"She's in bad shape."
Hamir approached Illyana, the poor girl still pinned to the wall by tentacles. She had lost all response to the outside world, only screaming endlessly, occasionally spewing large amounts of blood from her mouth.
"How long can you keep Belasco contained, Hamir?"
Su Ming drew his weapon, carving the girl free from the tentacle cluster on the wall. But he could only pull her out of the cell; laying her flat wasn't an option—she might choke on her own blood.
Ciri didn't like this place. In the labyrinthine, pitch-black corridors outside the cell, they were constantly ambushed by tentacle monsters.
This world had only today revealed its true face to her. Beneath its glossy, tranquil surface lay countless secrets and darkness far beyond her imagination.
She took point, clearing the way, while Su Ming carried Magik in the middle, and Hamir brought up the rear. He, too, had drawn a weapon from his sleeve—a standard-issue 'Scepter of the Living Tribunal,' resembling a short staff, used by Kamar-Taj sorcerers.
"No magic, forever."
Answering Deathstroke's question, Master Hamir remained calm and composed. Until Belasco's chaotic mind recalled how to wield magic, he wasn't escaping.
In free fall through a looped dimensional space, with no way to perform rituals to call on ancient gods, a flightless brute like Belasco had no choice but to plummet endlessly.
But the girl in Deathstroke's arms—her body, especially her internal organs—had three-fifths converted into demonic flesh. The power of the Bloodstone was too strong; the transformation was nearly irreversible.
If this continued, she'd complete the change in a haze of madness, becoming a mindless beast.
Removing the Bloodstone wasn't an option either. Her injuries were too severe; without its healing factor, she'd die instantly. Hamir excelled in magic and traditional medicine, but reversing demonization was beyond his expertise.
Normally, this would be a job for the Ancient One, using the Eye of Agamotto to reverse the girl's time, separating her from the Bloodstone and restoring her health.
But Deathstroke clearly wouldn't do that, and Hamir offered no suggestions. He answered only when asked, otherwise remaining as steadfast as a pine atop a mountain, unmoved by any wind.
Su Ming had no intention of separating Magik from the Bloodstone.
When they reached Belasco, the Hell-Lord's ritual hadn't even started. They could have saved the girl before her torment began.
But Su Ming didn't intervene. He held Ciri back, covering her mouth. Only when the demonic ritual was halfway done did he signal Hamir to act.
Because Magik was useful. Illyana was not.
A girl without the Bloodstone, without partial demonization, was useless to him, to his plans, to the story.
Su Ming never saved people just to save them. He only picked up the pieces he needed. Even if saving someone was as simple as bending down, what was the point of collecting something useless?
The past and future needed Magik, so she had to become Magik.
Perhaps it was cruel—she was just a child. But if the world were only light without darkness, nothing would need to exist.
"What's that spell called, the one that defends against dimensional hydras?" Su Ming asked Hamir. He knew of the spell but couldn't recall its name.
The spell blocked invasions from other dimensions—not just physical or mental but any chaotic, otherworldly energy. The Sanctum Sanctorum and Kamar-Taj used an amplified version of this magic, with the Ancient One fending off all extradimensional gods.
The Old Gods could reach this place only because the Limbo dimension existed outside Earth.
Hamir didn't answer directly. Instead, he began chanting, casting dimensional protection on Illyana. Su Ming only caught that the incantation began in the name of the Vishanti; the rapid, lengthy syllables that followed were incomprehensible.
The spell worked instantly. Blocking the Bloodstone's influence on her mind, Illyana finally passed out as she'd wished.
"Time's short," Hamir said. Though he'd silenced the Old Gods' whispers, the Bloodstone's presence in her body meant the transformation continued.
"We need to wake her. Her willpower is strong enough to retain her humanity. She's the master of the Bloodstone now."
Su Ming's group exited the labyrinth, placing the feather-light girl on Belasco's throne. Still unconscious, she kept vomiting blood, staining the floor before the throne red.
Red blossoms bloomed on the black stone, the stark contrast jarring to the eye.
Hamir began casting again, also inserting silver needles into key acupuncture points.
But it barely worked. Illyana frowned, cold sweat beading on her forehead, yet she didn't wake.
Su Ming recognized the points—they'd cause intense pain. But Illyana's soul and body seemed disconnected; she felt little of it.
"No good," Hamir said, racking his brain. He wasn't versed in dark magic, let alone torture spells. The only thing that came to mind was the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak.
Su Ming thought for a split second before giving Ciri a task.
"Go find Geralt. Get a vial of Maribor Forest potion."
Ciri sighed. Everything here was too dark, especially the girl's ordeal, which stirred memories of her own past.
Slade could be chillingly cold.
She pursed her lips, staring at the black-and-yellow mask.
"Maribor Forest is a witcher's potent stimulant. It spikes adrenaline. Even I might die drinking it."
"She has the Bloodstone. She won't die. The stimulant might wake her. We have to try."
Ciri lingered around the throne, gazing at Illyana's small face, reluctant to use her powers to fetch Geralt. She was wasting time.
Su Ming tried tempting her with rewards—new car interiors, perhaps—since she and Geralt were special mercenaries, swayed by profit.
But then, an unfamiliar, aged voice echoed through the hall, carrying a calming power like a warm breeze smoothing the ripples in the air.
"Let me handle this. The taste of otherworldly potions is something I'll never forget."
At the base of the throne's steps, a group materialized like phantoms. Leading them was a bald man in a wheelchair, his index and middle fingers already pressed to his temple.
The X-Men he brought weren't so friendly, eyeing Su Ming's trio warily, as if they were the culprits.
Su Ming glanced at them, instantly recognizing the original X-Men—Cyclops, Storm, and the others.
No Wolverine, though. Rogue must not have enrolled yet.
Professor X opened his eyes, wiping blood from his nose. He'd used his mind to soothe Illyana's, but her childish psyche was fragile, requiring delicate care that left him injured.
Soon, he smiled. Illyana had awakened, regaining consciousness, though pain kept her from speaking.
"Children, relax. This is Mr. Wilson, a friend of mine and Erik's," he said, turning his wheelchair to address his X-Men.
His voice was soft but echoed long in the dim palace.
The X-Men lowered their guard, and Hamir relaxed his spell-casting hand.
But the Professor's words confused them further. A friend of Magneto? A terrorist? What had happened between the Professor and Magneto? Why did he keep calling that lunatic his friend?
Though Jean Grey seemed thoughtful, the others were baffled. This was their first time-travel mission, and they were still disoriented.
Even unspoken, Professor X knew their thoughts, but this wasn't the place for explanations.
"Charles, you came through," Su Ming said, checking Magik's condition. Her regained consciousness seemed to be holding the Bloodstone at bay.
That was her gift. Magik's mutant powers were modest, but her true talent was as a prodigy sorceress. In the comics, she mastered all dark magic in six years, including borrowing power from Old Gods, and defeated Belasco herself.
Then, in one year, she learned white magic, and in another, she trained in combat and swordsmanship from a cat, securing her rule over Limbo as its Sorcerer Supreme.
Every dimension has a Sorcerer Supreme. The Ancient One held the main dimension, while others claimed lesser realms.
Many were once from the main dimension but, finding no prominence there, sought out less competitive planes like Limbo, filled with bizarre entities like dimensional worms or hydras, and few sentient beings.
The Professor wheeled closer, activating his powers. Everyone except him and Su Ming seemed frozen, as if time had paused, cut off from the outside world.
"Everything happened as you said, down to the time and place."
Su Ming patted Magik's head. Charles' words were intriguing—had his future self orchestrated this?
He didn't let it show, only nodding. "Well done, Charles. I'll take Magik from here. Did you come through Jean?"
"The Phoenix Force—terrifying power, but under my control, it's useful at times."
The Professor smiled, genuinely pleased.
It seemed the future Jean knew of the Phoenix Force, though last time Su Ming faced Apocalypse, he'd encountered Dark Phoenix. Something must have shifted, bending the story back to its origin.
But mutant affairs often involved wild time fluctuations, too tangled to unravel through reasoning alone.
"Then, one more task: use your powers again to carve out a decade from Limbo. I need to train a Sorcerer Supreme here."