"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.