"In the name of Agamotto..."
The words scraped out of Stephen Strange's throat. This variant of the Sorcerer Supreme—hailing from some dead, unknown Earth—wove a pale, flickering mandala between his trembling hands. Here in Limbo, the magic fought him. The white light washed over the assembled team, laying a fragile barrier over their souls. It wouldn't block Limbo's corruption entirely. It would just let them survive a few minutes longer before the dimension digested them.
Strange's hands dropped. He walked right past Peter, not even bothering to cast the spell on him.
"Don't look at me like that, Spider-Man," Strange muttered, his shoulders slumped. "Your soul is anchored to the Web of Fate. Hell, among all the spider-totems across the entire multiverse, you might be the only one with absolute protection. Limbo can't touch you."
Strange shuffled to the side. It was a bleak piece of irony: the de facto leader of this multiversal "Ghostbusters" squad was a Sorcerer Supreme who had spectacularly failed to save his own reality.
He turned to face the ragtag group, rubbing a hand over his exhausted face to deliver what might have been the least inspiring pre-battle speech in human history.
"Alright, listen up. I always knew this day was coming. There's always some idiot with an outrageous plan to march us all to our deaths. I just didn't expect the idiot to be from a universe that hasn't even been invaded yet."
Strange sighed. "Most of us are the last survivors of our respective earth. We've watched our homes burn. We have absolutely nothing left to lose except our lives. Now, this kid here says he has a way to beat Belasco. Fine. Let's roll the dice. If we die, we break even. If we succeed, it's a miracle."
Strange offered a weak, half-hearted wave. "Alright, everyone. Go die."
He drifted over to Peter. "You're actually sure about this plan, kid?"
Peter met the broken sorcerer's gaze. His spider-sense hummed—a steady, clear rhythm. He had checked the mystical divination twice. Everyone standing here was clear.
"I'm sure," Peter said.
Deep within the dimension, Belasco lounged on a throne carved from interlocking femurs and spines. He was waiting for the lambs to arrive.
He idly turned a heavy amulet over in his clawed hand. A pentagram was etched into the metal. At each of the five points rested a Bloodstone—a crystalline gem forged from a screaming human soul. All five of these particular souls hailed from Earth-616.
The trap was already set. The moment this amulet crossed the dimensional threshold into Earth-616, the magic circle would trigger. And Chthon, the Elder God of dark magic, would descend upon that universe in the flesh.
Earth's Sorcerer Supreme wouldn't stand a chance against Chthon. Nothing would.
But for the plan to work, Belasco had to lose today. He needed to throw the fight perfectly. He had to make Spider-Man believe he had valiantly rescued the X-Men from a demonic dimensional lord. Peter Parker would open a portal back home for his friends. And in that chaotic moment of victory, Belasco would slip right through the back door into Universe-616.
He stood up from his bone throne, pacing the dais. How to make the defeat look convincing?
He cleared his throat, pitching his voice to a dramatic rumble.
"Curse you, Spider-Man! You managed to—" Belasco stopped, waving a dismissive claw. "No, no. Too hollow. The emotion isn't there."
He stepped down the bone stairs. His demonic servants watched him in total, uncomprehending silence.
Belasco jutted his chin out, plastering a look of resolute fury on his demonic features. "Spider-Man, perhaps you have bested me this day, but—wait, no. I'm the villain. He's supposed to be the one running for his life."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ahem. Spider-Man! Do you truly believe you can escape the Lord of Limbo?" He groaned. "Ugh. Too cliché."
Belasco paced. He was a demon sorcerer who had clashed with Dante Alighieri during the Renaissance. He had standards. He took a slow breath, sinking into the theatrical posture he used to command Roman stages centuries ago.
"Your predetermined fate cannot be rewritten, Spider-Man. Brimstone and fire shall—" He broke character, throwing his hands up. "Nobody actually talks like that. Let's take it from the top."
Which was exactly how Immortus found him. When the time-traveler stepped into the throne room, he was greeted by the sight of a demon wearing human skin—literally—declaiming in a booming, Shakespearean baritone.
"My gaze shall pierce you like cold sunlight, Spider-Man! Hell overflows, and your world shall face its final—oh. You're here."
Belasco dropped his dramatic pose, smoothing down his stolen skin to regain his composure. He stared at Immortus. "I take it you are satisfied with my gift?"
"Promethium is indeed a formidable energy source," Immortus said. "Its efficiency vastly eclipses any known power, including antimatter. The technological potential of this dimension exceeds my initial projections."
The gift was a rare elemental substance exclusive to Limbo's deepest caverns: magical Promethium. Mined from the living rock, the raw ore formed in the shape of beating animal hearts. Once refined, it became a silvery liquid metal sharing distinct physical properties with Klyntar symbiotes. It could even be forged into a liquid-metal carapace, an exceptionally rare and valuable asset for a chronal wanderer like Immortus.
Pocketing the bribe, Immortus completely ignored Belasco's theater-kid routine. He had only come to deliver a status update.
"Spider-Man and his team have initiated their incursion. I am departing shortly. When I do, the static temporal field holding the X-Men will destabilize. The slightest interference will collapse it."
"Excellent," Belasco purred, sinking back onto his bone throne. "Let them have their fragile little hope."
He offered a polite, shark-like smile as Immortus turned to leave. Belasco drew a breath, ready to dive right back into his script.
Immortus paused at the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. "I strongly advise you not to underestimate Spider-Man and his team. Arrogance will cost you."
"Please," Belasco scoffed. "Do you have any idea how many Spider-Men I've butchered across the timelines? I know exactly what I'm doing."
Belasco had run the math. As long as he didn't directly damage Spider-Man's soul, the cosmic forces watching over the boy—Neith and Knull—wouldn't be provoked into intervening. That loophole was the foundation of his absolute confidence.
Recognizing a lost cause, Immortus simply shook his head and walked out with his Promethium.
Belasco exhaled a long, fiery sigh. Back to work.
"It needs to be grounded. Visceral," he muttered to himself, framing the empty air with his claws. "A real tragedy. I can slaughter everyone in the room except the Earth-616 natives. Push them right to the absolute brink. Let them taste total annihilation. That's how I sell the performance."
Mid-monologue, a sharp, metallic tang hit the air. Belasco stopped. A vicious grin split his face. He could feel them. Spider-Man's team had just breached his inner perimeter.
He cleared his throat one last time, rolled his shoulders, and strode toward the grand hall with a light, theatrical bounce in his step.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen of the audience," Belasco whispered to the shadows, "the stage is set. Let the second act of our tragedy commence!"
Clearly, his comedic timing still needed work.
PS: A quick lore note on Belasco! I actually gave him a bit of a villain upgrade for this story. In classic Marvel canon, Belasco doesn't report directly to Chthon. His masters are the Elder Gods sealed at the borders of Hell—specifically the Mabdhara, who rule the demonic N'Garai. And who are the N'Garai? Just a servant race created by Chthon. It's honestly hilarious to think that Belasco, a guy who works for the lackeys of a lackey, somehow gets to sit at the same VIP villain table as heavy hitters like Mephisto and Dormammu so often. Fake it till you make it, I guess!
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