9924/Sorcerer's World: The Mephisto Gambit

From Heroes Assemble MUSH
Jump to navigation Jump to search
Sorcerer's World: The Mephisto Gambit
Date of Scene: 31 January 2022
Location: Hell
Synopsis: Has Doom shown his true colors at last? A second trip to Hell is not quite so productive as the first amd the League may have just made a very dangerous enemy...
Cast of Characters: Victor Von Doom, Clark Kent, Diana Prince, Wanda Maximoff, Zatanna Zatara




Victor Von Doom has posed:
While the Justice League might have laid claim to the Candle of Neron -- with a little help from Victor von Doom -- they are up against significant magical power if they hope to put an end to the schemes of Felix Faust and his gathered allies. While there is still hope that the efforts to rescue Dr. Fate from whichever time or reality he has been banished to thanks to the Seige Perilous, those efforts -- at least thus far -- have yielded little. Except putting the rescue teams into rather extreme danger. And while certainly no one intends to give up and abandon their ally to his fate, the time for Faust to complete his objective, to rewrite the laws of reality and insure the domination of magic over science is growing close indeed. No avenue of defeating him, however risky, can entirely be crossed off.

And once more, their most unlikely of allies in this endeavor, Dr. Doom has come through with another possibility. Another artifact of power that they can obtain, One more shift in the odds to their favor that may make the battle against Faust, Mordru, Eclipso and all the other evil mystics gathered under their battle one that the League just might win.

And so the monarch of Latveria has once more summoned them to the Gates of Hell, that seeming endless, expansive plain surrounded by those impossibly towering peaks on all sides. The gate still remains broken, shattered by their last trip into Hell. Those impossible, midnight walls lay broken in numberous places and beyond the gate and it's slightly less imposing walls the battle for the First Circle of Hell continues to rage on, the robotic armies of Doom continuing to stream through portals, reinforcing the masses already gathered as they hold back the tide of minor imps and lesser devils. The great rounded archways that lead to the other Circles of Hell stand in imposing fashion, spreadout through the vast courtyard. All except the Eighth Gate of course, the still shattered entrance -- and exit -- to Neron's realm. The Wishweaver, The King of Hate, the Lord of Lies still presumably trapped in his Infernal realm.

So as the battle rages beyond, the hooded figure of Dr. Doom stands there amongst the chaos, those skies the color of flame, that miasma of smoke and ashes seeming to hang everywhere in the air, a faint distortion that plays tricks on both the senses and mind, designed to confuse and mislead. "Doom's armies still hold the gates and this gives you, Protectors of Earth a unique opportunity. The powers of the Candle of Neron are formidable, but so are the foes you must face. It might even the odds, but it is no guarantee of tipping the scales in your favor. But we have the opportunity to seize another of these dangerous artifacts from the Hell Lords and see it put to better use. The sword of Lord Satanus is a possibility of course, as is the crown of his sister, Lady Blaze. But if you truly wish to bring that petty dabbler of magicks Faust low, it is the Ring of Mephisto that we must seek," he says, his voice booming from behind that iron face plate that hides his vissage away.

Such a drama queen.

Clark Kent has posed:
Superman doesn't bother to touch the ground here, hovering over the struggling machines with no pretenses to mortality.

The big man floats, sometimes walking on air in order to direct himself, and otherwise simply listens to Doctor Doom explain his tactics. Clark's eyes are squinted against the flames of hell, and his arms are crossed creating the impression of a vaguely upset ambulatory tree trunk. Superman's eyes gleam in a thousand, thousand different colors a few times as Doom describes the nature and defenses of Hell.

Mephisto's ring, huh, Superman thinks, but the fact of the matter is Doom is the best ploy they have.

"This place hasn't changed." Superman finally says, "It's like someone saw a dog chasing a car and decided to make it an entire layer of reality."

"Which way is it, Doom?" Superman says, jerking a thumb at the gates, contempt clear on his face. "These devil palaces all look the same to me after a while. I guess it goes to show if you give someone an infinite palette you get a lot of really similar looking nothing."

Diana Prince has posed:
Diana stands with sword and shield in hand, her dark hair moves gently against her bare shoulders in the foul winds of this dank, and dark, place. She looks unthrilled to be here as she scans the horizon with her eyes. She hears the others speaking, and her stare goes to Doom, then to Superman, then back out to the fields of Hell.

"If they put as much protection over a candle, I yearn to see what guards lay ahead for a powerful ring." Diana quietly quips before she looks back to the others.

"Let us make sure to stay close, focus our power outward to protect each other's back. We have a goal here, and hopefully can push our way toward it as a powerhouse of combined efforts..." She appraises, though is obviously open to suggestions!

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Hell and back again, a witch's story. That's how stories go.

Wanda fought to get the Candle last time and she returns again. Consider it a favor to the man under the golden helm wherever he may be. The Lord of Order under there might have strong opinions about the red sorceress but she cares about the man's safety.

"Change is window dressing here," she follows up on Superman's comment. She wears a simple grey cloak with a hood as protection here. Anything more would be unseemly.

The smile on her lips is wan. "Princess, I imagine the ring is on someone's finger. Important ones that go wandering get stories told. Does anyone care for volcanoes?" Are there eagles?

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
How many times in her life will she go to hell? For most people, it is a rhetorical question. For the homo magi, she wonders if she could ask for a frequent flyer discount.

Zatanna carries no visible weapons as is her wont and has exchanged the iconic heels and fishnets for something more practical for running - knee-high boots, form-fitting black that is magically flame retardant and set with spells for repelling demons bites. To the arcane eye, she shimmers with magic.

"Imagine having your heart's desire," she asks wistfully, facing into the foul wind that stirs the air.

Victor Von Doom has posed:
There is no denying that there is truth to Superman's words. Perhaps it is the vastness, the endless expanse. Perhaps it is part and parcel of the shared, collective image that humanity at least has of the Circles of Hell. Perhaps it is a deliberate choice, the sameness, all design to confuse anyone unfortunate enough to get trapped here without the power to freely escape. To be sure, one of the eight great gates has crumbled since they last stood here. And true, gapping holes now spot the battlements where there was only uniform black rock before. And yet somehow nothing feels any different.

The decorations might shift ever so slightly from time to time, but the players all remain the same. Certainly Wanda has a keen sense of the place it would seem.

The Latverian monarch turns away from them for a moment, that green cloak somehow billowing around him despite the fact that the wind does not seem to blow in the least in this desolate hellscape. Finally he points towards one of the Gates that flanks the ruined one to Neron's realm, the one on the very end. "There. That Gate will take us to the realm of Mephisto, the Ninth Circle of Hell," Doom finally intones, the jets built into his armor suddenly flaring to life as he too lifts off from the despoiled ground underfoot, the flagstones black and somehow oily looking, the ash that falls upon them simply dissolving into the stone itself. No doubt to be flung skyward once more in an endless cycle of decay.

"Be careful of what you wish for Daughter of Zatara," comes Dr. Doom's booming words, hovering in midair as he turns to face them once more. "That goes for all of you. Alien. Amazon. Witch. Sorceress. Mephisto is deadly in the extreme but he would rather trap you. Have you damn yourselves. None hold a greater mastery of illusion, of deception. And his realm will surely throw all manner of false threats -- and even falser promises -- your way. Hoping to lead you astray.

Turning back towards that waiting portal, Doom begins to soar over the battling armies below, over robot locked in battle with demon. "The Ring will be found in the throneroom of Mephisto. With luck, the Lord of Evil shall not be there. The ring's power is such that even he dare not wear it at all times and though Doom has no wish to play the skulking thief that is prefereable to open confrontation," he states flatly.

"For now," he mutters under his breath. And then the portal is reached.

Clark Kent has posed:
"You know, I always wondered what you'd do if you needed to degrade a group of people and there were two of the same broad category. I guess a thesaurus works." Superman says, eyeing the portal. His super vision can track magic to an extent, but not nearly as well as natural, physical forces, and Clark feels a little blind here. Thank goodness Zee and the Scarlet Witch are here; he'll have to give Wanda a proper thank you later, when he's not in such a cussed mood.

Doom gets under his skin in a very similar way to Lex Luthor. That a man so singularly gifted could be so?

Superman shakes his head. Game face, Clark. Worry about the knife at your back when it comes, Mephisto'll be bad enough.

"Let's get to it then. Nothing like breaking and entering to complete your day." Superman says as Doom goes through the air. "Up! Up and away!" Superman says, kicking through the air and following Doom through the portal. Normally Clark's the first into a dangerous situation, but whatever fresh hell is inside there, Doom likely is going to absorb it better.

Diana Prince has posed:
Diana is looking to the others in their group before her eyes are drawn back to Doom's own. She grimaces at what he offers to them before she steps up on a bit of higher ground. Her stare then goes to the last gate that he indicates, and she looks to Superman before Doom is off on his way.

"Well. Let us hope this is a day where he leaves it on his night stand..." Diana quietly says before she witnesses the portal being used by the Man of Steel. A look is given to Wanda, and then to Zatanna, as Diana starts to trail after them toward said tear in the fabric of Hell.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
How delightful, robots toiling in a battle and despicably ugly landscapes that mix Fury Road stylings with the bleak apocalyptic vision of a game designer. Wanda doesn't let her eyes wander or focus anywhere for long. Better to keep turning over what Doom tells them in her mind like a stone.

"He is no friend of ours." Doom or Mephisto? The concern shown by the master of Latveria is a dark testament to the greater lord of lies. She reaches up to check her hood stays secure and pulls it lower. Soft ashen fabric skims along the brow, hiding a air bit of her face in a good way. The veil of anonymity won't go far with demons or devils. Little things make the difference.

She smiles at Clark briefly and then to Diana. "Understood." A glow covers her hands to get her airborne. Zatanna she waits on to see how the other mage will transport herself, refusing to leave anyone behind. "Wouldn't it be nice if he were out visiting?"

Reaping a bit of luck and twisting a little more in their favor isn't out of the question.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Superman' in a bad mood is novel for the magician, his comment on a little B&E earns a snort.

"Hell is other people," Zatanna murmurs, "in this case Doom," and with a frown and a twist of her wrist, rises into the air to follow the others. Despite its cost in energy, taking the scenic view is preferable to walking amidst the battling robots below.

In the air, she quips to Wanda, "We can leave him our calling cards if he is out."

Victor Von Doom has posed:
It is always possible, right? Hell has to be an awfully big place and certainly it would appear that Doom's robotic army is wrecking all sorts of havoc on the plane. Perhaps the lord of the realm is indeed out and about, tending to emergencies. It would certainly be nice, if true. Somehow though, no one should probably get their hopes up on that score.

As an ally, it is no surprise that Victor von Doom would rub the assembled heroes the wrong way. Perhaps it is the raw, unadultorated arrogance that he does not make even the slightest attempt to hide away. Perhaps it is that smug sense of superiority and his dismissive attitude he seems to adopt with anyone. Or maybe it's the way that he refers to himself in the third person.

Ugh. So annoying.

But he has not steered them wrong yet and his hatred of Felix Faust is unquestioned. Perhaps that is enough to keep him... reliable. Not trustworthy by any means, but not a viper that has to be constantly watched either.

Though that level of scrutiny might be a good idea.

Either way, he is the first to plunge through that portal, simply swallowed up by the semblance of swirling flames. Not the most comforting sort of thing to dive into but they do not seem to be entirely real. Either way, when they follow they will all find themselves somewhere else.

While Neron's realm was seemingly some dar castle, filled with all manner of tricks and traps it would appear that Mephisto's realm is a... cathedral? The walls might be of stone, but it is stunning, glod flecked marble with carpets of rich red velvet that cover the floors. Great crystal chandeliers cast their warm glow everywhere while intricately carved columns reach up to the ceiling overhead with it's majestic mosaic.

And yet, everything still feels... off. It is only when taking a closer look that it becomes apparent why, how everything has been subtly twisted. Those intricately carved marble columns? The figues are all clearly souls being tormented and tortured. The mosaic on the ceiling above? While beautiful in it's detail, there is no God reaching for the first man. Instead it shows the Gates of Heaven torn down and askew, rampaging devils impaling and burning the heavenly host. Even the paintings on the walls are slightly twisted, Renassance masterpieces changed ever so slightly, debauched homages to Evil.

"Trust little of what you see," Doom states hollowly, voice strange from behind that iron mask. Mephisto's throne room should be that way," he states, gesturing down a nearby hall.

Clark Kent has posed:
"Just as creepy as he can possibly make it, huh?" Superman says, as he keeps an ear on his colleagues. He knows Doom probably has precautions but at least he can keep track of the heart rates and other tell tale signs of the health of the heroes with him; a sudden increase in heartbeat or change in breathing might be the split second warning they need that someone is trapped in an illusion or has been compromised by the evil lying in wait, here.

The lack of guards was concerning at first, but makes sense on a second thought. What kind of illusionist relies on visible protection? So Superman's eyes go rainbow colored as he scans the elemental spectrum around them, hoping to find a brick of reality to cling to in this endless whirlwind of magic and manipulation.

That was a little purple, the writer in Clark chides. Otherwise he follows Doom, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Diana Prince has posed:
Diana passes through the fiery portal, and steps off to the side to give the others ease of entry. She looks around the new scenery, which only causes her to breathe a calming breath. "Lovely." She dryly states before she regards Superman. She can see his eyes in that scanning state, but without him speaking up, she glances back to Zatanna, and Wanda.

"Do either of you sense any impending threats?" Which is an odd question, even she knows that. They're in HELL, after all. The whole place is an impending threat.

Even still though, the question stands! She stares at those columns, and purses her lips as she grips the handle of her sword a little tighter.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Annoying, if effective. The unadulterated, overweening pride serves its purpose sometimes. They can be relatively certain that Doom plays for Team Earth, and maybe even Team Human. Is that not better than the odds for Hell?

Wanda watches out for other ophidians lurking in the hell grass, anyway.

The flames that would burn her skin and devour her whole meet the slightest kernel of resistence when she passes. Things older than the pits where fallen angels landed occasionally stir. Shivering disguises the sick crawl of her stomach that never signals a good end. At the end of this--if they get an end--she will be nose-first in a small honey jar reserved for removing the bilious taste that comes up now and then.

Better that she hasn't looked up after floating through or the unsettled feeling might not go away. "I would rather not look." So she's resigned to look using all her witch- and mutant-gotten senses. "Something's always watching. Stop me if my eyes go black."

That could be a joke except nothing there suggests it is. "Best start up the calling card." A slow turn gives her some better vantage as she grimaces. Not a fun time for the Avenger.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Illusory flames lick at her feet, threatening pain. Mouth clenched against the bile rising in her throat, Zatanna touches down and circles in place, taking in the paean to tortured souls built into a mockery of a cathedral.

She steadfastly ignores the columns of tortured souls that rise to splendid paintings above, celebrating the distortion of beauty and goodness.

"Nothing is to be trusted here," she affirms Von Doom's statement. But, untrustworthy as he is, he knows their adversary.

Focused on the others in the group, she can think of few others she would prefer to voyage to hell with. To Diana's question, "We are watched. There are eyes on us and not just the paintings," she jokes grimly. "This place is possessed of the darkest magic."

Victor Von Doom has posed:
For a man wrapped head to toe in metal armor, Doom does appear to be able to move with surprising stealth when called for. At least when he is not loudly proclaiming his greatness in passing. No beat of his heart sounds -- which does raise the question of whether it is even Victor von Doom standing with them or just one of his robots. Perhaps that is his gambit, to let them take the risk while he remains safely ensconed with the walls of Castle Doom.

As for reality, that seems to be in short supply here it would seem. No doubt there must be some sort of reality, no matter how alien it might be to those who do not belong on this plane of existance. But Superman, even with those incredible senses will be hard pressed to find it. Instead everything around them appears to be made up of magic and illusion, enchantment draped atop one another in an endless layer of deception.

Annyoing, but probably to be expected for an entity of Mephisto's repute.

While Neron relied more on concealled traps and guardians, none of those seem to be in place here, just the twisted setting of the holy made unholy. If it bothers Doom though he gives no sign of it, simply starting down the indicated passageway, those gold-flecked marble walls and twisted works of art lining the hallway. Occasionally gaps open up, brief glimpses of rooms beyond. Rooms filled with treasure, gold and gems and plundered artifacts of near-limitless worth. But those don't last for long and after a few minutes of walking the images seen in those doorways shift...

...a glimpse of some lab, strange and alien in design. A cavernous room that shakes as if the ground beneath it is being torn apart by tremors. HIgh above, disappearing into the sky is the fiery trail of some craft, launched heavenward in a last ditched effort to salvage something from the imminent ruin soon to be visited on this world. And left behind? Only a couple that clings to one another as their child vanishes to safety...

...in another a glimpse of an ancient columned building set aflame, great plumes of dark smoke rising up into the sky. Heaped on the ground amidst puddles of blood are fallen warrior women, their armor rent and torn, sliced apart much like their flesh. And amidst them with a grin is a towering man in a black helm that almost completely obscures his features. A dozen warriors rush him, should overwhelm him, but the god only laughs as he whirls that bloodsoaked great sword in a sweeping arc that leaves another half-dozen foes, Amazons, bleeding out on the ground in front of him...

...a room appears, this one not filled to the brim with gold and other treasures. Instead only a single, orante bookstand rests there. A bookstand holding only a singular book. Black as night with etchings that somehow both attract and repel the eye. That heavy book flies open on it's own, the pages rapidly flicked through, each one displaying incantations more powerful then the last, the promise of limitless power. For anyone willing to reach out and claim the Darkhold...

...in another chamber a distinguished man kneels on a stone floor. Hands cradling his face, those slightly bent shoulders shudder, even that finely cut tuxedo not helping to conceal away the despair behind a stylish facade. "The Prince of Evil tells so many lies. Lies that even ensnared me..." comes the broken voice of a legendary magician, head lifting to reveal the bloody, hollowed out eyesockets that rest in that once distiguished face...

Clark Kent has posed:
Superman looks.

It's not the first time his enemies have used this moment against him. Clark was half expecting something. Maybe Doomsday, Doomesday's popular. But no, let's go with this. When he lost?

...normalcy. A life, a family, a world only remembered by a handful of relatives that all resent him and a horde of criminals so vile they were banished to a place that also sounds, in its own way, a great deal like hell.

"You're pushing it." Superman says or no one. Or maye he just assumes he's being listened to?

Diana Prince has posed:
"The darkest magic..." Diana quietly mutters in repeat of Zatanna's words. She proceeds though onward trailing after Doom. Her eyes move toward the doorways that they come across, watching at what unfolds behind each one. The Princess lowers her chin, and her eyebrows narrow at the vision of the Amazon warriors being taken down by none other than Ares himself.

"Clearly it, or they, know we are here." She says softly, giving her sword grip another adjusting squeezing before she looks away. Her eyes going forward to Doom.

"WE need not enter these false realities, these taunting Hells, do we?" She asks of him, assuming he'd know the answer to that!

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
@emit Something about everyone having their price applies here. Trappings cast in dripping gold and Decorative Gothic style impress the right sort. The heart longing for wealth might find it appealing. Souls eager for power could leak envy from their twisting pores.

Everyone has a weakness and bargaining chips to gently shove across the table when the bet is up. Being told by Doom does not change the reality confronted looking side-on at a gaping doorway full of crystals.

"Pair up," she says as a soft recommendation. "You see the same thing through that door?"

Her teeth grit at the dead in a stew of smoke and blood. Bile reminds her of the body's own weaknesses, her own limits, a comfort where everything else is smoke and illusion. "We don't care to enter. Rather crude trickery. Is it feasible to go on?" She's in agreement with Diana.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
They pass niches opening into other worlds and realms. There are no comforting niches devoted to favorite saints, but each of their worst nightmares made real.

Some she recognizes as they pass, the end of a fabulous planet and the origins of Superman. Her hands clench at the sorrow in his parent's faces as they release their son to an unknown fate.

The magician lowers her head, trying to ward off the wails of the dying in Diana's land. "I hope not. I think they are traps."

Then, Zatanna hurries her steps to walk by Diana's side, small comfort, she knows.

They pass a room promising limitless power. She glances at Wanda, who likely holds the key to the book that exhales magic.

Doom spoke truly. "Trust nothing."

Zatanna is unprepared to see her father. Even knowing that what she sees can't be true, it entraps her. Hands clutched together in entreaty; one choked word escapes her, "Father." Breathless with the effort, she ignores the weeping form of her father and walks on with the others.

"I passed the test," she says aloud, afraid to look back. Now, she needs someone's hand to hold.

Victor Von Doom has posed:
The images fill every doorway as they pass, offering up glimpses of all manner of things. Some would seem to be threats -- or perhaps enticements, a chance to change one moment, to alter the course of their lives. Others are there as temptations, promises of reward if they simply give in. They are not nearly as harmful -- at least not physically -- as the tricks and traps that Neron relied on, though they likely draw blood in their own, entirely different way.

"You do not," Doom replies to the Amazon Princess, his voice harsh, more then a little unexpected emotion in those words. Which image is the one meant to tempt him? Perhaps it is the woman, tall and dark of hair just faintly streaked with grey in simple, homespun clothing. Someone from Latveria perhaps. Someone from his past. Clearly the European despot has little interest in discussing the matter however, scorn quickly entering his words. "To do so would be the very height of foolishness," he adds coldly.

That would be a no then. Victor is apparently not a believer in utilizing one word when a dozen or so could do.

If there is anyone listening to Superman's warning tone they are apparently not intimidated. Or at least the passing archways are not suddenly empty of their lures and threats...

...Blink. No longer does some alien lab fill the doorways. Instead it is a simplier image. An almost picturesque farmhouse, though real and lived in. Swaying fields of a bountiful harvest to be bend but do not break in the wind that sweeps across the wide open, flat lands. A well used pick-up truck sits in the drive and an older man walks towards the waiting porch. Until he suddenly freezes, a grimace sliding over his weathered features. One hand reaches towards his shoulder as if in pain. Then eyes go wide and he pitches forward, staggered and falling. Alone, sprawled as it starts to rain...

...Blink. The skies are sun-drenched, the clouds a brilliant, perfect white, puffy against that brilliant blue background. That hum fills the air, the sound of an engine, of propellers cutting through the breeze. Of a relic of an age long past but looking as if it just rolled off the assembly line, the prop plane descending to the waiting landing strip, bouncing a little on that dirt path as the antique plane rolls to a stop. And the man in the leather bomber jacket hoping agilely out of that cockpit, extending a hand as he starts to tug those goggles, that scarf free...

...Blink. This chamber is the antithesis of bright and sunny, the stone walls stark, bare and somehow brutal. Screams fill the air, screams so ragged that it is a wonder that the man making them has voice enough to still utter them. Rats and other foul things scurry in the corner and the angle slowly changes, showing the great horned beasts with impossibly sharp claws gathered around a table. A table where a figure is strapped down at wrist and ankle though he arches up off of it, so sharp it's a wonder that his back doesn't break. Sweat and blood drenches hair of silver, little rivulets of it dripping onto the floor as the screaming starts again...

...Blink. From one hall to another, though this chamber is more auditorium, a stage fron and center, both in the room and for attention, meant to draw the eye. Lights flare, directed towards that same stage where two figures stand. The crowd watches in breathless anticipation as the pair of tuxedo-clad magicians perform. Father and daughter. Together...

The carrot and the stick. Though all tricks.

"Ignore it all," Doom grates out again harshly, though his steps seem to shrink, letting the others start to pass him by. "The throne room is just ahead. The ring is within reach," he adds, muttering to himself under his breath.

Clark Kent has posed:
Pa.

Superman looks at one of the worst days of his life, and there's a little boy there, in a cape, for just a moment. He looks hollowly at the door, swallowing a universe and trying to reorient himself.

"Just another day on the farm. Not much to work with I guess." Superman says, keeping his eyes on Doom.

Diana Prince has posed:
Diana moves to sweep her sword back over her shoulder, where she slips it once more in to the leather sheath there. She lowers her hand to her hip where she unclips the lasso from her hip. When she looks over to Superman again, she catches some of that 'day' that he is shown. She appears beside him, placing her hand on his shoulder to show support... She gives his arm a gentle squeeze before she lowers her hand again, then regards Doom...

She doesn't show him any support.

Instead she looks to Wanda and Zatanna. "To the throne room then? Enough with these pathetic attempts to set us back..." The Princess utters as she wields her coiled twine at her side in-hand, and marches onward to the throne room.

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
"None of you has a reputation for being that." The dry admonishment against acting hastily lands fairly short of the mark for the red sorceress. She doesn't let her eyes linger. Zatanna will not look back so neither will she either.

Violence and beauty weave together in illusory nature. Magic seethes all around them and it binds them as much as blunts their vision. Wanda presses a hand to her stomach for a moment. "Clever games. Like pantomime in the city square." The fierce shock of torture will stay with her, lodged at the bottom of her spine. "Punch and Judy next?"

Superman and Diana supporting one another is beautiful in its way. Reaffirming. A breath of fresh air as she nods. "Let's move on. I appreciate the cinematic value but not much else."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Relentless. As relentless as hell's unending torture.

"Darling Mephisto is treating us to his best efforts," Zatanna says through gritted teeth.

One glance at the stage is enough. She turns her head away and trudges on. Minutes feel like hours as they wade through the morass of black magic.

Victor Von Doom has posed:
It is clear that no one is going to bite. That they will not plunge in to avenge wrongs, or to endulge themselves in more pleasant times and the entire hall seems to give a little shudder. That bright, radiant light that seems to fill the passage thanks to those elaborate crystal chandelies begins to dim, the cheery white light increasingly tinged by red. Each archway they pass now has no more false visions, no threats or offers. Instead each one is filled with flames that burn brighter and brighter, the dim, barely audible sound of screams of torment reaching out, digging at them like a splinter in the mind.

The passageway grows darker and darker until it is only illuminated by those hellish flames, interspersed, their intensity felt, the twisted cathedral growing increasingly hot. And up ahead? The brightest firelight of all.

When the passage comes to an end it does so abruptly. Between one step and the next it is almost as if they suddenly leap forward a hundred or more feet, finding themselves at the archway that leads into the room beyond instead of several hundred feet away. And what lies beyond?

Well it doesn't exactly look like a throne room, that much is for certain. Nor does it really resemble that twisted cathedral either. It looks more like... a study, really. There is a heavy wooden desk in one corner of the room and warm, wooden bookcases almost glow with the sheen of their finish. Rare books or all sorts -- most no longer found on Earth at all -- sit in orderly fashion. While many of the works are leather bound, some are actual clay or wax tablets. Some are even rock. Papyrus scrolls sit next to skins inscribed in spidery writing. Some of those skins look suspiciously light human flesh.

Always somthing off-putting about the place.

Of course the front of the room is dominated by a huge, stone fireplace that blazes brightly, filling the room with it's flickering glow. And in front of the fire? A highbacked leather seat. One that is clearly occupied judging but that patch of dark hair that rises about the chair back and the red arm resting there at the side.

"So. You've come for my ring then?" a voice says, full of power and terror, a voice decidedly not human in any respect. And then he -- it -- laughs and it is like a sword of ice applied directly to the soul.

Clark Kent has posed:
Of course it's tempting.

The last time Superman was in hell, demons had stolen Jimmy Olsen's soul and left it burning on the gates. The Man of Steel was so infuriated that these monsters would do that to an innocent boy that he literally punched his way through the armies of demons. This was all part of some infernal intrigue, one that nearly doomed the world because he'd lost his head.

This place drives him mad. So he tunes it out, grits his teeth, and focuses on the real problem. Faust.

And Mephisto. "You." Superman says, knowing the lord of the ninth is nearly all powerful here and still having to resist the urge to just start hitting him until he's reduced to so much powder. "Thought you'd be out, tonight."

Diana Prince has posed:
The sudden lunge of their progress from the hallway, in to the 'study' has Diana a bit further put-off by this whole experience, like this is all just a giant game, and they've made a mistake since the first step.

But the arrival in to the library, or office, or whatever this is, just has the Princess scanning the shelves of tomes. Some part of her is curious what volumes would lie here, but when the man in the chair begins to speak, like a unearthly monster, the Princess grips the coils of her lasso.

She tosses it out too! She tries to wrap it around his head, to stop this game before it gets any further out of hand!

A rash decision? Maybe. But she chose to do it anyway! "Where is the ring?" Diana calls out next then!

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
Words almost come to Wanda's mouth. She bites her tongue lightly to keep a glib reply back. Pietro's habit for snark has always been so much better than hers. He can also outright just about anything except a Flash.

She should have bit harder. An answer comes for Mephisto, but not the offer that originally came to mind. "Not concerned by the archangels on the loose?"

Maybe he'll respond with Wonder Woman's glowing lasso in use. Her hood tilts down, making her the unimpressive grey ghost among the Justice League's finest. Those books cannot call loudly when she thoroughly examines Zatanna's boots. Superman's stillness. Diana's claim.

"Maybe for the company."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
They portal forward, a familiar feeling except for the heat. The room is like home - the Shadowcrest of her nightmares. The voice is also out of her worst dreams. One side of her mouth curls up at Superman.

Diana's lasso leaves afterimages of gold in the air, precipitating her into action.

After quickly scanning the shelves, she has nothing wittier to say than, .gnir eht dniF (Find the ring.)

Victor Von Doom has posed:
"That lasso soars across the room with it's customary accuracy and the figure, barely seen, in that highbacked chair does not bother to move as it falls around him, apparently binding him to that seat. Compelling him to tell the truth. If such compulsion can possibly work on the Prince of Evil.

As they enter the room, as they move so they can see just who is in that chair. And it would seem it is no trick, no deception. A red-skinned fiend rests there apparently without concern, that high-necked cape draped around him. Even with that cape it is possible to see that muscled flesh and yet despite that, Mephisto still looks almost slightly emaciated. As if he is being consumed from within. It is appropriate somehow.

"How nice of you to drop by," he says, those words still almost painful, something not right in the tone and pitch. Something beyond alien. His gaze flashes towards the Amazon Princess. "Were you concerned that I wouldn't tell the truth, Diana of Themysicra? Set your mind at ease. Why lie, when the truth is so much better."

His gaze slips over to the Scarlet Witch, that smile twisting, the malevolence of him impossible to conceal in even such a simple expression. "What are archangles to me? Who's to say they don't do my good works for me, intended or not?" he says, laughing once more, the sound far worse then nails on a chalkboard. "And what of you? Care for a new patron?" he asks, those fiery eyes glinting disturbingly.

He seens entirely unconcerned when Zatanna murmurs her spell, turning that smiling visage her way. Those shelves are filled with so much lost, ancient knowledge. Ancient writings in Sumerian, in Egyptian and Chinese, in INdus and Olmec. Books and tablets lost when the Great Library of Alexandria burned. Her spell takes in the entire room... and returns to it's caster with it's unmistakable verdict.

There is no ring here.

"Did you really think I would invest any of my power in some silly bauble?" Mephisto sneers. "Do you take me for some foolish fallen angle like Neron. I am the first. I am the Prime Evil." he bites out towards the League's resident mystical master.

Only then does his gaze swing back towards Superman, that smile reeking of insincerity, words vile and biting. "And the boyscout. Always so willing to do what he's told. Always so ready to be decieved. I would almost be impressed," the red devil says in congenial fashion. Until he is congenial no longer, rage washing over him, banishing any sense of jovality. "IF HE DID NOT INTEND TO TAKE THAT WHICH IS MINE."

Mephisto seems to suddenly expand and for a moment it actually looks like the golden lasso wrapped around him will actually snap. But then he settles back into the chair once more, those dark eyes glittering malevolently. "It seems like you've lost someone," he says, casually giving a twist of one taloned hand.

And the figure of Dr. Doom standing in the archway leading into this study suddenly shimmers and fades away. Perhaps Mephisto is not the only one adept with illusion.

Clark Kent has posed:
Superman looks at the being who works so, so hard at trying to pitch himself as THE devil, an evil more fundamental than the satanic image he puts on for show. Mephisto shows his fangs and here, in his place of power, that threat is real.

Superman laughs. It's not a nice laugh; it's the kind of cold chuckle the mystics in the room might associate with a sun god, or an angel of wrath. Just a brutal burst of contemtpious mirth. "You think I'm here to ROB you demon?"

"Of course Doom bailed. I'm sure one of these three are going to find him in a minute stuffing your silverwear down his cloak." Clark grins like he's the one with all the power here, floating in the air, his cape clapping in a nonexistant wind. "I was never going to steal a cursed relic that Doom'd steal from me anyway. Come on."

"I'm here to talk. Sit down, put your face back on, and let's figure out this Faust thing." Superman pauses. "Because we BOTH know you're going to help us. I don't see why we have to dicker around about it all day. Do you want me to act scared for a little bit?"

Diana Prince has posed:
It's right after Diana looks back to see who they had lost, and the revelation of Doom leaving them, has Diana looking back to Mephisto in the chair, the lasso STILL around him. She yanks on it, intending to pull him over in the chair and dump him on to his back upon the floor!

"Answer our questions, and we will leave this place, and leave you to your eternity of tricks, and misery." The Princess commands him as she pulls the lasso taught!

Wanda Maximoff has posed:
They of course lack the presence of the master of Latveria. A pair of princesses will have to do in his stead. Are they something more significant in quantity?

Wanda stays quiet, not wanting to interrupt anyone else. She can feel the flash of magic around her in a place already thickly stewed in hellfire and infernal depths, there cannot be any not feeling it. Zatanna's spell might hopefully turn something up. Sadly hopes in the ninth circuit are dashed surely as souls are damned.

"Or has he?"

Mephisto's rage buffets them all. There can be no immunity to being stabbed by those knives and the lash of incoherent cold. She goes still as the sun comes back out when forced out by the Kryptonian, but a certain man in the room could probably convince Michael and Mephisto to sit down for coffee. She's got faith in him. "Would you like a cup of tea or a glass of wine?" she offers politely to the red-cast fiend.

It probably offends all the more that the elder evil that left its mark on her hasn't eradicated this bit. She might almost consider tossing a pillow but this is Mephisto's own realm, he doesn't need the help.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna smiles when nothing is found. It saves them time. Hopefully, it will mean less time in Mephisto's presence.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Doom fade to nothing. Does that confirm her suspicions? Optimistically, she hopes he is using them as a ruse to keep Mephisto busy while he searches for what they need.

Behind that good boy image, Superman possesses a brain. "Likely Faust's reality won't include you, Mephisto. Works for me. Tell us where the objects of power reside."

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Perhaps he really cannot escape the lasso wrapped around him. It is, afterall, a construct of the gods. And it is certainly hard to believe that he would simply let himself be treated in this fashion otherwise. That chair and the demon that sits in it might be heavy, but it is still nothing for Wonder Woman and she easily jerks but chair and devil back, letting him tumble over, starting up at the quartet that surrounds him, glaring at them all, those inhuman features twisted by rage and hate.

And then that expression smoothes, that creepy smile back fixed in place though that malevolence still glitters in the dark pools of his eyes. "And do you think I accuse you of theft, Kryptonian? You are just the distraction," he says with renewed calm. Perhaps too much calm considering the rage a moment ago, considering the indignity of his current position. He lets his gaze swing around the others, at Clark and Zatanna offering a bargain. At Diana demanding answers. Even at their good cop, Wanda, offering some courtesy. Even if it feels a little mocking under the circumstances.

"Ask your questions. Offer your bargain. Perhaps I will find some amusement in it," Mephisto allows, smile still present... and hate still burning in that black-eyed gaze. "You know where the stolen artifacts are. The Seige Perilous. Excalibur. The Jar, the Bell and the Wheel. The Heart of Darkness. All the other little bobbles he has acquired. You know who has them. But you can't take them from him and that is your problem. But not for long, I think," he says, the smile on his face even putting the Joker's to shame. "You might fear Felix Faust, but I do not." Bluster? Foolishness? Perhaps.

Before anyone else can ask their question a portal suddenly opens across the room, the image of the Meeting Room of the Hall of Justice shown there, on the other side. And stepping throught? Victor von Doom. Whatever his intent it was apparently not to abandon them. There is no sign of any ring there, but clenched in one armored fist is what appears to be a piece of rolled up parchment. "You waste your time. The Prince of Evil cannot be trusted, so says Doom," the armored figure says.

Which might be just a little rich coming from him in this moment.

The red-skinned devil turns his gaze towards the reappeared Doom, features twisting in rage once more. "Enjoy your ill-gotten spoils, mortal. You shall not have it for long. And you will pay more deeply than you can possibly imagine..."

Clark Kent has posed:
"I'm not going to give you anything, man." Superman says, because he knows the casualness annoys Mephisto. "I'm telling you why I know your oily claws are involved in this. Because at the end of the day, what Faust wants means a more magically aware and savvy human race. Lots of other evil shit too, which is why we're going to stop him, but for you demons?"

"It means your favorite prey, the souls and minds and hearts you miserable parasites rely on, all collectively just got exponentially harder to trap. The old saying really is true, right? The greatest trick you all ever pulled was making people think you weren't real? How powerful would you be in a world where even children are taught demonic safety and control as a basic precautionary measure?"

"So yeah, I was really just here to look good in a pair of tights. Doom and I'll settle that score later, won't we Doctor?" Superman says with that smile of supreme confidence. The kind you only get when you can literally walk on air. "And as for you, devil."

Superman turns, and points right at Mephisto's smug smirk. "You ever use that man on me again and I don't care how old and powerful you are. I'll do to you what I did to Neron and leave you in the middle of Pandemonium square for your siblings to finish the job. You come after me? Fine, that's the job. They. Are off limits. Or I'll BREAK you."

And just like that, he's all smiles again, floating over towards Doom's portal and just kind of giving him a 'seriously?' look. Clark needs a shower.

Diana Prince has posed:
With Doom's return, Diana whips her hand back, causing the golden glowing lasso of Hestia to return to her possession. It wraps around her palm before she sweeps it back in to a coil. She releases a heavy sigh before her eyes go to Superman. His speech isn't commented on, she merely lets her eyes roam over the study once more before she walks past the devil on the floor. She's ahead of Superman by the time he finishes his speech, her eyes going to Doom as well, her steps carrying her toward the passage back to the Hall of Justice, but on her way out she puts a leather wrapped palm on to the side of a statue in the study, and just sends it crashing to the ground where it breaks in to many little pieces.

And with that, Diana returns to what she believes to be the safety of their realm.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The homo magi decides she has a distinct preference for Mephisto's anger. It is so much less ambiguous. Superman's cool in the face of the red devil's taunting helps her remain calm.

In her heart of hearts, she wished Diana would pull the lasso tighter around his neck. What a disappointment.

Follow the anger trail. Doom seems to be pressing Mephisto's buttons, so she adds nothing to the conversation but a smile. Waving her fingers as she walks by the supine devil, she steps over the shattered statue pieces toward the portal and the Justice League Hall in Diana's wake.

At the last moment, a hand snake's out, and she grabs a "lost' illuminated manuscript dating from the 3rd Century.

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Yeah. That pretty much makes the Prince of Evil explode, once more straining at the Lasso of Truth wrapped around him. And somehow, again, he does not break free. Perhaps for a creature so wrapped up in illusion and lies, the truth is the one thing that can bind him. "IT WON'T JUST BE THAT INSOLENT MORTAL THAT PAYS KRYPTONIAN. YOU WILL PAY. YOU WILL ALL PAY," the devil bellows, driven past any semblance of control.

When that golden lasso slides free Mephisto starts to lunge upwards, perhaps intent on tearing the interlopers into his realm limb from limb. But before he can go very far black bands of the darkest night wrap around him, coiling liking living snakes as they lock into place. When the devil strains, they stretch and crack. But they hold. Perhaps for precious seconds only, but they hold.

Standing there to one side of the portal that offers a safe return to their world, the armored figure of Victor von Doom stands with gauntleted hand stretched out, an answering black energy engulfing his fist, holding those bands in place. That iron face mask that hides his features away show nothing, but those narrow slits show him gritting his teeth, show those eyes filled with the strain of trying to contain that which Wonder Woman's lasso managed with seeming ease. Perhaps like cannot oppose like. "That remains to be seen," he bites out.

Mephisto continunes to rage as the group makes their escape from the very lowest Circle of Hell. He rages at the Man of Steel and his taunts, at Wonder Woman and her vandalism. He rages at the Scarlet Witch and her inscurtable cool, at Zatanna and her theft of the long lost book. And he rages at Doom. At the thief that has taken what is his. And he vows vengeance.

And then they are passing through that portal, the doorway to Hell closing up behind them as the last one comes through. And for just a moment Doom lets it slip that he is not some endless source of power, the strain forcing him to bend over, to rest those gauntleted hands on his knees, catching his breath, recovering from the strain. But it is an indulgance that he does not allow himself for long, drawing himself up straight, if perhaps a little stiffly. He still clutches that parchment in one fist, cradling it like it is the most important thing in the world, that masked gaze flickering to each of them in turn.

"There was no ring, as I am certain you have gleaned," the armored monarch acknowledges. There is no apology in his voice, no regret. Just steely determination and an overwhelming sense that he was right. That he was entitled to use them. "If it soothes your anger any, know that you have helped me right a great wrong, whether intentional or not." And now he hesitates, the next words so very reluctant, almost pulled from him unwillingly. That sense of honor demanding more. "For this, Doom... owes you. When the time comes to face Faust, to put an end to his schemes and make him pay know that you shall have the might of Doom at your side."

That masked gaze swings from each of the quartet in turn. And then with the slightest of gestures the armored figure vanishes.

They are no closer to thwarting Faust thanks to the lies an deceptions of Dr. Doom. But they may have saved a soul. And that has to count for something.