The world was silent. The kind of silence that made your ears ring.
They stood beneath a fractured red sky, the wind scraping across the barren wasteland like a warning whispered too late. The ground beneath their boots was dry, cracked, and lifeless—rippled like broken glass, glowing faintly with embers of energy that pulsed with unsettling regularity.
Tony was the first to speak. "Okay. This isn't Earth. And if it is... I want my deposit back."
Steve scanned the horizon, shield held ready. "Where are we?"
"No stars," Natasha said, eyes flicking upward. "Not even clouds. Just... that."
A sky soaked in shades of blood and rust, trembling as though reality itself were holding its breath.
Bruce knelt and touched the ground. "Radiation levels are weirdly stable, but I wouldn't breathe too deep. Something's wrong here. Wrong on a metaphysical level."
Pietro remained unusually quiet, his gaze locked on the horizon. Rin, meanwhile, had gone still—eyes darting, fingers twitching slightly like she was mentally checking off defensive wards.
"Space," Tony muttered, breaking the silence again. "You know, for all the times I've flown above the atmosphere, this is the first time I've actually stood on what feels like another planet. Gotta say... not a fan."
Then the air shimmered.
A ring of golden sparks carved through the fabric of space, expanding into a portal. The wind blew outward from its center, as if reality was exhaling. From the glowing circle, a figure stepped forward—graceful, deliberate.
Bald. Robed. Calm.
The Ancient One.
Everyone turned to face her, weapons half-raised, uncertainty etched into their stances. Everyone but Rin.
"Finally," Rin said under her breath. "Took you long enough."
The Ancient One offered a serene smile as she approached. "Rin. It's good to see you again."
Tony leaned toward Steve. "Okay, so a serene space monk just walked out of a sparkly portal and looks like she's about to give us a TED Talk on enlightenment. Let me guess—that's the Ancient One?"
Steve gave a short nod, still watching cautiously.
The Ancient One gave a small bow. "I understand this is a tense moment, but I've come to deliver clarity, not confusion."
Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Clarity would be great. Answers, even better."
The Ancient One turned, her eyes scanning the hellish landscape. "You've stepped into a fragment of the Mirror Dimension—twisted and reshaped by Wanda's unstable magic. It's barely holding together. A reflection, corrupted. A dying echo of reality."
"So," Tony said, "basically... we're not in space but in magical limbo with bad feng shui."
"Essentially," she replied with a faint smile.
Thor frowned. "If you are so powerful, why not simply fix it?"
The Ancient One's smile faded. "Because Wanda Maximoff's surge of energy has drawn attention. Many of the... less benevolent eyes that watch from the veil between realms now see Earth clearly. And they are not friendly."
She turned to face them fully. "My duty is to hold those entities back. They are probing your world as we speak. If I falter, your planet may become their hunting ground. I cannot aid you in confronting Wanda or what lies within her."
Rin's expression grew darker. "How many are we talking?"
"Enough to keep even me occupied," the Ancient One replied. "So I leave this battle to you. Wanda's mind is not wholly her own. But she is not beyond saving."
Steve stepped forward. "We'll bring her back."
The Ancient One gave a final nod. "Then go swiftly. The deeper you travel into her world, the less stable it becomes. And beware—what you find may not be her alone."
She paused, looking at each of them with quiet intensity. "You have all faced impossible odds before, but what lies ahead exists beyond reason, beyond fear. You will need more than strength. You will need resolve."
With that, she stepped backward into the golden portal. It shimmered once and vanished, taking the warmth with it. The wasteland trembled.
Tony exhaled, long and low. "Right. So. Just another day with ancient wizards, demonic entities, and mind-warped witches."
Pietro cracked his knuckles, his voice tight. "Let's find my sister."
The team pressed on—into the broken reflection of reality, where the rules bent like glass under pressure, and the shadow of something greater stirred.
The game had changed.
And they were already inside the board.
............
The team marched toward the heart of the storm on the horizon, a crimson vortex swirling like a wound in the sky. With every step, the terrain grew more distorted—floating debris, reversed gravity pockets, structures that shouldn't exist phasing in and out of view.
As they reached the eye of the storm, Wanda's silhouette appeared—hovering at the center, suspended in mid-air. Her aura flared and cracked, surging uncontrollably.
But she wasn't alone.
Blocking their path stood a towering figure clad in shifting, jet-black armor that pulsed and writhed like a living shadow. His entire body was encased in this ominous shell, with crimson lines flickering across its surface, hinting at a violent energy barely contained. The helmet he wore was sleek and featureless save for a thin, glowing slit where his eyes should be, exuding a cold, otherworldly light. His presence was both silent and overwhelming—a manifestation of fury and madness given form.
They called him the Black Knight—a silent wraith of war cloaked in living shadow, his armor a swirling mass of darkness laced with veins of crimson light. Where others rode with banners and glory, he came without name or voice, a phantom whose presence warped the air with fury barely contained. His blade was not his own, nor was the spear, nor the gun—any weapon he touched bowed to his will, as if even steel feared him.
Once, long ago, he had ridden beneath a different sky, a shining knight at a king's side. But those days were ash, and all that remained was the wrath of a man who had lost everything—honor, love, and name—buried beneath the mask of madness.
The one who used to be the Knight of the Lake—Sir Lancelot du Lac.