Marvel's Hogwarts Professor

"Aren't you going to save your pet?"

The voice was smooth yet sinister, carrying a mocking undertone that betrayed its kindness. The speaker, an old man with a cane and a seemingly genial expression, sat comfortably at a desk in the leisure area of the Vientiane World. The room exuded an atmosphere of refined calmness, a stark contrast to the intensity brewing outside.

"The power of the curse alone cannot continue to resist the Eye of Judgment," he added with a knowing smile, his piercing eyes fixed on his host.

Opposite him sat Gilderoy Lockhart, the master of the Vientiane World. Clad in his signature robes, he radiated an air of controlled confidence. His fingers lightly gripped the porcelain teacup in front of him as he raised it to his lips. After a measured sip, he finally spoke, his tone calm but firm.

"Mephisto, while the Vientiane World is open for business, we do not welcome uninvited and unscrupulous guests," Lockhart declared, his gaze unwavering.

With a faint clink, he set the teacup back on the desk. The sound seemed insignificant, but a ripple of power emanated from the motion, spreading out in all directions.

"This is my territory," he continued, his voice low but resonant. "Do not forget where you stand."

Mephisto's expression faltered briefly as he felt the sudden shift in the room's energy. A fleeting tension crossed his face, but he quickly masked it with his usual sly smirk.

Meanwhile, in the teleportation square, an intense confrontation was unfolding.

The basilisk, its massive yellow eyes glowing with eerie intensity, was locked in a deadly gaze with Ghost Rider. The burning orbs within the Rider's skull, fueled by hellfire, clashed with the basilisk's cursed pupils in a battle of wills.

Ghost Rider—or rather, Johnny Blaze, the man behind the fiery skull—felt an unbearable weight pressing against his very soul. It was as if an unseen force was draining his essence, leaving him exposed to the encroaching darkness. Yet, amidst the overwhelming pressure, the hellfire within him burned stubbornly, offering a fragile anchor to his sanity.

Deep within Blaze's spirit, the ancient entity Zathanos braced itself against the curse. Though the millennia had tempered its resolve, even Zathanos could feel the weight of the basilisk's deadly magic. It fought to maintain the hellfire's strength while activating the Eye of Judgment, hoping to consume the basilisk's soul.

The basilisk recoiled as if flames were licking at its very being. Pain rippled through its massive form, and it writhed in agony. Were it not for the intricate magical sigils etched into its soul by Lockhart, its very essence might have been incinerated by the Rider's assault. However, even the master's protection could not fully shield it. The golden glow deep within its soul began to flicker and dim, signaling the basilisk's peril.

Yet, despite the pain and the creeping touch of death, the basilisk did not retreat. Its master's orders were clear: fight, endure, and hold the line.

At that moment, salvation arrived.

In a swirl of shadow and light, five spectral figures materialized in the square. They were an eerie sight—pale, hollow-eyed, and emanating a chilling aura. These cursed puppets, created from the souls of Hydra's countless soldier, were a testament to Lockhart's ingenuity and ruthlessness.

The five cursed puppets moved in unison, forming a pentagram around Ghost Rider. As they positioned themselves, gray-black lines snaked across the ground, connecting them in an intricate pattern. The air grew heavy with malevolent energy as the lines began to emit a noxious gray mist, which coiled and converged on Ghost Rider.

The Rider felt the curse's oppressive force descend upon him. It was as if an invisible hand were squeezing the very flames from his body. His hellfire dimmed, flickering precariously. Inside, Johnny Blaze felt his sanity slipping away, teetering on the brink of oblivion.

Sensing the imminent collapse of its host, Zathanos acted decisively. With a surge of will, it shielded Blaze's soul, absorbing the brunt of the curse itself. Though it risked its own existence, Zathanos could not afford to lose Blaze—not yet. Without a host, it would be cast back into hell, sealed for an eternity or worse.

Johnny Blaze gasped as the immediate pressure lifted, hellfire flaring anew within him. Yet, even as he recovered, he could feel the weight Zathanos now bore. Guilt and regret flooded his thoughts.

He cursed his own arrogance. If only he had acted sooner, he could have stopped this madness before it escalated. Now, both he and Zathanos were trapped in a desperate fight for survival.

Lockhart, observing the battle from his chamber, allowed himself a faint smile. His cursed puppets and basilisk were performing admirably, their combined efforts overwhelming the infamous Ghost Rider.

Though the creation of cursed puppets was a costly and brutal process, Lockhart found their effectiveness undeniable. Their synergy with the basilisk was proof of their value.

However, his attention soon returned to the more immediate concern—Mephisto.

The old demon lord, though present only as an avatar, was a significant threat. Lockhart's eyes gleamed as he contemplated the possibilities. Though he could not directly harm the phantom, he could use it to trace Mephisto's influence on Earth.

Casually, he took another sip of tea, his demeanor unflappable. Beneath the table, his toe tapped the floor lightly, triggering a ripple of dark golden light. The energy spread silently, unnoticed by Mephisto.

With his innate reality-warping talent, Lockhart's perception expanded. He saw the avatar for what it was—a faint echo tethered to a network of clones and shadows scattered across Earth. Through these ethereal threads, he traced Mephisto's movements, identifying six clones and thirty-two additional avatars.

Lockhart's lips curled into a subtle smirk.

Mephisto, meanwhile, felt a growing unease. Lockhart's calm demeanor and deliberate movements put him on edge. The demon lord decided it was time to retreat.

"Lockhart," Mephisto said, forcing a smile, "thank you for allowing me to witness this fascinating performance."

Lockhart remained silent, his piercing gaze fixed on Mephisto.

Taking the lack of response as a cue, Mephisto continued. "Consider this a token of goodwill. However, let me leave you with a word of caution. Johnny's arrival in your realm was not by chance. Someone guided him here."

His words lingered ominously as he prepared to dissolve his phantom. But just as he began to fade, Lockhart's voice stopped him cold.

"Mephisto," Lockhart said smoothly, "it's rude to leave empty-handed. Allow me to offer you a parting gift."

The air crackled with power as Lockhart's eyes glowed dark gold.

"Curse."

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