"I'm very smart—smarter than most of you. But I also know I'm not the type meant to rule the world," said Amora—not one, but seven of her. Her voices layered and echoed like a high-powered surround sound system blaring in Wanda's ears.

"There are others far more suited to be kings of this new continent. One of them wields power beyond your wildest imagination. Even your so-called leader, the one they call the Black Devil—he wouldn't last a second if that person so much as thought of his end."

As the words fell, all seven Amoras raised their hands. Seven streaks of emerald magic converged in the center of the circle—straight at Wanda.

She gritted her teeth, trying to withstand the brutal barrage, but Amora had done something unusual this time. Somehow, the illusions she conjured were just as powerful as her real self. Wanda's chaotic magic formed a protective shield around her, but under the relentless assault, it began to compress, shrink, and crack.

"It's a shame, really," Amora spoke slowly, like she had all the time in the world. "A mage like you emerging in Midgard... that's rare. But it's unfortunate. You won't live to witness the merging of the Nine Realms or the rise of the New Continent. You're going to die by my hand."

Wanda dug in, her teeth clenched, straining every last drop of her power. The chaos magic shielding her was shrinking rapidly. Her face was flushed, the chaotic energy in her body nearly depleted.

Amora was right. The last time Wanda had bested her was purely due to close combat—catching her off guard. But now that Amora kept her distance and fought strategically, Wanda had no chance.

She had lost.

But as death loomed closer, a strange calm came over Wanda. She expected fear—but what she truly felt… was regret.

Yes. Regret. Not of dying, but of failing.

She found it unbelievable. Her greatest fear in that moment wasn't death—it was failure.

Gene would be so disappointed if he returned to find her like this, wouldn't he?

Her thoughts scattered. The more anxious she became, the harder it was to focus. Her vision blurred. Her body trembled. Her legs gave way.

And then… through the fading haze of her consciousness, she saw someone. A black figure clad in dark armor—sleek, sharp, and unmistakably powerful.

"...I'm sorry..." Wanda whispered, barely audible.

She had failed Gene's trust. Failed his expectations. Failed to protect Earth. Failed… to tell him the truth.

It felt like a hallucination, but that armored figure turned. The V-shaped visor on his helmet glowed red, staring directly at her.

"It's not over yet, Wanda," a voice—firm, resonant, and unmistakably Gene's—rang in her ears. "Stand up. Did you forget what I told you?"

Wanda's dazed expression shifted.

"You carry chaos magic inside you—limitless, boundless power."

"You've learned quickly, and I've taught you everything I know. One day, you'll surpass even me."

"You think no one believes in you… but remember this: I will always believe in you."

His voice echoed in her heart. She remembered—everything. Every word. Every lesson.

Perhaps she was still destined to lose this battle. But if she was going to die, she wouldn't go down quietly. Not without giving everything she had.

Even if this was her last stand, she'd make it count.

A wave of energy surged through her. She stood. Her arms stretched outward, and she opened her heart fully. She turned the valve of power inside her to its maximum. For the first time, she felt truly connected to her chaos magic—no barriers, no hesitations.

Massive waves of chaotic energy poured into her from the void, flooding her body. Her eyes turned crimson.

No more holding back.

An explosion of chaos magic burst from within her. The shrinking shield that once protected her shattered outward, obliterating the surrounding energy. The shockwave surged like a wildfire, crashing into the seven Amora clones.

They vanished in an instant.

Amora screamed, hastily raising her green shield—but it was no match. It shattered like an eggshell.

She was thrown to the ground, battered and stunned. Pain wracked her body, but she didn't care—her wide eyes locked onto the source of the storm: Wanda.

Amora couldn't believe it.

That small Midgardian mage now stood in the heart of a red tempest, commanding magic like a queen giving orders to an army.

"No... no! This is impossible!" Amora screamed.

She frantically fired spells—every kind she knew, every ounce of power she could muster—but they were nothing. Her magic was a mere stream against Wanda's ocean.

The chaotic maelstrom swallowed everything.

Wanda's eyes were ice-cold. Her finger rose, pointing at the fallen Amora.

The chaos magic surged forward like loyal soldiers obeying their monarch's command. Amora tried to resist—but it was hopeless.

The wave of power engulfed her, consuming her completely.

Not even her scream remained.

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T/N:

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