Master Mordo

As previously established, Mordo was a rigid man—one who could not tolerate anything that strayed from the rules. When Gene trained at Kamar-Taj, Mordo was extremely uncomfortable with the way Gene fused magic and technology, calling it an "unorthodox deviation."

More than once, he had caught Gene casting what should've been pure white magic in a manner that eerily resembled black magic. That aura—it unsettled him deeply.

At the time, Mordo had even gone to the Ancient One to tattle. But her response was not what he expected. Rather than outrage, she seemed to tacitly accept Gene's methods.

Back then, Mordo revered the Ancient One like a deity, so he swallowed his frustration. But now—now that he knew the truth—that his master had drawn upon dark energy for centuries—his faith had crumbled. And old grudges festered with new rage.

"You are a man cast out from Kamar-Taj," Mordo said coldly, facing Gene in the sanctum. "You have no right to stand in this sacred temple."

"I'm here to clean up your mess—this whole Dormammu situation," Gene replied, the V-shaped optical lenses of his helmet flickering faintly. "And by the way, you clearly have no grasp on what the word 'banished' actually means."

"You're pretending to be a hero now?" Mordo scoffed. "You're nothing but a cold-blooded machine. What, trying to rack up karma before the world ends?"

Gene stared back icily. "I'm here because my mentor asked me to be. I didn't agree with her philosophy, but she was still my teacher. I respect her deeply—she gave me knowledge when I knew nothing. That's why I've come.

"And you, Master Mordo—you have two choices. One: cooperate and help fight Dormammu. Two: leave this sanctum right now. No one is forcing you to fight. And frankly, your abilities wouldn't tip the scales much anyway."

"…Actually, I think Master Mordo's pretty powerful," Doctor Strange mumbled on the side.

Mordo stepped forward and suddenly seized Gene's arm. It was a magical grappling technique designed to render limbs powerless—even mechanical ones.

"You want to fight, Mordo?" Gene asked flatly, his voice as cold as steel.

"I swore to protect this sanctum," Mordo said, gripping tightly. "I won't let you taint it." He spat out the word "taint" like it was poison, as if Gene's mere presence desecrated the temple.

Gene moved like a blur. Just as Mordo's technique was about to activate, Gene's hand slipped under Mordo's armpit, climbed over his shoulder, and struck a nerve point. In an instant, Mordo's arm deflated like a punctured balloon—useless.

He had used the exact same grappling technique—only the second half of it. The first part had been something entirely different. Mordo had the first move, but his stubborn refusal to innovate—his insistence on rigid forms—meant he never saw Gene's adaptation coming.

Mordo roared and tore free, swinging a fist toward Gene's helmet. Gene blocked it effortlessly and kicked Mordo square in the chest.

Stumbling back several steps, Mordo clutched his ribs and glared.

"If you keep being this stubborn, I won't mind teaching you on your master's behalf," Gene said coldly.

With a roar, Mordo unleashed his full strength—every ounce of technique he had honed at Kamar-Taj.

His talent wasn't lacking, and his dedication had made him one of Kamar-Taj's elite. In any other fight, he'd be top-tier. But against Gene, Mordo might as well have been a child throwing tantrums.

Within a few exchanges, Gene transitioned from defense to offense. Mordo's so-called "lifelong techniques" slammed against an impenetrable wall. No matter what he tried, nothing broke through Gene's defenses.

And the more Gene countered, the more awkward Mordo became. This wasn't combat like he had studied—it was a different language entirely.

With a powerful kick, Gene sent Mordo flying.

Mordo tried to right himself midair, but the magical energy within his body spiraled out of control. He hit the ground hard, the impact echoing through the sanctum.

Gene watched, disappointment in his voice. "All these years, Mordo… you haven't grown at all."

Mordo, now red-faced and fuming, pushed himself off the ground. Those words stung more than the defeat. They were true.

Golden light gathered in his palm, coalescing into a radiant golden staff. Mordo pointed it at Gene.

"Enough!"

Doctor Strange finally stepped in, positioning himself between the two.

"Out of my way!" Mordo shouted. "This is between me and him!"

"Calm down, Mordo!" Strange shook his shoulders. "Dormammu is about to destroy the Earth. You swore to protect this sanctum! Are you really going to let personal grudges tear it down instead?"

Mordo's expression shifted a dozen times.

Finally, with a breath, the golden staff disintegrated into light and vanished from his hand.

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T/N:

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