The air was thick with the smell of ash and ozone, as if the sky itself was burning. Clea stood on a precipice overlooking New York City, her violet eyes narrowed, and her silver hair billowing in the wind like a comet's tail. Below, the streets were crowded with frightened civilians, their eyes turned skyward, scanning for a threat they could not yet see but could already feel. Darkness was coming, spreading across the horizon like ink spilled on parchment.

She could sense it — a ripple in the very fabric of reality, a malignant force clawing its way through dimensions. It was an ancient presence, older than the universe itself, born in the cold heart of the void where stars dared not shine. Clea could hear its whispers, threading through her mind, promising destruction, demanding surrender. Her fingers twitched with the instinct to cast a protective ward, to erect a barrier that could stave off the inevitable. But she knew magic alone would not be enough to face what was coming.

The sky above began to darken further, a bruise of violet and black, crackling with crimson lightning. Clea took a deep breath and summoned the light within her. Mystic sigils spun around her hands, blazing with a fierce, golden energy. She could feel the power thrumming in her veins, a surge of heat and light, the force of a thousand stars condensed into her very soul. She had been trained for this — prepared by the Sorcerer Supreme, Stephen Strange, and taught the ancient secrets of her home dimension, the Dark Dimension. But this foe... it was like nothing she had ever faced before.

She extended her arms, her voice ringing out in the magical tongue of the Vishanti. "By the light of Agamotto, by the Seven Rings of Raggadorr, I command you!" Her voice echoed across the city, resonating with arcane power. The darkness in the distance shuddered, then surged forward, as if testing her strength.