— –Illyana Rasputin– —
"Shh…" A girl's voice whispered against her ear, low and honeyed like a lullaby that never meant to comfort. "Just let go."
She was exhausted, her body ached from the countless hours spent practicing magic with Belasco. Her mind was cloudy, and the more she tried to snap out of it, the more tired she felt. The words echoing in her ears were so tempting, like a warm blanket in the cold, lulling her closer to something she knew was wrong. Still, it felt easier than fighting.
She tried to open her eyes, but they felt incredibly heavy, and the harder she pushed the more of a headache assaulted her. She tried to speak, but her tongue felt numb and dry.
"I said…" The voice came again, no longer gentle. "Let go."
Even through the exhaustion, Illyana fought back, fighting against her body and forcing her eyes open. Her surroundings were blurry, unfocused, but amongst them, she could see her. The demon that wore her face.
Darkchylde.
She had her same golden hair, but that's where the similarities ended. Two curling, obsidian horns rose from her scalp. Her eyes were a crimson void, devoid of whites. A long, spaded tail lashed behind her like an angry serpent. Her lips curled into a sneer, too wide, too cruel to be hers.
"How much longer are you going to be this pitiful little nothing?" The demon spat. She grabbed Illyana's face with clawed fingers, yanking it roughly to the side. "Look."
Illyana's gaze fell on Alex, who was on the floor with his arms wrapped tightly around himself. His face was pale with pain, even in his sleep.
"Are you really going to let him suffer for us?" The demon hissed, her voice sharp now, all venom and steel. "You talk about saving him, protecting him, but what do you actually do, Illyana? Fail. Again and again. And he pays the price… every… single… time."
The scene snapped like glass, and suddenly she was back, kneeling before that damned spellbook. Chalk in her trembling hand, half-drawn circle mocking her from the floor.
'Don't mess up. You can't mess up.'
But she had. The lines had faltered. The runes had collapsed.
Sometimes it was her pronunciation, sometimes it was something as stupid as the slight tremble in her hands as she tried to cast a spell. It all led to the same result.
She could still hear it, the screams that tore from his throat, the helpless way Alex had looked at her.
"No…" Illyana whimpered, breath hitching, but the demon was already yanking her back, dragging her through memory like shards of ice.
Now they stood in Russia. Her homeland. Snow drifted gently from above, but there was no warmth in the sight. Only ghosts.
"You could have saved him too."
Mikhail. Her brother. Smiling, proud, foolish.
"He wanted to be a hero too, remember? But you, you always wanted more. A fairytale family. Brothers who could slay dragons with you. You fed him that dream, and he died chasing it."
The demon's tone cut deeper now, not furious, but cold and detached.
"How many more?" Darkchylde snarled, her voice low and cruel. "How many people have to suffer before you admit the truth? That you don't deserve to wield this power. That you're not strong enough. That you're afraid."
"I just…" Illyana's lips trembled. "I wanted to save them…"
"And you failed." The demon snapped, eyes glowing hotter now, her face inches from Illyana's. "Let me fix this. Give me control. We'll show Belasco what real power looks like. We'll earn his respect. We'll free Alex. No more begging. No more fear."
Illyana's gaze flicked toward the image of Alex again. His sleeping form stirred slightly, brow furrowed, as if caught in a nightmare he couldn't wake from.
"But… Alex…" She whispered.
"Yes, Alex." Darkchylde's tone turned mocking. "The same Alex who told you to fight me. But tell me, Illyana, how long do you think he can hold out? How long before he breaks? Before he forgets why he even tried to resist in the first place?"
The demon leaned closer, her voice a hiss in Illyana's ear.
"Would you rather let him suffer… or save him?"
Opening her eyes,Illyana sat up with a sharp gasp, her lungs ached like she had just ran a marathon. Her body trembled as cold sweat clung to her skin, soaking through her shirt and tangling her hair to her neck. She pressed a shaky hand to her chest, her heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of her ribcage.
Her surroundings came into focus slowly. The rough stone walls. The flickering torchlight. The iron scent of blood that never quite faded from the air.
"Bad dream?" Alex's voice was quiet, just loud enough to pull her out of the fog in her mind.
Illyana turned her head slowly, her breath still uneven.
"Yeah…" She muttered.
He sat near the edge of the room, hunched over a worn leather-bound book. Along with the book, he was using a small black fountain pen. Of course he would keep using that cursed pen, even after all of her protests.
The pen was one of Belasco's twisted gifts, a reward and punishment as one. It used Alex's own blood as ink.
She watched him in silence for a moment. He looked worse than before. His cheeks were gaunt, skin pale, like he hadn't seen the sun in weeks, not that Limbo ever offered it. The dark circles beneath his eyes had deepened, and his posture sagged with exhaustion he never seemed to escape. His hair, once neat and soft, now hung in tangled clumps that caught on his collarbones.
And yet, he still wrote. Still clung to that little book like it mattered. Like he would be able to find a way out. Like he would be able to somehow find some formula that would help them escape.
She swallowed the guilt rising in her throat.
How long has it been?
Two months? Three? More? Time moved strangely here. Sometimes the days dragged on endlessly, and sometimes they vanished in the blink of an eye. It all depended on how long Belasco kept them in that room, and how long he spent training her.
Days bled into dreams, dreams into memories, and memories into nightmares.
She might have lost herself by now were she alone, but thankfully, even amongst the chaos, she wasn't. But maybe it would have been better if she were.
"I'm sorry…" Illyana murmured, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms tightly around them.
Alex didn't look up immediately. The pen paused mid-sentence.
"For what?" He asked, finally glancing over his shoulder. His voice held no judgment. Just tired curiosity.
"For everything…" She said quietly.
She couldn't meet his eyes.
"Piotr's not coming." She continued. "No one is. We're stuck here. And I keep—" Her throat tightened. "I keep messing up. Every time I think I've found a way out, I screw it up. I—I get scared or something slips. If I could just figure it out, if I could just—"
Her voice cracked, and she buried her face against her knees, shoulders trembling.
"We wouldn't still be here. You wouldn't be suffering like this."
The room was silent for a moment.
Then Alex set the pen down with care and stood up. His footsteps were soft as he crossed the room, sitting beside her with a groan like his bones had forgotten comfort. He didn't say anything right away, just sat there.
"I'm tired, Illyana." He said at last. He didn't sound angry, or annoyed, just worn down. "Let's not start throwing blame around, ok?"
It wasn't quite comfort, it wasn't quite forgiveness. Maybe something in between?
Maybe he wanted to blame her, but was just too tired to say it outloud.
"Illyana…" Alex added as he collapsed onto the bed. "I'm sorry."
— –Alex Montclair– —
What else was there to say?
Four months and three days. He knew the number. He had felt every second of it. The days bled together here, sure, but he had kept track. It was one of the few things he could control. But still, it all amounted to nothing.
He'd tried everything. Scraps of metal, bone shards, torn bits of spell diagrams. Anything he could get his hands on, he hid. Tinkered with. Experimented. And yet, without fail, the moment he made progress, it was gone. Wiped clean by the very realm itself, or by Belasco, more likely, just to remind him who was in control.
He had tried learning magic, even just the basics. He was tagging along for every one of Illyana's lessons, so he was practically getting first hand lessons. But Belasco hadn't approved.
He still remembered the sounds his fingers made when he crushed them. How his voice had been stolen with a curse he had placed in his tongue. A punishment that had lasted for an entire week. And then, just like that, Belasco healed him. As if trying to taunt him to try again.
It was hell. But not the fire-and-brimstone kind. No, this was the slow kind. The kind where you still woke up each morning, unsure why your heart kept beating when your will to fight had withered to dust.
At first, it hadn't made sense, but now he understood.
Belasco thought he was a mutant, or he at least thought he would awaken some type of power. Something that could get him, and in turn, Belasco, out of this hellhole. Maybe portals? Maybe spatial manipulation?
Everything he tried to convince Belasco otherwise had failed. And until he awakened his powers, he would continue to be treated like nothing more than an annoying pet.
But nothing ever happened, no portals, no magic, no escape. Just silence. There was a chance that the whole powers thing was just another way Belasco was torturing him.
He should have let himself blow up that first day. Should've died on his own terms instead of handing his soul over to a demon with a smile full of teeth.
Nothing made sense anymore.
What the hell was he supposed to do?
He had tested his luck again when he asked for the pen and paper, but to his surprise, Belasco agreed. And no matter what he wrote, it was as if Belasco didn't care, probably because he saw it all. As long as he never actually tried to use any of the spells, Belasco didn't care.
He had filled his little book with every rune, every sigil, every spell theory he could memorize from Illyana's frantic whispering. Page after page written in his own blood. He had memorized them until they blurred in his sleep. Until they haunted his dreams.
Magic was practically a science, use the right formula, the right incantation, and you would get the results you wanted. It was his hope to eventually escape.
And still, they were trapped.
He wanted to protect her. God, he had tried. Every day. He'd put himself between her and Belasco's anger when he could. He took the beatings. He made excuses. He lied through his teeth just to give her another hour of sleep.
Why did she have to be a fucking kid? Why couldn't she have been older? If she had, then some of the pressure would have been lifted from his shoulders. They could have split the shitty meals, they could have each gone through their own rounds of torture.
Hell, as morbid as it would sound, perhaps he might have been able to find a way out while Belasco was too distracted by her.
But no, she had to be a kid.
It wasn't some noble, conscious decision to protect her. There was no grand, shining moment where he decided to become her hero. If anything it was more like an instinct. She had looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes. That was all it had taken for him to lose the battle of wills.
But now… if he was being honest with himself… He was tired.
Why did he have to keep suffering for her?
The thought made him feel guilty, but no matter what, it lingered.
He wanted to die, but even that choice was gone. His life didn't belong to him anymore.
It was almost silly how he had been ready to start his new life in this new world, and now, he was trapped here. Sometimes he wondered what Tandy was up to, or Tony, or hell, even Alfred, his favorite vacuum. But the second those names crossed his mind, all they did was make him feel heavier.
"Well, would you look at that." Alex muttered, forcing himself upright with a soft grunt. He glanced to the side, catching Illyana's unfocused gaze. She hadn't moved in minutes, maybe longer. "It's time for school, kid."
Her head turned slowly. That faint, tired smile appeared, barely there, but enough to prove she'd heard him.
"You sure?" She asked, voice quiet, but teasing.
"I mean, I gotta keep my skills sharp if I want to stand out in Empire State." He stretched his arms out and cracked his neck like he was getting ready for class. "What do you want to learn this time?"
He knew he was just deluding both of them with the thought, but sometimes it felt nice to live in the delusion. Their momentary escape.
"I like science." Illyana said, stepping beside him.
"Hmm… good choice." Alex answered with a tired chuckle. "That's the only thing I can properly teach you either way."
"Philosophy was fun." She replied dryly, but her smile lingered.
"You just like pulling the lever." He nudged her shoulder. "The one dude that invented the trolley problem would be very disappointed."
"Or proud." Illyana answered with a chuckle.
"Touche."
And just like that, for one small moment, it almost felt normal.
Almost.
Then the ground shuddered.
At first it was faint. Just a low rumble, like the castle had sighed in its sleep. But then it came again, stronger, deeper. The walls groaned, old stone grinding against old stone, dust drifting down from cracks in the ceiling like ash.
Alex's brow furrowed as he tilted his head, listening.
"…A storm?" He muttered under his breath.
He heard it again, low, almost hesitant thunder rumbling in the distance, followed by the soft, almost nostalgic patter of rain. For a moment, it didn't register. Rain. Real rain. Not the illusionary heat that clung to the air in Limbo, not the heavy silence that weighed on them like a shroud. This was something different. Familiar.
Wrong.
There had never been weather in this place. Not really. The air was stale and stagnant, the sky locked in perpetual crimson twilight, if you could even call it a sky. Whatever this was, it wasn't normal.
The castle trembled again, more violently this time, a shudder running through the stones like a pulse.
Alex didn't waste a second. He rushed to the heavy metal door and pressed the side of his face against it, closing his eyes and focusing. Listening. Not just with his ears, but with every nerve in his body.
Outside, the world was moving.
Boots. Dozens of them, maybe hundreds, slamming against the stone floor in a frantic rhythm. The clatter of steel on steel. Shouts, panicked and sharp, but warped, muffled by the thick walls and the unnatural acoustics of Limbo. He couldn't make out the words, but the meaning was clear.
Illyana had gone still beside him, her entire posture rigid, her breath held tight in her chest.
"…Alex." She whispered, so quietly it almost got lost in the sound of the storm. "Something's wrong."
"No…" His voice was shaky, his thoughts racing. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, faster and faster. "No. This… someone's attacking the castle."
He knew it in his bones. It wasn't just a storm. It wasn't just noise. This was deliberate. This was something breaking into their nightmare from the outside.
Or maybe, some part of him thought bitterly, it was another trick. Belasco's twisted way of dangling hope in front of them, waiting for them to reach out before yanking it away.
But even so, he had to try.
He turned toward Illyana, grabbing her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him. She flinched slightly at the intensity in his eyes.
"This might be our only chance." He said, trying to keep his voice steady. "But—"
"It might be a trap." She finished for him, eyes flicking to the side, her hands twitching at her sides.
"But it might not." Alex insisted, his tone rising with desperation. "I can't feel him. Every other day, every second, he's been there. Watching. Breathing down my neck. But not right now. This, this might be it. I think I can get us out. But if he catches us…"
He didn't finish. He didn't need to. They both knew what came next if they failed.
His grip on her shoulders tightened slightly, enough to ground himself, to remind himself she was real. That this was real.
"Do you trust me?" He asked, voice cracking just a bit. "Will you run with me?"
Illyana hesitated. She looked like she wanted to say something. But instead, she just gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
"I trust you." She said, barely louder than a breath.
That was all he needed.
Without wasting another second, Alex scrambled to grab the strange obsidian pen Belasco had given him. He gritted his teeth and sliced it across his own forearm. The pain bit deep, but he didn't flinch.
Blood welled up quickly, hot and vivid. He crouched and began to draw, smearing the blood across the stone floor in deliberate lines. A circle. Symbols. The same cursed sigils he'd seen Belasco use a dozen times to summon his crimson chains, the ones that dug into his skin and held him down while Belasco carried out his "punishments."
Thankfully this spell was amongst the ones he had taught Illyana.
He'd memorized every detail. Every motion. Not because he wanted to, but because he had to. Because he couldn't afford to forget.
The circle was complete within moments, glowing faintly with a sickly red light. He pressed a trembling hand against the center, then drew in a breath, steadying himself.
"Vincula Limbi, auscultate vocem meam, facite voluntatem meam. Exsurgite et parete imperio meo!"
At first, nothing. A dreadful second passed, then another. For a second he worried that he had messed up somewhere along the way. But then, the circle pulsed. Chains erupted from the ground, snaking upward with violent force, clinking and rattling before stopping mid air, awaiting his commands.
Alex staggered backward, barely catching himself as a wave of nausea hit him.
The price.
It wasn't pain, exactly. It was something beneath pain. Like his soul had been dipped in ice water, like something old and vile had just touched him. His limbs trembled. His stomach twisted. He tasted copper.
He had never been aware of his own soul until now. But maybe that had been for the best, since now, it felt… unclean?
There was something crawling beneath his skin, something wrong in the way the energy clung to him. This was his first spell, if you didn't count the one that Belasco had stopped him from completing before. Thankfully it had worked, but he could still feel it pulsing in his veins like oil instead of blood. As if something sacred had been stained.
"Is this what you felt?" He asked, still in shock, only for Illyana to avert her eyes. She didn't need to say anything. That was answer enough.
But Alex didn't have the luxury of dwelling on it. Not now.
He forced the thoughts aside and focused on the chains. They responded immediately, still humming with energy from the spell, as if eager to obey. With a shout, he sent them lashing toward the massive iron door. The impact echoed through the stone halls. Once. Twice. A third strike dented the center, and for the first time in months, Alex felt hope spark in his chest.
One more slam, and the door cracked open.
Without wasting another second, he snatched his notebook, grabbed Illyana's hand, and bolted into the corridor beyond. He barely had time to think, let alone plan. The castle's layout was still mostly a blur, they only had the luxury of walking through a few of the hallways, but he ran anyway, his instincts screaming louder than his reason.
Follow the noise. That was all he had. That, and desperation.
He ran toward the sounds of battle.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?
Whoever was fighting Belasco's minions had to be better than Belasco. And if they weren't… well, maybe he could still slip away while they were distracted. Honestly, he hadn't expected anyone to attack the castle in the first place. He'd been flying blind since the chains had moved.
But he kept running.
They turned a corner, and stopped dead in their tracks.
Up ahead, the monstrous figure of S'ym, the purple demon, towered above them, his hulking purple form swinging a massive arm at a woman in a skintight black bodysuit. She moved like smoke, intangible just long enough for his blow to pass harmlessly through her. Then, with sharp precision, she slashed at his face with a short, gleaming blade. S'ym reeled back with a roar, thick black blood splashing across the stones.
"Kitty?!" Illyana shouted, eyes wide with disbelief.
The woman's head snapped toward them. Recognition sparked in her eyes.
That second of distraction cost her.
S'ym's next blow landed clean. It sent her crashing into the far wall with a sickening crunch.
"Oho?" S'ym growled, grinning as he turned toward them. "The dog and the cutie snuck out, huh?" His eyes narrowed as they landed on Alex. "Master's gonna be real mad. S'ym advises you sit there and look pretty while he squashes the rat."
"Illyana!" The woman shouted hoarsely as she stood back up, her grip tightening around the hilt of her sword. "We're here to get you out! Once I take him down, get ready to run!"
She gave Alex a quick, confused once-over, but didn't hesitate before phasing through another of S'ym's attacks.
She was strong. That much was clear. Her movements were calculated, her timing sharp. But S'ym was a tank, every cut she landed stitched itself back together in seconds. She couldn't kill him fast enough. And the longer she took, the higher the chance they would be caught.
"Fuck." Alex hissed, already flipping through his notebook with shaking fingers, smearing a trail of blood across some of the pages.
He stopped on a familiar circle, one he'd sketched during a night of insomnia and fear, praying he'd never need it.
No time to think.
"Ex cruore meo, formetur telum..." He began, voice almost trembling as he spoke.
"Vola, transfige, et sities in nomine meo."
The circle lit up in a soft red glow, pulsing like a heartbeat. His blood, the one pouring down his forearm, responded immediately. It lifted into the air, twisting and coalescing, forming a long, jagged spear with a vicious, almost organic shape.
With a flick of his wrist, he hurled it.
The blood-spear tore through the air and buried itself in S'ym's skull with a wet crunch. The demon staggered, eyes wide in shock. Yet still, he didn't fall. His body twitched violently as he tried to pull the weapon free, but his regeneration wasn't fast enough to push it out completely.
Alex's chest heaved. He wasn't sure if it was from the effort, the price of the magic, the pain, or the sheer horror of realizing that even a direct hit like that hadn't put the monster down.
Still, it had slowed him.
"Now!" Alex shouted.
And with that, the real escape began.
There was no time to talk, no time to think. Only the pounding of feet against stone and the rush of breath in their lungs as they tore through the twisting halls of Limbo's cursed castle. The woman, who he now recognized as Kitty Pride, helped them phase through wall after wall, cutting through dead ends like they weren't even there.
But Alex was slipping.
He could feel it, his limbs heavier with every stride, his head pounding with each heartbeat. The world around him was starting to blur. His vision tunneled, colors smearing, like someone had smudged the edges of reality.
The weeks of torture, the starvation, the bloodloss, it was catching up to him.
Illyana noticed first.
"Alex!" She yelled, skidding to a stop as he collapsed to one knee, panting like a dying animal.
He tried to wave her off, tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't obey. His stomach churned. His head throbbed. His fingers felt numb. But still, he stood. Barely.
"Damn it." Kitty hissed, doubling back. Without hesitation, she ducked down and threw his arm over her shoulder. Then, with a grunt, she lifted him off the ground like he weighed nothing.
Alex could barely register what was happening as the world swayed beneath him.
"Hang on, kid." She muttered, her voice strained but steady. "We're not leaving anyone behind."
And with that, they ran again. Through blood-soaked stone and flickering shadows. Chased by demons, haunted by the hell they'd almost died in, finally, they were running toward something else.
Freedom.
Beta Reader: @Basilisk.
https://discord.gg/WTgN9J3YgK
~A/N~
Our poor protagonist is finally making it out of Belasco's prison! Poor Alex has even worse luck than Peter. What an escape, eh? I hope you all enjoyed! Leave a comment! They motivate me to keep on writing.