Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Following Lockhart, Mephisto, and Dormammu, their souls leapt forth as streams of light, entering the brow of the god's soul.
After watching for a few seconds, Thor recalled Lockhart's earlier explanation. He grabbed Lockhart body and flew toward Ian, Wanda, and the others.
The battle between Ian, Wanda, and the others had not ceased. Those who had survived thus far possessed strong life-preserving abilities. Despite the fierce fighting, almost no sorcerer had perished.
When Strange and Grindelwald witnessed what Lockhart had just done, and saw Thor approaching with Lockhart's physical body, they immediately knew the final moment had arrived.
"Watch out for Thor!" Strange shouted. "All sorcerers, gather and form an array!"
With his position as leader David's confidant, Strange commanded a certain respect among the fallen wizards. Of course, Thor's imposing presence was an even more compelling motivator.
After hearing Strange's call, the fallen sorcerers quickly gathered at his location. As Strange waved his sling ring, information about a magic circle appeared in the minds of the fallen sorcerers.
Nullshift!
The spell required sacrificing part of one's body, soul, and spiritual power to transform oneself, jump beyond the world, escape through the cracks in the void, and flee from this realm.
At first glance, there seemed nothing wrong with the spell. The only concern was that activating this magic circle required sacrifice—not just pure magic or spiritual power, but true spirit as well.
Many fallen sorcerers hesitated. The price seemed too high, and an unsettling feeling crept into their hearts.
"We're barely holding our own against the Kamar-Taj wizards, not to mention Thor, the God of Thunder," Strange said urgently. "We can't hold on much longer. Those willing to leave the battlefield, come to me and join the array. If you don't want to, please stand aside."
An obvious impatience crossed Strange's face. Without waiting for any response from the other fallen sorcerers, he took the initiative, waving his sling ring and beginning to arrange the magic circle with himself at its core.
Beside him, Grindelwald and the faction of newer fallen sorcerers didn't hesitate. They simultaneously waved their sling rings, extended their magical energy, and joined the circle. Almost instantly, a mysterious wave emanated, carrying the essence of space, nothingness, and more.
Seeing Thor, the God of Thunder, approaching, the remaining fallen sorcerers had no time for further deliberation. Some immediately waved their sling rings and joined in.
Yet some still hesitated.
"Moro, hurry up! The price may be steep, but survival comes first!"
"Sasha, come quickly! Let's leave this troublesome place first and discuss other matters later. Against a god, we stand no chance!"
Those with closer relationships began persuading others. Under this pressure, more sorcerers joined the formation.
Only a handful—fewer than five—remained standing with uncertainty etched on their faces. They were all confident in their abilities, ranking among the most powerful. Their desires—whether to become gods themselves or to serve one—burned the brightest.
Strange's call to escape felt like a betrayal of their goals. Before them stood gods whom Lockhart, Mephisto, and Dormammu had tried every means to capture. So many had already been sacrificed. To flee at the first sign of danger seemed too cowardly.
The path to godhood was never meant to be easy—it was fraught with danger. If they feared danger, they might as well have remained at Kamar-Taj. Why betray their cause now?
The gods before them contained true divine essence. Acquiring even a fragment would more than double their chances of achieving godhood. David had been seduced by this very promise, wagering his body, soul, and spirit on this battle. Though his choice seemed foolish now that he was nearly dead, they couldn't help but admire his commitment.
David's actions, along with those of Mephisto and Dormammu, had inspired them. They didn't want to leave. Abandoning the fight would destroy half their progress toward godhood.
Seeing that these five fallen sorcerers remained motionless, Strange glanced at Grindelwald, who nodded slightly. Strange began exerting his power from his central position in the magic circle, linking and controlling every aspect of the current formation.
The sorcerers who had joined offered little resistance. They needed Strange to lead them away from this losing battle.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Almost instantly, a faint silver-gray mist rose around them. The mist contained elements of mystery, nothingness, corruption, space, and secrets.
The five holdouts still showed conflicted expressions, clearly struggling with abandoning their opportunity. However, their faces quickly settled into resolve. Having made their choice, they would fight to the end.
Looking at one another, they recognized the ruthless determination in each other's eyes. Without hesitation, the five figures moved and formed their own magic circle in mere seconds. Their souls leapt out as their bodies began to melt and burn, sacrificed to their cause. Each soul emitted a faint silver light as they flew high into the sky, sharing the same goal as Lockhart, Mephisto, and the others.
Their destination: the center of the god's brow, the depths of the divine soul, the birthplace of true spirit.
Together, they would gamble everything in this battle.
However...
As they flew toward the god's eyebrows, they looked down at Strange's original position. Suddenly, their eyes widened in shock. The silver-gray mist that was supposed to transport the others had vanished.
All the sorcerers present—except for Strange and Grindelwald—had disappeared.
"Don't worry, everyone. Cooperate well and we'll leave soon," Strange called out sharply as the magic circle began to activate. "Don't resist. If you feel uncomfortable, speak up. Don't let small mistakes create bigger ones that might delay our escape."
Everyone present felt a mysterious suction force. It seemed their souls were connecting, beginning to pull and consume one another. The sensation was deeply unsettling.
"This is part of the sacrifice," Strange quickly explained. "Once we have enough energy, I'll stop immediately. Cooperate—everyone should avoid resistance. What we need now is unity."
Hearing this, the sorcerers looked uncomfortable but didn't resist. After all, they had been warned about the necessary sacrifices. Escape was the priority, worth paying some price.
However...
"Strange, what's happening?"
"Why aren't you stopping?!"
"Tell me, Strange, what are you really doing?"
"AHHHH!"
"Let me go! Don't devour my soul, my true spirit!"
"Strange, please, I beg you!"
"I surrender, Strange, just let me go!"
Those who had chosen to flee perhaps lacked the strongest resolve—after all, would someone with unyielding determination choose to run?
Within the silver-gray mist, they realized the sacrificial circle wasn't stopping. It continued extracting their magical power, souls, and even true spirits. They tried to escape, but the circle bound them tightly.
They cursed Strange furiously. They called him shameless, faithless, cunning, devious...
Yet no matter how harsh their curses, Strange offered no reply. They could only feel the sacrificial circle accelerating, forcibly consuming the magic, souls, and true spirits within their bodies. They felt themselves weakening, powerless to stop it.
Their curses turned to prayers, then to pledges of loyalty. Still, there was only silence. Strange didn't respond, as if he had vanished.
But how could that be possible?
They realized that this "escape" spell had trapped them, continuously devouring everything they possessed. Their struggles and resistance proved futile. Finally, despair consumed them.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Time seemed to both crawl and race. As a gentle breeze blew, the silver-gray mist slowly dissipated.
Dozens of clan sorcerers had vanished. Only two figures remained, with a gray-black orb of true spiritual light hovering before them.
"Mr. Grindelwald!" Ian and Wanda exclaimed.
They had a general understanding of what Strange had done, but they never expected Grindelwald's involvement.
"Yes, it's me," Grindelwald smiled. "This Strange needs no introduction. He volunteered to become our undercover agent among the fallen sorcerers, delivering a wealth of valuable information. A truly remarkable contribution!"
With a few words, Grindelwald established a heroic image for Strange. Strange noticed the admiring looks from the Kamar-Taj masters, filling him with satisfaction.
He smiled reservedly at everyone, nodding, prepared to offer a few humble words. Before he could speak, however, Grindelwald interrupted.
"We'll discuss this later. Now, Lockhart has given us an important task."
Saying this, Grindelwald focused on the gray orb of true spiritual light before him. He hadn't forgotten Lockhart's request.
Taking the True Spirit Orb, he flew high into the sky.
The nameless fallen sorcerers, now transformed into soul form, witnessed this scene. Especially when they saw Strange and Grindelwald conversing amicably with the Kamar-Taj wizards, rage surged within them.
Betrayal! This was naked betrayal!
These sorcerers cared nothing for whether Strange was an undercover agent. They only knew that because of him, almost their entire army had been annihilated.
How could they not hate him? They longed to tear Strange's flesh and break every bone in his body to vent their hatred.
But they still recognized what was most important. As long as they won the battle for the god's true spirit, they would have power to overturn everything. If they failed, death awaited them regardless.
Without hesitation, they cast aside their distracting thoughts. Through their magic circle, the five souls merged into one and poured into the god's forehead, joining Mephisto, Lockhart, and the others in the arena.
They paid no attention to Grindelwald as he flew upward. Fighting him seemed pointless now, especially since their soul state limited their combat abilities.
From below, Grindelwald watched the fallen sorcerers' souls flying into the god's brow. With a sigh, he positioned himself before the divine eyebrows. He waved his wand, sending the gray true spirit—constructed through sacrifice and heavy with corruption—into the god's forehead.
Grindelwald himself descended slowly. He had no interest in participating in the battle deep within the soul.
Mephisto and the fallen sorcerers had restricted themselves to qualify for entry. Even Lockhart had maintained his body, asking Thor to protect it before entering. Did Grindelwald believe he alone could make a difference in the battlefield deep within the god's soul?
His eyes of destiny warned him: Danger! Danger! Still dangerous!
Entering the battlefield with only his soul would leave him vulnerable. Therefore, following Lockhart's request, he delivered the gray true spirit into the depths of the god's soul and withdrew.
He would quietly await the outcome of the battle within.
Deep within the god's soul, countless glowing threads of true spirit in different colors intertwined. Some tangled together, some collided, some even wore against each other.
Yet looking carefully, one could find a strange beauty in these intertwined, entangled, and colliding threads of true soul. From a distance, they formed a massive true spirit imprint.
The colors of this True Spirit Brand were extraordinarily complex—vibrant, varied, and ever-changing. They dazzled the eye and seemed to exert a corrupting influence on the observer, shifting constantly.
Though the colors changed, the structure of the True Spirit Brand remained generally intact. The outer regions were stable; only toward the core did it continue changing slowly.
Nevertheless, one could see that the core position of the True Spirit Brand had become fixed, no longer changing. The god's true spirit and self were awakening, becoming divine in the truest sense. The structure of the true spirit was gradually being perfected, mostly complete.
At this moment, suddenly...
Three streams of light appeared at the edge of the true spirit mark. One burned with red flame, while the other two glowed gray and black.
Lockhart, Mephisto, and Dormammu had arrived.
"Lockhart, you can't escape this time," Dormammu stared at Lockhart's soul, noticing something that filled his eyes with greed.