"Welcome, my esteemed guests."
Belasco stood at the grand gates of his palace, flashing a smile with too many teeth.
Peter took one look at the demon lord's grotesque, skin-draped appearance and let out a sharp sigh. "I rarely give out this award, but I haven't seen anything this aggressively ugly since I clawed my way out of the zombie universe. And those guys at least had the excuse of active decomposition."
Belasco didn't even blink in Peter's direction. His burning eyes were locked squarely on the two versions of Illyana in the strike team—the battle-hardened older Magik and her younger self. He offered a mock bow, then gestured grandly to the frozen figures of the X-Men standing like statues behind him. They were locked in a temporal stasis courtesy of Immortus, placing them permanently out of Belasco's corrupting reach.
"Welcome back, Illyana," Belasco purred. "You have no idea how long I've waited for you to finally seek your revenge. Though I must apologize to the older model—your family is entirely beyond saving. Decades have passed. They've long since been digested into demon fodder, or become demons themselves."
Belasco paused. He blinked, clearly running through his internal script to ensure he hadn't dropped a line. Satisfied, his grotesque smile widened.
"But! You are here to prevent that exact tragedy from befalling your younger self, yes? I believe that is your motive. Naturally, I have prepared a fitting ceremony for the occasion."
With a flick of his claw, the dust on either side of the palace steps erupted. Skeletons clawed their way out of the dirt, lining the pathway to the doors. They ranged from freshly rotting corpses to sun-bleached bone, but every single one of them shared the same unmistakable crown of flowing blonde hair. Generations of dead Magiks.
"I just wanted to offer a visual representation of your inevitable fate," Belasco said. A crystal goblet of dark, swirling red wine materialized in his hand. "Though, if you beg, I might generously take you on as an apprentice. Or a pet."
He took a sip, shaking his head. "Tear them apart, my X-Men."
An endless horde of demonic X-Men swarmed from the shadows. The Ghostbusters braced for impact. The broken, deranged Doctor Strange acted first. His hands blurred through somatic signs. "Winds of Watoomb!" A localized hurricane erupted from his palms, blasting a dozen demons back into the abyss. Without missing a beat, he slammed his fists together. "Shield of Cyttorak!" A massive, domed barrier of crimson hard-light flared into existence, catching a blistering volley of ruby-red optic blasts from a demonic Cyclops.
Blade didn't wait. Fully surrendered to his vampiric curse, the daywalker dissolved into a shrieking cloud of bats. He materialized directly behind the demonic Cyclops, grabbed the mutant's head, and violently ripped the ruby-quartz visor off. Blade's thumbs dug in, pinning the demon's eyelids open. He twisted the mutant's head like a heavy turret. The uncontrollable optic blasts sheared through the demonic ranks, slicing enemies in half.
A hellish variant of Shadowcat—sporting literal, grotesque feline features—phased straight through Strange's barrier. She materialized her hands inside the chests of her former friends, demonstrating exactly how lethal a ruthless phaser could be. She left a trail of heartless corpses in her wake, her claws dripping with blood.
Overhead, a flock of demonic Angels dove for the kill. Storm didn't even look up. She threw her hands out, summoning a hyper-compressed whirlwind that snapped their leathery wings like twigs.
"No matter how many pawns you throw at us," someone shouted over the din, "they're nothing but stray dogs."
Belasco rolled his eyes, thoroughly bored, as a figure barreled toward him. It was Earth-616's Spider-Man, intercepting a pack of feral, demonic Wolverines.
"Hey, Logans!" Peter yelled. "Quick question: does Hell boost your healing factor, or just completely ruin your posture? Because you all look terrible!"
Except, the voice didn't just belong to Peter. It was a dual-layered, monstrous baritone. He wasn't exactly Spider-Man right now—he was a towering, eight-foot-tall behemoth of rippling black muscle. Venom.
Limbo's dark magic sent the symbiote into overdrive. Its surface boiled like hot tar, utterly thrilled by the ambient chaos. Massive, razor-sharp tendrils whipped out for dozens of meters. They didn't bother trying to snap adamantium bones; the symbiote simply slithered the lethal spikes between their ribs, crushing the Wolverines' hearts into paste before they could even pop their claws.
As Venom savagely piledrove another Logan into the dirt, an intrusive thought echoed in the symbiote's mind: If we harvest all these corpses, could we extract the adamantium and forge a sick symbiote-metal armor?
Too bad there wasn't time. There were simply too many Wolverines.
Belasco casually watched the slaughter from his steps. He hadn't moved an inch. Without even turning his head, he sighed. "Did you truly think you could use the dimensional fabric of Limbo to stage a backdoor ambush on me?"
Directly behind him, a portal sparked open. The older Magik, the younger Illyana, and a skeleton Wolverine variant spilled out. They had their weapons drawn.
Belasco didn't even raise his glass. "What exactly is the plan here? Poke me with your little swords?"
The demonic Wolverine snarled. Limbo hadn't corrupted his healing factor; it had supercharged it. Combined with a defensive ward Strange had placed on him, he threw himself at the Lord of Limbo to buy the girls time.
It was a brave, utterly pointless sacrifice.
Belasco didn't raise his hand. The magical runes glowing on Wolverine's skin shattered like cheap glass. The demon lord extinguished the mutant's healing factor with a mere thought, causing his body to instantly dissipate before his claws could even graze Belasco.
In that split-second distraction, the two Illyanas lunged. They thrust forward with blades wrapped in the Flames of the Faltine, courtesy of Strange.
Belasco casually teleported a half-step back, reached out, and caught both of them by their throats, lifting them effortlessly off the ground.
"Did you believe you had a chance to defeat me?" Belasco whispered. "I am the master of Limbo. The corruption eating at your souls every second you breathe? That is my essence. It is me. Just like this."
He tightened his grip on the older Magik. Before the younger Illyana's horrified eyes, her older self withered. Her flesh turned to ash, crumbling away almost instantly until Belasco was holding a dead, dangling skeleton.
"The longer you spend preparing, the easier it is for me to kill you," Belasco sneered. He tilted his head at the younger Illyana, who was choking in his grip. "Oh? Are you angry?"
Belasco's eyes widened in genuine delight. He watched as the girl in his hand forced a mutation. It wasn't Limbo passively corrupting her; it was Illyana actively, violently pulling the dark magic of the dimension into the darkest half of her own soul.
The transformation was visceral. Bone cracked and shifted. Crimson horns tore through the skin of her forehead. A thick, black carapace resembling dried blood scabbed over her flesh, forming demonic armor. Her fingernails extended into obsidian talons, and a pair of massive, leathery crimson wings ripped from her shoulder blades, followed by a barbed tail.
"Look at you!" Belasco laughed. "You've finally become one of us, Illyana!"
After tens of thousands of years of playing this exact game, Belasco had finally seen it. Furious, desperate, and overflowing with Limbo's power, Illyana Rasputina had voluntarily embraced the darkness. The Darkchylde had arrived.
PS: The demonic form Illyana takes on here is famously known as the "Darkchylde." In the comics, Belasco spent years fracturing Illyana's soul to create Bloodstones, slowly replacing her innocence with pure demonic energy. Whenever she loses control or gives in to her rage, the Darkchylde takes over, granting her immense dark magic but stripping away her humanity.