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Azazel has been defeated too many times, and for no conceivable reason. He's tired of it. The X-Men are pathetic, there's no reason, beside author's petness, why they should persist in defeating a group of supermutants, Azazel included. He literally has too many freaking powers, too much style, too much charisma (and the admiration of Magneto), and too many allies to be defeated.
Solution: use his superteleportation to teleport back in time and unmake Scott Summers. Why Scott Summers in particular? Because he doesn't like Scott Summers in particular. He can't even recall the names or faces of the other X-Men (aside from that of his son, shush), but no matter what he does he cannot get Cyclop's douchebag sunglasses off his mind.
"That's a fashion crime that cannot go unpunished." Says the devil-man, whilst giving himself one last appreciative lookover in the mirror before embarking on his epic evil quest. Now one cannot just go back in time and murder a young Scott Summers or his parents or his grandparents, because deus ex machina will activate and prevent him. He has to go back far enough and obscure enough to a point the author hasn't thought of.
"Where are you going, Azazel. I understand that that particular suit means death to someone." Magneto and his harem have been watching the dandy of the Brotherhood get ready for the past eight hours. Four of those were spent by Azazel in adjusting his scarlet pocket square. It's riveting, all the supervillains with any sense queue up outside for a chance to catch a glimpse, and being invited to observe Azazel's daily toilette marks one as the crème de la crème of Evil Society. Thanks to the intoxication of being deemed fashionable by association with the demon, Magneto has more or less given up on world domination.
"I'll tell you when I return. You never know who's listening. But you are perfectly correct about death, Erik." Smirking, Azazel takes a glass of the best champagne from the magnetic mutant, and hands it to his daughter slash lover, Mystique. She throws it across his polished-to-a-laser-shine shoes.
Well, time to get going. Being so powerful that he can stop time if he likes (although he's mostly prevented from doing so by some fat nerd holed up in his mother's basement) Azazel goes one further and rewinds it by simply visualising the exact moment in history he wishes to visit - that being the banks of the Danube in the Year of Our Lord 376. How does he know where and when to go? He's old enough to understand the value of libraries, that's why.
"See you later." he drawls to the rest of the Brotherhood, before BAMFing away, leaving them coughing and choking in a stinky cloud of black and red smoke.
🕶️😈🕶️
There's German barbarians on the banks of the Danube, screaming and shouting and grunting as they attempt to cross the wide strip of green. They're on their way to Rome, as Azazel is well aware, and the instant they get a load of Mediterranean sun they will strip naked and devolve even further. Now, he loves Italy, it being the most fashionable nation to every exist in any dimension, something even he as a flamboyant Sumerian more or less straight out of the Garden of Eden, will admit. If he wasn't invested in claiming to be Satan, then he would claim to be Italian, no doubt about it.
So he perches in a tree and ponders the scene.
"Arrrrrrr!" screams a nearby Visigoth as his overloaded mule is swept away by the indifferent river. Gosh, it's enough to make one go on a killing spree. Somewhere amongst the merry band of uncultured swine are Scott Summer's ancestors…however the library did not provide pictures of this heinous couple.
"Well," says Azazel, as his unsheathes his pair of incredibly sinister swords from nowhere. "Time to save the world."
Many, many hours later, the next day actually, when the Brotherhood is sitting down, in Rome, to a pleasant lunch of honey bread, garlic bread, pasta, pasta, pasta, and prosciutto, Azazel returns, wearing a toga and a circlet of laurel leaves dipped in gold. He's about to begin ordering about his colleagues, when the smoke clears and he realises that Magneto too is wearing a toga and a crown of golden laurel leaves. The pair of emperors lock eyes.
"…Ahh…one moment. Just gotta-" Azazel teleports on outta there, back to the year 2000 BC, when Erik's distant ancestors were building pyramids…