Wanda Maximoff stood at the edge of the world.
Beyond her stretched a barren, wind-swept plain of white, frozen and unrelenting. The cold wasn't natural—it gnawed at her soul, biting deeper than mere frostbite, as if the very land tried to turn her back. But she walked forward, alone.
She had left everything behind. The Avengers, the X-Men, Strange—all had tried to reason with her, to stop her. But they didn't understand. They hadn't heard the call.
Every night since the Scarlet King's emergence, Wanda's dreams had become visions—whispers in crimson, glimpses of a throne surrounded by flame and ice, and a voice that called her by name, over and over.
Wanda.
It wasn't a summons. It was a memory. Something long forgotten.
Her boots crunched against the snow, the wind screaming like a chorus of the damned. Chaos magic flared faintly around her, a glowing aura that repelled the worst of the weather. But even it seemed to flicker with strain. This place didn't obey the normal laws of the world.
She wasn't just nearing the King. She was nearing the Axis—the very bleeding point where the multiverse pulsed raw and open. She could feel it in her bones.
---
Hours passed. Or maybe days. Time had little meaning here.
The storms thickened. The wind began to howl with voices—not just noise, but intelligible speech. Pleading, warning, accusing. Some were hers. Some were not.
Wanda gritted her teeth. "I'm not afraid of you."
Lightning struck not from the sky, but from the ground. A fissure opened, nearly swallowing her whole, but she leapt over it with a burst of telekinetic force. Reality warped in flashes around her—snow becoming ash, the sky becoming a ceiling of eyes. Still, she pressed on.
Then, he appeared.
---
Victor Von Doom stepped from the storm like a statue carved from war and will.
"Scarlet Witch," he said simply.
Wanda's fists glowed with chaos. "Did he send you to stop me?"
"No. He sent me to see if you're worthy."
Their words were blades. The air cracked with tension. For a long moment, they stared at each other, two titanic forces masked in flesh.
Then Doom struck.
Red and green magic collided with thunderous force. Doom's sorcery wrapped around her like chains, trying to suppress her mind. Wanda countered with a scream, unraveling his spell with raw chaos.
"You think I don't understand what he is?" she shouted. "I see him more clearly than you ever could!"
"You see what he wants you to see," Doom retorted.
Their battle was brief but fierce—flashes of power lighting up the ice like northern fire. In the end, Wanda stood over him, panting but resolute.
"I'm not here to serve him," she said. "I'm here to remember."
Doom nodded once. "Then go. May your clarity endure longer than mine."
He vanished into the wind.
---
She didn't get far before the next barrier appeared.
This time, it wasn't physical. The air around her shimmered, and she was suddenly in a ballroom of mirrors, each one reflecting a different version of herself—Wanda the mother, Wanda the destroyer, Wanda the girl lost in Sokovia's ruins.
"Cute trick," she muttered.
Emma Frost appeared in her diamond form, eyes glowing like frostfire. "Not a trick, darling. Just... perspective."
"This isn't your fight."
"It became mine the moment he chose me."
They didn't fight with fists, but with thoughts. The psychic duel was silent but agonizing—Emma diving into Wanda's mind, searching for doubts, fears. Wanda countered by dragging Emma into her chaos.
"You think I'm unstable," Wanda said, watching Emma stagger.
"I think you're dangerous," Emma replied, regaining her footing.
"I am."
Emma frowned. "You really believe you're part of him."
"No," Wanda said. "He's part of me."
The ballroom shattered. Emma stepped back, expression unreadable.
"Then go to him," she said. "And pray you're right."
---
At last, the storm broke.
Before her stood a mountain of black obsidian, rising out of the ice like a wound in the world. Flame flickered from cracks in its sides, and a staircase led into the heart of it. Wanda ascended without hesitation.
Inside, time warped. With each step, she saw fragments of past lives—herself in other realities, other worlds. In one, she stood beside the King as queen. In another, she fought him as his greatest enemy. In yet another, they were one.
The throne room was vast, dark, and quiet. At its center sat the Scarlet King, wreathed in shadow and red light, eyes closed. He didn't move.
Wanda stepped forward. Her voice was steady.
"I'm here."
His eyes opened.
And for a moment, all of existence screamed.
She fell to her knees, not in fear or worship—but in recognition.
He rose.
"You remember," he said.
She nodded slowly. "In every world, I've come to you. Or tried."
"Because you are more than chaos. You are the bridge. The moment between order and ruin."
She stood. "Then let's begin."
The throne pulsed behind him. The storm outside ceased. A crimson aurora lit the Antarctic sky.
Together, they turned toward the future.
---
The Witch had arrived. And the King was no longer alone.