Six months had passed.
When the seven-colored aurora shimmered in the sky again, New York citizens had grown somewhat accustomed to the sight, but the press was in a frenzy.
The alien nature of the “Thunder God” had been confirmed, and thanks to relentless international propaganda, Thor’s “Avengers” had gained unparalleled prestige among humanity.
The reappearance of the aurora signaled a new visitor.
Who were they?
What was their purpose on Earth?
These questions gripped the minds of millions.
Reporters swarmed the destination with an array of camera equipment, only to be blocked by prepared military and police forces.
This time, the location of the arrival was extraordinary: the White House.
The U.S.
President had been evacuated immediately by S.H.I.E.L.D.
Intelligence identified the arrival as Karsa, the God of Light—a being of immense strength and arrogant, tyrannical nature.
If the encounter was mishandled, a catastrophe could follow.
Should a battle break out, the safety of the President would be the least of their concerns.
Nick Fury had mobilized every Avenger, even extending an invitation to Loki.
The “Fourth Princess,” however, scoffed: only a fool like Thor would intentionally provoke Karsa.
A smart man knew when to read the room.
Thick, dark clouds gathered over the White House, channeling the prismatic light into a funnel-shaped discharge.
Everyone held their breath, braced for impact.
BOOM!
Thunder shook the capital as the beam slammed into the earth.
The onlookers stared, searching the radiance.
Yet, when the light faded, they saw nothing but a massive geometric pattern scorched into the lawn.
The figure was gone.
“So…
where did Karsa go?” Tony Stark, clad in his armor, looked bewildered.
“Did he miss his stop?” Fury turned to Thor, silent inquiry in his eyes.
Thor scratched his head, equally perplexed.
He only knew one thing: “Heimdall would never be wrong.
Karsa is on Earth.” “Then where is he?
We all saw the silhouette in the light,” Clint Barton noted.
His eyesight, legendary in its own right, had picked up subtle distortions in the air.
“Could he be invisible?” Natasha suggested.
It was well known that Loki possessed illusion magic; it wouldn’t be a stretch for the God of Light to do the same.
Stark immediately activated his armor’s thermal imaging.
Invisibility could hide a shape, but it couldn’t hide the dissipation of body heat.
If the target was there, he would show up as a heat signature.
He scanned the area twice.
Nothing.
“This is weird.
A grown man just disappears in plain sight?” While the world was in a panic, Karsa stood within the Mirror Dimension.
Clad in golden armor, arms crossed, he frowned at the bald, yellow-robed Sorcerer Supreme before him.
“A thousand years, and you mages still rely on this same low-level trick?” Karsa’s tone was haughty, his expression dripping with disdain.
Behind him, golden ripples shimmered in the void.
From the shimmering light, a sword hilt emerged.
He grasped it and drew the Ea—the “Sword of Rupture.” Its crimson blade hummed with rotating runes.
“You think confining me here will bind me?” Facing the Sorcerer Supreme, Karsa had immediately reached for his Anti-World Noble Phantasm.
Clearly, he did not find this situation as relaxed as he pretended.
“Forgive my intrusion, but I am not here to fight,” the Ancient One said, her expression gentle, signaling no malice.
Karsa did not drop his guard; she was one of the few on Earth capable of threatening him.
“State your purpose.
I expect a reasonable explanation!” Karsa growled.
The air pressure from Ea hummed, tearing black rifts through the Mirror Dimension, which the Ancient One quickly patched with her magic.
“Your arrivals always keep us on edge,” the Sorcerer Supreme sighed.
“I am well aware of what Odin intends, but I hope you do not turn Earth into a slaughterhouse.
At the very least…
do not harm the innocent.” “Is that a warning?” Karsa’s eyes narrowed, his posture shifting toward violence.
He was accustomed to superiority and would not be threatened.
The Ancient One knew this.
She shifted her tone.
“I prefer to call it ‘counsel’.” Karsa studied her eyes for a long moment.
Finding no ulterior motive, his expression softened.
The Ancient One possessed the Eye of Agamotto—the Time Stone.
In a direct confrontation, victory wasn’t guaranteed unless he could break through to the Tenth Sense and exist independently of time, like Dormammu, outside the bounds of the three realms.
That was no small feat.
“I have always accorded respect to the strong,” Karsa said, conceding to her request.
But before she could exhale in relief, he added with a playful, dangerous glint, “However, if any ants dare to provoke the authority of a god, I will not hold back!” “Fair enough,” the Ancient One nodded resignedly.
She understood human nature better than anyone.
There was never a shortage of heroes, but there was also never a shortage of fools looking to die.
If someone provoked Karsa, she wouldn’t bother interfering.
Furthermore, she had dealt with Karsa before.
She could gain the upper hand using the Time Stone, but that artifact was treacherous.
Playing with time created infinite variables—potentially a beautiful future, or endless disaster.
Besides, her own magic relied on siphoning dark energy from Dormammu, which was taking a heavy toll on her soul.
Fighting Karsa again would consume massive amounts of energy and worsen her corruption.
It simply wasn’t worth it.
If a problem could be solved through dialogue, she had no desire to fight.
Her current priority was to find the next Sorcerer Supreme to carry on the mantle—someone to confront interdimensional threats and, perhaps, keep Karsa from running wild on Earth.
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