As the Supreme Sorcerer's chief assistant and head disciple after Kaecilius, Master Mordo couldn't comprehend the Ancient One's actions.
Wasn't Kamar-Taj's duty to monitor all spatial fluctuations on Earth and closely track any elements from other dimensions?
And yet, over in Duncan's territory, a figure had already appeared—one wielding the power of another world. Not only that, but they were incredibly strong, strong enough to even defeat Magneto.
Well, Mordo didn't believe he would lose to Magneto, but after assessing Reynold's displayed combat abilities, he found the situation troubling.
Reynold could launch energy attacks from a distance and engage in close-quarters combat. So far, aside from his unknown mental defenses, he showed no apparent weaknesses.
The sorcerers of Kamar-Taj were different. Almost all of them possessed mortal bodies, meaning they had to take precautions during battle, often expending magic in advance to cast defensive spells on themselves.
The stronger Reynold appeared, the more unease Mordo felt. As Supreme Sorcerer, the Ancient One should have intervened earlier, personally assessing Reynold's source of power to ensure there was no dimensional invasion.
Yet, the Ancient One had done nothing. She simply sat there, unmoving, as if deep in contemplation.
Mordo wanted to question her, but seeing the Ancient One close her eyes once more, he hesitated. In the end, he respectfully withdrew from the sanctum, deciding to continue his mission—tracking down Kaecilius.
"Master Mordo, I haven't seen Wong. Where did he go?"
As Mordo passed a specialized training ground, a Dummie clone called out to him.
"He's on the same mission as I am. The fight against dark sorcerers must not stop," Mordo replied.
He paused briefly, glancing at the large group of identical figures before him. After hesitating for a moment, he found himself unsure how to deal with these Dummie clones.
"I can go too. I'm already a qualified sorcerer," one of them declared.
"Oh? You mean that circus act you uploaded into my memory? You'd be better off joining an actual circus. I know one that's short on talented monkeys."
"Shut up! Don't forget who we are! We're S.H.I.E.L.D. agents! Maintaining world peace is our duty—"
"Retired agents."
A heated argument broke out among the Dummie clones.
No one truly knew how many memories of cloned individuals coexisted within their minds. For all Mordo knew, this argument might have been an act.
Either way, he wasn't particularly skilled at dealing with these so-called "geniuses" handpicked by the Ancient One. If magical talent was the standard, few of them were exceptional. Most of them even struggled to channel the magical particles bestowed by Vishanti.
Their strengths lay elsewhere: their sheer numbers, strong willpower, and disciplined execution. That, it seemed, was what earned the Ancient One's favor.
"The Supreme Sorcerer doesn't need this many monks… especially ones as mediocre as these half-baked disciples," Mordo thought to himself. But then again, the Ancient One's wisdom was unfathomable.
Regardless of their protests, he refused to bring the Dummie clones along.
After all, every Kamar-Taj disciple was a precious asset, carefully nurtured and protected. Unless the world was at war or an interdimensional deity threatened to devour Earth, they would never be sent into battle. Their primary task was to remain in Kamar-Taj and deepen their understanding of magic.
Using a portal, Mordo stepped onto the streets of New York.
He could never grasp the Supreme Sorcerer's thoughts. Perhaps that was the fundamental difference between him and the Ancient One. Either way, fighting dark sorcerers seemed like a more productive use of his time.
Wearing his distinctive hood, he moved through the city without hesitation, unfazed by the wary glances of passing pedestrians.
Many people tensed upon seeing him, their expressions shifting to caution or even fear as they quickly stepped aside.
Mordo knew this was a direct result of the battle in Westchester. The clash had left an unprecedented impact on modern society. New York, as the epicenter, had suffered the deaths of tens of thousands. The city had long since been gripped by fear.
Of course, there were always those who worshiped power to an extreme. Mordo didn't need to guess—by now, there were likely plenty of war-hungry individuals or desperate souls seeking security who were actively searching for Duncan, hoping to be infected by the Xenomorph parasite and become superhuman.
"How pitiful… These mortals will never understand that this is merely a conflict of the mundane world. If an interdimensional god were to invade, the number of deaths would be far greater than this."
Mordo felt a pang of sorrow. His nature was rigid and unyielding—he despised evil, yet he also harbored deep compassion for the common people.
Kaecilius, before he pledged allegiance to Dormammu, had been much the same.
Right now, the loss of a mere fifty thousand lives had sent shockwaves across the world, putting every nation on high alert. But if the battle escalated to a true dimensional war, it wouldn't just be thousands—it would be billions.
"In the end, this level of destruction is nothing," Mordo thought grimly.
He continued moving forward.
"Kaecilius… let's see how much longer you can keep hiding."
Mordo's eyes gleamed with a cold light as he immediately stormed into a black magician's hideout.
As long as these individuals dared to use excessive magic, they were like fireflies in the dark—emitting a faint, flickering glow that Kamar-Taj's monitoring systems would detect instantly.
Upon entering, Mordo scanned his surroundings. Bloodstains and severed limbs littered the floor. He remained vigilant, using magic to examine all traces.
He had hoped to encounter Kaecilius, as this would be his weakest moment. After clashing with Loki—an opponent possessing magic, divine power, a superhuman physique, and intelligence—Kaecilius must have accrued an immense debt. At the very least, he would be bedridden for weeks.
Mordo speculated that Kaecilius was likely suffering from high blood pressure, coronary heart disease, and stomach ulcers.
And that was with Dormammu bearing the brunt of it. If Kaecilius had to repay the debt to the Dark God Chthon entirely on his own, he would undoubtedly be suffering a fate worse than death.
But unfortunately, Kaecilius was not here.
Mordo furrowed his brows, disappointed. But in the next instant, his eyelids twitched—someone else had beaten him here.
However, there were still a few survivors in the fifth room ahead. He could capture them for information.
"Xenomorphs?"
Mordo suddenly turned his head, his face filled with astonishment as he watched creatures emerge from the darkness of the building. They blended seamlessly with the shadows, silent assassins lying in wait for the perfect moment to strike.
At close range, the sorcerer observed these creatures—renowned worldwide, coveted as weapons of war—slaughtering the dark magicians with ruthless efficiency.
Glancing toward a room in the distance, he also noticed several xenomorph corpses. Their terrifying acidic blood had corroded the floor, leaving behind gaping holes.
"These are just ordinary xenomorphs, along with many lower-class ones that crawl on all fours..." Mordo slowly backed away until he reached a corner, focusing intently on their behavior.
Global research into the social structure of the xenomorphs was progressing systematically. So far, three distinct caste levels had been identified: Queen, Warrior, and Worker.
Workers—like the ones crawling on all fours here—were the smallest, capable of spitting acid from a distance, and had the weakest combat abilities. But "weak" was relative—if thrown into a crowd of ordinary people, they could instantly become unstoppable killing machines.
"Get away from me, damn things! You should be hunting vampires, not us!"
A surviving black magician cursed in terror. He raised his hand and cast a spell, instantly killing one of the xenomorphs. However, he had jumped too late. A few drops of the creature's acidic blood splattered onto him, and his once-intact body was grievously injured—his power was instantly halved.
A mere few drops of xenomorph blood. No ordinary human could survive it. Even most superhumans would be unable to withstand the substance that could corrode a spaceship.
He tried to flee, but several xenomorphs surrounded him, tearing him apart on the spot.
Mordo frowned. The brutality of the execution was unsettling, but he couldn't say the xenomorphs were in the wrong.
"I should've warned him before he died—his comrades weren't reliable. One of them was actually a vampire skilled in black magic. But then again, we're also hunting dark magicians."
A crisp voice broke the silence as a tall woman stepped forward.
She wore a tight red bodysuit, her long legs wrapped in faintly red stockings that extended up to her thighs, unapologetically on display. A long flowing coat draped from her hips, accentuating her curves.
She was the kind of woman who would attract attention wherever she went—if one ignored the bloodstained blade in her hand and the eerie flames burning over the missing half of her shoulder.
"That's Mephisto's Hellfire—a form of demonic magic. If you don't purge it quickly, your soul will ultimately belong to Mephisto." Mordo's expression darkened as he glanced at her wound, a trace of disdain crossing his face.
dark magicians—utterly vile. Not only did they wield spells with devastating side effects, but they also dared to invoke the dark arts of Hell's greatest demons.
"Mephisto... I don't know much about that guy. I don't even know if he truly exists."
"All magic, even the simplest fire conjuration, derives its energy from specific magical entities. If the spell works, it proves the existence of the entity it invokes."
Mordo scrutinized the woman before him, indifferent to her dismissive attitude. His frown deepened.
"So, all of Duncan's subordinates have lost their self-awareness after being transformed? Is that what you are, Elektra Nachis?"
The last thing he wanted was for Duncan's followers to become nothing more than soulless tools.
"Sorcerer, should I feel honored that you know my name? Then you should also know—I was trained by The Hand. Enduring pain is a fundamental skill for every ninja."
Elektra appeared indifferent, but in truth, she was enduring excruciating agony.
She was only still alive because the xenomorph embryo inside her chest remained unharmed. If it had been damaged, she doubted she would have survived.
"I can sense the xenomorph inside you. Be careful—if it burns, you'll lose your regenerative abilities, and its acidic blood will kill you."
Mordo's eyes remained locked onto Elektra's exposed shoulder, his expression grim.
It was the first time he had ever seen a human hosting a xenomorph embryo firsthand. The creature nestled within Elektra's chest cavity, intertwined with her flesh and organs, subtly contracting like a beating heart—breathing.
"…Don't worry about it. I might die for a lot of reasons, but this won't be one of them. Kamar-Taj's people haven't dealt with people like me often, so you don't understand. But eventually, you will." Elektra said.
Being implanted with a xenomorph meant inheriting its genes. The parasitism worked both ways—so long as Duncan maintained control and ensured the embryo didn't fully take over, a human could retain xenomorph DNA.
That meant superhuman strength, rapid regeneration, and—most importantly—immunity to their corrosive blood.
The two stood ten meters apart as they spoke.
Mordo, standing alone, was confident he could eliminate both Elektra and all the xenomorphs in an instant.
Elektra, on the other hand, remained cautious, maintaining a deliberate distance.
When Mordo's gaze briefly lingered on her shoulder, Elektra remained completely unfazed.
Both of them were highly trained warriors.
Mordo was Kamar-Taj's second-in-command. Elektra was a former Hand assassin and now a xenomorph host. Both had undergone extensive mental and physical conditioning. There was no way a meaningless emotion like embarrassment would arise between them at a moment like this.
That would only lower their guard and weaken their combat effectiveness—something neither of them would allow.
"Kaecilius isn't here? We detected a massive black magic surge."
"He was here just a few minutes ago. We're hunting him too—not just you. We're also eliminating all dark magicians along the way."
Elektra gestured toward a direction, revealing several corpses to Mordo.
To be honest, this job is not easy. Dark sorcerers are generally powerful, yet they are still mortals. Because of this, they cannot serve as extraordinary hosts for Xenomorph parasites. As a result, the order Elektra received was simple—leave no survivors.
Fighting vampires at least yielded a batch of Blood Xenomorphs, but dealing with dark sorcerers was a constant loss, with Xenomorphs dying one after another.
The only consolation was that most of these Xenomorphs were messenger-class, born from ordinary animals—ideal expendables. While Elektra felt a pang of regret for each loss, Duncan found it acceptable.
Even if they didn't fall in battle here, Duncan would eventually send these messenger Xenomorphs to Asgard to fight.
The most basic messenger Xenomorph could easily withstand temperatures ranging from -100°C to 1000°C, making them effective combatants on many harsh planets.
Elektra remarked, "Kaecilius had a rough time after fighting Loki. When I arrived, he had just walked out of the restroom."
"That's a serious problem," Mordo mused. "So this stronghold might actually be one of his… restrooms."
Mordo now felt that among the numerous afflictions Kaecilius might have contracted, he could add another—frequent urination.
A sorcerer of Kaecilius' caliber could resolve cleaning and waste disposal with mere fragments of magical energy at almost no cost. Yet, the fact that he hadn't done so suggested his physical condition was worse than expected. At the very least, his digestive system was suffering—likely one of the prices he paid to Chthon.
Not even magic could repair it.
In the end, Kaecilius had fled through a portal, deliberately avoiding any form of combat.
Remaining on guard, Elektra led the Xenomorphs away first.
"Kaecilius is not an enemy you can handle," Mordo couldn't help but say.
Elektra glanced at him in surprise, then shook her head. "No one gets away unscathed after crossing Duncan. Even if he's a top-tier sorcerer, he will pay a heavy price—that was sealed the moment he attacked Duncan. Besides, if I can't beat him, the Sentinel can."
The Sentinel? So that must be the one wielding extradimensional power, another subordinate under Duncan's command.
Mordo watched Elektra leave, taking special note of the Xenomorphs.
"Duncan… a dangerous individual." He turned and stepped into a portal, beginning his search for the next dark sorcerer stronghold.
Elektra returned, sitting atop a Xenomorph, carefully slicing away the burning flesh on her body with a blade. From a distance, she saw countless Xenomorphs bustling about.
"Renault again?" She sighed, watching a golden beam of light shoot skyward, followed by tremors that shook the ground. "After showing off his power a few times, he's finally pushed this barely-standing building past the point of no return."
Renault never seemed to rest, always looking for opportunities to test his overwhelming strength.
But as she drew closer, Elektra realized she had been mistaken—so much so that she started doubting her own eyes.
The two buildings that had once stood here—one housing the Dum-Dums—were now completely gone. Their original base, after multiple battles, had become riddled with holes, barely standing. Now, the Sentinel was holding it up with one hand, aiming in a direction before hurling it away with the ease of a basketball player.
The crash of the building hitting the ground was loud enough to make the already anxious New Yorkers mistake it for a missile explosion.
Elektra also saw hundreds of Xenomorphs, each assigned a task, busy carrying cement and bricks.
"…Did I come back to the wrong place?" she muttered. "I was only gone to kill some dark sorcerers and vampires, but now…"
She trailed off as she saw the Sentinel returning.
The guy was incredible—nonstop, shifting between super speed and super strength. One moment, he was churning cement with his arms so fast that even a cement mixer would be impressed. The next, he was dozens of meters away, pounding the ground to reinforce the foundation.
The sheer speed at which he worked left countless afterimages in the air, each one caught in full-force labor.
No construction foreman could refuse a man like this—absolutely none. Not even Duncan.
More importantly, Elektra noticed an old man floating in midair, his expression dark, manipulating countless pieces of metal with ease. He forged them into sturdy steel beams and brutally drove them into the ground, placing them precisely where they needed to be.
"You're back? Good work—another batch of dark sorcerers wiped out. Kaecilius should be feeling the pain now."
Duncan glanced at Elektra, casually blew on the steaming water in his cup, then downed it in one go. "After completing a mission, drink more water. Xenomorphs prefer bodies that are well-hydrated."
Elektra stammered, "Xenomorphs laying bricks, Magneto making steel beams, and the Sentinel mixing cement… What—?"
This was beyond comprehension. Elektra doubted anything like this had ever happened before. If the countless satellites monitoring this location from orbit had cameras, they might just crack from the absurdity of it all.
"Don't overthink it," Duncan said. "Of everyone working hard here, Erik is actually the most skilled. Have you noticed? Never question his mastery of civil engineering. This is the man who single-handedly built a metal island in the ocean. Constructing a skyscraper is nothing for him."
More importantly, that steel island—used as the Brotherhood's headquarters—was legally recognized. Magneto had "bought" its legal status with cold hard cash.
See? If he could construct an island, managing the island's structure, water displacement, and building layout all in one go, then building a skyscraper was a piece of cake.
Duncan sighed, genuinely impressed. "Magneto really is a multi-talented individual. His adaptability far exceeds that of Professor X."
"In the past, the conditions weren't right, and rebuilding wasn't necessary," Duncan continued. "Now, the time is right, and this building was long overdue for demolition anyway. Renault's clash with Magneto destroyed its load-bearing walls, making it completely unlivable."
"You don't have to pretend with me," Elektra said flatly. "You just realized that with Magneto and the Sentinel, these two could build an entire skyscraper on their own."
Her worldview was breaking, especially regarding Magneto.
"When people think of Magneto, they picture him hurling metal around in destruction," Duncan said. "But he's also the ultimate civil engineer."
In just a short time, the outline of a massive skyscraper had already formed.
As for the steel and cement needing time to set? The Sentinel had freezing breath and energy manipulation—he could reinforce key sections instantly.
A while later, Magneto descended, his expression grim. He coldly eyed Duncan. "I've fulfilled my end of the deal. But if you ever ask me to do something like this again, our relationship is over."
"I saved your life. Asking you to help me build one skyscraper isn't unreasonable. Besides, you saw for yourself—I genuinely need a new headquarters. I can't keep living in that old wreck," Duncan said calmly.
He added, "Besides, there won't be a next time. I won't allow anyone to recklessly destroy my building—this skyscraper. They will die before they get the chance."
Magneto's expression darkened further. "Regardless, kid… I owe you my thanks. I've never sincerely thanked anyone before. But what truly shocked me—was that you had a Xenomorph parasite me while I was asleep."
Building a House Isn't the Problem—Parasitism Is
Even though Magneto had mentally prepared himself, he still believed that Duncan was a man of principle and dignity, someone who dealt fairly with others.
He had held onto a sliver of hope that such a person wouldn't take advantage of someone in a vulnerable state.
He was wrong.
Magneto had severely overestimated one thing: Duncan's moral standards when faced with an exceptional host.
And this particular host couldn't even use magnetism, his body only slightly stronger than that of a regular human.
"Erik, we're friends. And please, don't use that tone with me—it makes me feel like you're about to take some kind of reckless gamble, betting on what exactly is about to come out of your pants."
Duncan's expression didn't change in the slightest. He knew that, at this moment, Magneto wanted to kill him. And if he couldn't kill him, he would at least be formulating a plan to rid himself of the Xenomorph embryo, carefully assessing his next move.
For someone as proud as Magneto, being infected with an Xenomorph embryo was nothing short of an unbearable humiliation.
That's why Duncan had already shifted his full attention away from Reynolds and onto Magneto, monitoring his every state. If Magneto made any reckless move, Duncan would use the embryo to shut it down immediately.
"I had no choice," Duncan said. "Don't forget, no one can be certain if all the illusions in your mind have been purged. What if there's still a hidden suggestion you haven't uncovered yet? What if you wake up and go berserk again? What do I do then? If you were me, what would you do?"
Duncan stared at the older man before him.
"Then you should have killed me, not used an Xenomorph embryo to control me!" Magneto finally lost his temper and roared. He had an overwhelming urge to tear the embryo out of his chest with raw electromagnetic force.
But the moment he even entertained the thought, the embryo inside him acted immediately, suppressing him in every way possible—manipulating his nerves, muscles, bones, even the very organs it had already replaced, like his heart and lungs. It rejected every signal his brain tried to send.
This was the humiliating reality of someone infected by an Xenomorph embryo but not yet subjected to chestburster death.
His brain was still his own. He could still issue commands to his body. But whether those commands would actually be executed depended entirely on whether the embryo allowed it—whether it had simply overlooked the order or deliberately approved it. No one could say for sure.
Magneto wanted nothing more than to throw himself into battle against Duncan, even if it meant dying in the process. And if not Duncan, then he at least wanted to go down fighting against Sentinel. At the very least, he wanted the right to end his own life.
But his body refused to obey.
Using only his brain to manipulate magnetism? It was difficult, but he was determined to try.
"Erik, I know you're trying to do just that," Duncan sighed. "Ever since you woke up, you've been searching for an opportunity to kill me."
He looked at Magneto with an air of resignation. "Let's put aside for a moment the fact that my embryo now possesses your genetic code—meaning there's a very high chance it could forge neural signals indistinguishable from your own and deceive your brain. I've simply chosen not to do that. But let's say you succeed. What then? If you kill me, the Xenomorphs I've released across the globe will go completely out of control—just like what you did in Westchester.
"Imagine countless Xenomorph queens secretly proliferating worldwide. Do I really need to spell out what that would mean for mutants?"
Duncan paused, then added, "Besides, if I die, you won't survive either.
"Being infected with an Xenomorph is one thing, but Reynolds has been keeping an eye on you this whole time. The moment you make a move, he'll act even faster. You don't have the ancient body of someone like Hogarth—you wouldn't survive his instant onslaught."
Magneto had no idea who Hogarth was.
Maybe some forgotten relic of history, a name that had once meant something before time washed it away. Duncan had a knack for unearthing things from history's shadows, always finding something valuable hidden in the cracks.
"You survived the mind games of that illusionist bastard. You endured Reynolds' attacks. And now, you've regained your clarity—at least for now. But if you lose control again, I won't be surprised.
"Besides," Duncan continued, "you were nearly beaten to death by Reynolds. You couldn't even use your magnetism on your own. I had to infect you with an Xenomorph so you could heal at an accelerated rate. Otherwise, who knows if you'd even be awake right now?"
Duncan Spread His Hands
If it were anyone else, Duncan wouldn't have wasted his breath—he would've simply used force. But this was Magneto.
Magneto sneered. "So according to you, I should be thanking you?"
"You're welcome. Consider it payment for construction services. Getting all those building materials for me with your magnetism wasn't easy," Duncan replied.
"Enough!" Magneto snapped. "I won't follow your orders! I have far more important things to do! Charles still needs my protection, and the great cause of mutantkind still needs me!"
Enraged, Magneto shot into the sky. It had been many, many years since he'd felt this furious—so much so that he was on the verge of losing control.
Reynolds turned his attention to Magneto, his muscles tensed and ready to strike. He had already established a psychological advantage over Magneto and was itching to beat him down again—to satisfy his craving.
"Kid, you got lucky last time," Magneto growled. "If I had been in full control of myself, I wouldn't have left such an obvious opening for you to use Xenomorph blood against me."
Suppressing his fury, Magneto issued a chilling warning to the eager Reynolds. "Now, I have Xenomorph blood too. Whatever enhanced physique and genetic advantages you have—I have them as well."
With that, he shot off into the distance without looking back.
He was absolutely sick of Duncan.
"You're just going to let him go?" Reynolds stepped up to Duncan. "Don't listen to his nonsense. I can kill him."
"You can kill him, sure," Duncan said, "but can you kill Professor X too? Use your head. Either we go all in right now—completely sever ties with the majority of the world's mutants and wipe out the X-Men entirely—or we don't start this at all."
Killing the X-Men?
Let's not forget—Professor X might still be unconscious, but Jean Grey was right there with him.
If they dealt with Magneto now but left the X-Men untouched, things would get much more complicated once Professor X woke up.
Duncan carefully assessed his own mental defenses. Taking into account the full strength of his Xenomorph army, he still wasn't confident that he could perfectly resist Professor X's telepathic control.
"Besides," Duncan continued, "what makes you think Magneto leaving on his own means he's escaped my control? I simply don't want to force him into anything right now—not that I can't. When we face a true enemy in the future, I can command him then."
His gaze shifted, admiring his newly constructed fortress.
Reynolds still wasn't convinced. "But what if he goes berserk again?"
Duncan cast a reassuring glance at Reynolds. "That was just an excuse to convince him. Nothing more."
Even if some remnants of psychological conditioning were still lurking in Magneto's mind, making him a ticking time bomb...
Let's not forget—there was now another brain inside Magneto's chest.
If one brain was compromised, unless another Master of Illusions(Mastermind) appeared to ensnare both minds in an illusion...
Or unless an illusionist like that had the power to control two brains at once from the start...
Otherwise, those two brains could work together—to break free.
...
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