Their anxiety hadn't fully faded until Malrick reappeared—his silhouette cutting through wind and flame like a blade.

He emerged from the abyss, cloak fluttering, completely unscathed.

The sorcerers exhaled in collective relief.

But what followed shattered every expectation—and their understanding of power.

First, Dormammu unleashed a relentless barrage of attacks. Malrick didn't move an inch.

Then, with nothing more than a brief taunt, Malrick launched a punch that sent Dormammu hurtling.

And finally—he blew up the planet they stood on. A world no smaller than Earth, reduced to fire and rubble in an instant.

The explosion consumed the scene in a tide of flames and fractured stone.

But in their minds, every Master, every onlooker, saw only one thing:

Malrick's fist. And the planet breaking apart beneath it.

"…Is that really our Sorcerer Supreme?" someone whispered.

"He… he is, right?"

"Was the Ancient One ever that strong?"

"I don't think so… I mean, if the Ancient One showed up, she might've been flattened by one of Malrick's punches."

"Wait, is that even magic anymore?"

"…I think? Kinda? Isn't that how we usually fight…?"

The murmurs grew louder, but no one blinked. Their wide-eyed stares remained locked on the scorched sky where Malrick had stood.

And the Avengers standing nearby weren't faring much better.

Tony's voice cracked slightly. "Holy crap, that's Malrick? What the hell has he been doing while we were here?! He can punch planets now?"

Pietro stared in stunned admiration, his eyes glowing as if starlight had pooled inside them.

Malrick stood alone in the firelight, and Pietro's expression could only be described as: That's what a real man looks like.

Even Wanda, usually calm, was dazed.

Just minutes ago, Dormammu had radiated such oppressive power that it had made her tremble.

Now, she looked at him being pummeled like a ragdoll and thought, Was he always this… underwhelming?

Wanda's gaze settled on Malrick, cloaked in dark armor, lit by flame and fury.

Perhaps it was the way he moved—like a god of war reborn. Or perhaps it was the way that suit clung to his frame, every muscle flexing with devastating precision.

Even she had to admit… Pietro was right.

Malrick's physique put every Renaissance sculpture she'd ever seen to shame.

Once Malrick got serious, the fight between him and Dormammu became a cinematic spectacle of impossible scale.

Flashes of magic tore through the landscape. Dimensional lightwaves danced and collided. When spells weren't enough, the two collided hand-to-hand—like titans battling atop shattered stars.

By the time it ended, Malrick had punched Dormammu out of reality like a baseball flying out of a stadium. He even summoned a giant to self-destruct, magnifying the devastation.

The spectacle overwhelmed every sorcerer's senses.

When the memory ended, and they returned to reality, no one moved.

For several long minutes, they just stood there in stunned silence.

The rollercoaster of emotions left behind a dazed hush—followed by awe. They had felt it. They had been Malrick, for a moment.

They had faced Dormammu—and they had won.

Malrick cleared his throat.

"Alright, show's over," he said, lifting two skewers of octopus tentacles. "If you don't eat now, it'll go cold. And trust me, cold grilled octopus isn't nearly as good."

It broke the spell.

Like someone waking up from a vivid dream, every sorcerer blinked and came back to their senses.

But their expressions had changed.

What was once simple respect had deepened into something far more intense: reverence.

Hulk, eyes like saucers, stared at Malrick's arm… then at his own much larger biceps.

He looked deeply confused. How's he stronger than me? he seemed to wonder. My arms are way bigger.

"Why are you all staring?" Malrick said, holding out the skewers. "Eat!"

Instead, they dropped their food and surged toward him.

"Malrick, that was incredible!"

"You actually beat Dormammu! With your fists!"

"With you here, we don't have to worry about Demon Gods ever again!"

"Earth's the strongest realm now, right?"

"Malrick, what kind of magic was that? That body-enhancement technique—please teach me!"

They crowded around him, voices overlapping in excitement.

Malrick raised a hand. "Easy, easy. One question at a time. Anyone pushing will be portaled straight back to their Sanctums."

But despite the warning, he couldn't help but puff out his chest a little.

His smile turned warm.

It was a strange but satisfying joy—a kind he hadn't felt in a long time.

The joy of showing off.

Because really, what was the point of getting stronger?

Aside from surviving, protecting others, and overcoming the odds... there was also the thrill of standing tall, admired by your peers.

Malrick wasn't one to boast often—not anymore, anyway.

But every now and then?

Yeah. It felt pretty good.

Until—

"Hey! Who just touched my chest? Yeah, you with the cat ears—I saw that!"

"And you, Minotaur! It's bad enough you grabbed my biceps—but did you pinch them? What the hell?!"

Clearly, some of the newer sorcerers had taken a very hands-on approach to expressing their admiration.

They weren't just crowding him.

They were groping him.

So Malrick smacked each one on the head, magical thumps echoing across the courtyard. One by one, they shuffled to the corner with cartoonish lumps swelling from their skulls.

The rest resumed their questions.

What started as a chaotic Q&A slowly shifted into an impromptu lecture.

Malrick spoke for two full hours—covering everything from energy manipulation to magical theory.

By the end, every sorcerer left with a spark in their eye and a notebook full of scribbles.

Night descended.

One by one, the sorcerers of the three Sanctums departed.

Those who remained at Kamar-Taj returned to their quarters, ready to resume their hidden lives among the ordinary.

That was the nature of their calling.

When danger rises—they confront it.

And once it's resolved—they vanish into the fabric of normal life, unnoticed.

No one outside would ever know that a group of robed mystics had just prevented a multiversal catastrophe.

Except this time was different.

Because wherever they went, they would carry Malrick's name.

And they'd speak of him—not just as Sorcerer Supreme, but as the man who crushed Dormammu with his bare hands.

Once the crowd thinned, Tony and the others finally had a chance to speak to Malrick in private.

"Alright, that wraps up the Dimensional War for now," Malrick said. "Time to go home."

He pulled out a few shimmering potions and handed them to Mordo.

"Drop these into the hells that invaded us," he said. "Let them watch and learn."

Mordo blinked. "You mean… as a warning?"

Malrick nodded.

Grinning, Mordo straightened his robe. "Understood! I'll make sure they feel it."

He held up one potion like it was a trophy. "Should I throw one into the Eye Demon's realm too?"

Malrick shot him a look. "Don't. The Eye Demon doesn't usually bother Earth. Best not to provoke a being with tentacles and a temper."

When it came to Cthulhu-like horrors, subtlety was key.

__

Send Powerstones 😮‍💨