[Marvel's Hogwarts Professor] Chapter 631 - 635

Chapter 631: The Gathering of Fallen Sorcerers

The headquarters of the fallen sorcerers in Tarot Town buzzed with activity. A summoning message had been received, prompting sorcerers to emerge from their quarters and converge upon the central hall with urgent steps. This was David's second full-scale gathering since the invasion of Dusk Castle, suggesting that something significant was about to unfold.

Many fallen sorcerers approached with furrowed brows, anxiety evident in their expressions. Was their temporary headquarters under threat once more? However, their concerns diminished considerably when they spotted Chief David conversing cheerfully not far away. Judging by their leader's demeanor, this gathering likely heralded good news rather than disaster.

The young sorcerer opposite their acting leader had become somewhat familiar to them recently. After all, the movement had grown substantially. David had personally recruited numerous sorcerers and had successfully gathered almost all who had defected from the London Temple—a formidable force deserving recognition.

"David, what's gotten you so excited this time?" one of the senior sorcerers inquired, noting the chief's unusual enthusiasm.

David's eyes glinted with mischief. "A fortuitous development, to be sure, but we'll discuss it momentarily. For now, discretion is paramount." He turned to a woman with chestnut hair and intense eyes. "By the way, Laura, how progresses your research? What stage has the second step reached?"

Laura sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I'm hardly your equal, David. Even with the blood sacrifice ceremony, capturing the concept remains exceedingly difficult."

"Don't be discouraged," David replied with unexpected gentleness. "Practice makes perfect—magical mastery is a path, not a destination. Take your time..."

From the periphery, a figure observed this exchange with calculated interest—Grindelwald, disguised via Polyjuice Potion, his true appearance hidden behind another's face. His lips curved into the hint of a smile as he watched David interact with his followers.

"Strange," Grindelwald murmured to the sorcerer concealed within the Time Stone of the Eye of Agamotto hanging around his neck, "you've had considerable contact with David recently. What assessment have you formed of him?"

It was undeniable that geniuses always received preferential treatment. Strange's magical aptitude was exceptional—even Grindelwald recognized him as possessing rare talent. Additionally, Strange's daily proximity, occasional thoughtful questions, and respectful demeanor had prompted Grindelwald to offer guidance to this late-blooming sorcerer.

"David is fundamentally malevolent," Strange replied from his magical hiding place, carefully measuring his words. "As expected of a fallen sorcerer, his methods are extraordinarily cruel—he operates without any moral framework."

Strange paused briefly, gauging Grindelwald's reaction. In truth, he harbored considerable apprehension toward his self-appointed "teacher." This fear was justified—Grindelwald routinely used Strange's identity to indoctrinate the sorcerers who had defected from the London Temple, fostering a disturbing unity of purpose among them.

Worse still, Grindelwald occasionally compelled Strange to address these sorcerers, promoting concepts of "freedom" and declaring that Earth belonged to its magic users. The dark wizard advocated expelling the followers of deities, insisting that the world rightfully belonged to Earth's sorcerers. Under Grindelwald's methods, Strange had witnessed the growing fanaticism in the eyes of these once-honorable practitioners.

The Godfather of magical pyramid schemes! Strange thought bitterly.

What troubled Strange most profoundly was that Grindelwald conducted all these machinations while wearing Strange's face. The Supreme Sorcerer despaired at the prospect of clearing his reputation. How could Lockhart have possibly associated with such a manipulative sorcerer?

At this moment, Strange's heart overflowed with resentment toward Lockhart, though he dared harbor no such feelings toward Grindelwald himself. Strange had quickly learned obedience after witnessing Grindelwald's capabilities. The arrogance typical of magical prodigies had swiftly evaporated, replaced by cautious respect.

When Grindelwald remained silent, Strange continued his assessment: "David exhibits paranoid tendencies and an affinity for unnecessary risks. This is evident in his dealings with the dark gods and his alliance with Mephisto."

"What else?" Grindelwald prompted, an unsettling amusement dancing in his eyes.

Strange considered carefully, trying to align his evaluation with perspectives Grindelwald might favor. During previous conversations, Grindelwald often analyzed situations from the perspective of a ruler or the leader of a significant faction—suggesting he had once commanded substantial forces.

"I don't believe he possesses the qualities of a competent leader," Strange offered.

This assessment earned a slight nod from Grindelwald. "I find it reassuring that you perceive this." His voice lowered, adopting a more instructional tone. "Character, morality, ethical considerations—these are largely irrelevant to someone of his nature. He is, after all, a fallen sorcerer; one cannot expect him to maintain righteous principles."

Grindelwald's fingers formed a steeple beneath his chin. "For someone like David, evaluation should center on whether he possesses the necessary qualities to lead a faction: vision, decisiveness, strategic thinking. Character analysis should originate from these aspects—such evaluation has genuine meaning and value."

"The assessment of an individual must consider context, position, and timing," Grindelwald continued. "David may possess considerable magical prowess and influence over his fellow sorcerers, yet he remains unsuitable as a leader. Perhaps he lacks relevant experience, or perhaps traces of selfish, small-minded thinking persist, rendering him reluctant to delegate authority or distribute resources..."

Grindelwald gestured toward Strange, his movements carrying implicit warning. Beyond Strange's status as a magical prodigy, Grindelwald harbored specific intentions in mentoring him. The opportunity to cultivate such promising talent was too valuable to squander.

Strange nodded reflexively, absorbing these insights. He had gained considerable knowledge from Grindelwald—magical theory, certainly, but more crucially, lessons in leadership and interpersonal dynamics. Gradually, Strange found himself adopting elements of Grindelwald's perspective.

Suddenly, David's voice broke through their private conversation.

"Everyone, allow me to introduce Master Strange." David placed a hand on Grindelwald's shoulder, unaware he was addressing an impostor. "You're likely familiar with him already, but you may not know he has provided us with invaluable intelligence—including the information necessitating today's comprehensive meeting."

Pride saturated David's tone—not the pride of a leader acknowledging a valuable subordinate, but rather someone showcasing a friend's accomplishments to impress others.

From his magical hiding place, Strange couldn't suppress a sigh. This man truly lacks the disposition to lead. His attitude doesn't reflect how one treats subordinates—he clearly views his allies as personal acquaintances rather than components of a structured organization.

As the fallen sorcerers gathered closer to hear what news had prompted this rare assembly, tensions and expectations hung in the air like an uncast spell, waiting for the final word that would set it in motion.

Chapter 632: The Path to Godhood

"Masters, I am Strange," Grindelwald announced, his voice resonating through the hall while he maintained his flawless disguise. "I am honored that your leader has invited me to share news of considerable importance—news that necessitated this comprehensive gathering."

He surveyed the assembly of fallen sorcerers with calculated precision, noting the anticipation etched across their faces. "Before I elaborate further, allow me to clarify certain matters. You have likely encountered various fragments of information recently, much of it contradictory or incomplete. What I shall share has been meticulously verified."

With remarkable oratory skill, Grindelwald commanded the attention of every sorcerer present. His words, though seemingly simple, carried a weight that drew all eyes toward him.

"First, I trust you have all heard of Asgard's arrival," he continued, his gaze sweeping across the gathering. "Some claim Asgard has formed an alliance with Kamar-Taj, while others suggest they maintain neutrality or even harbor hostility. I imagine many of you have questioned these conflicting accounts."

The fallen sorcerers nodded, murmurs of agreement rippling through the crowd.

"After thorough investigation, we have confirmed the true nature of relations between Asgard and Kamar-Taj," Grindelwald declared, pausing for dramatic effect. "They have not established an alliance. On the contrary, conflict between them appears imminent."

He paced deliberately across the platform. "Those of you who monitor developments in the Vientiane World should be aware that the sorcerers led by Lockhart have severed ties with their Asgardian counterparts. The Asgardian prince who arrived recently wielded Mjölnir itself—Thor's mighty hammer—and pursued Lockhart."

Grindelwald's lips curved into a subtle smile. "While the outcome remains uncertain, this development unquestionably benefits our cause. Even if Asgard does not align directly with us, their presence alone diverts Kamar-Taj's attention and resources."

His voice gained momentum. "Consider the mounting opposition to Kamar-Taj: not only the demon lord Mephisto who stands as our ally, but also the warriors of Asgard, the God of Thunder Thor, the All-Father Odin, and independent practitioners like ourselves. The balance of power shifts in our favor with each passing day."

Grindelwald continued weaving his narrative with unwavering confidence, painting vivid pictures of favorable circumstances on the horizon. The fallen sorcerers—particularly those who had recently defected from Kamar-Taj—were visibly captivated by his rhetoric. The fear they harbored toward the Ancient One and her devoted followers began to dissipate, replaced by nascent enthusiasm.

From the side of the platform, David observed with mixed emotions. He couldn't deny that Grindelwald possessed exceptional talent for galvanizing morale—precisely why he had requested his assistance for this gathering. With their ambitious undertaking ahead, hesitation and timidity would only undermine his ultimate goal of ascension to godhood.

Yet watching "Strange" address the assembly with such magnetic influence, David experienced a subtle discomfort. Every word seemed perfectly calibrated to resonate with the listeners, himself included. The effectiveness was undeniable—and therein lay the source of his unease.

David shook his head slightly, attempting to dispel the unwelcome thoughts. The world was vast, and once he attained divine power, such petty concerns would become meaningless. On this point, his confidence remained unshakable.

Catching Grindelwald's glance, David offered an encouraging smile, which the disguised dark wizard returned with subtle acknowledgment.

"I recognize that these revelations have kindled excitement," Grindelwald continued, "but the information I am about to share will elevate your spirits further still."

His voice dropped to a more intimate register. "We all understand why we departed from Kamar-Taj. Partly for freedom, yes, but more significantly, to pursue godhood. The Vishanti bind practitioners with restrictive covenants, monopolizing all methodologies related to divine ascension."

He spread his hands in a gesture of openness. "By leaving Kamar-Taj, we have been branded traitors—this cannot be denied. But we have also gained liberation and the prospect of divinity."

Grindelwald delivered this embellished narrative of their defection with remarkable naturalness. The fallen sorcerers nodded in unconscious agreement, silently embracing his perspective. Any lingering regret about abandoning Kamar-Taj began to transform into justified conviction. Their eyes, fixed on Grindelwald, filled with appreciation for his validation of their choices.

"Though we possess a complete path toward godhood, and many among us have embarked upon this journey, the road to divinity is undeniably arduous," Grindelwald acknowledged. "It would be no exaggeration to say thousands compete to cross a single narrow bridge."

The fallen sorcerers maintained impassive expressions at this observation. All recognized this reality, though none had openly addressed it, understanding how such frank discussion might undermine their collective unity.

However, Grindelwald's tone suddenly shifted, infused with barely contained excitement. "But circumstances have changed," he announced. "This represents the second piece of extraordinary news I wish to share. We have discovered an unprecedented opportunity—one that, if properly seized, will increase each sorcerer's probability of attaining godhood more than a hundredfold."

The effect was immediate and electric. The previously subdued atmosphere erupted into frenzied excitement. The fallen sorcerers stared at Grindelwald with burning intensity in their eyes, hanging on his every word.

This reaction greatly satisfied Grindelwald. It had required considerable effort to convince David to make this announcement public—all to ignite precisely this fervor, enthusiasm, and near-madness among the followers.

"Is this truth? Can the probability of divine ascension truly increase a hundredfold?" "What discovery is this, Strange?" "Reveal it now—don't keep us waiting!"

The clamor grew when Grindelwald showed no intention of continuing. Observing that the emotional pitch had reached its apex, he raised his hands for silence.

"The honor of revealing this momentous discovery," he declared solemnly, "belongs to your leader."

David approached the platform with measured steps, a satisfied smile playing across his features. Grindelwald quietly withdrew, ceding the spotlight to the fallen sorcerers' official leader. His understanding of human psychology had proven impeccable—he had deliberately outshone David initially, only to now magnify his importance through deference.

My performance was perhaps somewhat too captivating for David's comfort, Grindelwald thought. Now I shall let him reclaim his standing.

"Ahem..." David cleared his throat as he took position at the center of the platform. The shouting immediately subsided, filling him with satisfaction. Strange may have his talents, but only I command such immediate respect, he thought smugly.

"What Master Strange has shared is entirely accurate," David confirmed, savoring the rapt attention. "We have indeed located a nexus that can increase everyone's probability of divine ascension a hundredfold."

He gestured expansively. "Detailed information regarding this opportunity will be distributed to each sorcerer in due course. However, what demands our immediate attention is a critical development."

His expression grew more serious. "We are not the only ones who have discovered this location. Kamar-Taj is also aware of its existence."

He paused dramatically. "As is Asgard."

A collective intake of breath swept through the assembly.

"This," David declared, "is the true catalyst for conflict between Kamar-Taj and Asgard."

The implications hung in the air like storm clouds, pregnant with both promise and peril. The path to godhood had never seemed so tantalizingly close—nor the competition for it so dangerous.

In the shadows of the hanging ring, the real Doctor Strange observed with growing concern. The machinations unfolding before him carried implications that extended far beyond this gathering of fallen sorcerers. Whatever this nexus of power might be, its discovery threatened to ignite a conflict that could engulf multiple realms and powers.

The Ancient One must be warned, he thought grimly. Whatever game Grindelwald is playing, it extends beyond even Lockhart's predictions.

Chapter 633: The Celestial Embryo

"What is the Celestial race?" David asked rhetorically, his voice carrying across the silent hall. He was reading from notes Grindelwald had meticulously prepared, each word calculated for maximum impact.

"Many sorcerers remain unaware that they are a race of beings born as gods," he continued, his cadence measured. "Every Celestial requires the sacrifice of an entire planet to achieve birth."

David's eyes gleamed with fervent intensity. "But now, we have discovered an unprecedented opportunity. A Celestial still in its embryonic state—without consciousness, without capacity to defend itself—lies within our reach."

He gestured expansively. "This nascent Celestial has absorbed Earth's energies for millennia. Its body contains cosmic power beyond measure. Its mind harbors the accumulated inheritance of the entire Celestial lineage..."

As David elaborated on the embryonic Celestial's potential benefits, the fallen sorcerers' expressions transformed. Their eyes slowly reddened with naked avarice, their breathing growing heavy with anticipation. Each inhalation and exhalation seemed to intensify their excitement.

Even David found his voice rising with growing enthusiasm. The analysis was undeniable—the Celestial offered incalculable advantages. And in its embryonic state, even if it retained some capacity for self-defense, they would certainly prevail against it. At worst, they could deploy expendable forces to assess its capabilities.

"The Celestial embryo using Earth as its sacrificial cradle cannot be tolerated," David declared, reaching the culmination of his prepared speech. "We are Earth's sorcerers. We bear both the obligation and responsibility to protect our world."

He raised his fist dramatically. "Therefore, for the safety of our planet—we must destroy the Celestial embryo!"

As these final words left his lips, David experienced profound satisfaction. The sensation of occupying the moral high ground was genuinely invigorating.

The fallen sorcerers below erupted in fervent response.

"Death to the Celestial embryo!" they chanted in unison.

"Death to the Celestial embryo!"

The resonance of their unified voices shook the hall's foundations.

Though these practitioners had long abandoned any concern about being labeled evil or demonic, they nonetheless welcomed the veneer of righteousness David's framing provided. Ultimately, the benefits he had described were simply too enticing to resist.

In this charged atmosphere, even sorcerers harboring obvious doubts remained silent. Questions of detail could be addressed privately later.

"We face exceptionally favorable circumstances," David continued, building momentum. "Asgard and Kamar-Taj now stand in direct opposition."

A calculating smile played across his lips. "When both forces exhaust themselves in conflict, we shall emerge as the true beneficiaries. According to our intelligence, the entrance to the pocket dimension containing the Celestial embryo is located in Britain."

Murmurs of appreciation rippled through the gathering.

"Consider what this means," David urged. "The extensive network we've established throughout Britain becomes immediately relevant. The timing, the location, the personnel—all align perfectly. Destiny itself favors our endeavor!"

The fallen sorcerers' excitement intensified with each revelation. Their leader's assessment was irrefutable. The Celestial remained vulnerable in its embryonic state, and their preparations were complete. The entrance lay in England—the very region where they had been conducting sacrificial rituals. The conflict between Asgard and Kamar-Taj promised to divert attention from their activities.

Under such circumstances, deliberation seemed superfluous. The impulse to act immediately—to sacrifice the Celestial embryo, harness its energy, seize its authority, plunder its ancestral memories, and ascend to dimensional godhood—became nearly overwhelming.

"However," David cautioned, tempering their fervor, "despite these auspicious conditions, patience remains essential. We must refine certain critical details."

He began enumerating challenges: "How can we most effectively utilize the Celestial embryo? How might we ensure Asgard and Kamar-Taj remain locked in sustained conflict? What methods could provoke direct confrontation between the Ancient One and Odin?"

As David outlined these strategic considerations, the sorcerers gradually regained composure, though the underlying excitement remained palpable beneath their controlled exteriors.

"Chief, what tasks do you require of us?" called a voice from the assembly.

"Yes, you need only command!" affirmed another.

Expressions of support echoed throughout the hall.

Observing the fallen sorcerers' enthusiastic responses, David permitted himself a subtle smile of satisfaction. Although these defectors ostensibly followed his leadership, without sufficient incentive, they might well have chosen minimal cooperation—working without truly contributing.

Their current fervor was transformative. These practitioners who had defected alongside him possessed considerable talents, with some surpassing his own capabilities in specialized fields. Their contributions to previous endeavors—such as the blood sacrifice ritual involving hundreds of thousands that had enabled the concept-touching power—had proven invaluable.

Now, he felt confident in their commitment. Capturing the Celestial embryo would present formidable challenges, requiring their unified efforts and specialized knowledge.

David raised his hands slightly before pressing downward in a calming gesture. The enthusiastic sorcerers immediately fell silent.

"My fellow practitioners," he addressed them with calculated warmth, "I share your passion. It is precisely this collective enthusiasm that prompted today's comprehensive gathering."

His expression grew more serious. "Beyond announcing these momentous developments, we must prepare for two additional matters."

He paused deliberately, surveying the attentive faces before him. "First, we must select elite specialists from various magical disciplines to collaboratively determine how to maximize our utilization of the Celestial embryo."

Most sorcerers nodded in unconscious agreement with this sensible approach.

"Second," David continued, revealing his true purpose, "to effectively confront upcoming challenges and opportunities, we must transition to wartime governance."

His voice hardened subtly. "All sorcerers must pledge absolute obedience to command..."

The crucial moment had arrived. The tempting prospect of the Celestial embryo had been presented specifically to facilitate this final maneuver. The recently defected sorcerers, psychologically primed by Grindelwald's earlier rhetoric, appeared receptive. However, the veteran fallen sorcerers who had originally accompanied David began to frown with growing concern.

David's intention was transparent—access to the Celestial embryo's power would require submission to his wartime authority. The alternative remained unstated but clear.

"I support the wartime administration policy and Chief David's leadership," Grindelwald announced promptly, breaking the momentary tension.

His declaration was immediately followed by voices from strategically positioned sorcerers throughout the gathering.

"How else can we extract maximum advantage from the chaos between Asgard and Kamar-Taj?"

"Unity is essential!"

"We must stand together!"

The atmosphere shifted palpably in David's favor. Soon, fallen sorcerers throughout the assembly began expressing agreement. The benefits David offered were substantial enough to warrant comprehensive cooperation, and the momentum of collective approval weakened individual resistance.

That evening, David's private quarters hosted an intimate celebration. A massive table of polished walnut groaned beneath an assortment of exquisite delicacies and vintage wines.

David rose from his chair, filling "Strange's" glass with deep crimson wine. His face, slightly flushed from alcohol, reflected genuine pleasure. "Strange, you have made an invaluable contribution today," he declared. "Name whatever you desire as reward."

Grindelwald, still maintaining his flawless disguise as Strange, offered modest refusals, insisting he had merely fulfilled his obligation.

David would not be dissuaded. He was not so naive as to miss Grindelwald's crucial role in unifying the fallen sorcerers. Such service demanded compensation. Moreover, if Grindelwald truly declined, David would honor that refusal—precisely what an amateur leader would fail to understand.

After declining David's offer twice, Grindelwald finally spoke on the third invitation.

"If you genuinely wish to reward me," he said carefully, "I do have both a request and a proposal."

David leaned forward with interest.

"I believe we should intensify our research into methodologies capable of severing and blocking connections established through apprenticeship contracts," Grindelwald suggested. "Subsequently, we should disseminate this knowledge widely to augment our collective power."

His eyes gleamed with conviction. "Every sorcerer deserves the fundamental right to freedom of choice."

He raised his glass in a toast. "The Earth is ours—it belongs to Earth's true masters."

From within the Eye of Agamotto, the real Doctor Strange observed this exchange with growing alarm. Grindelwald was playing a dangerous game, manipulating both David and the fallen sorcerers toward some catastrophic confrontation with a Celestial embryo. The potential consequences would extend far beyond their immediate circle—perhaps endangering reality itself.

I must find a way to warn the Ancient One, Strange thought desperately. Whatever this Celestial embryo may be, its power in the wrong hands could devastate multiple dimensions.

As David and Grindelwald continued their celebratory toast, Strange focused his consciousness, attempting to forge a mystical connection through the Time Stone. If he could project even a fragment of his awareness beyond this magical prison, he might yet prevent the impending disaster.

Chapter 634: The Eternals Gather

In a small, forgotten town in eastern England, a dilapidated cottage stood apart from the surrounding structures. Within its weathered walls, a striking woman with flowing silver hair sat in meditative stillness, her eyes closed in contemplation. The aura surrounding her fluctuated curiously—sometimes razor-sharp, other times gentle as morning mist, shifting between extremes in unpredictable patterns.

Behind her stood a man of substantial build, his powerful frame belying a gentle touch. His hands hovered at the woman's temples, emanating a soft silver radiance that closely matched the color of her hair. The light was subtle enough that an inattentive observer might easily overlook it, yet its purpose was clearly therapeutic.

"Cersei, you've returned," said the silver-haired woman without opening her eyes. This was Thena, captain of the Eternals, her voice controlled despite the turmoil within. "Have you and Sprite detected any irregularities? And what of Ikaris and Kingo—have they arrived?"

Cersei stepped into the desolate courtyard, acknowledging Thena seated before her and Gilgamesh standing protectively behind. With a subtle gesture toward the entrance, she beckoned a small figure who entered with preternatural silence.

"The Celestial shows no abnormalities," Cersei reported with characteristic calm. "Ikaris sent word—he should arrive today."

"Truly?" asked Sprite with poorly concealed excitement, despite appearing no older than ten years old.

Though she had lived for thousands of years, her millennia of companionship with her fellow Eternals had fostered a profound admiration for Ikaris—an affection she found herself too self-conscious to express openly. Her childlike appearance had long been a source of frustration; if not for this permanent youthful visage, she believed communication with Ikaris might flow more naturally between them.

But their forms and functions had been determined from their creation. The Celestials had shaped them for a specific purpose—a mission that now faced unprecedented challenges.

"What developments have occurred at Kamar-Taj and within the Vientiane?" Thena inquired, her tone weighted with concern.

The silver light emanating from Gilgamesh's hands intensified reflexively, attempting to soothe the emotional disturbance growing within his captain. He sighed inwardly. Thena's condition had deteriorated significantly since receiving intelligence regarding the potential threat to the Celestial embryo. The emotions he had temporarily managed to stabilize were again descending into chaos. Without his timely intervention, another episode of Mahd Wy'ry might have resulted in violence.

The sacred duty entrusted to the ten Eternals was the protection of the Celestial embryo—ensuring its gestation proceeded unimpeded. Their initial guardianship required active vigilance, but as millennia passed, their role evolved into patient custodianship, allowing the natural process of cosmic birth to unfold at its ordained pace.

This arrangement had permitted them to separate, each pursuing individual interests across Earth. The arrival of an anonymous message, however, had compelled their reunion. The communication had not only demonstrated detailed knowledge of their identities but also warned of imminent danger to the Celestial embryo—a potential extinction-level threat.

Frustratingly, the message only implicated Asgard and Kamar-Taj without elaboration, seemingly designed to provoke their intervention. Regardless of the messenger's motivation, their sacred obligation to facilitate the Celestial's birth demanded immediate action. Nothing could be permitted to interfere with the Celestial until they themselves departed.

Thus, the gathering had been initiated. Eight of the ten Eternals had already assembled; only Ikaris and Kingo remained absent.

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

A powerful downdraft disturbed the courtyard as two figures descended from above. The handsome Ikaris touched down gently, cradling the unconscious form of Kingo in his arms. Despite his composed exterior, Ikaris's aura fluctuated erratically, betraying recent trauma.

"What happened?" Cersei was first to respond, her concern evident. "Who engaged you in combat?"

Her previous relationship with Ikaris—a romantic entanglement spanning centuries—made her solicitude both natural and expected.

"A contingent of sorcerers proclaiming freedom pursued us," Ikaris replied, casting a meaningful glance toward Cersei. Though he appeared superficially intact, internal damage had significantly compromised him; otherwise, he would never have arrived so tardily.

"They sought to capture us to discover the entrance to the Celestial's embryonic chamber," he continued grimly.

"What?" Thena's expression transformed instantly as she rose to her feet. "They intend to attack the Celestial? Ikaris, what level of power do these adversaries command?"

As she spoke, her silver-white hair began to float weightlessly around her, a physical manifestation of her agitated mental state.

Confronted with his captain's inquiry, Ikaris offered a rueful smile and gestured toward his burden. "Kingo suffered severe injuries and remains unconscious. I'm in marginally better condition, but full recovery will require time."

"These enemies possess such formidable strength?" Thena questioned incredulously. "Ikaris, your combat capabilities rank among our highest."

At this, Ikaris's expression darkened with a flash of indignation.

"They employed ambush tactics," he explained, "leaving us no opportunity for defensive positioning. Their magical methodology proves particularly challenging to counter—they appear to have anticipated our specific abilities." He shifted Kingo's weight carefully. "We were only two—Kingo and myself. We absorbed significant damage before evasive maneuvers became possible. In a direct confrontation with adequate preparation, I remain confident in our superiority."

Upon hearing this assessment, Thena's countenance deteriorated further. Something in Ikaris's report triggered a response, causing her pupils to adopt an alarming whitish hue.

Behind her, Gilgamesh rapidly placed his hands against her temples, intensifying the healing luminescence while whispering words of reassurance directly into her ear.

Observing this exchange, Ikaris turned to Sprite, Cersei, and the others nearby. "How severe is the captain's condition currently? And what of the remaining Eternals? I sense these sorcerers are systematically targeting us, intending to breach the Celestial's defenses."

Before Cersei could respond, Sprite stepped forward, her childlike appearance belying her ancient wisdom. "Ikaris, all have assembled. We await the captain's strategic directives."

"However..." She cast an apprehensive glance toward Thena, who remained in a semi-dissociative state, and hesitated. "Perhaps we should allow the captain time to regain equilibrium."

At this suggestion, Ikaris's azure eyes intensified slightly with purpose. If the captain's condition prohibited leadership, responsibility would naturally transfer to him.

Meanwhile, the remaining team members converged upon the modest courtyard one by one, just as Thena began showing signs of recovery.

Upon opening her eyes, she surveyed her assembled brethren and rose to her feet, disregarding her precarious stability. She turned immediately to Phastos, whose technological acumen surpassed all others.

"Phastos, can you establish communication with the Celestials? We require reinforcement urgently."

The reality of their situation was stark—ten Eternals against what appeared to be numerous formidable adversaries. With even Ikaris sustaining significant damage, her confidence in their success had diminished considerably.

However, the dark-skinned Phastos merely shook his head, his expression grim. "My apologies, Captain. The situation remains unchanged. Our opponents appear to have implemented some form of dimensional anchoring technology. We cannot depart Earth nor establish contact with the Celestials."

His final words hung heavy in the air, laden with implication:

"We are imprisoned."

The assembled Eternals exchanged troubled glances. Created by the Celestials, programmed with specific directives to protect the embryonic Celestial buried within Earth, they now faced a threat they might not be equipped to counter alone.

From his position near the courtyard's perimeter, Druig contemplated their predicament with characteristic detachment. "If we cannot reach the Celestials, perhaps we should seek alternative allies."

Makkari, standing at his side, signed rapidly, her fingers moving with superhuman speed. The sorcerers of Kamar-Taj might assist us, she suggested, if they understand the consequences of the Celestial's premature emergence or destruction.

"We cannot trust them," Thena responded sharply. "The message implicated Kamar-Taj directly."

"Not necessarily," Phastos interjected thoughtfully. "The communication mentioned Kamar-Taj and Asgard, but implied they were in conflict, not collaboration. Logically, a third party benefits most from such division."

Ikaris carefully lowered Kingo onto a weathered stone bench. "The sorcerers who attacked us spoke of freedom and power. They seemed organized, disciplined—and they knew precisely who we were and what we protect."

Thena's expression hardened into resolve. "Then our course is clear. We must protect the Celestial at all costs, as we were created to do. If these sorcerers seek entry to its chamber, they must first overcome us."

Gilgamesh placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Perhaps diplomacy might—"

"They attacked without provocation," Ikaris interrupted. "They left Kingo for dead. These are not entities with whom negotiation is possible."

As the Eternals debated their limited options, none noticed the faint shimmer at the courtyard's edge—a nearly imperceptible distortion in reality through which unseen eyes observed their council. The fallen sorcerers had located their quarry, and the information they gathered would soon reach David and his disguised advisor.

The trap was closing, with the Celestial embryo—and potentially Earth itself—hanging in the balance.

Chapter 635: The Secret Shop

The commercial district of the Vientiane world bustled with activity. Trade Street, as it was commonly known, housed an eclectic array of magical establishments—shops selling potions, enchanted weapons, arcane secrets, and specialized information. Compared to previous years, the thoroughfare had grown more prosperous, more vibrant.

Yet a discerning observer would notice that establishments specializing in combat potions and defensive weaponry attracted the largest crowds of sorcerers. Whether through official channels or intuitive premonition, many practitioners sensed the growing tension emanating from Kamar-Taj. The subtle indicators suggested imminent conflict—a solemn atmosphere both unfamiliar and recognizable, historically presaging significant casualties.

Into this charged environment stepped a sorcerer from Kamar-Taj. His magical aura registered as modest and somewhat unstable—the hallmark of a novice still acclimating to newly acquired power. This was Harvey, recently elevated from apprentice to full sorcerer status after years of dedicated study. His promotion, while celebrated, had arrived with unfortunate timing; unlike apprentices, full sorcerers were expected to serve in combat operations when required.

Harvey walked purposefully down Trade Street, casting envious glances at the shops selling protective potions and enchanted armaments. Despite his interest, he maintained his course without pausing, proceeding deeper into the commercial district. His destination appeared clear and predetermined.

Eventually, he halted before a secluded establishment, positioned far from the main thoroughfare with noticeably sparse customer traffic.

Esoteric Arcanum—the weathered sign proclaimed in faded gold lettering.

This shop specialized in rare magical knowledge unavailable through conventional channels—particularly the kinds of spells and techniques that existed in gray ethical territories. Kamar-Taj maintained a complex relationship with such knowledge. The wartime environment had relaxed certain restrictions on forbidden magic, with the Great Library containing comprehensive collections of nearly all known spells. The priority remained survival; on the battlefield, practitioners used whatever means necessary to prevail against their enemies.

However, certain categories remained outside Kamar-Taj's official archives—innovative techniques with powerful secondary effects, experimental spellcraft, and personalized magical methodologies developed by independent practitioners. This gap in the official repository created demand for establishments like the Esoteric Arcanum.

Harvey examined the shop's entrance with cautious scrutiny. After confirming he had found the correct location, he hesitated momentarily, desire warring with uncertainty in his expression. Eventually, determination prevailed, and he stepped across the threshold.

"Welcome to the Esoteric Arcanum!" a slightly hoarse voice greeted him immediately upon entry. Unlike the cultivated warmth typical of other establishments, this greeting carried an unsettling undercurrent.

"Sorcerer, what arcane methodology interests you today?" The same disconcerting voice continued as an animated wooden mannequin emerged from behind a cluttered counter. Intricate magical inscriptions covered every inch of its wooden surface, pulsing with formidable energy that silently warned against provocation.

"Our establishment houses hundreds of exceptional magical techniques absent from Kamar-Taj's archives," the puppet recited mechanically. "Minimal detrimental consequences, maximal efficacy."

The mannequin's delivery suggested pre-programmed phrases rather than genuine communication.

"I'm looking for your proprietor," Harvey replied, anxiety and anticipation coloring his tone. "A friend provided your recommendation."

"Indeed?" The puppet responded with eerie emotionlessness, fixing Harvey with an unblinking stare.

Recalling his friend's specific instructions, Harvey quickly produced a magical payment card. Simultaneously, the wooden figure manifested a card-reading device in its jointed hand.

As Harvey completed the transaction, a satisfied expression somehow formed on the puppet's wooden features. Turning toward the shop's rear section, it called out: "Proprietor, customer acquisition successful."

Harvey winced at the puppet's phrasing, watching as a young man with striking white hair emerged from the back room.

"Pay Number One no mind," the newcomer remarked casually. "He achieved consciousness through accidental application of forbidden techniques. His intelligence developed successfully, though his personality remains... peculiar."

Noting Harvey's surprised expression, the shop owner added dismissively, "The appearance is merely cosmetic enhancement through specialized magic. In reality, I'm old enough to be your progenitor."

He leaned against the counter with practiced nonchalance. "State your purpose."

Sensing the formidable magical presence emanating from this youthful-appearing figure, Harvey wisely avoided commenting on his appearance. Glancing around to confirm their privacy, he lowered his voice to a whisper.

"I am a friend of Vermila Mira."

"Vermila 's friend," the puppet—Number One—interjected with bitter derision. "That duplicitous individual again. Young practitioner, exercise caution and resist his manipulations. If you consider him an ally, be warned—he views you merely as exploitable livestock."

Confusion flickered across Harvey's face. Could there be something questionable about Nomila?

"Number One, terminate vocalization," the white-haired proprietor commanded with exasperation. "He swindled you once, subsequently provided compensation, yet you maintain this grievance indefinitely."

With a dismissive gesture, he magically sealed the puppet's artificial mouth. The mannequin retreated involuntarily toward the shop's back room.

"Disregard his commentary," the shop owner advised Harvey. " Nomila possesses exceptional cognitive processing, and while his methods occasionally incorporate minor deceptions, they have never resulted in mortal consequences. The worst outcome typically involves paying slightly above market value."

The proprietor's familiarity with Vermila was evident.

"Now, specify your requirements."

Reminded of his purpose, Harvey focused his thoughts. "I understand you possess a methodology for liberating individuals," he stated, desire evident in his voice.

"Pardon?" At the mention of liberation, the owner's demeanor transformed instantly. His eyes narrowed dangerously, creating a palpably tense atmosphere throughout the establishment.

"You claim Vermila provided this information?" The question emerged laden with menace.

"Yes..." Despite the overwhelming pressure radiating from the now fully alert shop owner, Harvey persisted through gritted teeth. "His exact words—a secret method granting freedom to all practitioners."

The proprietor's eyes transformed, yellow pupils elongating vertically like those of a venomous serpent preparing to strike.

After a prolonged, tension-filled silence, the white-haired sorcerer placed his left hand upon the counter. A slender tome bound in black material materialized beneath his palm. Without ceremony, he slid it toward Harvey.

Harvey accepted it with evident surprise, as the proprietor spoke in measured tones.

"Based on my extensive knowledge of Vermila's character," he observed quietly, "he lacks the courage to divulge such information."

His gaze intensified. "Either his corporeal form has been terminated and you encountered an impersonator, or he operated under duress."

He gestured toward the book. "This volume is yours. Maintain significant distance from anyone claiming to be Vermila henceforth."

The proprietor's voice dropped further. "From this moment, deny knowledge of my existence as I shall deny knowledge of yours. Our paths have never crossed and shall never intersect again."

His expression darkened. "Regarding the methodologies contained within—interpret them independently. However, I must caution you—"

The shop owner abruptly fell silent, apparently sensing some external disturbance.

With a swift magical gesture, he propelled Harvey unceremoniously through the doorway. The shop entrance sealed itself immediately behind him.

"Accursed misfortune!" The proprietor's voice carried faintly through the magically reinforced door.

"Damnable contractual obligations!"

"To think I would be perpetually harassed in this manner!"

His frustrated imprecations faded as Harvey clutched the mysterious black tome to his chest, both confused and elated by the encounter. The book felt unusually warm against his fingers, as though the knowledge within strained against its bindings, eager to be freed.

Meanwhile, across the city, a familiar figure observed the exchange through a specialized scrying mirror. Grindelwald, still wearing Strange's face, smiled with cold satisfaction. The pieces were moving precisely according to design. Soon, the Eternals, the fallen sorcerers, Kamar-Taj, and even Asgard would converge exactly where he intended.

The Celestial embryo would be his stepping stone to something far greater than mere godhood—absolute mastery over reality itself. Neither Dumbledore nor the Ancient One would comprehend his true ambition until it was far too late.

"Strange," David's voice interrupted his contemplation, "our scouts report the Eternals have gathered. Are your preparations complete?"

"Indeed," Grindelwald replied smoothly. "The spell matrix is established precisely as planned. When the Eternals attempt to defend their precious Celestial, they'll find themselves facing not only our forces, but their own innermost fears."

From within the Eye of Agamotto, the real Doctor Strange redoubled his efforts to break free. The convergence of so many powerful factions around the Celestial embryo threatened catastrophic consequences across multiple dimensions. If only he could establish contact with the Ancient One, warn her of Grindelwald's machinations...

But the dark wizard's containment spell remained impenetrable. Strange could only watch helplessly as events accelerated toward what promised to be a cataclysmic confrontation.