Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1644, the 1640th chapter: Kamar-Taj Dagger

That was the rage of a planet, the rage of an extinct intelligent race capable of interstellar travel.

This amorphous rage roamed the Aetheric plane, searching for a target. Only when the last Farting died would this terrifying wave, which had spawned countless raging entities within the Aetheric plane, finally subside. This wave of rage, which had once devoured planets, tore stars apart, and scattered millions of degrees Celsius of plasma across the galaxy, was forcibly pulled into this space. The Church of Bones was ignited by crimson clouds of fire, instantly incinerating into ashen ash. Scalding hot winds swept through this vertical mountain, constructed of concrete, glass, and steel. The ashen particles, no longer entirely affected by the gravitational vector below, surged in all directions with the help of the hot winds, rolling in like a massive sandstorm, not even sparing the battlefield where the Emperor was located. The crimson storm rolled downwards, its relatively slender ends extending into the ashen ash storm. Crimson ghosts emerged from the fire clouds, hunting down the translucent, blackish-purple, smoke-like and glassy ghosts that were swirling around because of the Church of Bones.

This was Dormammu's first and last roar.

Amon finally escaped the ghost's clutches. Following the miniature map guidance of the tactical command system, he saw a storm of gray-white smoke and waves of crimson ashes, stained crimson by burning clouds, rushing straight towards the Emperor's location. He wasn't worried about missing a step or hitting an obstacle, even though he couldn't see anything beyond a meter in front of him, even with enhanced vision mode—thermal imaging only showed crimson clouds and fiery tornadoes, infrared mode only showed chaotic black and white, and polarized mode shrouded his vision in darkness. Whenever he encountered a fault line, a high ground, or a depression, he seemed to anticipate it and react accordingly, his movements fluid and decisive, as if someone were whispering in his ear, showing him the path ahead. When he burst through the smoke and into an uncontaminated space, his golden armor and blood-red robes were covered in gray-white ashes, even the gaps in the armor were filled with dust.

Mage Daniel no longer doubted Amphitrite's intuition. Without the Royal Guard leaving the defensive perimeter for the hunt, spirits continued to surge towards Wanda Maximov. Based solely on experience, Mage Daniel could tell that Wanda Maximov's planetary defense system was in serious trouble. A etheric wave, carrying with it anger and destruction, stained Mage Daniel's Chain Lightning spells red and nearly caused him to lose control, as the outer dimension was continuously pouring psionic energy into the bodies and souls of every psionicist.

"Wanda can't hold on any longer, Amphitrite!"

As he cast his spell, the sorcerer Daniel glanced at Wanda out of the corner of his eye. Compared to her previous quietness, Wanda Maximoff was now radiating a fiery, scarlet soul. The antique armchair made of precious wood was torn to shreds by naturally formed psionic lightning, and the sorcerer Daniel had to step back a few paces to avoid suffering the same fate as his relatively fragile body.

The Royal Guard smashed a ghost and rushed in front of the mage Daniel.

"We need a doctor!" cried Master Daniel. "She's dying!"

How much time do we have left?

"I suspect that if this continues, she might not live for more than five minutes."

"That means our lord has five minutes to complete the mission?"

"Agomoto... has genetic modification eroded your humanity?" The sorcerer Daniel nearly jumped up in panic. "She's dying! She's having an epileptic seizure! Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Then we will remember her sacrifice," Amphitryon said solemnly. "If she had died before our Lord completed his mission, she would not have been the only one to die. The three great temples and even all of humanity on Earth would have faced annihilation... At that time, death would be the gift that humanity most desires."

The Imperial Guard charged forward like a train engine accelerating to its maximum speed. An unprecedented rage and anxiety urged him to quicken his pace, leaping off the hundred-meter-high cliff and plunging into the winding valley. He seemed to fly close to the ground, leaving a gray-white trail in the air. The mysterious blood modified by the genetic instrument boiled in his veins, his powerful heart roared like an engine, and the mechanical joint servos withstood the powerful reaction force. The moment he touched the ground, his spine and joints helped him spring forward like a spring. Surging psionic lightning slid across the surface of his armor, and the dense ionized gas in the air emitted a pungent odor.

Amon remained calm and composed, a quality bestowed upon him by the Genetic Instrument.

He saw the Emperor plunge the Holy Sword into the body Dormammu possessed. Emerald green light coiled around the wrists of both the Emperor and Dormammu, meshing tightly like gears, even emitting a metallic screeching sound. The Time Stone hung high between the Emperor and Dormammu like a lantern—if there were any survivors of the Battle of New York here, they would surely remember this incomparably blinding beam of light—fiery golden energy surged from the sword, piercing through layers of translucent glass-like shields emitting blackish-purple smoke and Dormammu's body, then piercing out from behind the latter. The blazing golden beam of energy plunged into the sky, carving out an endless cylindrical passage in the gray-white storm.

But the emperor's noble and resolute face showed no anger, only grief.

Amon believed that seeing this scene was like seeing a weeping rock.

He had always believed that the Emperor's treatment of witches, Athena, or the Sorcerer Supreme was merely a facade to maintain relationships, but what he witnessed overturned this theory. Sometime during the night, the crimson clouds and tornadoes were receding, and granular, grayish-white ashes were emitting smoke before evaporating into nothingness. Amon slowed his pace, for he saw the Emperor draw his holy sword and, supporting his broken body, slowly sit down on the ground.

The runes on the forehead of this body were slowly evaporating, and beneath the porcelain-like, shattered skin, blackened muscles, corroded by outer-dimensional energy, were slowly oozing blood. To be precise, this body was not Dormammu, but the Sorcerer Supreme; the consciousness residing in this body had been banished from this plane—the psychic energy from the Sorcerer Supreme's soul was spontaneously expelling the corruption Dormammu had inflicted on this body. However, the Sorcerer Supreme's body was still mortal; a huge, piercing wound in his chest and abdomen bled profusely. The Emperor instinctively tried to cast arcane spells to heal the wound, but the brilliant energy flickered in his palm and then extinguished.

Because this is what the Sorcerer Supreme wanted.

【dagger】

"Here." The Emperor held out his hand, and the Imperial Guard, Amon, immediately stepped forward. After confirming the order, the latter retrieved two daggers—what ordinary people would call short swords—from a magnetic scabbard at his waist. The Witch's Blades, a weapon supposedly forged by fairies that ended the eternal life of the witch Morgan le Fay. The Emperor took the daggers—somehow, his hand fit perfectly in the grip. Amon was quite certain that when he handed the daggers, held only by the tip, they were still only suitable for an ordinary person's hand, as if a visual illusion, like the Penrose stairs, had suddenly occurred.

[Before my body loses its ability to sustain consciousness. As soon as possible, as we agreed.]

Seemingly due to excessive blood loss, even after being immersed in psychic energy for a millennium, the Sorcerer Supreme's body was merely more resilient than that of an ordinary person. The Sorcerer Supreme was not truly immortal; psychic energy could not alter his genome, nor bestow upon his soul and body the mystical changes he desired—he could have lived on, though the corruption brought by Dormammu was severe, something the Emperor could have accomplished with a secret technique. This technique could not only have prolonged his life but also healed the vast amounts of tissue and organs corrupted by the chaotic outer-dimensional energy. But he could not do it, for this was the Sorcerer Supreme's last request—his body seemed to be gradually losing function, his consciousness becoming blurred, and his psychic communications becoming chaotic. The Sorcerer Supreme stared wide-eyed around, seemingly trying to bury his most precious memories in his dying brain.

Even without the astral body traveling, the Supreme Sage's soul remains within his body.

This was his final request, but he couldn't find any reason to convince himself, even though he knew it was an inevitable consequence of the times, representing the complete disappearance of the last glimmer of the ancient gods from the earth, and signifying that he would lead the human race into the next stage. Propagating theories, educating apprentices, establishing organizations, waging wars, and setting phased goals—this was the Sorcerer Supreme's mission.

He plunged the dagger into the Sorcerer Supreme's heart.

Amon felt time flowed extremely slowly in this space. Under the emerald light of the Time Gem, even the atomic clocks in the power armor seemed to have lost their function. Time changed in both the macroscopic and microscopic worlds. After what seemed like an eternity, the Emperor finally stood up, holding the Sorcerer Supreme's gradually cooling body. He regained his original expression, and the burning psychic energy in his eyes evaporated all evidence that tears had ever existed.

The sky gradually cleared up.

Even without his genetically modified eyes, Amon could see distant buildings rapidly turning into shards of glass, geometric objects nonexistent in three-dimensional space being gradually compressed by the laws of the material universe. The skeletal churches and crimson clouds that once filled the space had vanished completely; even the translucent ghosts had vanished without a trace, leaving not even ashes.

"You must kill her," a voice seemed to whisper in the Emperor's ear. "You must kill Morgan le Fay."

"My lord, can you hear me...?"

"I heard you." The Emperor looked up and around, hoping to see something, but the collapsing space offered nothing. He put away the Time Stone, and Amon placed it in a small crystal box, a miniature force field constantly operating within it. This was a small evidence box for the Imperial Guard's cultivation level, but anything was better than nothing. "Let's go, we don't have much time left."

(End of this chapter)