A day later, in the underground laboratory beneath the manor on Earth.
The main screen was split into tens of thousands of displays, showing fluctuations in dimensional parameters and energy readings.
As well as the complete recording of Wanda effortlessly erasing Zarathos and his contract.
Loren stood before the central control console. Arrayed before him was a mechanical legion, orderly, grim, and silent.
They were not of a uniform model. Some were tall and heavy, with dark-blue energy matrices flowing across their armor.
Others were slender and agile, hovering in the air while equipped with miniature yet deadly dimensional disruptors.
Even more fell somewhere between the two, forming tightly organized combat formations.
Their metal shells gleamed coldly, countless optical sensors flickering with synchronized, rhythmic light like a silent galaxy.
There was no breathing, no heat—only the low hum of energy systems operating at minimum capacity, gathering into an oppressive roar.
Wanda stood quietly behind and to Loren's side, holding the Darkhold as its pages naturally closed.
Her expression was calm, as though she had merely brushed away a speck of dust.
Loren's gaze swept over the steel torrent entirely designed, manufactured, and armed by him.
His eyes were calm, devoid of the excitement or gravity one might feel before conquering a dimension. He looked more like he was inspecting a batch of tools about to leave the factory for a specific task.
He raised his hand and glanced at the Magic Ring Wanda had just finished charging for him. Gentle light flowed along the ring's patterns.
Then, he lowered his hand.
Magic might not be necessary this time.
His gaze returned to the legion. Through them, he seemed to already see that scorching, chaotic dimension filled with the stench of sulfur.
"Target: Hell Dimension, Mephisto's core territory."
Loren's voice rang