THE DARK SAVAGE IN UNITED STATE

High atop the Himalayas, the Supreme Mage and her apprentices stood vigilant, their gazes fixed on the massive dark rift suspended in the alien space above. The passage, vast as a mountain's foundation, radiated an ominous, suffocating pressure that caused even the boldest among them to falter.

"Teacher, what's happening?" Iron Man, visibly shaken, asked as he stood beside the Supreme Mage.

Earlier that morning, every mage in Kamar-Taj had felt the violent ripples in the fabric of reality. Now, they gathered on the mountain, bracing for what was to come. The mages took strength from their mentor, whose steadfast presence had never failed them before.

Fear wasn't foreign to them. Even those adept in the mystic arts felt the creeping dread of the unknown. But before them stood the figure of unwavering faith and leadership—the Ancient One, Supreme Mage of Earth.

The mages encircled their leader, a collective force dedicated to defending the world from incursions beyond imagination. Yet their craft was young; the legacy of Earth's mages stretched back only to the moment Storm, the Master of the Elements, first received the seeds of magic from the Trinity Weishandi. Through her creation and mastery, the art of the mystic was born on Earth.

"These fluctuations are peculiar," Storm began, her voice calm, betraying no fear. "They feel like the energy of hell itself. Something is breaking through into our realm, yet... I don't sense immediate danger." She paused, her white eyes narrowing as she focused. "The presence is layered—evil, death, and fury all twisted together."

What Storm perceived were the residual energies of the Seven Devils of Hell, released when the Dark Soul Stone shattered. Intermingled were the cold deathly aura of Darkseid and the searing, unrelenting rage of Conan the Barbarian.

Her steady tone offered no comfort but instead instilled calm resolve among the apprentices. They trusted her judgment as much as they trusted the Time Stone, the artifact she wielded to see into the currents of fate. The mages relaxed, sensing no visible anxiety from their leader.

In truth, even with the Time Stone's aid, Storm saw nothing of what lay ahead. Yet as the guardian of Earth, fear had no place in her heart.

Suddenly, the void trembled. A colossal mass emerged—a mountain wrenched from an alien realm—crushing the mystical barriers the mages had erected. Slowly, impossibly, the mountain descended, feather-light yet massive enough to reshape the very earth.

The mages watched in awe as the mountain settled into the Himalayas, its arrival silent yet imposing. It stood as if it had always been part of the landscape, ancient and untamed.

From their vantage, the mages saw it clearly. Dust and snow swirled around the wild, craggy mountain, revealing half-finished structures among its rugged peaks. Massive stones stacked in intricate patterns hinted at a civilization's attempt to rebuild what had been destroyed.

At the summit, a lone figure stood amidst the ruins. Shirtless, his pale, withered hair whipped in the cold wind. In his hands were shattered, jagged weapons, and at his feet lay the remnants of monstrous armor and blades, their jagged edges betraying their infernal origins.

"Teacher, what is this?" Iron Man asked, his voice rising in urgency.

Storm smiled faintly, her expression calm, unshaken. "There's nothing more for us here. We stand guard no longer." With a graceful motion, she dismissed the rift above, and the sky returned to its usual serenity.

The mages lowered their defenses and dispersed, their faith in their Supreme Mage unshaken. Whatever doubts lingered were buried beneath their trust in her wisdom.

---

On the summit of the Holy Mountain of Harrogath, Conan the Barbarian let out a guttural roar. "Darkseid!" His cry echoed across the mountain, resonating with the very stones. Rage consumed him, fueling his broken body with strength as he scoured his surroundings, searching for his adversary.

Still immersed in the harrowing battle that had ravaged his world, Conan didn't yet realize he was no longer in the same realm. His bloodshot eyes scanned the alien landscape, his fury seething.

"You look like you could use some help," a calm voice cut through the air, halting Conan in his tracks.

The barbarian froze, his instincts roaring against the impossibility of the voice. The Soul Reaper Legion and Darkseid's forces had obliterated Harrogath. There shouldn't have been anyone left alive.

The unfamiliar voice shook Conan from his rage. Turning, he saw her—Storm, her serene gaze fixed on him, lightning subtly dancing across her fingertips. The raw energy radiating from her demanded respect, even from the enraged barbarian.

Conan gritted his teeth, his warrior's mind working quickly. Barbarians thrived on anger, but they were not mindless. They channeled their rage with precision, turning fury into a weapon. Yet in this moment, Conan's rage gave way to confusion and, grudgingly, curiosity.

"Who are you?" he growled, his voice a mixture of distrust and fatigue.

"I am Storm," she replied. "And you are far from home."