Chapter 66: Unleashing Gu Yi Behind Closed Doors

A Douzong-level expert, so overwhelmingly powerful! No—wait, damn it! Wrong script. What I should say is: Casillas, you thick-browed traitor, have you really turned your back on the revolution to join the tentacled god Cthulhu?

In this moment, Mei Mumu was utterly exasperated.

In the original movie, the shoddy special effects and the writer’s lack of imagination never managed to capture the true feeling of a battle between sorcerers. Aside from the flashy spectacle of collapsing skyscrapers or flying buildings, there was no sense of a true mystical war. The most absurd thing was that, in the end, these so-called "grand sorcerers" all settled their fights with kitchen knives.

That was simply unbearable.

Only after fully immersing himself in this Marvel parallel universe did Mei Mumu realize how far he lagged behind in both magical ability and knowledge. If his magical shield had been blasted apart, he could have accepted that. But it wasn’t even that—the shield was completely ignored. Even as those dark hands clamped around his throat, his shield was still operating.

This was just outrageous!

To allow Mei Mumu a chance for "last words," the two dark hands loosened their grip on his throat ever so slightly.

Coughing violently, Mei Mumu caught a glimpse of his fellow black companion rolling his eyes, and decided to stop playing games with Casillas. “All I want… is to shut the door…”

Shut the door?

What door?

If Casillas were black, the only fitting meme would be that classic “black guy question mark” image.

Mei Mumu suddenly flashed a mysterious smile. After all, closing the door always comes with the next step—releasing the hounds, or rather, letting the Ancient One in!

Before Casillas could react, a massive golden magical fan the size of a compact car suddenly unfolded before him.

In fact, it was a magic circle spread open to 120 degrees. But its shape was identical to the folding fans the Ancient One so often used!

A dazzling light flared; the dozens of dark tentacles Casillas had thrust forward were instantly severed.

Casillas screamed and staggered back.

At the same time, the dark basement was flooded with brilliant light. Every pillar, every wall, every ornament was deconstructed before their eyes.

It was a shift in space, a change of battleground.

When Mei Mumu and his black companion finally managed to crawl up after a fit of coughing, they realized they were now at least a thousand meters high, suspended in a mirror dimension above New York.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

Countless building materials flew in from the void, forming special curved components that rapidly assembled beneath the four of them, coming together in just ten seconds to form a circular platform thirty meters in diameter.

The Ancient One stood proudly at the center, fanning herself with elegant composure, standing between Casillas and her two disciples.

This display of protection filled Mei Mumu with warmth.

Yet beside him, Mordo’s face twisted in anguish, for he could sense the purest dark magic—the power of Dormammu—emanating from the teacher he revered most.

Mordo felt his faith and every last tenet of his belief crumbling.

For years, he’d revered the Ancient One as a deity, treating her every word and lesson as divine revelation.

“No… this is darkness… Dormammu! Ancient One… Master, you taught us never to touch the power of darkness. But you… why? Tell me! Why? How are you any different from Casillas now?” Every muscle in Mordo’s dark face trembled; his gaze grew vacant and unfocused, on the verge of collapse.

The Ancient One was silent, turning her face half away.

Indeed, the mark now visible on her brow was Dormammu’s sigil—a sign that all who drew upon the power of the Dark Dimension bore.

Her lips moved, as if searching for a defense.

At the same time, Casillas’s face broke into a delighted grin. He cared nothing for Mordo’s turmoil, but he knew the Ancient One cherished her disciples the most. The collapse of her image would inflict a devastating blow to her spirit.

A sorcerer’s greatest need was composure; once lost, spellwork became error-prone and even risked backfire. Casillas was already planning how to deal the Ancient One a heavier psychological blow with his words.

But right then—

Smack!

Mei Mumu landed a palm squarely on Mordo’s head.

“Ah!” Mordo froze, turning to Mei Mumu with suspicion and a face full of question marks: Why did you hit me?

“Idiot!” Mei Mumu snapped, lashing out with a magical whip to snatch a Chitauri laser gun, which he shoved into Mordo’s hands. “Take it!”

“But—”

At a machine-gun pace, Mei Mumu unleashed a torrent of words at Mordo, so quickly Casillas couldn’t even get a word in edgewise.

“When I used alien weapons to take out those fallen ones, I didn’t see you complaining! But the moment our teacher uses a dark power, suddenly you feel betrayed?”

“Power or weapons, they’re just tools and methods. If you go on a killing spree, even the holy light makes you a villain. But if you use fel magic to protect humanity and prevent the world’s end, you’re a hero to mankind.”

“Remember when I showed you the warlocks and demon hunters in that game? They fought demons—so are they good or evil?”

“Since the Middle Ages, the church’s witch hunts slaughtered mages indiscriminately—any talented woman was burned as a witch. That left Kamar-Taj barely able to train real sorcerers. All this time, the Ancient One has single-handedly held back evil beings from countless universes, sparing Earth from destruction.”

“If the Ancient One hadn’t guarded the three sanctums for a thousand years, there would be no Earthlings left!”

“I’m sure that if someone more suitable could take up the mantle of Sorcerer Supreme, the Ancient One would gladly step aside. She would never cling to power out of a lust for immortality!”

“She doesn’t let you use dark power because your minds aren’t strong enough. See, one wrong step and you end up like that ugly bastard over there, driven mad by his own magic.”

In the end, Mei Mumu even curled his lip, letting some other immortal cultivator take the hit.

Hmph! Back in college, he’d trained specifically in the art of invective.

He could spit out eighteen sharp retorts in three seconds, insulting his opponent’s entire ancestry!

Care to see for yourself?

Mordo was left speechless.

If Mei Mumu had merely defended the Ancient One, Mordo would have tuned him out like a frog reciting scripture. But Mei Mumu had already planted the seeds of doubt in his heart, and now those seeds were sprouting.

To live for oneself, to survive a thousand years, to gain immortality through dark power while forbidding disciples to do the same… That was hypocrisy, as shameless as a wanton woman bearing a chastity arch.

Yet Mei Mumu had changed the narrative from the start: the use of dark power came with a precondition—the greater good of humanity!