Shaw Industries Underground Hangar – Salem
Silence fell before the storm.
The hangar's molten light flickered over the devastation—the shattered catwalks, the smoking reactor, the bodies of cultists and guards half-buried in ash.
And in the middle of it all, she stood.
Illyana Rasputina—no, not Illyana anymore.
The Darkchylde.
Her wings unfurled, stretching wide, molten veins glowing along the edges like lava coursing through obsidian glass. The air bent around her. Flames froze in midair. Even the Sentinel seemed to hesitate, its sensors flickering as if struggling to define what it was seeing.
Cyclops stepped forward, visor dimmed. "What… what is that?"
Jean's voice came soft but shaken. "That's Illyana. But… it's not."
Colossus's face hardened, confusion and fear flickering in his eyes. "Illyana?"
Storm's eyes widened, her voice barely above a whisper. "That's no gift of evolution. That's something ancient—primal—older than any mutant's power."
Logan grunted, still healing. "You're not wrong about that one, bub."
Dante pushed himself up from the crater he'd made, steam rising off his armor. He stared through the haze—and for the first time in a long while, his grin faltered.
"Now that's a hell of a glow-up."
The Darkchylde didn't answer. Her wings twitched once—then she vanished.
A shockwave tore through the hangar as she reappeared mid-air, slamming the Soulsword down into the Sentinel's shoulder. The blade carved through molten armor like divine fire, splitting Hellfire plating that Dante couldn't even scratch moments ago.
The machine roared—a guttural, mechanical bellow that rattled the steel beams. It swung its arm wildly, molten claws scraping the ceiling.
Illyana caught the next blow with her bare hand.
Her grip tightened, Hellfire flaring through her veins. The claws melted in her grasp, slag dripping onto the floor.
The hangar trembled, molten steel raining from the ceiling as the Sentinel roared. Its chest reactor glowed like a dying sun, unstable Hellfire bursting through cracks in its armor.
The Darkchylde hovered above it, wings spread wide, the Soulsword burning crimson-gold.
Below her, Dante—still in Devil Trigger—rose from the molten rubble, Rebellion in one hand, Gravemind pulsing with red veins in the other.
Two demons. Two different worlds. One purpose.
Illyana's eyes locked onto him through the haze—recognition flashing behind the molten light in her irises. For a heartbeat, she almost looked human again.
Dante gave her that trademark smirk. "You take the high ground; I'll handle the ugly parts."
She didn't answer, but her wings flared—silent understanding passing between them.
The Sentinel's reactor howled, its energy signature spiking into the red. Its arms spread, absorbing power from the ruptured conduits above.
Cyclops shouted, "It's drawing in more Hellfire! If it detonates—"
Dante cut him off, eyes fixed on the machine. "Then we blow it first."
He sprinted forward, wings of flame trailing behind him, carving through molten debris. Every slash from Rebellion sent arcs of crimson light ripping through the Sentinel's legs.
Above, Illyana raised her sword high, the sigils of Limbo forming a halo around her.
She dove, her voice echoing—layered, regal, terrifying.
"By Limbo's flame—burn."
The Soulsword struck the reactor the same moment Rebellion drove upward into its core.
Hellfire and Limbo energy collided—red and gold entwining in a vortex that swallowed everything.
The Sentinel screamed—not a mechanical sound, but something living. Its body twisted, melting from within, molten veins bursting as the infernal energy fed back on itself.
Felicia shouted over the roar, shielding her face. "They're overloading it!"
Elsa yelled back, "No—they're burning it from both sides!"
The hangar floor began to split. Lightning and Hellfire danced through the cracks, the air shaking like the world itself was rejecting what was happening.
Dante gritted his teeth, energy surging up his arms.
He glanced up through the chaos, locking eyes with her.
"Hey, Illy…" His voice cut through the roar of the reactor. "You remember what I used to say when we were kids?"
For an instant, everything went silent.
Illyana's eyes flickered—confusion, then realization.
She nodded once, the corner of her mouth curving into the faintest smile.
Then they spoke together.
"Jackpot."
Dante raised Ebony & Ivory, Hellfire charging in both barrels, while Illyana brought the Soulsword down in a single burning arc.
The shots and the blade struck the reactor in perfect sync.
Hellfire and Limbo's power collided—red and gold entwining into a blinding vortex that swallowed everything.
The explosion was blinding.
When the light faded, the Sentinel Infernal MK-I was gone—reduced to a molten skeleton fused into the hangar floor. The air hissed with smoke and embers, the world dimming under the aftershock of what they'd done.
Dante stood in the wreckage, steam curling off his armor as his Devil Trigger form flickered. His body trembled, but his eyes stayed locked on the center of the chamber.
On her.
Illyana stood in the crater, wings tattered and bleeding light. The Soulsword burned crimson and gold, flickering like it was alive—and starving.
The sigils of Limbo crawled up her arms and throat, pulsing faster, spreading.
Her scream echoed through the hangar—raw, inhuman. The markings burned across her skin, spreading like wildfire as the voice inside her grew louder.
You can't hold this forever.
Let me in.
Her grip on the Soulsword tightened. Her other hand clawed at her temple. The flames around her shifted from gold to black.
She barely noticed the footsteps behind her—until a hand touched her shoulder.
"Illyana."
The voice was calm. Steady. Real.
The sound of her name—his voice—cut through the static in her head.
The whisper from Limbo faltered. The shadow retreated.
She blinked, the gold in her eyes dimming back to blue. The cracks of fire along her arms faded to faint embers.
When she turned, Dante stood there, close enough for the Hellfire from his coat to paint her face in red light. He didn't say another word.
He just looked at her.
And that was enough.
The room went still. The Soulsword's flames died, leaving only its reflection in the molten floor.
Illyana swayed where she stood, the last embers of Limbo's fire fading from her wings. The Soulsword dimmed, its molten glow cooling to gold.
Then, with a soft, exhausted breath, she smiled—faintly—and collapsed forward.
Dante moved before he even thought.
The crimson light around him flickered, folding inward as his Devil Trigger melted away. Horns faded, skin shifted back to human, and the glow in his eyes dimmed to blue.
By the time she fell into his arms, he was just Dante again—human, bruised, breathing hard, but steady.
He held her close as her heartbeat steadied against his chest. For once, there was no quip, no grin. Just quiet.
That's when he felt it—two pairs of eyes burning holes through the back of his skull.
One belonged to a certain British monster hunter who didn't appreciate competition.
The other to a very large, very protective brother.
Dante didn't need to look to know who they were. He could practically feel Colossus's glare.
Elsa crossed her arms, muttering under her breath, "Pizza-loving womanizer."
Dante smirked slightly but didn't turn. "You say that like it's a bad thing," he murmured.
Colossus's metallic fist clenched hard enough to creak.
"Touch my sister again, and you'll find out," he warned in his thick Russian accent.
Before anyone could say more, the floor shuddered beneath them.
The wound in the sky—the tear to Hell—began to mend, the burning edges pulling inward. But as it did, two streaks of light burst free, cutting through the darkness like meteors escaping gravity.
One burned red.
The other burned blue.
The red one shot east, tearing toward the horizon—toward New York.
The blue one came down like divine judgment, slamming into the molten remains of the Sentinel's core.
The shockwave rippled through the hangar, scattering ash and embers.
Wolverine braced himself, claws out. "What in the—hell?"
The light dimmed.
From within the ruin of the Sentinel's chest reactor, a silhouette rose—tall, composed, silent.
The blue glow faded into the sheen of demonic armor—elegant, cold, unmistakably deliberate.
Yamato rested in his grip, humming faintly with energy that didn't belong to this world.
Dante set Illyana gently on the ground, his hand instinctively going to Rebellion's hilt.
He stared across the wreckage. "Who the hell are you supposed to be?"
The figure didn't answer.
He turned toward the molten core—the broken heart of the Sentinel—and reached into it.
His gauntlet closed around something gleaming within the light. A shard—black-red crystal wrapped in veins of Hellfire.
The shard of Force Edge.
The armor dissolved from his body like smoke in reverse, peeling away until only flesh remained—pale, scarred, unmistakably human.
Silver hair caught the light as he turned, the shard pulsing faintly in his hand. His voice was calm, low, and cut through the smoke like a blade through silk.
"It's been years, Dante."
The words hit harder than any weapon.
The man turned fully now—calm, collected, a storm in human form. His coat fluttered against the Hellfire wind as his eyes glowed faintly blue.
Dante froze. His grip on Rebellion loosened, disbelief flickering across his face.
"…Vergil."
Hell – The Infernal Council Chamber
The chamber of the Infernal Council burned dimly, lit not by flame but by living embers that pulsed like hearts.
Seven thrones stood upon a dais of bone and gold—only three were filled.
One wreathed in crimson fire.
One carved from obsidian veined with frost.
One wrapped in black mist.
Upon them sat Mephisto, Lilith, and Azazel.
They watched an image of the ruins of Salem—two brothers standing amid smoke and ash.
Lilith's voice purred.
"To think you've gone through so much trouble just to play matchmaker for two wayward sons of Sparda."
Mephisto chuckled, low and pleased.
"Matchmaker? Hardly, my dear. I simply moved a few pieces across the board."
Azazel leaned forward in his molten seat, horns curved like blades, eyes glowing infernal gold.
"You used Shaw," he said. "Fed him whispers of power. Let him believe he could harness Hellfire."
He grinned.
"You turned him into your pawn."
Mephisto's claws tapped against his chin, amused.
"Pawn? No, my friend. I only gave him what he wanted—a man blinded by greed and power. He built a key that tore the veil of Sparda just enough to get what he desired. He simply didn't ask what it would cost."
Lilith tilted her head, intrigued.
"And who was the other person you sent to the human world?"
Mephisto's grin widened.
"Oh, it's just my daughter. I wanted her to seduce Dante. Since he's always surrounded by women, perhaps she could win his heart—and break it later."
Azazel grunted, rising to his feet, the floor cracking beneath him.
"You're mad. That girl won't follow any command. She'll do whatever she wants. What makes you think you can control her?"
Mephisto's grin didn't falter.
"Because she's my property by birth. She'll return to me eventually… when the time comes."
Lilith leaned back, eyes on the flickering image.
"Two devils," she murmured. "One believes power can defy fate and kill gods. The other believes in coexistence between man and demon."
Azazel nodded slowly.
"Two ideals, one blood. If Sparda were alive… what would he say?"
Lilith's voice softened.
"It doesn't matter. He chose his side when he sealed us here and built his wall for the humans. Now his kin will tear it down for us."
Mephisto grinned, sharp and cruel.
"The stage is set. Millions will die in their war—and eventually, Vergil will open the gates of Hell, just as I planned."
Azazel narrowed his gaze.
"And if your plan fails?"
Mephisto leaned back, arrogance dripping from every word.
"My plans never fail. Reality merely takes time to catch up."