Kaecilius stood in the center of the Sanctum.
He wore a dark gray robe. Scars left by the Dark Dimension covered his face, and deep black-purple hollows ringed his eyes, making them look as though they had been gouged out.
In each hand he held a Space Blade formed from Dark Dimension energy. Dark-purple patterns, identical to those in the rift, flowed across the blades.
Opposite him, the Ancient One hovered in midair.
The Sorcerer Supreme wore a plain apricot-yellow robe. Not a strand of hair covered her head, and her lean face was calm. Her hands formed interlocking Hand Seals before her, and a golden magic circle spread from her palms to cover two-thirds of the Sanctum.
Runes flickered along its edge, but each flash was dimmer than the last.
The Ancient One's breathing was a little quicker than usual, and a faint trace of dark-red blood marked the corner of her mouth.
She had been fighting Kaecilius for nearly half an hour.
By rights, she had more than enough power to deal with one traitor. But Kaecilius had drawn on Dormammu's power from the Dark Dimension. Every attack carried the force to tear through dimensions, while the rift was eroding and weakening her magic circle.
But it was all deliberate. All part of her plan.
She had foreseen this moment long ago: her own death, Kaecilius's betrayal, and the rise of that extraordinarily gifted surgeon, Stephen Strange.
All her careful groundwork and preparations had been meant to ensure that, after her death, Strange would inherit the mantle of Sorcerer Supreme and continue protecting Earth.
The performance continued.
The Ancient One gritted her teeth and pressed her Hand Seals together more firmly. The golden magic circle suddenly swelled, knocking Kaecilius's Space Blade half an inch aside.
"Turn back, Kaecilius.