Over Salem – Night
The X-Jet knifed through the storm, its engines humming low against the screaming wind. Lightning flared somewhere below the clouds, lighting the world in flashes of white and crimson.
Inside, the cabin glowed dim red. The team sat strapped in—Cyclops at the controls, Storm beside him, Logan pacing near the ramp, and Illyana Rasputina in the rear, eyes fixed on the fog-shrouded town below.
Something about that mist felt wrong. Alive.
Colossus's voice came over the comm from the cockpit.
"Approaching coordinates. Xavier said this town went dark three hours ago—no signal, no power."
Scott's voice followed, calm but clipped.
"Stay sharp. We land in two minutes. Storm, you're on overwatch."
Before anyone could respond, the jet jolted violently.
The instruments went dead—every light, every gauge.
"What the—?" Scott started, but a deafening crack swallowed the rest.
A surge of red lightning tore through the sky, ripping a hole in the clouds. For an instant, they saw it: a rift—thin, jagged, bleeding fire and shadow.
"Brace!" Storm shouted.
The X-Jet buckled under the blast. The rift spat a wave of energy that hit the hull like a hammer, sending the aircraft spinning end over end.
"Engines offline!" Jean yelled. "We're going down!"
The world flipped. Seats tore free. Smoke filled the cabin.
Illyana felt it before she saw it—the surge of Hell's energy breaking through the rift, clawing at reality itself. The pendant at her throat glowed gold.
She braced herself against the bulkhead near her brother, eyes blazing. "Everyone grab on to me—now!"
Kurt blinked beside her, panic in his voice. "What are you doing—?"
"Saving everyone from the crash."
The air around her ignited with golden light. The stepping disk bloomed beneath her feet, spinning faster until it filled the rear of the jet. Colossus reached her first, dragging Storm by the arm. Kurt leapt in after them, his tail lashing.
"Jean! Scott! Logan—move!" Illyana shouted.
But before she could reach them, the jet split apart—metal screaming as the fuselage tore in half, separating Jean, Scott, and Logan in the forward section.
"Illyana!" Kurt shouted, his hand grabbing her forearm, yanking her into the stepping disk as the wreckage came apart.
Salem – Outskirts
Illyana stumbled as the golden light collapsed around her, the world reforming in a rush of cold air and static. She found herself on the edge of town—the same fog still clinging to the streets, now mixed with the thick scent of ash and brimstone.
Her heart pounded as she looked around at the ones she'd managed to save.
Colossus stood beside her, armor darkened with soot but otherwise unharmed. Storm pushed herself up, brushing ash from her shoulders, the edges of her white hair lightly singed.
"Let go of me, Kurt," Illyana said, her tone sharp but controlled. "We need to get back there—before something happens."
Kurt's grip loosened, but before he could calm her down, a small rift tore open nearby. Its edges pulsed with red and violet light, warping the air around it.
From within, figures began to crawl out—twisted demons and half-mechanical hybrids, their bodies stitched with metal and bone. They poured into the street, their growls echoing through the fog.
Storm stepped forward, lightning already sparking across her fingertips.
"We can discuss this later," she said firmly. "First, we survive."
Illyana's eyes flared gold, her Soulsword forming in her hand with a flash of light.
"Agreed."
Salem – Crash Site
Logan shoved a slab of twisted metal off his chest, coughing through the smoke. The air burned his throat—thick with fuel and ash. Sparks danced in the darkness, painting the wreckage in brief, violent flashes of orange.
"Jean! Scott!" he barked, voice gravel-rough.
A faint groan answered him from a few meters away. Logan turned, boots crunching over broken glass and debris. Cyclops was half-buried under part of the forward bulkhead, his visor still intact. Jean knelt beside him, one hand pressed to his chest, her telekinetic field shimmering faintly as she lifted the wreckage off him piece by piece.
"I've got him," she said, her voice shaking but steady. "Just—keep them off us."
Logan didn't ask what "them" meant. He already smelled it.
Sulfur. Ash. Rot.
He turned toward the scent, claws sliding free with a metallic snikt.
The street around the wreck shimmered—thin, glowing cracks spreading across the asphalt. One by one, small rifts split open, bleeding fire and shadow into the world.
Shapes started crawling through—demons, all teeth and sinew, their skin blackened and slick like tar. Some were worse—hybrid things with metal spines and glowing veins, the same kind of twisted tech he'd seen in old Weapon X labs.
"I've seen uglier experiments," he muttered, "but not by much."
The first one lunged.
Logan met it midair, claws cutting clean through its neck. It burst into smoke, but two more took its place. He spun, slashing through both, the heat from their blood searing his skin before it healed again.
"Logan, stay close!" Jean shouted, struggling to keep her focus on Scott. "He's hurt in the leg!"
Scott gritted his teeth, pushing himself upright. "I'm fine—just need a minute."
The demons didn't wait. They rushed Jean and Scott, who were still too shaken to move.
Logan met them head-on, roaring, metal slicing through fire. Every swing left another corpse in the snow, every step dragging him deeper into the storm of blood and ash.
"Logan—behind you!" Jean's voice cut through the chaos, panicked now.
He turned just in time to catch a blow from something larger. The hybrid slammed into him, sending him sprawling across the cracked street. Logan rolled, came up fast, claws raised—only to see the thing stalking closer.
It was bigger than the rest—its chest carved with faint infernal runes and glowing blue tubing that pulsed like veins.
Logan spat blood and grinned. "You're a big one, ain't ya?"
The creature roared, flames licking through its maw as it charged.
The hybrid took one heavy step toward him—then the world shook.
A deep groan echoed from above. The cracked building beside them began to tilt, its foundation splitting as the infernal rifts spread underneath.
Jean's eyes widened. "Logan, move!"
He dove aside just as the entire structure collapsed in a thunderous roar. Stone, steel, and glass came crashing down, burying the demon beneath tons of rubble.
The impact threw dust and ash into the air. For a moment, the world went still again—only the sound of crackling fire filling the silence.
Then a shape stepped through the smoke.
A long red coat. A sword across his back. A cocky grin cutting through the haze.
Dante Sparda.
He brushed the dust off his shoulder like it was nothing. "Man," he said, glancing at the crushed wreckage, "these guys just don't know when to quit."
Logan squinted through the smoke, claws still out. The air around the newcomer carried that same scent—the one that had been pouring from the rifts.
Sulfur. Heat. Something not human.
He took a cautious step forward, nostrils flaring.
"You," he growled. "You smell just like them."
Dante's brow arched. "Them?"
"The freaks that are trying to kill us," Logan snapped, closing in with claws first. "The ones crawlin' outta hell."
Dante sidestepped, almost lazily, the claws slicing through his coat but missing flesh.
"Easy there, Stripes," he said with a smirk. "You don't want me to dirty your yellow suit even more—and by the way, I did just save you."
"Don't play dumb, kid," Logan snarled, swinging again. "I don't care who you saved—you reek of the same damn corruption."
Their blades met with a flash that split the dark.
Steel against adamantium.
Spark against spark.
Dante kicked Wolverine in the stomach, pushing him back with his inhuman strength.
"Whoa, easy there, Fuzzball!" Dante grinned, parrying another slash. "You always this friendly on first dates?"
Logan growled, shoving him back with brute strength. "You talk too damn much."
"Yeah," Dante shot back, spinning Rebellion in his hand, "but it keeps things lively."
Wolverine swung again, claws blurring through the smoke. Dante met his blade with his own. Sparks flew even brighter this time, each clash lighting up the ruins around them.
Logan caught him off guard once, grazing his shoulder. The claws tore through the leather, leaving a shallow line across Dante's red coat.
He looked down at the tear and frowned. "Watch the claws, Fuzzball. This is my favorite coat."
Logan lunged again, but Dante planted a boot into his chest mid-swing, sending the mutant skidding across the cracked street.
"You're quick," Logan said, claws raised, breath fogging in the cold. "But I heal fast."
Dante rolled his neck, smirk returning. "Yeah? Let's test that theory."
He blurred forward—faster than Logan could track—and the next second, Rebellion's edge grazed his arm. Sparks flew as steel bit against adamantium bone.
The jolt ran up Dante's arm, his hands going numb from the impact. "Huh," he muttered, shaking it off. "Guess you're part tin can too."
Logan, seeing the opening, didn't give him time to recover. He swung wide, carving a shallow slash across Dante's chest.
Dante grunted and kicked him back, both men pausing—each surprised as the wounds sealed just as quickly as they'd been made.
Dante smirked. "Hey, Fuzzball, we should get matching T-shirts. Something like: 'I can take a hit.'"
Before Logan could reply, the air shimmered—a golden light splitting through the fog.
A stepping disk burst open beside them, its glow cutting through the smoke. Illyana Rasputina stepped out, her eyes blazing gold, Soulsword drawn.
The light faded, her eyes returning to their icy blue. She scanned the scene—broken streets, flickering fire, and then him.
White hair. A familiar face she thought she'd never see again. And around his neck, the same red pendant Eva had given him—the one Illyana remembered from a lifetime ago, when she'd received her own crescent-moon pendant.
She didn't think. She just moved.
In two steps, she crossed the distance and threw her arms around him. The smell of smoke and steel filled her lungs. For a second, she forgot to breathe.
Dante blinked, caught completely off guard, Rebellion still balanced in one hand.
"Uh… not that I mind," he said, trying for a grin, "but I didn't know I had a Russian bombshell as a fan."
Her grip tightened—not desperate, just real.
"You're alive," she said simply. Her voice was low, certain—the way someone sounds when they've finally found proof that the past wasn't a dream.
Dante hesitated, glancing down at her.
"Do I… know you?"
Illyana stepped back, eyes shining with restrained emotion. She answered in Russian, her tone soft but heavy with memory.
"Once, Dante," she said. "A long time ago."
For a moment, everything around them faded—the smoke, the broken streets, the faint crackle of fire.
All Dante heard was her voice.
Soft. Russian.
Something about it hit him like a half-forgotten song.
The way she said his name…
It wasn't the first time he'd heard it.
His smirk faltered for the briefest heartbeat. A flicker of something crossed his face—confusion, maybe recognition. The weight in his chest twisted.
A sound.
A laugh.
A girl's voice—young, clear—somewhere in his head.
He could almost see it.
Snow.
A small town.
A quiet blonde Russian girl sitting by a window while two brothers argued over a broken wooden sword.
He blinked hard. The memory slipped away like smoke through his fingers.
His chest tightened. Why does that voice feel like home?
When he looked down again, she was still there—older now, stronger, but with the same kind of sadness in her eyes. The crescent-moon pendant at her throat glowed faintly, catching the flicker of the fire.
Before he could say anything—before he could ask how—a voice snapped through the haze.
"Illyana!"
A burst of brimstone split the air.
Kurt appeared in a flash of blue smoke, tail snapping as he landed beside Illyana, yellow eyes widening.
"Illyana!" he repeated, "get away from that man! He was fighting Logan for a reason."
Before she could answer, another tremor shook the street. From the shadows, the familiar metallic gleam of Colossus emerged from the same stepping disk she'd used before.
He took a step forward—and froze when he saw who stood beside her.
The white hair. The familiar face. He'd seen it before—back in Russia.
Wolverine spat blood, rising to his feet with a growl. "Don't be fooled by his looks. He's not human."
Dante sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hey, Fuzzball, I'm not with Team Hell."
Kurt blinked between them, nostrils flaring as the sulfuric haze lingered. "He's right," he said quietly. "There is… something on you, mein Freund. Something infernal."
Illyana didn't move. Her hand stayed at her side, but the faint shimmer of her Soulsword began to fade. "No."
That single word cut through the noise.
Everyone froze.
Kurt's tail flicked once, uncertain. Wolverine turned, stunned. Even Colossus stood silent, waiting for her next words.
Illyana lifted her chin, her voice calm but firm. "He's not our enemy."
Wolverine narrowed his eyes. "You sure about that? 'Cause that smell comin' off him says otherwise."
"I said," she repeated, sharper this time, "he's not our enemy."
The air between them hung heavy.
The firelight painted the four of them in gold and red—tension thick enough to choke on.
Dante broke the silence first. "Glad someone around here believes in giving a guy a chance."
Cracks began to spread across the asphalt like veins of light, glowing red beneath the street. The earth shuddered, groaning as the fissure widened—wide enough to swallow a building whole.
Dante turned toward it, Rebellion resting against his shoulder, a familiar grin cutting through the smoke.
"Well," he said, smirking, "that's my cue."
He looked over at Illyana, who hadn't taken her eyes off him since he arrived.
"Babe, if you ever want to hang out," he added, grin widening, "I know a great pizza place."
He gave her a mock salute before stepping toward the growing chasm. Heat rolled out from the crack—thick and heavy, carrying the smell of sulfur and rot.
A low growl rose from within, followed by a voice that made the air tremble.
"Dante Sparda… in the flesh."
A column of flame erupted from the fissure. The ground split open, and from it crawled a massive figure—dark as oil, skin carved with glowing crimson sigils that pulsed like open wounds.
Blackheart.
The First Son of Mephisto.
His body was a blend of shadow and sinew, horns curling backward like jagged blades. Long strands of obsidian hair moved as if underwater, and where his eyes should've been, only twin embers burned. Chains hung from his wrists, still dripping molten iron. Each step he took left the ground scorched and hissing.
He stood tall above the ruins, voice cold and venomous.
"My father speaks highly of you, Son of Sparda. Though I fail to see why."
He sneered, claws curling as he took another step forward.
"All I see is a half-blood parasite—a pretender trying to wear his father's shadow."
Dante tilted his head, the smirk never leaving his face.
"Wow," he said, "Daddy issues and an ego problem. You're just full of surprises."
He twirled Rebellion in one hand, the blade catching the firelight.
"Tell me—are you trying to impress dear old Dad, or are you just here to throw a tantrum?"
Blackheart's eyes flared brighter.
"You mock me, little half-breed." His claws dug into the asphalt, cracks spiderwebbing beneath him.
"Do you even know what's coming? The Father will return, and when he does, your kind—"
Dante interrupted with a raised finger.
"Yeah, yeah. 'My father this,' 'my father that.' You ever stop to think maybe he just doesn't love you?"
He stepped forward, tone dripping with sarcasm.
Illyana stood a few paces behind, her hand tightening around her Soulsword. She could feel the heat rising from the fissure—could feel something ancient crawling up from beneath.
Blackheart turned toward her briefly, his voice lowering.
"And you, child of Limbo… you'll know your place soon enough."
Illyana's eyes glowed faint gold, defiant.
"You talk too much."
Dante cracked his neck, Rebellion burning brighter in his grip.
"Alright, junior," he said, stepping between them. "Let's skip the family drama and get to the part where I kick your ass."
Blackheart grinned—a smile made of fire and hate.
"Then come, Son of Sparda. Let's see if you bleed like the rest."