The "world-renowned" astrophysicist, Professor Erik Selvig, was currently standing in front of a blackboard covered in strange symbols. In his left hand, he held a weathered textbook; in his right, a single old leather shoe—origin unknown—and he was passionately explaining his latest theory, spittle flying with every syllable.
"Every five thousand years, the Nine Realms align!" he declared, waving both the book and the shoe around as if they were sacred instrunts. "You see, the convergence is just that—nine worlds forming a cosmic straight line. And when that happens, sothing terrifying can occur."
He slamd the shoe down on the book with a loud smack, leaving behind a dark, grimy footprint—and maybe sothing worse clinging to the sole.
"If these nine realms were to collide," Selvig continued with rising excitent, "it wouldn't be like this book and shoe. No, no! It would be light, gravity, and matter itself crashing into one another—being crushed into the fabric of a different world. It would be catastrophic!"
He tossed both the shoe and the book to the floor and, as if performing a magic trick, pulled out two dry-erase markers from nowhere and began drawing chaotic spirals in the air.
"But with my Gravitational Stabilizer, we could hold our world steady! Then, the convergence would pass us by like a gentle breeze!" His face lit up. "A brilliant idea, isn't it?"
anwhile, the elderly residents of the retirent ho were... less than enthusiastic.
So were still playing cards. A few wandered aimlessly, lost in thought. One particular man stood in a corner, clearly too preoccupied with "watering the flowers" to care.
Yet, sohow, amidst this apathy, soone actually clapped.
Professor Selvig looked up, startled, and saw a woman seated with an effortless grace, one stunning leg casually propped up on the table. Her long hair draped playfully over her shoulder, her beauty so striking that it would make angels feel self-conscious. Selvig blushed like a schoolboy.
Just her posture alone was almost too much for him to handle.
"Uh... may I ask who you are?" Selvig raised his eyebrows in polite curiosity.
"Amora," the woman said with a sweet, lodic voice. "Just call Amora."
She stood and sauntered toward him with feline grace. Strangely, no one else in the room seed to notice her presence. Even the security guards nearby were still deep in their cheerful gossip, completely oblivious.
Amora stopped directly in front of him. Selvig could practically sll her now—the intoxicating scent of ancient magic and danger.
"Professor Selvig," she whispered, her fingers glowing with a faint erald light, "welco to the team."
The mont sent shivers down Selvig's spine.
Sothing wasn't right.
His instincts scread at him. He rembered the last ti—when S.H.I.E.L.D. had brought him in to study the Tesseract, and Loki, the Norse trickster god, had used his scepter to enslave his mind.
This... this was exactly the sa feeling.
Only this ti, there was no scepter. Just her presence.
"W-Who are you really? What do you want from ?" Selvig stamred, beginning to back away.
Amora laughed.
"Oh, Professor. Nothing too serious. Just a tiny favor," she said with a wink. "And I promise... you're going to love this job."
The green light exploded outward from her hands, a wave of magic washing over Selvig like a tidal wave. He felt it seep into his eyes, nose, ears—his very soul. There was nowhere to run. The magic crawled inside like it had a will of its own.
Selvig staggered forward, the light in his eyes flickering... fading...
Then—
A sudden shockwave rattled the room.
Amora's spell was interrupted.
Selvig blinked and shook his head, the enchantnt broken. Confusion clouded his face—but he was no longer under her control.
"You know," a familiar voice rang out, "using your body and charms to brainwash people? That's just sad."
Daisy Johnson stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her gaze sharp and full of disdain.
"You?" Amora hissed, her face turning icy cold.
"And ." Wanda Maximoff stepped into the room, her hands already aglow with swirling crimson chaos magic, ready to unleash hell.
Amora's eyes narrowed.
"You..."
The mory of their last battle burned behind her eyes. That cursed fight—where this Midgardian witch had nearly bested her in blade and spell. How could such a bizarre and terrifying sorceress exist in this world?
"Yes, ," Wanda said with a dazzling smile. "Missed ?"
The temperature in the room plumted as Amora's rage boiled to the surface.
"You're both dead!" she scread.
A tidal wave of magic surged from her body—new grudges and old humiliations colliding. In her mind, she was already hurling both of them into Nidavellir's foul, fire-belching forges.
Daisy's smirk widened.
"Then show what you've got."
She unleashed a burst of seismic force, hurling debris into a swirling tornado aid directly at Amora.
But Amora moved like a whisper of wind, her steps light and graceful. Vines of green magic slithered around her, forming into glowing serpents. The magical snakes hissed as they struck out toward Wanda and Daisy—each one carrying a lethal curse.
Their eyes glowed, their forked tongues flicked with frost, and their teeth promised agony.
No one in their right mind would want to be bitten by those.
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