The sky split open.
That was no metaphor, but a real and unfolding fact.
Above the ruins of the Hong Kong Sanctum, the dimensional rift torn open by seven Dark Wedge Formations had expanded enough to blot out the sky over the entire city.
The edges of the rift resembled a bleeding wound, continuously dripping pitch-black droplets of energy.
Every drop that struck the ground corroded a pit several meters deep, from which twisted Imps condensed from pure darkness poured forth.
That was an extension of Chthon's power, proof that he had begun corrupting and transforming this dimension before he had even fully descended.
The sense of presence seeping from the depths of the rift was as heavy as mountains and as vast as the sea.
It was not a level of power any mortal thing could comprehend. It was an ancient will that had existed since the birth of the universe, the very origin of the concept of Dark Magic.
His mere will to descend had made Earth's entire magical network tremble violently, sent countless sensitive magical creatures quaking, and made every being who sensed that aura shudder from the depths of their soul.
Wanda stood atop the ruins, looking up at the still-expanding rift, her face pale as paper.
The Chaos Magic within her was frantically warning her. This was a level of threat she had never felt before.
Even when she had faced the Dark Dimension's corruption under Dormammu, she had not felt such an intense sense of foreboding.
Because Dormammu was merely the lord of a dimension, while the one about to descend was Chthon.
The true master of the Darkhold she had once read and whose whispers she had heard.
The progenitor of Chaos Magic, the author of darkness, a true Universal Level god.
"Wanda..."