My name is Belasco.
Once, during the thirteenth century of the prime reality known as Earth-616, I was a great sorcerer. Men whispered my name in terror. They called me the Corruptor. I bowed only to the true dark god, Chthon, and for my devotion, I was rewarded. I became the first mortal to be twisted and reborn as a demon.
I possessed the knowledge to summon my dark master back into the physical world. The ritual was simple: I merely required five Bloodstones, forged from corrupted souls, to drag Chthon back to his faithful flock on Earth.
But my grand design was thwarted. A meddlesome bard named Dante intervened, exiling me to this godforsaken, fractured realm.
Limbo.
Eons ago, an incredibly vast, ancient dimension of pure darkness was shattered in a forgotten cosmic war. The realm splintered into countless pocket dimensions, each seething with dark, corrupting magic. I claimed this splinter. I conquered it. I became the Lord of Limbo. A Dimensional Demon God.
And right now, I am exquisitely, maddeningly bored.
Belasco sat upon a throne of jagged obsidian, resting his chin on a massive, clawed fist. His face retained a mockery of human structure, save for the blood-red pigment, the shark-like teeth, and the pair of curved horns protruding from his skull. From the neck down, his body was a horrifying anatomy lesson. He possessed no skin. His exposed, blood-red musculature constantly radiated intense heat, sending waves of steam hissing into the cold air.
He wore a crude vest and belt fashioned from flayed human skin. Considering he had none of his own, it was a fair assumption where the leather had come from.
To pass the eternal, crawling hours, Belasco watched the multiverse. Specifically, he watched mutant girls named Illyana Rasputin.
Across infinite realities, girls bearing the codename Magik eventually awakened a mutant ability they called "teleportation." They created glowing stepping discs. What most of them failed to understand was that their power didn't simply move them from point A to point B. It warped them out of their reality, routed them directly through Limbo, and deposited them back into their universe.
Most flashed through his domain in a microsecond, entirely unaware. But occasionally, a Magik miscalculated. Occasionally, they stumbled.
Those who accidentally entered the borders of Limbo rarely fared well.
Belasco looked down at the base of his throne. A twisted, feral beast paced restlessly across the stone, dragging a heavy iron chain. It had adamantium claws extending from its knuckles, but the flesh around the metal was rotting and demonic. A corrupted Wolverine.
The corpses and broken spirits of X-Men from a dozen different universes littered Belasco's fortress. Great warriors who had tried to survive in Limbo, only to have the environment slowly rot their minds and mutate their bodies until they became his loyal, demonic hounds.
Belasco sneered, kicking a cracked mutant skull across the floor. He had collected Wolverines, Cyclopses, and Colossuses. But his greatest regret was that none of his living trophies included an Illyana Rasputin. He had only ever collected their corpses.
He desperately wanted a living matrix. He wanted to go home to Earth-616.
But the Reality Barrier protecting the prime universe was far too thick for his demonic armies to breach.
A high-pitched, mechanical whine shattered the oppressive silence of the throne room.
The demonic Wolverine snarled, lunging forward on all fours, but Belasco raised a single red finger. The beast halted instantly, the heavy iron chain snapping taut.
A spatial distortion rippled the air near the center of the hall. It lacked the ozone tang of magic. It was cold, sterile, and mathematical. A man stepped out of the temporal rift. He wore a flowing green tunic, draped in a heavy purple cloak, and a towering, flat-topped, almost comical crown rested on his head.
"A guest," Belasco rumbled, a dark smile splitting his face. "What a rare sight. You hail from Earth-616. The Prime Universe. Yet I taste absolutely no arcane potential in your blood. You don't know a single spell."
The man stood tall, completely unfazed by the towering, skinless demon or the snarling mutant hound at his feet.
"You aren't the first arrogant 616 native to trespass here," Belasco continued, his claws digging deep gouges into the obsidian armrests of his throne. "A man named Victor von Doom paid me a visit not long ago. He stole a massive stockpile of Promethium to serve as an unlimited energy source for his pathetic little country."
Belasco's eyes burned with hellfire. Time flowed differently in Limbo; he had been trapped here for tens of thousands of subjective years. To finally meet a mage from Earth, only for Doom to ignore him, strike him with stolen magic, and scurry away like a rat? It infuriated him.
"Are you here to steal my blessings, too?" Belasco demanded.
"I am Immortus," the man declared, his voice echoing with absolute, unwavering authority. "The conqueror of time. I navigate the frozen edges of chronal history. I have come to seek your assistance, Belasco."
Belasco raised a hairless brow. "Speak."
"I require you to invade Earth-616," Immortus stated. "The Avengers have acquired intelligence from parallel universes due to the action of a Spider Totem. They are actively attempting to alter predetermined fate. I exist to ensure the timeline moves along its mandated path. They are my enemies."
"I see. A time traveler protecting his precious clockwork," Belasco chuckled, the sound like grinding stones. "But we face an awkward logistical problem, Immortus. You arrived here using technology. I am a Dimensional Demon God. A creature of pure magic. I cannot use your temporal machines to bypass the mystical wards of Earth-616."
"I cannot transport your armies," Immortus agreed smoothly. "But I can tear a localized rift between Limbo and Earth. A rift just wide enough to pull a single person through."
Immortus tilted his head, the ambient light catching the edge of his crown. "I know your grand design, Belasco. You require five Bloodstones from Earth-616 to summon your master. And currently... you only possess four."
Belasco froze. The hissing steam rising from his muscles seemed to stop.
The time traveler knew entirely too much. But Immortus wasn't offering him a doorway to march his demons through. He was offering to open a doorway just long enough to drag someone into Limbo.
A sickening, ecstatic realization washed over the Demon Lord.
"Immortus," Belasco whispered, leaning forward on his throne. "How old is Illyana Rasputin in this present timeline you are asking me to invade?"
"Twelve years old," Immortus replied. "Her mutant X-gene has not yet awakened."
Pure, uncorrupted. The perfect vessel to forge the final Bloodstone.
Belasco stood up, towering ten feet over the stone floor. He spread his arms, a wicked, terrifying grin stretching across his face.
"Very well, Immortus. You have a deal," Belasco boomed, hellfire igniting in the palms of his hands. "Open the door directly inside Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. The rest is none of your concern."
Belasco looked up through the jagged ceiling of his fortress, staring into the dark, churning skies of Limbo.
"It is time," Belasco breathed, "to remind Earth that hell is full."
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