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To say that Mephisto, Lord of the Lower Depths, Prince of Lies, and Greatest of the Hell Lords, was royally pissed off was an understatement. His pathetic bit of spawn had assured him, promised him that he had something to make it up to him and just needed a little time, and was nowhere to be found.
Time. Pah. What was time to those who were immortal? He should have locked Blackheart in the deepest depths of his realm and never let him out again.
Mephisto stilled as he felt a rippling of power nearby, of a new presence within the vicinity. One was Blackheart for certain (finally!), but he wasn't alone. The demon narrowed his eyes; there was a familiarity to the other that was on the tip of his tongue.
He didn't need to wait long. Blackheart strode through, carrying someone—smelled human—over his shoulder.
"This should clear my slate," said Blackheart.
"Don't be so sure—" Mephisto started, but his spawn dropped his capture to the ground and the Hell Lord found himself in the rare state of surprise.
"Consider him a gift," Blackheart added dryly, nudging the still form of Doctor Strange with his foot. The sorcerer's arms were chained behind him, and then again to his body with several rounds of chains around his torso. "I know he's been giving you problems recently. And unlike you, I can bring people here unwillingly."
Mephisto shot him a glare, but the heat wasn't behind it and he brought his gaze back to Strange. The man's face was bloodied and the demon made a face. "You didn't beat him beyond repair, did you?"
Blackheart rolled his eyes. "He's alive, soul's all intact. Trapped it inside him with those." He nodded towards the chains. "Have fun."
The demon's lips curled up in a wide smile. Oh, he would.