The Scarlet Witch let loose a piercing scream, a sound that ripped through the battlefield like a thunderous storm. A surge of untamed chaos magic poured from her hands, distorting the very air with its violent force as it surged toward Strange.
In a swift, fluid motion, Strange traced intricate sigils in the air, his cloak billowing dramatically as he summoned the Mirror Dimension to absorb the incoming blast. The fabric of reality twisted and folded upon itself repeatedly, compressing the spell into a dense, shimmering sphere of mirrored energy that quivered under the immense strain of containing such chaotic power.
CRACK!
The sphere shuddered violently, its reflective surface fracturing under the relentless assault of chaos magic. Threads of crimson light seeped through the cracks, writhing outward like living tendrils, each exuding an intense aura of malevolent energy.
Strange's expression hardened, his tone laced with urgency. "No—!"
He thrust his hands forward, blue glyphs igniting around his wrists as he propelled the unstable construct skyward. The mirrored sphere shot into the heavens, leaving behind streaks of distorted light, until it disappeared beyond the clouds, just before it erupted in a muted but blinding flash that split the sky.
The heavens shattered.
A shockwave of fragmented light tore through the clouds, scattering remnants of the spell like shards of broken glass across the sky. Each piece reflected a distorted image of the world below, twisting, inverted, bleeding crimson at the edges.
Dr. Strange shielded his eyes as a tempest of magical distortion raged across the battlefield, bending sound and light in chaotic waves. His cloak whipped violently around him, struggling to maintain balance against the surging force that followed the blast.
Then came the silence.
A silence so profound it bore down on his chest, smothering even the chaos below. The Mirror Dimension had been ruptured, not entirely destroyed, but deeply scarred. Strange felt the damage reverberating through the layers of reality like cracks spreading across fragile glass.
Slowly, he lowered his hands, the golden runes encircling them flickering out. His eyes turned skyward, scanning the storm of falling fragments. Each drifting shard carried faint echoes, distorted voices, whispers from fractured realities bleeding through. A chorus of a dozen timelines screaming in unison.
At the heart of the devastation, suspended in the maelstrom, was Wanda Maximoff.
Her aura blazed like the core of a dying star. Scarlet energy swirled around her, defying gravity itself, drawing debris, vehicles, weapons, and shattered concrete, into a spiraling orbit around her, like offerings to an unrelenting deity.
Her face was streaked with tears, cutting through the grime, her expression unreadable. Behind her glowing eyes lay nothing but destruction… and the hollow anguish of loss.
"Wanda," Strange called out, his voice taut with urgency, every word edged with caution. "You have to stop. The barrier between worlds—"
"He's gone!" she cried, her scream shattering the air like glass.
Her magic exploded outward, a violent surge of crimson energy radiating in all directions, fracturing the ground beneath them and sending Strange skidding back. Digging his boots into the cracked tarmac, he summoned glyphs that glowed beneath his feet, anchoring him firmly to the fabric of reality.
The sky above darkened ominously.
Colors warped and inverted.
Overhead, the very fabric of space began to collapse inward, the clouds twisting around the jagged scar left by the blast. From this gaping wound in the heavens, faint ripples of distorted reality expanded outward, their echoes reminiscent of ripples across a still pond, portals flickering in and out of existence, each offering fleeting, impossible glimpses of alien worlds.
Strange felt his heart sink. "You're tearing it apart…"
Wanda tilted her head, her hair thrashing wildly in the maelstrom. "Then let it tear," she whispered, her voice raw with grief. "Let it all end."
Her chaos magic surged again, forming glowing tendrils that coiled through the air like serpents, reaching for the fractured sky. Strange acted without hesitation, his hands a blur as he crafted counter-sigils with frantic precision.
For a moment, their powers clashed, a violent collision of crimson and azure that split the battlefield asunder. The space between them quaked and screamed, the sheer force of their magic too immense to contain.
The ground beneath them split apart, glowing with the searing intensity of raw magical friction.
Strange gritted his teeth, forcing the sigil tighter as he bent the chaos magic inward, desperately trying to redirect its destructive force away from the widening rift. Yet Wanda's power only surged, her agony amplifying her strength until it overshadowed his own.
"Wanda, please," Strange implored, his voice nearly drowned out by the deafening roar of unleashed magic. "Don't let this world become your grave."
For a fleeting moment, just one, her hardened expression softened. Her lips quivered, releasing a shaky breath, as though she teetered on the edge of surrender.
Then, movement flickered in the corner of her eye.
A glimmer of metal, a figure emerging from the swirling smoke.
Vision.
But not the man she had loved, this was the incomplete construct Strange had pieced together in a desperate bid to restore balance. His form shimmered with unstable light, fragments of his body remaining semi-transparent, caught in a fragile limbo between existence and void.
"Wanda…" his voice crackled, faint and mechanical. "Stop."
Her entire being froze. The chaotic currents of magic wavered for the briefest instant, just enough for Strange to take a cautious step forward.
Yet in that moment, sorrow gave way to fury once more.
"You're not him!"
Her scream obliterated the sound barrier, unleashing chaos that erupted like a supernova. Scarlet tendrils of energy spiraled outward, consuming everything in their path. Vision was hurled backward, Strange retreated behind shields of intricate geometry, and overhead, the heavens began to tear apart once again.
Reality itself was unraveling.
The battlefield was no longer a battleground, it had become a gaping wound upon existence itself.
The sky throbbed with veins of red and black, unstable energy coursing through them like blood in a fractured artery. The air quivered under unbearable pressure, stretched thin and brittle as glass, ready to shatter. The acrid scent of ozone mingled with the harsh tang of burning metal, while every particle seemed to hum in resistance to the grief twisting reality at its core. Wanda's anguish was a force remaking the world in her image.
At the epicenter of the chaos stood Dr. Strange, his cloak whipping violently in the storm's fury, his face a mask of grim determination. His trembling hands rose, golden sigils sparking into existence, their intricate patterns bending and distorting under the oppressive weight of Wanda's raw power.
He drew a slow, steadying breath. "Ancient One… forgive me," he murmured.
With a precise flick of his wrists, the fabric of reality folded in upon itself.
The Mirror Dimension erupted into being, an intricate bloom of glass and light, encasing Wanda in a dazzling lattice of refracted geometry. The chaotic world around her fractured into infinite reflections, each shard an echo of her torment, splintering her grief into a thousand jagged pieces.
For one fleeting moment, silence descended, heavy and absolute.
Then—
CRACK!
The mirrored construct trembled violently. Crimson light seeped through the fissures, spreading like blood through shattered glass. In every reflection, Wanda's fragmented forms began to move of their own accord, some sobbing uncontrollably, others screaming in rage, and still others laughing with an eerie, hollow madness.
"Do you think you can contain me?" she asked, her voice reverberating across the fractured dimensions, a symphony of despair and defiance.
Her voice resonated through every reflection, fragmented and layered, an unrelenting force. The mirrors exploded outward, shards of warped space cutting through the air like crystalline blades. Strange lifted his hands, summoning a shield as sparks erupted and the Mirror Dimension began to collapse upon itself.
Wanda emerged from the chaos, encased in swirling strands of crimson energy. Her voice cracked, trembling with despair. "I just wanted him back…"
The air itself tore apart.
The ground shifted violently, gravity distorted, and time began to falter, moments looped and unraveled. Flames burned in reverse, bullets retraced their paths, and screams dissolved into silence.
Strange staggered as the Eye of Agamotto pulsed erratically against his chest, responding to the upheaval. The essence of time strained within its casing, desperate for release.
"Wanda!" he called out over the pandemonium. "You're ripping reality apart! You'll destroy everything!"
Her gaze, luminous and filled with devastation, met his. "Then let it end."
The world convulsed violently. The sky fractured into fragments of alternate timelines, fleeting visions flickered amid the turmoil: Vision alive and laughing, Ultron victorious, Thanos defeated by a rage-fueled Thor, the Avengers never uniting. Reality was unraveling into a tempest of endless possibilities.
Strange inhaled sharply, his voice shaking, barely audible.
"Forgive me, Master."
He clutched the Eye of Agamotto.
A divine, unyielding green light erupted across the battlefield, cascading like a purifying wave. Time itself faltered, halting the chaos in its tracks, freezing destruction mid-bloom. Doctor Strange's hands moved deliberately, crafting intricate spirals in the air, bending causality to his will.
Reality unraveled and reversed.
The fractured Mirror Dimension pieced itself back together, only to dissolve again. The sky stitched itself whole. Explosions imploded into nothingness. Shattered debris returned, mending the broken airport until it stood unscathed, untouched by conflict.
The war was undone.
Tony and Steve's clash never began.
Wanda's anguished cry was never heard.
No sides were taken.
Each movement of Strange's hands drained his essence, his vitality ebbing away as blood seeped from his nose and eyes. The toll of reshaping destiny scorched through his veins, consuming him like liquid fire.
And then—
Nothingness. Silence enveloped all.
The silence that followed was overwhelming.
The Mirror Dimension had crumbled.
The Time Stone's glow had vanished, and Stephen Strange lay still among the scattered fragments of what was once a battlefield, now transformed into an eerily serene and silent airport, untouched by conflict.
Above, the sky was soft and golden, bathed in the gentle light that follows a storm. Birds chirped faintly in the distance. There were no heroes left. No Avengers. No Civil War.
Only him.
Strange's breaths came in weak, shallow gasps, his chest rising and falling with difficulty. His cloak, tattered and lifeless, barely moved in the faint breeze. The Eye of Agamotto hung loosely around his neck, its gem dulled to a pale green, its once-dazzling brilliance reduced to a faint glimmer.
He had succeeded. He had undone everything.
But at what cost?
His voice quivered as he spoke, raspy and broken from sheer exhaustion.
"Forgive me… Master…" he whispered hoarsely. "I broke my oath. I twisted time. I reached into what I swore never to touch again…"
His bloodshot, hollow eyes lifted skyward, to the vacant heavens, to the memory of the Ancient One, whose presence lingered only in his mind.
"I saw your face… when the timelines fractured. I felt your disappointment. But there was no other way…"
A tear traced its path down his cheek, merging with the dirt beneath him. He had not rescued them; he had merely delayed the unavoidable.
The world glimmered with an artificial serenity, a delicate mirage of tranquility that felt like the eye of a vast cosmic tempest. As Strange's awareness faded, a faint, otherworldly hum breached the clouds.
High above, from the void of orbit, a shape emerged, slicing through the upper atmosphere, silent, sleek, and as dark as the void itself. A vessel, cloaked in near-perfect invisibility, descended through the stratosphere, its thrusters murmuring softly against the winds.
Inside, Ebony Maw stood in solemn silence, his tall, skeletal figure bathed in the dim green glow reflected from the planet below. His elongated fingers drifted gracefully, tracing intricate patterns as he analyzed the energy pulsating from the surface.
"What a peculiar world," he murmured, his voice smooth and serpentine. "A sorcerer who dares to manipulate time… and in doing so, invites destiny to collect its due."
Behind him, the massive form of Black Dwarf stood motionless, his muscular arms folded, his crimson eyes smoldering with contained eagerness.
The hatch opened with a soft hiss. A quiet rush of alien air seeped into the human realm.
Ebony Maw extended his hand outward, palm open, poised, and deliberate. An invisible force rippled across the land like a stone cast into still waters. Doctor Strange's battered body rose slightly from the ground, as though suspended by unseen threads.
The Eye of Agamotto trembled. Its casing creaked open once more, spilling out radiant light as the faint heartbeat of the Time Stone pulsed within.
The stone slid free with uncanny precision, not wrenched but summoned, as if obeying an unspoken command. Encased in a cocoon of telekinetic mastery, it drifted through the air.
Strange's eyelids fluttered, his gaze weakly catching the glimmer of emerald light moving further away.
"N-no… please…"
Ebony Maw's lips curved into a faint smile as he lowered his hand.
"You have safeguarded your world, Sorcerer Supreme," he murmured, "only for the mighty Thanos to claim it when the moment arrives."
The gem vanished into the depths of the ship as its hatch sealed shut. In a flash, the vessel shimmered, distorted the surrounding light, and disappeared, leaving only a faint ripple in the sky.
And there, upon the desolate earth, Stephen Strange lay broken, powerless, and utterly alone, the protector of a world that no longer remembered the war he had undone, now standing on the brink of an even greater catastrophe.
After returning to his seat at the helm of the ship Ebony Maw preceded to contact his master Thanos.
High above a swirling purple sun, its corona sizzling with raw, untamed energy, Thanos' fleet loomed in a silent, foreboding formation. Starcruisers of various dimensions, sleek battleships, and colossal dreadnoughts circled with meticulous precision, their dark exteriors reflecting the violet radiance. At the formation's core, the Sanctuary II hovered like a predator, patient and menacing.
Within the command chamber, Thanos stood unmoving, his imposing silhouette framed against the pulsating brilliance of the purple sun.
The Infinity Gauntlet rested lightly at his side, its metallic surface gleaming faintly.
A soft chime broke the vessel's ambient hum as the communicator activated. The holographic image of Ebony Maw materialized, his tall, slender figure bathed in faint green light refracted from the recently acquired gem.
"It is accomplished, my Lord," Maw declared, his voice smooth and deliberate, carrying an air of unwavering confidence. "The Time Stone is in our possession. It remains secure under my supervision."
Thanos' eyes narrowed, a slow, calculating smile spreading across his face. He paused, letting the significance of this moment settle. "You speak of triumph," he rumbled, his deep voice resonating through the chamber. "And yet, the stone has not graced my hand."
"The gem is secured," Maw said, gesturing toward the floating green light held within the grasp of his telekinesis. "It awaits your claim at your command. Its power remains undiminished. The Sorcerer Supreme lies vanquished, stripped of his defenses, and the world below remains ignorant of the hand that now wields time itself."
Thanos gave a measured nod, his gaze fixed on the glowing Time Stone, its pulses echoing softly like the rhythm of a heartbeat. "Good," he murmured. "Ready the fleet. Soon, the stones will unite, and destiny shall yield to my will."
Behind him, the corona of the purple sun rippled violently, as though attuned to the gathering forces of cosmic power. At its core, the Power Stone throbbed with restrained energy, biding its time for the inevitable union of all six stones.
Ebony Maw inclined his head in silent acknowledgment of Thanos' decree. "The universe will not resist," he whispered. "It has no choice."
Beyond the command center, the fleet hovered in flawless formation, shadowy vessels poised like predators circling their unwitting prey. The stars reflected the violet radiance of the sun, a quiet prelude to destruction, a serene warning of the chaos that was about to unfold.