The bloodline of a dragon granted extraordinary senses.
"From a devil's perspective, I must say there's a faint yet distinct presence of something truly sinister nearby," Crowley said. "Very sinister, a force from another dimension."
Aziraphale, using the standard body provided by Heaven, and Loki, unable to fully utilize his magic due to the curse, both immediately became alert upon hearing Crowley's observation.
The defensive measures of the London Sanctum had been utterly decimated. The sorcerers tasked with guarding the Sanctum lay scattered on the ground. Selwyn stepped forward, checked one of their eyes, and confirmed that the sorcerer had stopped breathing.
"Aren't they supposed to be the protectors of Midgard?" Loki asked while walking. "How can they be taken down so easily?"
"Except for the strongest among them—specifically, the Sorcerer Supreme—the rest aren't much stronger than average Midgardian magic users," Crowley replied.
"...It's within my expectations that Midgardian ants would be weak, but why?" Loki asked skeptically. Weren't they borrowing power from the Vishanti, the incarnations of ancient divine will? That kind of force shouldn't fall so easily to common foes.
"Humans are different from us; they're not naturally attuned to magic," Aziraphale explained. "They have to create artificial magic circuits to channel power. It's like drawing water from the ocean—while the sea is vast, the size of the bucket is limited."
Among all the human sorcerers in the Sanctum, only the Sorcerer Supreme could overcome this limitation. "The current guardian of Earth, known as The Ancient One, is rumored to have some history with Odin," Aziraphale added.
That last detail made Loki a bit uneasy. Following the group deeper into the Sanctum, the scene grew grimmer. More sorcerers lay on the ground, some still writhing in pools of blood. The heavy scent of iron filled the air.
"Oh, dear God," Aziraphale said, stepping back. "There are survivors… Do you think we can even call for ambulances here?"
"Let's handle emergency care first," Selwyn said, turning to Loki. "Mr. Laufeyson, could I borrow that dagger of yours?"
Loki frowned but pulled out the small blade and tossed it to Selwyn, who caught it midair. Without hesitation, Selwyn made a swift cut on his own wrist, letting bright red blood flow freely. Supporting the neck of an injured sorcerer, he carefully poured his blood into the person's mouth.
"I carry a trace of dragon blood," he explained. "Think of it as highly diluted dragon essence. In emergencies, it can bolster vitality."
"And I went to you just for dragon manure..." Crowley muttered halfway through the sentence before noticing everyone glaring at him. He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."
The results were immediate. One of the injured sorcerers struggled to sit up, but Selwyn gently pressed him back down. "I'm the Gatekeeper of Wokmaer. If there's anything important, I can help relay the message."
The sorcerer relaxed, his strength fading, and managed to rasp out a few words: "It was Kaecilius… the traitor. He has aligned with the Dark Dimension…"
After forcing out those words, the sorcerer fell unconscious.
Few survived the attack on the London Sanctum. Selwyn administered his blood to each survivor, dressed their wounds, and carried them to a location accessible by regular humans. There, he called for an ambulance.
Meanwhile, Aziraphale inspected the Sanctum's open portal and found that it led to New York. "They must have retreated to New York from here," he deduced. "Oh, New York… The most recently established Sanctum, barely 200 years old. Let's hope they're alright."
Clearly, meeting the Sorcerer Supreme here was no longer an option. Since Aziraphale and Crowley had sensitive identities that made dealing with human authorities inconvenient, they exchanged emergency contact details and departed to inform their respective superiors of the London attack.
Selwyn and Loki remained behind. However, the arriving "ambulances" turned out to be a team of Clock Tower forensic magicians.
"Good heavens, are these the only survivors?" said a burly blond man with a thick beard, who appeared to be the leader of the group. He looked around with regret before coughing and adopting an authoritative tone. "You must be the Gatekeeper of Wokmaer? You look quite young. Don't worry; the Clock Tower will handle this incident. You don't need to concern yourselves further."
"Who's this idiot?" Loki whispered.
"They're part of the Clock Tower, Midgard's official magic association," Selwyn replied in a low voice. "Think of them as enforcers—like the magical version of police."
A bunch of bumbling fools, Loki thought, nodding in understanding. He didn't care why doctors hadn't arrived to treat the injured—it was probably just another example of humanity's endless infighting and inability to prioritize properly.
The forensic magicians took all the survivors and corpses, nearly stripping the ancient Sanctum bare. Realizing that their trip to London had been fruitless, Selwyn suggested they head to New York instead. Judging by the enemy's movements, the Sorcerer Supreme was most likely there.
Upon stepping through the Sanctum's portal to New York, they found the situation no better. The confusion and destruction mirrored London's. The only conscious sorcerer they encountered informed them that the enemy had moved on to Hong Kong.
Loki's frustration boiled over. Grabbing the sorcerer by the collar, he growled, "Don't tell me you're about to say that your so-called Sorcerer Supreme is already dead."
The sorcerer looked as though he were about to cry, prompting Loki to release him. The man slumped to the ground like a boneless heap.
Even Selwyn had lost his composure. Pulling out his phone, he decided to call S.H.I.E.L.D.—a far cry from the last time he had dialed, which was merely to order the latest gaming console.
Agent Kowes, on the receiving end, felt his blood pressure spike. "End of the world? Sanctums? Hang on—this sounds like something I shouldn't even be listening to. Don't hang up; I'll transfer you to someone higher up."
After another pause, Agent Coulson came on the line, only to experience similar levels of stress. "Wait a second; I'll transfer you to the Director…"
Fifteen minutes later, the Avengers convened for an emergency meeting.
"That's the situation," Fury said gravely. "Both Heaven and Hell have issued warnings of an impending apocalypse. And just now, we lost the Sorcerer Supreme, who has protected Earth for 500 years. Multidimensional threats could arrive at any moment. The most immediate of these, based on their intel, is something called the Dark Dimension."
The Avengers: "…"
Clint Barton put down his bag of chips. "I thought I just slept for one night, not seventy years."
Even Steve Rogers, often the butt of such jokes, was at a loss. "Honestly, even if I had slept for seventy years, I doubt I'd have heard news this shocking."
Back in New York, as Selwyn and Loki pondered their next steps, they felt an overwhelming magical wave ripple across the planet. For a moment, it seemed as though something monumental had occurred, but the sensation vanished as quickly as it came.
Selwyn frowned. "Did you feel that?"
"A massive surge of magical energy," Loki replied irritably. "If you have monitoring systems, they'll have picked it up."
As they spoke, a golden portal materialized. From it emerged a sorcerer cloaked in red, battered and bruised, with exhaustion etched into his face. He looked at Selwyn and Loki warily. "Who are you, and what do you want?"
"A doctor," Selwyn said, pointing to himself, "and a wandering sorcerer from Alfheim." He gestured at Loki. "We're here to see the Sorcerer Supreme. Could you arrange that?"
"Ha, a doctor," the man said bitterly, as if the concept amused him. "Sure, the Sorcerer Supreme… That's me. Now, what do you want?"
Looking at the disheveled "Sorcerer Supreme," Loki's expression completely collapsed.