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Chapter 124 - Arc 8 - Ch 7: Blackheart

Chapter 115

Avengers

Arc 8 - Ch 7: Blackheart

Tuesday, February 14, 2012.

Location: Hell Portal, Las Vegas, Nevada

The approaching demons were terrifying, but something else nagged at the edges of Tyson's perception. The true extent of the transformation around them became clear as he felt the shift in his metal senses. It wasn't just the walls and floor. Slot machines writhed and twisted, their metal frames reforming into stone gargoyles, walls, or decor. The change wasn't an illusion; it was a true transmutation, where once there was metal, now stood different materials entirely. The casino was full of metal, a resource he could use for combat. He couldn't let it go to waste.

He reached out with his powers, feeling for every scrap of metal in the room. Slot machine components, accents, and even the coins all responded to his call. The air filled with a screech as metal tore free from every surface as he pulled the swirling mass under his control.

Maki watched the hovering cloud of metal, having already shifted into a combat stance. "What's the plan?"

Tyson studied the far wall, opposite the advancing demon horde. "First, we give these people a way out."

Thrusting his hand forward, a large portion of the metal coalesced into a massive, makeshift battering ram. It shot forward with incredible speed, smashing into the wall. Sheetrock and mortar exploded outward, leaving a gaping hole large enough for people to escape through.

"Everyone, move!" Tyson shouted, his voice carrying over the chaos. "Get out, now!"

He created a giant 'Exit' sign illusion that couldn't be missed, complete with an arrow pointing to the opening. The trapped casino-goers didn't need to be told twice. They surged toward the newly created exit, desperation lending speed to their steps.

As the civilians fled, Tyson turned his attention to the demons. With a series of quick gestures, he sent waves of sharp metal shards hurtling toward the advancing horde like a hail of bullets. Demons shrieked as the projectiles tore through them, their otherworldly flesh offering little resistance against the makeshift weapons.

Beside him, Maki sprang into action. With a flick of her wrist, Muse sailed through the air, its trajectory unnaturally precise. The dagger found its mark, burying itself to the hilt in a demon's chest. The creature shrieked before dropping to the ground, blood pouring from the wound. But she wasn't done. Even as the first Muse left her hand, another materialized in its place. She threw with the systematic precision he'd come to expect from her, each dagger finding its target with deadly accuracy.

As the battle raged on, where fallen demons had been, new entities began to form from the blood leaking out of the corpses. Blood elementals, crimson and fluid, took shape. Each one resembled the demon it replaced, and they wielded copies of Muse. The blood elementals turned on their demonic brethren. The copies of Muse in their hands proved just as lethal as the original, easily tearing through demon flesh.

Tyson's metal barrage kept the demons at bay, while Maki continued throwing Muse. The blood elementals added to the chaos, turning the demonic advance into a stalled melee.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as they fought. The once-gaudy casino floor had become a battlefield. Overturned tables provided makeshift cover, while the air was thick with the stench of brimstone and the metallic tang of blood. Yet the taint continued to creep across the casino toward them.

Maki was a whirlwind; Muse flashed in her hand, a streak of silver that left death and elementals in its wake. Even her considerable skills were being pushed to the limit. The blood elementals proved to be effective, tearing through the demon ranks savagely. Tyson found himself constantly adjusting his strategy, using his metal not just as a weapon but as a shield, protecting civilians who hadn't managed to escape and creating barriers to funnel the demons into kill zones.

Just as it seemed they might be gaining the upper hand, a new wave of demons poured through the entrance. These were larger and more heavily armored, worse, they showed tactical intelligence and coordination by avoiding the kill zones.

He redirected his metal storm to meet this new threat. The blood elementals, effective as they were against the lesser demons, found themselves outmatched by these new foes. They were destroyed one by one, dissipating into mist.

Tyson and Maki found themselves being pushed back, step by grueling step.

When Felicia returned, her dress was torn and smudged, but she moved with the confidence that never seemed to leave her, even in the midst of Hell itself. She dodged demon attacks with ease as she made her way to their position.

"Please tell me you've got good news."

She grimaced. "Define 'good'. I've done some recon. Whatever this transformation is, it's spreading from a point behind the casino. It looks like it's expanding from an epicenter, and it's not just inside, it's happening outside too."

The demons and the transformation of the casino seemed connected to something bigger. Something that was threatening not just them, but potentially the entire city. He looked at Maki and Felicia, seeing the same grim determination he felt reflected in their faces.

"I guess we're going to have to get to whatever is causing this and stop it then," Tyson said. "New plan, guys. We push forward."

Felicia extended her claws. "Lead the way."

Tyson shaped the metal around him into a massive, pointed ram. "I'm going to clear a path. You follow close behind. We're going to punch right through their lines and make our way to the source of this mess."

With a mighty shout, he sent the metal ram hurtling forward. In that same instant, they charged.

As they plunged into the heart of the demonic horde, Tyson couldn't help but marvel at the absurdity of their situation. They'd come to the Devil's Den for a night of fun and games, a friendly wager between friends. Instead, they found themselves in the middle of what could only be described as Hell on Earth.

As Tyson, Maki, and Felicia pushed forward, the taint creeping across the casino finally reached the wall behind them, the wall Tyson had opened to allow the civilians to escape. The moment the corruption touched it, the breach began to seal itself, stone flowing like water to fill the gap. Within seconds, their exit was gone, leaving them trapped inside the nightmarish transformation of the Devil's Den.

"Well, that's not ominous at all," Felicia muttered, glancing back at the sealed wall with the kind of dry humor that somehow made even their current situation feel manageable.

Tyson gritted his teeth. "No turning back now. We finish this, one way or another."

They pressed on, battling their way through the demonic masses. Maki sent Muse flashing in deadly streaks, while Felicia's claws tore through demonic flesh. Tyson's metal storm continued to rage, keeping the bulk of the horde at bay as they inched forward.

Finally, they reached the source, the door from which the demons poured endlessly. They made their final push. Tyson's metal coalesced into a drill-shaped storm of shrapnel, cutting through the demons blocking their way. They burst through, ready for another wave of combat.

Instead, they found themselves in an open area that defied all logic and sanity. Gone was the back area behind the casino. In its place stretched a landscape that could only be described as Hell.

The sky above them boiled with purple clouds shot through with veins of sickly green lightning. The ground beneath their feet was a patchwork of obsidian glass and scorched earth, cracks revealing rivers of molten rock flowing far below. Leafless trees dotted the landscape, and in the distance, mountains of sharp, jagged rock pierced the sky, their peaks lost in the roiling clouds. From their sides, waterfalls of what looked disturbingly like blood cascaded down, feeding rivers that wound their way across the hellish terrain. The air seemed alive, thick with the screams of the tormented and the acrid stench of brimstone. Winged creatures circled overhead, their cries sending shivers down even Tyson's spine.

It reminded him of Limbo… but worse.

Scattered across this nightmarish vista were structures that seemed to mock the very concept of architecture. Towers of bone stretched impossibly high, while pits in the ground revealed glimpses of even more horrific scenes below.

At the center of this hellish courtyard stood a massive mirror. Next to it were two figures that radiated malevolence. One was female, her form a twisted blend of demonic and goblin features. Leathery wings sprouted from her back, while horns adorned her head. But it was the other figure that drew their attention. He stood tall, midnight-blue skin, glowing red eyes, and sharp-looking dreadlocks that reached down his back.

"Enough!" the male demon's voice boomed across the courtyard, causing the other demons to cower.

To Tyson's surprise, the demonic horde parted, creating a clear path toward the two figures by the mirror. The demons lined up on either side, their previous frenzy replaced by an eerie stillness.

Tyson exchanged glances with Maki and Felicia. Maki was already calculating combat angles. Felicia had that particular stillness that meant she was cataloging escape routes even while preparing to fight. This seemed like a trap, but they had little choice. Slowly, cautiously, they made their way down the cleared path, the army of blood elementals wielding Muse following them.

As they approached, Tyson could feel the weight of the demon's attention like a physical pressure. It took every ounce of willpower not to flinch under that infernal stare.

When they were close enough, Tyson addressed the demon directly. "What's happening here? Who are you?"

"Who am I? I am the scion of hell itself, little mortal. But you may call me... Blackheart."

Blackheart. He'd never heard that name before. Whoever this guy was, Tyson had no clue about his origin, backstory, or weaknesses. He was going in blind.

Blackheart continued, clearly relishing their attention. "As for what's happening... well, that's quite simple. I've been using this casino to trap willing human souls. You'd be amazed how easily mortals will trade away their most precious possession for a chance at riches." He gestured around at the hellish landscape. "With each soul willingly given, my power has grown. Now, finally, I have regained the strength to retake my demonic form and bridge the gap between your world and mine."

Maki shifted slightly, positioning herself in a way that looked casual, but was actually her preparing to strike. "And what's your endgame? Why bring hell to Earth?"

Blackheart seemed amused by her directness. "Oh, my dear, it's not just about bringing hell to Earth. It's about bringing someone specific. My father, The Devil, Mephisto himself."

Tyson's blood ran cold. Mephisto. Even he knew that name. Azazel had accused him of being Mephisto when Tyson had absorbed the demonic mutant's life force during their first fight. Mephisto was not the biblical devil as far as he understood, but it was damn close.

"Why would you want to bring Mephisto here? Why let the devil walk on Earth?" he asked.

"So that he can be killed, of course," Blackheart replied casually, as if discussing the weather.

Felicia's reaction was immediate and incredulous. "Are you insane?"

Blackheart laughed, the sound echoing across the hellscape. "Insane? No, my dear. You see, in hell, Mephisto is a god. Untouchable. Invincible. But here, on Earth... well, let's say the playing field becomes more level."

"Or more likely, you're serving the Earth to Mephisto on a silver platter. Do you think you can control something like this now that it's been unleashed?" Tyson countered as he worked through the implications.

Blackheart's amusement vanished, replaced by cold fury. "Control? You understand nothing, mortal. This isn't about control. It's about power. About taking what is rightfully mine."

Blackheart spread his arms wide, dark energy swirling around him. "You've been amusing playthings, truly. But now, I'm afraid, your part in this little drama is ending."

They were outnumbered, outgunned, and facing what was presumably a being of immense power. The smart move would be to retreat, to find help. But who could he get here fast enough? The Ancient One? This should certainly be within her wheelhouse. The fate of the world hung in the balance.

He looked at Maki, then Felicia. They hadn't come to Vegas looking for a fight to save the world. But he could tell by their expressions that they'd be damned if they weren't going to give it everything they had.

Without moving his lips, Tyson projected his voice directly into Maki and Felicia's minds using his illusion power to communicate privately.

"I'll take the demon," his voice echoed in their heads. "Maki, you're on crowd control. Create as many blood elementals as possible with Muse to keep the horde occupied."

Maki's grip on Muse tightened imperceptibly, and he caught the slight nod that meant she understood.

"Felicia," Tyson continued, his mental voice tinged with regret, "I'm sorry, I know you want to fight, but I need you to get out of here. Escape back behind the lines of Hell and call Illyana. Tell her what's happening and to get the Ancient One. If Mephisto is coming, we can't fight him. We'll need their help."

Felicia's jaw clenched, frustration flickering across her face before she gave a subtle nod. She understood the logic even if she didn't like it.

With his plan relayed, Tyson returned his attention to Blackheart. The demon watched them with that same amused confidence, clearly unaware of the silent communication that had just taken place.

"So, Blackheart," Tyson called out. "You think you can just waltz over here and turn our world into your playground?"

Blackheart's lips curled into a sneer. "Waltz? Oh no, mortal. I've been dancing to this tune for years. Every soul willingly given, every desperate gambler making one last bet, they've all been steps in my grand design."

As Blackheart spoke, Tyson sensed movement behind him. Felicia was slowly, carefully backing away, her cat-like grace allowing her to slip into the crowd of blood elementals without drawing attention.

Maki, meanwhile, had begun to move. Her hands were a blur as she threw Muse after Muse, each dagger finding its mark in a demon. As the creatures fell, their blood coalesced into new elementals, each wielding a copy of the dagger.

Tyson kept his focus on Blackheart, drawing the demon's attention. "And what makes you think you can take on Mephisto? What chance do you have?"

The demon gestured to the massive mirror behind him. "This mirror is a gateway, you see. A bridge between worlds. And with the power I've gathered, I can open it wide enough to let my father through. But in doing so, I'll drain him of much of his power. He'll be vulnerable, if only for a moment."

As Blackheart spoke, the air around them began to crackle with energy. The mirror's surface rippled like water, dark shapes moving just beyond its reflective surface.

Tyson's mind raced. He needed to buy more time, to give Felicia a chance to escape and call for help. This demon seemed particularly chatty. If Maki could hold off the horde, and if he could keep the demon's leader talking, he might be able to buy enough time for the sorcerers to arrive.

"You're making a mistake, Blackheart," he growled. "You have no idea what you're unleashing."

Blackheart studied him with the kind of predatory interest that made Tyson's skin crawl. "Oh, I know exactly what I'm unleashing. The question is, do you?" And he charged.

Launching himself at Blackheart, he matched the demon's charge, metal flying before him like a swarm of angry hornets. As Tyson closed the distance, time seemed to slow. He saw Blackheart react with what might have been surprise at their audacity. The female demon beside Blackheart tensed, ready to join the fray.

As his first strike connected with Blackheart's smug face, Tyson allowed himself a fierce grin. Win or lose, he would give Hell itself a fight to remember. But the grin faded as quickly as it had appeared.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

As Tyson's fist made contact, he instinctively activated his absorption power. It was an ace up his sleeve that could turn the tide. Whatever power this demon possessed, Tyson was certain it would give him the boost he needed to pose a real challenge.

But nothing happened. No rush of energy, no flood of new abilities. Just... nothing.

Before Tyson could process this alarming development, Blackheart's counterattack came with devastating force. The demon's fist connected with Tyson's chest, and suddenly he was airborne, hurtling backward at terrifying speed.

Tyson's mind worked frantically as he flew through the hellish air. With a thought, he used his magnetic powers to halt his uncontrolled flight. He hovered there, facing the demon, trying to hide the shock and confusion he felt. That punch had hurt like hell. Blackheart was strong. Far, far stronger than he was.

The demon laughed at him. "You would use a soul attack against me?" the demon mocked, his voice dripping with disdain. "Foolish mortal."

Tyson frowned. Soul attack? He hadn't thought of it in that context before, but it made a twisted kind of sense.

Blackheart continued, clearly enjoying Tyson's confusion. "You cannot attack my soul. Unlike you, I do not have one."

As the demon spoke, Tyson launched a barrage of metal shards, hoping to at least keep Blackheart distracted. But to his dismay, the projectiles seemed to have no effect on the demon's flesh. They simply bounced off or, worse, passed through as if Blackheart were made of smoke.

Tyson's tactical mind reassessed rapidly. If metal wouldn't work from a distance, he'd have to get up close and personal. His adamantium talons and Nexus were his trump card; little could resist the nigh-indestructible metal. It was a risky move, but at this point, what choice did he have?

With a thought, Tyson propelled himself forward, closing the distance between himself and Blackheart in the blink of an eye. The demon was strong, incredibly so, but as they engaged in close combat, Tyson found himself falling back on his training. As he dodged and parried Blackheart's attacks, negating the demon's strength advantage with skill and technique, Tyson reflected briefly that his time at Chikara Dojo hadn't been wasted.

Regardless of how strong he'd become, or how powerful his opponents, knowing how to fight was always valuable.

Blackheart was fast, unnaturally so, and Tyson could barely keep up. But he managed, drawing on every ounce of skill and his spider-sense to keep him one step ahead. He waited, patient despite the furious pace of their battle, looking for an opening.

Finally, he saw his chance. As Blackheart overextended on a punch, Tyson ducked under the demon's guard. With a roar of effort, he drove his adamantium claws deep into Blackheart's chest. He felt them break through skin, then bone, reaching for the demon's heart. Time seemed to slow as Tyson's hand closed around the organ.

He figured if the creature was named Blackheart, maybe that was its weakness.

With a grunt of effort, he yanked his hand back, tearing the heart from Blackheart's chest. He spun with his pull and manifested Nexus in his hand, slicing, cutting straight through Blackheart's neck.

The demon's head toppled over, and Tyson smiled in satisfaction as he pulled the heart free.

Then Blackheart's fist connected with his face, knocking off his smile. The blow was devastating, far stronger than anything Tyson had ever experienced. He was driven back, staggering hard, his vision blurring from the impact.

Through sheer force of will, Tyson managed to maintain his grip on the demon's heart. But the punch had rattled him so badly that he couldn't focus enough to use his magnetism to control his flight. The metal shards he had been controlling fell limply to the ground as he struggled to maintain consciousness.

As his vision slowly came back into focus, Tyson realized with growing horror that his desperate gambit had failed. The gaping wound in Blackheart's chest was closing over, flesh knitting together at an impossible rate. The demon's head reformed quickly. Its healing factor was greater than Tyson's own, it seemed.

Maki reached Tyson's side in seconds, her combat instincts overriding everything else when she saw him staggered. She positioned herself between Tyson and Blackheart with Muse held in a steady grip.

"Tyson!" she called out in concern. "Are you alright?"

Tyson groaned, struggling to regain his footing. The blow from Blackheart had rattled him more than he cared to admit. "I've been better," he managed.

Just then, a familiar figure landed gracefully beside Maki. Felicia's dress was torn in even more places, evidence of her own battles, but she took up a defensive stance seemingly unharmed.

"I told Illyana," Felicia relayed. "They're on their way."

Tyson felt a surge of relief at her words. Help was coming. They just needed to hold out.

Blackheart's laughter echoed across the hellish landscape, drawing their attention back to the demon. The wound in his chest had completely healed, leaving no trace of Tyson's desperate attack.

"How touching," Blackheart sneered, studying the three of them with obvious amusement. "The little mortals, banding together in the face of certain doom. It would be heartwarming if it weren't so pathetic."

Maki's stance shifted subtly, and Tyson recognized the micro-adjustment that meant she was calculating her next throw. "We're not done yet."

"Oh, but you are. You just don't know it yet."

Blackheart didn't press his attack. Instead, he stood there, watching Tyson with a mixture of amusement and contempt. "Did you think you could harm me so easily?" the demon taunted. "I who have endured the torments of Hell itself?"

Tyson tried to respond, but found his brain was still trying to catch up to his body. That last punch had done more damage than he'd realized. He managed to get out, "Cutting off the head with a weapon that can sever magic usually does the trick."

"I must admit, you've provided an amusing diversion," Blackheart continued, brushing some imaginary dust from his shoulder. "But I'm afraid our little game is at an end. I have a father to overthrow, after all."

With that, the demon turned and walked toward the massive mirror that dominated the hellish courtyard. Tyson watched as Blackheart adjusted the mirror's position.

"Before I go," Blackheart said, a wicked grin spreading across his face, "I think I'll leave you with a parting gift. A little piece of Hell to remember me by."

He pointed the mirror directly at Tyson's group. As their reflections appeared on the surface, something... shifted. Tyson watched in horror as his appearance in the mirror began to change. The tall, muscular, light-skinned form he'd worn since absorbing Sabretooth melted away. In its place stood a skinny, young man wearing a hoodie. It was what Tyson had worn and how he'd looked when he first arrived in this world.

And his wasn't the only one changing.

But the transformation didn't stop there. As Tyson watched, unable to look away, his reflection began to move independently. It reached forward, pressing against the surface of the mirror as if it were made of water. Then, to Tyson's utter disbelief, it began to climb out.

"And lo," Blackheart intoned, his voice resonating with dark power, "new demons are born."

The thing that had emerged from the mirror, Tyson's reflection, stood before them. It looked exactly like Tyson before he'd absorbed any powers.

Blackheart turned to the demonic reflection, an almost paternal pride in his voice. "What's your name, young one?"

The creature tilted its head, considering. When it spoke, its voice was like Tyson's, but distorted, as if coming from the bottom of a deep well. "I'm Void," it said, the name seeming to resonate with the very fabric of reality around them.

"Well then, Void. I have your first task for you." He gestured toward Tyson. "Kill your reflection."

"Gladly," it said eagerly.

But Void was only the first.

Two more figures emerged from the mirror's shimmering surface. The first was a reflection of Maki, but unlike her usual attire, this doppelganger was dressed in the traditional robes of a Shaolin monk. The second figure to emerge was a twisted version of Felicia. Where the real Felicia wore her signature black costume, this reflection was clad entirely in white. Her claws appeared longer and sharper than the original's, and the way she moved made Felicia's usual confidence look restrained.

Blackheart regarded his new creations with malicious delight. "And what shall we call you two?" he asked, his voice dripping with false sweetness.

The Maki reflection bowed slightly. "I am Zen," she said, her voice carrying an eerie calmness that seemed at odds with the environment of Hell.

"Whiteclaw," the white-clad Felicia purred, flexing her elongated claws with obvious anticipation.

Tyson, still struggling to regain his footing after Blackheart's devastating blow, couldn't help but snort at the absurdity. Despite the dire circumstances, a spark of sarcasm flared to life. "What's your power?" he called out. "Getting white girls drunk?"

The demons turned toward him, their gazes focusing with obvious intent. Antagonizing these twisted reflections might not have been the wisest move.

Void, the demonic version of Tyson, took a step forward. "You mock what you don't understand," it said, its voice a dark echo of Tyson's own.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I have a good idea of what we're up against," he shot back, his gaze flicking between Void and the other reflections. "A reflection of ourselves and our powers. You demons are mimics. I'm not worried."

Void's lips curled into a smile that was equal parts amused and menacing. "You're wrong. We aren't mimics, or doppelgangers. We're Antithesis."

Tyson frowned at the unfamiliar term. He glanced at Maki and Felicia, seeing his confusion mirrored in their faces. "Not sure why you have such a cool title, with a recycled name like Void. And what the hell does Antithesis mean anyway?"

Zen spoke, "It means, mortal, that we are your opposites in every way that matters."

Whiteclaw, the twisted version of Felicia, flexed her elongated claws with obvious relish. "We embody everything you are and everything you are not." Her voice was a seductive whisper that carried an undercurrent of danger. "Your weaknesses and your strengths, your fears, your deepest, darkest impulses. We are your opposite, or you at your worst, or best."

These weren't just evil twins or dark reflections if what they were saying was true. "So what?" Tyson said, trying to maintain his bravado. "You're saying you have our powers, but... opposite?"

"Oh, it's so much more than that."

As Void began to advance, behind the demon, he could see Blackheart turning away, apparently satisfied that Tyson was no longer a threat.

At that moment, staring into the face of his personal demon, Tyson realized that the stakes had just gotten even higher. This wasn't just about saving Las Vegas anymore. It wasn't even just about stopping Blackheart's insane plan to overthrow Mephisto.

Now, it was about fighting himself.

The Marvel Cinematic Universe did love its mirror matches. Tony Stark Iron Man vs. Obadiah the Iron Monger, Captain America vs. the Red Skull, Hulk vs. the Abomination, and Dr. Strange vs. Kaecilius. Tyson wondered what had taken the universe so long to set up his... And he couldn't fight his amusement that his mirror match was literally and metaphorically a version of himself who'd stepped out of a mirror.

— Rogue Redemption —

"This might be the fastest mirror match in history," Tyson quipped. He raised his hand, intending to use the metal shards scattered around to skewer his Antithesis.

Eerily, his dark counterpart mirrored the action, raising its hand in perfect synchronization. Tyson reached out with his power, calling to the metal shards...

But nothing happened.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

"If I'm a power absorber," Tyson muttered, understanding dawning, "then you must be a power negator." His Antithesis, this 'Void', had somehow shut off Tyson's abilities, severing his connection to the magnetic fields and metals around him.

Maki, sensing something was amiss, took action. With practiced precision, she hurled Muse at her dark reflection; a serene-looking figure that appeared to be a Shaolin monk version of herself.

Maki never missed.

But as the Uru dagger neared its target, the monk-like figure, Zen, simply swiped her hand through the air. Muse was deflected as easily as a paper airplane. The dagger clattered to the ground, the sound unnaturally loud in the sudden silence.

Undeterred, Maki continued her assault. Dagger after dagger materialized in her hand, each thrown with deadly accuracy. And each time, Zen calmly batted them aside, her movements fluid and effortless.

"I get it," Tyson said, piecing together the pattern. "Maki, you never miss. So Zen..."

"Must never be able to be hit," Maki finished, frustration tight in her voice. She paused her barrage, studying her counterpart. "How can I kill it?" she whispered, more to herself than to her companions.

Felicia, who had been observing the unfolding fight with growing concern, spoke up. "Okay, so we've got a version of Tyson that cancels powers instead of absorbing them, and a version of Maki that never gets hit instead of never missing. So what do I get?"

"White girl wasted?" Tyson joked, trying to lighten the mood despite their dire circumstances.

The third figure was Felicia, and yet... not. Her catsuit was stark white, contrasting with Felicia's black attire.

"Oh, darling," the newcomer purred, her voice a silky caress that made Tyson instinctively tense. "If only." She moved forward with liquid grace, every step deliberate and predatory. Her focus locked on Felicia like a cat stalking prey. "I'm you, sweetness. Or rather, I'm what you could be if you stopped playing at being a hero and embraced your true nature."

Whiteclaw looked Felicia up and down, sizing up her prey with the same calculating assessment Felicia used when planning a heist. "Think about it," she cooed. "All this newfound power, all those abilities... why waste them helping others when you could have anything you want?"

Felicia stood her ground, but Tyson could see the way her muscles coiled, ready to spring. "Because some things are more important than personal gain," she shot back, though uncertainty flickered across her features.

Whiteclaw laughed, the sound simultaneously melodious and chilling. "Loyalty? Friendship? Oh, please. Everyone has a price. Why deny yourself the pleasures this world has to offer?" As she spoke, Whiteclaw's demeanor shifted with jarring abruptness. One moment she was all seductive charm, the next a coiled spring of barely contained violence.

"I'm the potential of your abilities," Whiteclaw continued, her tone suddenly serious. "I'm here to show you what you could achieve if you shed those pesky moral restraints."

"These 'friends' of yours? They're holding you back. Imagine the thrill of using your powers for yourself, of taking what you want without consequence."

Felicia's hands clenched at her sides, making her internal struggle evident. Whiteclaw pressed her advantage. "Oh, and one more thing, darling," she added, extending her hands to reveal wickedly sharp claws far larger and longer than either Tyson or Felicia's. "This Kitty's got claws."

"Alright, team," Tyson said quietly. "New plan. I take on your duplicates, while you two take mine."

Both women instantly rejected his proposal.

Felicia said, "Hell no."

Maki replied, "Absolutely not."

"But—" Tyson started.

Maki cut him off, her tone brooking no argument. "You couldn't kill either of us, demon duplicates or not. We each take on our reflection. Find their weakness, and exploit it. Don't let them get in your head." With those words, the heroes sprang into action.

Well, some of them did.

Tyson walked purposefully towards Void. Felicia and Whiteclaw charged at each other, their movements a whirlwind of black and white. Maki dashed towards Zen, Muse already flying from her hand as she closed the distance.

Maki reached Zen first thanks to her vampiric speed granted by Muse. The dagger was a silver streak that should have spelled doom for any opponent. But Zen was no ordinary foe. The monk-like figure moved with a fluid grace that defied belief. Where Maki was a storm of aggression, Zen was the eye of that storm; calm, centered, untouchable. Every slash, every stab, every throw that Maki launched was met with a precise block or an effortless deflection. She gritted her teeth in growing frustration. She had never faced an opponent she couldn't hit, and the experience was maddening. She adjusted her tactics, using hit-and-run strikes to avoid leaving herself vulnerable to counterattacks. But even this strategy proved fruitless against Zen's impenetrable defense.

"Why won't you just die?" Maki growled.

Zen maintained a serene demeanor that only fueled Maki's anger. "To die, one must first be touched by death," the monk-like figure intoned. "And I, dear reflection, cannot be touched."

Maki's frustration grew with each failed attack. She had always relied on her perfect aim, on the certainty that Muse would find its mark. But against Zen, that certainty was shattered. She needed to find a new approach, a way to hit the unhittable.

Nearby, Felicia and Whiteclaw were engaged in a deadly duel. Their movements were nearly identical. Both displayed the same feline grace, the same superhuman agility and strength. Claws flashed, drawing blood that quickly healed thanks to their mutual regenerative abilities. They leaped and spun, neither able to gain a clear advantage. Felicia's black-clad form blurred into Whiteclaw's white, separating only to clash again in a flurry of strikes and counters. It was like watching a yin-yang symbol come to life, dark and light locked in struggle.

But while their physical battle remained a stalemate, Whiteclaw was waging a different kind of war. Between strikes, she whispered poison into Felicia's ear, each word carefully chosen to chip away at her resolve. "You're holding back. You know you could be so much more. Why deny your true nature?"

Felicia snarled, lashing out with a kick that Whiteclaw easily avoided. "My nature is my own to define," she shot back. "I don't need your twisted version of freedom."

Whiteclaw laughed with genuine amusement. "Oh, darling. You call it twisted, I call it liberated. Think of what you could accomplish if you just let go of those pesky moral restraints." Their claws locked, bringing their faces close together. "If you don't embrace your potential, I'm going to win," she hissed. "Because I'll do what it takes to come out on top. And when I do..." She glanced meaningfully towards Tyson. "I'll take what I want. I'll have my way with him, and when I'm done, when I've taken everything from him, and gotten everything I want, everything he has to give, I'll kill him."

Rage and fear flashed across Felicia's features. She redoubled her efforts, her attacks becoming more frenzied. But Whiteclaw matched her blow for blow, her cruel smile growing. She had found a weakness, and she intended to exploit it mercilessly.

Felicia fought not just Whiteclaw, but her own inner demons. Each taunt, each seductive promise, resonated with a part of her she had long tried to suppress. She had walked the line between hero and thief. Could she resist the temptation to embrace her darker impulses?

While Maki and Felicia battled their reflections, Tyson faced a different challenge. Void stood before him, a dark mirror of his former self. Without his powers, Tyson felt vulnerable in a way he hadn't experienced since before arriving in this world.

"You're nothing without your powers," Void taunted. "You're nothing on your own. Your strength comes from Sabertooth. Your imagination comes from Jason. Whatever scraps of intelligence you have come from Magneto. Without them, without their powers and experience, you're nothing."

Tyson felt each word like a physical blow. They were doubts he had harbored in the darkest corners of his mind, now given voice by this demonic reflection. But he refused to let it show, keeping his face neutral as he circled his opponent. Stripped of the powers that had defined him, he was forced to face the ultimate test of his worth. Was he truly nothing without the abilities he had absorbed? Or was there something more to him, something uniquely his own that no power negation could take away?

He reached his hand out to summon Nexus, but the soulsword failed to answer his call. Even the magical weapon was beyond his reach.

In the background, Blackheart watched with malevolent amusement. The Antithesi were winning. He could focus his efforts on his father. The demon turned confidently and left the battlefield, heading to prepare his next ritual.

"You done with the villainous monologue?" Tyson quipped, falling back on humor as he always did. "Because I gotta say, I've heard better."

Void scowled, a flicker of annoyance breaking through his impassive demeanor. "Always with the quip, always something to say," he sneered. "Bantering almost got you killed by Magneto. But I'll bite." The Antithesis closed the distance between them, standing mere feet away from Tyson. "Without your powers, what are you?" Void challenged, his voice dripping with contempt. "If you weren't a mutant, you'd be nothing. Who are you supposed to be?"

Tyson's face clouded for a moment, doubt flickering across his features. But then, unexpectedly, he smiled.

"Martial artist, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist," he replied lightly. "I'm basically Batman."

Before Void could react, Tyson launched into action. His fist connected with Void's jaw with a satisfying crunch. Void staggered back, clearly caught off guard by Tyson's sudden attack.

What followed was a brutal display of martial prowess. Despite his powerless state, Tyson moved from one attack to another, his training at Chikara Dojo and morning sessions with Maki evident in every strike. Void, for all his power negation abilities, found himself woefully outmatched in hand-to-hand combat. He lashed out wildly, but each clumsy attack was deftly avoided or turned against him. Tyson's adamantium skeleton added devastating weight to each punch, each kick.

He shifted his stance subtly, his fingers splaying. Suddenly, his adamantium talons shot out with a metallic 'snikt'.

Void recoiled in shock and fear. "But... your powers... I negated them!"

Tyson's grin was feral. "These aren't powers, buddy. They're part of me."

With a series of strikes, Tyson unleashed the full fury of his Fu Jow Pai technique. His adamantium claws tore through Void's defenses like tissue paper, leaving the Antithesis no chance to retaliate.

In a matter of seconds, it was over. Void collapsed, his form already beginning to dissolve into wisps of dark energy. As he faded, Tyson felt a surge of power coursing through him as he could again sense the magnetic fields around him.

Without missing a beat, Tyson turned his attention to Maki and Zen's ongoing battle. Maki was a blur of motion, Muse flashing in her hand as she launched attack after attack. But Zen remained untouchable, dodging or deflecting each strike with maddening ease.

Tyson studied the situation, then, with a thought, he called to the metal shards scattered across the battlefield. They rose into the air, forming a lethal cloud.

At first, it seemed as though Tyson was launching a straightforward assault. Metal shards rained down on Zen from every angle, a storm of razor-sharp projectiles that should have been impossible to avoid. Yet somehow, the monk-like figure continued to evade. But Tyson wasn't just attacking randomly. With each dodge and deflection, Zen was unknowingly moving exactly where Tyson wanted her. The metal shards weren't just weapons. They were forming a pattern, an intricate web closing in around the Antithesis.

Suddenly, Tyson splayed his fingers wide, then closed his fist in a sharp gesture. In that instant, the true nature of his attack became clear.

The metal shards snapped together, forming a tight cage around Zen.

The monk's composure finally cracked as she realized her predicament. For the first time, panic flickered across her serene features. She may have been untouchable, but now, she had nowhere to run.

Tyson closed his fist tightly. The metal cage contracted, crushing inward with inexorable force.

There was a sickening crunch, and then silence. The cage fell away, revealing nothing but wisps of dark energy where Zen had once stood. Tyson and Maki exchanged a grim nod, then turned their attention to the last remaining Antithesis.

Whiteclaw, seeing her companions fall, broke off from her fight with Felicia. But instead of attacking, she did something unexpected.

The white-clad figure dropped to her knees before Tyson, her posture one of utter supplication. "Please, Tyson," she pleaded, her voice honeyed with desperation. "I'm not like the others. Blackheart made me fight, but I don't want to. I just want to be by your side." Tyson hesitated, caught off guard by this sudden change. "Spare me. I promise I'll be a good girl. I can be a good house cat. I can be the pussy you want and need."

For a moment, Tyson faltered. The seductive promise in Whiteclaw's voice, the allure of her offer...

Tyson's hesitation lasted only a moment. His face hardened as he saw through Whiteclaw's desperate ploy.

"Alright, I could use a pet cat."

He summoned Nexus to his hand. The soulsword materialized in a flash, and he slashed downward, tearing through the very fabric of reality. The air split open, revealing a swirling vortex of crimson and black energies.

A portal to Limbo yawned before them, a hellish dimension that seemed eerily similar to their current surroundings. The same sulfurous air, the same sky. Whiteclaw's facade crumbled, genuine terror replacing her seductive mask. She scrambled backward, abandoning her act entirely.

"No! You can't send me there!"

Maki, seeing her opportunity, drew back her arm and hurled Muse with deadly precision. The dagger streaked through the air, aimed directly at Whiteclaw's heart.

But before it could find its mark, Tyson halted the dagger mid-flight, suspended by his ferrokinesis.

"She's mine," he said.

Whiteclaw lashed out with her claws, desperation making her movements wild. Tyson sidestepped easily, countering with a strike of his own. Despite her ferocity, Whiteclaw couldn't match Tyson's combat prowess. Just like Felicia, she found herself outmatched in single combat.

Tyson drove her back with a relentless series of blows, herding her toward the portal. With a final, powerful kick, he sent Whiteclaw tumbling through the dimensional gateway into Limbo.

She landed hard on the red soil, scrambling to her feet as she took in her surroundings. Behind her stood the house Tyson had built during his time in this dimension, a structure that seemed bizarrely out of place in the hellish landscape.

He stood at the threshold between worlds, one foot in each dimension. He extended his hand toward his Limbo house, concentrating. Metal components tore free from the structure, flying through the portal and into his waiting palm. With precise control, Tyson wrapped the metal around Blackheart's heart that he'd ripped from the demon's chest minutes earlier. The encased organ hovered before him briefly before he sent it sailing back through the portal.

Tyson could sense the cooler where he kept the other hearts he'd collected. Using his ferrokinesis, he guided Blackheart's heart into the container, nestling it alongside the others. The whole process took only seconds, his control over metal allowing for surgical precision despite the distance.

He turned his attention back to Whiteclaw, who stood trembling before his Limbo house.

"See you around," Tyson said, then closed the portal with another slash of Nexus.

"We all know your weakness, Tyson," Maki stated flatly. "Pretty girls. But for the record, that wasn't a girl, it was a demon."

For a moment, silence reigned in the hellish courtyard.

Tyson shrugged with characteristic nonchalance. "There are tons of demons in Limbo, and none look that good."

Felicia rolled her eyes at his response. "Well," she said, "that was certainly more exciting than poker."

Tyson couldn't help but chuckle, the tension of the battle finally beginning to ease. But the moment of levity was short-lived as the reality of their situation came crashing back.

"So," Felicia asked, scanning the hellish landscape around them, "what do we do now?"

Tyson's demeanor grew serious, his earlier mirth fading. "We need to stop Blackheart," he said, "But he's too strong. He heals. Nothing I did hurt him."

Maki's tone was equally somber. "If you can't hurt him, there's nothing we can do either," she pointed out with her usual blunt honesty.

"Tactical retreat?" Felicia suggested, though her tone made it clear she didn't relish the idea. "Fall back and wait for the sorcerers?"

"What if they're too late? We can't just leave and hope someone else solves this mess."

"What about the mirror?" Maki suddenly interjected, pointing behind Tyson.

Tyson turned, following her gesture. There, standing innocuously amidst the hellscape, was the ornate mirror Blackheart had used earlier. In his departure to prepare for Mephisto's arrival, the demon lord had left it unattended.

He approached the mirror cautiously. It stood about six feet tall, its frame adorned with intricate carvings. Scenes of torment and ecstasy, victory and defeat, all danced along the mirror's edge.

"We could try using it," Tyson mused, hovering his hand just above the mirror's surface.

Felicia's voice carried deep skepticism. "Is that a good idea?"

"Let me try it on Felicia."

Felicia raised an eyebrow at him. "You're just going to use me because you thought my mirror demon was hot," she accused, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice.

"No, I-" Tyson began, but faltered under the knowing stares of both women. He sighed in defeat. "Alright, fine. But yours was also the easiest to handle."

Felicia shrugged with typical pragmatism. "No argument there. Alright, hit me."

Tyson grasped the mirror's frame, mimicking Blackheart's earlier actions. He pointed it at Felicia. But nothing happened. No dark reflection, no demonic doppelganger, just Felicia's normal reflection staring back at them.

"It might be locked from our use somehow," Tyson guessed. "A magic object this powerful, it makes sense to protect it."

"So what do we do?" Maki asked, urgency creeping into her typically controlled voice. The sounds of Blackheart's preparations echoed ominously in the distance, a reminder of the ticking clock they faced.

Tyson fell silent, his mind working through possibilities. Finally, he spoke.

"I know a ritual that could bind the object to me," he said slowly, "It might allow me to get past whatever protections it has."

Felicia looked genuinely surprised. "Is that what you've been learning with Agatha?"

"Agatha and Calypso," he admitted.

"I don't trust it," Maki said flatly.

Tyson raised an eyebrow at her, challenge in his gaze. Felicia countered, "Do you have any better options?"

Maki shook her head reluctantly.

"Then it's settled," Tyson said with finality. He carefully laid the mirror on the ground and stepped back.

Tyson extended his adamantium talons with a metallic 'snikt' and, without hesitation, sliced open his wrist. Blood welled up immediately, dark and viscous. Using his blood as ink, Tyson began to draw. He started with a large circle around the mirror. Then, with meticulous care, he traced bloody patterns along the mirror's ornate frame, the fluid seeming to sink into the carvings as if they were drinking it in.

Next came the runes.

In the direction Blackheart had departed, Tyson drew the Rune of Disruption. An 'H' shape with the horizontal line slanting upward from left to right.

To the left side of the circle from the Rune of Disruption, he inscribed the Rune of Desire, a twisted 't' shape.

On the right side of the circle, the Rune of Possession took shape under Tyson's bloodied hand. It resembled an 'F', but with its horizontal lines reaching upward, as if grasping for something just out of reach.

Finally, directly opposite the Rune of Disruption, Tyson drew the Rune of The Self. This one was an 'M' shape with an 'x' crowning its peaks.

As Tyson worked, the air around them grew thick and heavy, responding to the power of the ritual being enacted. Maki and Felicia watched in tense silence.

When the last rune was complete, he knelt before the Rune of the Self. Tyson closed his eyes, then began to speak.

His voice started low, but it carried clearly in the eerie silence that had fallen over the hellish landscape. The words that flowed from his lips were a strange blend of Haitian Creole and English.

"Lye m ak limyè sa a, bind mwen ak pouvwa li," Tyson intoned, his voice growing stronger with each repetition. "Bind me to this light, tie me to its power."

The blood-drawn runes began to pulse with a faint, crimson glow as Tyson's chant continued. The mirror at the center of the circle seemed to ripple, its surface becoming fluid and unstable.

"Mwen rele sou fòs ki nan mwen, I call upon the strength within me," Tyson's voice rose, the words flowing seamlessly between languages. "Konekte m ak refleksyon sa a, connect me to this reflection."

Felicia and Maki exchanged worried glances as the air around them grew thick and oppressive. The ground beneath their feet seemed to tremble in response to Tyson's words.

"Nan non lespri yo, nan non pouvwa a," Tyson's chant grew more intense, his body rigid with concentration. "In the name of the spirits, in the name of power."

The runes flared brighter. The mirror's surface churned like a stormy sea, dark shapes moving just beneath its surface.

"Mwen mande dwa pou m kontwole, I demand the right to control," Tyson's voice took on an otherworldly quality, echoing with a power that seemed to come from somewhere beyond himself. "Reflete verite mwen an, reflect my truth."

As Tyson's chant reached a fever pitch, the mirror began to levitate, rising slowly from the ground. It hovered at eye level with Tyson, its surface now a swirling vortex of darkness and light.

"Bind mwen, tie mwen, konekte mwen. Bind me, tie me, connect me. Par pouvwa sa a, mwen reklame ou," Tyson's voice rose to a near-shout, the words reverberating through the air. "By this power, I claim you!"

The mirror spun faster, its surface a blur of motion. Tendrils of darkness began to seep from its frame, reaching out towards Tyson like grasping fingers.

"Nan non mwen, nan non limyè ak fènwa," Tyson's chant reached its crescendo, his voice filled with authority. "In my name, in the name of light and darkness."

As the final words left Tyson's lips, the mirror suddenly stopped spinning. For a moment, everything was still, suspended in a breathless silence. Then, with a sound like shattering glass, the mirror's surface exploded in a burst of blinding light.

Felicia and Maki shielded their faces, unable to look directly at the intense radiance. When the light finally faded, they lowered their hands to see Tyson still kneeling before the mirror, which hung suspended in the air, its surface now a perfect, unblemished reflection. Tyson slowly rose to his feet, his gaze fixed on the mirror.

"It worked," he said, reaching out to touch the mirror's surface. "I can feel it. The mirror, I know its name. H'elian's Mirror Cauldron. It's bound to me now." Tyson's face split into a grin. "Ladies," he said, "I think we've just changed the game."

Felicia's demeanor lit up with a mixture of excitement and mischief. "So pick this thing up and let's go kill a demon and save the world."

"Hell yeah," Tyson replied with a wide grin.

Maki rolled her eyes. Leave it to these two to treat a potential apocalypse like a day out.

With a gesture, Tyson called the metal shards scattered around them to his side. They coalesced around the mirror, forming a protective shell on its back and creating a platform with the reflective surface facing downward.

"Get on," Tyson instructed, hovering the makeshift vehicle a few inches off the ground.

Maki and Felicia stepped gingerly onto the makeshift mirror platform. Tyson raised himself using his magnetic powers until he was level with them, and with a thought, sent their unlikely vehicle gliding forward, following the path Blackheart had taken only moments before.

They flew back through the hellish portal, the eldritch doorway that had transformed the opulent casino into an infernal stronghold. As they emerged into what had once been the main floor, the full extent of the demonic corruption became clear. The space had warped further, the intricate architecture stretching and twisting into a colossal tower. Guiding the platform outside, the three companions now had an unobstructed view of the ravaged city.

The boundary between Earth and the hellish domain was starkly visible. A wavering line of fire and shadow crept steadily outward, consuming more of Las Vegas with each passing moment. From all directions came the shrieks and howls of demons, nightmarish creatures swarming through the streets and alleys.

But the city had not been abandoned to its gruesome fate.

Flashes of mystical light marked fierce battles. The sorcerers had arrived to stem the tide, though even from a distance, Tyson could see they were desperately outnumbered. If they didn't intervene soon, the city would be lost completely.

A streak of silver caught his attention, appearing and disappearing across the battlefield in rapid succession. He recognized Illyana immediately as the mutant sorceress teleported from one hotspot to another with her Soulsword flashing.

Tyson scanned for their primary target. But Blackheart was nowhere to be seen... until he looked up.

There, at the very top of the tower that had replaced the Devil's Den, stood the demon lord. Even from this distance, Tyson could feel the malevolent power radiating from him.

"You guys, help the sorcerers. I'll handle Blackheart."

Maki looked concerned. "That didn't go so well last time," she pointed out.

Tyson patted the mirror platform beneath their feet. "This time it's a lock," he said confidently.

Felicia grabbed Maki's arm. "Let him go play," she said. "We can find our own fun." She turned to Tyson, planting a quick kiss on his cheek before leaping off the platform with feline grace.

Maki hesitated for a moment longer. "Good luck," she said finally, her tone serious. Like Felicia, she leaned forward and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Don't die," she said before she followed Felicia, dashing away, Muse in hand.

Tyson watched them go, feeling the familiar warmth their support always brought him. Then, steeling himself for what was to come, he lowered himself onto the mirror platform and began the ascent to the top of the tower. As he neared the summit, he could see Blackheart more clearly. The demon lord stood at the edge of the tower's peak, his midnight-blue skin a stark contrast against the fiery sky. His burning gaze turned to face the approaching hero.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice dripping with malice. "The mortal survives. I must say, I'm impressed. I was certain your Antithesis would make short work of you."

"What can I say? I'm full of surprises. Speaking of which, nice tower you've got here. Compensating for something?"

Blackheart's face darkened with rage. "You dare mock me, insect? I am the scion of Hell itself!"

"Yeah, yeah," Tyson interrupted, rolling his eyes dismissively. "Son of Mephisto, prince of darkness, I get it. But you're not wearing clothes, it's kinda hard to hide that you're a Ken doll. You know, for such a powerful demon, you sure do seem to have some daddy issues. Instead of causing a demonic incursion, you could've just found a good therapist to talk about it with. I can recommend someone if you're interested?"

With a roar of rage, Blackheart lunged forward. But Tyson was ready. He flew backward, putting distance between them, and in one fluid motion, flipped H'elian's Mirror Cauldron.

The mirror's surface flashed with blinding light, and from it emerged a figure that made both Tyson and Blackheart pause in shock.

Where Blackheart was darkness incarnate, this being was pure radiance. Its skin was a shimmering silver-white, and it had luminous golden orbs for eyes. Wings of light unfurled from its back, each feather white, but tipped with a different color of the rainbow. But the most striking feature was its face. It was Blackheart's visage, but transformed. Where the demon's features were blank with malice and cruelty, this being's face radiated compassion and hope. A crown of white flames danced above its brow, casting a warm light that seemed to push back the hellish atmosphere around them.

"What... what is this abomination?" Blackheart sputtered, taking an involuntary step back.

Tyson grinned, though his gaze never left the radiant being. "Meet Whitesoul," he said. "Your better half, in every sense of the word."

Whitesoul turned to face Blackheart, and when it spoke, its voice was like music; beautiful and terrible all at once. "Brother," it said, the word filled with a mixture of sorrow and resolve. "What you have done here cannot stand."

Blackheart's shock gave way to fury. "I have no brother!" he roared. "I am the rightful heir to Hell's throne! I will not be denied by some... some perversion of creation!"

But as Blackheart ranted, Tyson could see fear creeping into the demon's burning gaze. For the first time since this nightmare began, Blackheart looked uncertain. That uncertainty, however, quickly hardened into resolve. With a snarl of rage, Blackheart launched himself at Whitesoul.

The two beings collided in midair, the impact sending shockwaves across the hellish landscape. Tyson had to use his powers over magnetism to maintain his grip on H'elian's Mirror Cauldron.

Whitesoul and Blackheart grappled. Light and shadow danced around them, each trying to overwhelm the other.

"You are an abomination!" Blackheart roared, his claws raking across Whitesoul's radiant form. "A mistake that should never have existed!"

Whitesoul didn't respond with words. Instead, its golden eyes flashed, and a beam of pure light erupted from them, catching Blackheart square in the chest. The demon lord was sent hurtling backward, crashing through several of the tower's grotesque stone gargoyles before regaining his balance.

"I am what you could have been, brother," Whitesoul finally replied. "What you still could be, if you would but choose it."

Blackheart's response was a howl of rage. He raised his hands, and stone tendrils shot out, trying to ensnare Whitesoul. But the radiant being's wings flared, and it soared higher, easily evading the attack.

Tyson watched the battle unfold, rolling the mirror like a fighter jet to avoid a stray blast of hellfire from Blackheart. Tyson dove to the side, the mirror clattering to the roof of the tower beside him. As he scrambled to his feet, he saw Whitesoul dive-bombing Blackheart, trailing streams of rainbow light.

The two crashed through the tower's roof, disappearing from view. The entire structure shuddered, and for a moment, Tyson thought it might collapse entirely. But it held.

Suddenly, a pillar of darkness erupted from the hole in the roof, followed immediately by a column of blinding light. The two forces met in midair once again.

Tyson could see Blackheart and Whitesoul at the center of the maelstrom, locked in a deadly embrace. They were evenly matched, neither able to overpower the other. But as Tyson watched, he noticed that it seemed they were both weakening. Each blow they landed, each burst of power they unleashed, seemed to drain them both. It was a battle of attrition, and at this rate, they would destroy each other and take half of Las Vegas with them.

Tyson's gaze fell on H'elian's Mirror Cauldron, still lying on the roof. An idea began to form in his mind.

If the mirror could expel demonic Antithesis, could it take in demons too?

He snatched up the mirror and watched, waiting for the right moment. Since the tower seemed to be the focal point of their fight, they'd return eventually.

"Whitesoul!" Tyson shouted. "Drive him here!"

Whitesoul redoubled its assault on Blackheart, driving the demon lord back with a flurry of light-empowered strikes.

Blackheart, realizing the danger too late, tried to break away. But Whitesoul was relentless. With a final, mighty blow, it sent Blackheart hurtling toward the tower.

Time seemed to slow as Blackheart approached the reflective surface. Tyson could see the fear in the demon's burning gaze, unsure of what the mortal was planning, but wary of it regardless.

At the last moment, Blackheart twisted in midair. He reached out and grabbed Whitesoul, using the momentum of his fall to pull the radiant being with him.

As they reached the Tower's roof, Tyson threw the Mirror in front of the point of their collision. They hit the mirror together, and the world exploded.

Light and darkness erupted from the point of impact, a cosmic fireworks display that lit up the Las Vegas sky. H'elian's Mirror Cauldron focused and reflected the energy, sending it shooting upward in a pillar that pierced the blood-red clouds.

H'elian's Mirror Cauldron shattered, unable to contain the conflicting energies of Blackheart and Whitesoul. Shards of mystical glass rained down around Tyson as he threw up his arms to shield himself.

The explosion seemed to go on forever, a cathartic release of otherworldly power. Tyson was engulfed in the energy and launched like a rocket into the ground.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

Silence fell, broken only by the tinkling of the last few mirror shards hitting the ground.

Where Blackheart and Whitesoul had been, there was now only the scorched tower, missing its upper quarter. Of the two cosmic entities, there was no sign.

But something was different.

The hellish atmosphere that had permeated the area was dissipating like morning mist burned away by the rising sun. The ominous blood-red sky faded as darkness reclaimed the night, the familiar blackness of the desert creeping back in. The wave of infernal transformation that had been consuming the city began to recede. Grotesque buildings twisted back into their normal shapes, the rivers of lava solidifying into familiar asphalt streets.

As the tide of Hell retreated, normal Las Vegas was gradually revealed in its wake. Casinos emerged from the darkness, their neon signs a welcome sight after the nightmare the city had endured.

The hordes of demons that had been swarming the streets now fled ahead of the vanishing environment, seeking refuge in their home dimension. Any stragglers were driven back by the sorcerers, either slain outright or forced to retreat along with their brethren. The defenders showed no mercy, expunging any remaining traces of the demonic invasion.

Soon, the city was reclaimed, with no evidence remaining of the supernatural takeover except for lingering damage and exhaustion.

Tyson groaned as consciousness returned, his body wracked with pain. Blinking open his eyes, he found himself sprawled at the bottom of a crater, the cracked asphalt and upturned concrete evidence of his violent impact. He gingerly sat up, every muscle protesting the movement.

Glancing around, he took in the devastation that surrounded him. The area looked as though it had been bombed, but Tyson himself was the ordinance. Overhead, the familiar night sky had returned, and the blood-red haze of Hell completely vanished.

As he struggled to regain his bearings, a silhouette appeared at the rim of the crater. Squinting against the dust and debris, he recognized the distinctive form of Illyana Rasputin peering down at him. Her initial look of concern melted into relief.

"Hey," she called down to him, her voice tinged with its characteristic Russian accent. Though she kept her tone light, Tyson could detect the hint of worry in her manner as she assessed his battered state.

Gritting his teeth, Tyson braced his hands against the broken ground and hauled himself to his feet. He swayed unsteadily, his head still spinning.

"Hey, back," he said with a pained chuckle.

Using his power over magnetism, he lifted himself off the ground, floating up towards Illyana. As he reached her, he pulled her into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around her familiar form.

"Thanks for coming," Tyson murmured into her hair. Illyana returned the embrace, her own relief palpable in the way she clung to him. As they separated, he noticed two more figures approaching. Felicia and Maki strode towards them, looking battered but triumphant. Their dresses were torn in several places, and Maki's usually impeccable hair was disheveled.

"Yeah, thanks, Illyana," Felicia called out as they drew near. Her tone was lighter than usual, the edge of rivalry softened by the night's events. "We knew you'd come to protect Tyson when you were needed."

Illyana turned to face them, giving a conciliatory nod. "Thank you for taking care of him," she said, her accent more pronounced with fatigue. "I'm glad he had such capable... friends at his side."

The slight pause before 'friends' didn't go unnoticed, but Felicia let it slide. They had all been through enough for one night.

Before anyone could say more, a new figure approached. Bald and robed, the Ancient One seemed to take in the scene with a single sweeping glance.

"You all did quite well here. Particularly you, Tyson. There will be much cleanup to cover up what happened here, but your actions may well have saved Earth."

As if summoned by her words, a sparkling portal suddenly appeared beside them. Through it stepped a handsome man, also clad in a sorcerer's robes. His gaze burned with an intensity that made Tyson instinctively tense.

The newcomer ignored everyone except the Ancient One; his question was equal parts demand and desperation. "What happened? Where's Mephisto?"

"The demonic incursion has been repelled, Victor."

The man, Victor, released a shout of anger. Tyson readied his power. This was him?

Victor Von Doom.

"I was so close," Victor snarled, his fists clenching at his sides. "I'm going to pursue them."

"The object binding Hell to Earth was destroyed," the Ancient One interrupted. "There is nothing to pursue."

Victor's face contorted with rage and frustration. For a moment, Tyson thought he might lash out. But then, with a snarl of disgust, Victor opened another portal and stepped through, vanishing as quickly as he had appeared. He had never spared Tyson, Illyana, or the others so much as a glance.

As the portal winked out of existence, a heavy silence fell over the group.

"Okay," Felicia said slowly, breaking the silence. "Does anyone want to explain what that was all about? Because I'm getting the feeling we just stumbled into something important."

The Ancient One's lips quirked in what might have been a smile. "You are more perceptive than most give you credit for, Ms. Hardy," she said. "But those are concerns for another time. For now, we must focus on containing the aftermath of tonight's events."

As if on cue, the distant wail of sirens began to echo through the night. The real world was beginning to intrude.

"Illyana," the Ancient One continued, "I trust you can provide transportation for your friends? It would be best if they were not here when the authorities arrive."

Illyana held out her hand, readying her sling ring. "Where to?" she asked, looking at Tyson.

Tyson turned back to the Ancient One, a question weighing heavily on his mind. "This isn't over, is it?" he asked, already knowing the answer in his heart.

"The Battle for Las Vegas is won," she said after a moment, "That is enough. For now. Take solace that you have prevented your first incursion." Her words were equal parts reassurance and warning.

"First?" Tyson mumbled, but the Ancient One didn't respond. He turned to Illyana. "Will you come too?" he asked.

Illyana hesitated, her piercing blue gaze flicking to Felicia and Maki before settling on the Ancient One's serene but expectant face. "I will see you back," she said finally.

"We have a hotel nearby and a few more days in the city." He paused, considering the magnitude of what had just transpired. "If you need help with the cover-up, let me know. My illusions come in handy."

"Your offer is appreciated, Tyson," The Ancient One said, "But for now, rest. You and your companions have earned it."

"Nothing a hot shower won't fix," he assured her.

Felicia sidled up to Tyson, slipping an arm around his waist. "Don't worry, we'll take good care of him," she said, her tone playful but her gaze serious as it met Illyana's.

Maki joined them, positioning herself on Tyson's other side. "We always do," she added quietly.

Illyana's gaze lingered on the trio for a moment before she nodded, accepting their assurances. The wail of sirens grew louder, reminding them all of the approaching authorities.

"You should go," the Ancient One said, "I will handle things here."

Tyson nodded, knowing better than to push the issue. He wrapped an arm around Illyana. Though he had Felicia against his side and Maki on his other side, his arms were long enough to pull Illyana up against Felicia, much to her chagrin. "I missed you," he murmured against her hair.

"Me too," Illyana whispered, her voice muffled against his chest. She leaned back to meet his gaze, her face conflicted. "How long?" she asked softly.

Tyson knew what she was asking. How long until he joined her at Kamar-Taj? How long until the Battle of New York?

"Not long," he promised, "Three or four months, maybe."

— Rogue Redemption —

In the depths of Hell, a figure stood amidst the smoldering ruins of what had once been an elaborate ritual site. He was tall, his skin a deep, blood-red hue, etched with intricate patterns that pulsed with an inner fire. Curved horns protruded from his forehead, framing a face that was both beautiful and terrible to behold.

This was the Lord of Hell himself, though he needed no introduction here in his domain. Every rock, every pool of lava, every tortured soul recognized his authority and trembled in his presence.

He surveyed the destruction before him, annoyance warring with grudging respect. This had been the site of his son's ill-fated attempt to lure him to Earth. Where Blackheart, in his arrogance and ambition, had met his end. The boy had always been too eager, too certain of his own power. Now, all that remained were scorched earth and scattered debris, a testament to the price of underestimating mortals.

Mephisto's gaze fell upon a glinting object amidst the rubble. With practiced grace, he bent down and plucked a reflective shard from the ground. It was no larger than a coin, yet it seemed to hold an impossible depth within its surface.

He brought the shard to his nose, inhaling deeply. The scent of otherworldly magic lingered on it, along with something else... something mortal. His forked tongue darted out, tasting the residue that clung to the fragment. Blood. Human blood, but not entirely.

"Clever little creature," he murmured to the empty air.

With a casual wave of his clawed hand, the air around him shimmered. The scattered shards rose from the ground, spinning in a dizzying dance. They whirled faster and faster, a tornado of reflective fragments. Then, with a sound like a thousand whispers suddenly silenced, the pieces snapped together.

Where moments before there had been only broken remnants, now a complete mirror hung suspended in the air. It was a masterpiece of craftsmanship and magic, its frame adorned with intricate carvings. The surface rippled like quicksilver, reflecting not just light, but possibilities.

Mephisto regarded the reconstructed artifact.

H'elian's Mirror Cauldron.

A powerful tool indeed, capable of bridging realities, revealing truths and possibilities hidden even from his all-seeing gaze. He'd coveted this artifact for millennia, had orchestrated wars and toppled kingdoms for lesser prizes. But as his hand reached out to claim it, he felt a resistance. An invisible barrier kept the mirror just beyond his grasp.

Another had claimed the mirror.

He could feel the strength of the binding, a web of blood magic that defied even his considerable power. A ritual had been performed. They had offered their blood, their very essence, to bind this artifact to their will. The audacity was almost... admirable.

He could sense it. A weak, distant connection. A tether leading to the one who now held dominion over H'elian's Mirror Cauldron. It was faint, barely perceptible even to his senses, but it was there. Like a spider sensing vibrations along its web.

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, growing into a laugh that echoed through the desolate landscape of Hell. It was a sound devoid of mirth, filled instead with dark anticipation. How long had it been since someone had genuinely surprised him? Centuries? Millennia?

"Well played, little mortal," he said, savoring each word like fine wine. "You've claimed a prize beyond your understanding. But every prize has its price, and I am nothing if not patient."

With a gesture, he summoned a throne of obsidian and flame. A Romani woman knelt at the base in supplication, his oracle, his window into the mortal realm. Cynthia had served him faithfully for decades, ever since she'd made her own desperate bargain. He settled into the throne, never taking his attention from the floating mirror. Plans within plans began to form in his ageless mind. The mirror may be beyond his reach for now, but its new owner... well, they were very much within the realm of his influence.

"Enjoy your victory while you can," he said to the empty air, knowing that somewhere, somehow, the mirror's new master would feel a chill run down their spine. "For you've merely survived the opening skirmish. And I always collect what's mine in the end."

As if in response to his words, the surface of H'elian's Mirror Cauldron rippled. For just a moment, an image appeared. The face of a young brown-skinned human possessing wild hair and gray eyes.

"Ah, so it's you," he mused, leaning back in his throne like a chess master who'd finally identified his opponent's opening gambit. "The one who defied my Blackheart. But that's not all. I recognize your face. You're part of the prophecy of the one destined to end my rule."

"Know this, little hero. You think you'll bring about my downfall. It is I who will bring about yours. Your soul may not be mine yet, but it will be. They always are, in the end."

He glanced down at the woman at the foot of his throne. "Isn't that right, Cynthia?"

But the kneeling witch knew better than to answer. She kept her head bowed, understanding that some questions were rhetorical, and some truths were better left unspoken.

With a wave of his hand, the image in the mirror faded, leaving only the quicksilver surface reflecting the hellish landscape around it. But Mephisto remained seated, studying the artifact. This mortal had proven resourceful, defeating Blackheart and claiming a prize meant for gods and demons. But resourcefulness was just another word for desperation, and desperation always led mortals to make... interesting choices.

As the fires of Hell burned around him, Mephisto settled in to wait. Time was on his side, after all. And sooner or later, everyone made a deal with the devil.

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