Nolan had no intention of seizing control of Kamar-Taj.
Not while the Ancient One still drew breath. That much was certain in his mind as he stood in the training courtyard, watching apprentice mages practice their forms in the afternoon light. The decision wasn't born from fear or reverence alone, but from a careful calculation of necessity and timing.
Yet a single conversation with Mordo had shifted something in his understanding of Earth's current state. The words had lingered with him long after they'd parted ways, settling like cold weight in his chest.
This world was vulnerable. Terrifyingly so.
When measured against ancient beings like the Dimensional Demon Gods, Earth's defenses were paper-thin. The so-called magical defense system consisted of merely three Supreme Sanctuaries, structures that could be breached with enough force and determination. The guardian mages themselves were spread too thin, lacking not only in skill but in sheer numbers.
Nolan understood the limitations, of course. Local magic followed the law of equivalent exchange with unforgiving precision. The more powerful the spell, the steeper the price paid in blood, sweat, or life itself. It was an economy of sacrifice that kept most mages conservative in their casting.
But the Kamar-Taj mages, those who specialized in close-quarters combat with their glowing shields and mystic blades, seemed to have overlooked something fundamental. Something so obvious that Nolan almost hesitated to mention it.
Since the dawn of the industrial age, firearms had been the most convenient and deadly weapons on the planet. Compact. Efficient. Devastating at range.
So why hadn't anyone thought to make magical weapons into firearms? Or something even more lethal?
When Nolan had posed this simple question to Mordo, the man had frozen mid-stride. His hand, which had been reaching for a training staff, simply stopped in the air. For several heartbeats, Mordo said nothing at all, his dark eyes staring at nothing as his mind visibly worked through the implications.
Then his brow furrowed, creasing the smooth skin of his forehead as genuine confusion took hold.
"Why..." Mordo murmured, more to himself than to Nolan. "Why is this?"
The question hung between them in the still air.
Was it because physical damage proved almost useless against supernatural beings? That was the conventional wisdom, certainly. But Mordo's expression shifted as he followed the logic further, his jaw tightening with the realization.
Only the truly powerful supernatural creatures, those born of pure magical essence or ancient beyond reckoning, were genuinely immune to physical harm. The vast majority of supernatural threats, the demons and monsters that clawed their way through dimensional tears, could be dispatched with simple melee weapons if the wielder was skilled enough.
And even those monsters that required magical implements to wound, those entities that laughed at mundane steel... wouldn't it be devastatingly effective to simply transform firearms and bullets into magical weapons?
The cost of crafting a magical weapon was admittedly high. Time, materials, and careful enchantment were all required. But surely it was far more cost-effective than having a mage burn through their reserves casting spell after spell in prolonged combat, draining themselves to the point of collapse.
At that moment, Mordo's eyes had gradually brightened, widening with the dawning comprehension of someone seeing a new path forward. It was as if Nolan had opened a door to a world that had always been there, hidden in plain sight.
Nolan, of course, knew nothing of the thoughts racing through Mordo's mind now. He'd planted the seed; whether it took root was no longer his concern.
Instead, he pulled out his communication device, the smooth metal warm against his palm, and opened a secure channel to David. The connection established with a soft click.
"David," Nolan said quietly, his voice steady. "I need you to move up the timetable. Bring forward a batch of carapace armor and lasguns. Include heavy stubber guns and ammunition as well."
There was barely a pause before David's measured response came through, calm and precise as always.
"Understood. Implementing immediately."
Nolan stood there for another moment, the device still in his hand, his thumb hovering over the screen as another thought occurred to him. He tapped through several menus, pulling up supply manifests and relocation schedules.
"David," he added, his tone more serious now. "Direct more automatic servo robots to sort the supplies and equipment in the base. I want the overseas relocation plan launched immediately. Move the timeline forward."
If the great Demon Shadow truly came, if Chthon's vast consciousness pierced through the dimensional barriers and invaded in full force... and if local powers like the Ancient One couldn't, or wouldn't, intervene to stop it...
Then Nolan would give Reditus the order to unlock every restriction. To create an endless legion of intelligent-controlled automatons that would buy humanity precious time to breathe, to regroup, to survive.
Until he could use the simulator to grow powerful enough, or obtain a trump card capable of killing gods.
Of course, this was the worst-case scenario painted in the darkest colors. Nolan didn't want events to spiral to that point. He would do everything in his power to prevent it, to date every calculation and precaution in humanity's favor.
But preparation was never wasted.
***
In the days that followed, Kamar-Taj transformed.
Every guardian mage who could be spared from the other two Sanctuaries returned to the New York location. More than two hundred mages and apprentices filled the building's corridors and training halls, their orange and rust-colored robes creating a sea of color against the polished wooden floors.
The atmosphere was tense but focused. Determined.
Nolan equipped each one personally, moving through the assembled groups with methodical efficiency. Carapace armor segments clicked into place over robes, the ceramite plating feeling alien against fabric designed for flexibility and gesture-casting. Lasguns were distributed with care, the sleek Imperial weapons almost humming with potential energy as mages hefted them uncertainly.
He also brought out several heavy stubber guns, massive weapons that required bracing to fire effectively, along with crates of more conventional firearms from Earth's own arsenals.
Nolan's requirements were simple, delivered in clear terms that left no room for confusion.
First: learn military discipline. Commands and prohibitions on the battlefield. How to move as a unit, respond to orders instantly, and maintain formation under pressure.
Second: become familiar with the weapons and equipment. Strip them, clean them, reassemble them. Understand every component intimately.
Third: transform them into magical weapons.
That last part proved the most challenging, not in execution but in methodology. There was no time to forge new instruments from scratch or develop elaborate enchantment rituals that would permanently bind magic to metal.
Mordo and Wong, working in concert, had spent hours rummaging through the Ancient One's extensive library. Dust motes had floated through shafts of lamplight as they pulled ancient tomes from high shelves, searching for something, anything, that could serve their purpose.
Finally, they'd found it. A piece of black magic, admittedly crude and temporary, that could sublimate ordinary items into magical weapons through sheer brute-force enchantment.
The price was steep: the weapons would only last a short time before the magic consumed them entirely, breaking down molecular bonds until nothing remained but ash and fading energy.
But for Nolan, this was simply making the best use of available resources. A calculated expenditure he could more than afford, given the stakes.
***
Twenty-four hours after training began, the change was remarkable.
The mages and apprentices, their bodies already conditioned far beyond normal human limits through years of physical and magical training, had thoroughly mastered battlefield discipline. They moved in synchronized formations now, responded to barked commands without hesitation, and handled their weapons with growing confidence.
Forty-eight hours in, the first batch of enchanted firearms emerged from the workshop areas.
Each weapon glowed with a faint inner light, runes traced along barrels and ammunition feeds pulsing with contained power. The enchantments would hold for approximately half a month before degrading, which gave them a functional window for deployment.
Seventy-two hours after the training had begun, everything changed.
The Ancient One appeared without warning or fanfare, simply materializing in the center of the main hall as if she'd always been standing there. The Eye of Agamotto hung on her chest, its protective casing catching the afternoon light streaming through tall windows. Her expression was serene, almost amused, as she surveyed the assembled mages in their unfamiliar armor.
A smile played at the corners of her mouth.
"I have news," she announced, her voice carrying easily through the space despite its softness. Every head turned toward her, conversations dying mid-sentence.
"The great Demon Shadow, Chthon." She paused, letting the name settle over them like a heavy blanket. "If no miracle occurs to change the current trajectory... then he will not come. The threat has passed."
The relief that washed through the room was almost palpable, tension releasing from shoulders and expressions softening with exhausted gratitude.
***
When the Ancient One learned of Nolan's unauthorized actions, his complete restructuring of Kamar-Taj's defensive capabilities without seeking her permission first, she raised no objections.
In fact, she sought him out privately, her bare feet silent on stone floors as she found him reviewing supply manifests in a quiet corner.
"You've done well," she said simply, settling into a chair across from him with fluid grace.
Then, with an expression that might have been mischief or genuine curiosity, she added, "Would you be interested in becoming the Sorcerer Supreme?"
The question was delivered casually, as if she were asking about his preference for tea.
Nolan's response was immediate and definitive.
"No."
He had no interest in the position. Especially not after witnessing firsthand how weak and overworked the local mages truly were, stretched thin across impossible responsibilities with inadequate resources. Even the curiosity he'd initially felt about Earth's magical traditions had been thoroughly extinguished by the reality of their limitations.
Besides, the next Sorcerer Supreme was already chosen, whether he knew it or not. Stephen Strange was currently locked up in Nolan's underground base, recovering.
When the Ancient One personally agreed to release him, the debt would be paid and the future set in motion.
With an expression of complete indifference, Nolan turned away from the conversation. His Terminator armor's servos whirred softly as he moved, leading the Intelligent Control Corps back toward the underground base through concealed passages.
***
The base felt different now. Emptier.
At least the automatic servo robots, those tireless mechanical workers that had always bustled through corridors and workshops, had mostly joined the relocation effort. They no longer appeared on the first level with their characteristic efficiency, instead working deep in the lower sections to catalog and transport materials overseas.
The first person Nolan encountered was Jessica, floating a few inches off the ground despite wearing a full suit of Battle Sister power armor. The armor's weight would have crushed a normal person, yet she drifted through the air with her superhuman abilities as if it were made of silk.
A broad smile lit her face when she saw him approach.
"Thank you," she said, the words heartfelt and simple. "For everything."
Nolan didn't elaborate or draw out the moment. He simply nodded, then spoke in his usual measured tone. "Keep leading the Gang Dogs. Guard the base until the relocation is complete."
"Of course," Jessica replied, already turning back to her patrol route.
Nolan continued deeper into the base, eventually summoning a team of repair servitor who hadn't yet departed to helped him remove the Terminator armor with practiced efficiency, unbolting seals and lifting away the heavy plates until Nolan stood free in his simple underlayer.
After consuming a substantial meal, enough to refuel a body that had been running on pure determination and stimulants for days, Nolan finally retreated to his personal quarters.
The lounge was quiet, dimly lit, and blessedly cool. He sank onto the bed without bothering to remove his boots, letting his eyelids, which hadn't closed properly in several days, finally drift shut.
Sleep claimed him almost instantly.
***
Nolan had no idea how much time had passed when he suddenly woke.
His eyes snapped open, staring up at the dark ceiling as his heart beat faster than it should. He blinked several times, trying to orient himself, then remained still on the cold metal surface of the bed as awareness slowly returned.
Something felt... wrong. Different.
He sat up slowly, his body moving with careful deliberation as his mind worked to process what had just happened.
"I haven't had a dream in a long time," Nolan murmured to himself, his voice rough from sleep and unusually uncertain. "Why did I suddenly have one so real?"
The dream lingered with unusual clarity, refusing to fade the way normal dreams did upon waking. Every detail remained sharp, vivid, almost more real than memory.
Three powerful figures, each radiating light and energy in completely different colors. They moved together with perfect coordination, fighting side by side against something vast beyond comprehension.
Their opponent was a dark shadow, enormous on a scale calculated in light-years rather than meters. A being so massive that planets would be mere specks against its form.
The three figures attacked relentlessly, tearing into the darkness with powers Nolan couldn't begin to name. Again and again they struck, wearing down defenses that should have been impenetrable, until finally the shadow's majestic power began to weaken. Its means of resistance crumbled.
And when the three warriors had completely torn apart that huge dark body, ripping it to shreds of dissipating energy...
They began to devour it.
The surging energy scattered by their defeated opponent flowed into them like water into empty vessels, absorbed and consumed with methodical efficiency.
Then the dream had ended, cutting off abruptly with no resolution or explanation.
Nolan sat cross-legged on the metal bed now, his narrow-eyed gaze fixed on nothing as he turned the images over in his mind. The dream's meaning eluded him, but he had a vague sense of recognition, a nagging feeling that he'd witnessed something significant.
Something that had actually happened, somewhere beyond his awareness.
Finally, he released a slow sigh, letting tension drain from his shoulders.
There were too many unknowns, too many variables he couldn't control. He chose to let it go rather than obsess over mysteries he had no way to solve.
Nolan lay back down on the metal bed, intending to sleep a while longer and recover his strength properly.
But sleep wouldn't come now. His mind was too active, thoughts circling too insistently.
After several minutes of staring at the ceiling, he gave up and activated the simulator.
"The waters of the local universe run deep," Nolan said quietly, speaking to himself in the empty room. "Perhaps the more I know, the less courage I'll have to act. Better to continue my simulations safely, away from things I can't yet understand."
The simulator interface appeared before him, its familiar controls a comfort against the lingering unease from the dream.
"This time should be an object simulation," he continued, his voice steadier now as he focused on something concrete and manageable. "I hope the Emperor blesses me with something useful..."
His finger hovered over the activation command, then pressed down firmly.
The simulation began.