In the shattered church, Johann Schmidt looms over the Church Keeper, his voice cold and deliberate. “It has taken me a long time to find this place. You should be commended.” He nods to a soldier. “Help him up.”

The soldier hoists the Church Keeper to his feet. Schmidt continues, “I think that you are a man of great vision. And, in this way, we are much alike.”

The Church Keeper glares, defiant. “I am nothing like you.”

“No, of course,” Schmidt says, his tone mocking, “but what others see as superstition, you and I know to be a science.”

“What you seek is just a legend,” the Church Keeper retorts.

Schmidt’s eyes narrow. “Then why make such an effort to conceal it?” He steps to the stone coffin, shoving the lid aside with amazing strength, and pulls out an opaque cube. “The Tesseract…”