Multiversal Sin: Rise of the Primal Demon King

⚜️ Saga 0: The Ash Years

🗓️ Location: Abandoned Safehouse | Border Forest, Slovakia

🕯️ Late Night | Snow Falling | Underworld Cold

📌 Featuring: Dante, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff

🔗 Sin System Mode: Silent Anchor Drift — Wanda Integration 34.7%

🛡 Status: Cooldown — Devil Trigger Residue Detected

The ride was mostly silent.

The blacked-out jeep moved like a forgotten ghost down backroads carved from salt and frost. Its frame was beat-up military surplus—no plates, no GPS, and rigged with old-world enchantments that had been carved into the doors with a demon's tooth.

Pietro didn't ask where Dante got the vehicle. He didn't ask why Wanda, exhausted and dream-heavy, curled against the Devil Hunter's shoulder in the back seat like it was instinct instead of intention.

He just watched through the rearview mirror.

Watched her fingers twist the sleeve of Dante's coat and heard nothing but his own heartbeat.

By dawn, they were across the border.

▫▫▫

The safehouse crept out of the trees like bone among roots—buried half into the cliffside, wreathed in dead moss and long-forgotten runes. Metal doors led downward into a bunker not listed on any SHIELD map—not a fallout shelter, but an occult one.

Inside, old concrete met carved salt lines.

Wards flawed by time still held. Dim red crystals pulsed over the stairwells. The air smelled of metal, cedar, and something older—loss pressed through ritual.

Pietro made it to the upper bunker, muttering about trust and "how the hell did I get stuck following dream-husbands with swords," and then passed out in a cot near the stairwell. Exhaustion finally outranked anxiety.

That left Wanda with the silence.

And Dante.

▫▫▫

She found him in the ritual chamber.

The flame guttered down the arm of a cold-sigil burner, incense rising in braided curls. The walls were lined with books and blades: tomes wrapped in leathers that hummed faintly when touched, weapons with edges too thin to reflect light properly.

Dante knelt beside a low altar—brushing dust away like ashes off memory.

He made no move to acknowledge her.

But he didn't need to.

She stood in the doorway. Silent. Hands folded beneath her coat.

When she spoke, it wasn't a question.

"The dream was real."

Dante didn't look at her. He finished lighting the incense. Waited until the flame caught the air just right.

"Some dreams are echoes," he said after a pause. His voice low, ridged with something scraped over years of internal stone. "Others are traps."

He stood, eyes holding that dark-red flicker—tired, but focused. "This one might be both."

Wanda stepped forward, slow. Her voice cracked before it finished.

"I saw her. Our daughter. I felt what it was to be held her, our son, our happy little family. "

Dante looked at her now—with eyes that remembered too much.

Crimson never wavered. But they softened.

"I didn't put that in your mind."

"I know," she said. "That's what scares me more."

▫▫▫

She crossed the room and stopped in front of him. Torches cast wan light across the angled walls. The mossy stone seemed to lean in.

"I don't just want that dream," she whispered. "I remembered living it. The way the child laughed. The way you smiled... Something in me felt right that hasn't for years."

He said nothing.

So she kept going.

"It wasn't an illusion pretending to comfort me. It was a thread wrapped around something real."

Dante exhaled. It wasn't weariness—it was restraint. Like breathing through the strain of holding fire in closed hands.

"You were never supposed to see it yet," he admitted.

Wanda stepped closer, voice gentler now.

"How far does this… tether go?"

He didn't resist the question.

"When you touched destiny," he said slowly, "it touched back. Some threads stretch across timelines but Most break before they're noticed."

A beat. Then quieter.

"Yours anchored. Not to a place—but to me. Twice, actually. And the System doesn't forget what fate marks more than once."

Her voice softened into something sharper. "So I'm cursed to love you?"

Dante looked her dead in the eye.

"No."

Now it was her breath that paused. Her world tilted—not from magic, but recognition.

"It ties both ways," he said.

▫▫▫

A warmth kindled behind her ribs.

"You remember it too," she whispered—not dared, but declared.

Dante didn't blink . He didn't answer with words.

But in that still, sharpened silence…

He confirmed everything.

And it shook her more than any firestorm.

[Sin System Update]

Soul Anchor Candidate: Maximoff, Wanda

Current Sync: 34.7%

Emotional Flux: Longing / Soulroot Establishment

Trait Detected: Retro-Causal Dream Verification

▸Stage Marker Achieved: "Recognition Thread"

Warning: Elevated Resonance Pending — Only one Thread Required to Anchor Trigger Event

▫▫▫

From upstairs came Pietro's voice — loud, chaotic:

"HEY! Are we going to talk about the fact my sister is apparently soul-linked to a demon bouncer with a time-breaking gun?! Because I have notes!"

Dante's eyes didn't break from Wanda's, but his voice dropped just enough to reach the rafters.

"If he steps ten more feet toward this circle," he warned, voice quiet thunder, "the glyphs will mark his nervous system like scrollwork, and he won't walk straight for a week."

Wanda coughed once—a laugh, disguised as disbelief.

"He might still come down," she murmured.

"I'll adjust the glyphs."

▫▫▫

Dante moved to walk past her. Coat brushing against coat. But she caught his sleeve—once, twice—then clung, gently.

"You can see it too, can't you?" she asked. "The house. The peace. The little one with that ridiculous broom helmet you tried calling 'spartan armor.'"

His eyes closed briefly. Pain and nostalgia brushed under his lashes.

"Sometimes."

Wanda's fingers traced the line of his hand. "So was I always yours?"

"No," he said quietly.

"But I think—"

A pause that meant everything.

"I think I'm always yours eventually."

[Sin System Passive Sync Structuring…]

Wanda Maximoff Anchor Thread: 34.7%

Emotional Status: Mutual Recognition

Upcoming Event Tag: 🔺 Red-Sigil Response Required

Subroutine: Internal Flame Lock Forming [Unstable / Dangerous / Real]

Wanda didn't know what that last part meant yet. Not completely.

But she would learn—eventually

And he would burn for it.

_______