Young Writers Society

Wong, Master of the Mystic Arts, never did like having to involve himself in the nastier aspects of his life, but he was sworn defender of the New York Sanctum. As such, when a large ship carrying Thanos' henchmen loitered mere blocks from the very building he was sworn to protect, Wong joined the Sorcerer Supreme, and his dearest mentor, Doctor Strange, in defense of the city.

But that was yesterday.

Wong had not seen nor heard from any of his comrades since that battle, and as the keeper of the New York Sanctum, he could not try and locate them for more than the few moments he was afforded a break from repairing the damage done to its infrastructure.

At first, he tried scrying Strange, hoping the sorcerer would respond to his efforts. To no avail, he tried a much riskier version of contacting that, even still he couldn't trust completely: texting them.

No response.

Then Wong felt it. It started as a vibration in his joints, a ripple in the air, a pause in his breath. Wong stepped outside his manor onto the slightly crowded New York street. To a normal observer, the city was chugging along as smoothly as normal. However, to a Master of the Mystic Arts like Wong, the very atmosphere hummed with magic, a kind of magic far more primal and dangerous than the magic he and his fellow sorcerers manipulated. This wasn't foreign to Wong, though.

No, not to him. Perhaps he knew more of this power than most in the universe.

A car in front of him collided with a lamp post, its alarm blaring into the busy New York morning noise. Then, something far more horrible split through the usual white noise: screams.

Wong retreated back into his Sanctum. He would be safer here than outside. He knew not what the magic carried with it, but only one person would be able to harness the intense energy needed for something with that magnitude. Wong knew that person did not have the best intentions with using magic.

Wong raced up one of the mirrored spiral staircases to the artifact collections. Beelining to an urn resting in a corner of the room, he reached deep into the urn and it glowed under his touch, splashing harsh light all around the room. Wong fished deeper into the deceiving pot until he was in as deep as his shoulder. His fingers brushed against something thick and wet, and he scooped a heaping handful. As it left the vase, all light left the thick substance. Wong spared no time as he rubbed it along his extremities and his neck. If his contingency plan was going to succeed, then he must take every precaution.

Grabbing a thick, leather-bound book from one of the shelves, Wong fumbled with his sling ring before hastily opening a portal to the main courtyard of Kamar-Taj, the stronghold for all Mystic Art practitioners on Earth.

As soon as he stepped through, someone bumped into him as they rushed past, apparently not even seeing him or caring where they walked. He ignored it; this magic must be affecting someone of the more inexperienced practitioners more. He grimaced but these students were none of his concern. Their fates were sealed, and so was his if he didn't leave. He followed the well-worn pathway to the all too familiar library. For years, that was his domain before he was tasked with safekeeping the New York Sanctum. Few things were more valuable and worth safekeeping than the library at Kamar-Taj.

He scarcely took notice of the rows and rows of books, scrolls, and other various collections. He knew most of them by heart by now, and those he didn't know too well were written after he left his position of guardian for those sacred texts. His destination was past the main collections and even further than the Masterworks, invaluable collections written by, and for, Masters of the Mystic Arts. In his peripheral, he took note of the late Ancient One's private works, and even the few scalebound novels which contained much of Doctor Strange's notes and experiments, written in his hasty, and often illegible, handwriting.

The lighting faded as he moved on, and the walls narrowed. Gradually, the cavern rounded out to a rotunda of three doors facing a pedestal in the middle. The doors led to the New York, London, and Hong Kong Sanctums. Together, with Kamar-Taj, they act as a buffer and barrier against mystical threats on Earth. On a normal day, Wong would have just walked through those doors if he wanted to visit his fellow sorcerers. How quickly things change, Wong thought bitterly as he waved a hand to bring the pedestal to life. The stone globe reacted to his touch, and an orange apparition flickered to life in the black void above him. It was Earth, his home and the very place he had sworn to protect all those years ago. Mystic etches sprawled around the land, forming the three Sanctum symbols. But, something far more insidious sprawled out from a point in Africa. Like blood, the darker mystic color scrawled across the Earth, flooding out any recognition of land or safety. It spread and it spread, to every point in the world.

The globe spasmed, and the crimson tendrils burst out past the world, in all directions. Wong widened his Mystic perception. First the solar system, but the gnawing power spread even further. He zoomed out further and further, to the furthest reaches of his abilities, but even still, the infection spread out of his sight.

Screams echoed through the brick walls of the library. Wong removed himself from the globe. A group of sorcerers burst through the doors of the Hong Kong Sanctum. Two of them were helping a third through the door, whose leg was bent in an unnatural angle. Only one of them Wong recognized. Erica, a young disciple Strange had brought in from a hospital in America, noticed Wong and ran to him, gasping.

"Master Wong," she managed between breaths, "something happened. We felt it, and people are running crazy in the streets. Zhang here needs medical attent--" she gasped and crumpled into dust. The rest of her group followed suit, leaving piles of ash in their places.

Wong gulped and shut the Hong Kong door. No more distractions. He stuffed the large book in the folds of his robes and cleared his thoughts. He could feel the magic worming its way into his body and mind; he didn't have much time. He dug his fingers deep into the globe, and the stone accepted them easily, glowing with a dark crimson color. What he was attempting was not necessarily considered a forbidden practice, but it was a spell known only to a few over the centuries.

In a deep voice not quite his own, Wong bellowed into the globe. "Sorcerer Supremes, heed my call. The fate of every Dimension is uncertain. The Infinity Stones have been used."

The globe accepted his words eagerly and accepted his body as he slipped away from his world, his galaxy, his universe.