Inside an ancient and solemn cathedral, darkness hung thick in the air.
The faint light flickered across the towering stone walls as eerie chants echoed through the hall.
The crackling of burning charcoal in a bronze brazier cast long, dancing shadows across the floor—turning the sacred church into something grim and terrifying.
It looked less like a place of worship and more like a scene from Western myth—the underworld's court of the dead.
This was a church dedicated to the worship of Mephisto, built entirely for the purpose of offering sacrifices to the Lord of Hell himself—the eternal adversary of God, the deceiver of souls, the master manipulator of mortal hearts.
For centuries, Mephisto had sought a way to cross the boundaries of forbidden realms, and eventually he discovered a secret method—to tempt devout believers of God into corruption, and through contracts trading their souls, find a vessel through which he could manifest himself.
But such methods came at a heavy price.
"Return to us!""Our Lord!""O King of Souls, grant us your endless gifts!"
The faithful knelt in fervent prayer, their cloaked faces hidden beneath the darkness as their hands stretched toward the altar.
Then, within the sarcophagus at the center of the hall, the thick and filthy liquid began to churn violently—like boiling oil bubbling to the surface.
A pale-skinned young woman suddenly sat upright from the pool.
Her features were striking and sharp, her long black hair clinging to her shoulders as the viscous fluid dripped from her chin. Even without any adornment, her face carried a deadly, enchanting beauty—as if she was born to tempt both angels and demons alike.
The moment the Lord of Hell resurrected through this vessel, the temperature of the entire cathedral plummeted below freezing.
Frost spread with every breath; even the most zealous followers trembled as they pressed their foreheads to the cold stone.
"Welcome, our Lord, returned at last!"
One by one, the worshippers fell prostrate, pounding their heads to the ground in feverish reverence.
"Enough," came the voice of the young woman.
She placed her hands on the coffin's edge and rose gracefully. Long, flawless legs stepped forward as she used her magic to evaporate the remaining fluid from her skin. With a flick of her hand, she summoned a silken ceremonial robe and draped it over her body.
Barefoot, she walked across the icy floor, her voice cold and commanding as it echoed through the hall.
No one dared lift their head.
This was no longer merely a mortal woman—she was Mephisto, the Lord of Hell incarnate in human flesh.
"Foolish… Holy Lord," she said disdainfully, her crimson lips curving into a smirk."To demand the San Venganza contract from me and then destroy my vessel outright—he's courting death."
She paused, then chuckled softly. "But no matter. The old vessel was aging anyway. This new body… young, vibrant, and full of energy—much better."
Crossing her legs elegantly, Mephisto ran her slender fingers across her cheek. The softness of human skin sent an unfamiliar yet delightful sensation to her mind.
Like cotton candy—light, warm, and intoxicating.
Never before had the Lord of Hell possessed a female form.
To beings like her, mortal gender distinctions meant nothing; humans were merely animals with slightly higher intelligence.
"God," she murmured, lifting her gaze toward the crucifix at the end of the hall. "It's been a long time."
"Master," a cloaked follower said reverently, "the pentagram array has been prepared. At any time, we may summon projections from other dimensions."
Mephisto nodded slightly and stepped forward.
Her bare feet clicked softly on the floor—tap, tap—as she entered the glowing pentagram etched in silver and crimson.
Then she began to chant in the ancient, infernal tongue.
The air twisted violently as though the gates of Hell itself had opened. The pentagram flared, forming blurred, monstrous silhouettes.
Among them—
A body of molten flame, striped with shifting patterns of chaos.The ruler of the Dark Dimension himself: Dormammu.
To know him was to be known by him.
"Hmm?" Dormammu's deep voice resonated across the astral void. "Mephisto? You've become… a woman?"
"Don't tell me—did your son finally kill you?"
He burst into deafening laughter, the sheer vibration cracking the fabric of the dimension—though the pentagram's barrier held firm, preventing his power from spilling outward.
The pentagram, an ancient symbol of the underworld, had long been revered in Egypt as the key to the afterlife. When inverted, however, it became the mark of Satan himself.
"Mephisto," came another booming voice, this one far deeper and heavier, echoing like a divine bell.
"It has been a millennium since you last summoned the Dark Council. Speak your reason."
The blood-red mist behind the voice coalesced into a colossal, armored figure seated upon a throne of crimson energy—the Crimson Lord Cyttorak, master of the Crimson Cosmos, a being of multiversal might, one of the few who could challenge the seat of Satan himself.
Even the spells of the Sorcerer Supreme drew from his power.
To see him here meant only one thing—something monumental was about to happen.
"Please, be patient, great ones," Mephisto said, raising her hands appeasingly. "Not all members have arrived yet."
The Dark Council—a gathering of the most powerful demonic entities in all of existence.
A meeting that only the supreme rulers of infernal realms were qualified to attend.
Few ever responded to the summons, and even fewer dared to appear in person. For Cyttorak himself to attend was an unexpected miracle.
Mephisto could hardly hide her thrill. Even a multiversal overlord accepted my group chat invite.
Meanwhile, far away at the edge of Mount Wundagore, inside a grand European-style castle, a tall Eastern youth frowned slightly.
At his fingertips appeared a sleek black card, its texture strange, its surface embossed with mysterious golden runes no mortal—or even most demons—could comprehend.
It was a rare item granted by his system long ago:
[Mysterious Invitation Card].
He had almost forgotten about it—until it suddenly began to vibrate.
"It's active now?" he murmured. "Interesting."
"The world's quiet again… Seems like it's time to see who's been trying to invite me."
With a hum, he poured his magic into the card.
Instantly, his spirit was drawn out of his body and into a vast, corrupted dimension.
Countless phantom demons loomed above him, their towering presences shaking the void.
And among them—faces he recognized.
"Dormammu?""Hela?""Shuma-Gorath?""Satannish?"
Every one of them—a top-tier infernal monarch of the Marvel multiverse.
He realized in shock where he was:The fabled Dark Council.
But who was presiding over it?
He focused on the pentagram's center—where a stunning woman stood draped in black and gold. Her long dark hair shimmered, her makeup sharp and cold, her beauty rivaling even that of the Scarlet Witch.
"…Who is that?" Shen Du muttered in confusion.
Then, the woman's rich, velvety voice filled the hall.
"Esteemed Lords of Darkness," she declared. "Rulers of the Infernal Realms—hear me."
"I bring dire news."
"The Ancient Demon is returning."
"The Holy Lord has ascended to the Supreme Rank."
"If we do not unite to destroy him—then we will all perish."
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(End of Chapter)