Scarlet Witch: Mystic Storm by Jade Gretz

https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai/art/Scarlet-Witch-Mystic-Storm-1251027607?file=1

Scarlet Witch: Mystic Storm ANIMATION

The Abyssal Iris

Crimson energy spooled from Wanda’s fingertips, painting the fractured air like fresh blood smeared across dark glass. She moved with the lethal grace of a predator, her scarlet coat billowing against the howling winds of a dying dimension. Beneath her boots, the crust of the dead realm groaned with the profound friction of shifting tectonic plates. But these were not plates of stone; they were the calcified, overlapping remains of collapsed timelines, jagged and gray.

"You possess a truly terrible habit of finding the worst vacation spots in the multiverse, Maximoff," Elias muttered, his voice crackling over the roar of the dimensional shear. He leaned heavily on his staff, a twisted length of silverwood that glowed with a faint, sickly luminescence. A dimensional tracker by trade, Elias was dressed in heavy, rune-etched leathers, currently regretting every life choice that had led him to bind his fate to the Scarlet Witch.

"I did not force you to accompany me, Elias," Wanda replied. Her voice was a soft velvet purr that somehow cut perfectly through the howling tempest. She turned to look at him, her auburn hair whipping around a face of striking, pale perfection. Her eyes, glowing with the chaotic, swirling red of her inherent magic, held a beauty that was fundamentally dangerous—the kind of beauty that toppled empires and rewrote realities. "You insisted. You claimed this temporal fracture required a delicate touch."

"I said it required a sane touch," he corrected, tapping his staff against a jagged outcrop of petrified time. "And currently, the ground is vibrating in a rhythm that suggests something very large, and very hungry, is dreaming about us."

"It is not dreaming," Wanda said softly, dropping to one knee. She pressed her bare palm against the shattered, obsidian-like earth. Her crimson magic flared, sinking into the cracks. "It is waking up."

The ground gave way with the sound of a shattering mirror.

Elias threw himself backward as a fissure half a mile long violently unzipped the landscape. Wanda did not retreat. She simply floated upward, levitating inches above the rapidly expanding abyss, her posture perfectly rigid, her red coat flaring like the wings of a descending angel. The air that rushed up from the subterranean depths did not smell of sulfur or brimstone. It smelled of ozone, crushed lilacs, and old, stagnant water—the melancholic scent of forgotten memories.

"Get back from the edge!" Elias yelled, crawling toward a stable slab of basalt. "If that’s a Chthonic remnant, your magic will only act as a dinner bell!"

Wanda ignored him. She lowered herself slowly into the chasm, the ambient light of her chaos magic illuminating the sheer walls of the descent. Elias, cursing vividly in three dead languages, reluctantly pointed his staff downward and floated after her, a reluctant tether to sanity in a world actively losing its mind.

The cavern below was impossibly vast, a cathedral of hollowed-out nothingness beneath the skin of the world. But it was not empty. In the profound darkness, a sound echoed. It was a wet, rhythmic noise.

*Schlick. Schlick.*

It sounded like the tearing of thick silk, followed by a moist suction.

"Wanda," Elias whispered, the bravado finally bleeding out of his voice. "We need to leave. Now."

"Light up the cavern, Elias," she commanded, her voice dropping to a hypnotic whisper.

"I am telling you, as a man who has survived six apocalypses, we do not want to see what is making that noise."

"Light it up."

With a trembling hand, Elias struck the butt of his staff against the invisible floor of the cavern. A blinding flash of silver light erupted, washing over the subterranean expanse.

The horror that lay beneath the shattered ground defied the geometry of flesh. It was a mound of pale, gelatinous tissue the size of a mountain, veined with sickly, pulsing purple arteries. It had no limbs, no discernible mouth, no skeletal structure. It was a continent of undulating meat. But as the silver light hit the creature, the wet tearing sound escalated into a deafening symphony.

The creature was opening its eyes.

Thousands upon thousands of eyelids, previously camouflaged within the folds of the pallid flesh, peeled back simultaneously. They ranged in size from the circumference of a gold coin to the breadth of a castle gate. There were golden slits like a goat's, pitch-black voids, and swirling nebulae of color. But as Wanda floated closer, the pupil
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