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"Trust me, this psychic is the real deal!"
"It's all just cold reading and psychological tricks. I can't believe you actually fall for this stuff."
On a busy street in Queens, New York, a young man and woman were in a lighthearted struggle in front of a small shop. The man's face was a mask of helplessness. He had zero interest in so-called fortune-telling, but his girlfriend's persistent pleading had finally dragged him inside.
The shop was small and cluttered, yet it seemed to have everything one could imagine for divination. Strings of old coins and compasses were crammed onto shelves next to crystal balls and tarot cards, creating an eclectic, mystical atmosphere.
In the center of the room sat a table with a transparent crystal ball. Behind it sat a man in a beige cardigan, his hands resting calmly on the tabletop. He watched the couple enter, a faint, almost imperceptible golden glow flickering in his eyes.
"Amanda, you're back."
"Yes, Master White," she said, pulling her boyfriend forward. "He's been so restless lately, always talking about bad feelings and waking up from nightmares…"
Her boyfriend cut Amanda off, extending a hand as he sat down directly across from the fortune teller. He crossed his legs and stared at White with a challenging look.
"I hear you can see the past and the future," he said, his tone dripping with aggression. He wasn't here for a reading; he was here to expose a fraud. "Why don't you tell me what I'm going to do next?"
White simply looked at the man. For a moment, his eyes seemed to ripple, reflecting countless scenes from the man's past and future.
"Choose one, Mr. Kliche." White pushed a deck of tarot cards and the crystal ball across the table toward him.
Amanda shot her boyfriend a nervous glance. As far as she knew, his name wasn't Kliche.
Kliche's breathing hitched. After a few seconds of hesitation, he slammed his hand onto the crystal ball.
Instantly, an image flooded his mind. He saw a younger version of himself raising an axe and brutally striking a companion in the head. The body crashed to the ground as blood mixed with the pouring rain, gathering in a dark pool. The young man stood motionless, his back radiating a chilling madness. He slowly turned his head, his face looking up toward the sky—and it was Kliche's own face.
Their eyes met across time, and a primal fear seized his heart.
"Ah!" Kliche screamed, springing from his chair as if he'd been electrocuted, his hands clenched into tight fists. The sudden exposure of his hidden sin filled him with a profound unease.
"What's wrong? What did you see?!" Amanda cried, rushing to hug and comfort him.
"The mist will eventually clear, and the blood of the lunar eclipse will flow in reverse," White recited enigmatically. He calmly put away the crystal ball and gestured to a small price list on the table.
Shaking, Kliche fumbled for his wallet, threw a few bills onto the table, and grabbed his girlfriend's arm, pulling her toward the exit. Just before leaving, he glanced back at White, who was calmly collecting the money. The killing intent in Kliche's eyes was now impossible to suppress.
After they left, the "OPEN" sign on the door flipped to "CLOSED."
"The third killer." "The twenty-third customer." "The numbers are auspicious enough…"
White was muttering to himself when his head snapped up. "The New York Sanctum? They're getting faster."
No sooner had he spoken than a shimmering, circular portal opened in the shop. Several robed sorcerers stepped out cautiously. After surveying the small room, their leader straightened up. "We're too late. The intruder is gone."
White remained seated behind his table, silently watching the sorcerers conduct a swift, methodical sweep of the room. Confirming nothing was out of place, they departed through the same portal they arrived in.
"Troublesome," White sighed. "It seems this identity has run its course."
As he spoke, a shadowy figure rose from his body. Deprived of its animating force, the man known as White slumped lifelessly in his chair, the color draining from his face.
The shadow called himself Silas. He was not of this world, but a transmigrator—a traveler between realities. Unlike others of his kind, Silas hadn't been able to enter this universe directly. Instead, he had become a lone shadow adrift on the great cosmic river that flows between worlds.
Existence there was harsh. As an outsider, Silas had to constantly hide, evading the endless crises and demonic gods that roamed the dimensional barriers. Unlike those beings, who were born of cosmic rules, Silas gained power from the gravitational tides created by the collision of information between different universes.
To put it simply, he was like a drop of ink falling into the clear water of this world. The size of the ripple represented the intensity of his power, while the depth the color seeped determined its reach.
To escape his precarious existence, Silas needed to make contact with this universe's mystical core. Unfortunately, this reality had a powerful guardian. Because of this, Silas had to exert his influence like a guerrilla fighter, striking from the shadows.
The man called "White" was merely a shell, a puppet Silas had crafted by intercepting the lingering psychic residue of a deceased person. After operating for so long in New York, the shell's ability to conceal his presence had worn thin.
Now, it had one final use.
The corpse of White stood up on its own. It pressed itself against the wall as its chest slowly tore open. A transparent blade materialized from thin air and pinned the body to the wall, staging a convincing murder scene.
The moment this act was complete, a mighty wave of temporal energy erupted from the present, spreading toward both the past and the future.
"The Ancient One!" Silas hissed in his ethereal form. "I barely made a ripple, and you're already using the Time Stone to find me?!"
His final task done, Silas ascended from the cosmic river, pulling his consciousness away from this world and beyond the reach of the Time Stone's power. He was familiar with its effects; the vision he had given Kliche was, in fact, a small-scale simulation of the artifact's power.
Now a lone shadow once more, Silas looked down at the river's surface. He could see the projections of the demon god Dormammu and Earth's guardian, the Ancient One, clashing in the distance.
It seemed his detection was just collateral damage. Dormammu was making another attempt to invade Earth, but the outcome would be the same as always: the Ancient One would use the Time Stone to repel him.
This was good. With a powerful foe drawing the guardian's attention, Silas could proceed with his plans more freely. He was confident his stealth could fool the sorcerers of the Mystic Arts, but he wasn't arrogant enough to believe he could hide from the Ancient One's gaze.
After all, the Ancient One was a being whose power rivaled that of the demon gods Silas had encountered. Furthermore, she had powerful patrons. He could hide from the Vishanti, but if Eternity—the very will of this universe—made an appearance, he would be in serious trouble.
As the old saying goes, even a titan should tread lightly on another's home turf. And right now, Silas was far from being a titan.