A forbidden tome steeped in black magic, radiating a power that pulsed with corruption. It wasn't just a spellbook—it was a relic of dread. Henry had only heard rumors of it in passing during his studies at Kamar-Taj, and even those mentions had come with heavy warnings and nervous glances.
Its origin was sinister.
Forged by Chthon, the ancient god of chaos and black magic—one of the Four Ancient Gods who shaped the primordial universe—the Book of Darkness was the antithesis of the Book of the Vishanti. Where the latter preached balance, protection, and structure, the former promised unrestrained power, with no care for consequences.
And now, here it was.
Sitting innocently at the end of a restaurant booth, just after a casual midnight meal invitation with Natasha Romanoff. Henry couldn't believe it.
Who the hell finds a cursed book while trying to get dinner?!
He stared at it as if it were a ticking bomb. And in many ways, it was.
The spells recorded in the Book of Darkness were incredibly powerful—soul manipulation, dimensional tears, reality-warping hexes—but their use came at an enormous price. No moral framework governed these incantations. They were tools of raw, primal chaos. The book didn't ask should you use them—it simply asked what you want most.
Henry knew that if the Ancient One were here, she'd demand its destruction or immediate isolation. Kamar-Taj explicitly prohibited the use of black magic. Possession of such a book would be grounds for intense scrutiny—possibly even banishment.
He couldn't help but wonder: if the Ancient One discovered this… would she strip him of the Time Stone?
As that thought crossed his mind, Henry found his hands trembling slightly. The book called to him. Not in words, but in temptation. The whispers of power were subtle, elegant, laced with promises.
Just one spell.
Just one peek.
He could almost feel his fingers twitching toward the pages again, curiosity prying at the edges of his will.
Then—
"You carry books with you when you go out to eat?" Natasha asked with a raised eyebrow, breaking the spell of his trance.
Henry blinked and looked up at her, the tension in his shoulders releasing like a popped balloon.
Right. He wasn't alone.
"I, uh… found it here," he replied awkwardly.
But he wasn't about to give it a chance to dig in deeper. Without wasting another moment, Henry opened a portal beside the booth, traced a quick containment glyph in the air, and flung the Book of Darkness through the shimmering veil of light.
It didn't land in a trash can. He wasn't stupid. Instead, he redirected it to a sealed dimensional pocket—a lockbox only he could open, surrounded by layers of wards and protective magic.
The portal sealed shut with a quiet snap.
Finally, he breathed.
"Sorry," Henry said, regaining his composure. "I got a little distracted."
Natasha, unfazed, leaned back in her seat. "No worries. But you might want to keep your mealtime distractions under control. Especially when we're supposed to be having a peaceful dinner."
Henry offered a tight-lipped smile and nodded, but internally, his mind was spinning.
That book was real.
He knew the stories. Long ago, Chthon—like the other ancient gods—had been driven from Earth. Before his exile to a twisted dimension of chaos, he had transcribed all of his knowledge into that very book. The parchment was said to be indestructible, bound in cursed flesh, saturated with the essence of black magic.
It wasn't just a tome—it was a conduit.
A channel for Chthon's power to influence Earth, to seed corruption, and, ultimately, to reclaim a foothold in the mortal world.
In essence, the Book of Darkness was a recruitment tool—a whisper in the dark meant to lure desperate or power-hungry sorcerers into becoming Chthon's vessels.
Henry frowned.
In the Marvel universe, all magic was borrowed. White magic? It came from benevolent or at least neutral entities—like the Vishanti. When a mage invoked those spells, they were temporarily loaned energy. Occasionally, there were consequences. A toll. But nothing lethal—unless abused.
Black magic, however, was something else entirely.
You didn't just borrow from Chthon.
You owed.
And his price was always the same: the soul.
That was the deal. You could tap into unimaginable power—reshape the world, bend dimensions, conjure horrors from the void—but every spell you cast brought you one step closer to total surrender. To corruption. To servitude.
What worried Henry more was that he'd been chosen.
That book wasn't just lying there. It had been waiting. Watching. Sentient.
The Book of Darkness had consciousness. It could select its bearer. Which meant… it had chosen him.
But why?
What did Chthon see in him?
Henry's gaze darkened.
Was it a test? A challenge from the cosmos? Or perhaps... was this part of what the Ancient One had foreseen when she entrusted him with the Time Stone?
Still deep in thought, he barely noticed Natasha talking again.
She waved a hand in front of his face. "Henry? Hello?"
He blinked and snapped back to reality.
"The food's getting cold," she said, arching an eyebrow.
Henry chuckled awkwardly and reached for his fork. "Right. Sorry. Just... had a lot on my mind."
Natasha studied his face, concern flickering in her eyes.
"Is it something serious? Is Earth in danger?"
Henry hesitated, then shook his head. "Not exactly. But I've come across something... troubling. I need to deal with it."
"If you ever want to talk," Natasha offered, her tone softer now, "I might not understand magic, but I'm a good listener. And sometimes saying things out loud helps."
He appreciated that. Really, he did. But there were some things even she shouldn't know—especially when they involved ancient gods, soul devouring, and apocalyptic corruption.
"I'll be okay," he assured her. "Let's just enjoy the meal."
For a few moments, silence returned as they ate. Henry barely tasted the food, his thoughts still partially tangled in the potential threat the Book of Darkness represented.
He ate quickly. His appetite was fueled more by urgency than hunger. He needed to consult the Ancient One. If anyone could tell him what to do with that book—or whether it should be destroyed—it was her.
Natasha noticed his hurried pace.
"You're eating like the building's on fire."
Henry gave her a sheepish glance. "Sorry. I've got things to take care of."
She nodded, sipping her drink casually. "Before you vanish in a puff of magic, can I ask you one more thing?"
He looked up. "Go ahead."
"Yesterday, there was a report... A hammer fell from the sky. Loud crash in the middle of a desert. S.H.I.E.L.D. is buzzing about it. Do you know what that's about?"
Henry blinked, the fork halfway to his mouth.
"A hammer?" he echoed. "Like... Thor's hammer?"
Natasha's eyes widened slightly. "So you do know."
Henry leaned back, suddenly thoughtful. "I heard of Mjolnir before. If it's fallen to Earth, that probably means something big is coming."
"Should I be worried?" she asked.
Henry considered it.
"Let's just say... if the hammer's here, the storm isn't far behind."
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