands weaving intricate patterns as they conjured protective shields. Mystic rings glowed with eldritch energy as multicolored barriers materialized throughout the dimensional void. Above their collective formation, a brilliant bronze dome of arcane protection snapped into place.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Ian, Wanda, Vera, and their companions proved formidable opponents. Storms of elemental fury, bolts of primordial lightning, and blades of mystical ice descended upon the defensive barriers like a magical deluge.
The dimensional battlefield echoed with continuous impacts, punctuated by occasional explosive detonations as particularly powerful spells collided with their targets.
One by one, the shields began to falter and collapse, unable to withstand the relentless magical barrage.
The fallen sorcerers, recognizing their peril, responded without waiting for Strange's command. They spontaneously began casting offensive spells, establishing a rhythm of resistance and counterattack.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Black spears trailing miasmic death, arcs of destructive lightning that rent the very fabric of the dimension, along with various orbs of lethal energy, corrosive poisonous mists, and other arcane ordnance streaked toward the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj.
Throughout the void, crimson flames of magical energy pulsed, emerald spells surged forward, and mystic constructs—whips, spears, shields, and countless other weapons—intertwined and collided in a deadly dance of power.
The fluctuations of raw magical energy continued to intensify, building toward what threatened to become a cataclysmic release.
The scene was chaos incarnate—frenzied, violent, overwhelming in its intensity, and mesmerizing in its deadly beauty.
Suddenly...
"AHHH!"
A heart-rending scream pierced the cacophony as one unfortunate fallen sorcerer intercepted the path of a Killing Curse. His cry of agony terminated abruptly as the spell extinguished his life force instantly.
While most combatants remained oblivious, focused on their own survival, something extraordinary occurred. An invisible yet potent mystical force descended upon the fallen sorcerer's corpse.
His fractured soul and true spirit were extracted through some clandestine process, pulled free of his mortal remains. Then, autonomously, these spiritual essences streaked toward the nascent god's soul.
As they made contact with the center of the divine entity's metaphysical brow, the god offered no resistance. Indeed, it seemed to welcome this unexpected offering, allowing the sorcerer's spiritual essence to penetrate deep into the core of its being.
Within the divine soul, the sorcerer's individual identity began to dissolve, his true spirit assimilated into the greater whole. The white-gold spiritual matrix—already tainted by the power of twilight—acquired a faint grayish cast where the new essence integrated.
The discoloration was subtle—easily overlooked by any observer not specifically searching for it.
Yet this spiritual absorption triggered some hidden mechanism. Almost immediately, another fallen sorcerer's soul and true spirit began to merge with the god's essence.
The grayish tinge intensified perceptibly with each new integration.
Curiously, the god's true spirit exhibited minimal resistance to these intrusions. The divine instinct recognized that these new spiritual components would significantly enhance its ability to consolidate its true spirit—a particularly valuable benefit after the severe damage it had sustained.
Though some primal aspect of the god's awareness vaguely sensed potential danger in this process, the immediate advantages of absorbing these fractured true spirits proved too compelling to reject.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
In the external world, the tumultuous battlefield grew increasingly savage. Numerous sorcerers from both factions succumbed to violent deaths, their fallen comrades' fates only intensifying the survivors' resolve.
The magical assaults grew progressively more potent, the tactics increasingly ruthless. Both sides remained locked in a bloody stalemate, neither able to secure a decisive advantage.
BOOM! BOOM!
A sorcerer from Kamar-Taj, momentarily distracted, failed to evade a particularly vicious curse. Gravely wounded and disoriented, he had no opportunity to defend against the follow-up attack that claimed his life.
His broken true spirit, like those before it, was drawn by the invisible force and cast into the depths of the god's soul.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Several incandescent fireballs bombarded a fallen sorcerer who initially managed to neutralize several attacks. However, the defensive shield before him eventually shattered under the relentless assault. Before he could respond, a blade of concentrated wind magic—following closely behind the fireballs—pierced his chest.
Death was instantaneous.
As with the others, upon his body's demise, his true spirit was harvested and invested into the god's ever-growing soul.
The combatants who had caused these deaths remained utterly unaware of the spiritual consequences of their actions, focused solely on their own survival amid the chaos.
The battlefield descended further into brutality, with death becoming commonplace rather than exceptional.
The true spirits of fallen sorcerers—regardless of allegiance—continued to be integrated into the depths of the divine soul.
The god's true spirit accumulated mass and power at an accelerating rate, expanding dramatically with each new absorption.
However, its originally pure white-gold essence now displayed a troubling transformation. Dark black streaks, charcoal gray patches, venomous green swirls, sickly yellow stains, and crimson flame-like patterns spread throughout its spiritual matrix.
The once-pristine divine essence now resembled a chaotic canvas splashed with discordant colors—disorganized, incoherent, and undeniably tainted.
This was contamination in its purest form.
The god's true spirit was being polluted by the very energies it consumed.
As it assimilated the true spirits of both fallen sorcerers and Kamar-Taj's defenders, it absorbed not only their power but also their impurities, their mortal flaws, and their conflicting magical signatures.
What had begun as the birth of something pure now threatened to become the creation of something fundamentally corrupted—a god whose very essence was compromised from its inception.
And still the battle raged on, feeding more spiritual energy into the growing abomination, with none of the combatants recognizing the true horror they were collectively creating.