March on the White House

When The Ancient One stepped out of The Hand's stronghold, a cold wind swept across Manhattan, stirring the hem of her yellow robes.

She looked up. Her gaze passed the ranks of skyscrapers, the glare of neon signs and searchlights, and settled on the two figures still facing off in the distant sky.

The Statue of Liberty's torch had long since vanished in their struggle. Their battle had left New York in chaos, and before long, the whole world would probably know about it.

But she chose not to stop them. It was not because she feared she could not beat them. She simply did not want to fight.

As long as they did not destroy the world, the Sorcerer Supreme would not spare a second glance even if New York City was reduced to rubble in the fighting.

The Ancient One looked away and turned into an unlit alley. A gray brick wall stood at its end.

She did not go around it. She walked straight toward it, and the wall split open before her, revealing a spiral passage outlined in golden light.

It was a portal to the New York Sanctum Sanctorum.

She stepped through. The wall closed behind her as though nothing had happened.

The passage looked so long that its end was nowhere in sight, yet beneath The Ancient One's feet, it ended after only a few steps.

Inside the New York Sanctum Sanctorum, candle flames flickered in the draft, casting shifting light over ancient murals of demons and angels on the corridor walls.

The Ancient One entered. Mordo stood in the center of the hall, hands clasped behind his back, his long black hair catching a dull sheen in the candlelight. He had been waiting for some time.

His expression was grave.

"Master, something's happened