How do you kill a dimensional demon lord?
If you asked Earth-616's Stephen Strange, his answer was incredibly straightforward: You don't.
The essence of a dimensional lord was no longer biological. Their consciousness and spiritual power were fundamentally braided into the fabric of their respective realms. Killing Belasco was like trying to stab the concept of gravity.
But there was a tactical workaround. The mechanics were identical to fighting Knull, the Symbiote God. Knull was technically a collective consciousness anchored in the Living Abyss—an immortal entity spread across the multiverse. You couldn't "kill" Knull, but you could banish him by systematically severing his physical avatars from his dark dimension.
The exact same principle applied to Belasco.
"If we destroy his newly regenerated physical body while he's standing in Limbo, his tether snaps," 616-Strange had explained. "He'll be violently exiled from his own domain."
Now, standing on the jagged black rock of Limbo, the depressed, alternate-universe Strange took a shaky breath. "The flaw in that plan is his power level. He is infinitely stronger here. And he's already adapted to Spider-Man's spatial attacks. He'll use passive spatial wards to neutralize the tears."
"Yes," 616-Strange said, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Belasco was the greatest master of black magic in the thirteenth century. Do you know what that actually means in practice?"
The depressed Strange frowned. "It means he will utilize the most violent, agonizing spells imaginable."
"No," 616-Strange corrected. "It means his combat strategy is incredibly uncreative."
A massive, crimson wave of magical energy crashed down from the blood-red sky. 616-Strange didn't even flinch. He flicked his wrists, expanding a massive, golden Shield of the Seraphim over the entire strike team.
"Blood Storm," 616-Strange noted dryly as the hellfire washed harmlessly over the dome. "See? Predictable. My role, and the role of my counterpart, is strictly counter-magic. The Vishanti's power is suffocated here, while dark magic is supercharged. I'll hold the roof. You do the fighting."
As the team advanced, wave after wave of concentrated dimensional energy hammered Strange's barriers. But the foot soldiers didn't follow. Belasco knew the spatial rift in the Wasteland was still open. His demon horde and the corrupted X-Men had stayed behind to fight the bulk of the Avengers and push toward Earth-616.
That left only a lean, focused strike team to march on the demon lord's stronghold: a handful of Avengers and X-Men, the two Limbo survivors, and the Darkchylde herself, Illyana.
Blade folded his sunglasses and tucked them into his coat. He looked up at the looming structure. Belasco's aesthetic was surprisingly grounded. He hadn't built a castle out of rotting bones or screaming faces. It was a massive, oppressive fortress carved entirely from solid black marble. A perfect, towering example of 13th-century Gothic architecture.
It was still deeply unsettling. The narrow path, the perpetual blood-red sky, and the endless rows of dead Illyana Rasputina skeletons lining the palace steps gave the air a heavy, suffocating weight.
Tony Stark stepped confidently past Captain America. He tapped the chest plate of his Silver Centurion armor, flooding the gloomy path with blinding white light from his unibeam and shoulder lamps. He glanced back over his shoulder.
"What?" Tony asked. "Nobody else brought a flashlight?"
"Stay sharp, Tony," Steve Rogers warned, his grip tightening on his vibranium shield. "It's dangerous."
"Cap, he's a theater kid who wears his own skin and recites bad Shakespeare," Tony retorted, keeping his pace brisk. "I think we'll manage. Plus, the magic doctor is on shield duty."
The team breached the grand hall.
Belasco lounged lazily on his bone throne. His body had completely regenerated from the waist up.
"The Great Web of Fate," Belasco mused, his glowing eyes locking onto Peter. "The power of the World Weaver. A fascinating tool. Capable of tearing the physical fabric of reality to ribbons. But entirely useless against me now."
Belasco stood up. The air around him rippled with dense, overlapping spatial wards. Peter's dimensional slash would bounce right off him. With Strange locked into defensive shielding, the only two weapons on the board capable of bypassing Belasco's magic were Thor's Mjolnir and Illyana's Soulsword.
"Well?" Belasco spread his arms. "Do you think I am a clown? A minor annoyance? Come drag me off my throne!"
Belasco reached into the empty air and drew a massive, twisted longsword. It hummed with dark, sickening energy. It was his own Soulsword, forged from the fragment of his spirit tethered to Limbo.
"Fall back!" the depressed Strange screamed. "His Soulsword bypasses physical armor! It cuts straight through magic!"
Tony hovered three feet off the stone floor. "So, as long as we don't get close, we're golden. Copy that."
Every hidden weapon port on the Silver Centurion armor snapped open. Tony unleashed absolute hell. Micro-missiles, repulsor blasts, and a sustained unibeam slammed directly into the dais. The throne room shook violently.
The smoke cleared. Belasco was casually walking down the steps, completely untouched behind a blood-red magical dome.
Tony dropped his arms. "Okay, I'm officially out of ideas. Who's up?"
The Hulk roared. He vaulted over Tony's head, bringing both massive green fists down like a meteor strike.
Belasco raised his shield, catching the Hulk's crushing blow. In the same fluid motion, Belasco thrust his dark Soulsword upward. The blade bypassed the defensive wards Strange had placed on the Hulk and buried itself deep into his green chest.
No blood spilled, but the Hulk felt the spiritual agony. He bellowed in rage, swinging wildly at the demon lord's head.
Belasco sighed. He snapped his fingers. A colossal, shadowy demonic hand burst through the floor tiles, wrapped its fingers around the Hulk's ankle, and violently dragged the screaming behemoth through a portal to deal with the lower-level minions.
Belasco shook out his sword arm. He raised his shield. "Next!"
Lightning crackled through the grand hall. Thor charged.
"Excellent!" Belasco roared, rushing to meet the God of Thunder. "I will remind you what a dimensional lord is! Even if I am mocked across the multiverse, this is my domain! I am Limbo!"
Belasco caught Mjolnir's crushing strike on the edge of his shield. He pivoted flawlessly, driving the burning dark Soulsword straight through Thor's ribs. He violently yanked the blade free. Again, no blood fell, but Thor staggered backward, gasping as his soul burned.
Belasco's eyes blazed with absolute, unhinged fury.
"You all treat me like a joke?" Belasco snarled, stepping over the scorched stone. "Now I'll show you the punchline!"
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