Within the magical network, a place that had once been deeply hidden was now laid bare before Herman's senses. He could clearly feel it—the exact source of the voice calling to him.
"Even after disconnecting from the New York Sanctuary's magic cube network, I can still sense it... Did the barrier isolating it get broken somehow?" Herman frowned slightly, surprised by the situation.
It was all a little too coincidental.
Before coming to the Sanctum, he hadn't sensed the call at all. Yet now, just as he'd tapped into the Sanctum's magical network to locate the voice, the power that had been blocking it suddenly vanished. The timing felt deliberate—almost orchestrated.
"Was it someone's doing? Did they lift the seal once they realized I'd found it? Or did I really just stumble into something rarer than a comet hitting Earth?"
He couldn't be certain. The only thing he knew for sure was that now that he had found the voice, his purpose for remaining in the past had been achieved.
Find the voice.
Uncover the reason.
Then return to the future.
"I wonder how much I've already changed," Herman muttered as he withdrew from the magical network and stepped out of the now-empty New York Sanctum.
He had no interest in what had happened at Kamar-Taj. As long as no Dimensional Demon had invaded Earth, it meant the barrier they guarded was still functioning. Other than that—even if every sorcerer there had perished—it didn't concern him much.
"Let's see what exactly called to me."
Stepping out through the Sanctum gates, Herman appeared amidst the bustle of a crowded city street.
The New York Sanctuary stood in a busy district. At dawn, it might have been quiet—but now the streets were full of people hurrying past, shoulder to shoulder.
He paid them no mind. Channeling his telekinesis, Herman shot upward like a cannonball, slicing through the air.
"Oh my God! What is that!? Someone's flying!"
"Am I seeing things? He really just blasted into the sky, right?"
"Aliens! It's gotta be aliens!"
...
A wealthy woman in a mink coat was the first to notice Herman soaring skyward. She'd been standing just a few meters from where he'd taken off.
When he launched into the air, she screamed, stumbling back several steps before collapsing onto the pavement, her face frozen in terror and disbelief.
Around her, the street exploded into chaos. People pointed and shouted, phones raised, eyes wide. Almost everyone had seen the man rocket into the clouds.
With no attempt at concealment, the commotion was impossible to miss. The ground beneath his feet had cracked from the force of his takeoff. Only the deaf or blind could have missed it.
"He must be an angel! A messenger of God!"
"What?"
"We can't see his wings because we're unworthy! He's an angel sent from Heaven!"
As the crowd's shock turned to frenzy, a group of religious preachers seized the moment, raising their voices and calling others to kneel.
In recent days, since Herman's earlier ascension had drawn public attention, various religious groups had grown unusually active across the country.
Having discovered how easily supernatural events could draw followers, they had started claiming every such phenomenon as divine revelation.
Just like now—a cluster of Christians knelt on the pavement, pulling strangers down beside them, praying fervently toward the sky where Herman had vanished.
Their chants and cries filled the street.
It was... predictable.
In this era, the extraordinary were unseen. Mutants, the only existing superhuman group, kept themselves hidden. People had no real understanding of the supernatural, which made them easy prey for religious interpretation.
But in the future, it would be different.
Humanity, hardened by countless encounters with the abnormal, would no longer mistake such things for divine miracles. When they witnessed the supernatural, their first thought wouldn't be "God," but "the military's at it again" or "a mutant's lost control."
Religion's authority had long since waned in the face of the extraordinary.
"There."
Herman glanced downward once, then fixed his gaze toward the source of the call. Without hesitation, he turned into a streak of light, shooting through the atmosphere toward space before making another pinpoint descent.
He had meant to avoid altering history, yet with the spectacle he'd caused over New York, chaos was inevitable.
Still—he didn't care. Compared to the crises he'd faced before, this little "flying incident" was trivial.
Who knew? It might not even matter in the future.
Supernatural events weren't rare in this era—they were just poorly reported.
Without modern media and open communication, most such incidents were quickly covered up or forgotten.
Only those with strong resistance to "memory tampering" retained any recollection of them—and they were few, all ordinary people, far too insignificant to change the course of history.
"It's actually Norway?"
Herman had sensed something back when he was in Russia. He had thought it was somewhere in the direction of the United States—but he hadn't expected it to be all the way beyond, in Norway.
"Boom~"
Herman descended from the sky like a meteorite, blazing as he tore through the atmosphere before slamming toward the earth at incredible speed.
However, none of the Nazi soldiers who were resting and eating, nor the townspeople of Tønsberg—oppressed and humiliated under occupation—noticed a thing.
The soldiers, feeling no need to worry about air raids in such a remote place, were completely relaxed. They enjoyed the spoils plundered from the town and the luxury of slaughtering livestock after each raid—animals that, of course, belonged to the townsfolk.
As the Nazi forces marched across the land, they would carry out what would later be called "righteous killings" of the Jews they encountered, but for most captives, they rarely bothered with deliberate massacres. Still, they looted every bit of wealth and devoured every piece of meat they could find.
During interrogations, they'd slap even children across the face to instill fear. That unrestrained cruelty was the reason why, in time, even non-Jews would shudder at the mention of them.
Their brutality was excessive—so much so that it ensured their empire's downfall.
Setting aside the extraordinary elements unique to the Marvel Universe, the general course of history—particularly the events of World War II—remained almost identical to the one from Herman's original world.
If the Nazis hadn't been so brutal, they might have beaten the United States to the atomic bomb.
It must be remembered: the Nazi Empire was the first to begin research on nuclear weapons.
The Americans, who later showed Japan the "three thousand degrees of warmth" and what it felt like to be turned into light, had actually begun their research much later than the Nazis.
The Americans' atomic bomb project—named the Manhattan Project—only began in 1942. With a relatively small scientific team, bolstered by a few German scientists secretly recruited from the Nazis, the U.S. went from conception to successful testing in just three years.
The Nazis, on the other hand, had started their research in 1939—three years earlier.
They assembled a team led by the renowned physicist Werner Heisenberg, mobilizing more than a hundred top scientists for the project. It was called the Uranverein.
That name alone revealed the Nazi regime's utter lack of reverence for such destructive power. Their arrogance came from strength—after all, Nazi Germany possessed the largest and most advanced scientific community in the world, surpassing every other nation by a wide margin.
Under normal circumstances, they should have been the first to possess the bomb.
Most people who aren't familiar with science can't imagine just how deep the Nazis' scientific foundation ran. Heisenberg's team was unmatched—its caliber was such that even future superpowers couldn't assemble an equivalent group.
Consider this: nuclear fission was discovered by Otto Hahn and his assistant Fritz Strassmann, who won the Nobel Prize in 1944 for establishing the atomic bomb's theoretical foundation. They were among the earliest pioneers of quantum mechanics.
Then there was the brilliant Max Planck. Röntgen, who discovered X-rays. Geiger, the inventor of the Geiger counter. And Bohr, who wasn't a sorcerer but a Nobel Prize-winning physicist.
Every one of them was a titan in their field. Had they lived long enough, some might have rivaled Newton himself.
With such a team—starting three years ahead—it should have been impossible for the Nazis to fall behind.
One theory suggests that Heisenberg and his team deliberately slowed their progress, unwilling to hand such a weapon to the Nazi regime.
Whether that theory held true in Herman's original world was debatable. But in this Marvel Universe, the fact remained: after witnessing America's atomic bomb, Heisenberg had calmly told his assistant, "This isn't that difficult," and then casually explained how it worked.
The footage of that moment was preserved in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s future archives. When Skye was practicing with the organization's database, Herman had taken the opportunity to see it for himself.
"Boom~"
Herman landed precisely outside the town. Since no one had seen him, his arrival went completely unnoticed.
"That sound is getting louder... like it's whispering right beside my ear..."
His eyes narrowed, locking onto a distant bell tower.
There, a full garrison of armed Nazi soldiers stood guard, with the HYDRA flag fluttering above them.
Such a sight might terrify ordinary people, but to Herman, these soldiers were nothing—meaningless, insignificant. No number of men or machines could pose the slightest threat to him.
But when he saw the HYDRA emblem, he instantly understood why he could sense the call so clearly. HYDRA had unearthed whatever had been sealed away.
"What a coincidence."
Herman let out a quiet, wry laugh.
Muttering under his breath, he walked straight toward the bell tower. Before he could even reach it, the soldiers' heads exploded into clouds of blood, a red mist hanging over the silent heap of bodies that collapsed at his feet.
...
Meanwhile.
Germany.
Berlin.
Having just met with the Führer, Hydra's leader, Red Skull, ended his communication with his trusted subordinate inside a luxurious automobile.
He was the kind of man whose mere appearance could terrify a crowd. Compared to his real name, Johann Schmidt, the title "Red Skull" was far more infamous in this era—a name born from his ghastly, skull-like visage. His face, stripped of all skin by experimental chemicals, was nothing but exposed flesh and bone.
"It actually exists! It really exists!"
Red Skull's voice rasped with excitement, his hollow eyes gleaming. The gloom from the Führer's earlier scolding vanished in an instant.
"Damn little mustache! That conniving, cowardly adviser!" Red Skull growled, his tone dripping with long-suppressed resentment.
Once, he had tolerated his leader's arrogance. But now—now that some mysterious adviser had appeared out of nowhere—he found himself increasingly constrained and manipulated. The frustration had been building for some time, directed at both the Führer and that meddlesome aide.
Who did they think he was?
He was Red Skull—Hydra's supreme leader, the first successful subject of the Super Soldier Serum. It was outrageous enough that one mortal dared to command him. A second was beyond forgiveness. It was because of this new adviser that he had accelerated his search for supernatural power.
And on that path... he had found a new patron.
The limousine arrived at his Berlin office. Red Skull stepped out, locked the door behind him, and walked to his bookshelf. From it, he pulled out a volume titled The Acquisition and Control of Power.
As the book came free, a thumb-sized button was revealed behind the shelf—its color perfectly matching the wood, impossible to notice without close inspection.
Click.
Red Skull pressed it lightly. At once, the wall opposite the bookshelf slid open like a massive door, revealing a pitch-black chamber hidden within the office.
"Sir, I have located the dormant army at the coordinates you gave me. How do I awaken them?"
Red Skull clearly knew more than the grim officer overseeing the excavation. Kneeling before the darkness, he spoke with reverent restraint.
"With them, I can conquer the world—and serve your will."
He did not dare step into the chamber, as if held back by a mix of fear and awe toward whatever lurked inside. His voice carried the same tone of submission he used when addressing the Führer himself.
One could only imagine the shock of other Hydra officers if they saw him like this.
"Heh... human, spare me your little tricks."
Suddenly, a crimson tentacle lashed out from the shadows of the chamber.
With a single whip-like motion, it sent Red Skull—whose physical strength exceeded even that of Captain America—crashing to the floor. Yet despite the blow, he showed not a trace of anger. Terrified, he pressed his body flat to the ground.
"Sir, I meant no offense," he said quickly. "I only feared someone else might reach them before we did."
His excuses went unanswered.
"Do not concern yourself. In this world, no one but me knows how to awaken them."
The voice that echoed from the darkness was cold, neither male nor female.
"Take me there. I will teach you... how to control the Angels."