I drumd my fingers against the armrest of my throne as I listened to the Ancient One explain the situation.
It wasn't sothing I had thought about before; to , the trip into Hell had been but a minor footnote, sothing hardly worthy of notice.
Sure, I knew Mordred often boasted about it and told all kinds of stories, so more true than others, but I never cared much.
Hell was Hell, and Earth was Earth.
I was soone who lived on Earth, so I cared little for matters of Hell. As long as demons didn't flood my realm, I cared little, and even if they did, I would mostly just have closed the portal.
I saw little difference between demons and monsters, and both were just sothing you had to accept and deal with.
So I never thought much about the lords of Hell, of demons like phisto and his kind.
"I truly did not expect such an outco… that Excalibur's light would have such an effect," I said, recalling the illusion.
The sight of that sacred valley, surrounded by despair and corruption.
"Indeed, what you did in Hell is nothing short of a miracle, though phisto doesn't see it like that; to him, it is a deadly threat," the Ancient One agreed. "To Dinsion Lords like him, their realms are their greatest treasure and assets—sothing that they rely on to be invincible within them—and yet…"
"What I did showed them that their so-called invulnerability, their dominion within their own realms, and the realms themselves, can be hurt," I answered for her.
"Correct," she confird with a nod. "While for a ti, none took it too seriously, now that phisto has proven incapable of healing that wound… it has beco sothing that he can't ignore, and he has whispered of the dangers to others."
I let out a sigh. I didn't know much about phisto, but I knew enough that he was soone who loved scheming—soone you didn't want as an enemy. He had endless patience and plenty of experience in using nothing but tricks to dispose of his enemies.
And now he was using everything he had to make the common enemy of everyone.
Troubleso indeed.
I continued drumming my fingers against the throne… feeling a headache heading my way. "Tell , how bad is it?"
"Horrible," the Ancient One said with brutal honesty.
"I don't get it!" Mordred cut in. "But if soone is threatening Father, then I will cut them down!"
"Indeed," Sir Bedivere concurred. "Despite Sir Mordred's lack of grace in his words, his sentint is one I share. Your Majesty, I do not know the full picture of this threat, but I and the Knights of the Round Table stand with you."
I smiled at that. "I appreciate that, both of you."
"Of course, Father!" Mordred quickly added.
I turned to the Ancient One. "Still… given their limitations in entering Earth, surely their sches are sothing you can handle yourself, no?" I questioned.
She shook her head slowly. "Not as easily as you'd think. I've already repelled several of phisto's attempts to influence your realm… but he's not the only one. Other Dinsion Lords are now getting involved, and they're more cunning."
She paused, her gaze distant. "I believe it's only a matter of ti before they succeed in so small way. And once they do, they'll use that foothold to expand their influence. Your actions in Hell have made you a target they can't ignore."
"Alright," I said. "Then what do you propose we do?"
"We can't afford to wait. They have ti on their side; the more ti they have to sche, the harder they will be to deal with… Normally, I would never entertain the idea of challenging them head-on… but you might just be able to make such a thing possible. The wound you caused to Hell proves you can hurt them… A counterattack is the only way to truly end this threat," the Ancient One answered.
I narrowed my eyes.
A counterattack…
A war with Hell itself.
I was silent for a few monts. I didn't want a war with Hell… but what other choice did I have?
Let them sche and try to get at ? No, I couldn't just sit and wait.
Calot could keep them out. The city was an extension of myself, of Rhongomyniad; their taint couldn't touch it… But what about the rest of the realm? Albion itself would be overrun.
I had seen what one gate into Hell could do in Lyon, and that was just a small-scale incursion; what likely awaited was the full assault of multiple hellish realms. I couldn't be everywhere at once.
They would no doubt use that to their advantage… They would stretch thin, either forcing to abandon my lands and my people, or to fight an endless war.
Despite being a Goddess, despite having a Holy Grail, I doubted I could outlast the legions of Hell. Eventually I would grow tired, my knights exhausted, the land left barren from endless battles…
No, I couldn't let that happen.
"A counterattack…" I said softly, my fingers no longer drumming. I leaned forward, my gaze locked with the Ancient One's. "Tell everything. Who are these Lords? What are their weaknesses? How do we get to them?"
The Ancient One did not answer imdiately.
Instead, she lifted her hand.
The air before the throne darkened.
Space folded inward like silk being drawn through a ring, and within that distortion, an image ford.
The first figure to take shape was not a beast.
He was a man.
Tall. Impeccably dressed. Crimson skin beneath a tailored black suit. Hands clasped loosely behind his back as though he stood in a private gallery rather than an abyss of fla.
"phisto," she introduced.
Behind him stretched his realm—an endless inferno of screaming cliffs and molten skies.
"He is the architect," the Ancient One said quietly. "The instigator."
phisto smiled in the illusion.
It was a warm smile.
Kind.
Almost grandfatherly.
And utterly false.
Beneath it coiled sothing ancient and venomous.
"He has ruled his Hell for untold millennia," she continued. "He trades in contracts, in temptation. He delights in toying with mortals, in granting their wishes just so he may twist them. He harvests souls as others harvest wheat."
The flas behind him flared brighter.
"He is one of the most troubleso of his kind. His desire for souls is as insatiable as his greed. He has stood behind countless incidents that have plagued Earth across the centuries—wars sparked by whispered promises, heroes corrupted by bargains, rulers undone by ambition."
phisto turned slightly in the illusion.
Not toward us.
Toward sothing off-screen.
Toward the scar.
And for the briefest mont—
The smile faltered.
"He is patient," the Ancient One finished.
"And he is afraid."
"And that is the problem, I take it," I said as I took in the information.
"Correct. He normally fears nothing. At most, even I can only banish him—I can't hurt him inside his own dinsion—rely force him to eat a few small losses… but you are different."
"Damn right Father is different!" Mordred said proudly.
The confidence was flattering, but even I didn't know if I could truly harm a Dinsional Lord like phisto.
"Now, normally I have no reason to fear phisto," the Ancient One continued. "He can't enter Earth. Not fully. And his avatars aren't hard to deal with. But this isn't just him alone; he has allied with others, and among those is Dormammu of the Dark Dinsion."
The illusion shifted.
The flas of phisto's realm collapsed inward, devoured by darkness.
Not absence of light.
Sothing deeper.
Sothing that swallowed light whole.
The air in the throne room grew heavier.
The distortion widened—then shattered outward into an expanse of infinite void lit by burning constellations of violet fire.
A shape erged within it.
Massive.
Not humanoid in truth, though it wore the outline of one.
A head crowned in jagged fla. Eyes like collapsing stars. A body ford of living abyss and crackling cosmic energy.
"Dormammu," the Ancient One said.
Her voice was steady.
But the magic in the room tightened.
"The ruler of the Dark Dinsion."
Unlike phisto's cultivated civility, Dormammu did not smile.
He did not posture.
He simply existed.
And the re act of that existence bent the space around him.
"Where phisto sches," she continued, "Dormammu conquers. He does not trade in contracts. He devours worlds. Entire civilizations have fallen into his dinsion and beco fuel for his power."
The image shifted again—planets, swallowed whole by violet fla.
"Within his realm, he is absolute. He has long sought Earth," the Ancient One said. "But he was contained. Delayed. Trapped, even."
Her eyes flickered toward .
"But now he sees sothing new."
"A weapon," I said quietly.
"Yes."
The illusion trembled.
"Dormammu believes that if you can wound one Hell, you can wound all realms tied to darkness."
Silence filled the throne room.
It wasn't hard to imagine what this being desired; either he would destroy the weapon that could hurt him… or he would make it his own, and with it, he could conquer other dinsions that were before untouchable to him.
"He has been scheming for a while now, trying to figure out how to consu Earth. He promises eternity, though his thods are rarely what people desire," she continued.
That was sothing I understood: the difference in perspective between a human and a being of vast power. Eternity, immortality—they often saw such things in their own unique way. As I once had.
"phisto is a scher—soone who will pull the ground out from underneath you, plot and trap—while Dormammu is the battering ram. He is a threat that can't be ignored… Is this their plan? Force your attention toward Dormammu while phisto is free to act?" I asked.
The Ancient One did not imdiately answer my question.
Instead, she let the illusion widen.
Dormammu's burning form did not vanish. It receded—shrinking into the vastness of the void—only for other shapes to stir within the darkness behind him.
Shadows moved.
Not one.
Many.
So vast and serpentine.
So winged.
So little more than crowned silhouettes seated upon thrones of bone and nightmare.
"They are not unified by loyalty," she said at last. "They are unified by fear."
The void pulsed.
"For eons, they have warred among themselves. Bargained. Betrayed. Consud one another's followers. Their rivalries are older than human civilization."
Another presence flickered behind Dormammu's burning outline—tall, regal, horned, wreathed in cold hellfire.
"Yet now they speak."
The throne room felt smaller.
"phisto has shown them the scar. He has shown them proof that a realm can be wounded from within."
Her gaze settled fully on .
"And that ans they are no longer rely concerned with Earth."
The illusion darkened further.
For a brief instant—just a flicker—I saw sothing else.
A vision not of Hell.
But of Albion.
A rift splitting the sky above London.
Cathedrals burning in violet fla.
Shadows crawling across the White Cliffs.
Knights standing against a tide that did not end.
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