After Mephisto heard Russell say, "I'll give you a Hell," his first thought was that Russell was messing with him.
He tilted his head, a skeptical Are you serious? flashing through his amber slit pupils.
He looked Russell up and down twice. There was no sign Russell was holding back a laugh, but the Hell Lord had lived too long and seen too many hotheads who thought they could bend dimensions to their will. So when he spoke, his tone carried the indulgence of someone offering a way out:
"Russell, you're capable. I won't deny that. You've got the Ancient One following you around, stolen souls from Death, and even made that old fossil Apocalypse stand beside you as your supporting act. Impressive, all of it. But taking over a Hell Dimension?"
He chuckled, shook his head, relit his black cigar, and blew a smoke ring.
"You need to understand that a Hell Dimension has a will of its own. It isn't an empty room you can stroll into. You can't just kick down the door, announce 'It's mine,' and call it done. You have to make its energy field accept you, and you have to make the other Hell Lords understand you're not to be messed with.
"But you're on Earth, a tiny little ball in a Single Universe. How are you going to make a Hell Dimension accept you? Without that acceptance, conquering one is far harder than you imagine."
He flicked ash from his cigar. His tone grew light, as though he were explaining the basics to a youngster.
"So stop joking. Tell me why you really called me here. Is it something to do with this crowd around you—"
He nodded toward the mutants in the square, dressed in clothes from all sorts of eras. "They're