After saying that, the woman slowly closed her eyes—and then a verdant energy, shimmering with cosmic intricacy, radiated from her form.
A moment later, her eyes snapped open, alight with sudden clarity—as if she had pierced through illusions, lies, and dimensions alike.
She frowned, gazing into the distance. Then, without ceremony, she raised her hand and swept it through the air.
A blast of emerald magical force erupted forth.
In the blink of an eye, a cloaked figure materialized out of thin air—only to be hurled backward like a sack of grain, crashing into the earth with a heavy thud.
"Little one," the bald woman said calmly, as though commenting on the weather, "such clumsy stealth won't fool these eyes."
Groaning, the figure rose—disheveled, but unmistakable: green cloak, scaled armor, and the twisted crown of goat horns resting askew atop his raven-black hair.
It was Loki, God of Mischief, brother to Thor—and self-proclaimed King of Asgard.
And the woman who'd just flung him like a ragdoll? The Ancient One, Sorcerer Supreme of Kamar-Taj.
"Damn mage!" Loki snarled, brushing dust from his shoulders. "Do you even know who I am? I am the new King of Asgard—the realm of gods! I am your god! How dare you lay a hand on me? This is sacrilege! You're dead!"
He spat the words like venom—but it was his first time on Earth, and he had no inkling of the power standing before him.
Had he known even a fraction of her true strength, his silver tongue would've been weaving flattery, not fury.
But the Ancient One didn't flinch. She regarded him with detached amusement, reading between his boasts: something has happened in Asgard.
Not her concern. Her duty was Earth—and Earth alone.
Lately, Dormammu's presence in the Dark Dimension had grown restless. His hunger for this realm hadn't waned. That was why she'd descended here today.
She'd expected a breach from the Dark Dimension—not some posturing prince from the Nine Realms.
Still… she bore a certain respect for Odin. That, and that alone, stayed her hand.
"Ungrateful whelp," she said, voice cool as starlight. "Even your father, Odin Allfather, would offer me courtesy. And you—barely weaned from mischief—dare insult me? Today, I'll teach you humility."
"Teach me?" Loki scoffed, puffing his chest. "Who do you think you—"
Before he could finish, a golden mandala of mystic energy spiraled open beneath his feet.
Whoosh.
He dropped into the portal—and vanished into an endless fall.
---
Above, near the resting place of Mjolnir, another group materialized in a ripple of displaced air.
Loren—surrounded by a cadre of armored women—froze the instant he saw the Ancient One below.
His blood ran cold.
Oh, for the love of—did we forget to check the almanac today?!
Running into the Ancient One here was like a Level 1 noob stumbling into a max-level raid boss in the tutorial zone.
This woman wasn't just powerful—she'd once fought Dormammu to a standstill. She stood shoulder-to-shoulder with beings like Odin. Celestial-tier. Reality-warping. The kind who could erase you with a glance.
And Loren? He was a time traveler trying to stay under the radar. The last thing he needed was a Sorcerer Supreme poking into his secrets before he'd unlocked his endgame powers.
"Uh… stomach's acting up," he muttered, already backing away. "Gotta hit the restroom—let's bounce, now!"
One of his companions—sharp-eyed and skeptical—raised a brow. "Boss, seriously? You were fine a second ago. And aren't you usually great at holding back… especially when you're 'thrusting' into us during drills?"
Loren shot her a glare. "Shh! Keep your voice down! It's not about holding it—it's about not dying! That bald lady down there? She could unmake us with a thought. We retreat, regroup, and live to scheme another day!"
But before they could vanish, a golden portal yawned open around them.
They reappeared—right beside Mjolnir.
And behind them, a voice, calm and ancient as time itself:
"Since you're already here… why rush off, little one? You seem rather afraid of me."
The Ancient One stood before them, hands folded, eyes knowing.
Instantly, Loren's entourage tensed. Adamantium weapons shimmered into existence in their grips. Battle stances locked. Eyes locked onto the sorceress.
Teleportation without incantation? Spatial manipulation on instinct? No wonder the boss was terrified.
But Loren thrust out a hand. "Hold! Put those away—now!"
He stepped forward, forcing a humble smile. "Venerable Master! We were merely passing through—didn't mean to intrude. We'll take our leave immediately. Please, no offense intended."
He knew better than to fight. Against a Celestial-tier entity like her, even his wives' combined might was less than a spark against the sun.
Unless they awakened their true powers before the 18th… resistance was suicide.
And since she'd already called him out—escape was impossible. Best to show deference.
Then came the blow.
"Loren Morgan," the Ancient One said, lips curving slightly. "Youngest heir of the Morgan dynasty. Richest man under thirty. Your name… is not unknown to me."
Loren's smile froze.
She knows me.
For a being of her stature to know a mortal's name—especially one hiding in the shado
ws of time—meant only one thing:
She'd been watching him all along.
And that… changed everything.
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