"After that night—after leaving Batman stewing in depression—Schiller slipped back into the Marvel world. With Stark freshly juiced up on "chicken soup," Daredevil ducking gang vendettas, and little Spider still too green to make a proper debut, Schiller suddenly found himself with… free time.
That same night, he noticed he'd earned another random chat chance. By now he'd figured it out: every time he seriously shook up a key figure in either world, he got one of these "chat tokens." Clearly, that conversation with Bruce had been impactful enough to register.
With Xavier busy recruiting, and Peter too hyped up about his new powers to check messages, Schiller was left with no one to banter with. The silence was… kind of lonely.
So he spun the wheel. And for the first time, instead of the usual text box in his head—there popped up an honest-to-god voice call interface.
And the avatar flashing on it was none other than—
The Ancient One.
The Ancient One is calling you. Accept? Y/N.
Schiller scratched his head. Then, grinning at the absurdity, he hit accept.
⸻
"…mystic whispers of the cosmos… where do you come from…"
The "voice" wasn't really a voice. More like pure thought, raw intent brushing against his mind. Yet he understood her perfectly.
Schiller replied in kind: "…who are you?"
On a Himalayan mountaintop, the Sorcerer Supreme stiffened in the middle of meditation. She'd reached out, as she always did, to sample the tangled chorus of the universe—usually meaningless static, occasionally omens. But this time, an answer came back. Coherent. Directed.
Her instincts flared. Any sentient will drifting freely across the void could be the embryo of a cosmic god. She swept the astral planes for disturbances—nothing. No trace. The voice seemed to bloom out of nowhere.
Schiller knew full well how dangerous this was. In comics, the Ancient One was even scarier than in the films, operating at full power. Still… fortune favored the bold.
"…answer me… answer me…" he pulsed.
"Whoever you are—stay away from Earth!" Her tone was iron.
"…Earth's guardian? …answer me…"
"I am the Sorcerer Supreme. Who are you? Why send signals into the cosmos?"
"…I am from Carcosa… the Lake of Hali under Aldebaran… the black sun hangs in the sky…"
The Ancient One parsed fragments: Carcosa. Hastur. Lake of Hali. The rest was a blur of dread. A name repeated: When the stars align, the Old Ones will return.
Her brow furrowed. The entity claimed to be imprisoned, scattering signals near Earth to warn mortals of cosmic horrors—the "Great Old Ones" who would rise when the constellations fell into place. If not for her daily meditations, no human would even perceive the call.
The data stormed her mind—Hastur, Azathoth, rulers of chaos. Too much. Even she couldn't parse it all. And yet… unlike typical Outer Gods, this voice wasn't ranting, wasn't insane. It was measured. Almost gentle. Which only made it more unnerving.
Before she could probe deeper, the line cut. Abrupt.
No demands. No offers of power. No raving about domination. Just warnings. Which, ironically, made the Ancient One believe him a little more.
Had it been a true threat, she'd have traced and cut it down instantly. Instead, this "Hastur" seemed strangely… sane. Still, she didn't lower her guard.
Schiller, meanwhile, rubbed his hands. The act had worked. System ping: [Magic Ability (Low-Level) Acquired].
He tested the package. The verdict: mixed bag.
• Telekinesis (10m range): Like a float spell, but capped at his own bodyweight. Forget cars or houses.
• Fire conjuration: Cute flame-in-palm trick. Enough to light cigarettes or burn paper, useless in a fight.
• Short-range teleport (20m): Now this was gold. Pop in and out through walls, dodge trouble, confuse pursuers.
The catch: every use drained stamina and focus. Five or six teleports in quick succession left him winded, head buzzing with static. Still—compared to the sacrifices Marvel sorcerers usually paid, this was a steal.
Clearly, the skill tree could be upgraded—"Low-Level" implied higher tiers. Maybe by building rapport with chat partners, helping them, saving their hides. For now, it was enough to be a headache for S.H.I.E.L.D.
Sure enough, once Schiller started blinking in and out of his clinic, agents were stumped. They'd see him never leave, yet catch him strolling back in from the street. Or see him go out, never return… then find him already inside. His schedule became a paradox.
Nick Fury's conclusion: volatile, unpredictable, dangerous. Especially given his growing ties to Stark. That set off all the alarms.
But S.H.I.E.L.D. weren't the only ones spooked. Around the clinic, Schiller noticed little things off. Until one day, opening his fridge, he found his cake short by four pounds.
That clinched it.
He had a thief."
Footnote: Carcosa / Lake of Hali / Hastur
These are classic references from the Cthulhu Mythos:
Carcosa – a cursed, otherworldly city first mentioned in Ambrose Bierce and later adopted into Lovecraftian lore. Always shrouded in madness and yellow fog.
Lake of Hali – a black, mist-covered lake on Carcosa's border. Gazing into it supposedly unravels sanity.
Hastur ("The King in Yellow") – an Outer God often linked to forbidden knowledge and cosmic despair. Usually his name isn't spoken aloud… unless you want things to get weird.
"When the stars are right, the Old Ones shall return" – a central refrain in the mythos, warning of the day when cosmic horrors will awaken and reclaim the Earth.
In short: Schiller basically catfished the Ancient One with Cthulhu fanfiction.