Scarlet Witch and The Tower of Calamities (Fanmade)

Wanda Maximoff stepped onto the 5th Floor, and immediately, the air changed.

It was subtle at first—a weight pressing against her body, a strange lethargy seeping into her veins. But then, the full realization struck.

Her power was crushed.

She staggered forward, feeling the chaotic energy within her weakened to a fraction of what it should be. Her instincts screamed, warning her that something was suppressing her very essence.

"The rules of this floor..." she muttered, clenching her fists. "Only 20% of my power."

Her body felt heavier, her magic like a flickering ember instead of a raging inferno. And around her, the realm loomed in absolute, eerie silence.

This floor was unlike the endless battlefield of the 4th Floor. Instead of a ruined wasteland, Wanda stood at the entrance of a colossal cathedral, its architecture both divine and grotesque.

The spires stretched beyond the clouds, black stone carved with golden inscriptions of a language that felt... wrong. Twisting symbols that pulsed as if alive, bleeding a faint, eerie light.

The massive doors—twice the height of giants—stood slightly ajar, a whispering chorus of prayers seeping from the darkness within.

It wasn't holy.

It was something mocking holiness.

A false temple.

Wanda exhaled sharply. "So, this is where the cult gathers."

Her eyes darted toward the sky, where there was no sun, no stars—only a swirling void, pulsating like a beating heart.

Then, the doors groaned open.

And the cult welcomed her. Figures in white robes lined the cathedral halls, their faces hidden beneath golden masks shaped like serene, smiling visages.

Their voices merged into a haunting chant, filling the chamber with an almost hypnotic rhythm.

"Oh, Hollow One, grant us clarity... Oh, Hollow One, devour the unworthy..."

The moment Wanda stepped inside, she felt it—an oppressive force pressing into her mind. Her thoughts blurred, her vision swam. It wasn't magic. It was something deeper, something primal, like her very existence was being rewritten to submit. 

"No," Wanda growled, shaking off the influence, her red eyes flaring. "I don't bow to false gods."

The cultists stopped chanting. All at once.

Then, they turned to her.

Hundreds of masked figures, standing in perfect unison, their bodies eerily still.