Marvel's FBI?

Still, it's hard to absolve Stark from the death of their adoptive parents.

Sure, he's not in the weapons business anymore, but during Obadiah Stane's time at Stark Industries, the company flooded the market with high-grade weaponry. A chunk of that arsenal leaked onto the black market.

Middlemen made fortunes reselling Stark weapons to anyone with enough cash and a bad idea.

So yeah—being an arms dealer? That's a stain Tony Stark can't fully wash off.

Should he apologize? Sure.

But die for it?

Come on.

They're not even blaming the guy who dropped the bomb—just the guy who sold it?

"Stark Industries? Tony Stark, the guy always flexing on TV? Good! I'll go kill him for you right now! Avenge your adoptive parents!"

Magneto was already marching out, full of righteous fury and murder vibes.

And let's not forget: Stark Tower's a giant glowing bullseye in New York. If Magneto actually makes it there, Tony's only surviving chance is if he's been quietly developing anti-magnetic armor made from like... ceramic Tupperware.

Dante opened his mouth to stop him—

And didn't need to.

Because Wanda beat him to it with a hard-stop question.

"You… why are you asking me that?" she said, confused. "Who even are you?"

"Children. I'm your biological father."

"Are you… strong?" Wanda asked, just staring at him. Her tone unreadable.

"I'm one of the strongest Mutants…"

"Then where were you," she cut him off, voice calm and slicing, "when our mother was dying? When Pietro and I were homeless, freezing under a bridge? When the only people who ever cared about us were blown to pieces in an explosion?"

Magneto opened his mouth.

Closed it again.

He tried a few more times—but nothing came out.

There was no excuse. No explanation that wouldn't sound hollow.

Even Wolverine, the last guy who'd ever volunteer to comfort Erik, exhaled and gave the old man a shoulder pat.

And Wanda, in a voice still trembling with quiet, broke what was left.

"Pietro and I never needed a father like that."

Soft voice. Hard edge. Like a blade wrapped in silk.

And just like that, Wanda cut through the last fragile thread of bloodline fantasy—clean, final.

Sure, they'd imagined what their real father might be like.

Sure, they'd hoped—at some point—that he might come find them.

But that hope died in the fire. Along with everything else.

Dante, standing beside them, quickly covered his mouth—because bursting out laughing right now would probably be frowned upon.

Still. He was absolutely here for the drama.

And as Magneto stood there, utterly broken, he seemed to suddenly realize what kind of father he really wasn't.

So he did what emotionally repressed supervillains do best:

He stormed out in a blind rage, pulsing with killing intent.

Was he really planning to vent that pain on Stark?

Dante grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Erik. Where do you think you're going?"

"To kill someone."

"Nope. Not happening," Dante said flatly. "The FBI isn't letting you kill Stark."

"Don't block me," Magneto snapped. "An FBI agent poses no threat to me."

He turned his head. His eyes were bloodshot, pupils narrowed with rage, locked on Dante.

Dante didn't blink.

"First of all, it's not me stopping you—it's the Federal Bureau of Investigation. You're strong, sure, but are you stronger than the entire FBI with U.S. government backing? Stronger than the whole X-Men roster? And most importantly…"

He cracked his knuckles. "What makes you think I pose no threat?"

Magneto didn't answer.

He just raised a hand—and flung Dante across the room, crashing him into a wall in a cloud of dust and debris.

A sharp green glow burst through the dust.

Dante stepped out in full Green Lantern mode, glowing like a sentient traffic light with a bad attitude.

He casually tossed his sidearm and personal terminal to Ada and Harley.

No more metal. No more magnets.

"Alright then. Let's do this."

Magneto didn't respond. He just attacked.

He never wasted breath—Magneto was a man of violent action, not monologues.

But Dante had already ditched anything magnetic. Instead, Magneto pulled debris from the battlefield—scraps of metal from fallen tanks, broken guns, shattered armor—and formed a massive steel spike aimed straight at Dante's heart.

Dante responded by conjuring two high-frequency chainsaw swords made of Willpower Light and charged straight in, shredding the spike mid-air.

That's when Magneto realized something was off.

He hadn't known Dante could use a power like this.

He'd only seen him outside the castle—no ring, no glow, no will-powered constructs.

But now?

The Green Lantern Ring was basically Magneto's worst nightmare.

Magnetic fields meant nothing to Willpower Light.

And in that moment, the fight was as good as over.

The image of Magneto summoning a tidal wave of steel? Terrifying.

But now he was just an old man strapped down in a glowing green straitjacket.

Dante frowned.

Something was missing.

Harley ran over, tore some gauze from a nearby supply table, and crammed it into Magneto's mouth. Then taped over it.

Dante sealed the whole thing with another layer of Willpower Light to create a soundproof green bubble.

"Perfect," Dante nodded. "How'd you know I wanted him gagged?"

"Used to do kidnapping gigs. Standard package. Picked it up from my ex."

Dante blinked.

The surrounding X-Men just stared.

They were agents of the law. Official FBI employees.

And their colleague was demonstrating very practiced hostage procedures.

Ada, for her part, ignored the banter. Something had been bothering her about the castle's layout from the start.

Too much space inside compared to the outside.

Which meant…

"There's a secret passage here," Ada said, pressing into a hidden panel. "In old castles, they're usually for escape… or hidden dungeons."

Dante gave her a look. Then he floated Magneto ahead of him like a human lantern—lit, subdued, and double-gagged.

The passage coiled downward, but not for long.

Soon, they reached the bottom.

And what greeted them was not medieval cobblestone and moldy bones.

It was a high-tech prison chamber that looked like someone cut it out of a SHIELD helicarrier and dropped it into a dungeon.

Inside stood a man.

Handsome. Clean-cut. A little too smug.

He raised his hands and sighed.

"Great. Another batch."

Then he smiled.

"Tell me—are you here to receive divine revelation from the great God of Mischief?"

(To be continued.)