DARK SAVAGE IN THE UNITED STATE

On the peaks of the Himalayas, the Ancient One and her apprentices watched over a massive dark portal, sealed away with the power of interdimensional space.

The portal was as vast as the base of a mountain, emanating an oppressive aura that made even seasoned mages uneasy.

"Master, what is happening?" asked Casillas, his voice trembling as he stood beside the Ancient One.

That very morning, all the mages had sensed a sudden and powerful spatial disturbance. They gathered here, awaiting whatever was to come, their faith unshaken by fear. Their confidence stemmed from the Ancient One, who had never faltered in her duty. Although the mages were not prone to despair, they were still human—and humans feared the unknown.

In front of them, however, stood a figure who inspired unwavering belief: the Ancient One.

The mages, sworn to protect the world, drew their strength and purpose from her. Yet, the lineage of Earth's sorcerers was still young. The Ancient One herself had received the seeds of magic from the Trinity of Vishanti, crafting a foundation of arcane knowledge for those who would follow.

"The fluctuations are peculiar," the Ancient One said calmly. "They carry the essence of Hell itself. Something is attempting to cross into our world, though I do not sense any immediate danger." She paused, then continued: "Within the portal's aura, I perceive a blend of death, fury, and evil."

The aura she referred to was the lingering essence of the Seven Evils of Hell from the shattered Dark Soulstone, the unrelenting death radiating from Malthael, and the boundless rage of the barbarians.

Her tone was steady, devoid of alarm, bringing quiet assurance to her disciples. The mages trusted in the Ancient One's wisdom, knowing she could glimpse the flow of time itself. Seeing her composed, they set their fears aside.

What they did not know was that even with the power of the Time Stone, the Ancient One had been unable to foresee the events unfolding before them. But as the protector of this world, she would not yield to fear.

Under the watchful eyes of the mages, the void stirred.

A colossal mountain crushed the interdimensional space the mages had forged as a seal and descended lightly toward the Himalayas.

Despite its vast size, the mountain settled as softly as a feather. The mages watched in stunned silence as it merged seamlessly with the range, as though it had always belonged.

The mages could make out snow-covered peaks dusted with debris and ruins of a massive, ancient structure, partially rebuilt but eerily abandoned.

Atop the mountain stood a shirtless man with pale, withered hair, wielding two broken, heavy weapons. His feet were planted in a crater, surrounded by shattered armor and the remnants of weapons twisted beyond recognition.

"Master, what is this?" Casillas asked, his voice filled with urgency. But the Ancient One merely smiled, her expression as tranquil as ever.

"It is nothing we need to guard against," she said, her calm words dispelling the swirling portal overhead. It vanished, as if it had never existed.

The mages returned to their duties, though unease lingered in their hearts. They dared not question the Ancient One's judgment, and so they buried their doubts deep.

---

"Malthael!" roared Bulkesso, his voice shaking the heavens. The barbarian stood atop the mountain, still lost in the fury of his battle. He scanned his surroundings with wild, bloodshot eyes, his rage-fueled mind unaware that he had been transported to another world.

"You look like you could use help," came a calm voice, cutting through Bulkesso's fury and startling him.

There should have been no living creatures left on the Holy Mountain of Harrogath—not after the onslaught of the Reapers and Malthael. This unexpected voice caused his anger to falter momentarily.

"Who are you?" he asked slowly, turning toward the sound. His movements were sluggish, his mind still stuck in the climactic moment of his battle with Malthael.

A bald woman stepped through a glowing portal, her tone measured and patient. "I am the Ancient One, a sorcerer and the guardian of Earth. You and this mountain appeared suddenly in our world. I need to know who you are."

Although she had glimpsed fragments of what this arrival might mean, the past and future surrounding Bulkesso and the mountain eluded even her vision. The Time Stone offered no clarity in this unprecedented event.

"Earth?" Bulkesso repeated, the word stirring long-forgotten memories. To him, the name "Earth" carried hope—a hope he had clung to during his years of struggle.

The Ancient One nodded. "Earth, also known as Midgard," she said, invoking Asgard to emphasize the significance of her realm.

Bulkesso's mind, dulled by his anger and exhaustion, began to clear. The name "Earth" awakened distant, faded recollections of another life—a life filled with stories and legends he once cherished. Though fragmented, those memories ignited a faint glimmer of excitement within him.

"Midgard," he muttered. "Then... there is still hope."

The Ancient One regarded him carefully, sensing the depth of his anguish and the weight of his journey. Though she did not fully understand his origin, she could see that his presence here was no coincidence.

"What do you seek?" she asked gently, watching as the barbarian's fiery resolve began to reignite.

Bulkesso tightened his grip on his battered weapons, the fire in his eyes rekindling. "I seek vengeance. And I will bring death to those who wronged my people."

The Ancient One smiled faintly. "Then perhaps we can help each other."