"By the chains of Sisyphus..."
Stephen Strange's voice echoed through the ruined grand hall, dripping with dark, guttural syllables. The few magic users present recognized the tonal shift immediately. They turned to stare at the Sorcerer Supreme.
The ruined, alternate-universe Strange stepped forward, his eyes wide. "He's using necromancy. A dimensional lord just died inside his own domain. By offering the ambient death as a localized sacrifice, he's tapping into a massive, free reservoir of raw mana."
Necromancers drew their power from death. Belasco was immortal, but his physical avatar had just been violently slaughtered. Strange wasn't going to let that freshly spilled energy go to waste. He began to weave a massive, complex banishing spell.
The Crimson Bands of Cyttorak suddenly violently yanked Belasco's left arm out of the way.
Illyana didn't hesitate. She swung her Soulsword in a flat, lethal arc. The glowing blade cleaved cleanly through Belasco's neck. The demon lord's severed head hit the marble floor. Illyana stepped forward and brought her heavy boot down, crushing the skull into fragments.
Strange released the spell. A shockwave of concussive force exploded outward, sweeping the dust and hellfire from the room. Strange dropped his arms, exhaling a long, ragged breath.
Tony Stark landed a few feet away. His faceplate retracted with a sharp mechanical hiss. He looked around the empty, scorched throne room. "Wait. That's it?"
"Temporarily, yes," Strange said, wiping a streak of soot from his forehead. "The spell severed Belasco's spiritual tether to Limbo. He remains the master of this realm in concept, but his physical anchor is broken."
Strange stepped toward the ruined throne. "Belasco might resurrect in one of the alternate timelines he already corrupted, but he cannot manifest here. Not anymore. However, I need to stay behind for a while to handle the remaining mess. Namely, the corrupted, demonic X-Men."
Strange didn't specify exactly how he planned to "handle" them. He didn't have to. The grim look in his eyes made it clear: he was going to sacrifice the surviving demonic variants as magical fuel to make Belasco's banishment permanent. It was a ruthless, inhumane choice, but an absolutely necessary one.
"The dimensional wards around Limbo need to be stabilized," Strange continued. "And just in case Belasco attempts a backdoor incursion, someone needs to remain stationed here to oversee the realm."
"I'll do it," two voices said in unison.
The first was the depressed, alternate Strange. His reality had collapsed years ago. He had nothing left to lose and nowhere to go. Staying in Limbo to act as its Sorcerer Supreme gave him a purpose. He was the most logical choice.
But Strange turned his head toward the second voice.
Illyana Rasputina stood amid the ash, her Soulsword resting on her shoulder.
"Miss Illyana," Strange said softly. "I have to admit, you have the raw magical talent for the job. And if the timeline hadn't been altered today, the throne certainly would have been yours."
Strange knew her fate from many of Spiderman Multiverse debrief. If the X-Men hadn't intervened, Illyana would have been kidnapped and trapped here for years. She would have become Belasco's apprentice, secretly mastering both white and black magic while awakening her mutant abilities. She would have led a rebellion, watched all her friends die, and eventually banished Belasco herself to claim the title of Darkchylde, Lord of Limbo.
"I can still do it," Illyana said, her voice steady. "I still have half my soul missing. If I bind my Soulsword to the foundation of Limbo, I can't outright replace Belasco, but I can suppress his remaining power permanently."
Strange rubbed his temples. It was a viable tactical solution, but it defeated the entire purpose of the rescue mission. They had come here to break her dark fate, not facilitate it.
"I will secure the immediate perimeter first," 616-Strange decided. "Then, you, myself, and my counterpart will discuss this further. Oh, and Blade." Strange gestured to the vampire, who was currently lurking in the shadows of a broken pillar. "He fully surrendered to his vampiric curse during the battle. He cannot survive returning to Earth without heavy magical wards protecting him from the sun. It is safer for him to remain in Limbo's saturated magical environment for now."
Peter stepped forward, rubbing his bruised ribs. "Uh, hey Doc. Do you need a hand with the—?"
Smack.
The Cloak of Levitation whipped out, smacking Peter sharply on the back of the head.
"Go home, Spider-Man," Strange sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just looking at you gives me a migraine."
"Right. Okay. Taking the hint," Peter muttered. He sketched a clumsy salute, turned, and limped through the golden Sling Ring portal back to Earth-616.
Avengers Tower
The golden portal snapped shut in the center of the penthouse lounge. The Avengers practically collapsed into a heap of exhausted, battered heroes.
Janet van Dyne face-planted onto the expensive leather sofa. Her mechanical Wasp wings were heavily dented and completely torn on the left side. "Well, that's our last mission before Christmas. The Avengers saved the world again. Hooray. Someone bring me a drink."
The Hulk, the only one physically too large to fit on the furniture, sat cross-legged on the floor. He crossed his massive green arms and pouted. "Hulk wants fried chicken."
Peter peeled his mask off and slumped onto the armrest near Steve Rogers. "How are you holding up, Cap?"
Everyone had watched Belasco drive the Soulsword straight through Steve's chest. Cap was currently sitting upright, unlacing his boots with slow, methodical movements.
"I'm alright, son," Steve grunted, rubbing his sternum. "I'm exhausted, and it still aches down to the bone, but I'll live."
"A true warrior learns to endure all agony. Even the pain of the soul!" Thor boomed. The God of Thunder was the only one standing. He leaned casually against the stainless-steel refrigerator, popping the tab on a can of beer. "Many of Asgard's greatest foes utilize spiritual attacks. If the Avengers are to face such threats, we must begin soul-fortification training immediately!"
Tony Stark groaned from the floor. His Silver Centurion armor was scorched black and venting excess heat from its joints. He felt like he had been locked inside a toaster oven.
"I formally suggest we do absolutely no thinking, no training, and zero team-building exercises," Tony mumbled, staring blankly at the ceiling. "We are going to focus entirely on setting up tomorrow's Christmas party. And regarding the catering? We are absolutely not getting shawarma this time. That place is terrible."
Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters
Hank McCoy rushed out onto the lawn to greet the returning X-Men. As the mutants filed out of the portals, exhausted but victorious, Beast guided them toward the infirmary.
Deep underground, inside the Institute's private hangar, the Blackbird jet sat in the dark.
The moment the jet's internal systems cycled into standby mode, a deeply hidden line of malicious code woke up.
The virus—quietly planted by Otto Octavius weeks ago during a moment of vulnerability—activated. It slipped seamlessly from the Blackbird's mainframe directly into the Xavier Institute's underground central server. Following its pre-programmed directives, the virus immediately attempted to siphon raw telemetric data from the Cerebro brainwave analyzer.
It hit a massive cryptographic firewall. Cerebro's defense level was too high. The virus instantly aborted the attempt to avoid detection.
Pivoting seamlessly, the program began cracking the Institute's secondary systems. It infiltrated the Danger Room. The virus rapidly copied the operating code, analyzing the complex holographic and hard-light mechanics. It instantly flagged thousands of data anomalies. The mathematical foundation of the Danger Room didn't match any known terrestrial physics. The technology was distinctly alien.
Upstairs in the lab, Beast walked past the main terminal. He glanced at the monitors.
"System speeds nominal," Hank muttered to himself, grabbing a clipboard. Everything looked perfectly normal.
Beneath his feet, the virus finished copying the alien schematics, packed the data into an encrypted burst file, and went dormant.
PS: Marvel Fun Fact! The Danger Room wasn't built entirely with human technology! Charles Xavier originally upgraded the room using highly advanced holographic and hard-light tech gifted to him by the Shi'ar Empire. Eventually, this alien code became so advanced that the Danger Room actually gained sentience and formed its own physical body, calling itself "Danger"!
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