If anyone's interested in knowing what the bridge where Dante and Brunetto met Beatrice looks like, there's a painting by Henry Holiday (1839-1927) that pretty much illustrates it. It was painted in 1883 and it's called "Dante and Beatrice." They're pictured on the Ponte di Santa Trinità in Florence. Just go to the image search at Google and type in 'Holiday (plus (the plus symbol doesn't seem to want to work here)) Dante and Beatrice'. There a whole bunch of them there.

Chapter Twelve

"Welcome Magneto."

Erik blinked away the residual tingle from the retinal scan, his thin lips twitching slightly upwards as the thick, rounded doors slid open before him with a pneumonic CHLNK-WHOOSH. Aiming a brief nod at the wary security camera, the imposing, silver-haired mutant strode down the suspended corridor to the control station situated in the center of the enormous, spherical room.

His expression softened somewhat as he ran his hands over the cool metal of the controls, letting his eyes drift over the complicated arrangement of switches, levers, and keypads that blinked and twinkled in the dimness of the cavernous space. Even after all this time it still felt slightly odd to be able to stand there so freely, without having to be on the alert against tripping an alarm or a surprise attack by Xavier's X-Men. He and his old friend had been on opposing sides for decades, each doing his best to put an end to the other and all he stood for. To be here now, alone in the very power center of Xavier's entire organization—and welcome to be so—was still somewhat surreal. Yet it felt familiar as well. It felt right.

It was the human problem that had forced Charles and Erik to become adversaries; that had forced mutants to fight mutants for such an unconscionably long time. Xavier had wanted to work with the humans towards a dream of peace that Erik had known would never come to pass. Now that the world was almost entirely populated by mutants, however, there was no longer any cause for the hostility that had grown up between Magneto's Brotherhood and Xavier's X-Men to continue, and they had long ago joined forces under a single banner. Peaceful coexistence had finally become a reality, but it was the mutants who were calling the shots. The few humans that remained were grateful for the benevolent protection of the X-Men. And, to Erik's mind, that was just as it should be.

Taking a deep breath, Erik turned slowly in place, his eyes glittering with more than a little pride as he took a few moments to just drink in the room. Before they'd had their falling out, Erik had been Xavier's partner in creating the massive computer subsequently dubbed Cerebro. This was his machine, his design. Charles had supplied the funds and the specifications—he had been the idea man, as it were—but Erik had done the actual work. Even now there was only one person living who knew its workings as well as he did, and that was Xavier himself.

The purpose of the massive machine was to amplify and direct the Professor's considerable telepathic capabilities, allowing him to locate and even contact every living person—mutant or human—on the planet. When he put on the specially designed helmet, it literally gave him the power of life and death over the entire population of the Earth. But today, Erik was only interested in turning the machine's focus to a single individual. And that individual was lying in the mansion's own medical bay.

"Cerebro," he called out, his rich, commanding voice resonating almost eerily against the curved, metal walls. "Identify: Erik Lehnsherr, authorization code 624N38S 76C5."#

"Identity verified," the computer's calm female voice responded. "Good afternoon, Erik."

"And good afternoon to you, Cerebro." This time Erik's smile was more obvious. While he was quite aware that the highly advanced computer didn't truly understand such social niceties, in Erik's opinion it never hurt to be polite. "We have a visitor down in sector one of the mansion subbasement. Scan his mind and activate program Lehnsherr4. Use the newly installed holoemitters to project the results."

"Working," the computer announced evenly. "Please stand by."

"I'll sit, if you don't mind." Reaching under the main console, Erik rolled out an upholstered stool, lowering himself onto it with a smug smile. A moment later, however, all traces of smugness vanished as the dim room was filled with the intermittent glow of a flashing red light.

"Warning," Cerebro alerted. "Contaminated data. Aborting procedure."

"Override," Erik frowned, sitting up on his stool and tapping at the keypads. "Identify contamination."

"Multiple individuals detected. Evidence of psychic tampering found."

"Identify the individuals," Erik ordered.

Immediately, three screens on the console before him filled with data. Leaning forward, Erik scanned his eyes over the details, a deep furrow forming in his pale brow. After a moment, he sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, speaking more to himself than to the computer.

"So, this is what that insufferable red-head has been up to. Going in all by herself...I would have thought she had more sense." He shook his head with a sneer of disdain, reaching out to switch on the communications link. "No doubt Charles will want to hear of this..."

Ororo Munroe alighted on the thick, shaggy grass with a graceful dip of her knees, allowing them to absorb the slight impact. She was staring straight ahead, straight-backed and motionless. The goat's large eyes twinkled with an almost human satisfaction at the sight.

"This is the woman, my lord?" a deep, guttural voice growled from the shadows of the trees.

"She is," a serpentine, female voice confirmed. Turning its head in her direction, the goat stamped the ground three times with his left front hoof. Almost instantly, the air around him began to shimmer. With a swirl of orange energy, his form morphed and lengthened into the figure of a tall, well-muscled man. His dark, russet features were hard, his golden eyes as cold as his frown. His hair was short, thick, and black and, although he had no horns, his neat goatee, pointed ears, and spaded tail were more than enough to lend him a chillingly demonic air.

The tall, sinister man reached out a strong hand to guide a slender, bald woman into the grassy clearing. Once she was free of the concealing shadows, her need for such guidance became gruesomely clear. The woman's eyes had been sewn shut with large, uneven stitches. The needle had left horrific scars that had long since healed over, further sealing her eyelids closed. Despite her disfigurement, however, her bearing was confident and composed as she reached out to run her long, bony fingers down Ororo's unnaturally still face.

"The potential is there, my lord," she reported smugly. "Your intuition was flawless, as usual. Even given his present form, she cannot continue to deny her feelings for much longer."

"Thank you, Ginniyeh," the devilish man smiled, an expression that somehow made him seem even more menacing. "You see how well I know my son. We are not as dissimilar as he would like to believe." His smile twisted into a smirk, his smoldering eyes dark with memory. "We both harbor a weakness for powerful women."

Straightening abruptly, he turned to the wood, snapping, "Ydrazil! Drop that squirrel and come here."

An enormous man with long, scraggly hair and a dirty eye patch shot a remorseful glance at the half-chewed rodent in his hands, but he obediently dropped it, wiping his thick hands on his stained tunic.

"Yes, my lord," he grunted in his low, harsh voice, reaching into the leather pouch hanging at his side and pulling out a surprisingly sophisticated-looking object that was about the same size and shape as a pen. "The device is loaded, just like you ordered."

"Hmm," the demon grunted, snatching the object and examining it for himself. Slowly, a grudging smile spread over his chiseled features.

"Very good, Ydrazil," he acknowledged, sparing a glance at the hulking man before striding up to face Ororo. He took her chin in his hand, looking her up and down then staring deeply into her crystal blue eyes. Nodding once in apparent satisfaction, the demonic man raised the small device to her temple and pressed his thumb against a round, black button on its side. There was a sound like a staple gun, then he pulled the device away. The only evidence of what he had done was a small, round bruise, the slight discoloration nearly invisible against the creamy mocha of Ororo's skin.

"Send her back now, Ginniyeh," he ordered, handing the device to Ydrazil as he took a step back. "Be sure she retains no memory of our little encounter here."

"She will remember nothing, my lord," the bald telepath assured him confidently. The devilish man nodded, watching in undisguised fascination as Ororo summoned a wind and used it to lift off the ground, flying back to the mansion without a sound. Once she was out of sight, Ginniyeh squared her shoulders, turning to face her master with unseeing eyes.

"My lord Azazel," she said, "please forgive my questioning, but since you continue to shield your thoughts from me I have no other recourse but to ask. I still do not understand why you wished to tag that woman as you would one of your own children, or why you approached the other woman earlier today. The telepath."

Azazel raised an eyebrow, but did not shift his gaze from the direction Ororo had gone.

"I like to keep tabs on all my children," he said simply. "Not only on what they see and do, but also on what others may say about them in their absence. Such information is particularly vital to me in this case. My son must be observed, his actions monitored. Hence, the microchip I just implanted beneath that woman's skin."

"And that Jean Summers woman?"

Azazel didn't answer, keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon. Ginniyeh scowled in frustration.

"My lord, you have never been so cryptic about your plans before," she pressed. "At least, not with me. You dealt with that insolent Kurt Wagner years ago. Why come here, to this time, just to—"

"Never fear, my dear Ginniyeh," the demon cut her off, turning to face her at last. His tone was conciliatory, but his golden eyes gave a dangerous flash. "My plans will become clear...in time."

"This is a memory, Jean," Kurt pointed out from his crouch by his unconscious brother's side. "He's not coming back. Even that blasted bird has stopped squawking."

Jean felt a hot flush spread over her face. "Oh, right. In a link as deep as this, it's often easy to forget..."

Realizing that Kurt wasn't paying any attention to her, she trailed off. Slowly, she left the safety of the corner to crouch beside him, both of them looking down at Brunetto's still form. It was a long while before Kurt finally spoke.

"I can remember, Jean," he said softly, his voice slightly strained. "It's just a few flashes but..." He looked up at her, pain filling his dark eyes. "He left me the same way. My fa—Azazel." He turned away sharply, hiding his expression from view.

"I remember the pain," he whispered. "I was strapped to a table; alone, screaming..." He took in a shaky breath, slowly turning back to her. Jean watched him with growing concern, disturbed at the way his eyes now seemed remote, almost detached. She wanted to reach out to him, but she restrained herself, afraid that he would stop speaking if she did. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap, giving him her full attention as he went on. Kurt shook his head with a disgusted frown, giving a short, mirthless snort.

"And he just smiled." he stated flatly. "He laughed and walked away, leaving me alone to watch as my fingers split—"

He clenched his pale fist convulsively, swallowing hard as he lowered his head. Jean instinctively moved closer to him, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. When Kurt didn't shrug her away, she risked a brief, supportive squeeze.

"You are starting to remember," she said gently. "These are your own memories, not what the monsters that did this to you implanted in your head. That's the first step to breaking free, Kurt, to beating Belasco once and for all."

"But he will still be there, Jean," Kurt retorted, the knuckles of his clenched fist beginning to whiten. "I know that now. Even if I do manage to take control from him, he'll still be hovering in the background, as much a ghost as I was."

He scowled, rising to his feet in one, fluid movement and crossing the room to the window. "No matter how hard I fight, I will never be rid of him."

Jean shook her head and stood up with her back to the motionless Belasco. "Listen to me, Kurt," she said firmly. "You don't have to fight him alone anymore. You're with your friends now, and we can help you. We understand that you can't be held accountable—"

Kurt raised his hand to cut her off, turning to face her with a shake of his head. However, whatever he was about to say died on his lips at the surreal sight of a ghostly Belasco coalescing over the still body of his unconscious self.

"Jean—move!" Kurt exclaimed. "Now!"

Jean gave a start, but before she could turn to look behind her a strong arm had her pinned with a clawed hand at her throat. She gagged, Belasco's tightening grip cutting off her air supply and rendering her helpless.

"So, you thought you could hide from me?" the demon glared at Kurt, his cold voice hissing in his captive's ear. "What are you supposed to be, anyway? One of those old movie stars you used to idolize?" He snorted. "Idiot."

Kurt made to move forward, but Belasco only used his tail to pull Jean closer.

"Don't even think about it, hero," the demon spat. "Like you, she's in my mind so deep that if I kill her here, she's dead. You are both my prisoners now."

Kurt shot him a diamond-hard glare, his jaw working in silent fury as his mind quickly ran through his options. Jean's features were beginning to purple, her green eyes wide as she struggled for breath...

"All right!" he exclaimed fiercely, thrusting his hands above his head in angry frustration. "We're your prisoners. I surrender, is that what you want to hear? Now let go of her."

"It's a start," Belasco smirked, loosening his grip on Jean's throat only enough so she could breathe more easily, her purpling face fading slowly back to flushed red as she gasped for air.

"I must admit, this was much easier than I had expected," the demon remarked. "Should I be on my guard for some sort of trap here, or were you really so moved by my oh-so-dramatic," he paused for a moment as if searching for the right word, "...metamorphosis..." he grinned, "that you allowed your guard to drop?"

Kurt was silent, his narrow features set. The demon's grin broadened. "I'm touched," he said, his tone laced with irony. "But of course, your concern was completely wasted. My father gave me exactly what he had promised. And now, the knowledge of both the natural and the supernatural world belongs to me."

"You're a fool," Kurt snapped, his blunt words catching Belasco off guard. The demon glared at him, unconsciously bearing his fangs as he tightened his grip on Jean's neck once more.

"What did you just say?"

"I said you're a fool," Kurt repeated in the same tone. "Azazel used you, and you walked right into his arms. You gave him Beatrice in return for an eternity as his slave."

Belasco's expression slackened for one shocked moment, then almost immediately his russet features tightened with irrational fury. Throwing Jean to the floor, he lunged at Kurt with a ferocious cry.

"How dare you speak her name!" the livid demon roared. "You are not worthy to even hear it spoken, you barbarous freak!"

"Are you speaking of me, or of yourself," Kurt retorted, shoving the demon off him with a sharp knee to the gut. Belasco doubled over with a gasp, the hateful glare he shot at Kurt enough to send a shiver down Jean's spine even though she was halfway across the room, curled up beside Bruneto's lab table and struggling to recover her breath.

"You didn't kill Beatrice, did you," Kurt went on with an uncharacteristic sneer, his eyes dark with loathing. "You just accepted the blame because of your guilt over the way you had set her up. You led Azazel right to her, and he left you alone—trapped in the body of a freakish, red-skinned monster—to take the blame for her rape and later, her resulting murder. All these years, her death has tortured you, eating you up inside. So, you took it out on me, and on all those other X-Men you tortured and killed in that forsaken fire-pit you had the dubious honor of calling your 'realm'."

The wrath slowly faded from Belasco's narrow face as he gingerly straightened back to his full height, stepping forward in his red-leather boots to look Kurt straight in the eye. Kurt met his stare without blinking, his features hard and determined. After a long moment, Belasco looked away; a small, humorless laugh rising in his throat.

"Now who is the fool?" he said with a contemptuous smirk. "Perhaps you thought you could wound me with your words? Take advantage of my weakness?" His golden eyes darkened as he took a step closer to Kurt, who had not left his position beside the window. They were standing practically nose to nose; two silhouettes looming against the sunset sky.

"You forget, mein Herr," Belasco hissed in a mocking parody of Kurt's faint accent, "a demon has no conscience to prick. For me, the power I gained from that bargain was more than worth the cost of a single life. And now, Beatrice's twin children serve my father as two of his most loyal subjects—apart from me of course." A cold smile stretched over his crimson face, but it brought no light to his chilling eyes. "I feel no guilt over what I have done. Nor over what I am about to do to you and your nosy friend right now."

Before Kurt could react, Belasco snapped his fingers with a malicious laugh. Instantly, the cramped, medieval laboratory vanished in a rush of reeking flames. Jean cried out in alarm as a lapping tongue of greenish fire spurted up beside her, singing her short hair.

"Jean!" Kurt exclaimed, clearly torn between rushing to her aid and keeping Belasco in his sights. The demon's bone-chilling laughter seemed to be everywhere at once, mingling with the roar of the flames and the loud rumbling from the ground quaking violently beneath their feet. As he raised his one arm with a powerful thrust, a sharp precipice of rugged stone shot up into the air. Belasco was perched on top, seated on a majestic obsidian throne.

"Now, once and for all you will learn who is the master here," Belasco proclaimed, the flames casting his face into shadow, his yellow eyes glinting in the sickly light. "You will see how the Lord of Limbo deals with those who would defy him."

"The former lord, you mean," Kurt retorted, reaching down to help Jean to her feet once the ground had settled. "If I recall correctly, you were kicked out of Limbo by your own apprentice weren't you. A teenaged girl named Illyana Rasputin."

Belasco gave a roar of fury, the walls of greenish flame flaring up in a reflection of his outrage. Suddenly, Kurt found himself trapped in a metal cage, suspended in the air beside Belasco's enormous throne. Looking down, he saw Jean was now alone, standing in a rapidly shrinking circle of white-hot flames. It was clearly taking all her psychic energy to keep from being broiled alive, and Kurt knew she wouldn't be able to keep it up for much longer.

"You won't be able to rid yourself of us so easily, Belasco," he yelled over the crackling flames, trying to distract the demon's attention from Jean long enough to enable her to build a psychic shield around herself.

"Why not?" the demon asked, turning to face his helpless half-brother with a maliciously triumphant grin. "We're playing by my rules, not yours. Here, whatever I say must come to pass." He laughed again; a horrible, gloating sound. "You may have managed to wrestle control from me once, Kurt Wagner, but let's see how long you can last after I cast you adrift on the midden mire."

"Nein..." Kurt looked around frantically, concentrating as hard as he could on teleporting himself out of the doorless cage. To his horror, however, his efforts only made Belasco laugh harder. Shooting him one last, victorious grin, Belasco snapped his fingers. There was a flash of crimson smoke, and suddenly Kurt and his cage were sent hurtling head-long into the howling chaos of the midden mire, leaving Belasco to turn his full attention to his remaining victim.