As the Ancient One stepped out of the Hand, a cold wind blew across Manhattan, causing the hem of her yellow robe to flutter gently.
She raised her head, her gaze passing through the towering buildings, through the light pollution of Nippon and searchlights, and landing on the two figures still confronting each other in the sky in the distance.
The torch of the Statue of Statue of Liberty has long since disappeared in the struggle between the two, and New York has been thrown into chaos by their battle. It will probably not be long before the whole world knows about this fight.
But she didn't choose to stop them, not because she was afraid she couldn't win, but because she didn't want to fight.
As the Sorcerer Supreme, she wouldn't even glance at New York City if they weren't destroyed in battle, as long as they didn't destroy the world.
Ancient One withdrew her gaze, turned and walked into an alley without lights. At the end of the alley was a gray brick wall.
She didn't take a detour, but walked straight towards the wall, where a crack appeared in front of her, revealing a spiral passage outlined by golden light.
This is the Portal to the Sanctum Sanctorum in New York.
She went inside, and the wall closed behind her, as if nothing had happened.
The passage seemed very long, with no end in sight, but it ended very quickly under the Ancient One's feet, reaching its end in just a few steps.
In the New York Sanctum Sanctorum, the candlelight in the corridors flickered in the draft, casting an indistinct glow on the ancient murals of Demons and Angel on the walls.
As Ancient One entered, Sorcerer Mordo standing in the center of the hall, his hands behind his back, his long black hair gleaming dimly in the candlelight, having waited for some time.
His expression was very serious.
"Teacher, something's happened to Strange."
Ancient One took off her robe and hung it on the hanger, her movements unhurried and deliberate, like someone returning home on a rainy day, putting away their umbrella and changing their shoes—everything was so natural—before she asked:
"What's up?"
"Car accident. His car went out of control on the mountain road and rolled off a cliff. He was unharmed, but his hands—" Mordo paused.
"His hands were severely injured, with multiple comminuted fractures and nerve damage. According to the doctor who examined him, he will never be able to perform surgical work again."
Ancient One didn't speak immediately. She walked to the fireplace, stretched out her hand, and the fire ignited at her fingertips. The fire crackled, and the flames illuminated her face.
"Oh."
The face was expressionless, not indifferent, but rather a temporary blankness that occurs when processing information.
Mordo frowned as he watched her retreating figure.
Stephen Strange, an excellent surgeon and an absolute medical genius, is arrogant and somewhat disdainful of others.
Now, a car accident has ruined his hand, his career, and everything he was proud of. It seems that only magic can completely heal him, and this may very well be the starting point for him to become the Sorcerer Supreme.
Master said that Strange's magical talent is amazing, and he is the strongest magical genius of this generation. Master should be anxious and should set off immediately to find him and guide him.
However, Master simply said "Oh".
Mordo thought he had misheard.
"Master, Strange's magical talent..."
"I know." Ancient One turned around and looked at the fire. "His talent is very strong, stronger than any magic apprentice I've ever seen."
She paused. "But to become a qualified Mage, talent alone is not enough. Moreover, each generation of the Sorcerer Supreme bears the heavy responsibility of protecting the Earth."
Mordo remained silent. He sensed the hesitation in his master's words—not hesitation about whether to teach Strange, but hesitation about whether to pass the position of Sorcerer Supreme to him.
This position is as heavy as a mountain; it's not something that talent alone can bear. It requires wisdom, patience, and the ability to smile and face the world's despair even when you're at your most exhausted.
"Master, are you considering someone else?"
Ancient One glanced at him, the light in his eyes like a lake rippled by the wind. "Your observation skills are getting better and better."
"Is it that Mutants? The one named Russell?" Mordo lowered his head. "The one who fought the Phoenix Force wielder in New York today. I noticed you were observing him from the shadows."
Mordo didn't mention Jean Grey because Jean had come into their view a long time ago, but the Ancient One, the Sorcerer Supreme, didn't show any unusual behavior at the time.
Ancient One out his hand, palm facing up, and a green light appeared in the air, thin and long like a sprouting vine.
The light swirled, intertwined, and wove in her palm, eventually forming a small, intricate three-dimensional pattern, like the gears inside a clock.
"I used the Time Stone to look at many Timeline." Ancient One's gaze fell on the green pattern. "In every timeline, Strange became the Sorcerer Supreme. He stopped Dormammu, defeated Thanos, and protected Earth during countless cosmic apocalypses. He is the most suitable person for this position."
"But what about now?" Mordo pressed.
"But in every thread of Sorcerer Supreme Strange's future existence, Russell does not exist." Ancient One raised her hand, and the green pattern dispersed in the air, turning into countless tiny points of light that slowly disappeared.
"He didn't die in battle; he was never even there from the beginning. The route he took to escape from the Laboratory doesn't exist in any of those Timeline. And in the Timeline where he does appear, I only saw a small part of it."
"What did he do during that time?" Mordo asked curiously.
Ancient One was silent for a few seconds. The fire burned behind her, the firewood crackling, casting her shadow on the wall like a giant deep in thought.
"In that period, he didn't become the Sorcerer Supreme." Ancient One pondered. "He became something else— the God's Whip, the Om Messiah, the Savior, the Destroyer. His path was completely different from Strange's, but his destination was the same as Strange's."
"What destination?"
Ancient One gazed at the hearth fire, a weariness in her eyes she had never shown in front of Mordo. "To protect the Earth, in his own way, not with magic, but in his own way."
She turned to Mordo. "I need time to think. Don't go to Strange yet. Let him deal with it himself. This is a test he has to go through."
Mordo nodded without saying anything more. A light flashed on his right-hand Sling Ring, and an orange Portal appeared. He took a step out and disappeared into the building on the other side.
Ancient One stood alone in front of the fireplace, gazing at the firelight, and remained silent for a long time.
"Om Messiah," she repeated softly, a slight smile playing on her lips, "the Savior of the Mechanicus. This world is getting more and more interesting."
Four Seasons Hotel, Manhattan.
There were many people standing on that street.
They weren't bystanders; they were Mutants, numbering over a hundred, including men and women, young and old, some homeless in tattered clothes, some young people carrying backpacks, and some elderly people pushing wheelchairs.
Their faces were filled with anticipation, awe, and hope.
A Mutants teenager with exceptional eyesight was the first to spot the figure in the sky. His eyes were sharper than an eagle's, able to see the vibration of a Mosquito's wing from thousands of meters away.
He stood on high ground, pointing at the figure on Manhattan Island, his voice trembling with excitement. "It's him! It's Lord Russell, the one who fought that female Mutants in the skies over New York today, that's him."
The crowd erupted in jubilation. Some knelt, some raised their hands, and some whispered something. They weren't chanting God or Buddha, but a sacred name they had heard in the Bible.
"Om Messiah." An old man knelt on the ground, his hands clasped together, tears streaming down his cloudy eyes. "He is the God's Whip, the incarnation of God, sent by God to save us, to save the Mutants race."
Felicity stood in the crowd, still holding the book on the history of New York architecture. Her fingers gently traced the spine of the book; her heart was pounding, and her face was flushed, not from nervousness, but from pride.
The man they called "the God's Whip," the man they called "Om Messiah," was someone she saw every day.
She helped him not just once, but many times. Although the Telepathy training didn't satisfy Lord Russell, it was at least somewhat helpful.
Furthermore, that trust, that feeling of being needed, made her feel that she wasn't a burden.
Laura stood beside her, a slight smile playing on her lips, pleased that Russell had gained the approval of so many of her compatriots.
"When will Lord Russell be able to establish his own power?" A voice came from the crowd, silencing the excited crowd.
Felicity paused.
The crowd quieted down, and everyone was watching the brown-haired girl who had been following Russell around, going to restaurants and handing out money on the street.
If Russell is God's spokesperson, then she is Russell's spokesperson.
Felicity's lips moved slightly, her fingers clenching tightly on the spine of the book. "I... I don't know."
Her voice was very soft, so soft that only those nearby could hear it. "This matter must be decided by Lord Russell himself. I cannot answer for him, because he has not yet mentioned establishing any power."
A hand rested on her shoulder. Felicity looked up, and Laura looked at her without speaking, but there was an emotion in her eyes that she had never seen before, one that was reassuring.
"However, I believe that following Lord Russell is definitely the right thing to do, and we will all have a wonderful future."
The crowd fell silent for a moment, then the voice rang out again, this time not a question, but a shout:
"That's right, let's follow Lord Russell and build a nation for Mutants, so that we're no longer hunted, no longer locked in Laboratory, and no longer treated like monsters!"
"Follow Lord Russell, follow Om Messiah."
Shouts rose and fell, like ocean waves, like the tide, like a Volcano awakening.
Some Level 1 Mutants were moved to tears, some hugged each other, and some raised their fists in salute to the towering figure in their hearts, to the young man they called "Om Messiah".
In the distance, the engines of several black police SUVs were shut off, not because they were out of gas, but because they no longer needed to monitor the area.
"Fall back." George Daisy's voice came through the walkie-talkie, hoarse and tired, like someone who had just pulled an all-nighter.
"We just received orders to evacuate."
The officer in the car turned to look at him. "Sir, are we just going to ignore them?"
"Manage?" George sat in the back seat, leaning against the window, looking at the group of Mutants still shouting outside, and the terrifying entity in the video that had destroyed the Statue of Liberty.
"What are you carrying? A pistol? Handcuffs? Pepper spray?"
The young officer remained silent.
George lowered his head and rubbed his temples hard with his fingers, trying to suppress the pent-up frustration.
Russell is more troublesome than Spider-Man, more troublesome than the Punisher, more troublesome than Daredevil. At least Spider-Man doesn't kill people, at least the Punisher only kills bad guys, and at least Daredevil only comes out at night.
And Russell? He does everything, dares to do everything, and is capable of doing everything. He kills police officers, gangsters, destroys the Statue of Liberty, and even receives the worship of a group of Mutants.
It's almost become a matter of whether New York is in chaos or not, and Russell has the final say.
"Drive it back. We'll go to work as usual tomorrow."
The police car quickly drove away from the street and merged into the traffic of Manhattan. In the rearview mirror, the shouting crowd grew smaller and smaller, farther and farther away, and finally disappeared into the sea of Nippon.
"Those Mutants gathered together, shouting your name, are they your people?" Jean hovered opposite Russell.
"They're not one of my people," Russell shrugged. "They're here to see me."
Is there a difference?
"Yes." Russell raised an eyebrow. "Those who are looking for me, I don't necessarily have to accept them."
Qin tilted her head, her green eyes narrowing. "So, what kind do you want?"
Russell stared at her for a long time. "I want someone who can fight."
Qin smiled faintly.
"This game isn't over yet."
"You don't want to fight anymore?" Russell frowned.
"I don't want to." Qin shook her head. "What's the point of fighting like this? You can't kill me, and I can't kill you."
"So how do you want to decide the winner?"
Qin thought for a moment, then a slight smile appeared on her lips. "Let's each choose an ordinary person, grant them abilities, and then have them fight."
"Whoever wins wins."
Russell's brow furrowed slightly, realizing that Jean's suggestion was a piece of cake for him, since what he had done with Jim was to grant him abilities.
"Are you serious?"
"Seriously."
"Where is it?"
Qin tilted her head and looked at him. "You decide."
Russell paused for two seconds, then his eyes flickered. "The White House."
Qin's eyes narrowed, and a green light flashed from the depths of her pupils before returning to normal. "The White House? The White House where the president lives?"
"Um."
"Are you planning to take over the White House and become president?"
"President, I wouldn't even be a dog; I just want to increase my visibility."
Qin looked at him, at those eyes—a color she couldn't quite describe, eyes that seemed to shimmer with light—for a full three seconds, and then she smiled.
"Okay, the White House is."
For her, as long as she has fun, the location doesn't matter.