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Chapter 4 – Beneath the Towers

Night fell silently within the towering walls of Kamar-Taj. This ancient sanctuary, nestled deep within the Himalayas, continued to guard the universe’s most hidden secrets. Yet tonight, an unusual tension pervaded beyond the walls. The wind seemed to carry whispers from another dimension; subtle cracks formed in the veins of time, and the fabric of reality began to unravel. 

The Ancient One sat in the meditation chamber as usual. Her posture was steady; her eyes closed, but her mind probed the balance vibrating with sensitivity beyond the universe. However, that night… something had changed.

Her brows furrowed with a barely noticeable concern. 

“This vibration…” she murmured to herself, her voice as light as a feather. “A primordial entity, unrecognized even by the laws of nature.”

The door opened silently. Doctor Stephen Strange entered, his cloak flowing behind him. His expression bore both curiosity and apprehension.

“You felt it, didn’t you?” he said. “That fracture echoing between dimensions… Something nonlinear is occurring; time is deviating.”

The Ancient One opened her eyes. Her gaze seemed to see beyond the void. 

“This… is a reawakening. A darkness we’ve long forgotten,” she said. “Its name… is Varg.”

Strange’s forehead creased. “Varg? I’ve never heard of such an entity. Dormammu, Shuma-Gorath, Harkness… but this?”

The Ancient One took a deep breath. Then she stood and gently sliced the air with her fingers. Before them, an aged wall segment parted. From within, an ancient scroll and several worn runes emerged. The pages curled and fluttered like a living organism.  

“Most sorcerers have never heard his name because we made them forget,” she said. “We had to make them forget.”

The Ancient One walked over, pointing to the symbols on the scroll. Each was written in a different language—some in alphabets unrecognized even by Midgard. Yet each whispered the same word:

Varg.

“Once, this name made even gods tremble,” she continued. “V was not merely a sorcerer. He was a mutation born from the essence of disbelief. He emerged from nothingness and taught the gods how to lose on their own game boards.”

Strange’s face paled.

“He… killed gods?” he asked, his voice catching in his throat.

“Yes,” said the Ancient One. “When a god’s heart is torn out, the world pauses for a moment. In that instant, the lines of time and space blur. Varg repeated this moment over and over, bending time, reshaping space. Eventually, even the gods couldn’t contend with him.”

“How was he imprisoned?”

The Ancient One’s gaze darkened.

“We chained him to his own shadow. Sealed the echo of his existence in the darkness between dimensions. But this seal… is not permanent. The only thing that can break it is magic woven with emotions. And I see that someone has whispered his name again.”

Strange took a deep breath. “Wanda,” he said. “Grief… hatred… and hope. All emotions at once. She is the essence of chaos.” 

The Ancient One nodded. “We must find her. Before Varg fully awakens…” 

As night settled over New York like a heavy fog, a portal opened from within Kamar-Taj. Dazzling mandalas spun, bending reality, and Doctor Strange appeared alongside the Ancient One on a deserted path by a park. Lights flickered in the distance; people were still lost in the mundane flow of life. But here, at the point where these three figures would converge, time seemed to forget to breathe. 

Wanda sat beneath a tree. Her face was weary, her eyes piercing the void with sorrow. Her hands were still covered in red magic trembling at her fingertips. She looked at them as if they were foreign. Beside her lay a black scroll, once opened with hope, now a curse.

Strange approached cautiously, ensuring there was no threat. But the Ancient One advanced with silent, confident steps, like a shadow walking on water.

“Wanda Maximoff,” she said, her voice resonating like a bell defying time. “A soul powerful enough to confound minds, yet still bearing the weight of her heart.”

Wanda looked up, surprised to see them.

“Who… are you?”

Strange bowed politely. “Stephen Strange. Former surgeon, now a sorcerer. And this… is the Ancient One. The one who sees the boundaries of the universe.”

Wanda laughed mockingly. “Have you come to stop me?”

The Ancient One smiled, but it carried no warmth. It was more like a winter night—harsh, honest, and inevitable.

“No. We’ve come to understand you. Because you’ve touched V.”

Wanda’s eyes narrowed. “You… know him?”

“We were the ones who sealed him,” said the Ancient One, her voice lowering further. “And you are the one who awakened him.”

Wanda turned her head, her face suddenly shrouded in darkness. “I wanted to bring back my brother… Pietro. That’s all I wanted. Just him…”

The Ancient One approached and sat beside her. Her eyes were filled with the wisdom of millennia.

“When the human soul merges with the purest form of destruction… both sanctity and curse knock on the same door. V uses this. He slowly turns hope into despair. The promises he gave you… were the first links of a chain.”

Tears streamed down Wanda’s cheeks, but she stubbornly wiped them away. “I made a mistake. But maybe… maybe it can still be undone.”

The Ancient One nodded. “Then we’ll do it together. But be careful, Wanda. If your magic awakened him, your name is also written in his destiny.”

Strange watched silently, plans forming in his mind. Then he spoke. 

“We need a plan. To stop him… perhaps we need to see the future.”

The Ancient One turned her head, looking into Strange’s eyes. “The Time Stone.”

“Yes,” said Strange. “I’ll see all the possibilities. Which step will save us… which will destroy us.”

The Ancient One slowly nodded, but a dark doubt flickered in her eyes. 

“Still… V disregards the line of time. A level 6 entity… his power to control time extends beyond even an Infinity Stone. He has only one problem: energy reserves.”

Wanda asked in surprise: “So… he’s not at full power right now?”

“No,” said Strange. “But that doesn’t mean we can stop him. It just means… we’re racing against time.”

The Ancient One took a deep breath.

“Every second causes his shadow to grow. This is an era where existence is not silenced but echoed.”

Over New York

In the late hours of the night, a solitary figure stood atop a skyscraper piercing the sky amidst Manhattan’s buildings. The city stretched out like a field of stars with its lights; the hum of cars, the echoing footsteps of people, the regular fluttering of life permeated the streets. But above all this movement, there was a silence. Deep, ominous, an unseen silence.

V stood at the edge of the skyscraper, holding his black cane. His black hair blended with the night; his eyes carried the cold emptiness of a starless universe. The sleeveless shirt he wore fluttered gently in the night breeze, his tattoos shimmering like curses in the moonlight. On his chest, a scene of divine death intertwined with shadows—a depiction of a divine being’s own hands stabbing its throat, an endless drawing.

On his back, another tattoo appeared to be woven from black flames, depicting a being with wings covering the entire sky, tearing out stars like nails on that ancient day. Every line, a battle. Every curve, a scream.

He watched the city. This world, where colors blended, where artificial lights flowed insincerely.

A slight smile curled at the corner of his lips.

“Time,” he said, in a whisper-like but heavy tone, like darkness seeping through concrete. “Fragile, directionless, and spinning madly… Fools who don’t even know how to walk on it try to play with it. How ironic.”

At that moment, the shadows silenced the wind. A black line descended from the tip of his cane to the ground. In the air,