No one knows where the Spirits of Vengeance came from.
After their arrival on Earth, they became the first, and ultimately the only, line of resistance against the Hellish invasion.
These wrathful beings, consumed by righteous fury, hurled themselves into battle without hesitation. Wave after wave of them fell, sacrificing their lives to drag down the Demon Lords and their legions.
The demon known as Zarathos was eventually driven into retreat, fleeing Hell's battlefield like a beaten dog.
But by the end of that war, only a handful of the Spirits of Vengeance remained. The history of that brutal struggle has since been lost, so much so that even ancient factions with millennia of legacy have no record of it.
Martin slowly raised his head, a cold smile playing across his lips.
"Your vile manipulations corrupted the youngest Spirit of Vengeance into a Hellspawn… and now you dare to call him your servant?"
Mephisto's eyes narrowed with interest as he regarded Martin, but then his gaze flickered over to Surtur, and something like caution crept into his expression.
Of course he knew Surtur. A pain-in-the-neck sort of cosmic fire giant, hard to deal with on the best of days.
Mephisto opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, Martin had already summoned the Apex Armor. With a single punch, fueled by godlike force, he shattered Mephisto's avatar into fragments of hellfire and shadow.
"You foolish mortal," Mephisto's dissipating projection said smoothly, wearing that twisted grin of his, "I don't know what makes you so special, but even you can't kill me."
Martin's gaze, hard and unflinching behind his war helm, locked onto Mephisto's vanishing form.
"Then stay right where you are," he replied coldly. "I'll be seeing you in Hell."
Through the Apex Armor's advanced targeting systems, Martin instantly locked onto the spatial coordinates embedded in the fading energy signature of Mephisto's projection, coordinates that led directly to the infernal dimensions.
"All legions, assemble," Martin ordered, his voice echoing like thunder across the sky. "We're launching an assault on Hell. At the very least, Mephisto dies today."
He soared into the air, a blazing arc of propulsion trailing behind him.
Surtur hefted the Twilight Sword with a laugh that could crack mountaintops. His eyes gleamed with a new glint of admiration. For a moment, he had expected Martin to hesitate.
After all, launching a cross-dimensional invasion into Hell wasn't just audacious, it bordered on madness.
Humans, by instinct, always played defense when it came to the infernal realms. Fear of Hell was practically hardwired into their species.
Every time demons surged forth from Hell, humanity only ever fought back just enough to survive. They'd repel the invaders, then pat themselves on the back like they'd achieved some grand victory.
Victory? Don't kid yourself.
The demon horde would regroup. The next wave would be worse. And humanity would always be on the receiving end, waiting for the next punch.
Martin's voice was like a blade of ice.
"If Hell's rabble wants to die so badly, I'll be their executioner. They picked the wrong mortal to provoke. This isn't defense. This is payback, and it starts with Mephisto's head."
He didn't speak his full strategic objective aloud. Not yet.
Martin knew he wasn't strong enough to conquer all of Hell. Not while beings like the One Below All and Cyttorak of the Crimson Cosmos still reigned in the deep layers of the multiverse.
He lacked the raw power to destroy them, for now.
But that wouldn't stop him from razing whatever stood in his way.
The armies began to mobilize.
Surtur had finished devouring the last of the Ghost Rider, its divine flames now swirling within his infernal core. He swung the Twilight Sword with unrestrained glee, radiating primal violence. After ages of imprisonment, the taste of battle was intoxicating.
That was when Dr. Bruce Banner approached Martin.
"I think I should go with you," Banner said, a bit hesitant.
"Oh?" Martin raised a brow. "Had a chat with the Big Guy, did you?"
Banner nodded, grimacing. "Yeah. Let's just say… it didn't go smoothly. But we've reached an understanding, more or less."
At that moment, Megatron approached, footsteps like thunder, his fusion cannon humming low and dangerous. Banner instinctively flinched and stepped back, fear flickering in his eyes.
This silver giant was the one who had humiliated the Hulk, beaten him so thoroughly that the green beast hadn't dared emerge for days afterward. Banner had never seen the Hulk that… meek before.
Surtur might have been stronger in raw power, but something about Megatron was just scarier.
The army was gathering fast.
Optimus Prime, Megatron, Ratchet, Devastator, Bruce Banner, Surtur…
Martin swept his gaze across the assembled war council without emotion. He lifted both hands, and unleashed a terrifying surge of energy.
Enough force to hurl a star off its axis poured forth, converging and collapsing into a single point in space. A dimensional rift tore open in the sky: a Ground Bridge to Hell.
"The scum of Hell pride themselves on invading other worlds," Martin said, eyes ablaze with fury. "Let's see how they enjoy being on the receiving end."
Fire churned in his gaze like a living storm. Given the chance, Martin would wipe out every last demon in Hell.
The only thing he lacked was power.
But he would never lack ambition.
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