While Ethan was busy calibrating the color balance on his new 70-inch LED masterpieceâconvinced that the "Vivid" setting was the absolute only way to truly appreciate the fine, high-definition details of his late-night entertainmentâthe magical underworld was having a collective meltdown.
Word had spread through the mystic ley lines like wildfire: the New York Sanctum had a new Master. He was young. He had been training at Kamar-Taj for less than a year. And he was, by all rumors, the most arrogant, pampered brat to ever wear a Sling Ring.
In the dark corners of the world, where the sun didn't shine and the Wi-Fi was terrible, this news was met with more than just saltiness. It was met with opportunity.
****
"Twenty-six years old," hissed a man named Andrew. He stood in a derelict, dripping basement in Brooklyn, his forehead pulsing with a faint, jagged purple inscriptionâthe mark of Dormammu. "Less than a year of training and he gets handed the Crown Jewel of the Sanctums? What about our dignity? What about those of us who have bled for the Dark Dimension for decades?"
His followers, a ragged collection of miscellaneous zealots and low-level dark magicians, nodded in grim, jealous agreement.
"The Ancient One has grown senile," Andrew continued, his eyes glowing with a sickly, corrupt light. "She thinks a boy who flexes his muscles in the sun can guard the barrier. My Lord Dormammu has already moved to draw her away into the higher planes. She is busy fighting a war across dimensions... which leaves the New York gate completely wide open."
This was the grand plan. Dormammu, ever the cosmic opportunist, had staged a massive diversion in the peripheral dimensions to keep the Sorcerer Supreme occupied. Meanwhile, his boots on the ground were tasked with one simple mission: level 177A Bleecker Street to the ground.
Break the Sanctum. Break the barrier. Bring the all-you-can-eat buffet of Earth to the Dark Dimension.
****
Midnight fell over the city. A group of nearly a hundred figures in heavy, black-robed silhouettes began to silently converge on the New York Sanctum.
A stray NYPD patrol car pulled up, the officer rolling down his window with a tired sigh. "Hey! You guys lost? The Renaissance Fair isn't until next month."
Andrew didn't even look at him. He simply waved a hand, sending a ripple of dark, distorted energy directly into the officer's mind. The cop's eyes immediately went blank. He hit the gas and drove away down the street, mechanically muttering, "Hail Dormammu... Hail Dormammu..."
"Cast the circle," Andrew commanded, raising his hands.
The black-robed magicians surrounded the building, their hands glowing with a corrosive, purple-black light. They began to chant, the dark syllables vibrating through the very bricks of the Sanctum. Bolts of dark energy began to rain down on the building, shattering the antique windows and cracking the ancient stone walls.
Inside, the six "menial" staff membersâwho were currently functioning more as janitors than combat mastersâscrambled out of their beds in an absolute panic.
"Intruders! The defensive wards are failing!" "Sound the alarm! Call Kamar-Taj!" "Where is Master Ethan?! Is he meditating?!"
The Sanctum groaned in protest. A massive explosion rocked the front hall, the heavy, magically reinforced oak doors splintering into thousands of toothpicks as Andrew stepped through the smoke, his hands wreathed in dark, destructive fire.
"The era of the Ancient One is over!" Andrew roared, his voice echoing through the grand foyer. "Kill everyone inside!"
******
Three floors up, Ethan was decidedly not meditating.
His room was pitch black, illuminated only by the massive, glowing screen of his brand-new 70-inch TV. The surround sound was doing its job perfectly, blasting the heavy, rhythmic breathing of a man and a woman engaged in some very intense, highly flexible "nighttime exercise."
Ethan was kicked back in a leather recliner, a cold soda in his hand, fully enjoying the moment. After months of celibacy and reading dusty scrolls, he was finally reclaiming his humanity.
BOOM!
The entire building shook. The shockwave rattled Ethan's walls, knocking his soda out of his hand and spilling it all over his new designer jeans.
Ethan slowly blinked. The TV screen paused on a very compromising angle. The distant sound of screaming and shattering glass echoed up from the ground floor.
"Are you absolutely kidding me?" Ethan whispered, a vein throbbing in his forehead.
Just then, a translucent blue screen aggressively snapped into his field of vision, hovering right over the paused video.
[ Emergency Mission Triggered: Establish Dominance ]
Objective: Many doubt your majesty. As a transmigrator, you have a certain level of dignity to uphold. You cannot let these miscellaneous fish interrupt your private time and live to tell the tale.
Task: Beat them all up. Hit them so hard that Dormammu's zealots will happily try to invade Kamar-Taj before they ever think about stepping foot in the New York Holy Palace again.
Reward: 2,000 System Points, 1x Random Equipment Box.
[System Note: They spilled your soda. Show no mercy.]
Ethan stared at the system prompt, then down at the wet, sticky stain on his brand-new jeans. The annoyance completely vanished, replaced by a cold, murderous rage.
"I literally just bought these," Ethan said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper.
He didn't bother changing into his robes. He didn't even put on shoes. He just cracked his neck, the sound like a gunshot in the dark room, and let his Dumbledore-enhanced magic flood his veins.
"Alright, Andrew, or whatever your name is," Ethan growled, stepping toward his bedroom door. "You want the Sanctum? Let's see if you can afford the admission price."