Chapter 817

New York City.

177A Bleecker Street.

That was the public-facing address of the New York Sanctum.

Most of the time, the nondescript building attracted almost no attention. Nobody knew what it was for, and nobody particularly cared.

Today was different.

A gray van pulled up outside the entrance.

Several people climbed out.

Every pedestrian nearby immediately started staring.

One of them was dressed strangely enough to be noticeable, but at least his clothes could be explained away as cosplay.

The other three were harder to justify.

They wore yellow sorcerer’s robes underneath heavy military-grade body armor. On their heads were Russian special-forces ballistic helmets that looked suspiciously like welding masks.

If they hadn’t been carrying absolutely nothing in their hands, someone probably would have called the police already.

The group, of course, was Kaecilius and his remaining followers.

After successfully destroying the London Sanctum, Kaecilius had immediately set his sights on New York.

Compared with the three Sanctums, New York’s combat strength was somewhere in the middle.

But this time, Kaecilius wasn’t taking any chances.

He hadn’t opened a portal directly inside the Sanctum.

Instead, he’d teleported himself and his followers to a random location elsewhere in the city.

Because, frankly, New York had been a terrible place for him in the past.

He still remembered his first attempt.

Back then, he’d arrived with a large group of followers, intending to assault the New York Sanctum before moving on to Kamar-Taj’s library and stealing the texts containing the knowledge necessary to contact Dormammu.

Instead, something had gone horribly wrong.

For reasons Kaecilius still didn’t understand, around fifty people had ended up crammed into the public restroom of an office building.

Fifty people.

One bathroom.

They had been packed together so tightly that Kaecilius could barely breathe.

He still vividly remembered someone’s finger somehow ending up in his nostril.

And one particularly unfortunate follower had teleported directly into a toilet.

He’d been crushed to death before anyone could get him out.

Kaecilius had naturally concluded that the Ancient One had interfered with his teleportation spell.

It was the only explanation.

The humiliation had not stopped him.

On his second attempt, he’d finally reached Kamar-Taj’s library.

He’d killed the librarian and found the magical text he needed.

Success had been within reach.

Then he’d discovered that a young female sorcerer happened to be studying there.

Kaecilius had underestimated her.

Badly.

Three of his followers were killed almost immediately by the woman’s bizarre martial art.

Another managed to injure her severely through a clever trick, only for her to retaliate with a devastating spell that killed him.

Kaecilius still regretted that mistake.

If he’d recognized her threat from the beginning and ordered everyone to attack simultaneously, he was certain things would have ended differently.

Then the Ancient One arrived.

The hunt through the Mirror Dimension had been a nightmare.

They’d been trapped in a constantly shifting world with nowhere to run.

One by one, his followers disappeared.

Within moments, only a handful remained.

Then a massive scythe appeared.

Just looking at it had been enough to make Kaecilius feel as though his soul might be torn from his body.

The weapon swept through his followers and killed another five.

Its appearance had distracted the Ancient One for a brief moment, however, and that tiny opening had allowed Kaecilius to escape with the remnants of his group.

Less than ten people remained.

After suffering losses like that in New York, Kaecilius wasn’t about to treat the Sanctum casually.

And London had only reinforced his caution.

The London Sanctum’s defenders had responded to his assault with heavy machine guns, rockets, artillery, and explosives.

It was absurd.

Yet it had also proven something.

Kamar-Taj had apparently abandoned the dignity and restraint expected of sorcerers.

And while Kaecilius found that development distasteful, there was another way to look at it.

Perhaps it was simply time for barbarism to be crushed beneath the hammer of civilization.

He wasn’t sure the irony of that thought applied to him.

So Kaecilius had chosen to scout New York first.

Fortunately, the New York Sanctum was located in a densely populated section of Manhattan rather than some secluded aristocratic estate.

That meant the Sanctum’s sorcerers couldn’t exactly deploy machine guns and rocket launchers without bringing the entire city down on their heads.

At least, that was what Kaecilius hoped.

Because what if they’d hidden weapons inside the Sanctum?

Mines beneath the floor.

Explosives hidden inside statues.

Automatic rifles waiting behind the entrance.

He wasn’t afraid of those things if he knew they were coming.

Dormammu’s power had given him tremendous strength.

But surprise was another matter.

No matter how powerful his body had become, Kaecilius was still fundamentally human.

He could still choke.

He could still get drunk.

And a bullet through the brain would probably still kill him.

Fortunately, this was America.

Weapons weren’t difficult to acquire.

After raiding a gun store, Kaecilius and his followers had equipped themselves with heavy body armor and ballistic helmets.

Now they were prepared for anything.

Or so he hoped.

There was still one major problem.

His losses in previous battles had been catastrophic.

Including himself, only three people remained.

Meanwhile, the New York Sanctum was fully staffed.

And the London sorcerers had all escaped safely.

If those two groups joined forces, Kaecilius would be facing a very difficult battle.

Worse, he couldn’t afford another prolonged engagement.

If he failed to finish this quickly and the Ancient One arrived again, victory would become almost impossible.

Still, fortune had a strange way of answering desperate prayers.

Kaecilius had barely finished teleporting when someone approached him.

The stranger appeared almost as though he’d been waiting for them.

Kaecilius immediately became suspicious.

After everything he’d been through, he had developed an understandable case of paranoia.

The stranger, however, made an intriguing offer.

"Kamar-Taj has committed countless atrocities. Their persecution of people like us is beyond measure. The Zealots have made their purpose known to the world. Today, we would gladly stand beside you and strike down the New York Sanctum together."

Kaecilius almost laughed.

Someone was volunteering to help?

That alone made the offer suspicious.

But after examining the stranger carefully, some of his doubts faded.

Everything about him suggested hostility toward Kamar-Taj.

His clothing.

His presence.

The sheer wrongness radiating from him.

He was thin to the point of looking skeletal.

His features weren’t merely ugly.

They were malformed.

He wore pale-blue robes embroidered with brilliant silver.

Across the fabric was an enormous inverted cross.

His collar was covered in an unpleasant mass of multicolored fur that made him look almost clownish.

But the most disturbing thing was what he held.

His hands were gaunt and covered in red tattoos, with unnaturally long fingernails.

Between them rested a book made from some material Kaecilius couldn’t identify.

The instant he looked at it, he felt something profoundly wrong.

Even Kaecilius could sense the corruption radiating from its pages.

This was a powerful dark mage.

Possibly a very powerful one.

"May I ask your name?" Kaecilius said, treating the stranger with cautious respect.

He needed to know who he was dealing with.

And what he wanted.

The stranger stroked his smooth, bald chin.

"My name?"

He considered the question for several seconds.

"Let me think."

Finally, his eyes brightened.

"Considering what people in this era generally call me... you may call me Bluebeard."

"Guildres."

Kaecilius immediately recognized the name.

He wasn’t an ordinary sorcerer.

He knew enough history to recognize one of the infamous dark mages who had walked the path of forbidden magic long before Kaecilius himself had rebelled against Kamar-Taj.

There was no reason to doubt him now.

A man like Guildres had every reason to hate Kamar-Taj.

Whatever his plans were after the Sanctum fell was irrelevant.

Once Dormammu arrived, everyone would eventually kneel.

With Guildres joining them, Kaecilius’s confidence returned.

He checked his equipment one last time.

Then he walked straight toward the New York Sanctum.

He kicked open the front door.

And walked inside.

"Hm."

Kaecilius looked around.

No traps.

No ambush.

And unlike the London Sanctum, the New York sorcerers hadn’t fled.

They were all standing there.

Waiting for him.

Kaecilius smiled.

"So there are still a few people with courage after all."

He stepped forward.

"Although courage and stupidity are sometimes difficult to distinguish."

His voice hardened.

"You intend to challenge my power. Are you prepared to pay the price?"

Silence.

The sorcerers stared at him.

Not with fear.

Not with anger.

They simply looked confused.

Finally, someone spoke from the crowd.

"Uh..."

A pause.

"Who are you?"

Another voice added:

"And we’re out of chicken for dinner."

Kaecilius stared.

"What?"

He slowly raised the visor of his ballistic helmet.

Then he recognized the woman who had spoken.

His eyes widened.

"You?"

Clea stood at the front of the group, arms folded.

"You survived?"

"I got lucky."

She smiled faintly.

"You did too."

Kaecilius frowned.

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

He didn’t bother waiting for an answer.

"You should be able to see it for yourself. I’m not the man I was before. Your people can’t stop me."

"Then we’ll have to find out."

Clea’s smile was cold.

She shifted into a combat stance.

But she was still wearing ordinary sorcerer’s robes.

She hadn’t summoned the black armor of the Wild Hunt King.

Nor had she drawn Rhongomyniad.

Kaecilius prepared to attack.

Then he heard chanting beside him.

He turned.

Guildres had opened his book.

His voice was barely above a whisper.

Then his tone rose.

"I am Guildres."

The pages of the book fluttered violently.

"Allow me to bring forth a feast of blasphemy."

The final word left his lips.

Guildres raised the book overhead.

The air distorted.

Then dozens of grotesque creatures appeared around him.

Their bodies were slick and glistening.

It was impossible to tell whether their flesh was covered in scales or some unnatural skin.

Each creature possessed nothing resembling a normal face.

Only a gigantic circular maw filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth.

Thick tentacles supported their bodies.

They were the sort of monsters that belonged in nightmares.

Clea’s expression changed instantly.

"That’s bad."

She looked at the creatures.

"We can’t fight those things."

She turned toward the other sorcerers.

"Get to the safe room. I’ll hold them back."

"What?"

Olifan stepped forward immediately.

"If someone stays behind, it should be me. You’re still young."

"I was trained by the Ancient One."

Clea shook her head firmly.

"I know how to get out of this alive."

She looked toward the others.

"Go."

"But—"

A female sorcerer suddenly stepped out from the crowd.

"What about the Sanctum’s core?"

She pointed toward the heart of the building.

"Are we really going to hand it over to Kaecilius?"

Her expression hardened.

"We can’t simply run without fighting."

She charged forward.

Guildres didn’t stop her.

In fact, he hadn’t attacked at all.

He simply stood there while the conversation unfolded.

Then he began another incantation.

His eyes suddenly widened.

Something was answering his spell.

Guildres slowly raised his head.

He searched through the gathered sorcerers.

One person was quietly moving her lips.

Clea.

Guildres’s expression changed.

Impossible.

The spell had originated from him.

Yet somehow, it was being reshaped.

Controlled.

Redirected.

And the person doing it was forcing the spell to manifest according to her own will.

His surprise quickly turned into fascination.

Clea’s lips stopped moving.

The New York Sanctum changed.

The walls softened.

Stone became flesh.

The entire building seemed to breathe as its walls pulsed and contracted.

Then tentacles emerged from the living flesh.

The female sorcerer who had just volunteered to fight froze.

She stared at the writhing walls.

Then screamed.

"Never mind!"

She immediately jumped backward.

"The enemy is too strong! I’m no match for them!"

She turned toward Olifan.

"We should retreat!"

Clea nodded.

"Exactly."

She looked toward the others.

"Don’t worry about the core. I’ve already arranged everything."

Olifan hesitated.

"You’re certain?"

"Absolutely."

Clea gave him a solemn nod.

"Everything is under control."

That was enough.

The sorcerers turned and ran.

They disappeared into a nearby room.

The last one through the doorway pulled a distinctly high-tech metal door shut behind them.

Kaecilius stared.

"No."

He sprinted after them.

The door slammed shut.

He grabbed the handle.

Locked.

Then he spotted a red button labeled OPEN.

He immediately pressed it.

Nothing happened.

A mechanical voice echoed from the door.

"Voice-activated entry. To open the door, please pronounce the following sequence using the standard phonetic pronunciation."

The speaker proceeded to recite a string of completely incomprehensible sounds.

Kaecilius stared at the door.

Silence.

He scratched the back of his head.

Then turned toward one of his remaining followers.

"It’s not that I can’t read it."

A pause.

"I’m giving you an opportunity to learn."

He pointed at the door.

"Go figure out how you’re supposed to pronounce that."

The follower stared at the impossible-looking sequence.

Kaecilius sighed.

"This is going to take a while."