I admit I was surprised when Sir Agravain informed me that The Ancient One herself had come seeking an audience, though, if nothing else, I was pleased that she had gone through official channels.
Rather than just popping up in the bath.
Though I guess she didn't want to cause any problems, or she was in need of something, and since she was here to ask for something, she had to at least be polite.
That, however, raised the question of what she might want.
Still, I didn't have to wait long; no sooner had I sat down on my throne than the doors were pushed open by two enforcement knights, and The Ancient One entered, escorted by Sir Lionel and Sir Bors the Younger.
"Yao, Ancient One and Sorcerer Supreme, Guardian of Earth and Leader of the Order of the Mystic Arts, Ally of Camelot." Sir Bedivere introduced from my side.
"You stand in audience before Arthuria Pendragon, Ruler of Albion, King of the Round Table, Knight of Albion, King of Knights, White Lion, Lord of Storm, Master of the White City, wielder of Excalibur, Goddess Rhongomyniad!" he continued.
I saw The Ancient One's lip curl slightly into a smile as Sir Bedivere continued to list my titles. It was a small mercy that I had long since ordered him to keep my introduction short, or he would have continued even longer.
I honestly didn't know where he knew about my time as the ruler of the Camelot Casino or as the king of cards, but it had only given him more titles to throw out whenever he had the chance.
"Sorcerer Supreme," I finally said, "You are welcomed in on my land, and I welcome you here to my castle, though I must confess that I am surprised that you have deemed me worthy of a visit, I would imagine you would be busy with your new responsibilities as a member of the Illuminati."
I allowed myself a small smile as I mentioned the extra work I forced onto her. Maybe that would keep her too busy to snoop on people bathing in the future.
"I thank your Majesty for your kindness, but I'm afraid that I shall leave the honor of being among the Illuminati to my successor." She quickly washed her hands of that job.
I couldn't say I was surprised; I knew she hadn't made contact with the Illuminati yet and was unlikely to do so. But at the very least, I expected that she would have to answer questions time and time again about it from her many fellow sorcerers.
"So I guess that Stephen Strange's fate remains unchanged. I have no doubt he is talented, but surely you are still the best bet to protect Earth." I spoke with honesty. Because I truly believed that no matter how talented Strange might be, he couldn't compare to someone who had centuries of experience.
At that point, talent just didn't matter anymore; even someone with as little talent as I would be able to become a grand caster candidate if I had spent that long learning the arts.
"I must admit, I am surprised that you know even that, but then again, the eyes of the divine see much," The Ancient One said without pause, showing none of the so-called surprise on her face. "But I am old, it is time for new hands to step in."
I narrowed my eyes slightly as I looked at her, because I didn't believe it was that simple… Sure, she might be old, but she wasn't weak, far from it.
Nor was she dying, if she wanted to continue to live… it would be hard even for me to force her to death.
So, what was the truth?
"Annoying witch, speaking in riddles," Mordred mumbled from my right. He, too, was annoyed by the double talk and veiled meanings. Likely more so than I was, since I at least understood the hidden context.
"Be that as it may," I ignored the impolite mumbling and kept moving forward. "I was surprised by your request for an audience, so speak, what does the Sorcerer Supreme seek from this king?"
The Ancient One nodded her head, also ignoring Mordred, "I come seeking your aid."
That request had me shift in my seat. Because… it was unexpected… I had expected her to ask me not act, not play with the human world, and let humanity be, to stop interfering.
But for her to ask for my help? That was something I had never considered.
The Ancient One's request lingered in the air between us.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Even Mordred held her tongue.
"You seek my aid," I repeated slowly. "Against what?"
The Ancient One met my gaze without hesitation.
"Hells," she said simply.
Not Hell.
Plural.
That alone was enough to make Sir Lionel's hand tighten on the pommel of his sword.
I leaned back against the throne, fingers resting lightly against its armrest.
"The affairs of the alternative dimensions are your sphere of influence, isn't it?" I asked. "And you have kept them in check for countless years, so why do you seek my aid now?" I continued my question; my eyes fixed on her face.
"The Dimensional Lords are unbeatable inside their domains, even I can't truly threaten them, at most I can hurt their interests," she began explaining. "Normally, I play them against one another, even if they know it, they can't stop falling for it, because the benefits of taking down their rivals are far too tempting."
I nodded at her explanation. It made sense. The lords controlled their entire dimensions; within them, they were omnipotent gods.
Killing them would require either severing their connection to their domain, or destroying the entire thing, something that would likely require all six infinity stones to accomplish. After all, Strange had demonstrated that they could be used within.
And if just the Time Stone could trap Dormammu in an infinite timeloop, all six should be able to do far worse than that.
Still, collecting them wouldn't be easy, so it was no wonder that The Ancient One just kept them in check without ever trying to deal with them permanently.
"Something has happened recently, and all the Hell Lords have united, this happens ever so often, but this time… their unity has proven more difficult to shatter than normally, leaving me no room to maneuver them against one another." She continued.
She paused then.
Just long enough to be deliberate.
"They are afraid," The Ancient One said.
That was… unexpected.
"Afraid?" I repeated. "That would imply they believe they can be harmed."
"They believe they can be ended," she corrected.
The distinction was important.
I straightened slightly in my seat.
"Explain."
The Ancient One folded her hands into her sleeves, her posture composed, her voice measured—but there was no mistaking the gravity beneath it.
"In France," she said, casting a glance at the knights in the room, "While chasing down the witch taking on the name of your sister," she decided not to mention that I was the imposter here. "You ended up encountering a plot by her right hand, Selene Gallio."
I nodded along with her words. I did indeed remember that. While in France with Mordred and Lancelot, we encountered a demonic incursion in the city of Lyon.
"That led you into Hell itself," She continued. "There, you fought the son of Mephisto, Blackheart."
"Oh yeah, I remember that fool, he spoke a lot of shit for a guy who didn't last a single moment against father." Mordred added her own commentary, clearly having no respect for one of the most powerful demons to have threatened Earth outside of Hell Lords themselves.
Then again, she knew nothing about the guy, she had just seen him posturing and get blasted for the trouble, hardly the best introduction.
"Yes, him," The Ancient One confirmed, "I have not thanked you for that, despite how useful he was to turn against his father, he was also particularly troublesome due to his special nature."
"What special nature? Getting oneshot?" Mordred joked happily, clearly not caring about the formal nature of the meaning, nor looking bothered that he got no reaction at all.
Even The Ancient One was clearly not used to something like that.
Mordred wasn't doing it intentionally, but she was a master at putting others off their game; it was hard to play mind games with someone who didn't think before speaking or acting.
She truly lived and died on her Intuition B+ skill, Cigarette Lion.
"His special ability hardly matters now that he is dead, unless the cause of your plea for help is the fact that he isn't dead." I let her continue, ignoring Mordred.
"Indeed, he is dead, truly gone, and no longer matters; what does matter is how he died." She gave me a deep meaningful look.
"How he died," I repeated quietly.
The Ancient One inclined her head.
"To truly kill a demon so tightly bound to the hell dimension isn't easy; their very essence is tied together with their dimension, yet you didn't just kill him. What you did went far beyond that. You left behind a scar, a cursed wound upon the realm itself." She conjured up an illusion.
It showed the horrors of hell, the place of fire and brimstone we had wandered into through that portal in Lyon, yet, amid the rivers of lives and mountains of skulls, there was a barren place, a place free of horror and evil, instead the ground was glowing a faint holy glow, and green grass was slowly growing there.
It looked like a sacred place, a place of peace amid horror and hell.
I stared at the illusion in silence.
I remembered that place.
At the time, I hadn't lingered. Hell had demanded urgency—Blackheart, the ritual, the city above burning. There had been no room for reflection. Only judgment.
I could also see that this wasn't her bringing up a sight of the past or the future, she wasn't showing what had been or would be, this was the present, this was hell as we spoke.
She called it a scar, and it was a scar in hell itself.
A place of hope, of light, of goodness in a realm of evil. To demons, that was nothing more than a scar.
"Why hasn't Mephisto removed that yet?" I asked quietly. "Surely he isn't so sentimental that he left it as a grave for his son."
The Ancient One did not answer immediately.
She studied the illusion for a moment longer, as if the sight of it was impressive, like something that she could never see too much, never tire of.
Then with a small gesture, she dismissed it. The image of green grass and holy light vanished, "Because he cannot," she said at last.