[Marvel's Hogwarts Professor] Chapter 661 - 665

Chapter 661: The God's Awakening

The void between the god's brows stretched endlessly—no earth, no sun, just boundless emptiness shrouded in tendrils of milky white mist. These misty strands were the essence of pure, condensed magical energy.

Within this ethereal realm, dozens of figures cautiously navigated the void. Each sorcerer darted between rays of luminous energy essence like thieves evading capture, terrified of making contact with the powerful substance.

Strange could see the unmistakable fear etched in the faces of his fellow fallen sorcerers. This space, though appearing to be a sanctuary hidden within the god's consciousness, was in truth a realm of mounting danger.

None dared absorb even a single ray of the surrounding energy, knowing the devastating counterattack that would follow. This power belonged to the god alone—they were merely trespassers in one of the deity's most sacred cognitive domains. How could they possibly believe the sleeping god would leave such power undefended?

"Mephisto, how much farther must we go?" Strange asked, his deep voice laced with concern. "We've been dodging these energy strands for what feels like eternity."

He glanced toward the demon lord, crimson cape shifting around his shoulders. "If the battle outside concludes and Lockhart and the others find us here, we're finished."

Grindelwald's eyes gleamed with appreciation at Strange's performance. As expected of his favorite pupil—playing the double-agent with flawless conviction.

Dai Wei's face clouded with worry upon hearing Strange's words. Like the other fallen sorcerers, his attention turned immediately to Mephisto, urgency evident in his expression.

The probability of any of them ascending to godhood was dismally low—they all understood this reality. Yet with this rare opportunity to dramatically increase those odds dangling before them, how could they not feel desperate?

If Mephisto weren't the Evil God himself, they would have imprisoned him long ago to eliminate competition.

"Don't worry, don't be anxious," Mephisto replied with unnerving calmness, his yellow eyes surveying the group. "In my tens of thousands of years of experience, the more anxious one becomes, the less likely they are to succeed."

He smiled, revealing pointed teeth. "Lockhart isn't so easily able to penetrate this realm. And Asgard—Thor especially—won't be defeated so quickly."

His voice dropped to a silky purr. "Besides, should we truly encounter trouble, I will warn you well in advance. Our priority now is locating the God's Essence—the true spirit."

The group fell silent. Among them, only Mephisto, master of soul manipulation, possessed the ability to track the god's soul—its true essence.

Grindelwald, however, remained thoughtful. With centuries of experience and his exceptionally keen mind, he sensed Mephisto wasn't being entirely truthful. Beneath that calm tone lay a distinct thread of vigilance.

Who could the demon lord be wary of? Certainly not sorcerers like themselves—they were beneath Mephisto's notice. Which meant...

Grindelwald shifted his gaze toward Dormammu, who stood apart from the others, the cosmic entity's form rippling with otherworldly energy. The moment this thought formed, Grindelwald sent a telepathic message to Strange using their established Legilimency connection.

Strange made no outward reaction and continued following Mephisto.

After some time passed...

"Mephisto," Strange said, breaking the silence, "can you determine a rough location? Our current search efficiency seems wasteful. We have thirty or forty sorcerers here—if you could narrow the scope, we could divide into multiple groups."

He gestured with gloved hands, creating a small illusion of divided search parties. "This would surely save time and improve our chances."

After Strange finished speaking, the chamber fell eerily silent. Expressions varied among the gathered sorcerers—some frowned in contemplation, others shifted with obvious intent, while a few remained as impassive as Mephisto himself.

Grindelwald, carefully observing Mephisto's every micro-expression, detected something unexpected—excitement. The demon was excited by Strange's suggestion. Immediately, Grindelwald sent another telepathic message to Strange.

Meanwhile, Dormammu and Mephisto began their own discussion.

"Should we separate the group?" Dormammu's voice resonated with cosmic power.

"What have you discovered?" Mephisto countered.

"The essence is well-hidden. Perhaps a different approach..."

"We could observe their choices if we split them."

"Divide them, then?"

Their exchange seemed casual, but each sentence was carefully measured—a test.

Mephisto would never speak first in such circumstances. He firmly believed that beings like Dormammu and David would always follow his lead, never abandoning his side.

Alas, Mephisto thought, the burden of reputation.

The fallen sorcerers debated among themselves. Some agreed that separation would increase efficiency—and if lucky, they might claim the prize first. Others worried that any who found the god's essence would attack immediately, without notifying the rest—effectively abandoning them.

Better to remain with Mephisto, they reasoned. Even if progress was slower, they would not be left behind. Their portion, however small, must be secured.

"Strange, what have you discovered?" David interrupted, his eyes narrowing.

There had to be a reason Strange suddenly suggested splitting up. David's plan was nearly complete, but suspicion consumed him now—especially regarding Mephisto and Dormammu. Most of his attention focused on them, but even Strange, whom he'd trusted, wasn't above suspicion.

Forty people, yet eight hundred minds at work!

Strange quickly sent a telepathic message in response.

"Nothing concrete, Chief."

"I primarily wanted to test Mephisto and Dormammu's reactions."

"Mephisto has led us nowhere despite his powers. I question whether he's deliberately delaying."

David considered Strange's perspective thoughtfully, something new occurring to him.

"Ahem." David cleared his throat softly, and the scattered discussions gradually ceased.

"Everyone," he began, commanding the room with his presence, "should we explore separately, or continue as one group?"

As the leader controlling the majority of forces present, David presented himself as democratic. Yet no one spoke immediately, each waiting to gauge others' reactions first.

This team is impossible to lead, David thought with hidden frustration.

"To ensure our common interests," he continued after the prolonged silence, "I propose we establish another covenant."

His eyes swept across the assembly. "I promise that after we separate, whoever finds any clue will notify everyone immediately."

Almost instantly, all attention shifted to Dormammu and Mephisto—particularly Mephisto. As a master of soul manipulation, he theoretically had the highest probability of finding what they sought.

Sensing their focus, Mephisto remained silent momentarily, as if contemplating something profound. Then, a smile spread across his face—not reaching his eyes.

"Of course," he purred. "That seems perfectly fair!"

Chapter 662: The Invisible Threat

The strands of white mist in the space between the god's brows drifted languidly, as if stirred by an ethereal breeze. Several squads of fallen sorcerers had spread out across the vast expanse, each magician vigilant for potential dangers lurking in this divine domain.

Suddenly...

Zhi! Zhi!

A fallen sorcerer, with no apparent warning or defense, crossed what had seemed an empty patch of void.

In the next heartbeat, blood erupted from his body.

The unfortunate sorcerer's form was instantly divided into countless tiny cubes, each perfectly geometric in its horror. More disturbing still, the segmented body didn't collapse—the cubes remained suspended in perfect formation, maintaining the sorcerer's human shape as if held by an invisible force.

Blood began to float around the suspended form, and flesh gradually separated, cube by cube. From within the fragmented skull, white cerebrospinal fluid oozed outward, glistening in the misty light.

This horrific spectacle made the surrounding masters' scalps tingle with dread. They instinctively retreated, not daring to venture near the affected space. The death before them was beyond gruesome—far more terrifying than any medieval execution could have been.

One of the hidden wizards swallowed hard as he observed from a distance. The deceased had been powerful, yet had died so effortlessly, as if his demise were merely an afterthought.

Tragic. Utterly deplorable.

The observing wizard immediately transmitted what he'd witnessed to all other sorcerers in the realm. Before separating into groups, they had signed a magical contract bound by their life forces—any strange, bizarre, or dangerous encounters must be reported without delay.

The death they'd just witnessed was clearly an unfortunate trigger of some defense mechanism, and the location of the suspended, cubed body marked the source of the anomaly.

After sending the message, the wizard continued to stare at his fallen comrade. After a moment's hesitation, a greedy smile twisted his lips. He waved his sling ring, replacing it with a gray-black enchanted rope that he carefully extended forward.

His target: the sling ring still perfectly intact on the dead sorcerer's fragmented finger.

Sling rings weren't merely portaling devices; with proper modification, they could function as dimensional storage or even as powerful magical artifacts. This particular ring clearly served as dimensional storage, likely containing invaluable mystical resources.

However...

Zhi! Zhi!

The moment the enchanted rope touched the sling ring, the ring began to fracture and disintegrate. Simultaneously, it appeared the rope had triggered something far worse.

In the next moment, the greedy sorcerer's eyes dulled. Before he could even register his mistake, his body suffered the same fate as his predecessor's—penetrated by invisible threads of magic that divided him into countless precise cubes. Blood floated outward, milky white fluid leaked from his fragmented brain, and the horror repeated itself in perfect symmetry.

Another vigilant sorcerer witnessed this second death from a safe distance.

"Caution! All sorcerers be warned—there is an invisible, mobile trap within this space," he transmitted urgently. "We have lost two companions already!"

The message spread instantly, putting every sorcerer on heightened alert. After all, they each had only one life—there would be no resurrection for the fallen.

Meanwhile, David was exploring with Mephisto, Grindelwald, and their team. Upon receiving the warning, David turned to the demon lord.

"Mephisto, can you sense these potential dangers within the space?" he asked, his wand gripped tightly in preparation.

Grindelwald, walking nearby, narrowed his eyes and listened intently. Though they had divided into different squads, ensuring powerful figures weren't all grouped together, he maintained his vigilance.

Strange had naturally joined another exploration team seeking the god embryo's soul essence, while Grindelwald had manipulated events to keep himself with David's group.

"Not with certainty," Mephisto replied, shaking his head. "If genuine danger exists, I might sense something upon getting closer—but I cannot discern details from here."

Everyone sighed at this response, lamenting the terrible luck of the fallen sorcerers.

But at that moment...

"Mr. Mephisto," Grindelwald interjected with calculated precision, "is it normal for mobile traps to manifest in this cognitive space?" He gestured with his Elder Wand. "I comprehend the logic of moving traps, but I find it curious that the second sorcerer died so readily—without any defensive response."

His eyes narrowed. "Or perhaps these traps can automatically identify their targets?"

Hearing this, Mephisto closed his eyes slightly, feigning deep contemplation.

"Let's investigate," he finally said. "If there are clues to be found, that would be ideal."

The group proceeded toward the location of the recent deaths, though none seemed particularly concerned. With no clear leads elsewhere, they had little choice but to follow Mephisto's guidance.

Soon they reached the area where the fallen sorcerers had met their ends. Mephisto had barely stepped into the vicinity when suddenly—

The demon lord felt his scalp prickle with warning, a cold sensation washing down his spine. In a single fluid motion, he retreated several steps with supernatural speed.

The surrounding sorcerers looked on in confusion. Nothing had happened, which prompted suspicious glances from David and the others.

What game is Mephisto playing now? David wondered.

Grindelwald, however, observed the area with genuine interest. He had felt a subtle chill and unease—something imperceptible to most, but significant to a wizard of his experience.

"What's wrong?" David demanded.

"Nothing serious," Mephisto answered dismissively. "There's a spatial trap located there. Exercise caution and avoid triggering it."

His explanation was perfunctory but contained the essential warning required by their contract. After all, their agreement had been signed with blood magic—a binding oath that couldn't be easily broken without dire consequences.

David nodded, abandoning any thought of investigating the area further. His priorities were clear: finding the god's essence took precedence over examining mysterious traps.

Time was precious. The battle outside—between Lockhart and Thor—could end at any moment. Should those two cease their conflict and enter this space between the god's brows, everyone present would face grave peril.

Soon, Mephisto led the group in another direction. As they departed, no one seemed to notice the faint gray speck that remained in the trapped area.

As the sorcerers' figures disappeared into the distance, the gray speck began to expand. A shadowy form materialized, quickly taking human shape.

It was Mephisto—or more precisely, an aspect of his consciousness he had secretly left behind.

Gazing at the area before him, his lips curled into a satisfied smile. His hands moved in complex patterns, releasing wisps of gray and black mist that began filling the space.

The contract they had signed emphasized that information must be shared and nothing concealed. However, if he had prepared certain measures in advance...

The contract held no power over actions already set in motion.

Chapter 663: The Divine Essence

"Did Team 3 discover anything?" a voice called through the telepathic link established by their contract.

"Nothing yet," came the swift reply.

"Where's Squad 5?"

"Be silent! I just encountered a trap—Asserga is dead," another sorcerer transmitted, his mental voice laced with dread.

"Exercise caution. We're dealing with the soul of a god," someone warned.

The mental exchanges continued unabated.

"I propose we deliberately detonate a controlled area to observe the reaction," suggested one bold sorcerer. "We might uncover valuable clues."

"Absolutely not," countered another immediately. "If we awaken the god embryo, or worse, alert Kamar-Taj to our presence, we'll face consequences beyond imagination."

"Perhaps with minimal magical discharge—"

"Under no circumstances!" a powerful voice interrupted. "No one is to cast high-level magic at will, especially soul-based spells. I've just received confirmation that an entire team was obliterated after attempting the Soul-Destroying Celestial Curse. It provoked the god's essence to counterattack—they were utterly annihilated."

Silence followed this grim announcement as the information coursed through their magical contract. Every sorcerer present felt a chill at this revelation.

Strange glanced at his companions, his expression grave. "Two or three hours have elapsed now. Everything depends on whether the Asgardians can maintain their defense."

"If they fail to contain Lockhart and the others..." He left the statement unfinished, but its meaning hung heavily in the air.

Their group faced an impossible choice: abandon their quest or continue hiding within the god's consciousness. Discovery by Kamar-Taj would mean immediate targeting with overwhelming force—a scenario from which none could hope to escape.

The surrounding sorcerers' expressions darkened at this realization. One of them turned toward Dormammu, noting that the cosmic entity's demeanor remained unchanged.

"Lord Dormammu," he ventured, "what are the odds the Sorcerer Supreme will intervene personally? Perhaps you and Mephisto should remain inconspicuous when the time comes. Your... signatures are too distinctive."

He lowered his voice. "If Lockhart summons the Sorcerer Supreme directly, none of us will escape."

Dormammu paused momentarily before responding. "Your concern is misplaced. Compared to our predicament, it is Odin who should fear the Sorcerer Supreme's intervention most."

Despite his dismissive words, Dormammu's movements betrayed increasing urgency. If he hoped to reclaim his full cosmic power, the god embryo represented his sole opportunity. Otherwise, his recovery would proceed at an agonizingly gradual pace over centuries.

This thought propelled Dormammu to once again extend his mental awareness, searching for traces of the god's embryonic soul. Though his mastery of dark dimension magic was unparalleled, when it came to soul manipulation, even he acknowledged Mephisto's superior expertise.

Suddenly—

"Initial location of the god's true essence confirmed!" Mephisto's mental voice rang through their shared connection. "Spatial coordinates transmitted now..."

A series of precise dimensional markers flooded their consciousness.

"Converge immediately," Mephisto commanded.

Joy illuminated every face. After countless hours of fruitless searching, someone had finally succeeded.

Without hesitation, each sorcerer channeled their magic and rushed toward the identified coordinates.

________________________________________

In the vast emptiness of the void, a golden sphere of light rotated continuously.

Upon closer examination, one could see this immense sphere was outlined by countless pale golden threads. These filaments shifted incessantly, creating ever-changing relief patterns across the sphere's luminous surface.

The sphere itself pulsed with changing colors—one moment pale gold, then shifting to soft emerald green.

More remarkably, it moved—or rather, it jumped through space. In one instant, the sphere vanished from its position on the left only to materialize instantly on the right, then reappearing southward a moment later.

Sometimes these spatial leaps spanned great distances; other times, mere meters.

The behavior resembled nothing so much as a child at play.

Mephisto, David, Grindelwald, and the others stood at a calculated distance, their magic attuned to track the sphere's position with each unpredictable jump. They exchanged theories in hushed tones.

"Undoubtedly the god's true essence," one whispered.

"The color fluctuations must correspond to emotional states," suggested another.

"Could the runes manifesting on its surface represent memory imprints?"

"Within a god's consciousness, can we effectively restrict its movement?"

Question after question arose as they observed the phenomenon with awe and greed.

Fortunately, the divine essence never jumped beyond their tracking range, allowing them to maintain continuous surveillance.

Mephisto narrowed his yellow eyes as he studied the leaping light sphere. Sensing the magical preparations he had secretly deployed throughout this realm, satisfaction flickered across his ancient features.

His earlier efforts had not been in vain—it was precisely because of these preparations that he had successfully guided this congregation of fallen sorcerers to this location.

How unexpected, he thought. This god embryo's essence bears severe injuries.

No wonder their group had survived this long within the divine consciousness—the god was gravely wounded, locked in deep slumber, its defensive measures weakened to mere shadows of their true power.

The timing is exquisite!

Mephisto glanced sideways, assessing the expressions of Dormammu, Strange, David, and the others.

"Everyone has nearly arrived," he announced. "We must act in concert—first restrict the essence's movements, then dismantle its mental defenses."

David immediately stepped forward. "I propose we collectively construct the Umbral Binding Array."

His eyes hardened as he added, "Furthermore, even after successfully containing the essence within our magical circle, no one shall attack it unilaterally. Any who strike first will face our combined retribution."

As he spoke, David cast a pointed glance at Mephisto.

His distrust of the demon lord had never wavered.

Mephisto, seemingly unsurprised by this stipulation, nodded in agreement. Dormammu likewise assented, and naturally, the other sorcerers raised no objections.

They watched as the divine essence continued its innocent leaps through space.

One by one, the fallen sorcerers dispersed to predetermined positions, forming an enormous circle with the essence's activity range at its center.

Once in position, each began manipulating their sling rings. Magical energy poured forth, manifesting as delicate gray threads that gradually filled the surrounding void.

These threads were so fine they could easily escape notice without careful observation.

Each sorcerer channeled power through their sling ring, extending more gray filaments outward.

Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!

A subtle vibration filled the void as the threads from different sorcerers connected, their magical energies intermingling. The web began expanding at an accelerated rate.

Within a minute—during which the divine essence had jumped only a few times—a magical construct as vast as a small city had taken form.

To prevent the essence from escaping beyond their reach, they expanded the array's range and channeled additional power into it, strengthening the binding net around their quarry.

The moment the array fully manifested, the light sphere seemed to sense impending danger. With subtle spatial distortions rippling around it, the divine essence prepared to flee.

But it was too late.

Like a predator springing from ambush, countless gray tentacles erupted from the array, seizing the divine light sphere in mid-leap.

Chapter 664: The God Awakens

The divine essence hovered high above them, a sphere of pure light suspended in the void.

Below, countless gray tentacles of magical energy surged upward like predators pouncing on their prey—sorcerers attempting to capture a god's very soul.

The light sphere, sensing the imminent threat, changed color instantly from luminous gold to an ominous dark crimson.

Then—

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The entire space between the god's brows began to tremble violently. The milky white mist that had peacefully drifted throughout this realm transformed to deep crimson in an instant.

This domain, which had seemed serene and pristine moments before, suddenly became oppressive—heavy with ancient power and the unmistakable aura of divine wrath.

A howling wind materialized from nowhere, its mournful keen blending with the swirling crimson mist as overwhelming pressure descended upon the intruders.

WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH!

Countless blood-red tempests spun into existence, rotating with devastating speed as they rushed toward the divine essence as if to shield it from the invaders.

Simultaneously, innumerable crimson threads blossomed across the surface of the now-darkened sphere—their density so great they appeared as a single glowing mass.

In an eyeblink, these threads pierced through the massive gray tentacles extending from below.

BZZZZZ!

A resonant hum filled the void as the crimson threads vibrated at impossible speeds.

The next moment—

SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!

The gray tentacles shattered like glass. The sorcerers maintaining the binding array below turned deathly pale, their faces contorting in agony as waves of backlash magic surged through their bodies. Many collapsed, vomiting blood as their life force was violently drained.

Their collective magical strength diminished drastically in seconds.

Yet, with desperation born of greed, they continuously channeled new power into the nearly-broken array, struggling to prevent the divine essence from escaping their grasp.

Mephisto observed the unfolding chaos with cold calculation, a hint of satisfaction playing at the corners of his mouth.

The blood-red tempests, now resembling natural disasters more than magical phenomena, drew closer to the assembled sorcerers.

Those who had managed to remain conscious frantically manipulated their sling rings, attempting to establish a defensive perimeter against the approaching storm.

"Mephisto, stay your hand!" Strange shouted urgently.

Though he hadn't vomited blood like many others, the magical backlash had inflicted considerable damage. His voice carried both warning and tension.

"Remember the contract we signed. If we cannot withstand this assault, we must prioritize survival!"

Mephisto glanced at Strange with undisguised contempt, though he too began constructing defensive barriers with elaborate gestures.

Even he recognized the peril. This was merely his avatar, after all. Even with Dormammu's assistance, subduing the divine essence completely would be challenging at best. The fallen sorcerers, now half-incapacitated, offered negligible support despite their numbers.

As Mephisto and Dormammu channeled their formidable powers, layers of light gray defensive shields materialized around the remaining sorcerers. Complex, ever-shifting runes flowed across these barriers' surfaces, exuding ancient, primordial magic.

WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH!

The howling winds drove the blood-red tempests forward, encircling the fallen sorcerers completely. Dozens of these crimson storms gathered around them, rotating with increasing velocity, generating violent gales that resonated with an eerie harmony.

No—it wasn't merely harmony. The tempests were connecting, resonating directly with the central divine essence.

The light sphere was like an emperor; the blood storms, its loyal army rushing to defend the throne. The fallen sorcerers represented usurpers attempting to seize divine power.

But beyond the tempests, the divine essence itself demonstrated formidable resistance. The sorcerers could barely maintain their restraints, and the slightest lapse in concentration invited immediate counterattack.

They found themselves caught between two devastating forces—the divine essence within and the blood tempests without. A crisis both internal and external.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The blood tempests rotated ever faster, gradually closing distance. Countless blood-red wind blades projected from their swirling mass, striking the defensive shields with thunderous impacts.

Feeling the mounting pressure, Mephisto's expression remained impassive. He raised his hands in fluid, deliberate motions, summoning vast quantities of black mist that surged outward with explosive force.

The mist coalesced rapidly, its particles combining into a coherent form.

Within moments, an enormous black dragon materialized before them. The monstrous construct fixed its gaze on the nearest blood tempest, opening massive jaws to release a bone-chilling roar.

ROAAAAAAR!

The sound reverberated through the void, carrying waves of dark, malevolent energy that assaulted the senses of everyone present.

This was no ordinary conjuration—this was Mephisto's puppet dragon, forged from countless tortured souls. One of many trump cards he had brought to Earth.

Meanwhile, Dormammu observed the surrounding blood tempests with cold detachment. He tapped his left foot lightly against the non-existent floor.

Instantly, the space surrounding him began to warp and distort. Humanoid figures clad in black robes emerged from these spatial anomalies—puppet believers answering their master's call.

Among them stood unmistakable figures wearing the distinctive attire of dark sorcerers. Their sling rings identified several as former disciples of Kamar-Taj who had fallen to darkness.

They were not alone. Orcs with bulging muscles, elves wielding enchanted bows, and even several powerful Asgardians materialized from the void.

These were Dormammu's dark disciples, collected over eons of conquest. Though he had appeared to come to Earth alone, alongside Mephisto, the power he commanded extended far beyond his singular presence.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The first blood tempest broke through, crashing against the light gray defensive shield with devastating force. A thunderous explosion followed as the tempest halted abruptly against the barrier.

Yet it continued spinning relentlessly, hammering against the shield, seeking weakness.

Mephisto's brow furrowed slightly.

He could sense the rapidly increasing energy expenditure required to maintain their defenses. This was unsustainable.

BOOM!

Another deafening explosion—the blood tempest shattered into crimson mist, yet the defensive shield held.

But immediately, more tempests rushed forward from all directions.

Mephisto's frown deepened. He could withstand one or two such assaults easily enough, but dozens of blood tempests would inevitably outlast his reserves—especially with more continuing to form behind the first wave.

The blood tempests cared nothing for the demon lord's calculations. They knew only their purpose: attack and protect.

Meanwhile, the divine essence grew increasingly agitated within its partial restraints. The fallen sorcerers maintaining the binding array grimaced with effort, desperately channeling what little power remained in their bodies to prevent the essence's escape.

Then—

ROAAAAAAR!

With another earth-shaking roar, the black puppet dragon summoned by Mephisto surged forward to meet the blood tempests head-on.

Mephisto never revealed his true capabilities without purpose. As the ancient saying went: strike first and gain advantage; hesitate and court disaster. Passive defense was decidedly not his style.

The black dragon plunged directly into the nearest blood tempest, submerging completely within the crimson vortex.

ROAAAAAAR!

Another primal roar erupted as waves of conflicting energy clashed visibly. The blood tempest's surface rippled, the shadowy form of the massive dragon emerging briefly through the crimson swirls.

Within seconds—

BOOM!

The tempest exploded violently, disintegrating into scattered mist.

Immediately, the black dragon soared toward the next blood tempest.

Dormammu, observing from nearby, remained silent. With a single wave of his hand, his dark disciples dispersed throughout the battlefield. The former Kamar-Taj sorcerers among them joined the fallen sorcerers' magical array, lending their corrupted power to further constrain the divine essence.

Chapter 665: The Soul of Divinity

ROAAAAAAR!

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

CRASH!

The black dragon, exuding waves of malevolent dark magic, tore through the crimson tempests with savage precision. Its enormous wings sliced through ethereal matter, its massive tail swept aside magical constructs, and its ancient claws ripped through defensive spells with contemptuous ease. Dragon-fire of darkest midnight blue erupted from its maw, incinerating anything in its path.

Attack after devastating attack, the construct shredded the blood-red storms, gradually relieving the pressure on the assembled sorcerers below.

Meanwhile, within the magical circle formed by the fallen sorcerers, the divine essence remained ensnared by countless gray-black tentacles of binding magic. Though it continued releasing golden threads that severed the tentacles around it, new tendrils replaced the destroyed ones with overwhelming speed.

The divine sphere grew increasingly obscured behind the writhing mass of dark restraints. Only occasional flashes of pale golden light penetrated the shadowy cocoon, brief glimpses of the captive divinity within.

Victory is within our grasp! thought David, leader of the fallen sorcerers.

Yet his expression betrayed no joy—only mounting anxiety.

The magical circle they had initially formed had been violently disrupted by the divine essence's counterattack. Almost every sorcerer present had suffered internal injuries, himself included.

And now...

Mephisto had summoned his soul-forged dragon, while Dormammu had called forth his dark disciples. David, once positioned as the strongest among them, suddenly found himself outclassed. Even worse, several fallen sorcerers under his command likely harbored questionable loyalties and private ambitions.

How could he possibly feel secure under such circumstances? Especially considering his own clandestine plans.

His gaze fixed on the divine essence wrapped in dark tentacles, raw desire and naked greed gleaming in his eyes.

"Chief, something's wrong," Strange's urgent voice reached David through their magical connection. "We must proceed with greater caution. I fear—"

Strange's warning was abruptly cut short by a catastrophic disruption.

BOOM!

From within the confined divine essence, an explosion of blinding white-gold light erupted with overwhelming force. The detonation's roar was deafening, causing many sorcerers to experience sudden tinnitus or temporary hearing loss.

The sensory assault was total—dazzling light scorched their vision, thunderous sound battered their ears, and waves of pure magical energy crashed through their bodies.

In less than ten seconds, the entire binding circle shattered with a resounding crack, the gray-black tentacles disintegrating into nothingness.

The white-gold divine essence, now radiating a sacred aura of untouchable purity, floated majestically above them.

Simultaneously, the surrounding space began to tremble and distort in response. The scattered blood tempests started gathering once more, their coloration shifting dramatically—from crimson to vibrant red, then soft pink, and finally pristine white before settling into the same white-gold brilliance as the divine essence itself.

These transformed white-gold tempests converged, but rather than forming a larger storm, they began reshaping into an enormous humanoid figure. Waves of majestic energy condensed around this form, while the rich essence of life and spiritual power merged into something new—a bottomless, primordial soul energy unlike anything most present had ever witnessed.

"Is this... truly a soul?" whispered one fallen sorcerer, disbelief evident in his voice.

The eyes of every other sorcerer widened in shock.

They had been searching for the god embryo since their arrival, yet never suspected that the god's soul had been the omnipresent white mist surrounding them all along.

Many sorcerers' expressions shifted to rueful smiles as realization dawned. No wonder their previous attempts to absorb the milky white energy had resulted in immediate counterattacks rather than successful assimilation.

What arrogance they had shown! Even an embryonic god's soul was beyond their capacity to digest—especially within the deity's own domain.

Everyone stared at the colossal soul manifestation with profound shock—everyone except Mephisto.

The demon lord gazed upon the immense soul with carefully controlled expression, though greed flickered briefly in his ancient eyes. With his unparalleled mastery of soul magic, he had suspected the truth from the beginning.

Though the milky white mist had seemed unrelated to conventional soul energy—appearing merely as concentrated magical and spiritual power—it represented the most primitive form of soul essence, especially characteristic of nascent divine consciousness.

Even Grindelwald, who had manipulated countless souls throughout his dark career, could not suppress his astonishment. He had seen souls, toyed with them, experimented upon them—but this...

"Enormous" would be an insult to what stood before them. This was truly a divine soul.

Standing at its feet, they could barely see past its ankles, let alone its knees. Each toe loomed before them like a mountain peak. They could only gaze upward in stunned reverence.

This was beyond sensation—beyond comprehension.

Dormammu's expression grew solemn. In terms of soul quality, his ancient essence far surpassed this embryonic divinity. But the sheer quantity of soul-matter more than compensated for any qualitative disadvantage. Moreover, he was present only as an avatar—a mere fraction of his true power.

"Everyone, prepare yourselves!" someone shouted. "The divine essence is returning to its soul. We must prevent the reconnection, or all is lost!"

But everyone's attention remained transfixed on the white-gold sphere, which had begun dispersing into luminous mist.

Tendrils of white-gold essence streamed outward from the central sphere, ascending rapidly toward the colossal soul-form above. The relationship became instantly clear—the immense figure represented the divine body, while the essence constituted the consciousness that would awaken it.

"Once the essence fully rejoins its soul, the god embryo will fully awaken," Mephisto warned, his tone deceptively casual.

Panic erupted among the sorcerers. As one, they manipulated their sling rings frantically, conjuring barriers of gray mist to prevent the white-gold essence from ascending further.

Black spectral arms materialized in midair, shadow-claws grasping desperately at the rising streams of divine consciousness.

But their efforts proved futile.

The shadow-claws passed harmlessly through the white-gold essence as if they existed in entirely different dimensional planes. Despite their frantic attempts, the divine consciousness continued its inexorable ascent, penetrating both the shadow barriers and the gray mist without resistance.

Just as despair began settling over the assembled sorcerers, something unexpected occurred.

BZZZZZZT!

A sphere of intense blue flame suddenly manifested high above them. The azure fire intercepted the rising white-gold essence with impossible speed, enveloping it completely.

Then—

BOOM!

With a blinding explosion of blue incandescence, the divine essence vanished.

"Attack with your most destructive curses and soul magic!" a voice commanded—not Strange's, but Grindelwald's. "Forget preservation—focus on complete annihilation!"