In the threshold space near the dimensional crack, the Ancient One stood before a vertical pupil-like opening that defied geometry. On the other side, she could sense something vast and ancient—utterly hostile.
"Dormammu," she said calmly, "are you still not giving up?"
The eye on the other side of the crack flared with malevolent intelligence. "Gu Yi, sooner or later, Earth will be mine."
"Not today," the Ancient One replied.
She raised both hands and constructed a magical circle—countless lines of fire weaving together in precise patterns. The fiery threads extended toward the crack, stitching it closed like sutures binding a wound. Slowly, but visibly, the dimensional tear began to shrink.
Dormammu's voice thundered across the space—ancient and full of promise. "You may close that crack, Gu Yi, but I can ensure that everyone you brought dies before you finish. I'm curious: will you save their lives, or will you keep sealing while they fall?"
The Ancient One didn't respond. Instead, she created six crystal mirrors suspended in the air before her. In each mirror, one of her team appeared:
Agatha, surrounded by enemies. Jericho, fighting multiple Dark Church members. Daniel and Mordo, coordinating their defense. Victor, engaged in serious combat. And Abel, completely surrounded.
Six people. Six battles. All visible. All potentially lost.
"Do you see?" Dormammu's voice was thick with confidence. "They will fall before you finish."
The Ancient One's expression remained unchanged. "I brought them here because I have faith in them. Your temporarily enhanced cultists cannot possibly overcome them."
"Then let us see, Gu Yi."
Abel looked at the four Dark Church cultists closing in from all sides. He understood immediately what had happened—Dormammu had deliberately separated him from Victor, isolating him in this pocket dimension and forcing him to fight alone. It was a calculated trap.
And for Abel, it was exactly what he needed.
He'd spent the past hour fighting ordinary cultists—and a single powered opponent. But he hadn't truly assessed his own growth. He'd been too busy with planning and preparation to actually test himself against multiple serious threats simultaneously.
These four cultists, empowered by Dormammu's own energy, would be the perfect trial.
They're underestimating me, Abel thought.
The four cultists formed crystal spears from the dark energy surrounding them—translucent weapons that glowed with malevolent power. Two pressed forward, two fell in from behind. They rushed him with coordinated precision, clearly experienced in group combat.
Abel didn't hesitate.
He raised his wand directly at the two cultists rushing from the front and released his spell: "Diffindo!"
White-blue light erupted from the wand's tip—not a cut, but something more dispersed. Dozens of small cuts bursting with magical force erupted through the air, creating a wall of impact between Abel and his attackers. The cultists tried to defend with their crystal spears, but the magic was too distributed—too overwhelming.
Both cultists flew backward, crashed to the ground, and tumbled across the stone until they came to rest, gasping.
Without pausing, Abel pivoted and placed his wand against his own chest: "Protego!"
An invisible shield materialized just as the two cultists from behind reached him. Their crystal spears struck the barrier and bounced off with tremendous rebound force. The impact was so powerful that both cultists were thrown backward, crashing into the dimensional space's walls.
Four cultists down—but not defeated. They were already recovering. Already rising.
Abel made his tactical assessment: the two he'd knocked back first were getting up faster than the others. He gestured with his wand and whispered: "Wingardium Leviosa."
One of the recovering cultists suddenly locked mid-motion. His body went rigid as invisible force seized him. Abel manipulated the levitation precisely, lifting the cultist, dragging him toward his partner—then slamming him down onto the other cultist like a hammer.
Once. Twice. Thrice.
On the fourth impact, Abel heard the distinctive sound of a neck breaking. The cultist went completely limp.
Dead.
Abel released the levitation spell and began applying it again to the other cultist—
—but something changed.
The three remaining cultists' foreheads blazed with sudden intensity. Their eyes, already marked with dark cracks, deepened into something worse: the cracks spreading, the colors shifting from red to dark purple and blue. Their bodies erupted in black aura so violent it shattered the levitation curse holding the one Abel was targeting.
They moved together—impossibly fast now—all three rushing toward Abel at a speed that left afterimages.
Their power increased significantly, Abel assessed. No more time for complex tactics.
Abel casted the Levitation spell on himself instead, launching upward as the three cultists lunged past where he'd been standing. He jumped off a stone pillar mid-ascent, gaining height and distance at the same time. When they rushed to follow, Abel pointed his wand downward and released a new spell: "Bombarda Maxima!"
Red light shot down—
—but it wasn't the typically expolsion spell. Abel had poured power into it, feeding it with much more power than needed for this spelll. The red light detonated in a violent explosion that engulfed all three cultists.
The one leading the charge was thrown completely clear—with parts of his body broken and bleeding—dropped to the ground dead.
But the other two recovered faster. Black tentacles of dark energy erupted from their bodies, lashing upward toward Abel—trying to drag him down.
Abel released the levitation holding him, allowing himself to plummet at terminal velocity. The dark tentacles swung through empty space where he'd been, missing him completely by a large margin. Just before impact, he casted the levitation spell again—decelerating his fall landing on his feet instead of shattering his body against the stone covered floor.
The rubble from the explosion still hung in the air. Abel swept his wand upward, and the shattered stone fragments began to spin—accelerating into projectiles. He Transfigured simultaneously, reshaping the debris into comicly large stone nails.
Hundreds of them, spinning at bullet speed, launched upward in a concentrated barrage. The two remaining cultists tried to defend, throwing up walls of dark energy and using their spears to deflect—but they couldn't block everything. Stone punctured darkness. Stone found flesh.
The cultists screamed as impacts drove them backward, forcing them down.
Abel didn't let them recover.
He snapped his wand upward and summoned fire—not simple flames, but a cloud of concentrated magical fire that hung in the air above him like a living entity. Then, with a precise gesture, he detonated the cloud.
Thousands of burning embers exploded outward—an inferno shaped like a fiery crow, an overwhelming wave of heat and destruction that engulfed both remaining cultists completely. They had no chance to defend themselves nor to escape.
When the fire dispersed, neither cultist where moving.
Abel stood in the center of the dimensional pocket, breathing hard, surveying the battlefield.
Four Dark cultists juiced with a hight concentration of Dormammu's power.
All dead. All defeated.
And he was alive. Intact. Barely injured.
For a moment, Abel simply let himself acknowledge the truth: he was stronger than he'd realized. His combat training was solid. His magical knowledge was comprehensive. His tactical thinking was sound.
And his magical power-the thing he'd worried about so much-was sufficiently far from perfect. But still good… for now at least.
END CHAPTER 30