Mahoraga in Lord of the Mysteries

Bernadette Gustav, better known as Queen Mystic, stood at the stern of her ship, The Dawn, her silver hair whipping in the ocean breeze. The scent of salt and brine filled the air, the rhythmic crashing of waves against the hull a constant companion.

Yet, none of it reached her. Her gaze was distant, lost in the shifting horizon, her expression shadowed with melancholy.

'Oh, Father… where are you?' Her thoughts wandered, drifting through the fog of memory to the few fragments she had of him; the brilliance in his eyes, the warmth of his presence.

Then came the endless years after his disappearance, years she had spent scouring the world, chasing whispers, following clues, never allowing herself to accept what others did. He was not dead.

She knew it.

She felt it.

And yet, after so long, a tiny, insidious doubt had rooted itself in her heart, gnawing away at the unwavering will she had forged the day she embarked on this journey. It was a whisper, a quiet voice at the back of her mind, one she refused to acknowledge but could never silence.

Meanwhile, below deck, a certain magic lamp sat in the dim glow of her cabin, resting on an ornate wooden table. Its once-pristine surface was worn by time, the intricate engravings dull beneath a thin layer of dust.

Then, without warning, it pulsed with an eerie white mist, tendrils of vapor curling outward like spectral fingers.

A faint vibration followed.

Then another.

The lamp trembled, then suddenly jolted, rattling against the wooden table before bouncing erratically.

The movements grew more frantic, more absurd, as though something inside was thrashing against its prison, desperate to break free.

*Thump*

*Thump*

*Crash*

With a final violent jolt, the lamp tumbled from the table. The gentle sway of the ship, combined with its own wild motion, sent it rolling across the floor, where it finally came to rest in the farthest corner of the room.

Then, silence. Inside the lamp, a weary sigh echoed in the void.

"I… I will be trapped as a genie forever," He muttered, his voice laced with resignation. His true body was in peril, yet there was nothing He could do.

Not now.

Not like this.

…

Mahoraga emerged before the planet, its form shrouded in thick, white mist that stretched infinitely in all directions, yet never strayed beyond the celestial body's surface.

A being of raw power, he loomed against the vast emptiness of space, his eyes gleaming with unrestrained anticipation.

"Fight me!" he declared, his voice resonating through the empty vacuum of space, shattering the silence like a war drum.

The mist stirred. It did not respond with words but instead screamed; an overwhelming cacophony of voices, each howling in a different tongue.

Mahoraga understood some of them, pleas for peace, offers of friendship, but he paid them no heed.

He had come for battle.

The last true fight he had experienced was with the three humans upon his arrival, and the black goo that followed.

The blood ocean on the moon, for all its power, had been disappointing; it was unable to fight back. The disembodied voices had wielded similar abilities, but infinitely weaker, and so he had ignored them.

Then came the puppet world. Endless hordes of mindless constructs, controlled by yet more puppets, layer upon layer of false life. The skinless giant puppets had been a decent warm-up, but the so-called final boss?

A pathetic let down.

And then, the advanced civilization. A world brimming with technology, its people intelligent, calculating; yet still, merely puppets of something greater. That something had brought Mahoraga here, to its true master.

And this one, at least, did not seem interested only in talking like the spineless centipede. Mahoraga grinned.

"Finally!" With a thunderous roar, he lunged into the mist, fist extended.

The instant he neared it, space itself twisted, stretching endlessly before him. He recognized the ability. It was similar to Bethel's, yet far superior and inversely attuned to his ability. Instead of bending space to create pathways or gateways, this force expanded it, infinitely increasing the distance between them.

"Hmph. Delaying tactics are no fun…" with a sharp snap of his fingers, Mahoraga obliterated the distortion, shattering the mist's attempt to evade him.

He could have ended it in an instant; just as he had done to the blood ocean. But where was the fun in that? He wanted to see what this entity could do.

He wanted to adapt.

As soon as space returned to its natural state, his fist connected.

The mist panicked. But instead of recoiling in fear, it did something far more interesting. It lunged forward, not retreating but engulfing him, swallowing him whole in a vortex of dense, churning fog.

Time twisted.

Space unravelled.

Countless illusions flickered into existence, a storm of fragmented realities converging upon him. Mahoraga stood amidst it all, unshaken, unyielding.

The battle had begun.

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Note: I hope I have not taken too many side-turns in the story so far. The promise was for a Mahoraga in Lotm, and I ended up incorporating other worlds into this world. I added Mahoraga's memories of previous summons, which I find the most entertaining aspect of all this, I also added Venom... sort off as the black goo. then there was obviously Attack on Titan, and finally Ultron as the advanced civilisation being controlled and limited by the Uncertain Mist, who mc will not be fighting... not for too long tho kek. At most half of next chapter, maybe a little more. I intend to complete this fic soon, because Mahoraga's only goal left is to adapt, and soon he will only see one way to adapt further... I will not spoil it but I'm sure some of you have your own guesses. Comment if you want to make it longer. It could be possible... Currently, I intend on making it so that we finished by Chapter 20-25, but I can make it longer by a few chapters if you guys want... but it won't feel as good. You're choice. Comment on this paragraph your choice.