The portal deposited them in a wilderness that smelled like earth and stone and old forest. Abel stepped out onto ground that hadn't seen industrial development in decades—maybe centuries. The air was crisp and cool, carrying scents of evergreen and distant mountains. He took a deep breath and let it settle in his lungs.
It was clean air. Real air.
"This is Latveria," the Ancient One explained, gesturing toward the landscape around them. "An Eastern European small country, largely untouched by modern development, and sustained by agriculture. That's precisely why the followers of Dormammu chose to hide here. No one watches these places. No one cares about them. And the local government is too weak and corrupt to interfere—or even to care—about the people disappearing in numbers in these remote villages."
The Ancient One raised her hand again, and another portal opened.
From the gateway stepped a young man who couldn't have been much older than Abel. Tall, handsome, and moving with practiced ease despite stepping through a portal. His eyes were sharp, intelligent, assessing. When his gaze landed on Abel, it held for a moment longer than necessary, as if questioning his presence.
Then he bowed with respect to all of them.
"Greetings, honored sorcerers," the young man said. His accent was slight, his English precise. "You can call me Victor. I might be the last follower of the arcana in this country. Though—honestly—I'm only a beginner. Nothing compared to your power."
The Ancient One and the others returned the bow with equal courtesy.
"Victor," the Ancient One said, "please take us to the stronghold of the cultists."
"Of course," Victor replied. "Follow me."
They moved through the wilderness under Victor's guidance, approaching a village nestled in a valley. It looked deceptively peaceful—small houses, dirt roads, the kind of place time had forgotten. But something was wrong. The movements of the people visible in the streets were jerky, unnatural. Their eyes held a kind of glazed certainty that suggested something darker.
Victor stopped the group at the edge of the woods and pointed. "Everyone, look at that village. Everyone you see walking around out there, every one of them is a member of the Dark Church. Don't hesitate. Don't hold back. They're all enemies."
Mordo stepped forward, his forceful personality pushing him to challenge the statement immediately. "How can you be certain? What if there are innocent people in that village? What if we kill someone who had no choice?"
Victor turned to face him. His expression was grim, but not unkind. "The Dark Church's doctrine is absolute. Those who refuse to join are sacrificed to Dormammu. The cult believes sacrifice is purification. So everyone walking freely in that village either chose to join—making them cult members—or they've already been killed. Either way, there's no innocent blood to protect here."
Mordo considered this, his extreme nature tempered by a capacity for reason. He nodded once, accepting the logic.
Agatha stepped forward, her ancient eyes surveying the village. "To enter without alerting them, we'll need cover. Gu Yi, I assume you have something in mind?"
The Ancient One nodded slightly. She stepped forward and raised her hands, moving with deliberate grace. Her fingers traced patterns in the air, seals forming, her power gathering. Then she pushed her palms forward.
Wind erupted from her hands.
But this wasn't normal wind. It was raw elemental force, sweeping fallen leaves, rocks, and dust into a torrent that crashed across the village like a visible wave. Trees bent. Loose materials flew. The sound was deafening—a roaring rush of air that turned the village into chaos.
Dark Church members scattered, running for shelter, trying to find refuge from the overwhelming force of nature.
Abel watched and felt something shift in his understanding. His combat spells were effective. But this, this was magic operating at a scale he'd barely grasped theoretically. The Ancient One had just created a localized weather event. The power involved was staggering.
"Gu Yi," Agatha said, her voice carrying the weight of centuries, "your strength continues to grow. Impressive. Now let me handle the containment."
Agatha lowered herself to the ground and removed the black cat from her arms, setting it on the earth with surprising gentleness. Then she placed one hand flat on the ground and began chanting—words in a language Abel didn't recognize, low and rhythmic and utterly focused.
The space around the village began to shimmer. It wasn't an illusion, Abel could tell the difference. This was actual space being warped, bent, and locked. The light refracted strangely. The air density seemed to shift. What had been a normal village was now sealed inside a pocket of distorted geometry.
When Agatha snapped her fingers, the distortion eased, but the seal remained. The village was isolated. Nothing could escape. And more importantly, the Dark Dimension energy leaking from the dimensional crack couldn't spread beyond its boundaries.
Abel felt something inside him acknowledge the truth: he still had so far to go.
The Ancient One didn't pause to let anyone dwell on the power display. "You must be careful. If you encounter opposition beyond your ability to handle, retreat immediately. Find me or Agatha. Understood?"
Everyone nodded in acknowledgment.
The Ancient One opened a new portal, and the team stepped through to the edge of the village. Agatha walked ahead, reaching the boundary of her spatial seal and snapping her fingers to create an entrance. One by one, they slipped through.
Most of the Dark Church cultists were still scrambling to deal with the wind. The Ancient One took that moment. She gestured once, and the entire team moved forward. She herself stepped onto nothingness—void—and rushed toward the core of the village, moving with the grace of someone who had fought for centuries.
Agatha and Jericho moved off in different directions, each heading toward their assigned targets.
That left Abel, Victor, Daniel, and Mordo standing at the edge of the chaos.
Daniel and Mordo exchanged a glance, two Kamar-Taj sorcerers who had trained together, who moved in sync. They didn't even discuss it. They simply nodded to each other and headed toward the nearest concentration of Dark Church members, moving as one.
Abel was preparing to move alone when Victor approached.
"Abel," Victor said, his voice steady despite the chaos around them, "would you be willing to team up with me?"
Victor's strength was evident—not flashy, but solid. Abel's assessment put him roughly on par with Daniel. Refusing an offer from someone that capable would be tactical suicide.
"Yes," Abel said simply. "Let's work together."
Victor nodded, satisfied. He gestured for Abel to follow, then moved deeper into the village.
Abel caught Daniel's eye briefly and saw acknowledgment there. He turned and followed Victor into the fray.
Members of the Dark cult were scattered and disorganized—still trying to recover from the wind, still trying to understand what had happened. But as Victor and Abel moved through the streets, the first cultists spotted them.
This was where theory became practice. This was where everything Abel had learned about combat magic met real opposition.
And for the first time in Latvinia, the battle truly began.
END CHAPTER 28