Hell – The Infernal Council Chamber
The throne room was carved from obsidian and bone, rivers of molten fire flowing through the cracks beneath its floor. Pillars of screaming souls held the ceiling aloft, their faces twisting in eternal torment.
At the chamber's heart stood a circular table of black steel, the sigil of the Seven Hells etched deep into its surface. Seven thrones encircled it—though only four sat beneath the light. The others remained shrouded in a living darkness that pulsed like breath, shapes half-seen and terrible.
From the fire's edge, Mephisto lounged with a grin carved across his face like a wound.
Azazel unfolded his blood-red wings, their edges dripping ichor that hissed on the molten floor.
Belial leaned forward, sparks dancing across his fingers as if impatient for violence.
And Lilith, the Mother of Demons, sat poised and silent, eyes burning like twin embers.
Beyond them, the remaining seats stirred—silhouettes shifting within the shadows, whispers crossing the chamber in languages older than sin.
"The Tower's fall has awakened them all," she said. "The seals weaken. Even the mortal world begins to remember fear."
Mephisto chuckled, resting one claw against the sigil of Earth.
"Let the boy enjoy his little victory. Every triumph plants the seed of despair. He thinks he's won — but soon, the worlds will bleed together again."
Belial sneered.
"And what of the traitor's bloodline?"
Lilith turned toward the fire, her tone sharpening.
"Sparda's sons remain divided. One walks the Earth… the other—"
She stopped. The flames around the chamber shuddered.
A new voice cut through the heat — calm, measured, and cold enough to still the air itself.
"The other seeks what only Hell can offer."
The fire exploded outward, twisting into a rift of shadow.
From it stepped a figure cloaked in azure light and smoke, his body sculpted from demonic energy rather than flesh.
Wings of dark energy flared from his back, their edges pulsing like burning glass. His body gleamed with a metallic sheen, veins of blue fire tracing beneath his skin like lightning frozen in crystal. A crown of energy flared where hair once was, silver-white light seething like a storm contained within flesh. His eyes burned gold — sharp, inhuman, utterly controlled.
Vergil.
He didn't walk so much as cut through the air, every step rippling the ground like the aftershock of a blade drawn too fast to see.
The Hell-Lords fell silent as he approached the table.
Mephisto leaned back, smiling wider.
"Ah… the prodigal son returns."
Vergil said nothing. His hand rested on Yamato's hilt — the blade humming with a resonance that made the air tremble.
Lilith tilted her head.
"And what do you seek, Son of Sparda?"
He stopped at the edge of the firelight. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of a coming storm.
"I seek power — the kind that breaks fate itself."
Mephisto's grin widened.
"And what are you now, boy? A knight? A ghost? A weapon?"
Vergil looked up, eyes burning like molten glass. His Devil Trigger energy flared, wind and fire bending around him.
He drew Yamato in a single, clean motion — the blade's edge igniting the darkness with divine blue fury.
"I am the storm that is approaching."
Lightning split the ceiling of Hell itself.
The Hell-Lords smiled as the rift behind him widened, its winds howling like thunder.
Vergil turned toward the gate, his coat whipping in the infernal gale — more phantom than man, half-demon, half-legend.
Mephisto whispered, almost reverently,
"Then the war begins."
Xavier Institute for Higher Learning – Midnight
The night was still when the air above the courtyard split open with a flash of golden light.
A stepping disk spun into existence, runes burning across its edge as a figure stepped through.
Boots hit the ground first, followed by the soft glow of a Soul Sword.
The disk shimmered once more before sealing shut, leaving only the faint scent of ozone in its wake.
The courtyard lights flicked on. Doors opened.
A few startled voices rang out.
"Illyana…?"
Her brother, Colossus, stood at the front steps, disbelief written across his face.
Behind him, the rest of the X-Men gathered — Cyclops, Jean, and Ororo — all equally stunned.
Wolverine lingered near the door, a cigarette burning low between his fingers. He didn't say a word — just watched Illyana with that quiet, weathered stare that said he'd seen too many ghosts come home.
Illyana Rasputina didn't speak at first.
The years in Limbo still clung to her like shadow; her armor gleamed faintly under the moonlight, and her eyes shimmered with something ancient, something that didn't quite belong to this world.
Then she saw him.
"Illyana…" Piotr's voice broke as he stepped forward.
Her lips parted — the faintest tremor in her voice as she whispered,
"Brat moy…" (My brother.)
For a heartbeat, the weight of Limbo slipped away. She took one unsteady step and let him pull her into an embrace, the kind only family could survive long enough to share.
Behind her eyes, a voice stirred — soft, fading, like light remembered through smoke.
"The walls of Limbo are weakening. You must find my son… the boy who once called you friend. Help him mend what is breaking."
The words weren't a command — just a memory. A promise she had carried through the dark.
Illyana's grip tightened on the Soul Sword, its edge pulsing faintly blue.
She lifted her gaze to the mansion beyond her brother.
"I will, Eva," she whispered.
The wind stirred, carrying the faint smell of ash — though none had burned here.
And for the first time in years, Illyana Resputina felt the world shift beneath her feet.
Hell – The Infernal Sanctum of Mephisto
The flames bent inward when she entered, as though even Hell itself bowed to her lineage.
Satana Hellstrom walked barefoot across the obsidian floor, her steps leaving bursts of fire that hissed out behind her.
She was beauty sharpened into something lethal — skin pale against the red glow of the infernal light, long crimson hair cascading down her back like spilled blood.
Two small black horns curled from her temples, catching the light when she moved.
Her eyes burned a deep, devilish amber, flickering between charm and cruelty.
A scarlet bodysuit clung to her like living flame, woven with runes that pulsed faintly in rhythm with her heartbeat.
A black cape — more like shadow than fabric — trailed behind her, shifting as though it breathed.
Around her neck hung a pendant of her own: a shard of obsidian shaped like a teardrop, pulsing with demonic energy.
Her smile could have melted stone.
She was sin given shape — and she knew it.
At the far end of the hall, Mephisto lounged on his throne of bone and flame, red skin gleaming under the shifting light.
His grin was charming and cruel, a perfect mirror of his daughter's.
"My favorite daughter," Mephisto purred. "It's been far too long."
Satana tilted her head, crossing her arms. "You only call me that when you want something."
"Insightful as always." He swirled a chalice of dark wine — or blood, depending on the angle. "And yes, I do."
He flicked a clawed finger, and the fire before his throne flared, forming an image: Dante, the Son of Sparda, standing beside Elsa Bloodstone on the ruined docks.
Around his neck, a red pendant gleamed like a captured heartbeat.
Mephisto's tone dropped low, dripping with hunger.
"That trinket he wears — his mother's keepsake — is no mere ornament. It holds Eva's seal. Her magic still defies me, even now."
Satana's lips curved into a sly grin. "So you want me to take it from him."
"Not take," Mephisto corrected. "Earn. Get close. Make him trust you. Mortals are easy to sway — especially those who believe they've already defeated Hell."
Satana smirked, folding her arms. "You want me to play the damsel or the devil?"
"Both," he said smoothly. "Be what he needs most. Salvation wrapped in sin."
Her expression softened — faintly amused, faintly dangerous.
"And when he learns who sent me?"
"Then it will be too late." Mephisto leaned forward, eyes glowing like embers. "Once that pendant is mine, the barrier between worlds will fall. And when it does… all of creation will remember my name."
Satana's smirk widened, playful and defiant.
"And if I decide I like him instead?"
Mephisto's laughter filled the chamber, low and cruel.
"Then you'll break your own heart along with his."
The flames surged around her, a gate of fire opening beneath her feet.
She turned one last time, crimson hair catching the light.
"You always did know how to make family bonding awkward."
"All part of my charm," Mephisto replied.
She stepped into the infernal light, her voice a whisper of promise and threat.
"Guess I'll see what makes the Son of Sparda cry."
With a swirl of flame, she vanished.
Mephisto watched the fire fade, his grin lingering.
"Oh, you will, my dear," he murmured. "You will."
The image of Dante's pendant flickered once more above the throne, glowing bright against the darkness.
End of Arc One