Sorcerer in the Marvel Universe

The smile on Mephisto’s face had gone stiff.

One corner of his eye twitched.

He had clearly understood what Nick Fury’s proposal actually meant.

"Is that really necessary?" Mephisto asked, irritation creeping into his voice. "If you look at the technicalities, I’m still a head of state. Renouncing my nationality doesn’t exactly strike me as dignified."

Dignified?

Evenson nearly laughed.

You had fallen this far and you were still worried about dignity?

Now that he understood what Fury was trying to accomplish, Evenson happily added fuel to the fire.

"Even if they gave you refugee status, it wouldn’t last for more than a decade. And during that time, you’d be restricted to a designated area and expected to live alongside those followers of yours."

"Which followers?"

Mephisto frowned.

"Those followers?!"

Realization dawned on him.

"Oh, come on. Give me a break. I made one joke back in the seventh century. I never expected them to take it this far."

Nick Fury’s expression darkened.

"I think I just found the person responsible for most of the world’s terrorist incidents."

So that was where the problem started.

"That situation isn’t exactly helping your immigration application."

"How is that my fault?" Mephisto protested, looking genuinely offended. "It wasn’t my fault. The Devil made me do it! What’s wrong with you humans? You blame me for everything. I’ve never forced any of you to do anything."

As he spoke, the amusement faded from Mephisto’s face.

His expression became solemn.

"Who goes to Hell is not my decision. It’s yours. Humans send themselves there. Your sins drive you toward Hell. Your own crimes are what condemn you to suffer there."

He paused, then suddenly smiled again.

"You know what’s interesting?"

His eyes gleamed as he looked at Fury.

"The gates of Hell are closed to demons. Getting through them is extremely difficult for us. Human souls, however, find the gates standing open at all times."

Evenson and Fury stared at him.

"And yet, throughout all of history, not a single soul has ever been released before serving its full sentence."

Mephisto’s smile widened.

"Do you know what that means?"

Both Evenson and Fury gave him blank looks.

Mephisto seemed pleased with himself.

"It means that even when I decide their suffering has been sufficient to pay for their sins, they still haven’t truly repented."

He sighed.

"Honestly, if housing weren’t such a problem, I’d give some of them life sentences."

"Are sinners really that stubborn?" Evenson asked, rubbing his chin. He wasn’t entirely convinced. "I’ve seen plenty of people break down crying before they even go to prison. They swear they’ll change their ways. Surely they don’t suddenly decide to become tough guys after they get to Hell."

"We have different definitions of repentance."

Mephisto’s expression remained completely serious now.

For the first time, Evenson could really feel the presence of the Lord of Hell behind the man’s usual ridiculous behavior.

"Regret isn’t repentance. Fear isn’t repentance. A person can regret what they did with every fiber of their being and still find an excuse."

He began counting them off.

"I had no choice."

"Someone else would have done it."

"I was too angry to control myself."

"It was the circumstances."

"And so on."

Mephisto’s voice hardened.

"Humans are remarkably stubborn. They always find a reason to justify their sins. They deceive themselves about their own souls."

"But sin is sin. No excuse changes that."

His eyes were cold.

"True redemption requires a person to completely reject what they did. No excuses. No defense. No attempt to explain why it was necessary. They must understand, completely and without reservation, that what they did was wrong."

Evenson stared at him.

"That’s... pretty harsh."

Was there anyone in the world who could meet those standards?

Probably.

But Evenson couldn’t help thinking that anyone capable of meeting them probably wouldn’t end up in Hell in the first place.

"The road to redemption is supposed to be harsh."

Mephisto spoke with absolute conviction.

"And besides..."

His voice became almost solemn.

"No one can forgive them. Not even God."

He pointed toward his own chest.

"Only they can forgive themselves."

"I think we should get back to the immigration issue."

Nick Fury’s voice sounded slightly strained.

The old devil really was the Lord of Hell.

Fury had only been talking to him for a few minutes, and somehow he already felt as though his mind had been stuffed full of enough negative energy to make the entire human race seem fundamentally undeserving of sympathy.

He took a breath and tried to remember where they’d left off.

"Fine. You don’t want to change your nationality. That’s not necessarily a problem. Given your unusual circumstances, we can arrange something equivalent to dual citizenship. The green card shouldn’t cause you any significant inconvenience."

The moment Fury brought it up again, Mephisto’s expression fell.

He stared at Fury’s single eye for a long, silent moment.

"Deal."

Evenson’s pupils contracted.

He actually agreed.

A green card under these circumstances was practically a permanent binding spell.

Just how bad had things gotten in Hell?

Mephisto was accepting conditions this severe without even haggling.

"Good."

Fury gathered himself and moved on to the next item.

"Now, the next issue. Generally speaking, permanent residency is granted to people who can contribute something to the country. Investment is the obvious example."

He looked directly at Mephisto.

"So, Mr. Mephisto, what can you contribute to the human world?"

Mephisto’s eyes widened.

You want a demon to make a contribution?

Are you insane?

Then he thought about it.

Actually...

"I’ve already made quite a few contributions."

He straightened proudly.

"I helped end the Vietnam War. I brought the Cold War to an end. I prevented World War III. Aren’t those contributions significant enough?"

Fury was genuinely caught off guard.

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say.

Then he deliberately looked away.

Mephisto’s expression soured.

Those things had already happened.

Fury couldn’t exactly take them back and pretend they hadn’t.

What he wanted was a commitment to future contributions.

Shameless.

Mephisto glared at him, irritation building.

Then his eyes suddenly shifted.

He thought he understood.

"Three billion."

He paused.

"Pounds."

There.

He understood the rules now.

Fury wanted a little something under the table.

Fine. Mephisto would make it a very large something.

Crack.

Fury’s head snapped around so quickly that his neck popped.

His single eye nearly looked ready to fall out.

Evenson had an even stronger reaction.

He nearly fell off the couch.

Holy hell.

This bastard really was playing with a full deck of money.

Why had Mephisto never offered him a deal like that?

"Hmm..."

Fury considered it.

Then he slowly turned his head away again.

He wasn’t a greedy man.

But refusing three billion pounds still required a certain amount of willpower.

Mephisto raised an eyebrow.

Fine.

"How about the Mona Lisa?"

Fury didn’t react.

"The original."

A pause.

"And the topless version."

Evenson stared.

This old bastard had quite the collection.

At this rate, he was going to produce the Holy Grail next.

Evenson suddenly felt very poor.

Even if he counted the sixty billion dollars that wasn’t currently in his hands, he suspected that compared to Mephisto, he was barely above street-corner panhandler status.

Fury, however, remained unmoved.

Even a priceless masterpiece couldn’t shake his resolve.

Mephisto blinked.

"Vatican City."

"Cough."

Fury nearly choked.

Mephisto looked completely unfazed.

"Don’t look so surprised. The Pope sold it to me back when the Church started selling indulgences."

Fury finally managed to breathe normally again.

"What would I even do with Vatican City? I’m not becoming Pope."

"Fine."

Mephisto shrugged.

"At this rate, even if I offered you the Moon, you’d probably turn it down."

He looked at Fury with genuine exasperation.

"You people really think that fellow named Buzz just made it into space without a little supernatural assistance?"

Evenson’s expression stiffened.

So Mephisto had contributed to humanity’s space program too.

"I think we should build a monument to you," Evenson said dryly. "Maybe a temple. Put a golden statue of you inside. You’ve apparently earned it."

"Go ahead."

Mephisto waved dismissively.

"Just remember to pay the licensing fee for my likeness."

Then he looked back at Fury.

"How about this?"

He leaned forward slightly.

"You have plenty of colleagues and subordinates. Some of them are already in Hell. Others haven’t arrived yet."

His smile returned.

"I can make things easier for them."

Fury’s expression sharpened.

"I can pull a few strings. Give them lighter assignments. Perhaps let them join one of the frontier development crews."

Mephisto spoke as casually as though he were discussing office benefits.

"They could work along the border and help build new prisons."

He spread his hands.

"You should know, manual labor is one of the easiest jobs in Hell."

His grin widened.

"I could outsource the entire operation to S.H.I.E.L.D."

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