Rogue Replacement: A Marvel Story

Chapter 8

Arc 1 - Ch 8: Azazel

Date: Friday, June 4, 2010.

Location: Limbo

Illyana and Tyson approached an imposing structure crafted from the raw, primordial stone of the hellish dimension. Demons of all shapes and sizes, horned, winged, and fanged, worked tirelessly upon what could only be described as a fortress. Their bulging muscles strained as they lifted massive boulders into place and chiseled away at the rock with claws or primitive tools.

"I didn't expect them to be this organized," Illyana muttered.

"Isn't this your domain? How can these demons be here, building right under your nose without your knowledge?" Tyson asked.

Illyana scowled, gritting her teeth in frustration. "I don't know. For years I thought Limbo only existed in my mind. It wasn't until later that I realized this place was real. I was certain no one could enter without my power." She declared in exasperation.

As they neared the fortress, an unsettling realization dawned on them. None of the demons seemed concerned by their presence. The creatures simply continued their tasks, ignoring the pair completely.

"The other demons I've encountered were violent and hostile. Either these are of a different breed, or…"

"Or we're expected," Illyana finished. Her frown deepened, but her confidence remained unshaken. "It doesn't matter. I'm still in control here," she stated.

Pushing open the massive stone doors, they entered a cavernous hall. At the far end, atop a throne carved from jagged rocks, sat a figure who could only be Azazel. His skin was deep crimson marbled with shades of burgundy. Chiseled features were set in a face that was simultaneously hauntingly beautiful and deeply terrifying. Fathomless black eyes devoid of pupils gazed out, making it impossible to discern their focus, yet the weight of his stare felt like a physical touch. Lean, corded muscles rippled beneath smooth skin. Talons tipped each long, dexterous finger. His tail, a thick, powerful appendage with a spade-point at the end, thrashing with a mind of its own, added an extra layer of menace to his demonic presence.

The devil's crimson face split into a sinister grin, baring sharp teeth. He was clad in a mix of dark armor and cloth while a prehensile tail languidly swishing behind him. "Ah, the little queen of Limbo," he greeted, his gravelly voice dripping with contempt. "And... a playmate. How delightful."

As Illyana stepped forward, her mystical armor shimmered into existence around her. The Soulsword manifested in her grip, glowing with righteous fury. "You trespass in my domain, hellspawn. State your business before I cut you down."

"Your domain? Foolish child, realms are meant to be seized and conquered. I've found this one to be quite... accommodating."

Illyana bristled, icy eyes narrowing. "You think you can just take over? I am Limbo's rightful queen. I won't let that happen."

The demon leaned forward, coal-black eyes boring into Illyana's defiant stare. "You? A mere girl playing at ruler in a world you hardly comprehend? You're not fit to control this place."

Illyana's grip tightened on her sword, knuckles whitening. "You know nothing of what I've endured, what I can do. Limbo is mine. You will not steal it from me."

"Brave words. But we both know you lack the power to stop me."

The tension in the rocky chamber was palpable. Illyana knew she was walking a dangerous path. But she could not yield. Whatever the demon plotted, they had to put an end to it.

Azazel's depthless black eyes shifted to Tyson, alight with interest. "And you... who might you be? Do share your name."

Tyson met that chilling gaze unflinchingly. "Where I'm from, giving one's name to a devil is considered unwise. It grants them power over you."

"Ah, a cautious one. I can respect that." Azazel leaned back against his throne of jagged stone, the tip of his tail curling and bobbing. "But name or no, you stand in my domain now, little man. And I have no intention of leaving."

Illyana moved closer to Tyson, protectively. "We have no plans to leave either, hellspawn. Not until Limbo is free." She stood tall, chin lifted defiantly. No matter the demon's arrogance, this realm remained hers to command. It resonated with her spirit, bending to her indomitable will.

She would not yield it.

Azazel vanished in a puff of crimson flame, leaving only the acrid scent of sulfur lingering where he once stood. He reappeared in the blink of an eye at Illyana's side. He wielded a slender rapier, and with no previous warning, it now whistled as he thrust it toward her ribs.

Illyana spun, but her Soulsword raised too slowly to parry the blow.

Tyson shoved, pushing Illyana out of the way, and saving her life.

She quickly regained her footing, going back at Azazel. The blades rang out in a discordant clang that echoed through Limbo's throne room, sending sparks skittering to the floor. Before Azazel could press his attack, Illyana blinked away in a burst of light, teleporting across the room.

Tyson seized the opening, launching himself at Azazel with talons extended. But the demon evaporated once more, brimstone stench mocking him. Tyson skidded to a halt, scanning for any sign of movement. At his side, Illyana reappeared, standing poised and ready, Soulsword glinting dangerously.

What followed was a dance of blades that played out across Limbo's newly constructed fortress. Azazel would materialize in a bloom of fire, only for Illyana to meet him, their swords ringing out in fierce harmony. No sooner had their blades locked than one or both would vanish, starting the deadly choreography anew. Bursts of crimson and silvery light marked their jumps, the only warning before their swords clashed again amidst showers of sparks.

Tyson sought any opening to intervene. Though untrained in swordplay, he knew Illyana was outmatched in pure swordsmanship. Only his hit-and-run strikes kept Azazel's skill from overwhelming her. Tyson leaped and dodged around stone pillars and jutting rocks, trying to predict the duelists' next appearance. When the chance arose, he would slash at Azazel with adamantium claws, disrupting the demon's rhythm before blinking away once more.

Illyana's blades clashed against Azazel's in a shower of sparks, the demon matching her speed and ferocity blow for blow. They broke apart, circling each other warily.

"You fight well," Azazel acknowledged with a hint of grudging respect in his mocking tone. "But Limbo will be mine."

"This is my world," she retorted through gritted teeth.

Azazel's crimson gaze bored into hers with hypnotic intensity. "Why fight me, child?" he purred, his voice dripping with false warmth. "Together, we could rule this realm. Imagine the power we'd wield as allies instead of enemies."

Illyana faltered, her focus dimming as his honeyed words wove an insidious spell over her mind.

Tyson watched in dismay as her vibrant eyes glazed over, her proud shoulders slumping under the demon's influence. He couldn't imagine this fierce woman succumbing so easily. He approached cautiously, extending a hand. The barest brush of his skin activated his power, and he siphoned off a wisp of her life force.

Illyana recoiled with a hiss, the pain shattering Azazel's hold on her. Eyes blazing, she turned to Tyson, who withdrew his hand quickly.

"Thanks," she muttered, "I owe you one."

"A touching moment. But it won't save you." Azazel mocked.

Tyson stepped forward, standing protectively beside Illyana. "Let's see about that," he responded.

Azazel vanished, teleporting away in a flash. Illyana tensed, reaching out with her senses through her connection to Limbo. For a moment, his presence was gone, disappeared from her awareness.

Then, with a silent reemergence, the demonic mutant was behind Tyson, rapier already thrusting forward.

Tyson had no time to react. The point pierced through his back and emerged from his chest in a ruthless executioner's strike. Dark blood immediately stained the shining blade. Illyana's usually stoic face contorted in horror, blue eyes wide with disbelief. Her grip on the Soulsword faltered, its glow flickering uncertainly like a candle in the wind.

Azazel withdrew the rapier from Tyson's body, letting more blood drip along its length. He collapsed to his knees with a choked gasp, hands clutching at the gaping wound in a futile attempt to stem the flow. Illyana could only stare, frozen in shock at the sight of her classmate sustaining such a grievous injury right before her eyes.

Azazel kicked Tyson's weakened form, sending the young man sprawling limply across the fortress floor. Casually flicking the blood from his blade, the demonic mutant slowly approached Illyana. His voice was sweet as poisoned wine. "There is no point in resisting, dear Illyana. Join me, and together we shall reign supreme over this dimension and all others."

Though stunned, Illyana felt an invisible pull from Azazel's words, a dark seductive allure that clouded her mind. She struggled against it, but his voice wove an intoxicating, hypnotic spell that drowned out her resistance. He moved closer, yellow eyes locking onto hers with serpentine intensity.

"You and I. Imagine the worlds we could conquer, the power we would share."

His words were liquid silk, beguiling, and ensnaring. Illyana's fiery will wavered, her mind losing itself in the web he wove. The Soulsword grew dim in response, mirroring her faltering inner light. She stood paralyzed, teetering on the precipice of complete surrender.

Unbeknownst to Azazel, just a few feet away, the grievous wound on Tyson's chest began to seal itself, flesh rapidly knitting back together in a remarkable display of healing ability. As his body mended, Tyson's mind remained focused and alert. Through the brief contact with Illyana, he could feel the imprint of her power within him. The ability to teleport, and the connection to Limbo. Azazel was so intent on weaving his web of charm around Illyana that he would never see Tyson coming if he attacked now. However, the demon had already proven he could easily overpower them both in combat. With only a minute or so of borrowed power remaining, the odds of succeeding were slim. Yet Tyson knew he had to try, both to save Illyana and to reclaim this dimension from the devil's influence.

Fueled by determination, Tyson launched his surprise attack.

He blinked into existence directly behind Azazel. Without hesitation, his hand snaked around the demon's throat, fingers digging in, attempting to choke the life from his enemy.

The instant Tyson's skin made contact with Azazel, it was as if a tsunami of memories, emotions, and raw psychic energy crashed into him. He was momentarily disoriented, struggling to discern his thoughts and feelings from the flood that threatened to engulf his mind.

He was one of the Neyaphem, an ancient race of demonic-looking mutants. He and others like him were banished to the Brimstone Dimension by the Cheyarafim, a group of angel-like mutants. Unlike the others, he could breach the dimensional void and return to Earth for brief periods, but eventually, the banishment took hold again. Regardless, over time, he would command a powerful following and develop a plan to return permanently. He was on Earth, with a lover, a blue-skinned beauty that could shift her appearance. She was not the only one. He experienced betrayal and regret. Over the millennia he honed his swordsmanship to a master level. He had a mastery of teleportation that was unmatched complemented by knowledge of the arcane arts. He could feel the pull and push of the dimensional portals and knew the precision and control required. He was defined by ambition and cunning. His charm was an inherent power that he used to manipulate, control, and influence. Underpinning it all was his overwhelming desire for power.

Azazel was no novice when it came to combat. The very moment Tyson's grip tightened, the air around them shimmered with crimson light. In a burst of smoke, both Tyson and Azazel disappeared, only to reappear several feet away in the blink of an eye.

One…

Again and again, they teleported, vanishing and reappearing across the area as they grappled. Each was trying to gain an advantage over the other.

Two…

The memories and experiences of Illyana Rasputin flowed through Tyson's mind from his brief life-draining touch. He felt the connection to the dark dimension of Limbo, and he utilized this link to match Azazel's teleportation skills. Tyson struggled to adapt to the influx of knowledge and power surging into him from both Illyana and now Azazel. He focused, working to blend their abilities into his own. Tyson began anticipating Azazel's tactics before the devil even employed them, countering his every move. His understanding of his foe deepened as Azazel's soul interwove with the others inside him, shifting the battle further in Tyson's favor. His healing factor, amplified from Sabertooth, mended any wounds Azazel inflicted instantly. He outmaneuvered the devil, predicting each move and countermove.

Three…

Azazel, unaccustomed to being so soundly outmatched, growled in frustration. "How are you doing this?!" he hissed.

Four…

Azazel's life force continued streaming into Tyson. The devil's eyes widened in fear. "Who are you? Mephisto? Lucifer?"

Five…

"Release me!" Azazel spat, his voice cracking in desperation. His energy was depleting rapidly. He desperately tried teleporting again; a burst of crimson smoke engulfed the two, but when it cleared, Tyson's iron grip remained unbroken. Azazel attempted it once more with the same result, again failing to free himself. This time they reappeared near Illyana, who was just starting to shake off the remnants of his charm.

Six…

Panic flooded Azazel's eyes as he realized the extent of his defeat. The clawed fingers of his free hand danced in a pattern that Tyson immediately recognized as arcane spellcasting. An abyssal word of power squeaked past Tyson's crushing hold on his throat.

Seven…

Time seemed to slow down for Tyson. With his heightened senses, the moment felt stretched and elongated. In the space of a single moment, Tyson recognized the distinct sensation of gathering energy around them. Azazel's understanding of magic informed him that this wasn't a spontaneously cast spell, its effects were manifesting too quickly. His mind sifted through the demon's memories with blistering speed.

Azazel had prepared contingencies.

The spell took effect, extinguishing flickering candles lining the far wall that had gone unnoticed earlier. The pulsating energy of the spell signified a barrier solidifying around them.

Eight…

Frantically parsing Azazel's recollections, Tyson grasped the scope of the trap. Private Sanctum disabled all teleportation, including Illyana's and even Azazel's. Could he break it?

No. Counter it?

Also impossible.

They were trapped, isolated in this space... and yet, so too was Azazel, now at their mercy. Why would the demon use a spell that hindered himself while already weakened?

Then Azazel's rapier flashed with vicious speed, its tip thrust unerringly at Illyana's heart with lethal precision.

Nine…

A horrible realization crashed down on Tyson. This was the trap, and he saw it too late.

Maintaining his hold on Azazel meant Illyana's certain death.

But if he released the demon, they lost their advantage.

Tyson had no choice. He let go, deflecting the rapier's trajectory with a desperate swipe. The blade missed Illyana by mere inches, sailing past harmlessly.

Freed from her trance, Illyana watched in dismay as Tyson sacrificed his advantage to save her life. She was regaining herself as Tyson deflected the blade wide of its mark.

He saved her again.

Tyson slashed at Azazel with his claws as he saw Illyana raised her blazing Soulsword, ready to rejoin the fray. But with a mumbled word from the demon, he sensed the Private Sanctum spell release.

With teleportation restored, Azazel was gone in an instant. A crimson flash of fire heralded his escape. Thick red smoke wafted around the space where the demon had stood moments before. It dissipated slowly to reveal nothing. He'd vanished completely.

Silence engulfed the room as Tyson and Illyana stood alone. They waited, muscles coiled tight as springs, anticipating an ambush that never came. A whole minute crawled by at a glacial pace before Illyana finally released the breath she'd been holding.

"Do you think he's gone for good?" she asked, lowering her flaming Soulsword slightly but not fully dismissing it. The blade continued to crackle with mystical energy, ready to continue the fight.

"When I absorbed his life force, I felt his magic, his memories. He's powerful and cunning, but taking that much out of him likely forced his retreat."

Illyana regarded Tyson with a hint of gratitude in her heavy Russian accent. "You saved my life back there. Thank you." Her eyes roamed over his transformed appearance. "I wonder," she mused, "was he more afraid to face the two of us or the devil you've become?" She gestured at his reddened skin and the long, prehensile tail swishing behind him.

Lost in the battle's adrenaline rush, Tyson hadn't noticed the physical changes.

Absorbing Azazel had altered his body.

Perhaps Illyana was right, and his devilish appearance had helped deter the demon as much as the siphoning of his strength. Azazel had asked if he was Lucifer. Fighting two defiant teenagers was one thing; facing the devil must be another matter entirely.

When their gazes met again, a primal urge overtook Tyson, drowning out the reason in his mind. A predatory spark ignited in his eyes and she couldn't look away, transfixed by his piercing gaze. Strange words tumbled unbidden from his lips in a low murmur, "She kissed a devil, and the hellfire no longer burned." His tone shifted, taking on a sly, inviting quality. "Come closer and get a better look. Tell me you like what you see. Desire me."

Illyana's usual mischievous glimmer faded for a moment as she stared, her eyes taking on an almost entranced quality. Then the sharpness returned to her icy blue irises and she prowled towards him. She circled him slowly, her gaze raking over every detail of his altered form. Her scrutiny had him shaking his head. He slowly recognized his words had felt wrong, unwanted.

"Hmm," she purred, her voice dripping with an unfamiliar sultriness that made Tyson swallow hard. "The color of your skin, that tail..."

She stopped directly before him, her face just inches from his own. The fiery intensity in her eyes softened, but the throaty allure remained in her voice as she whispered, "Just admiring the view. I like what I see."

A chill crept into Tyson's bones, seeping through his chest before sinking like a stone in the pit of his stomach. With dawning horror, he realized he had unintentionally tapped into Azazel's seductive charm and used it against her. She'd parrotted his own words back to him at his behest. Now, her eyes were uncertain, reflecting a mix of confusion and vulnerability that twisted his gut with shame.

He wanted to reject the intoxicating temptation of this power, to apologize for manipulating her. But then another voice whispered up from the shadowed depths of his mind, smooth and compelling, plucking at his deepest desires.

Use it, the voice seemed to purr. She's never been this vulnerable. Claim her as your queen.

Tyson recoiled violently, shaking his head to dislodge the predatory thoughts invading his mind. Sabertooth's feral instincts howled within, goading him to seize the vulnerable girl before him. Azazel agreed, deeming her a worthy mate. She would be his, at his side for all his conquests.

Illyana gazed up at him, her fingers lightly brushing his shirt. Her blue eyes were clouded, and uncertain, yet longing peeked through the haze. She leaned closer, standing on her toes to whisper in his ear, her warm breath tickling his neck.

"Tyson..." she murmured, his name a tentative caress on her lips. Before he could react, she placed a feather-light kiss on his cheek. The hesitant contact ignited something primal in him, stoking the embers of dangerous desire. Sabertooth snarled, thrilled by her vulnerability, urging him to take more. To dominate. To claim. Azazel added, To conquer.

"Stop," he growled through gritted teeth, the single word both a demand and a desperate plea. She blinked, the fog in her eyes clearing for a moment as she peered up at him in confusion.

"What did you do to me?" Illyana asked, her voice small but lacking accusation. Just uncertainty, and something deeper stirring beneath.

Tyson's heart wrenched with shame. "It wasn't me, it was Azazel," he explained hurriedly. "I didn't mean to... I'm so sorry, his power, it... it's too strong."

The insistent whispers in his mind grew louder, more tempting. The predatory instincts threatened to overwhelm him. He had to get away before he did something unforgivable.

In a swirl of smoke, Tyson teleported across the chamber, putting distance between himself and the girl's intoxicating vulnerability. He held up a hand, forestalling her approach.

"Azazel, he’s like you, he can teleport across dimensions. He stumbled upon Limbo by accident and he set about conquering it," Tyson called out, explaining Azazel's history, all while wrestling for control against the demon's influence.

"Check the rest of this dimension for demons. I'll wait here until this damned power fades," he implored, not trusting himself near her right now. Not with these urges churning within.

Illyana vanished in a burst of light.

Alone now, Tyson focused on his breathing, mentally tracking each slow exhalation.

After an interminable wait, Illyana's signature portal split the air, and she stepped through, disheveled and frowning.

"There are hundreds of demons scattered throughout Limbo, uncontrolled," she reported gravely. "Too many for me to handle alone."

Tyson looked down at his hands, now free of the red haze of Azazel's influence. "It's gone," he said with relief.

Illyana's expression softened, though wariness still lurked in her eyes. "I should bring you back now," she said. Tyson nodded, more than ready to leave Limbo.

With a wave of her hand, Illyana opened a portal. They stepped through, together.