The Witcher: Ascending Beyond Marvel

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Across the vast and diverse universe, the name Mephisto was whispered with both fear and reverence. His very presence exuded a sinister energy that sent chills through the bravest of souls. Known as the true master of hell, his cunning and cruelty had etched his name into the fabric of countless realms, making him an entity of unparalleled infamy. His influence rivaled the greatest beings—standing toe-to-toe with the likes of Satan and Odin, a testament to his terrifying might.

Wes tensed immediately, every muscle in his body coiling like a tightly wound spring. His sharp eyes, filled with a mixture of caution and disbelief, locked onto the Ancient One. His mind raced. Mephisto. Just the thought of facing him sent a wave of dread crashing over him.

"So, you're not here to bring gifts… but to assign me a task?" Wes's voice was laced with a bitter edge, his wariness evident.

The single utterance of the name made Wes clench his jaw tightly. His chest tightened. He was no fool—he knew his current strength paled in comparison to Mephisto's overwhelming power. Facing him now would be equal to walking into certain death.

The Ancient One, sensing Wes's hesitation, spoke calmly, her serene demeanor an unsettling contrast to the storm brewing within him. "I am not asking you to fight Mephisto directly. When he was banished from Earth, his true form was sealed away, preventing his return. Now, he can only send avatars to deceive humans."

Wes's brows furrowed, his mind grappling with the enormity of it all. "Even if it's just an avatar, I wouldn't stand a chance," he muttered, frustration creeping into his voice.

"I never said you had to fight him." The Ancient One's expression grew serious, her voice a soft yet firm reassurance. "Your task is to protect something—the San Venganza Contract."

A flicker of curiosity sparked in Wes's eyes, momentarily overriding his dread. The San Venganza Contract. An artifact whispered about in legends, capable of tipping the balance between salvation and damnation. The weight of its importance pressed down on him.

"As long as you complete this mission, the reward will be yours. And I assure you, it will be well worth your time," she added, her tone unwavering.

Wes felt trapped between suspicion and intrigue. He didn't trust the Ancient One completely—trust wasn't a luxury he could afford. But refusing her wasn't an option either. The room felt heavy with unspoken tension as silence stretched between them.

The Ancient One, ever patient, sipped her tea, waiting for Wes's response as if time itself bowed to her will.

"You're absolutely sure I won't run into Mephisto while carrying out this task?" Wes asked cautiously, his voice edged with doubt.

"I swear on the gods themselves—" The Ancient One raised her right hand in a solemn vow, the weight of divine entities behind her words.

Wes let out a dry, sardonic chuckle, rubbing his forehead. "The moment you say that, I trust you even less."

Swearing to the gods? Wes thought grimly. If you meet them, just don't get caught lying, even if you're on good terms with them.

After what felt like an eternity of internal deliberation, Wes finally exhaled deeply and gave his answer. "Fine. I'll do it."

The decision felt like stepping off a cliff into the unknown. Sure, he could have fled, vanished through the mystical panel and never looked back. But deep down, a nagging curiosity anchored him. Would he ever return to this world again? Would he ever sit across from the Ancient One, sipping tea, and discussing impossible tasks like this? And then there was the mention of that reward—a tantalizing promise he couldn't ignore.

"This is for you," the Ancient One said softly, handing him a pure white feathered quill, its brilliance almost ethereal.

Wes accepted it, turning it between his fingers. "It will lead you to the San Venganza Contract."

Before Wes could voice the avalanche of questions swirling in his mind, she disappeared—silent and swift, like a phantom in the night.

Alone, Wes twirled the quill thoughtfully, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "I feel like I just got tricked," he muttered to himself.

He sighed, the weight of the mission settling on his shoulders. "Alright, I'll trust you this time, Supreme Sorcerer. Don't let me regret it."

His voice broke the stillness as he called out, "Zandi!"

In an instant, a soft glow illuminated the room Zandi, materialized before him, bowing respectfully. "Awaiting your command, Master," Zandi said, his tone unwavering and loyal.

"Prepare everything. I'm calling it a night," Wes instructed, his exhaustion evident.

"As you wish," Zandi replied softly, disappearing to carry out the orders.

Wes, now alone with his thoughts, retreated to his bedroom. As the weight of sleep finally pulled him under, the quill rested beside him—a silent reminder of the perilous journey that awaited him.

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The next afternoon, the bustling streets of Arthur Avenue carried on as usual, oblivious to the unseen storm brewing beneath its surface. Wes's figure blended effortlessly into the crowd, but unbeknownst to him, his presence had triggered a cascade of alerts across multiple layers of security.

Far away, in a dimly lit room, Nick Fury's intense gaze remained locked onto a computer screen displaying Wes's image. "So...This is the mysterious magician," he murmured, suspicion thick in his voice.

As always, Fury's instincts kept him cautious, never allowing the smallest anomaly to slip past him.

Phil Coulson, standing beside him, rubbed his temples wearily. "Since last year, the intelligence team has been screening everyone connected to Arthur Avenue—locals, tourists, even vagrants. Every single person has been through at least three rounds of background checks."

A tired chuckle escaped him. "In the process, we even helped the FBI capture a few fugitives."

Fury's eyes remained sharp, unyielding. "And what's so special about Wes Irwin?"

Coulson's expression turned grave. "For an entire year, he's the only unknown presence on the street."

Running a hand through his thinning hair, Coulson added, "You see, Chief, we've been cross-referencing every single individual. Local residents, travelers, businessmen—everyone checks out. But this guy? His background is too clean."

Fury's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Explain."

"Wes Irwin disappeared from an orphanage at age eleven. After that—nothing. No education records. No medical history. No credit cards. No social media. No known associates," Coulson elaborated, the mystery deepening with each word.

"He pays for everything in cash. And for the past decade, it's as if he never even existed in our world."

Coulson folded his arms, his voice low and certain. "Chief, I'm 80% sure he's the mysterious magician. And if he's not, he's definitely hiding something big."

Fury leaned back in his chair, his mind already formulating a plan. After a moment of contemplation, he gave a decisive nod. "Keep a close eye on him. Assign three surveillance teams—round the clock. If necessary, use satellites. You have temporary Level 7 clearance."

"Understood," Coulson responded without hesitation, already moving to execute the orders.

Meanwhile, Wes had already left New York, the quill guiding him like a silent compass. Miles blurred together as Zandi took the wheel, driving tirelessly while Wes immersed himself in a book, casting occasional spells to ensure their course remained true.

Coulson's team, growing increasingly frustrated with Wes's relentless pace and minimal stops, scrambled to keep up. "Sir, he's heading north. The terrain there is open—it'll be difficult to follow without detection," an agent reported urgently.

Coulson, quick to adapt, ordered, "Use satellite tracking. Rotate teams to avoid exposure. And have the intel team predict his destination."

As the pursuit intensified, Wes remained unfazed, barely acknowledging the world outside his window. His only stops were brief—fuel, and then back on the road. Each passing mile only deepened Coulson's frustration.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Wes crossed into Texas. The quill's glow intensified as the car veered off the main road onto a narrow dirt path, each bump and jolt rattling Wes's already frayed nerves.

With a resigned sigh, he muttered, "This trip was awful. I should've just taken a flying broom. Definitely need to upgrade this car."

The quill led him to a desolate cemetery, its silence oppressive. Before him stood an old, decrepit wooden house, its walls whispering forgotten tales.

So, this is where the San Venganza Contract is? Wes thought, a mix of anticipation and wariness bubbling within him.

Approaching the door, he knocked softly.

Creeeeak~~

The door swung open with an eerie, bone-chilling sound. Wes winced at the noise, his instincts immediately on edge.

Before he could process his next move, his breath hitched as he found himself staring down the cold, unblinking barrel of a double-barreled shotgun

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Note: The name of house elf was changed from jendi to zandi