"This machine is reinforced with magic, don't worry, there's no way it'll break."
Kamar-Taj.
Training courtyard.
Mordo's words from yesterday were still echoing in Aron's head.
But the dynamometer that was "impossible to damage" was now just a pile of broken metal and scattered parts.
The training ground looked like it had survived a bombing.
Blue stone tiles shattered, the courtyard in ruins.
Master Wong led a group of students. They were kneeling on the ground, working like makeshift masons, trying to patch up the damage.
And the reason for it all, Aron.
Ashamed, he glanced at the Ancient One.
"Well… if I say I didn't mean to, would you believe me?"
The Ancient One looked at him without a word. Her gaze, deep, complex, unreadable.
Long.
In the end, she spoke.
"All the damaged tiles, transport, repairs, labor, total of 80,000 dollars."
"What?"
Aron looked at her in confusion, then at Wong who was sweating over the cracks.
Words caught in his throat.
"You're wondering why we're not fixing it with magic?" the Ancient One asked, as if reading his mind.
She answered herself.
"Because not everyone can act like you. Magic has a cost. Most here can't use it without consequences."
"I just meant to say..." Aron tried, then shrugged. "Where am I supposed to get 80,000?"
The Ancient One didn't say anything. Just looked at him.
Silence.
He knew what it meant.
No money?
Then go down the mountain and earn it.
He was already strong enough to protect himself. Time to leave Kamar-Taj.
No regrets.
The Ancient One sighed and shook her head as she looked at him.
"This time you messed up more than usual."
"Do you know your actions have caught the attention of a Lord of Hell?"
"His name is Belath. The ruler of the border of Hell."
"Prison of spirits, in other words."
"Belath, huh? And what if he has?" Aron said, still relaxed.
He had the system. He had skills.
Even if Belath came, he'd banish him like any other demon.
Besides, everything he did was technically under Mordo's name.
If anyone had to answer for it, it was Mordo.
He spent all day sitting in Kamar-Taj, safe as in a bunker. No chance of dying.
"By the way... Your Holiness, this Belath... is he dangerous?"
"Sub-Heavenly Father."
"Sounds serious."
The Ancient One, usually composed, seemed shaken.
"Enough," she said and took a deep breath.
She didn't want to waste more words.
Since Aron came to Kamar-Taj, there hadn't been a day of peace.
Only chaos, destruction, trouble.
Without wanting to look at him any longer, she created a portal and stepped into the Mirror Dimension.
She needed peace. Urgently.
---
Leaving Kamar-Taj.
Aron had nothing to pack, he had arrived empty-handed.
The only question was: where to now?
As someone who came straight into Kamar-Taj after transmigrating, he had no idea what awaited him outside.
He didn't even know the timeline for sure.
The only thing clear was that the plot of the Doctor Strange movie hadn't even begun yet. The Ancient One was still alive, and Stephen Strange had yet to step into the world of magic.
"First, a mobile. Nowadays no one survives without a phone," he muttered and checked his pocket, empty.
He headed toward Mordo.
In the square, the students were still fixing the damage. Tiles, mortar, chaos.
Mordo was standing bent over a bucket, mixing cement. Physical work suited his dark complexion perhaps a bit too well.
"Brother, lend me some cash. I'm going down the mountain."
When the others saw him approaching, glances gathered.
He didn't care.
Thick skin solves everything.
"Hm?" Mordo looked at him, confused.
Then glanced at the ruined square.
He understood.
Guilt showed on his face.
"Sorry, Aron. We should've tested your strength in the Mirror Dimension. I didn't think it would end like this. This is all my fault."
He seemed sincere.
And probably out of sheer responsibility, he pulled out everything he had, a few bills and a handful of change. Just over 400 dollars total.
He gave it all to Aron.
"...You're really pathetic for guardians of a magical sacred temple," he thought as he looked at the change in his hand. But of course, he stuffed it into his pocket without hesitation.
"Don't worry. A Lannister always pays his debts, once I've got the means."
"Who's Lannister?" Mordo asked, puzzled.
Before he could get an answer, Aron had already stepped into the portal.
As he left, he just called out: "And you, try going out less, okay?"
—
The portal's fire flashed.
When Aron opened his eyes, he was no longer in Kamar-Taj.
He was standing in the middle of a big city street. Night. Sky dark, buildings tall, signs everywhere.
In an instant, he knew New York.
On the corner, he saw the sign: Clinton St.
He immediately knew: Hell's Kitchen.
"Wonderful," he muttered.
"I've landed straight into the Rookie Village."
Anyone who teleports into the Marvel Universe knows, if you're dropped in Hell's Kitchen, something's waiting for you. Everyone started here. Built their reputation. Fought against Kingpin. Climbed to the top.
In the Marvel fandom, Kingpin had long ago earned the unofficial nickname, Boss of the Starter Village.
Only... Aron wasn't a rookie. He came straight from an advanced mission, Kamar-Taj.
And now, from the highest level, dropped straight into the beginner's district?
Nonsensical. But also, perfect for starting chaos.