Dormammu groaned as he struggled to rise from the crumbling mountainside.
But Malrick's fist arrived again, slamming straight into his flaming face.
Boom!
Dormammu's head, barely lifted from the ground, was smashed back into the rock with brutal force, sending him crashing thousands of meters downward.
A massive shockwave rippled out from the impact, peeling away the earth in concentric waves. The land trembled. Oceans recoiled. It was as if creation itself was being reversed—like the second day of Genesis, unraveling in violent rewind.
Dormammu howled.
Malrick stepped onto the side of his enormous face, planting his foot down firmly as he began raining blows.
Each punch came with a deafening boom, echoing across continents like the earth's own war drums.
With every strike, Dormammu was driven deeper into the crust.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Thunderous impacts resounded in rhythm with Dormammu's tortured wails, the two of them descending toward the planet's molten core.
Malrick remained completely unshaken as stone fragments exploded around him. The flames in his eyes burned with a fierce satisfaction.
Ever since he arrived in this universe, Malrick had never enjoyed a fight this much.
And Dormammu, blessed—or cursed—with conceptual immortality, made for the perfect punching bag.
The deeper they fell, the hotter it became.
Malrick drew back for another blow, gathering cosmic power around his arm. His aura shifted—the air around him stilled. This punch wasn't like the others.
This one had intent.
The force of law rippled along his arm, and with a twist of his torso, he hurled his fist forward—close to the speed of light.
If the prior blows were warmups, this was the main event.
A blow carrying the weight of trillions of tons, accelerated to light-speed.
When it landed, time itself seemed to pause.
The sound vanished. Every molecule in the air stood still. Even falling debris froze in place, suspended in an instant of impossible stillness.
The world became a silent, motionless canvas.
Then it shattered.
From orbit, a single spark ignited.
The entire planet erupted.
There was no sound in the vacuum of space—only the sight of a world being torn apart from within, light spilling out like divine fire.
The explosion fractured the planet into pieces—clean, symmetrical, beautiful in its destruction. It looked like the birth of a galaxy.
From that inferno, two shadows emerged.
Malrick and Dormammu.
Dormammu's limbs dangled loosely, his head jerking back with each hit, floating helplessly in zero gravity.
Malrick kept hammering him, blow after blow, each one strong enough to collapse a star.
Dormammu's flaming skull looked swollen and distorted, but Malrick didn't slow down.
Driven by sheer momentum, he struck Dormammu downward again, slamming the being of pure dimensional energy into a massive landmass stretching millions of kilometers across.
Boom!
They crashed into the surface, creating a shockwave so vast it lit up distant horizons. Dust blotted out the stars.
Sound returned.
A rhythmic pounding echoed through the dust cloud, relentless and heavy—like the world's largest slab of meat being tenderized for some apocalyptic feast.
Finally, when Dormammu's head was buried in a bottomless crater, legs twitching in the air, Malrick paused.
He exhaled, relaxed, as if finishing a long workout. His expression was composed, but his body radiated victory.
Below, Dormammu's head lolled at the bottom of the pit. He was temporarily unconscious, broken, and inverted—his legs dangling above him like the world's most pitiful statue.
But only for a moment.
As an energy-based being, Dormammu was notoriously hard to kill. With sufficient energy, he could recover from nearly any state.
Just seconds after Malrick stopped, the swelling on Dormammu's head began to recede.
"Dormammu's immortality is conceptual," Malrick mused, floating above the crater. "As long as someone believes in him, he'll always return. Not worth the effort to kill him now."
He smiled faintly. "Better to beat him into submission and strike a deal."
A few minutes later, Dormammu, now mostly healed, clawed his way out of the crater like a disgraced warrior.
He didn't fly, didn't teleport—he climbed, using bare hands like a mortal.
Something in him had shifted.
His flaming head still burned, but his arrogance had dimmed.
He looked up at Malrick hovering calmly above.
"...Sorcerer Supreme," he began, his tone strained, almost respectful, "state your terms."
It was different this time.
Not like with Doctor Strange, who had forced him into a stalemate with the Time Stone.
No, this wasn't leverage.
This was defeat.
That had been a monkey threatening him with a nuclear button.
This was a man who had beaten him senseless with his bare hands.
It was the first time Dormammu had encountered someone with such overwhelming physical might. Not borrowed, not channeled—intrinsic power.
Even Odin, even the Celestials, were more reliant on divine or external sources.
Malrick had earned his strength. And Dormammu respected that.
As long as the request wasn't excessive, he'd consider it.
Then Malrick spoke.
"I want half the authority of the Dark Dimension."
"…What?" Dormammu blinked, flames flickering uncertainly.
"I said," Malrick repeated, deadpan, "half your dimensional authority."
He gave a casual shrug. "Look, we can talk about it. Negotiate. If half's too much, we'll settle on a quarter."
Even one percent of that power would be a monumental gain.
Dormammu's expression twisted. Confused at first, then furious.
"You DARE mock me!? Toss that idea into the sun, or I'll gladly go another round!"
"Oh? No compromise then?" Malrick raised an eyebrow, arms still folded. "Quarter's too much? How about ten percent? Let's not get hasty."
Dormammu roared.
"ENOUGH!"
With a swipe of his burning hand, Dormammu summoned his remaining strength, ripping a nearby planet from its orbit and hurling it toward Malrick.
"You're seriously this petty?" Malrick sighed. "Fine, your move."
He reached out, summoned the power of the Space Stone, and countered—grabbing another planet from space and lobbing it back.
Two worlds collided in the void.
And the battle resumed.
---
Meanwhile…
Back on Earth, after Malrick vanished into the World Ring, Kamar-Taj went into full lockdown.
Mages sprang into action.
Defensive units secured the sanctums. Offensives took position. Control teams prepared for contingencies.
In the Himalayas, the Three Sanctums braced for any interdimensional backlash.
At the London Sanctum, Mordo, Daniel Drumm, and Hamir coordinated the mage forces with surgical precision.
In Hong Kong, Pietro Maximoff slapped Wong on the back and gave a half-serious grin. "Don't worry, I got this."
In New York, Tony Stark took the lead.
He'd summoned every active S.H.I.E.L.D.-affiliated team in the area. Under Malrick's instructions, they'd even distributed mystical artifacts—ones safe enough to be used by trained operatives without magical talent.
Everyone was on edge.
The storm had only just begun.
---
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