Chapter Text
Chapter 1-10
Chapter 1: What the Hell?
"Good morning, Agent Dante. The Director is waiting for you on the thirty-first floor."
"Ah… uh, alright."
Dante Alighieri offered an awkward smile to the receptionist and silently wiped the sweat from his forehead.
As much as he didn't want to admit it, the truth was… he had transmigrated.
Still named Dante, sure—but now his identity was that of a field agent with the World Federal Bureau of Investigation's General Bureau.
And he wasn't just some desk jockey, either. His personal stats were bordering on superheroic. As one of the WFBI's elite agents, his physical abilities were pushing the limits of human performance. Proficient in over fifty martial arts styles, trained in the use of nearly every known weapon, and a specialist in tactics, interrogation, surveillance, linguistics, and criminal psychology—he had basically cleared every "Become a Super Spy" achievement on Hard Mode.
Thank the heavens the World Federal Bureau of Investigation was a publicly recognized organization in this world. Otherwise, Dante wouldn't have had the faintest clue where to clock in or how to pass the time.
But still… was it too much to hope he could maybe slack off a little?
From the memories in his brain and the info he'd skimmed on his phone, Dante was pretty sure this world was a parallel universe. One glaring giveaway: this place had something called the "World Federation"—the highest governing authority formed by most of the world's countries, split into permanent members and regular members.
Unlike the U.N. back in his original timeline, this Federation actually had teeth.
The World Federal Bureau of Investigation was its law enforcement arm. Each of the five permanent member nations had its own General Bureau, operating independently but also as part of a larger whole. That was how streamlined the WFBI's joint command really was.
"Tsk. Other people transmigrate and get inherited memories, overpowered abilities… Me? I get dropped into the world and told to show up to work. I already miss my days of lazing around. "
Dante sighed at his fate as just another cog in the corporate machine and stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for the thirty-first floor.
Luckily, even if he was just another agent, with his physical prowess and skill set, he could live a pretty safe life—so long as he didn't go around asking to die.
The elevator's screen flickered to life, playing muted news updates.
Alone in the lift, Dante watched without much interest… until the entertainment segment came on—and it absolutely wrecked his mental prep like a ten-point-zero earthquake.
"Bruce Wayne of Gotham City, representing Wayne Enterprises, appeared at a charity gala hosted by the Gotham Natural Disaster Relief Fund. And tonight, Mr. Wayne was accompanied by—let me count—five gorgeous models and actresses from the fashion and Hollywood scene! My goodness, do none of them get jealous?"
"C'mon, Lesnar. If you had a conglomerate worth hundreds of billions, I'm pretty sure even a dozen girlfriends would live peacefully under the same roof."
Dante froze. Wait a second… who did the host just say?
A photo appeared on the screen. Five stunning women surrounded a sharply dressed man with a sculpted jawline, flawless features, and that unmistakable air of dangerous charisma.
Bruce Wayne.
The DC Universe?
He couldn't be that unlucky, right? The DC world was notorious for its darkness, and in a place like that, "peak human" was basically "cannon fodder."
And the news kept rolling.
"Speaking of Bruce Wayne, we can't ignore another legendary playboy—New York's very own prodigal son, Tony Stark. And who's his rumored girlfriend now? That's right—none other than Daily Planet reporter, Lois Lane!"
Two new photos popped up: one of Tony Stark looking as cocky as ever, the other of the sharp-featured, confident Lois Lane.
"Now, let's be careful—some of you out there need to check your facts before you get sued by Ms. Lane! Word is, Stark has been trying hard to court her, but she's not giving him the time of day! Guess money really doesn't work on everyone."
"Maybe not. But I bet half the women in New York just threw a celebration party. Anyway, moving on to our next segment—"
Dante stopped listening. The entertainment chatter was irrelevant now, his brain was still stuck spinning in error.
Bruce Wayne, Tony Stark… and Lois freaking Lane.
This wasn't just one comic universe. This was a full-on crossover universe.
If it were just characters from one franchise, he might've been able to figure out which world he'd landed in. But now, with two mega-universes colliding, his understanding of this reality had just been sucker-punched.
And honestly, there was no telling if it stopped at just two.
"Great," Dante muttered. "Now I gotta worry that one day, I'll step outside for some fresh air and see an orange-haired weirdo yelling "Getsuga Tenshou" off the rooftop across the street."
Ding.
The elevator chimed, doors sliding open as if on cue.
Thirty-first floor.
And just as he stepped out, a weird electronic voice rang in his mind.
[Congratulations on partially understanding the world setting. 'Strongest Agent System' is unlocking…]
[System unlocked!]
['Strongest Agent System': Solving WFBI-assigned cases or completing missions will grant a random ability from the mission target.]
Dante exhaled deeply and stepped out of the elevator without hesitation.
"Well, at least the entity that dropped me here wasn't a total sadist. I've got a System. It didn't just toss me naked into a universe where people throw trucks for fun."
But there was a catch—because if the case involved normal people, there probably weren't any useful powers to collect.
And if it involved famous comic book characters… well, let's just say his current power level probably wasn't enough to get the job done without dying in the process.
Still, he had a path forward. Theoretically.
The thirty-first floor had only one massive door labeled: Strategic Analysis Room.
Through the glass wall, Dante saw a man standing at the far end, back turned.
He couldn't see the man's face, but after all the multiverse news chaos, Dante couldn't help but frown.
Please don't be another comic book character…
He pushed open the door and called out clearly:
"Special Agent Dante Alighieri of the World Federal Bureau of Investigation, Republic General Bureau, reporting for duty!"
"Come on in."
Dante stepped forward toward the man—and finally got a look at his back.
Shiny bald head. Jet black.
No way… it couldn't be…
"Director, you called for me?"
"Yes. Take a look at these case files first."
The man turned to hand him a folder.
And there it was—an eyepatch.
Of course.
It was freaking Nick Fury.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 2: To Arkham Asylum
Dante, who was starting to get used to this wild reality, didn't dwell on it too long. He simply took the folder and glanced at the cover.
"Patient files from Arkham Asylum?"
"Keep going," Fury said calmly, gesturing for him to continue flipping through.
Dante nodded and opened to the first page. It was a standard intake form, with a palm-sized photo in the upper left corner.
Bleached blonde hair, with the tips dyed red and blue.
No matter how he looked at it, the face was practically a copy-paste of Margot Robbie's Harley Quinn.
Maybe the entity that designed this chaotic multiverse felt that some of the comic book versions were just too over-the-top? Gotta tone it down to "blockbuster movie level insanity."
Dante pursed his lips. He really didn't have much to say about comic books' obsession with skintight costumes.
...Well. It was exciting, though.
["Birth name: Harleen Quinzel.
Height: 170 cm.
Weight: 64 kg.
Former psychologist contracted at Arkham Asylum, responsible for treating Gotham's most dangerous inmate—the Joker.
Became romantically obsessed with the Joker, gradually descended into madness, helped him escape, and adopted the alias Harley Quinn. Since then, she has operated as the Joker's criminal accomplice.
During a recent bank robbery, she was critically injured by one of the Joker's explosives and is currently being treated at Arkham."]
---
"Director, I mean no disrespect, but… why are you showing me a lunatic's medical file?"
"Oh? Didn't I text you?" Fury asked, feigning surprise. "I want you to take charge of a new initiative. Build a team. Harley Quinn will be your first recruit."
[Ding—Mission 'Team Genesis' has been released.]
[Mission Brief: Young Agent, your team's first mission is to recruit its inaugural member. Convince Harley Quinn to cooperate.]
Tsk. This busted system was really in a hurry.
"A team?" Dante said, raising an eyebrow. "With all due respect, sir—I'm an FBI agent. I've been trained to work alone. If you need someone to sneak into enemy territory and defuse a tactical nuke, I'm your guy. If you need an assassination behind enemy lines, I'm your guy. But team leadership? That's not in my toolbox."
He even put on a troubled look for effect. "Also… are we seriously considering a patient from Arkham Asylum as a future agent?"
Come on! If this were just a normal parallel world, fine.
But this is a crossover multiverse. God knows how many franchises are mashed together here—how many weird plot bombs are just waiting to explode?
If Fury's idea of building a team starts with Harley Quinn… what's next?
Are we building the Avengers?
Or worse—the Justice League?
What am I, the Phil Coulson knockoff in this dimension?
That poor guy got stabbed to death by Loki in the original timeline. Sure, he was resurrected later, but the trauma he endured during Project T.A.H.I.T.I. was probably worse than death.
And Dante had a strong hunch—if the Avengers were being reassembled in this world, it definitely wouldn't stop at Marvel characters.
The proof? He was literally holding Harley Quinn's medical files in his hands.
Dante sighed. That was the downside of living in a comprehensive multiverse.
Every shred of plot prediction?
Completely useless.
Nothing was reliable. Everything was new, unpredictable, and potentially lethal.
"I think you're absolutely right," Fury said. "Which is why you're going to learn how to be a team leader."
Just like every classic leader: once a decision was made, suggestions were just polite noise.
"Oh, and you're a Level Six Agent, right?"
"…Yeah. Level Six."
Dante nodded when he saw the conversation shift gears.
The Federal Bureau's agent hierarchy ran from Level One to Ten. Level Six might not sound like much, but it was the highest rank you could reach as a frontline operative—like military ranks. You wouldn't expect a highly decorated special forces soldier to march onto the battlefield as a general, right?
"Well then—congrats on the promotion. Welcome to Level Seven, Agent Dante."
Fury leaned back in his chair.
"Since I specifically seconded you from the Republic General Bureau, you answer directly to me. You won't need to follow the orders of any higher-ranked agents, no matter their level."
Dante blinked. Level Seven.
That meant he'd officially stepped out of the mid-tier agent pool and into the executive ranks.
And being accountable to Fury alone?
That made him something like a special envoy. No red tape. No chain of command. Just… him.
"I've always wanted to ask… is the General Bureau really that short-staffed?"
"You know, you really have no filter," Fury said, but didn't deny it. "Still, you're not wrong. We are short-staffed—especially for senior agents who can handle things independently."
He paused. "Something has been off lately. It's like the whole region's been cursed. The number of high-level incidents has gone up tenfold in just the past few months. I needed to put together a rapid-response team that can deal with unexpected chaos. So naturally, I had to poach an elite agent."
Dante stared at him.
He really hadn't expected Fury to just admit it. He thought he'd try to gaslight him with vague riddles and tactics.
But nope—this guy basically threw his hands up like, "Yeah, we're screwed."
Looked like Fury really was under enormous pressure lately.
"Alright. Stop staring at me. Head down to the thirtieth floor—I've assigned you an adjutant. She's been preparing the team formation protocol for the past week."
"Yes, sir," Dante nodded. But he couldn't resist getting one jab in.
"Off topic, Director… that scar peeking out from under your eyepatch. It kinda looks like it came from a feline."
"…Get out."
Seeing Fury wave him away with zero intention of further discussion, Dante wisely turned and exited the office.
As he stepped out, he spotted a Flerken curled up and yawning in the corner.
Men and their pride.
All things considered, that meeting went pretty well. Most importantly, Fury didn't waste words—he just handed out the authority Dante needed.
But the real highlight?
Fury used "she" when referring to his new adjutant.
Could it be… Mockingbird?
Sharon Carter?
An as-yet-unawakened Quake?
Or maybe the queen herself—Maria Hill?
For the first time since transmigrating, Dante felt like there might be perks to this chaos.
At the very least, he was about to enjoy some high-quality visual stimulation.
"If a team leader dates his subordinate, would that be workplace harassment?" he muttered as he stepped into the elevator.
He only had to go down one floor. The elevator doors slid open again almost immediately.
And the atmosphere changed instantly.
The thirty-first floor had looked like your average law enforcement conference center—just stupidly oversized.
But the thirtieth floor?
It looked like the set of a sci-fi drama. The tech level had jumped an entire generation.
Sleek, clean, futuristic design. Holographic monitors. Real-time data flying across a massive display wall.
There were quite a few people here, but everything moved with precision. No one batted an eye at the confused-looking transplant wandering through their high-tech workspace.
Dante took a few moments to admire the giant internal status board, when suddenly—a hand tapped his shoulder.
"Agent Dante Alighieri?"
"That's me, that's me."
He turned around with a friendly smile, hoping to make a solid first impression on his new teammate.
And then he saw her.
His smile froze.
It wasn't Quake. Or Maria Hill.
Wasn't Mockingbird. Not Agent 13 either.
This woman wasn't even wearing the standard blue uniform of the WFBI.
She wore a crimson qipao embroidered with golden butterflies, slit high along the leg, holsters barely visible underneath.
Which meant: total dress code exemption. At least Level Four or higher.
Her short black hair framed her face, exuding an enigmatic, seductive aura. Her expression was calm, almost playful—like a femme fatale straight out of a spy thriller.
She didn't look like an agent.
She looked like a very dangerous villain.
"Nice to meet you, Agent Dante," she said with a smile. "I'm your assigned adjutant from Director Fury."
"You can call me Ada Wong."
"Finally… we meet."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 3: The Bat Calls
Ada Wong was a mysterious, multifaceted spy from the Resident Evil universe. A legend in the underworld, walking the line between good and evil.
Of course, that was the Ada Wong from the games.
The Ada Wong standing in front of Dante was a federal agent with the World Federal Bureau of Investigation.
And frankly, her presence surprised and delighted Dante.
The surprise? That this world also included the Resident Evil universe. Meaning at any moment, a Tyrant or a Nemesis could leap out of a dark alley like a surprise boss fight.
The delight? Compared to the ridiculous, physics-breaking realities of the Marvel and DC worlds, the Resident Evil universe was basically a tutorial map.
After all, in Raccoon City rules: bullets fix problems.
Need more power? Use more bullets.
"Agent Wong, I've admired your work for a long time."
"Compared to the youngest ace of the General Bureau, I am a bit old," Ada said with a tone that carried just the faintest trace of resentment.
"I was joking!" Dante said quickly, grabbing her extended hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ada."
"Likewise, Agent Dante." Ada gave him a perfectly polite smile—just the right balance of grace and restraint. "Let's head to Gotham City first. I've already submitted the mission report to HQ."
"It's that urgent?"
"Well, we are going to Gotham," Ada said coolly. "Nobody wants to arrive there after sundown. Especially not when we're headed to Arkham Asylum."
Dante scratched his head. Fair enough—she had a point.
More importantly, picking up a patient from Arkham was basically a guaranteed way to run into Bruce Wayne.
Whether as the flamboyant billionaire by day or the pointy-eared trauma ninja by night.
Dante sat back in the lounge of the aircraft, flipping through the documents Ada had prepped in advance.
The stack was massive—like a small hill—and filled with dossiers on various unstable personalities.
Harley Quinn's file was at the top of the pile.
But unlike the generic medical summary Fury had handed him earlier, this was the full biography: everything from her birth time (accurate to the second) to disturbingly detailed trivia like "which finger she uses most to pick her nose."
It really showed off the investigative power of the world's biggest law enforcement organization.
As for the promised "detailed formation process and plan"?
One page.
Not even filled out.
Talk about disappointing.
Fury's urgency was practically dripping off the paper.
What did he mean by "future recruits are up to your discretion"?
And "doesn't matter if they're human or not—just as long as they vaguely resemble a human being"?
Had he been conned?
Was Fury just using the excuse of "build a team" to offload superhero recruiting onto him?
"This aircraft was in full use until the '90s," Ada said as she returned from setting the autopilot. "Once the Helicarrier became operational, this became more of a symbolic craft. Still, it performs well and can handle a heavy load."
She sat next to Dante on the couch. "Looks like you already read the plan Fury left behind."
"Oh, I read it. And I immediately felt like I'd just been hit with a scam call. Can I just arrest him? If Fury joined a telecom fraud ring, he'd rise straight to the top."
Ada chuckled. "That does sound like him. But a vague plan also means more autonomy."
"I get that. If we're seriously recruiting someone from a mental institution, we better have autonomy."
He leaned back. "Still, what really puzzles me isn't the plan. It's why Fury specifically picked Harley Quinn as the first member."
"Technically, I'm the first member," Ada said, biting her bright red lip just enough to make it shimmer. "As for Harley Quinn? The reason's simple: she's one of us."
"One of us?" Dante's interest spiked.
A Gotham City psych ward shrink turned Joker groupie—referred to as "one of us" by a legit WFBI elite?
"To be specific, she almost became one of us. She was enrolled in the Bureau's talent reserve program before she even graduated. She had probationary Agent status."
Ada opened Harley's file with casual familiarity, her fingers brushing lightly against Dante's hand as she flipped the pages.
"She was fast-tracked for high-risk placement. That's how she ended up at Arkham right after graduation."
"I covered all this in the documents. You didn't just skim the intro and the end, did you?"
"…Nonsense! Like I have time to read all of that!"
Still, the idea that Harley Quinn had once been a WFBI probationary agent was absurd.
Even if she never became a full Agent, she would've completed the same training. And with her psych background, it made sense that she'd be placed in Arkham.
But she still fell for the Joker.
Which wasn't a mark against her intelligence.
If anything, it was because she was smart that she was vulnerable to the Joker's uniquely twisted mental influence.
His insanity operated outside the boundaries of known science—almost like psychic contamination. The more intelligent you were, the more you were at risk.
Clearly, Harley Quinn had been very intelligent.
"By the way, has the Bureau already coordinated with Arkham about transferring her?"
After all, Arkham Asylum wasn't a public institution. It was a private prison.
Yes, prison. Functionally, its security was second only to extradimensional prisons like the Phantom Zone—and more secure than Belle Reve, where the Suicide Squad was locked up.
While Amadeus Arkham had founded it, the primary financier today was Bruce Wayne.
"It's all been arranged," Ada said just as the ship's AI projected an incoming video call on the big screen.
"Oh, perfect timing."
"Perfect for what?"
Dante looked up and immediately saw the caller ID.
Bruce Wayne.
"Tsk… Accept the call."
"On it."
Ada tapped the 3D interface, and a deep, velvety voice filled the lounge.
"Hello, Agent Dante Alighieri."
Dante blinked. "Okay, seriously—how does everyone know my name already? Am I famous or something? Am I accidentally a pop star or an internet influencer?"
"I detect quite a bit of sarcasm there," Bruce replied smoothly, "but I'll take it as a compliment."
He nodded toward Dante through the screen. With his square jaw and noble demeanor, he radiated the kind of righteous aura that made you question how anyone ever bought his playboy act.
"Director Fury and I go way back. Wayne Enterprises is one of the General Bureau's private contractors."
Fantastic. Fury's got connections with this guy too?
What's next? Dinner with Lex Luthor?
Poor Tony. This is starting to feel like full-blown NTR.
"If you're such close friends with Fury, then you already know who Harley Quinn is," Dante said, leaning on the armrest, chin propped casually on one hand. "But isn't your interest in her a little… personal?"
"Doctor Harleen Quinzel was once a friend of mine. People like me don't have many real friends—especially not women."
"Then rest assured, this operation will only help her. No harm. You have my word—Agent Dante keeps his promises."
"Then I'll take your word for it," Bruce nodded. "But this particular billionaire has a date tonight, so I won't be able to personally see her off. Make yourselves at home."
"Life's full of regrets, isn't it? Just like how Batman doesn't always catch his prey."
At that, Bruce's expression remained neutral, but his eyes shifted—three parts alert, three parts curious, four parts suspicious.
Dante pretended not to notice the emotion pie chart flashing in the eyes of Gotham's most emotionally repressed billionaire and ended the call with a smirk.
"Well, guess we're not seeing that billionaire tonight."
"True," Ada said with a chuckle. "But that just means we won't be seeing Bruce Wayne."
Because the playboy was busy.
But the Batman?
Sure didn't look like he had a date.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 4: Is This a Prison Cell?
Thanks to the Airbus's ridiculous speed, it didn't take long to reach Gotham City.
So, just a few dozen minutes after hanging up on Bruce Wayne, Dante was standing face to face with the legendary Arkham Asylum.
He'd only ever seen it in comics and games before—but now, in person, it was way larger than he'd imagined.
Even though the Airbus could take off and land vertically, the sheer size of it was no joke. And yet, Arkham had more than enough space to accommodate the landing without so much as a traffic cone in sight.
But the moment his boots hit the ground, Dante frowned.
Where were all the guards?
Wasn't this place supposed to be crawling with security?
Instead, it looked more like an abandoned film set.
"Welcome, welcome! I'm the Vice Warden of Arkham Asylum. Mr. Wayne already gave us a heads-up. You must be Agent Dante, right?"
"That's me," Dante said, shaking the Vice Warden's hand. "Let's cut to the chase. I want to take Harley Quinn with me immediately—less time here, less risk. You know her connection to Gotham's most delightful chaos gremlin."
"You're right. The Joker—pure madness incarnate. Who knows what he's capable of."
The Vice Warden wiped sweat from his forehead, nodding vigorously as he led Dante and Ada deeper into the facility.
He babbled about Arkham's architecture and history as they walked, clearly desperate to fill the silence.
Meanwhile, Dante had his WFBI-issued personal terminal out, quietly connected to the Bureau's network to run a few background checks. Level 7 agent privileges had their perks.
Due to Harley's unique risk level, her room was located in the deepest, most fortified sector of Arkham. Even with the Vice Warden's guidance, it took them quite a hike to get there.
At last, they arrived at a thick iron door with a nameplate: Harley Quinn.
"No guards? Seriously? Not even one watching this hallway?" Dante raised an eyebrow. "You're really leaving a high-risk patient like Harley Quinn completely unmonitored?"
"Oh, but this ward is the guard," the Vice Warden said proudly. "If she manages to break out of that room, no guard on payroll's going to stop her anyway."
"...Fair point."
Dante humored the excuse, but he wasn't buying it.
Harley wasn't just some deranged gymnast. She had the physicality of an elite athlete, the training of a provisional Agent, and after she snapped, it was like she'd unlocked her inner anime villain. Pain tolerance through the roof. Physical limits? Ignored.
"Also, best to leave any weapons outside. If she gets her hands on one, it won't end well."
"We're just here to transfer a patient. What kind of weapons would we possibly be carrying?"
Dante casually patted his suit, hiding the very real Magnum nestled underneath.
Before he transmigrated, he'd only gotten to use that thing in shooter games.
Now? He slept with it under his pillow.
"Alright then. Please be very cautious," the Vice Warden said, beginning the unlock sequence.
The door looked less like a medical ward and more like a bank vault—constructed of heavy alloy, with gears turning audibly as it disengaged.
And when it finally opened—
"...This is how you treat high-risk patients?"
Dante's mouth twitched as he fought back the urge to ask if this was some kind of prank.
This wasn't a cell.
It wasn't even a ward.
This was a princess bedroom.
Complete set of luxury furniture and appliances, every item either pastel pink or ridiculously plush. The vibe was less psychiatric containment and more YouTuber influencer's aesthetic bunker.
A literal hyena—yes, a hyena—wearing a princess dress was snoring on a velvet cushion.
Aside from the obvious lack of external communication or freedom of movement…
This was an otaku's dream suite.
"More extravagant than my bedroom," Dante muttered.
Even the ever-composed Ada couldn't help but mutter, "This is insane."
"Shouldn't your bedroom be pitch black?" Dante teased. "No light source. Just moonlight spilling in from tall windows as you sit on a throne made of skulls, sipping blood-red wine and laughing coldly into the night."
"Interested in my bedroom?" Ada raised an eyebrow. "Want to come see it for yourself tonight?"
"Nope, I'm good. I'd rather not end up sliced into three hundred equal pieces, each weighing exactly 250 grams, and cooked according to your mood."
"What kind of monster do you think I am?"
Dante chuckled. But the question lingered in his mind.
Was Ada being too friendly?
There was something oddly… affectionate in her tone. It didn't feel fake, but it didn't quite line up with her usual aloofness either.
Inside the room, Harley Quinn took notice of her guests. She removed her oversized, glittery pink cat-ear headphones and peered over with interest.
"Judging by your deadly-serious faces, you must be with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. So how's that baldy doing these days?"
"You know Fury?"
"Not super well," Harley said cheerfully. "He was my grad school advisor for criminal psychology. Helped me complete my provisional Agent training too."
Dante blinked. Then looked over at Ada.
She gave him the I told you to read the file look.
Was the interweaving of world backgrounds really this deep?
No wonder Fury wanted her on the team so badly—Harley Quinn wasn't just some random pick. She was Fury's pupil. A personal project.
Like Quake was to Coulson in Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Even Bruce Wayne had said she was one of the few people he considered a real friend.
Between them, they probably outfitted this ridiculous penthouse-cell.
But… something didn't add up.
Harley didn't seem crazy.
In fact, Dante felt like he was talking to Dr. Harleen Quinzel, not her chaotic alter ego.
"Well, don't just stand there in the doorway," Harley said brightly. "Come in and make yourselves at home."
She sprang off her oversized armchair, landing gracefully with a gymnast's flair.
"What would you like to drink? Coffee? Tennessee whiskey? Maybe a sinfully neon green soda that looks like it should be illegal?"
"Whatever works."
"Coffee it is!"
She bustled around like a perfectly normal host with houseguests.
But Ada, already inside, wasn't so easily convinced.
Her sharp eyes darted to the rest of the room—and Dante followed her gaze.
The side of the room visible from the door was all pink frills and plushies.
But the other walls…
Every inch was covered with photos of one man.
Green hair. Ghost-white foundation. Blood-red lips carved into a grotesque smile.
The Joker. Gotham's Clown Prince of Crime.
Mr. J.
There were many names. All of them terrifying.
But something was… off.
Every photo had been vandalized. Scratched, defaced, or half-blacked out. Like she was trying to erase him—while still keeping him close.
A psychological tug-of-war in wallpaper form.
Unless Harley had recently taken acting lessons from Two-Face, this was a clear sign of inner conflict.
"I know this scene is a little weird," Harley said, brewing coffee with her back turned. "But trust me, it's not even the weirdest part. Ever see fireworks and confetti burst out of someone's wounds? Harley Quinn sees a lot of things like that."
…She just used her own name in the third person.
"Doctor Quinzel?"
"That's right. For now, at least. But just call me Harley Quinn—I'm used to it."
She turned around, tray in hand.
"All four of you, please have a seat. The sofa's big enough."
Four?
Dante immediately spun and drew his Magnum, aiming it at the back of the room.
There, standing motionless like he'd always been there, was a figure clad in a black cape and cowl.
The kind of presence that could silence a room just by existing.
Even with an elephant-stopping Magnum aimed square at his head, he didn't flinch.
"Batman," Dante muttered. "When did you start flying out of your cave during daylight hours?"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 5: Pale and Dark
"Please, Agent Dante. No need to be nervous."
"I'm not nervous," Dante said flatly, adjusting his aim slightly. "I just didn't expect the Batman to show up in person."
He pouted and shifted the Magnum in his grip. Batman was, after all, still Batman—arguably trustworthy. And besides, a handgun wouldn't do squat to the guy anyway.
"I don't agree with the WFBI removing Harley Quinn from Arkham Asylum," Batman said as he stepped forward. Though he addressed Dante, his eyes remained locked on Harley. "She's not just the Joker's accomplice—she's the only lead we have on his current whereabouts."
He paused.
"The only lead."
Dante scratched his temple with the barrel of his gun, sighing. Yeah… that was the problem.
In moments like this, it was hard to tell if Batman was obsessed with justice—or obsessed with the Joker.
"Don't drag other people into your twisted relationship," Dante replied, standing firm in front of him. The height difference meant he was basically talking to Batman's chin. He had to crane his neck just to make eye contact. "People setting things on fire wearing Joker makeup, and vigilantes running around in masks and tights… you're all lunatics, just from different sides of the circus."
"Are you the type who sees vigilantes and 'superheroes' as criminals?" Batman asked, taking a step to the side of the door, putting a little more space between them. "Makes me question the judgment of WFBI agents."
"Don't question us just yet," Dante said, slumping onto the sofa, arms spread. "I get it—you're heroes. Real ones, maybe. But that doesn't mean you're not crazy. Those two things are not mutually exclusive."
"Alright, gentlemen," Harley Quinn interrupted, perched cross-legged on her bed with a steaming mug of coffee. "Can we table the philosophical showdown between Mister Brooding Justice and Agent Grit for another time?"
She sipped her coffee with far too much poise for someone currently locked in Arkham, and at that moment, it was clearly Harleen Quinzel speaking—not her other half.
"I mean, shouldn't we be discussing whether or not I'm getting out of here?"
"In any case, we're taking Harley," Dante said, sounding firm but… slightly unsure. Because yes, even he wasn't entirely comfortable going toe-to-toe with Batman. "And as for the Joker? You're welcome to cooperate with the WFBI."
There are two smart ways to deal with someone like the Joker.
One: stay the hell away and hope he keeps playing tag exclusively with Gotham and Batman.
Two: throw every resource you've got into helping Batman bring him down.
Dante preferred option one. Not because he was lazy—because he was realistic. Outwitting the Joker wasn't in his skillset.
And even if option two worked, that's assuming you weren't dealing with three Jokers, like the Mobius Chair claimed during "Rebirth."
Even if you did catch him, the guy had the dionysus factor—basically the ability to walk out of death like it was a revolving door.
Not a great ROI.
For now, Dante just wanted to complete his WFBI mission, collect a few more random abilities, and stop walking around as a "peak human" in a universe where that's considered "Tier 1 cannon fodder."
Even Batman outclassed him. Badly.
"And Harley's not just a random case," Dante added. "She's Nick Fury's personal favorite. And I'm sure, given your… multiple identities, you know who he is."
That was his strategy: flex some authority and poke a little at Batman's not-so-secret alter ego. Just enough to make a point.
"…Fine. I'll speak to Fury about this."
Batman nodded.
Even though his face was mostly hidden behind the cowl, Dante could feel the smoldering energy of a CEO who was going to file a very strongly worded letter later.
Poor Fury.
"Vice Warden Jack Lawson," Batman snapped, eyes turning to the visibly pale official. "Where's today's security force? This is barely one-tenth of your usual staff. And Arkham's defense systems are running at minimum capacity."
"Ah, well… that's… um…"
The sweaty mess of a Vice Warden immediately froze under Batman's death glare, his hand trembling as he tried to mop the sheen off his forehead with a too-small handkerchief.
Dante exchanged a look with Ada.
Yep. Something was definitely off.
From the moment they entered Arkham, Dante had felt it.
No security presence.
No contingency measures.
Not even backup guards in observation rooms.
You're telling him this place—the official dump zone for Gotham's most psychotic, genius-level criminals—was just running on vibes today?
And the man who'd escorted them in was this guy?
Dante was starting to miss the predictability of fighting zombies.
BZZZT.
His terminal buzzed.
Dante immediately stepped over to Ada and opened the secure feed on his device.
"Agent Dante, Agent Ada Wong," a calm voice came through. "This is Ingrid Hunnigan from Field Support."
"Agent Hunnigan," Dante said. "What do you have?"
"Per your request, I've reviewed all recent activity tied to Arkham leadership. Vice Warden Jack Lawson's wife recently received a one-time offshore deposit—three million USD. Also, his ten-year-old son has been missing for a week. No police report filed."
"…Perfect. That's the thread we needed."
Dante narrowed his eyes, shooting a glance at the trembling Jack Lawson.
"Excellent work, Agent Hunnigan. That confirms it—Lawson was bribed. His kid's being used as leverage to ensure the plan goes smoothly. Mobilize the WFBI's Gotham City field team and coordinate with local police to find his son immediately. He's still somewhere in Gotham. You'll need to trace the next clue."
"Understood, Officer." Hunnigan ended the call—no drama, all business.
Dante was lucky he'd bothered to request the deep-dive investigation. Turns out, paranoia pays off.
He turned to the Vice Warden, who looked like he was about to pass out.
"Hey, fatso. It's not you who'll pay for this—it's your son. But we'll find him. That's a promise."
Then, faster than Jack could flinch, Dante grabbed him by the chin—steel grip clamped on his double chin like a vice.
"What you need to worry about now… is you."
He glared into the man's trembling eyes.
"Who bribed you? What did they make you do?"
"I—"
"You can keep quiet if you want," Dante cut in, casually tilting his head. "But if I turn my back and just happen to not notice the two grenades someone lobs into this room… well. Not my problem."
He tilted his head toward Batman.
"Care to place a bet on whether he'll respect your due process rights?"
"N-no! I'll talk! I'll say everything! Just—don't hand me over to him!"
Jack Lawson was practically on his knees.
No surprise—half of Arkham's inmates had been put there by Batman. The other half wished they'd gotten caught by the cops instead.
Dante let go with a sneer and wiped his hand on the nearest cushion.
"Gross."
"Hey! That's my sofa!" Harley said indignantly.
"Don't worry. Once we get back to the Bureau, they'll sanitize all your furniture and ship it to you."
Dante turned back to Lawson. "Spill it."
"It was… the Joker."
"…Wow. Shocked. Just shocked."
"What did he want you to do?"
"H-he had me disable Arkham's internal security systems. The Joker Gang is going to attack… their only objective is to break out Harley Quinn."
"Break her out?"
Dante massaged his temples and gave a tired smile.
"Please tell me that's not happening today."
"It's… today…"
"Goddamn it."
He kicked the weasel of a man to the floor and looked up.
Sure enough, just as he turned—Harley Quinn and Batman's faces had already changed.
Harley especially.
Whatever was left of "Dr. Quinzel" evaporated. She yanked off her ponytail, letting her half-dyed blonde hair tumble down, red and blue tips catching the light.
The madness returned with a vengeance.
"My Pudding… you finally came! Hahahahahaha!"
Her shrill laughter echoed off the walls, manic and raw.
And then—
Footsteps.
Faint at first. Distant.
Then they got closer. Louder.
Dante's eyes darted toward the hallway.
A leg appeared first.
Purple suit pants. Shined black shoes.
Then the face.
White skin. Smudged red lips. Sickly green hair.
A living caricature of chaos.
Joker.
Batman tensed immediately, his gaze locked on his eternal nemesis.
"Heeheeheehee… is that my favorite playmate? Batsy! What a surprise!"
"What do you want, Joker?"
"Oh, come on. You know me. Just a generous soul come to visit a friend at the hospital…"
He grinned wide.
"And maybe blow this place sky-high on my way out."
As he strolled casually into the room, he came face to face with Batman.
Two Kings. One battleground.
"My Pudding!" Harley squealed.
Ada didn't hesitate—she locked Harley down and covered her mouth.
"Try anything, and I'll start dislocating limbs," she whispered.
"Mmhhmhmhm…" Harley giggled through Ada's grip, trembling with joy.
"Ada," Dante said, eyes never leaving Joker. "Keep her in check."
He lowered his head, tapped something on his terminal, confirmed it, and pocketed the device.
Then raised his eyes.
"You're Joker?"
"Who wants to know?"
"Oh, right! You must be the big, scary WFBI agent. Ooh, I'm shaking!"
Joker's grin widened, completely unbothered. Everything was a joke to him. The only person he took seriously stood beside him now—and that man wore a cape.
"Bang."
The Magnum fired.
A single shot.
Clean. Precise.
It hit Joker square between the eyebrows.
His smile froze mid-sneer.
"Don't look at me with those crazy eyes," Dante muttered. "You're really scaring me."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 6: Lip Mark
A lot of people completely misunderstand the Joker. They think he's just some lunatic with no deeper complexity—just chaos in human form.
What they forget is this: the Joker is terrifying not just because he's insane, but because, in hand-to-hand combat, he's actually on par with Batman.
The guy once beat the Dark Knight in a sword duel.
No armor. No gadgets. No bulletproof cape. Just raw, psychotic nerve and a complete disregard for pain.
Maybe it was his madness. Maybe it was his confidence. Or maybe it was just the luxury of having an arch-nemesis with a no-kill policy.
Whatever the case, the Joker never saw anyone else as a threat. To him, everyone not wearing a bat symbol was a background extra.
Unfortunately for him… this was the real world.
Not a comic arc where the Joker always gets away with murder just because it's "not his issue yet."
Anyone can trip up in reality.
And Dante? He didn't consider himself a "trip."
He just wasn't interested in playing mind games with the Joker.
Why outthink the devil when you can just shoot him in the face?
(Batman.exe has stopped responding.)
Dante leaned forward, looking down at the Joker's lifeless body like it was a lab specimen.
"Huh. So Gotham's Clown Prince of Crime goes down… just like that."
Not a single tremble in his voice. No hesitation.
"Hey, Batman. You gonna put him in a display case or something? You seem like the type. Real dark yandere energy."
"What did you do!?" Batman finally snapped out of his stunned silence, storming over and grabbing Dante by the collar.
"The Joker deserved to stand trial—not take a bullet from the WFBI!"
"Trial?" Dante scoffed, using the barrel of his still-smoking Magnum to push Batman's hand off his collar. "Don't be ridiculous."
He flashed a sharp grin.
"You've got your no-kill principle. I don't. That freak gave me the creepiest death glare I've ever seen, and I responded like any rational agent would—with one to the head. Are you seriously trying to defend the human rights of the Joker?"
Batman's jaw tensed. But he said nothing.
Because he couldn't.
"No-kill" was his rule—not a law. And certainly not something he could enforce on an agent operating under his own jurisdiction and protocols.
Seeing Batman slowly pull himself together, Dante turned away and walked over to the bed.
Harley Quinn sat there, expression blank.
She looked like a kid who'd just lost a parent.
Not angry.
Just… lost.
Dante sighed.
"Ada, release her."
"Are you sure?" Ada asked warily.
"Very."
Without hesitation, Ada let her go.
And just as Dante expected—Harley didn't lash out.
No wild laughter. No impulsive lunge toward the Joker's body.
She just… stared.
Eyes fixed on the grinning corpse of the man who had destroyed her life.
The look on her face was a mess of contradictions:
Devotion. Disgust. Reverence. Regret. A cracked mirror of Harleen Quinzel and Harley Quinn reflecting each other.
Fun fact: the Joker never loved Harley Quinn.
Quite the opposite.
He resented her. Used her. Hated that she cared for him.
Blowing her up, then breaking her out afterward?
That was all just a game to him. A sick little joke.
To see how far she would fall.
He won.
Harleen Quinzel became Harley Quinn.
But… he also lost.
Because deep down, something in Harley refused to break completely. She still sought the light—even as she danced in the shadows.
That's what made her dangerous.
That's what made her real.
"Harley Quinn," Dante said, crouching beside her. "Did you love him?"
"Love?" She looked at him like he was crazy. "Love a psychopath who turned me from a promising probationary Agent into an inmate at Arkham?"
"Then… did you hate him?"
"Oh, every second of every day." Her voice hardened. "But… he also gave me a second life. Replaced the father I never had. Our relationship was… complicated. War-level complicated."
"Honestly, I always thought that father role was better suited to Fury and his bald head…"
Dante shrugged.
"But none of that matters now. Joker's dead."
He reached out and gently lifted her chin so she had to meet his eyes.
"Yeah, he'll probably come back. But right now? He's dead. I pulled the trigger. I shot straight through the head and peeled away the last mask of his omnipotence."
Harley blinked.
"Resurrection!?" she exclaimed.
Even Ada reacted—eyes flashing in alarm.
Only Batman remained silent, eyes narrowed. He'd probably seen it before.
Because yeah—the Joker? He didn't stay dead.
The dionysus factor running through his blood was a cheat code that let him slip in and out of death like it was a revolving door.
That was probably why Batman didn't want him dead. At least when he was alive, you knew where he was.
Dead Joker? Total wildcard.
"He kept that from you, didn't he?" Dante asked, helping Harley to her feet and guiding her over to the body. "So why cling to the memory of someone who only ever abused and manipulated you?"
Harley stared down at the Joker.
She didn't cry.
She didn't laugh.
She just breathed. Long and deep.
And then Dante leaned in, close enough to whisper into her ear.
"Don't mourn this ending. Embrace it."
He pressed his Magnum into her hand.
"Come on, Doctor. You passed the Agent firearms course, didn't you?"
Ada flinched slightly. She recognized what he was doing—shock therapy.
Or maybe it was just Dante playing 4D comic book psychology roulette.
Whatever it was, it worked.
Harley took the gun.
Two breaths.
Then—BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.
Seven shots. Every single one into Joker's body.
And with each one, her expression shifted—from dead-eyed detachment to vibrant, chaotic catharsis.
She started giggling.
Then laughing.
Then howling with pure, deranged joy.
Finally, she spun around, flung her arms around Dante, and buried her head in his shoulder.
Honestly?
He kind of liked the attention.
Right up until he felt the barrel of the still-loaded Magnum press against the back of his skull.
"My dear Miss Harley Quinn," he said with a tense chuckle, "how are you feeling? You're not about to send me off too, are you?"
"If you don't want to get sent off…" she whispered, voice silky and dangerous, "then..."
Before Dante could reply, she lifted her head and kissed him hard on the corner of his mouth, leaving a bright, smeared red lipstick print behind.
"You've made me crazier than ever," she purred. "You're even more detestable than him."
No more "Pudding."
No more "J."
No more "Mr. J."
Just "him."
That single shift told the whole story.
And then, with a giggle that spiraled up into madness, she laughed like only Harley Quinn could.
[Mission 'Squad Creation' completed — Harley Quinn has joined the team.]
(To be continued.)
Chapter 7: Circus
Dante was stunned. That was it?
He thought the mission wouldn't officially wrap up until he reported back to Fury.
But the system prompt kept going.
["Mission-related characters: Ada Wong, Harley Quinn, Batman, Joker."]
["Random reward selection in progress…"]
[Acquired Ability: Ada Wong's Undercover Disguise Technique
Acquired Ability: Harley Quinn's Flexibility
Acquired Ability: Batman's Willpower
Acquired Ability: Dionysus Factor]
---
Dante blinked at the results.
Characters with too many skills tended to mess up the prize pool. The first three were solid enough, though Batman's Willpower stood out—it was strong enough to wield a Green Lantern ring, after all.
But even that felt plain next to the Dionysus Factor.
Vandal Savage, Ra's al Ghul, and even the Court of Owls all had knock-off versions of it. Only the Joker had the real deal—pure, uncut madness in biological form. The pure Dionysus Factor made you functionally immortal, defying the laws of nature themselves.
Granted, it didn't buff your strength or speed. It just gave you the really important stuff: absurd regeneration, agelessness, and the occasional resurrection.
Dante couldn't help but let out a smug little grin.
His first mission netted him a cheat-code-level passive ability. For a guy whose biggest prize before this was winning two bags of soy sauce in a supermarket raffle, this was practically hitting the multiverse lottery.
That said, grinning with Harley's lipstick still freshly smeared on his face made him look more than a little sleazy.
Cough cough. "Ada, that look in your eyes is kinda intense."
"In this situation, I'm barely resisting the urge to call the cops," she deadpanned.
"Don't be silly. You call the cops in front of me, I answer the phone in front of you. What are you gonna do about it?" Dante chuckled, then turned toward the door. "Anyway, we've still got problems to deal with. This is the Joker. If he showed up at Arkham Asylum, you can bet his loyal clowns are here in force too."
"Joker Gang," Batman finally spoke, breaking his long silence. He glanced at Harley with a complicated look. "If I had to guess, Joker's rescue of Harley was just a diversion. His real plan was to take over the entire Arkham Asylum, wasn't it?"
Harley's face darkened. She turned and shot Joker's corpse one more time.
Click. The final bullet fired.
Then came a rapid click-click-click that broke the tension.
"Out of bullets," Harley muttered, extending her hand toward Dante. "Reload me."
Without hesitation, Dante handed her all three spare magazines.
But instead of reloading, she gripped the Magnum by the barrel and smashed the butt of the gun into Joker's already-shredded head.
The hole got even bigger.
"Used and used again. Joker, I worshipped you once. Harleen Quinzel kept warning me, but I ignored her every time." Harley stared coldly at the mess of Joker's skull. "They say you can come back to life, yeah? Then I'll make a hole like this in your head again and again, forever."
"Alright, can we table the therapy session and focus on the Joker Gang first?" Dante put on a worried expression, but deep down, he was calm. "You were his sidekick. You know better than anyone how big the Joker Gang is. One slip-up, and we're toast."
Batman said nothing, but the tension in his jaw said he agreed.
Everyone knew the pattern—he always won planned fights, always lost surprise ones.
If Batman couldn't rely on his billions and his endless prep time, he was just the gold-medal winner of "Peak Human." He could maybe take on a few dozen guys.
But hundreds? Armed? Yeah, even Gotham's favorite brooding billionaire would be in trouble.
This universe didn't have a Justice League yet. Batman was still early-career—no Bat-Family, no Robins, no Alfred driving in a tank. Otherwise, the old man would've called backup three pages ago.
Still riding that edgy lone-wolf phase, apparently.
"But if the Joker Gang's going all-in here, that means the fat guy's kid might actually be safe," Dante muttered, looking over at the vice warden who was cowering on the sofa like a damp noodle. "You. Carry Joker's body. You're coming with us."
"Me?!"
"Who else? You wanna square up with the Joker Gang yourself? Be my guest—I'll carry the body."
"N-no! I'll carry him! I'll carry him!!"
Just imagining the Joker Gang sent the guy into full compliance mode.
Dead Joker > Dead Warden. Easy math.
"Perfect. Let's move."
Dante and Batman led the way out. Ada followed, cool and collected. Harley practically skipped behind them like it was a birthday party.
Last came the vice warden, face pale as paper, carrying the Joker's corpse like it was radioactive.
Dante rolled his wrists, loosened his tie, unbuttoned his cuffs, and gave Batman a lopsided smile.
"So, what do you think, Bats? Think we can punch through?"
"You seem unusually relaxed. Not worried at all?"
"Not really. I'm decent in a fight—holy crap, there's a lot of them."
They'd reached the activity hall.
Empty just minutes ago, it was now packed—shoulder-to-shoulder—with people in Joker makeup and Joker-themed outfits.
Beyond this hall was the severe containment zone. The place where Gotham's worst of the worst were locked up.
Arkham's entire defense system had been obliterated. The key to the high-risk ward was now in the hand of the woman leading the pack.
She had a high ponytail with streaks of dye, sharp brows, blunt bangs, and Joker-style makeup with a palette of black and blush.
Her purple three-quarter sleeve jacket and ripped jumpsuit were unmistakably Joker-core.
Punchline. Real name: Alexis Kaye.
Joker's new right hand. Harley's replacement.
Where Harley was chaotic and loud, Punchline was cold, calculating, and deadly.
Especially with the twin daggers gleaming in her hands.
"That fat guy… leave J here."
"Nope." Dante checked the terminal on his wrist, stepped forward, and shut that idea down fast. "The Joker is Gotham's—and maybe even America's—most dangerous criminal. Dead or alive, his body goes straight to the Bureau."
"How about this—leave the body, and I'll let you walk out in one piece," Punchline offered with a too-sweet smile. "It's just a corpse…"
"And letting a corpse that can come back to life go? Hard pass."
"…You know?" Punchline's smile froze, then turned brittle. She twirled her dagger. "Tear them apart. Including that Batman."
"What's with these lunatics always trying to kill public servants?" Dante sighed and shook his head. "Listen, last chance: surrender now and the FBI might let you live. Keep pushing, and I shoot."
Batman gave the crowd a hard look.
"Do you really think the few of us can take on the entire Joker Gang? There may be only dozens here, but outside? There could be hundreds."
"As Gotham's Dark Knight, I don't believe you don't have a contingency plan," Dante said casually. "But keep your Plan B for someone else. This time… let me handle it."
"You're going to take on all of them by yourself?"
Ada stepped up, reaching for his arm, but Dante was already walking forward.
He stood at the front of the hall, arms spread wide, staring down the grinning mob.
Then he turned slightly to Ada.
"Ada, don't forget—we're FBI agents. We're government employees."
He tapped his terminal again.
"We've got people above us."
He raised the comm.
"Hello? Hello! You said you arrived already—where are you?!"
The words had barely left his mouth when boom—Arkham Asylum's dome disintegrated into a cloud of dust.
Not rubble. Not chunks. Just dust.
Descending through it, wreathed in light like a Marvel movie entrance, came a red and gold mech.
"Good afternoon, my friends," the metallic voice rang out. "I heard someone got tangled up with some crazy clowns from the circus?"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 8: Domineering CEO Tony
Dante kept his expression cool and collected, but internally? He was screaming.
Why the hell did Iron Man show up?!
Yeah, he'd sent a request to Fury via his personal terminal. Something along the lines of: "Hey, kinda drowning in clowns here, please send backup with enough firepower to clear a mall."
But this much combat power?
He wasn't asking to demolish Arkham Asylum itself!
"Tony Stark! What are you doing here?!"
Even Punchline couldn't hide her shock.
A Batman without prep time? Still manageable.
But now a billionaire in a flying mech suit dropped in?
Yeah, this was bad.
Punchline shot Dante a look full of hate and resentment. That smug grin on Dante's face all but confirmed it—Iron Man was the backup this cursed FBI agent had summoned.
"Damn it… Retreat!"
"You think Arkham Asylum is a drive-thru? That you can show up with a gang and just leave whenever you want? Or that the Federal Bureau of Investigation will let several hundred armed maniacs stroll away?" Dante flashed a grin as bright as the explosions outside. "Mr. Stark, go nuts. Wipe out the Joker Gang's main force. Use heavy firepower if you need to—I won't hold you responsible."
"I'm not a mass-murdering psycho…"
Tony Stark muttered as he launched into the sky, headed for the perimeter.
Still, backup was backup. And Tony played team ball when the situation called for it.
A few hundred goons? For him, that was Tuesday.
The tide had turned.
Dante and Batman didn't wait another second—they charged straight into the mob like wolves tearing into sheep.
Harley Quinn followed close behind, dodging weapons like she was dancing. She completely ignored the Joker Gang idiots aiming at her and sprinted straight for Punchline, who had already started running like hell.
Sure, she and Joker were over. But seeing the girl who'd replaced her still made her gag.
Two quick bang-bang gunshots took out the doorknob ahead, forcing Punchline to turn around.
"Harley Quinn," Punchline sneered, "you still can't let go of J, huh?"
"Whether I'm obsessed with Joker or not doesn't matter. What matters is—no one replaces me."
She smiled, a sweet and terrifying contrast to the oversized pistol in her hands.
Just as she was about to leap forward and teach this Dollar Tree knockoff who the real queen was, a pair of hands yanked her collar back.
"Let me go!"
"The hell I will!" Dante barked. "Why are you trying to melee someone with daggers when you have a gun?! Are you high on multiverse drama logic?!"
He yanked her behind him.
By this point, more than half the Joker Gang in the hall were already on the floor, groaning in pain.
And Ada hadn't even moved—she was calmly watching Batman mop up the rest.
"Ms. Joker," Dante said evenly, turning to Punchline, "I strongly advise surrender. Unlike Batman, I don't do the 'no-kill' thing. If a criminal with a record like yours resists arrest, I will shoot to kill. And I will not hesitate."
Batman finished off the last few thugs just as the sound of explosions and chaos echoed from outside.
The room went dead quiet. Uncomfortably quiet.
"I surrender."
Punchline's voice cracked slightly. She bared her teeth, but she couldn't force out a smile—especially with Batman glaring holes through her.
In just a few minutes, their advantage had completely flipped.
---
When the FBI field agents and the Gotham Police found Jack Lawson's kidnapped son in an abandoned factory on Gotham's south side, they wasted no time storming into Arkham Asylum.
James Gordon, Gotham PD's lead commander on scene, led the charge. He pushed through the front gate, face full of urgency.
Then stopped dead.
The chaos he expected?
Replaced by a scene from a superhero press conference.
Joker Gang members were scattered all over the floor. Standing tall in the middle were Iron Man and Batman.
Before he could say anything, a hand tapped him on the shoulder.
He turned—and a badge was held up in front of his face.
"World Federal Bureau of Investigation, Level Seven Agent. Dante Alighieri."
"...You're the one who issued the joint rescue op?"
"Yup. That was me. FBI and Gotham PD—one happy dysfunctional family."
"So you're the one who took down Joker and his gang?"
"What, don't believe me?" Dante smiled lazily. "Same rules in every world, huh? FBI and local cops always got beef. But even if you don't trust the Bureau, you trust that guy, right?"
He tilted his head toward Batman—who was now chatting casually with Tony Stark, both of them looking like CEOs at a brunch meeting.
Gordon smacked his lips and eyed the ridiculously young Level Seven Agent.
As the acting chief of Gotham PD—and the next Commissioner, assuming nothing exploded—he knew how rare a Level Seven classification was.
Legally, someone like Dante could command across police jurisdictions.
He waved his hand, signaling the officers to move in and start arresting the unconscious gang members.
No need to haul them to the station—they could be locked up right here in Arkham, which was way better equipped than any detention center.
"And this guy…" Dante reached out and yanked Jack Lawson—the now-shaking, clearly exposed mole—by the collar. "These clowns can stay here with the other lunatics, but he doesn't belong in a cage full of maniacs."
"That said, he's definitely fired as Vice Warden… Wait—is that Harley Quinn?!"
Gordon instinctively reached for his gun.
"Relax. Harley Quinn was actually a probationary agent for the FBI. She's made a full recovery," Dante said with a straight face. "I picked her up from the hospital and reinstated her myself."
Recovered?! Gordon nearly choked.
He looked at Harley—who was twirling a pistol and humming to herself like a murderous Disney princess—and wiped a bead of cold sweat off his brow.
Nope. No way.
He twisted Lawson's hands behind his back and hauled the guy out.
Better to leave this place before things got any weirder.
He was already starting to feel like the weirdness was contagious.
And he did not want to end up wearing one of those tight spandex uniforms.
---
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Stark," Dante said. "Shouldn't you be in New York? How'd you get here so fast?"
"You must be Agent Dante—the one Fury won't shut up about. Pleasure to meet you." Tony wasn't the least bit stuck-up. "I've been hanging out in Metropolis lately. That's why I got here so fast."
Everyone knew Metropolis and Gotham were basically separated by a glorified puddle.
But still…
Wait.
Dante suddenly remembered a ridiculous tabloid headline he saw earlier.
"Don't tell me you moved to Metropolis just to chase after Lois Lane?"
"Miss Lane is the first woman who's ever treated me like I was not special," Tony said, totally sincere. "That kind of rejection? Extremely rare."
"…Mr. Stark, are you the domineering CEO straight out of some webnovel? Oh wait—you actually are."
Dante rubbed his temples.
"No one's ever told you how cheesy that line sounded?"
"Lois Lane said exactly the same thing." Tony laughed, carefree as ever. Then he extended a hand.
"Call me Tony."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 9: Closest Thing
After exchanging contact info with Tony, he flew off in the direction of Metropolis.
Dante shook his head. He really hoped the guy would give up on Louise Lane before he pissed off that Kansas farm boy.
No offense, but if that guy got mad? Stark's fancy armor wouldn't last a frame.
"Tony Stark disappeared from public view for a while. So that's what he was working on."
"What? You feel threatened, Mr. Billionaire Playboy?" Dante teased.
"Batman replied flatly. "Not interested. Unless…"
"Unless you meet someone you can't beat?"
Batman didn't answer, just sighed.
Dante smirked. "I was baiting you, y'know. I basically just said I know who you are. And you didn't even blink."
"You already hinted at it during our first call."
"True."
The two stood side by side, silently surveying the carnage Stark had left in his wake outside Arkham Asylum.
Behind them, Ada Wong and Harley Quinn—who'd overheard their little heart-to-heart—were slack-jawed.
"Wait… Batman is Bruce Wayne!?"
"I've known Bruce Wayne for at least ten years!" Ada blinked. "And never once suspected. Damn. My crazy-meter's way behind his."
Seeing the post-battle cleanup nearing completion, Dante casually pointed at the Joker's corpse lying by Ada's feet.
"Batman. You take this sack of crazy with you."
"Me? Are you sure?"
"Who else? The FBI isn't gonna care about a corpse. Yeah, I know he'll probably resurrect, but try explaining that to accounting. At least you'll keep him locked up permanently." Dante grinned. "Consider it a friendly gesture, dear Mr. Bruce Wayne."
---
When they touched down again, they were already back on U.S. soil—Washington D.C., to be exact.
As they stepped into the hangar, Agents all around began glancing their way. Some subtly. Some not-so-subtly.
"Uh… why's everyone staring at you two? Is this, workplace bullying?" Harley tilted her head, genuinely puzzled. "Do your coworkers not like you or something?"
"Please." Dante deadpanned. "You do realize they're looking at you, right?"
Harley blinked again.
To be fair, she had zero self-awareness. With chemically-bleached skin and twin-toned hair—bright red and blue—she was impossible to ignore.
Even if someone didn't recognize her as the Joker's former lover, she still looked like a cross between a pop idol and a lab accident.
Also, FBI Agents? Not as cool as you think. Most of them worked in data entry and had never seen action outside of a print jam.
Just then, a tall woman jogged over.
"Agent! I'm Grade 4 Agent Ingrid Hunnigan. From now on, I'll be responsible for logistical support for the 'Star Team'!"
"Looking forward to working with you, Agent Hunnigan," Dante replied, shaking her hand. "Just to clarify… this Star Team thing—you mean us, right?"
"Yes. Director Fury confirmed the codename ten minutes ago."
"Tch. That's one casual naming convention."
"Please follow me. The Director is waiting for you in the Strategic Analysis Room."
Led by Agent Hunnigan, they ascended to the familiar thirty-first floor.
Fury stood with his back to them, naturally.
But the moment the door opened, he turned around.
His face remained unreadable—but Dante immediately sensed the tension behind that poker face.
"Harley Quinn," Fury said coolly. "You've caused quite the mess. Still, we can clear your record."
"Tsk tsk tsk… still the same strict Teacher Fury, I see." Harley didn't seem the least bit nervous. She hopped up on a desk like she owned the place, grinning wildly.
"If I'd really been that strict, I wouldn't have approved your application to Arkham Asylum in the first place."
"And now I am one of the lunatics I was assigned to study, huh?" she giggled.
"That's fine. Normal people can't do what we do."
Fury waved her off and turned to Dante.
"You handled things well. But wasn't that commotion a bit excessive?"
"You mean shooting the Joker in the head? Or unveiling your secret weapon?" Dante raised an eyebrow. "If it's the former, I have no regrets. If it's the latter… c'mon. How long do you think Stark can keep a secret? A week? Tops?"
"I'm talking about Batman getting involved."
"What, you thought he was just going to hang from a cave ceiling while the FBI waltzed into his turf?"
That one actually shut Fury up.
"…In any case, you've adapted faster than I expected. Once Harleen Quinzel passes her psych evaluation, you'll officially start."
Harley's smile flickered.
"I'm only Harley Quinn now. Harleen Quinzel is just a piece of the puzzle."
"As long as you're fine with that," Fury said, not missing a beat. Then he turned toward Ada. "Agent Ada Wong, get her a change of clothes. That patient gown from Arkham is not FBI issue."
"Yes, Director."
Ada nodded and began nudging Harley toward the exit.
"I'm not wearing a uniform!" Harley protested loudly.
As the two women passed Dante, the air got weirdly competitive.
Ada brushed her fingertips lightly against Dante's knuckles.
Harley didn't miss a beat—she leaned close and whispered just loud enough for him to hear:
"See you later… my Pudding."
Dante's spine stiffened.
Oh no.
She wasn't cured. She'd just… transferred her obsession.
Which, honestly, he should've expected the moment he encouraged her to shoot Joker's corpse.
After the two women left, Dante wiped the sweat off his brow—only to look up and see Fury sighing deeply.
He almost burst out laughing.
"What's so funny?"
"Every family has its problems. Being a dad ain't easy."
"Instead of mocking your superior, how about you give your mission report?"
"Actually," Dante said, stepping closer, lowering his voice, "I do have something I need to talk to you about. Off the record."
Fury narrowed his eye.
"I need to know… how many people like Stark do you really know? Or rather—how many more are there?"
Blunt? Maybe. But Dante needed stronger abilities. Even with the Dionysus Factor, he couldn't stay stagnant.
"That's not something a Level 7 Agent needs to know."
"If you really want me to do this job right, then ditch the D.C. bureaucracy. I'm not here to follow rules. And clearly, neither is this team—considering our first recruit was literally a patient from Arkham Asylum."
Fury gave a long pause, then nodded.
"I was right about you. You were born for this."
He turned back to his console.
"I'll send you the authorization code later. You're dismissed, Agent."
"Cool, cool. I'll let you brood in peace, then."
Dante was halfway out the door when he suddenly paused and turned back.
"Oh right. What exactly is Harley Quinn to you?"
Fury's eye narrowed instantly, his glare sharp enough to cut glass.
No words—just a look that screamed:
Don't. Ask.
Dante shrugged and exited without pushing further.
Only after the room was completely empty did Fury murmur to himself:
"Harley Quinn is the closest thing to a daughter I've ever had."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 10: Strange Cohabitation
Harley Quinn's psychological evaluation didn't take a short amount of time. Understandably so—she was practically a valedictorian at the gifted-and-talented loony bin known as Arkham Asylum.
Final result?
Completely normal.
"Their definition of "normal" is truly all-encompassing," Dante muttered, holding the official report from the Federal Bureau of Investigation with a deadpan look, turning to Ada Wong with a faux smile. "If Harley Quinn weren't standing right in front of me right now, I might've actually bought it."
"Maybe Fury's right," Ada replied. "People who are too normal can't do our line of work."
"I can't believe I actually bought into your nonsense…"
Dante rolled his eyes, but truth be told, he wasn't that surprised.
In a world teeming with supernatural forces, multiverse freakshows, and people who treat reality like a suggestion, everyone was a little unhinged. Superheroes, supervillains, and anyone in-between—nobody here was filing clean psych reports.
Trying to live a "normal life" while having god-tier powers? That alone proves you're abnormal.
Normal people live normal lives.
Special people live special lives.
No crossover required.
"Only an idiot would care what's scribbled on some paper," Harley said with a stretch as she bounced off the couch in the therapy room. "But man, do I miss places like this. I used to be the one sitting across from the loonies, legs crossed, stockings tight, mind control on full blast…"
"…Go back to the stockings part—wait, never mind!" Dante checked his terminal. "Already ten minutes past quitting time. I'm clocking out. Goodnight, ladies!"
With that, Dante bolted out of the medical wing and jumped into the elevator.
When he turned around, there they were—Harley Quinn and Ada Wong—riding the elevator down with him.
"…Why are you following me?"
"Oh~ Pudding, you're my direct superior now, remember? Plus, Fury said you're my temporary guardian. So if I don't follow you, who else do I follow? Besides, does the Bureau look like it's got spare dorms? I'm fresh out of Arkham, babe—I don't exactly have a lease."
She actually wasn't wrong.
Dante turned to Ada, skeptical. "Okay, she's a mentally unstable ward of the state. I get that. But what's your excuse? You're a Level 4 Agent. You're probably about to get bumped to Level 5. Salary's not bad. Benefits solid."
"My dear Captain," Ada said sweetly, fluttering her lashes, "First of all, I also want to go home. Which, for the record, requires this elevator. Secondly… my place is being remodeled. I've been living out of a hotel for days now. And since I just so happen to know you live in a 400-square-meter apartment…"
She trailed off, giving a sly little wink. Harley, about to say something that definitely shouldn't be said in elevators, got her mouth covered immediately.
"…You're mooching off me, aren't you?"
"Think of it as practical budgeting," Ada said. "I'm saving up for that new grappling hook gun Stark Industries just launched. Very sleek. Oh! Speaking of Stark—Captain, since you and Tony hit it off, could you maybe help me get an employee discount?"
"You just dropped the FBI's dignity to the level of a beat cop at a pawn shop…"
---
Eventually, Dante gave in and led the two wildly different women toward his place.
Along the way, he took in the sights of Washington D.C.—this version of it, anyway, smashed together by multiverse shenanigans.
And honestly?
It was fine.
There were still drunk guys passed out in flowerbeds. Street vendors packing up their carts the second city enforcement came into view.
They stopped for hotpot on the way—an unexpectedly authentic spot—and for the first time that day, Dante felt like he was really off the clock.
A few hours ago, he'd been dealing with the world's most toxic relationship (Joker and Harley). Now, he was casually boiling yellow tripe while watching Ada Wong's expression twist in agony because she couldn't handle spice.
Somewhere along the way, they hit up a mall to grab basic supplies.
His apartment? Total bachelor den.
Four hundred square meters, and only one pair of slippers.
One bowl. One set of cutlery.
And he certainly couldn't let two fully grown women roam around wearing his old T-shirts—or worse, nothing at all. Even if he was weird enough to be okay with that, they definitely weren't.
Especially Ada.
She might flirt like a Bond girl, but she covered her collarbones like they were state secrets and always kept a dignified distance. Her sense of restraint was... infuriatingly attractive.
---
And yet...
"Okay," Dante muttered, lying flat on the bed like a mummy, eyes wide open, arms crossed over his chest like he was waiting to be buried. "What is even happening right now."
Because the joke Ada made a few hundred words ago?
Totally real now.
Two mature women.
One on each side.
Sure, his bed was massive.
Still… contact was inevitable.
"Oh~ Pudding, you really think I'd feel safe sleeping alone in a strange new place?" Harley cooed, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Lady, you looked pretty comfy in your room back at Arkham," Dante grumbled. "Three square meals, guaranteed entertainment… I was jealous!"
But logic didn't work on Harley. Mental instability doesn't play by the rules.
So he turned to the other side.
"Ada. Your turn. Harley's excused. What's your story? Did she infect you?"
"No," Ada sighed, looking genuinely annoyed for once. "I miscalculated. I ordered the furniture online and accidentally only bought one bed."
"…Then you sleep on the couch?"
"You're making a woman sleep on the couch?"
"…Then I sleep on the couch?"
"The guest is making the host sleep on the couch?!"
"Fine. Let's just sleep. We've got work tomorrow…"
(To be continued.)
...
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Chapter 2: Chapter 11-20
Chapter Text
Chapter 11: Westchester County Incident
The next morning, at FBI Headquarters.
Ingrid Hannigan was already waiting in the lobby for Agent Dante and his... very distinctive squad.
As of today, the Star Team had its own dedicated office space.
Yes, office space.
Don't get the wrong idea—being an FBI agent wasn't just running around solving crimes and shooting bad guys. The paperwork? Easily twice what your average precinct officer has to deal with.
And when it came to missions too weird for public consumption, you couldn't exactly slap a "zombie outbreak" on an official report. So they had to write two versions. Sometimes more. One true, and one—or several—false.
Many new agents joined with dreams of action hero glory… only to rage-quit after filing their 87th fabricated mission log. The retention rate for rookies was under 40%. Most didn't survive their first six months.
It was already 9 a.m. by the time Dante, Ada Wong, and Harley Quinn sauntered in like nothing was weird.
"Ingrid? Why are you posted in the lobby today? Got reassigned as the first-floor receptionist?" Dante said without missing a beat.
The vein on Ingrid Hannigan's forehead twitched.
But the smile on her face remained professional.
"Director Fury arranged a new office space for the Star Team. I came down to welcome you."
"New digs, huh? Lead the way."
Dante followed her into the elevator, watching as she pressed the button for the thirty-second floor.
"How'd you three show up together?" she asked casually.
"Heh, Ingrid... You wouldn't believe my night," Dante grinned. "These two maniacs wouldn't let me sleep."
The two "ladies" awkwardly cleared their throats in unison, then launched into their very on-brand excuses with a straight face.
"Not my fault," Ada said smoothly. "You know me—I'm an elite field agent. Emergency reflex muscle memory is totally normal."
"Not my fault either!" Harley chirped. "You know me—I'm an elite mental patient. Body and mind doing their own thing is completely normal."
Impressive. No wonder they were both walking red flags. Apparently, if you're shameless enough, nothing is your fault.
"Ugh… Ingrid," Dante groaned. "Tell me—where on Earth do people like this—HEY! What are you doing?!"
"Filing a complaint with Internal Affairs," Ingrid said, typing furiously on her terminal. "First day of Star Team formation and its members are already—mmf!"
Harley slapped a hand over the elevator camera.
Ada covered Ingrid's mouth like a reflex.
Dante, lightning-fast, grabbed her terminal and force-recalled the message.
Crisis averted.
All three let out a synchronized sigh of relief.
"If we got reported on our first day, I might actually die from the shame," Dante muttered.
"Look," he said, turning to Ingrid, "those two have... issues with phrasing. But you're the one twisting it."
"Last night, I—being a law-abiding gentleman—offered temporary housing to two homeless women. There was only one bed. I got forced into a group sleep situation. Then, because of reflexive instincts and bad sleeping posture, we all accidentally whacked each other throughout the night. I didn't get actual sleep until around 5 a.m. Understand?"
"Uh-huh, uh-huh," Ingrid nodded quickly, muffled.
"Ada, let her go."
Ada released her.
"You covered that surveillance cam like a pro."
"You blocked Ingrid's mouth without hesitation."
"I learned it from watching you."
The two women shared a few dry compliments... and a weird look that might've been mutual appreciation.
Ding. Elevator doors opened.
The thirty-second floor.
"By special order from the Director," Ingrid said, switching instantly back to full-professional logistics mode, "the entire thirty-second floor, excluding Director Fury's office, has been allocated as the exclusive operations space for the Star Team."
The moment they stepped out, the space looked legit.
Rows of new desks, upgraded terminals, and one very shiny coffee machine.
But just as they were settling in, the office at the far end cracked open.
A familiar bald, one-eyed silhouette appeared.
"Amusement park tour's over. Meeting. Now."
Fury turned and walked back into his office without another word.
The four of them exchanged a glance and followed him in.
Meetings: the soul of all government jobs.
Thankfully, Fury wasn't the kind of guy who needed fifty-nine minutes to say nothing in a sixty-minute meeting.
In fact, he was often too direct.
"Witnesses in Westchester County, New York, reported sightings of zombies and B.O.W.s. No confirmed casualties yet. The Sheriff's Department has formally requested our assistance," Fury said, pulling up video and data onto a giant 3D display. "Ada. You're our in-house B.O.W. expert. Brief them."
"Yes, Director."
Ada's expression snapped into full mission mode. She studied the footage, browsed the text logs, and then turned to the team.
"The zombies are standard T-virus infections. But they're confined to a specific area—which means someone is using an external control method. The unknown B.O.W. is likely a new Tyrant variant. Based on visual data, it combines traits from both the Nemesis and the Ivan Tyrant models."
She tapped through several photos.
"We've confirmed four separate units on video. Odds are, the actual number's higher."
[Mission: Biochemical Maniac]
[Objective: As the newly appointed Captain, lead Star Team into its first operation. Eliminate all zombies and B.O.W.s. Identify and apprehend the mastermind.]
Figures.
The moment Ada finished the briefing, the system popped up with a mission notification.
Dante didn't even flinch.
He'd learned his lesson after the last time.
The system said "persuade Harley Quinn to surrender." Reality said "battle the entire Joker Gang at Arkham."
In this multiverse mashup, anyone could show up next.
"Hot weapons work against B.O.W.s?" Dante asked.
"Yes," Ada confirmed. "They're technically easier to neutralize than supervillains. As long as your individual firepower's high enough, it's doable. The hard part is tracking the person controlling them. B.O.W.s never appear without a puppet master. There's always a deeper plot."
"Do we have enough weapons on the Airbus?"
"Absolutely. Worst-case scenario, we can deploy the Quinjet for a saturation strike."
"Cool. I'm good, then."
Dante clapped his hands and turned for the door.
"Star Team—let's move."
For a second, he felt kinda cool walking out like that.
Until Fury added:
"What's the rush? This case interests me personally. I'll be joining Star Team on this mission."
Dante froze mid-step.
Oh no.
Going on a mission was one thing.
Going on a mission with your boss?
Absolute nightmare fuel.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 12: Nick Fury Is Brainwashed?
"This mission wasn't supposed to be a big deal."
"Ah, right, right, of course."
"But the area involved is too special. I have to go personally."
"People, you know."
"You don't need to feel pressured. You don't need to go out of your way to protect me. I may be getting old, but I'm still one of the FBI's top Agents."
"Life, you know."
"…Are you even listening to me?"
Fury squinted at Dante, whose attention was clearly elsewhere, earbuds in, looking like he was halfway through a stand-up routine in his own head.
"Was it that obvious?" Dante sighed, yanking out his earbud and pausing the crosstalk radio. "It's not personal, Director. But with all due respect—you're the head of the General Bureau. Ever heard a saying? 'A wise man does not stand under a crumbling wall.'"
He leaned in, voice low.
"The entire Bureau needs you to function, sir. Hear me out: we haven't even left the safe zone yet. I'll find a spot to drop you, you grab a cab, head back to the office. Sound good?"
"You really don't want to go on a mission with me that badly?" Fury looked more confused than offended. "You don't have to treat me like the Director right now. I'm just a temporary transfer to Star Team. I'll follow your lead."
"Do you believe what you just said?"
Dante walked over to the minibar in the Airbus lounge—because yes, there was a minibar—and poured himself a sinful amount of carbonated evil. One gulp. Gone.
These agents really knew how to live.
"Alright, Fury. Enough stalling. What's so special about this place?"
There it was—the real question.
All that dancing around the issue was just foreplay. This was what Dante really wanted to know.
What the hell could compel Nick Fury, the grandmaster of paranoia, to go boots-on-the-ground himself?
"I… don't know," Fury said after a long pause. "I have no memory of this place. Nothing. But I keep getting this weird sense of familiarity, like something's missing. Like someone forcibly erased it."
"…You're serious?" Dante's eyes narrowed. Then a second later, he froze. "Wait a sec. Hold on."
He spun and grabbed his terminal.
"Ada! Get to the lounge, now!"
Within minutes, Ada Wong and Harley Quinn hustled in from the armory.
"Ada," Dante said quickly, "you processed the intel for Westchester. Is there a School for Gifted Youngsters in that area?"
"…Yes. Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," Ada said, eyes widening. "I didn't connect the dots until now, but yeah—it's there."
"Goddamn it. It really is them."
Dante smacked himself in the forehead, then turned to Fury.
"Alright, I can confirm it. That weird feeling you have? It's not just déjà vu. You were absolutely brainwashed."
"What?!"
Fury, Harley, and Ada all said it in unison.
Because—yeah. That's not a small accusation.
Director Nick Fury—brainwashed?
That was next-level wild.
"Who the hell would dare try to brainwash Fury?" Harley muttered, then surprisingly slipped into professional shrink mode. "Let's think logically. You don't just brainwash him. Even finding him is nearly impossible. And even if you caught him, you'd need serious tech. Not just hypnotism—machines. Long exposure. Controlled conditions."
"But I'm tracked constantly," Fury added. "The Bureau checks my biometrics and location every eight hours through my personal terminal. There's never been a gap."
"You're not wrong," Dante said. "But we're not talking about normal brainwashing. We're talking about Mutants. Specifically, a psychic one."
"Mutants?" Fury blinked. "I… don't have any data on Mutants in my memory."
Dante stared at him like he'd grown a second eye.
"You're kidding, right? You seriously have no records of Mutants in your entire brain?"
That confirmed it.
"I'm guessing you stepped on someone's toes. Maybe ran surveillance on the wrong people, and they decided to wipe you clean to protect their kind."
"I…" Fury rubbed his temples. "It might've been when we were developing the Helicarrier project. We tapped into every American citizen's data for early threat profiling. Mutants would've been in there too."
Dante stared at him, deadpan. "Dude. You were tracking everyone in America? Did it not occur to you that some off-the-radar Superheroes or supervillains might not appreciate that?"
He grinned.
"Oh wait, one of them already did brainwash you. Hahahaha! You stepped on a psychic landmine, man!"
"Motherf— I wasn't gonna do anything to them!"
"Yeah? You think they believe that? If someone put the Sword of Damocles over your head, how chill would you be?"
…
The Airbus touched down in Westchester County soon after.
Dante parked the entire craft right outside the zone where the B.O.W.s were first reported. Didn't matter if it was Professor X or someone else from Xavier's School who mind-scrubbed Fury—their base wasn't going anywhere.
But the zombie horde? Very real. Very not metaphorical. And very much an immediate threat.
Someone was controlling these things. For now. But if that control was broken or lost, Westchester would be ground zero for a viral catastrophe.
So when Star Team and Fury—acting as a temp member—disembarked, they were already suited up and fully armed.
Dante scanned the gear and whistled.
"…Okay, I definitely underestimated this Airbus's arsenal."
Thermal rifles, pulse blasters, sonic grenades…
"Damn, our gear has gone full sci-fi."
"Don't get excited," Fury said. "These are either prototype tech from the Sandbox Research Institute or test gear reverse-engineered from Stark Industries. None of it's mass-producible."
"Fine, fine. But next time you have this kind of stuff lying around? Don't forget your beloved Star Team."
Dante flicked off the safety on his pulse rifle, eyes locked on the first cluster of shambling undead in the distance.
He cracked his neck and raised the weapon.
"Star Team, move out!"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 13: Wesker? Times Have Changed.
The T-virus zombies were definitely dangerous—if your firepower sucked.
But with enough firepower?
They were just slow-moving, rotting meat bags waiting to be mulched.
So naturally, the perimeter was cleared in record time.
Even Harley was smashing through them gleefully with her favorite baseball bat.
"I'm honestly curious. What the hell is that bat made of? She's caved in so many skulls and it still looks brand new."
Dante watched the chaotic older sister dive in and out of the undead mob like it was Tuesday at a batting cage, muttering his question to Fury.
"Oh, Adamantium," Fury replied flatly. "Leftovers from a black-budget weapons project from the last century."
Dante gave him a sidelong look.
"...Aren't you babying her a little too much?"
Adamantium? This bald bastard was really willing to go all in.
Spoiling your daughter too much can lead to big problems.
Especially when your "daughter" is certifiably unhinged.
"Quit complaining. Look over there." Fury gestured ahead. "We're making all this noise, but those Tyrants? Haven't moved a muscle. Just standing there like statues guarding that structure."
"Wait, is that... a temporary building in the middle of the Tyrants?"
"Not sure. We'll find out once we clear them."
The two moved up in a tight, two-man tactical formation and opened fire on the Tyrants.
Let's just say — these limited-edition sci-fi weapons made modern military firepower look like airsoft guns. Even these weird new Tyrant variants didn't last long.
By the time the thirteenth Tyrant collapsed, they were standing in front of what looked like a structure ripped straight out of a future tech showroom.
Dante raised his voice.
"Hey! Whoever's in there — the Federal Bureau of Investigation has a message for you! If you surrender your weapons now, they promise wealth, glory, and piles of cash!"
"...Where the hell did you get that line?"
"Stop clowning around."
Fury looked exhausted. Dante just shrugged and blasted away half the door with a single shot.
He stepped forward, about to kick in the rest of the entrance while preparing to deliver another classic FBI catchphrase—
But before he could, the other half of the door blew out from the inside.
From the shadows stepped a blond man with slicked-back hair, wearing a long black trench coat and sunglasses.
"I'll play with you for seven minutes. Tops."
That tone. That face. That voice.
Dante knew instantly who it was.
Albert Wesker.
One of the biggest bosses from Resident Evil lore. And arguably the one who got screwed over the hardest in the franchise's ending.
But in this merged universe, he was still very much alive.
The question was—what version of him was this? Had he already developed the Uroboros virus?
"Albert Wesker. One of the world's top-tier bioterror lunatics. Disappeared five years ago, and now he turns up in America."
"Bioterror lunatic? Please. Ordinary minds can't comprehend my ideals."
Wesker shook his head. And in the very next instant, he was standing right in front of Fury.
He didn't run.
He appeared.
With insane speed, Wesker knocked the heat ray rifle right out of Fury's hands before the old man could even blink.
Then one punch—just one—sent Fury flying back, vomiting blood and bile, collapsing like a deflated sack of meat.
Yup.
It was peak Wesker.
Dante broke into a sweat.
Goddammit.
Sure, in the original game he died from a rocket launcher to the face and a lava bath combo—but let's not pretend he wasn't cracked as hell before that.
The two crazy sisters were still busy cleaning up stragglers and hadn't noticed the boss fight had started. Not that they'd be much help anyway.
"Things have changed since my FBI days."
That line made Dante's heart skip.
Wait, what?
He's from the Bureau too?!
Is the FBI just a villain factory now?! Are they cloning bosses just to make my job harder?
"Do you always feel the need to flex your backstory?"
Dante didn't hesitate. He tossed his rifle aside and pulled the military bayonet from his belt.
If you can't land a hit, even the best weapon is just an expensive flashlight.
Better to ditch it now than have it taken from you.
"Six minutes left. I'll give you a chance. Come challenge me."
Wesker moved again, and Dante was forced into close combat.
Their first clash gave Dante one good piece of news—and one very bad one.
The bad news: for every ten attacks Wesker threw, Dante could only counter once.
The good news: thanks to the Dionysus Factor, his body could just barely keep up with the damage.
Fortunately, this was still just Wesker. Fast as hell, but his killing power wasn't beyond Dante's limit. If it had been someone like Thor, he'd be dead already and waiting for his respawn timer to tick down.
So Dante settled in.
Every time he managed to land a blow, he went all in. Fierce. Brutal. Surgical.
The Uroboros virus might be powerful, but it was still miles behind the Dionysus Factor.
Five minutes passed.
Wesker was the one panting now.
Bloodied. Bruised. His sunglasses had been obliterated by a clean punch to the face, and even the Uroboros virus couldn't keep up with the damage anymore.
"You said you'd play with us for seven minutes. Well, you've got one minute left," Dante said, calm but cold. "Whatever you're hiding in that lab—hand it over. I can guarantee you a quiet life. In a Federal Bureau of Investigation prison."
Wesker didn't answer. His eyes burned brighter.
"You… you've got an even stronger regeneration ability? You've been infected too, haven't you? Another biochemical anomaly?"
"Virus? You're insane."
Dante shook his head. Talking to this guy was like debating evolution with a toaster that thought it was God.
"It doesn't matter," Wesker said. "Even if you won't talk, once you're dissected, your secrets will still be revealed."
As he spoke, black, viscous tentacles began to ooze from his wounds.
Oh boy.
Here it comes.
That classic Resident Evil final form nonsense that completely ignores the laws of physics.
The tentacles rapidly spread, covering Wesker's entire body—except for his face—which now looked like something straight out of a monster movie.
Dante's expression tightened.
Not good.
This version had traded speed for raw power.
And even with the Dionysus Factor, that much brute force meant one thing: he'd get pancaked and have to rely on regeneration from the floor.
Then again—
His peripheral vision caught something.
He relaxed.
"Tell me, Wesker. Why the hell are you so obsessed with the Uroboros virus?"
"You wouldn't understand," Wesker growled. "I was born from the genome project. I've always pursued a higher evolution…"
"Tch. So it's an identity crisis. You don't really accept yourself as a clone, so now you're compensating with all this evolutionary obsession."
"Maybe. But the victor will always be Albert Wesker."
"Bullshit. That bald bastard may've gone down in one hit, but something about that seems fishy. You, on the other hand, Mr. Dramatic—eat shit."
BZZZZZT!
As the words left Dante's mouth, a beam of heat energy sliced down from above and melted Wesker's entire head.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 14: X-Men Appear
"Not bad, Director Fury. Still got it."
"Motherf*cker, can you quit standing there running your mouth? That punch rearranged my entire internal organ layout! I'm conservatively calling it three broken ribs."
"Scars are a man's badge of honor."
"I've got enough damn honor. At this point, I'd rather have fewer badges and a spine that doesn't feel like it's made of glass."
Dante stepped up, casually kicked Wesker's corpse out of the way, then walked over to help Fury off the ground.
One look at the sweat beading on Fury's forehead, and Dante sighed.
The old King of Agents was—well—old. Definitely not built for high-intensity frontline brawls anymore.
If it weren't for that memory lock situation, the guy probably wouldn't have gotten dragged into this mess in the first place.
Just then, Ada and Harley—who'd been happily smashing the zombie leftovers—came jogging over.
"Don't fuss over me. I just need a breather," Fury muttered, propped up by Ada. "Go see what Wesker was trying to cook up that was worth exposing his location and tossing out that many upgraded Tyrants for stall tactics."
Dante didn't waste a beat. He kicked open the swaying, half-destroyed door and stepped inside.
And immediately had to squint.
The place was decked out like a mobile high-end lab straight out of a Stark R&D catalog.
And smack in the middle of the room, on the central research table—an object glowing with a soft green light.
"Oh hell no."
Dante marched over, eyes narrowing.
No way. No way in hell.
Unless his brain was fried and lying to him, what he was staring at… was a Green Lantern Power Battery.
A bioterror maniac researching the core energy source of the intergalactic space cops? Who the hell signed off on that crossover?
Dante shook his head and reached for it.
Might as well grab it first and ask questions later.
But the moment his fingers brushed the Power Battery, the soft green glow flared—suddenly exploding into a brilliant blaze of light that lit the entire lab like a goddamn spaceship hangar.
In that instant, Dante remembered one of the mission rewards he'd picked up not long ago:
[Reward: Passive Trait – Batman's Willpower]
Right.
Bruce's willpower could casually override a Green Lantern Ring.
And sure enough, a ring glowing with the same vibrant green light floated out of the Lantern Battery and hovered in front of him.
["Intelligent lifeform detected.
Dante Alighieri of Earth.
You possess the ability to overcome great fear.
Welcome to the Green Lantern Corps."]
—
"Director Fury, why is there a green disco ball going off in there? You think that headless freak booby-trapped the lab?"
"Dante can handle himself," Fury muttered with a wince, then turned his gaze elsewhere. "You should be more concerned about our safety right now."
Ada's eyes followed his line of sight. She raised her rifle slightly, resting it against her chest, finger just above the trigger.
"You made too much noise. There's no way anyone in this area could've missed it."
From the shadows ahead, a group stepped forward.
At the front—bald, white, in a wheelchair, suit neatly pressed—was a man being pushed by someone behind him.
"Allow me to introduce myself," he said. "My name is Charles Francis Xavier. You may call me Professor Charles. Or Professor X."
He gave Fury a polite nod.
"Long time no see, Director Fury."
Fury stared at him like he'd just offered to sell insurance in a boss fight.
"Professor X? Never heard of you. And I'm sure I've never met you."
"No. You have met me. In fact, we briefly worked together twenty years ago on a project tied to the American government."
Professor X's tone was calm. Too calm.
"I'm the one who erased your memories. Every memory of me—and every memory of the Mutants."
"What?! You're the Mutants Dante mentioned?!"
"Dante…" Professor X frowned slightly, then pressed a finger to his temple. A moment later, his expression shifted.
"That moment just now—" Fury's one eye widened. "You read our memories? I didn't even feel anything. Your powers are that subtle?"
"We are born with such talents. Aside from that, we're no different from humans."
As he finished, the group behind him activated their powers.
Steel claws extended.
Bodies morphed into solid metal.
One transformed into a hulking blue beast.
Another sprouted feathered angel wings.
Tiny whirlwinds danced from someone's hands.
Every person had a different ability.
Fury, Ada, and Harley just stood there, watching in stunned silence.
They were no strangers to supernatural abilities.
But this many? All at once?
Nope. That was new.
"So you've outed yourselves on purpose," Fury finally said. "What's your angle?"
Shock only lasted so long. Fury was Fury, after all. He pulled himself together fast.
Mostly because he had to. These Mutants looked like they could break Agents in half for fun.
"We came seeking cooperation," Professor X said, still calm. "Our people are being targeted."
"Targeted?"
"Yes. By an ancient and evil organization. One you're quite familiar with—HYDRA."
Fury's face twitched the moment the name dropped.
"Wesker's research, his sudden appearance in Westchester County—it was all funded and orchestrated by HYDRA."
Fury opened his mouth to respond—but then, behind him, a chant rang out.
"In brightest day, in blackest night, no evil shall escape my sight.
Let those who worship evil's might beware my power… Green Lantern's light!"
The lab split in half as a green energy blade slashed clean through the structure.
And there he was.
Dante. Dressed in a black-and-green tactical suit, the Lantern Battery in his left hand, and a glowing, ship-slicing energy blade extending from his right.
The Green Lantern emblem gleamed on his chest like it meant business.
"…Uh. Good evening?" Dante looked at the extra visitors and didn't bother powering down. He casually adjusted his hair and strolled over to Fury's side.
"Wolverine. Colossus. Beast. Angel. Storm. You Mutants always stay up this late just to watch the FBI work overtime?"
For the first time, Professor X's zen composure wavered.
Because he didn't know who this man in green was.
Or what powers he possessed.
So, he did what he always did—he reached out with his psychic ability.
Except… this time, it didn't work.
The combined resistance of the Dionysus Factor and the Green Lantern Ring was like slamming into a steel wall wrapped in a force field coated in "nope."
Dante felt it. Of course he felt it. And he knew exactly what Professor X was trying to pull.
"Alright, my dear Professor X," he said, smirking. "You were saying?"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 15: Job Assignment After Graduation
HYDRA had its eyes on the Mutants—and more specifically, on the X gene that gave them their powers. Countless lone Mutants had already been captured by HYDRA for live experimentation.
They'd launched many rescue missions.
Most of the time, they only recovered bodies.
And the number of Mutants who could actually fight? Way too small.
Which was why, at this critical juncture, they had no choice but to seek cooperation with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
After listening to Professor X's explanation, Fury immediately pushed back. "HYDRA's been our Bureau's enemy since forever. But I don't think they've got the muscle to go after Mutants on a wide scale like this."
"Director Fury," Professor X said, shaking his head, "whether before or after your memory wipe, your understanding of our people has always been... lacking."
"Strong mutants—true warriors—are exceedingly rare. It's not an exaggeration to say that the X-Men behind him are one in a million. The vast majority of mutants have powers so weak that they cannot defend themselves—or worse, powers that disrupt their ability to live normal lives."
Dante stepped in to help clarify.
"I used to think," Professor X said, his tone distant and bitter, "that we could blend into normal society and live quietly in hiding. But HYDRA's return shattered that illusion."
"Hiding in the shadows… eventually just makes you easier to swallow whole."
Fury didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he turned to Dante and lowered his voice.
"How much of this guy's story can we actually believe?"
"His character's solid. He's the world's strongest psychic. If he wanted to, brainwashing the entire United States would just be a matter of free time and bad morals. But he didn't. He only wiped your memory when you threatened his people."
"He brainwashed me. How am I supposed to trust him?"
"You're something else, you know that? Think about the crap the Bureau used to pull. He only erased the Mutant stuff. That's already way more restraint than I'd show."
Fury visibly shuddered.
"So what's your opinion on all this?"
"Huh?" Dante blinked. "Director, you sure you're not going senile?"
He looked at Fury like he'd just called him "Grandpa" and offered him a Werther's.
"Did you forget we're also painfully understaffed? From what I heard, nobody at the Federal Bureau of Investigation has had a single day off in four months. We've got people from Internal Affairs working night shifts in other departments just to keep up."
"So you're saying…"
"You've got a team of ready-made supers in front of you and you're not recruiting them into the Bureau? What, you waiting for HYDRA to brainwash them and add them to their lineup?"
Fury slapped his own forehead.
Yeah, okay. He was tired. Bleeding. Probably had a concussion.
But he really hadn't thought of that.
The FBI needed people to deal with supernatural threats. The X-Men needed allies to fight off HYDRA.
Partner up.
Solve both problems.
Win-win.
The second they reached mutual understanding, Dante stood up and powered down his Green Lantern form.
Finally.
He really wasn't made for those skin-tight tactical suits. Seriously, he felt like a Christmas ham wrapped in neon spandex.
"Now that we're cooperating," Dante said, stretching his back, "can we go somewhere a little more… not surrounded by corpses? I'd rather not negotiate in the middle of a zombie biohazard buffet."
…
Led by the X-Men, Dante, Ada Wong, and Harley Quinn made their way to the outskirts of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.
Fury, after handing full responsibility for the negotiations to Dante, had already retreated to the Airbus's automated medical pod to "play dead."
Old bones crack easy.
On the way, a few young Mutants sprinted past now and then.
Dante didn't even flinch. He'd seen weirder.
Ada was curious.
Harley, meanwhile, was about this close to joining the kids' soccer game before Ada yanked her back by the collar.
Mental instability really did boost her energy levels.
Eventually, they arrived at the Headmaster's Office—aka, the original site of Xavier's estate.
Calling it an "office" was generous. It was an entire mansion.
But instead of going inside, they stopped at a nearby open space.
Beast casually walked over to the second flowerbed on the right, tapped something a few times—and boom. Secret underground passage.
Because of course there was a secret underground base.
As they descended, the scenery changed dramatically.
Tech everywhere. Full sci-fi layout.
A few more X-Men were stationed here:
White Queen. Cyclops. Jean Grey. Mystique.
Cyclops stepped forward, speaking softly to Professor X.
"Professor, what's the deal with these three? Are we really bringing them in here?"
"If nothing goes wrong, we'll all be colleagues soon," Professor X replied. "There's no need for secrets anymore."
Dante gave the man a respectful nod.
Professor X really did know how to read the room.
Hearing that, Cyclops looked up behind his visor, sizing up Dante, then motioned toward a large conference table.
"This way. Please, Agents."
After they sat down, the negotiation began in earnest.
"Professor X, I understand your position completely," Dante said. "Honestly, our needs line up pretty damn well. We need people to handle the supernatural chaos that's been skyrocketing lately and keep civilians from bumping into things they really, really shouldn't. You need to keep HYDRA from targeting and abducting your people."
"HYDRA's on our hit list too," he added. "One of our top targets."
"Which is why I think merging the X-Men into the Bureau isn't just logical—it's ideal. Most of our veteran agents have retired in the last couple decades. That's why we're so understaffed. The X-Men can fill some of those senior-level gaps."
In other words—join the Bureau, become one big dysfunctional family.
Dante was even considering shoving them straight into upper management. Professor X would basically be one of the shot-callers at HQ.
"I completely agree," Professor X nodded. "But I'm more concerned about the children in our school. They're young. They have potential. And they're HYDRA's prime targets…"
"That's easy," Dante said, already thinking it through.
"If the X-Men are joining the FBI, then why not merge Xavier's School with the Bureau's own training academy?"
"Graduate, and you're guaranteed a job. Salary's great. Government pension. Full civil servant benefits."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 16: HYDRA? Why Is It Always You?
Dante's conditions were the kind the X-Men couldn't possibly refuse.
Actually, scratch that—wouldn't dare to refuse.
For them, this wasn't just cooperation. It was survival.
Mutants had always hidden in plain sight. Why?
Because no matter how you phrased it—no matter how "scientific" it sounded—having a weird gene that gave you powers made people panic.
This wasn't about racism anymore.
This was about people who could accidentally (or not) vaporize a small town with a sneeze.
So, naturally, regular folks got a little twitchy.
But now, with the official stamp of the Federal Bureau of Investigation?
Mutants didn't have to fear exposure anymore. Sure, they still wouldn't go flashing powers in public—but now it was about avoiding hassle, not lynch mobs.
And that "guaranteed job placement" thing?
That hit hard.
Looking at Professor X's serene, slightly smug smile, Dante suddenly realized something.
He'd thought he was the one making a sweet deal—recruiting a team of superpowered peacekeepers.
But actually?
He'd been played.
These guys were all in. Total buy-in.
Not just joining the Bureau.
They were about to move in.
Whole family. Furniture. Psychic-powered lawn gnomes and all.
From now on, the X-Men weren't just cooperating—they were the Bureau.
Dante scratched his head.
Man… the FBI's brand was just too shiny.
They didn't just represent the United States anymore. They repped the whole damn World Federation.
"In that case," Dante said, "I'll be expecting your onboarding paperwork at HQ in Washington D.C."
…
Back on the Airbus, Dante and the others returned to find Fury already out of the medical pod.
His ribs were freshly set. He could walk now. Just... not walk-walk. Like, "waddle threateningly" at best.
"How'd it go?" Fury asked, one arm resting on his side like an old man with a grudge against his own skeleton.
"From now on, there's no more 'X-Men' or 'Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.' Only the 'Federal Bureau of Investigation' and the 'FBI Academy.'"
"Professor X was that decisive? Just rolled his whole organization into us?"
"Look, given their situation, joining the Bureau is the best deal they've ever had. And what they want in return? Honestly, it's nothing we don't already provide by default."
Dante dropped into a seat across from Fury in the Airbus's ops briefing room and started running through the negotiation report.
"Oh right," Fury said, pulling up a dossier on the main screen. "Here's what HQ dug up. HYDRA has fully absorbed the Umbrella Corporation. And their founder—Oswell Spencer—has joined HYDRA's inner circle."
"He's the one who sent Wesker to Westchester County. He was targeting the local Mutant population."
---
[Mission: Biochemical Maniac – Complete]
[Mission Characters: Nick Fury, Wesker, Oswell Spencer]
[Random reward rolling...]
[Acquired: Nick Fury's Experience]
[Acquired: Wesker's Enhanced Speed]
[Acquired: Oswell Spencer's Bio-Virus Knowledge]
"Tch."
Dante clicked his tongue.
This one was a mixed bag.
Fury's experience? Kinda redundant. He'd already been a damn good agent before this.
Wesker's speed? Not bad—but it didn't exactly make you Superman.
And the last one?
Bio-virus knowledge.
Whoop-de-doo.
In a world where energy weapons and alien tech could atomize a tank, who still cared about bioweapons?
Even the scariest B.O.W. would get roasted by a single plasma blast.
He'd kinda hoped this mission would net him something tied to the X-Men too, but thinking it over… they technically didn't count.
Ada had been part of the first mission—so she got included.
Batman played a key role in his mission—so he counted too.
But the X-Men?
They'd only shown up after Wesker was toast. No direct link.
Damn shame.
"This biohazard stunt is probably just HYDRA's warm-up act," Fury muttered.
"Exactly," Dante replied. "They wouldn't put all this effort into one half-baked move."
"I've already issued orders to the FBI divisions worldwide. Everyone's on alert for possible HYDRA cells operating within their countries. We'll have a preliminary intelligence report in a few days."
"Focus especially on places like Latveria," Dante said. "HYDRA's got deep pockets. Manipulating a few small countries from the shadows? That's chump change for them."
"I know. But we can't just go kicking down doors in other people's territory. That's a World Federation problem."
Fury's face was grim.
Dante had already picked up from intel briefings that HYDRA in this universe wasn't the same back-alley secret society as before.
They weren't just going up against S.H.I.E.L.D. anymore.
This HYDRA was built to challenge the world.
But the good news?
HYDRA feared Mutants. Wanted their power, but feared what they couldn't control.
Now that the X-Men were allies, they had the perfect card to play in the war against them.
…
Back at FBI HQ, Dante filed a full report on the Mutants, their capabilities, and the scope of their academy.
Fury, meanwhile, was so pleased he started eating six meals a day.
Apparently, victory and high-calorie snacks were directly correlated.
Some people worried about whether the Mutants might pose a threat to civilians or the Bureau.
But according to Dante's report?
These people had at least a dozen telepaths who could rewrite your brain into fanfiction.
If they'd wanted to go rogue, it would've happened already.
But they hadn't.
Their entire structure screamed "quiet survival mode."
The X-Men weren't vigilantes. They were farmers with backup plans.
And honestly?
If it hadn't been for Dante's high praise of Professor X, Fury probably would've thrown up red flags immediately.
But Dante was his trump card now.
Fury didn't know exactly how strong Dante had gotten.
But that fight with Wesker had shown enough.
The self-healing ability alone put him past most Agents on record.
And for reasons even Fury couldn't fully explain.
He trusted the guy. Completely.
"…Your face looks weird," Dante said, giving Fury a side glance. "I like women, okay? Long legs, slim waist, preferably over thirty. Don't get weird on me."
"Disrespecting your superior! I represent the law! I'll shoot you!"
"What with? You know I've got regeneration. Bullets just tickle."
"I don't care if it's ticklish or not, I'll shoot you twice just for my own satisfaction!"
Dante never treated Fury like a superior.
And Fury never treated Dante like a subordinate.
Which, in its own weird way… was probably why they trusted each other.
Right then, a civilian staffer stepped into the room.
"Report! Director Fury, Agent Dante—the personnel from Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters have arrived and are waiting in the meeting room per your orders."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 17: Agreement
"Understood. We'll head over now."
"Yes, Director."
The moment he heard that, Dante stood up and followed Fury to the official meeting room on the twentieth floor.
As the door opened, the first thing Dante saw was Professor X's big shiny forehead, glowing like a polished bowling ball.
"Distinguished guests from Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," Fury said formally, "allow me to reintroduce myself. I'm Nicholas Joseph Fury, current Director of the World Federal Bureau of Investigation."
"Charles Francis Xavier," the Professor replied with a slight nod. "You may call me Professor X."
The historic handshake between the two bald men was unreasonably hilarious to Dante.
Especially since they'd already met before. Now here they were, shaking hands all over again with stiff diplomatic smiles, trying to cosplay as serious politicians.
Dante had been holding back his laughter since the moment they stepped in.
And clearly, he wasn't alone. Someone standing behind Professor X had their hand clamped over their mouth, trying really hard to stay quiet.
"Hahahahaha! This is hilarious! Nick Fury and Charles—face to face! I'm never gonna forget this moment!"
Of course. It was you again. Wolverine.
"When we met in Westchester County a few days ago, I kept thinking you looked familiar."
"Oh? Then maybe you've seen the old Howling Commandos group photo," he added casually. "You can call me Logan. I worked with Peggy Carter back in the day. Toughest woman I ever met."
Peggy Carter. The first Director of the America General Bureau.
Logan reeled it back a bit, his tone calm, almost humble.
Which made sense. This guy was an ancient relic—nearly 200 years old.
His life history could kill someone just by listing it out.
Born to a wealthy family. Lived with wolves in Canada. Fought in World War I and II. Teamed up with Cap, Bucky, and Peggy. Walked out of Hiroshima like it was a sauna.
Compared to all that, his Cold War spy phase felt like an after-school club.
The guy was a walking time capsule. A real-deal legend. Even Fury—who usually respected no one—had to give Logan credit.
Of course, Dante had to ruin the moment.
"Wait, wait, what is this? A family reunion? Should I call a catering service and set up a banquet table?"
Just like that, the heartfelt mood got body-checked out the window, and the conversation shifted gears.
From there, the two sides jumped into real negotiations.
Everything discussed with Dante and Professor X earlier was still the foundation—they just hammered out the finer details now.
All in all? The meeting was a massive success.
The FBI walked away with a team of high-powered, high-loyalty operatives.
The Mutants gained access to massive social resources and political protection.
And let's not underestimate that—because the FBI could do a lot for them.
They had dirt on every major corporation and shadow family pulling strings in American politics.
They could "gently persuade" even the greediest elite to chill out and play nice.
And if persuasion didn't work?
The Bureau would help them act like they'd been persuaded.
Because make no mistake, Mutants were an entire species. If the Bureau didn't throw their weight around, the politicians and talking heads controlling the economy and public opinion would never back off.
Dante even figured—once this model worked with the Mutants—it could be applied to the Inhumans too.
Although that'd be trickier.
Unlike Mutants, the Inhumans didn't have a working leadership hierarchy. Sure, the royal family of Attilan had settled on the dark side of the Moon (because why not), and Earth's few Inhuman enclaves like "Afterlife" lacked the reach and organization to lead an entire race.
They were where Mutants had been decades ago.
Still fumbling through their origin story.
"Professor X," Dante said, cutting in after the main talk was over, "I've got a proposal I hope you'll consider."
Fury immediately tensed up.
Oh no.
He knew that tone.
Fury blinked. Rapidly. Trying to Morse-code "don't do it" through his one remaining eye.
Dante ignored him completely.
"Agent Dante, please go ahead," Professor X said.
"Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters is managed incredibly well. I mean, even with all those adolescent Mutant brats, you haven't had any major disasters."
"...Are you complimenting us or roasting us?" Professor X asked, chuckling. "Because honestly, those kids give me migraines on a daily basis."
Teenagers are chaotic enough.
Add superpowers?
Yeah, good luck with that.
"Oh, it's definitely a compliment," Dante replied, wearing a look so sincere it had to be a performance. "Which is why, now that we're merging with the Bureau, I'd like to nominate you, Professor X, as the new Dean of the FBI Academy."
Fury nearly clapped on instinct.
And then immediately regretted it.
The last Dean of the FBI Academy?
Was a HYDRA agent.
No joke.
For a while, the Academy might as well have been called HYDRA U.
After the purge, nearly every senior Agent assigned there was recalled to HQ.
Now it was just Agent Weaver and a hundred or so hand-verified, totally-not-HYDRA students keeping the lights on.
"Dean of the FBI Academy?" Professor X raised an eyebrow. "But I don't specialize in Agent training."
"I've taken that into account," Dante said. "You don't need to teach combat. What the Academy needs now is a clean background and the kind of moral authority people listen to. For instructors, someone like Wolverine is more than qualified. And since the Xavier Institute is being merged into the Bureau's Academy, having one Dean over both will help unify things. Build trust. Structure."
Professor X paused.
That... actually made a lot of sense.
After all, the goal of the Xavier School was never to turn everyone into an X-Man.
It was about giving young Mutants control over their powers, so they could choose their own future.
Some might become agents.
Others might just want a normal life.
But if the FBI became part of that path?
That opened doors. And removed walls.
Within the Bureau, no one would dare discriminate against a Mutant if the whole structure was designed to integrate them.
"Charles," Logan said suddenly, breaking his long silence, "I don't see a problem with it."
Now, Wolverine might drink, fight, and terrorize his students like a grumpy biker gym coach—but when he spoke, the X-Men listened.
His word carried real weight.
Second only to Professor X.
Seeing even Logan back the idea, Professor X nodded slowly.
"In that case... I'll take the job."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 18: Entrance Ceremony and Problem Girl
"I'm such an idiot. Seriously." Dante looked up, eyes dull and lifeless. "I knew Xavier's School had its share of bratty students, but I didn't know the FBI Academy had an entire army of them. My brain must've short-circuited two days ago when I agreed to be a teacher at the New S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy."
"But you only taught one class at the start of the semester," Ada Wong replied calmly, sipping her coffee, "then ghosted like a bad Tinder date."
"Exactly! Because I quit!" Dante jumped up from the floor like he'd been electrocuted. "If I stayed around those little punks any longer, I swear I'd have snapped and started handing out discipline via blunt trauma."
"You already did."
Ada watched him silently melt down, sipping her coffee with veteran indifference, as her brain replayed the chaos from two days earlier—the official launch of the New S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy.
… …
That day, every big name from the Federal Bureau of Investigation had gathered.
It was the grand entrance ceremony for the newly merged FBI Academy and Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters—rebranded as the New S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy.
Up on stage, delivering the opening remarks, was none other than the newly appointed Dean:
Professor X.
"Good morning, leaders, teachers, and students!"
"Bathed in spring rain, adorned with summer flowers! In this beautiful autumn, we gather to celebrate the merger of the FBI Academy and Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, and the grand opening of the New S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy! Together, we will usher in a new beginning—a new future!"
"First, please allow me, Charles Francis Xavier, Dean of the New S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy, to express my sincerest greetings and deepest respect to our frontline Agent instructors on behalf of the leadership of the Federal Bureau of Investigation…"
Fury and Dante sat stiffly beside him.
By minute five, both of them were regretting their life choices.
He was still going.
A veteran principal to the core, Professor X's speech was indistinguishable from a high school pep talk—complete with metaphors, historical references, and a few motivational quotes that may or may not have been plagiarized from calendar memes.
The man hadn't said anything useful, but he sure said a lot of words.
And then came the actual announcements.
Just one key point. Simple, right?
Except it had twenty sub-points.
Each sub-point had its own three- to five-part breakdown.
And of course, before wrapping up, he circled back to re-emphasize the "key" takeaways.
Mystique and Wolverine had already tapped out, headphones in, zoning out like bored kids in Sunday school.
It was then that everyone realized something important:
These Agents may be elite in covert ops, monster hunting, and interdimensional crisis response—but when it came to teaching, they were all hopeless amateurs.
Compared to them, Professor X was a five-star, max-level education boss.
He didn't just teach.
He infused. He disassembled your brain and poured information in like you were a teacup.
The only downside?
He was exhausting.
Dante felt like he'd time-traveled back to his worst high school assembly.
Eventually—mercifully—Professor X finished his speech.
Dante let out a breath of relief… too early.
"And now, let us welcome Agent Dante, Captain of the Star Team and External Liaison of the New S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy, to say a few words! Please welcome him with a round of applause!"
Wait—what!?
Dante's soul nearly left his body.
That part definitely wasn't in the schedule!
He realized too late that all his eye-contact and hand signals during the speech had probably been misinterpreted as "I also want to say something."
Professor X must've just winged it and handed him the mic.
Trapped. Ambushed. Doomed.
With no time to prepare, Dante took the mic and looked down at the crowd of emotionally broken students.
There was a long, awkward pause.
Then, finally, he said the only line that made sense:
"The entrance ceremony ends here. Dismissed."
A full beat of stunned silence—and then the room exploded with cheers.
Students bolted like prisoners hearing the word "parole."
Some Mutants literally used their powers to teleport or fly out.
Professor X had broken them.
And yet… technically? It was a successful opening.
Over a hundred Mutant students had now merged into the Bureau's youth training pipeline.
The system—previously half-dead—was suddenly alive and buzzing.
A little too buzzing.
Because the real problems didn't come from the Mutant teens.
No.
The headaches were from the new civilian recruits Fury had pulled from every corner of society.
Peter Parker. Daniel Rand. Ava Ayala. Luke Cage. Sam Alexander. Tyrone Johnson. Tandy Bowen. Doreen Green.
Name doesn't ring a bell?
How about their aliases:
Spider-Man. Iron Fist. White Tiger. Luke Cage. Nova. Cloak. Dagger. Squirrel Girl.
Yeah.
That batch.
Some of them were destined to be future frontline superheroes.
Others were destined to… confuse the hell out of everyone with their power sets.
But now?
They were all freshmen at the New S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy.
Dante glanced over the roster and had to admit—it felt like someone pulled this class list straight out of Ultimate Spider-Man.
Which actually made sense, considering how early-stage this world's superhero community was.
The public hadn't really processed the idea of superheroes yet.
They were just starting to see them emerge.
Harley Quinn, meanwhile, was pacing the halls in a white lab coat layered over her usual ripped hot girl ensemble—because why wouldn't you pair medical credentials with chaos?
Despite being completely bonkers, Harley was still the best psychologist in the Bureau.
And God knows, teenagers with superpowers? Mandatory therapy.
Harley flipped through the roster like it was a dating app, then paused on one name.
"Wait a sec. This kid—Jessica Jones—didn't sign in?"
Dante blinked.
He checked the sign-in sheet.
Sure enough—one missing name.
Jessica Jones.
He knew that name.
A street-level powerhouse. A raw nerve wrapped in sarcasm and trauma. Basically the poster child for "gifted but troubled."
Without hesitation, Dante tapped his comm and opened a live channel to Ingrid.
"Captain, awaiting your command."
"Jessica Jones. Freshman. New S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy. I want all her data—full profile and real-time location—on my terminal in five."
"As you wish."
Call ended.
"Jeez," Harley muttered, "it's just a kid skipping orientation. You're going full manhunt on her?"
"Okay, first of all, you're literally insane."
"Hey!"
"And second of all—this is Fury's freshman pick. You think he recruits normal teenagers? I'd bet cash if we send two Agents after her, they're coming back with broken noses and trauma reports."
"So?"
"So," Dante sighed, "I'm going myself. Apparently, I'm just destined to be a workaholic."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 19: You Saw Nothing
"A bottle of Tennessee Whiskey… and two packs of Marlboro. Menthol."
Jessica Jones slapped a wad of bills onto the convenience store counter, her voice laced with irritation.
But the clerk didn't move just because she flashed a few big notes. Instead, he extended a hand toward her.
"Uh, ma'am, I'll need to see your ID."
A reasonable request. Tobacco and alcohol required proof of legal age.
Jessica Jones, still a high schooler, was technically eighteen, but adulthood didn't start until twenty-one.
Not that it mattered. She had at least six fake IDs in her jacket.
Without a word, Jessica slapped one of them down and wandered off toward the alcohol aisle.
"Tch… All Irish? Oh—there it is. Knew you'd be hiding."
She spotted her favorite, Tennessee Whiskey, nestled among a sea of Irish labels.
She twisted the cap, tipped it back, and took a generous swig.
"Pfft-ha! That's the good stuff."
She'd already paid. Drinking it right there in the store? Totally within her rights. Legally… questionable. But morally? Whatever.
And of course, because the universe is just that generous with timing.
"Hey! You! Be smart and hand over all the cash. I don't wanna send you to the hospital… or the morgue."
A burly White dude stood in front of the counter, a sharp folding knife pressed to the clerk's throat.
Jessica, still by the shelves, paused slightly—then took another sip of whiskey.
She could take this guy. Easily. Beat him into something even his own mother wouldn't recognize.
But… she wasn't in the mood.
Helping people wasn't her thing.
Especially not after dealing with self-righteous types like Peter Parker at school. Always sunny, always moral. She hated that crap.
The clerk, though, didn't know that the casually drinking girl could probably throw a car through a building.
All he could do was tremble and shove wads of cash over the counter, desperately trying to signal Jessica with his eyes to run.
"The hell you lookin' at!?"
The robber caught the glance and snapped his head around.
There she was. Bottle in hand. Gorgeous. Strong features. Lit by a single flickering bulb like some noir femme fatale.
His fear twisted into something uglier.
He licked his lips. Jessica frowned.
That look. That gross, greasy, stupid look.
She was this close to acting.
But before she could take this perv apart like a malfunctioning IKEA chair, the front door dinged again.
Another customer.
Everyone froze.
Then, without fanfare, the robber got sent to Dreamland by a single clean punch.
A guy in a sleek Federal Bureau of Investigation uniform casually shook out his fist, then looked at her.
"You even skip the opening ceremony? Do you have to be this rebellious, Jessica Jones?"
"…How do you know my name? Wait, who even are you?"
"No, no, I'm not here for twenty questions—I'm here 'cause you ditched class. Now I want answers. Jessica Jones, what the hell do you think your current identity is?"
"None of your business."
"None of my—?!"
This girl was a walking migraine. Every word out of her mouth triggered a blood pressure spike.
"I repeat! First day of school. Skipping class! And not just any school—you're ditching the Federal Bureau of Investigation Academy! You think this is still high school!?"
"You're with the FBI?"
"Gee, what gave it away? The badge? The punch? The fact that I'm literally yelling at you for ditching the Bureau's elite academy? Yes! I'm not just with the FBI—I'm also your teacher! Why else would I care if you skipped class!? So please, my dear girl, come with me!"
Dante was exhausted. Heart broken. Soul drained. Zero love left in the tank.
He suddenly had a deep, personal understanding of every teacher from his past life.
Middle school homeroom teachers—he owed them all apologies. Saints, every one of them.
"FBI Academy? That dumb 'Hero Training Program'? Yeah, no thanks. I'm not interested."
Jessica walked right past Dante, scooped up the two packs of Marlboros from the counter and casually kicked the unconscious robber in the gut on her way out.
The guy groaned in pain. Even in a coma, he felt it.
Then Jessica made for the exit.
"Seriously? You're underage, drink like a fish, smoke like a chimney… What's next, you perming your hair?"
Dante reached out to snag the cigarettes.
But Jessica Jones, world-class delinquent and professional bad girl, took that moment to school him on her rules.
She stuffed the packs directly into her sports bra.
Dante blinked.
Alright, fair enough. Her body, her smuggling compartment. Nothing technically wrong with that.
Except—
She shouldn't have pushed her chest out like that.
And then…
Dante flinched at the last second to avoid an incident.
Instead, he accidentally uppercut her.
"Uh—Jessica Jones, believe me—this is a misunderstanding!"
"Go to hell!"
The punch didn't hurt much. Physically.
But oh, the insult.
She looked like a pissed-off house cat—fur bristling, claws out, eyes wide—and it was kind of cute.
Visually.
Only visually.
Because if Dante remembered right, this "kitten" could lift twenty-five tons and might be able to strip an Iron Man suit barehanded.
Dante wisely chose to dodge rather than fight back.
He was in the wrong.
He was supposed to be here for truancy.
Instead, he'd just uppercut a student in the most accidental assault case of all time.
Sure, Jessica was strong.
But he was faster.
And also deeply regretting all his life choices.
The fight didn't last long. Dante spared a glance at the wide-eyed clerk.
Nope. Couldn't let this go on in front of a civilian.
He delivered a sharp flying kick to block Jessica's arms.
She staggered.
And that's when Dante pulled out his Federal Bureau of Investigation-issue stun gun.
Jessica Jones wasn't just strong—she had a healing factor too.
So Dante didn't hesitate. He cranked the power to max.
Full battery dump.
She managed to stay upright for a second, then looked up just as he pulled the trigger.
And then—
Silence.
"You… bastard… teacher…"
Jessica managed to spit out, before collapsing like a sack of whiskey-soaked bricks.
Dante nearly dropped the stun gun in shock.
She's not down?! That's insane.
That setting was supposed to flatten an adult African elephant!
Dante quickly slung the twitching girl over his shoulder.
Then turned to the stunned clerk, who looked like he was mentally rewriting his résumé.
Dante paused at the door, then leaned halfway back in.
"Mr. Clerk. For the record—any and all damage in this store? That was the robber. FBI will send people over to assess and compensate."
He pointed a finger.
"And aside from that… you saw nothing."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 20: Peter Parker
"You bastard teacher! You scoundrel teacher! If you've got guts, fight me head-on! What kind of coward sneaks in with a taser?!"
Jessica Jones was planted firmly on the couch in the new Federal Bureau of Investigation Academy's Academic Affairs Office, launching a full-auto verbal assault at Dante.
Dante had a headache. A real, pounding, "why-did-I-leave-bed-this-morning" headache.
Fortunately, this girl was the kind that only talked big. If she'd actually kept fighting, he might've had to use his Green Lantern ring to put her down.
And then there was Wolverine—Combat Class instructor, Academic Dean—sitting behind his desk, grinning like a wolf at a barbecue, just watching his colleague get verbally shredded.
"Laugh it up, furball. Weren't you the top tough guy of the X-Men?! Why do you look so... cuddly now? I feel ill."
"Hahaha, we're coworkers now. Can't cling to old images forever."
Wolverine, who in this universe had never lost his memory, was over 200 years old and had mellowed out like a whiskey barrel with sentience.
"Come on—where did you find this feisty little wildcat?"
"Convenience store in Central City. Don't let her age fool you. Just eighteen, but already a grandmaster in smoking, drinking, and perming."
"Outstanding! I also smoke, drink, and perm! I have high hopes for her!"
Wolverine gave her a very sincere thumbs-up.
Dante's face twitched like a corrupted GIF.
That wasn't sarcasm. Wolverine genuinely believed smoking, drinking, and perming were... skills worth endorsing.
And Jessica responded to that praise with two slender, artfully extended middle fingers.
Dante sighed, leaned toward Logan, and muttered under his breath:
"When I was a student, I didn't get it... but now I finally understand. How the hell did my teachers not kill me?"
"Relax, it's just some harmless barking. In my eyes, she's already a model student—good conduct and solid grades."
Wolverine happily took out a cigar, lit it, took two relaxed drags, then blew a smoke ring like a bored dragon at a PTA meeting.
"Back when I joined Xavier's School, I used to knock some sense into those brats all the time. No joke, some of 'em even tried to sneak into my room at night and assassinate me! Ah... those were the days. Beautiful memories."
…What part of that is "beautiful"? Or "memories"?
Dante gave him the world's most unimpressed side-eye.
"You mean you provoked your students to the point they plotted to kill you—and you're proud of that?!"
"I'm just passing on my educational experience to a new faculty member."
Logan shrugged like he was explaining the weather, then leaned in:
"They're not normal students, so you gotta use some simple, visual learning methods."
"Visual learning?"
"The teacher's fist is harder. So listen to the teacher."
Dante was about to roll out a full complaint buffet when there was a knock at the door.
"Come in," he grunted.
The door opened, and in stepped a boy with an awkward, slightly nervous face.
"Dean Logan, Teacher Dante, I'm Peter Parker. I'm a new student at the Federal Bureau of Investigation Academy. We're here to ask how Jessica is doing and to take her back with us."
Behind him, a crowd of teen superheroes poked their heads in like nosy squirrels.
"Good day, Dean! Good day, Teacher!"
White Tiger. Iron Fist. Luke Cage. Nova. Squirrel Girl.
All familiar faces. All one hundred percent underage.
"You all know Jessica Jones?" Dante raised a brow. "You seem awfully worried. You close?"
"Uh, Teacher Dante, we're all good friends. Same high school."
"…Which high school?"
"Midtown High."
Dante clicked his tongue.
Midtown High. Of course.
That magical educational institution that cranks out superheroes like a vending machine with bad boundaries.
"Pfft. I'm not friends with any of you losers."
Jessica Jones got up from the couch. Despite her cold words, her body betrayed her—she was already walking toward the group.
...Classic tsundere move, sweetie. It's 2025. Get new material.
"Alright, alright, kids, take your friend and scram."
Wolverine stood up and—gruff but weirdly polite—herded the entire underage Justice League Jr. out the door.
Despite his constant smirking, Logan's face still carried that edge, so none of the kids argued.
But even in those few short minutes, Dante got a full taste of Peter Parker's ultimate hidden power—aside from righteousness and spider stuff:
Nonstop talking.
"Hey Teacher Dante! Agent Dante Alighieri! I've heard about your exploits! Director Nick Fury values you and Star Team the most! I haven't even graduated yet, but one day I definitely want to join Star Team! Is there a bonus? Probably, right? Wait, don't tell me—if there's a test, I'll just start studying now! Oh, and I once snuck into the Bureau's action footage vault with Doreen Green and pulled up your combat logs! Dude—dude!—you took down that madman from Gotham City?! Even Batman couldn't handle him for years! And then Tony Stark showed up! His armor's amazing, but also... kinda flimsy? And you—what was that green ring thing?! Does it require a catchphrase to activate? Is it like 'It's morphin' time,' or—"
Talking. Jumping from topic to topic.
And the most dangerous part, he didn't stop to breathe.
Wolverine slammed the door shut.
Dante finally exhaled like he'd just escaped a hostage situation.
"Logan, I think my brain's melting. Has this Peter Parker kid never spoken before in his life? Or will he literally die if he doesn't say everything in his head right now?"
"He's notorious. Seems like a quiet little loner, but really he's a walking social landmine."
Logan lit another cigar with the resigned air of someone who's been personally victimized by Parker's monologues.
"Earlier today, he talked so much Raven nearly lost control of her transformation state."
Dante froze.
Raven? As in—Mystique?
In this world, she's not that Mystique from the movies. She's an OG Mutant, roughly the same age as Logan, maybe older.
Even that grandma-level shapeshifter couldn't handle the Parker chatter. That said a lot.
The kid was like a one-man verbal Deadpool.
"But Emma really likes him," Logan added. "He's handsome. Exactly Emma Frost's type."
"Emma? The White Queen?!"
"Yup."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 3: Chapter 21: Raid! Latveria!
Chapter Text
Time snapped back to the present.
After enduring a baptism-by-fire from a tsundere rebel brat, a good-kid chatterbox brat, and a shota-obsessed female teacher, Dante was emotionally and physically wrecked. Any lingering shred of love for the profession had been burned away.
No matter how much Professor X tried to talk him down, after transforming into Green Lantern and giving those brats a cosmic spanking, Dante submitted his resignation with zero hesitation.
Teaching? Yeah, that job wasn't made for regular humans.
On top of that, Nick Fury had been busy these past couple of days dealing with New S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy business, so Dante just took a breather and spent two whole days in full corpse-mode at home.
Ada Wong, playing the part of a virtuous housewife, stayed home with him…
As if.
With a devil like Ada around, all sultry and seductive but physically untouchable, the temptation was unbearable.
It was psychological warfare. Pure torture.
All he could do was make some green tea and try to calm the internal flames.
And to top it off, Harley still clinically insane kept butting heads with him nonstop.
Only reason Dante and Ada had a moment of peace today was because Harley had a scheduled follow-up check-up.
"I always feel like I've slowly become a background character in whatever weird cosplay thing you and Harley are doing."
"Don't be ridiculous. You're our Captain."
"Then can you wear white stockings?"
"Captain, would you like me to read you the Federal Bureau of Investigation's entire HR code on workplace harassment?"
"Okay, fine. Leather pants then? It's been getting colder lately. I'm just thinking of your health. What kind of normal person wears a high-slit cheongsam every single day?"
"Hmm… that could be arranged."
Ada actually paused to consider, then turned and disappeared into the bedroom. Sounds of rustling followed.
Not long after, she walked out wearing a fitted red shirt, black leather pants, and black leather boots.
Resident Evil 4 Ada Wong had just evolved into Resident Evil 6 Ada Wong.
Dante's Adam's apple bobbed. His mouth was dry.
Time for more tea.
Just then, Ada's personal terminal chimed.
She answered, and on the screen popped up none other than Nick Fury.
"Ada, tell Dante to get to FBI Headquarters immediately. We've got new intel on HYDRA."
His voice was clipped, heavy with the kind of seriousness that never boded well.
"Yes, Director."
Ada put away her teasing attitude and turned to Dante with an exaggerated shrug.
"Time to move, Captain. Looks like our staycation's officially over."
---
After getting the call, the two didn't head straight to FBI HQ.
First stop: pick up Harley Quinn, still getting poked and prodded at her follow-up appointment.
"Ohhh, my little pudding~! What's with this sudden romantic pick-up? You miss me that much already?"
Even with toned-down makeup, the occasional psychotic glint in her eyes and that permanent red-and-blue dye job made it pretty damn obvious who she was.
"Fury ordered Star Team to assemble. Most likely a new mission."
"A new mission?!" Harley squealed with glee, pounced on Dante, and chomped his neck hard enough to leave a very visible lipstick mark. "Fantastic! Is it zombies again? I didn't get enough last time!"
"Can you please find some normal hobbies...?"
"Look, now that I'm a legit FBI Agent, I can't just snatch some random guy off the street and bash his head in. And if you're saying I can't fight zombies either, then what's even the point of living!"
"Okay, okay, fine. From now on, all biohazard stuff goes directly to you, alright?"
Dante rolled his eyes and peeled her off.
Why were all the women around him absolute chaos incarnate?
After collecting Harley, the trio went straight to FBI HQ.
Once inside the Strategic Analysis Room, it was clear the party had already started.
Fury, Professor X, and a bunch of high-profile Mutants were already there.
Dante gave a casual nod to Fury and Xavier, then led Ada and Harley to the seats beside Wolverine.
Wolverine looked around, leaned in, and elbowed Dante in the ribs.
"Yo, Professor Dante, been living the good life lately, huh?"
"Logan, I swear, call me 'Professor' one more time and I'll develop PTSD."
"Tsk. Don't dodge the question. You've got some damn good luck with the ladies, kid. I noticed even your logistics crew is stacked with beautiful girls. Pretty consistent taste, huh?"
"That's called meaningful companionship, alright?"
Wolverine gave a low chuckle and dropped it.
On the stage, Fury noticed Dante's arrival and gave a nod to Ingrid.
She stepped forward and tapped into the terminal.
Immediately, streams of intel flooded the big screen behind her.
"As you can see," Fury said, "after our warning to the FBI branches of other nations, several countries uncovered and purged a number of HYDRA cells operating within their borders."
"Not surprising. HYDRA's strategy has mostly been covert intel work — they rarely cause trouble directly."
"So we shifted our focus to smaller, less stable Third World countries. The result? We found a long-established HYDRA research base in Eastern Europe."
"In Latveria."
"And what they're researching is... Mutants."
The moment Fury said that, every mutant in the room, including even the usually nonchalant Wolverine, went dead serious.
Except Professor X, whose expression remained as unreadable as ever.
For years, Mutants had chosen to stay in hiding precisely to avoid this kind of thing.
But HYDRA still managed to capture and experiment on their own kind.
This only reinforced one conclusion: joining the FBI had been the right call.
No underground group could compete with the official resources and intel of a national agency.
Professor X stepped forward to take over.
"Our next mission: infiltrate and destroy that research facility. Since they're working on Mutants, they're definitely not operating in isolation. They're tied to the larger HYDRA network."
"This mission requires speed and precision. The top priority is to rescue the captured Mutants. Do not give HYDRA any chance to erase evidence or terminate test subjects."
"According to intel, the lead researcher is Baron Strucker. We want him alive."
"This op will be led by the X-Men and Star Team. Clean-up will be handled by standard Bureau agents afterward."
By the end, even Professor X's normally smooth, measured voice had a slight edge to it.
"Everyone clear on mission parameters? Dismissed! Move out to Latveria!"
---
[Mission: Raid on Latveria]
[Mission Brief: Young Agent, HYDRA's research base in Latveria is experimenting on the Mutant race. Eliminate the facility completely. But... is HYDRA really the only one behind all this?]
(To be continued.)
Chapter 4: Chapter 22-23
Chapter Text
Chapter 22: The Old Man
The Quinjet tore through the sky above the clouds, flanked by the X-Men's jet like it was rush hour in a superhero sitcom.
For this Latveria raid, the X-Men went all-in with the familiar roster.
Jean Grey. Emma Frost. Cyclops. Iceman. Mystique. Wolverine. Storm.
And—
Magneto.
Yeah. That Magneto. Leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants. Lifelong rival and not-so-platonic BFF of Professor X.
The kind of love-hate dynamic that screamed "tense bromance with unresolved emotional tension."
Magneto showing up? Not something Dante had on his bingo card.
But once he thought about it, it did make a strange sort of multiverse logic. The X-Men and the Brotherhood had always disagreed more on how to protect Mutants than whether to protect them. They were basically two sides of the same mutant advocacy coin.
Like political parties with both hawks and doves—sure, they'd tear each other apart, blood on the carpet, bodies on the floor. But let a third party crash the party? Suddenly, unity.
Based on current intel, Dante had already deduced that the Brotherhood wasn't operating as some hyper-violent extremist group. Sometimes they even traded intelligence with the X-Men.
But true cooperation? That was still fantasy novel territory.
The Brotherhood said the X-Men were cowards. The X-Men called the Brotherhood hot-headed meatheads.
So by all logical reasoning, Magneto wouldn't show up.
Except he did.
Didn't even wait for an invite. Just intercepted Dante's Quinjet mid-air and invited himself onboard.
Wolverine didn't know what the hell the old man was doing either, so he bailed on the X-Men jet and came over to Dante's just to watch the drama unfold.
"Hello, Erik Lehnsherr. Mind telling me where you got the intel about this operation?" Dante asked.
"Agent Dante, no need to be so tense. I mean no harm," Magneto replied.
Middle-aged, ruggedly handsome, and currently pretending to be amiable like he was auditioning for a toothpaste commercial.
But that whole calm-and-charming routine didn't match Magneto's usual "angry demigod of metal" vibe at all.
In fact, Dante could feel him suppressing something...
Rage. Contained like a pipe under pressure.
"I know you don't mean harm. Otherwise, you'd have attacked from a few kilometers away with magnetic missiles and bad intentions," Dante nodded. "But intentions aside, I still need to know your objective. The FBI and the X-Men don't travel with ticking time bombs whose motivations are vague."
"Fine. Xavier told me everything," Magneto said. "As for why... just look at this."
He pulled out two files—official documents. FBI-level clearance.
Dante scratched his head and took them.
Turns out, after takeoff, the Bureau dug up new intel from deeper investigation in Latveria.
Inside HYDRA's research facility? A pair of siblings. Primary experimental subjects.
Both confirmed to have the X-Gene.
But their powers weren't naturally developed, they were forcibly induced through some unknown external method.
As a result, their abilities were unstable, with unpredictable side effects.
The sister: Wanda Maximoff.
The brother: Pietro Maximoff.
Dante finished reading and immediately turned to Magneto with a new look in his eyes.
There were too many origin stories for Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver. In one timeline, they were Magneto's children. In another, they were part of a Romani witch clan, tricked into thinking he was their father.
But in this multiverse?
Was it the original continuity?
Were these two actually Magneto's bloodline?
Suddenly, Magneto's eagerness made a whole lot more sense.
He wasn't just here on a political mission.
He was here to clean up the leftovers of some very personal history.
Otherwise, what would a mutant overlord be doing, crashing an FBI mission on a Tuesday?
Also, it kind of proved how much Professor X still cared about his old frenemy.
"You're definitely having some unwholesome thoughts," Wolverine leaned in and whispered with a grin.
"Shh. See it, don't say it. Friends don't expose each other," Dante replied.
He stood up and scanned the inside of the Quinjet.
Magneto, desperately trying to force a warm smile—and ending up looking like a shark doing customer service.
Wolverine, watching the performance and almost dislocating his jaw from holding in laughter.
Ada, quietly piloting like a responsible adult.
Harley, loudly asking Ada if leather pants bulge when you fart.
This was supposed to be an international raid on an evil organization's fortress.
It felt more like a field trip.
---
After a long flight, both jets finally entered Latverian airspace.
The second they crossed the border, stealth mode activated. Radar signatures: gone.
Both teams shifted gears instantly. No more jokes, no more games.
They might've clowned around in the sky, but everyone onboard was a seasoned warrior.
Well. Almost everyone.
Let's not pretend Harley Quinn ever passed a psychological exam.
Still, even she knew how to flip the switch.
The jets landed two kilometers outside the target: HYDRA's research facility.
As everyone disembarked, the X-Men immediately exchanged looks with Magneto.
All of them were visibly annoyed.
The X-Men were pissed about his uninvited participation.
Magneto was pissed that these amateurs had allowed Mutants to be captured by HYDRA in the first place.
And the captives were his long-lost son and daughter.
Tension? Palpable.
Dante cleared his throat twice, then stepped in with some pre-battle briefing to break the Mexican standoff.
"HYDRA's stronghold is an ancient castle. Total defenders? Around a thousand. That's not a small number, and they've got everything from light infantry to tanks and armored vehicles. Basically, their firepower's enough to overthrow this whole little country."
"But for us? That's a light workout."
"Let's be real: we've got Mutants with god-tier powers and the FBI backing us with logistics and support. A thousand-man HYDRA force might as well be throwing rocks."
"So just one reminder: when wiping out the enemy, try not to cause too much terrain damage. This is still someone's homeland."
"But human lives? Don't worry about that. These guys chose the Nazi route. And everyone knows—"
"Nazis deserve to—."
He aimed that one squarely at the X-Men.
"...Dante's got a mouth on him," Iceman said.
"But he's not wrong," Cyclops added.
The two exchanged glances, smiled, and high-fived.
They liked Dante's style. War crimes aside, he was their kind of crazy.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 23: Your Name
"Move! Everyone back to your posts! Now!"
"This is not a drill!"
"We're under attack! I repeat! We are under attack!"
Down in the lower levels of HYDRA's charming medieval murder-castle—currently functioning as a full-blown research facility—two siblings were locked inside an isolation room made of some weird transparent material. They clung to each other in terror, eyes wide, as chaos exploded across the compound.
"What the hell! Who's attacking the lab?! We already made a deal with that guy!"
"We don't know! Strucker! We've got no intel on the enemy! Only four individuals have been identified so far!"
"Who?!"
"Three are agents from the Federal Bureau of Investigation: Level 7 Agent Dante, Level 4 Agent Ada Wong, and Provisional Agent Harley Quinn!"
"The FBI is involved now?!" Strucker's face twisted instantly. "And the fourth?!"
"Th-the fourth is… uh…"
"Don't stutter now, dammit! Spit it out!"
"Y-yes! The fourth one is Magneto! Magneto, the leader of that insane Mutant terrorist organization!"
Upon hearing that name, Baron Strucker's eyes nearly detached themselves from his skull and crash-landed on the floor.
Magneto. The walking apocalypse in a cape. The man who could turn an aircraft carrier into a salad spinner with a frown.
Strucker turned toward the massive display wall usually reserved for experimental data.
Now it showed the real-time battlefield situation.
And it was a slaughter.
His meticulously arranged thousand-strong HYDRA force was being ripped apart like wrapping paper. Defensive lines shattered instantly. Firepower? Useless. Coordination? Gone.
And what shocked him even more—these attackers… they looked terrifyingly similar to the brother and sister cowering behind that glass.
Could it be…?
He turned, staring at the twins curled together, shivering.
Was this power not from the scepter?
Were they born with it?
Was the scepter just… a key?
Yes—the scepter. The one from Loki's failed invasion of Earth.
But that invasion didn't hit New York this time. Two years ago, in this timeline, Loki chose Metropolis instead—just a skip away from Manhattan.
It was then that the general public finally understood what "Superheroes" meant… and what a "Superman" was.
The Chitauri army didn't even make it out of the wormhole before getting face-slammed into a curb. Loki? Gone like a fart in a hurricane.
Dante and the FBI had assumed HYDRA fully understood the concept of Mutants.
But it turned out—no. They didn't have a clue. At least not this branch, not Strucker.
All they knew was: some people have powers. That's it.
Now, Strucker was realizing the truth.
And to be fair, he was a brilliant researcher. His scientific chops could rival Bruce Banner or Tony Stark. After all, he had reverse-engineered the power of Loki's scepter—which, by the way, is the Mind Stone.
One of the Infinity Stones. The big boys. The galactic cheat codes.
"Everything... everything's wrong. The research was off from the start. I thought the scepter granted them power. But it didn't. The scepter is just the key! The key to unlock something that was already there!"
Strucker's emotions were spiraling fast, and one of his henchmen leaned in to whisper urgently.
"Baron Strucker, our defensive lines are collapsing. We need to evacuate—now."
"Evacuate?!" Strucker barked. "Against a group of people with literal superpowers? You think we can evacuate?!"
He gave a twisted smile, somewhere between "mad genius" and "customer service manager on his last shift."
"If they'd just come a few days later—no, thirty hours! Thirty hours more and the protective field using the scepter's energy would've been ready!"
And then, like a man possessed, he suddenly flipped into fanatical mode and started rallying his troops like a man hosting a fascist TED Talk:
"These damn FBI clowns in tights have come to test our faith and loyalty! We! Will! Not! Surrender! Hail HYDRA!"
"HAIL HYDRA!!"
The surrounding soldiers snapped into zealot-mode immediately. Bloodshot eyes. Screaming like it was Black Friday at the Nazi Gift Shop.
Strucker nodded, pleased with himself, and then leaned close to his loyal lackey.
"Delete the data. I'm going to surrender."
"If the FBI gets access to our research, they'll weaponize it in less than a week."
So while the foot soldiers got busy preparing for glorious suicide-by-superhero, Strucker was backstage, rehearsing his sob story and looking for a white flag.
Unfortunately for him…
The top floor exploded.
And from above descended an elevator made of glowing green Willpower Light.
Dante—fully suited up in Green Lantern mode—floated down with Ada and Harley flanking him.
"So you're Strucker, huh? You glorified mall cop in a monocle?"
"I surrender! I'll hand over everything! Just don't kill me!"
"Huh?"
Dante squinted at him, deeply unimpressed.
He hadn't planned to kill Strucker immediately, but the man's performance was so over-the-top, so pitifully cringe, that Dante was starting to reconsider.
Seriously—was this guy really the same HYDRA that screamed "Hail HYDRA" to the grave?
Where was the drama? The loyalty? The dramatic final lines?
Say what you will about HYDRA, but at least the others had the decency to die on brand.
Soon, the X-Men cleared the last remaining soldiers and stormed into the facility.
Strucker went straight back into weeping hostage mode.
But Wolverine? Old reliable?
He just grabbed the guy by the collar and dragged him off.
A few screams later, the room got a whole lot quieter.
Strucker was probably still alive… barely.
"Raven. We clear?"
"All soldiers eliminated," Mystique said calmly. "All internal staff—including the researchers—are alive and mentally stable."
Raven Darkhölme. Blue-skinned, ice-cold, meticulous. Same era as Wolverine. Same killer instinct.
Sure, re-entering the battlefield had awakened the old assassin's bloodlust, but she was still in control.
Because she understood one thing: those researchers were useful.
Even if Loki's scepter forcibly activated the X-Gene, it still required a deep understanding of Mutant biology.
That kind of research wasn't something to just toss.
If they could teach those scientists the actual fundamentals of the X-Gene?
They could develop more stable awakening methods.
Maybe even power upgrades.
And if anyone was worried they were still loyal to HYDRA?
Please. The FBI had telepaths lined up like Monday-to-Sunday meal prep.
Monday – Psylocke.
Tuesday – the Stepford Cuckoos.
Wednesday – Emma Frost.
Thursday – Jean Grey.
Friday – Omegon.
Saturday – Professor X.
Sunday – Team-building retreat led by Professor X.
Seven days a week.
Twenty-four-hour psychic re-education.
HYDRA?
They could brainwash nine hundred HYDRA goons into thinking they were Teletubbies by next Tuesday.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 5: Chapter 24-25
Chapter Text
Chapter 24: The Unharmonious Reunion Between Father and Daughter
As the last line of defense against heavy firepower, Magneto arrived fashionably late. Once inside, he stood at the very back of the group—saying nothing, looking at no one.
Not even Raven his former partner in synchronized mutant carnage.
By this point, Dante—now out of his Green Lantern mode—had already led the X-Men deeper into the castle's lower levels. This was the heart of HYDRA's little science dungeon.
The laboratory.
In the center were two containment cells made of some kind of transparent unknown material. The brother and sister, previously confined together, were now separated.
Without a word, Magneto suddenly accelerated, gliding past everyone with laser focus and zero regard for introductions or conversation.
His face, though? A rollercoaster of suppressed emotions.
Anger. Regret. Hope.
Dante leaned over to Cyclops and whispered like a kid at a high school drama rehearsal:
"So, as a Mutant, why does Magneto look at you all like you owe him child support? Aren't you all technically on the same team?"
"He was our leader once. Like Xavier," Cyclops replied. "Strongest Mutant alive. But our philosophies clashed. That's when we split—us as the X-Men, him as the Brotherhood."
"Philosophies," Dante repeated with a nod.
Those two syllables were heavy enough to drop a Sentinel.
And "philosophy" in Mutant terms? Might as well mean "irrevocable blood feud."
Philosophy doesn't just change.
"So if the split was that big, why is Magneto even here? Did Professor X just text him a thumbs-up emoji and he showed up?"
"Don't ask me," Cyclops said, shrugging. "He's terrifying. But he really cares about the Mutant race. He just... handles it in the most violently unchill way possible."
As Dante blinked back into focus, Magneto had already started manipulating the surrounding metal—preparing to rip open the containment cells like he was opening canned grief.
"Magneto, wait! You're going to scare the—uh, the..."
Dante cut himself off mid-sentence.
He was about to say "children," because the pair looked as lost and scared as any kids would.
But then he remembered—he himself was twenty-five.
Calling a couple of twenty-year-olds "children" felt like asking them to get off his lawn.
Instead, he just gestured to Ada and Harley to go find the damn unlock switch.
Then he turned his attention to the twin captives.
The brother was trapped in what looked like a glitchy speed-loop. At times, he moved like a normal person. Other times, he zipped around so fast he left afterimages like it was a Naruto filler arc.
The sister? Off in her own crimson-colored world, manipulating floating blocks of junk like some kind of chaotic preschool sorceress.
She wasn't even using her hands—just raw, flickering Chaos Magic.
Yes. That Chaos Magic.
Because this brother and sister were none other than Pietro Maximoff and Wanda Maximoff.
Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch.
Only now they were just... incomplete versions. Half-finished DLCs in a lab cage.
No proper training. No control. No stability.
In their current state, they'd probably struggle to file taxes—let alone fight HYDRA.
…
Soon, Ada and Harley returned—armed with the decryption password extracted from a conveniently cooperative HYDRA researcher.
A few taps on the terminal later, the transparent cages clicked open.
And... nothing.
The twins didn't step out. They just clutched each other's hands like the floor outside was lava.
This space—the interior of the cage—was the only place they hadn't been hurt.
The only place that felt safe.
"Hey. No need to be afraid," Dante said gently, stepping into the space slowly. "I'm with the FBI. We're here to rescue you."
He waited.
They didn't react with fear, so he kept going.
"Can you tell me your names?"
"My name is... Wanda Maximoff."
"Pietro. Pietro Maximoff."
Dante blinked.
That was... surprisingly easy.
It clicked: Wanda had already awakened her Chaos Magic. She might not have mastered it, but she could sense the pure intent radiating off Dante. No deceit. No malice.
Just rescue.
Her paranoia eased up.
Sure, being locked in a cage for this long left some serious psychological damage, but she wasn't insane.
Not yet.
She could still tell who was a monster and who wasn't.
HYDRA? Definitely monsters.
The people who killed HYDRA? At least for now... the good guys.
Magneto, though?
He was unraveling by the second.
The country. The faces. Pietro's resemblance to a younger version of himself.
He didn't need a paternity test.
These were his children.
Once upon a time, he'd lived in Latveria in hiding. Fell in love. Got married. Had kids.
He almost gave up extremism for them.
But when the world found out who he was, the pitchforks came out. Betrayed by neighbors. Attacked by mobs.
His family shattered. His children lost.
His soul broke into pieces and reassembled into the man now known as Magneto—destroyer of nations, slayer of cowards.
Forget Polaris.
That was a different mess altogether.
But now?
These two right in front of him were his.
And as his trembling hands betrayed his age for the first time, he stepped forward.
"You two... do you still remember your father?"
"Father?" Wanda blinked. "If you mean our adoptive parents, they're dead."
At the mention of her adoptive parents, something in her eyes snapped into focus. The blank haze disappeared.
"They were killed during the Latverian civil war. Bombs from Stark Industries."
Her tone turned sharp. Bitter.
"To get revenge, we offered ourselves to HYDRA. Let them experiment on us. We wanted power."
Dante nodded.
That explained a lot.
HYDRA hadn't been specifically targeting Mutants. They didn't even know what a Mutant was.
The twins had walked in willingly. HYDRA just took the offer.
Free test subjects. How convenient.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 25: The Dungeon
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.)
Chapter 6: Chapter 26-27
Chapter Text
Chapter 26: 150 Years
In his cell, Loki muttered those words and instantly stunned the entire X-Men crew.
"Did you hear that? He just said he's a god."
"I heard him, Emma. No need to freak out. I've lived long enough to see more than a few nutjobs claim to be gods."
"Logan, just because you've been alive forever doesn't make you special, alright?"
As the conversation spiraled into complete nonsense, even Loki rolled his eyes from inside the cell.
Earthlings… so damn noisy.
Meanwhile, Dante rubbed his eyes and took another good look at the guy inside the cage.
No mistaking it now. That really was Loki.
Back when he'd searched the FBI database for major multiverse events, he'd already seen Loki's name pop up. The invasion had happened in this timeline too—but this time, the invasion target had been Metropolis. And it had ended real quick, thanks to the Kansas Strongman stepping in and deleting the entire event from history. No "Battle of New York," just an early shutdown.
After that, Loki vanished off the face of the earth. Not even the Bureau had a trace of him.
He had spotted Loki's scepter in a research lab once… but he never imagined the guy himself would be locked in the basement of some HYDRA facility.
How to describe this?
Unexpected bonus?
Dante stepped forward and tapped on the glass of the cell.
"First of all, we don't worship alien gods here," he said. "Second of all, never heard of some low-tier god getting caught by a bunch of pyramid scheme weirdos."
"Ahem, child… my power lies in that scepter. Just release me and let me get it back, and I can bestow the entire world upon you."
"Can Asgardians stop exaggerating everything? Do you still think Earth is stuck in the Stone Age?"
"You could've said sooner that you knew I was Asgardian. Do you think I'm proud of making up that kind of sales pitch?" Loki dropped the act the moment his identity was exposed. "But to be fair, Earth's still barely a step above prehistoric by Asgard's standards."
Dante looked at the awkward god behind glass, and signaled for Ada Wong to check for the mechanism that opened the cell.
But before releasing Loki, there were still some questions he wanted answered.
"Alright, now that we've introduced ourselves, I've got a few questions. Answer them well, and I might consider letting you out."
"And if I don't answer? You gonna kill me? I wouldn't recommend that. The moment you do, Earth will be staring down an Asgardian invasion."
He wasn't bluffing.
Even though Loki wasn't Odin's biological son, Odin treated him like his own. To an almost ridiculous degree.
The guy was the son of Laufey—Odin's sworn enemy and king of the Frost Giants. But Odin still raised Loki as a prince and even sealed away his Frost Giant traits so he'd look just like any other Asgardian.
Sure, the seal sometimes failed when he came into contact with similar energy, but all that really meant was that he occasionally turned blue.
The point was, Odin had used Heavenly Father-tier power to basically rewrite Loki's DNA.
"Come on now, my dear God of Mischief Loki Odinson. I'm not here to kill you," Dante said, rubbing his hands together like a greasy car salesman. "Here's what I'm thinking. I'll represent the Federal Bureau of Investigation and offer you an employment contract for one hundred—no, make that one hundred and fifty years. You'd be hired as a Senior Agent."
"Employment? You've got to be kidding me."
Loki sounded incredulous, but his body language told a different story.
He was tempted.
No question about it—Loki was clever, manipulative, dangerous... but not patient.
At this point, even being sent back to Asgard to get spanked by Odin was better than staying locked up in this blank white cube.
"Cell life or partial freedom. Pick one."
Dante didn't bother arguing anymore. He just turned and motioned for the X-Men to prep for departure.
"Alright, alright! One-fifty it is! I'll sign the damn contract!"
"Too late. You hesitated, so the price went up. It's 200 years now."
"A conniving scum like you would be strung up from a tower in Asgard and sun-dried into jerky… Fine! Two hundred! I'll sign!"
Loki was definitely gritting his teeth but he also looked weirdly satisfied.
I mean, what's a contract on Midgard anyway? Once he got bored, he'd just waltz back to Asgard. What was the Bureau gonna do—chase him across realms with a clipboard?
"See? I agreed! Now open this stupid cell already! Your lady agent already found the switch! Hurry up and open this boring, sturdy thing!"
Dante didn't move.
He just waited.
"You're not opening it yet?" Ada asked.
Dante shook his head.
She pulled her hand away from the switch.
No one had any idea what he was thinking now.
But the scheming expression from earlier—the one he used to rope Loki in—was gone. His face had turned serious.
The others took the hint and slowly drifted away, gathering around Magneto, who was still bound by the Green Will energy.
They didn't have anything to do right now anyway… so why not use the chance to roast Magneto while they could?
Especially Harley who walked up and asked Dante to drop the barrier for a sec.
Then she pulled out a lipstick and drew a massive, clown-style red grin on the tape stuck over Magneto's mouth.
Pfft…
"Magneto, Magneto~ looks like karma finally caught up with you!"
A round of low chuckles broke out among the X-Men.
White Queen and Mystique—who'd once been on Team Brotherhood themselves—didn't even pretend to hold back. They snatched the lipstick and went in for a second layer of "art."
Ada Wong watched all this unfold and could only sigh.
Ever since Dante joined the Bureau, their vibe had gotten… deeply unprofessional.
She couldn't even be mad anymore—she just quietly prayed for Magneto's heart health.
First his own daughter denounced him.
Then this.
Now even his own ex-teammates were clowning him in front of a crowd.
Even just imagining it was enough to make her blood pressure spike.
Fortunately, the chaos didn't last long.
Dante suddenly looked toward the empty air outside the cell and muttered softly.
"He's here."
The moment those words dropped, a glowing green portal snapped open in the air.
A figure in a green cloak and Iron Man-style armor stepped out of it.
"I've been expecting you… 'Doctor Doom.' Victor Von Doom."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 27: Welcome to the Green Lantern Corps
From the moment Dante heard the name Latveria, he'd had a bad feeling.
After all, this was a merged universe, and who the hell knew what kind of monsters were tangled up with HYDRA or holed up in Latveria?
Even though the mission briefing from the system had already hinted that there was a major player behind this incident… Dante hadn't figured out exactly who it was.
But once he stumbled into this dungeon and saw Loki locked up inside?
Game over. He knew.
HYDRA operating a lab in a dictatorship like Latveria, guarded by literal battalions? That kind of setup only existed for one reason:
Because the man behind the curtain—Doctor Doom—was collaborating with HYDRA.
And while sure, Loki had gotten bodied by the Kansas Strongman (but hey, who doesn't?), the point was—
Loki was still technically a god.
And for someone to capture an Asgardian god and stash him in a castle dungeon?
Only another god could pull that off.
Compared to Ada and Harley's stunned reactions, the X-Men were actually pretty calm about the sudden portal.
They had Blink on the squad, after all.
But this portal… yeah, no. This one was clearly operating on a whole different level than Blink's.
"Ahhh!!!"
Suddenly, White Queen let out a high-pitched shriek. Her body swayed as she clutched her forehead, wincing in pain.
"Emma! What's wrong?" Mystique rushed over to steady her. "Did you—was it a telepathic backlash?!"
White Queen's usually composed face was drained of all color. She nodded, eyes still closed, visibly shaken.
That was enough to snap the X-Men into full combat alert.
"You foolish, disrespectful telepaths," said a calm, disdain-laced voice. "You always want to dive into people's minds the moment someone interesting shows up."
Doctor Doom stepped forward, his voice even and cold.
As someone who'd practically mastered both science and sorcery, if his armor didn't include anti-telepathy features, he'd have died eight hundred times over by now.
"I strongly agree," Dante said, stepping up. "A responsible telepath should act like Professor X—only reading minds when it's absolutely necessary."
"Professor X?" Doom repeated. "That the mutant leader in America?"
"Correct. You're aware of mutants," Dante replied. "But you only told HYDRA that certain individuals had supernatural abilities. You didn't disclose the entire mutant species."
He extended a hand. "Dante Alighieri, Level 7 Agent, Federal Bureau of Investigation."
Normally, a guy like Doctor Doom—proud, ruthless dictator of his own country—would never shake hands with someone like Dante.
And Dante knew that. The handshake was just a test.
Because something felt off about this Doom.
He seemed… nice.
Yeah. That was it. Too nice.
Emma had only been repelled. No psychic scars. No retaliation.
If this were the Doom from the original timeline, White Queen would be in a coma by now.
Doom was a tyrant. A megalomaniac who ruled a nation with iron-fisted god complex energy.
So when Doom actually looked down, saw Dante's hand—and shook it—Dante just stood there blinking like an idiot.
Wait… did I just unlock Nice Guy Doom from the crossover lottery?
But then Dante tried to pull his hand back—and Doom didn't let go.
"Uh… I know I'm devastatingly handsome, but I feel like this handshake's dragging on a bit long."
Dante chuckled awkwardly.
Doom didn't respond to the jab. Instead, he asked something completely out of left field.
"That ring you're wearing… did you acquire it in Westchester County?"
Dante's brow furrowed.
Wait. What?
Does Doom know about the Green Lantern Ring?
Hold up—
"Wesker. Was he originally your man?"
Doom nodded slightly. "The Umbrella Corporation only managed to survive with my protection. Naturally, they joined HYDRA and carried out operations on my behalf."
Okay. That connected everything.
Dante had been wondering why Wesker and Umbrella had been researching a Green Lantern power battery.
That kind of project had nothing to do with virology or bio-weapons.
Turned out, they were on Doom's payroll all along.
"With your knowledge of magic and tech, I'm surprised you bothered with a bottom-barrel bioweapons firm like Umbrella."
"No choice. Miranda asked. And as a benevolent ruler, I always grant my neighbors' requests for help."
Miranda? As in Mother Miranda?
Well… the geography fit. Resident Evil 8's Village was in Eastern Europe.
Everything tracked.
Dante summoned a green spiral blade with a flick of his wrist, forcing Doom to finally let go and take a step back.
Doom's armor might've been immune to most physical and magical attacks—but not this.
Not when it was a direct construct from the Will of the Green Lantern Ring.
The spiral blade sliced his gauntlet, and blood began to drip.
But Doom didn't get angry. In fact, he stared at the glowing green light with something like wonder.
"This… this is a form of magic I've never seen before."
Which made sense.
The Emotional Spectrum wasn't science. Wasn't magic.
It was cosmic energy. Pure will. Hope. Rage. Fear. Love. All of it.
It was, basically, idealism with a glow effect.
The Green Lantern Ring, for example—powered by raw willpower.
As long as you believed hard enough, it worked. If your will wavered? The ring ditched you.
Unlike magic or science, it didn't follow rules. It followed vibes.
And Doctor Doom?
He'd never encountered power that answered to vibes before.
Doom stepped forward again—but this time, he didn't shake Dante's hand.
He just reached out and touched the Green Lantern Ring lightly.
Immediately, Dante felt a pulse run through the ring.
A moment later, a green lantern power battery manifested in his hand.
Dante looked down—and blinked hard.
Wait… was that a shark?
Yeah. Inside the lantern core.
A tiny, green, glowing shark was swimming around happily.
Ion Shark.
The Green Lantern Spirit Beast.
Wasn't this thing supposed to be sealing away the Monster of the Black in the Central Power Battery on Oa?
Dante's eyes narrowed.
Wait a sec… now that I think about it—
Nobody had ever summoned him to Oa. No official Green Lantern Corps welcome. No flight training. Nothing.
Which could only mean one of two things.
Either the Green Lantern Corps and the planet Oa had already been wiped out in this timeline.
Or… it hadn't been formed yet.
As Dante was deep in thought, the tiny green shark inside the battery suddenly began swimming faster and faster.
And then, in the next second.
A brand new Green Lantern Ring was forged from the lantern furnace…
…And it flew straight to Doctor Doom.
["Intelligent life identified.
Victor Von Doom of Earth.
You possess the will to overcome great fear.
Welcome to the Green Lantern Corps."]
(To be continued.)
Chapter 7: Chapter 28-29
Chapter Text
Chapter 28: Alliance? Bloody Profit!
Dante stared, mouth slightly open, trying to process what just happened.
He knew Doctor Doom's vibe was way more Yellow Lantern than Green Lantern. Fear and dominance were kind of his whole aesthetic.
But still, he wasn't that shocked that the Green Lantern Ring had chosen him.
After all, this was Doom we were talking about—guy could tank psychic intrusions just by flexing his willpower. With resolve that dense, of course the Will Green Light would take interest.
What really shocked Dante was the glowing battery in his own hand.
Was he… actually rebuilding the Green Lantern Corps from scratch?
That wasn't supposed to be how this worked. Lantern Rings chose their bearers on their own.
It was fate. Cosmic lottery. Emotional resonance. Not a job you could fill off Craigslist.
And most importantly—
He really hoped this rebooted Green Lantern Corps didn't come with the classic "everybody dies horribly" curse.
"Is this the unknown power you command?" Doom asked, watching the battery pulse in Dante's hand.
"You've already researched the power battery, so you should know—this energy has zero ties to science or magic."
"I ran every form of forbidden magic I know against it. Couldn't break it. Couldn't wake it up," Doom said, staring at the ring still floating in front of him. "Then I tried every major energy signature on Earth. Still nothing. Even stooped to what you call 'low-class' methods."
"This energy isn't generated by science or magic," Dante said. "It's the product of all life across the universe—an emotional field created by every living being. Seven emotions, seven corresponding lights: Rage Red, Avarice Orange, Fear Yellow, Will Green, Hope Blue, Compassion Indigo, and Love Violet. Will is the center of the spectrum. It holds everything together—order and balance."
"Emotional Spectrum…" Doom murmured. "A power source built on subjectivity. Fascinating."
For a materialist scientist like Doom—one whose magic also worked via measurable energy—this was his first real encounter with something that didn't care about logic or math.
This was pure belief. An energy born of feelings.
And at the moment, Doctor Doom didn't resemble an imperial-level BOSS at all.
He looked more like an overachieving student in his first week of wizard school, nodding seriously as he absorbed every word.
Then he turned back to the floating ring… and made a motion to reject it.
"But 'order' isn't a word that suits me."
"If the Will Green Light chose you, then you are worthy of joining the Corps," Dante said calmly.
"Me?"
Doom looked up, caught off guard by Dante's certainty. And then, after a moment's hesitation, he grabbed the ring from midair and slid it onto his right index finger.
"In brightest day, in blackest night,
No evil shall escape my sight.
Let those who worship evil's might,
Beware my power—Green Lantern's Light!"
Like every Lantern before him, Doom—without a teacher or guide—recited the Oath through pure instinct, guided by the ring's will.
A green lantern battery formed in his left hand.
But Doom didn't morph into some spandex-wrapped cosplay hero. Nope.
The Lantern emblem simply lit up on his already-iconic green cloak, transforming the entire thing into a shimmering, emerald shroud.
He closed his eyes.
Then raised his palm, and boom—a raging storm of green energy swirled to life above it, Will forged into raw force.
In a matter of seconds, Doom had begun integrating his personal sorcery with the Green Lantern's power.
Even he looked impressed.
"This is… astonishing. Not only is it powerful, it enhances my research in both science and sorcery."
He watched the storm dance across his palm, studying it like a new equation.
Honestly? He didn't need spell circles or labs anymore. With Will Green Light, he could manifest anything his mind could shape.
"That's the Emotional Spectrum for you," Dante said, just in time. "Its power rivals the greatest forces in the universe—but the difference is, it thinks. It's alive. If you deviate from your oath or lose your will, the ring will leave you."
"You can control that?" Doom asked.
"Nope. That's the Will Green Light's own judgment."
It wasn't a bluff, not really.
In truth, Dante did have a certain authority, thanks to the ancestor-level Lantern Furnace fused with the newborn Ion Shark swimming inside.
He couldn't choose who got recruited, sure—but if someone stepped out of line?
He could yank their ticket real fast.
Doom nodded slowly.
"Understood. I also have a stockpile of data and intel on HYDRA. I'll send it to you shortly."
"Oh? How're you gonna do that? Add me on LinkedIn?"
"You don't need to worry about that."
Doom's tone shut that down real quick.
He turned his gaze toward the X-Men, still looking dazed in the background.
He'd originally been intrigued by them—the result of advanced Earth-based genetic engineering.
But now?
Now that he'd touched the Emotional Spectrum, mutant X-genes looked like glorified party tricks.
"As long as your Federal Bureau of Investigation doesn't interfere with Latveria's affairs," Doom said flatly, "I have no objection to forming an alliance."
Dante blinked.
Alliance?
He'd just wanted to build a good rapport and maybe walk out of here with less trauma than usual.
And suddenly, this megalomaniac magician monarch was offering him diplomatic ties.
Not that he was gonna complain.
Doom might be a dictator, but after he overthrew Latveria's corrupt monarchy via full-blown civil war, the country basically turned into a sci-fi paradise.
Wanda and Pietro? Yeah—they'd ended up guinea-pigging themselves for revenge. But if they'd waited even a few months, they'd have been chilling in Doom's socialist utopia instead.
Seriously, the guy was cracked.
In tech? Probably above Banner and Stark.
In magic? The Sorcerer Supreme wished he could match Doom's range.
In hand-to-hand combat? The man had beaten Captain America and Black Panther. No suit. No tech. No spells.
Just Doom, throwing hands.
His only flaw?
He was a narcissist with a PhD in doom.
Dante sighed internally.
Is there no fairness left in this world? No karma? No regulatory board?
Still, if he could build this alliance—and hook Doom into the Emotional Spectrum loop—he might actually have a shot at keeping the guy relatively stable.
Because let's be honest—he couldn't beat him. Not right now.
"Excellent. The Federal Bureau of Investigation is honored to ally with you. And the World Federation welcomes Latveria's return to the global stage."
Doom nodded. With a wave of his hand, another portal shimmered open.
Just as he was about to step through, Dante called out.
"Before you go… how about doing me a little favor?"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 29: Again!?
"Help?" Doom turned back, genuinely confused. "Didn't you already clean out this entire HYDRA facility? And I've already agreed to give you all my intel on them."
"No, no, no, I'm not talking about HYDRA."
Dante waved his hand dismissively, signaling that this was something else entirely.
Then he pointed across the room—right at Loki.
Loki, who'd been pretending to be invisible this whole time, immediately shrank further into the corner of the cage like a quail.
The guy had been suspiciously quiet ever since Doom arrived. Not a single snarky line, no smug smiles, just full-on silence.
Because Loki had been personally and thoroughly wrecked by Doctor Doom.
Brutally.
As one of the Nine Realms' top-tier magic users, Loki still ended up black and blue. He tried the usual tricks—fake weakness, surprise dagger stab, snarky one-liner—and got a second beatdown for his troubles.
If he wasn't Asgardian, with all the genetic perks that came with it, he would've been flattened into magical mulch.
And now? He knew—Thor couldn't beat Doom. Not even close.
And that "Kansas Big Guy" who swatted him across ten kilometers with one punch?
Yeah, definitely not.
Midgard was no longer the primitive playground Asgard once conquered.
At this rate, even if Odin himself walked through that door, Loki wouldn't bet on him either.
Midgard was terrifying.
He missed his mom. He missed his dad. He even missed his dumb, hammer-wielding brother.
Because sometimes the best way to fix a problem child... is to break their entire worldview with a cosmic belt.
But just when he thought he'd successfully faded into the background, Dante turned to him.
"Wait, what are you doing?! Didn't I already agree to a 200-year employment contract?!"
"Oh, don't worry," Dante said cheerfully. "I just don't trust you to follow Earth laws or morals. So, I'm preparing a few... 'practical safeguards.'"
The smile on Dante's face was warm. Neighborly.
To Loki, it looked like Satan's customer service rep had come to collect.
Worse than Thor. At least Thor had some weird sibling affection. This one was weaponizing paperwork.
"Two hundred years? Asgardian? Employment contract?"
Doom's genius-level brain immediately connected the dots.
With a flick of his hand, a scroll of parchment materialized in the air. It radiated menace.
"I've placed a demonic contract seal on this. It's blank—for now. Once the terms are written and signed, any breach of contract will result in the violator's soul becoming the property of Mephisto."
Loki visibly turned green.
He knew Mephisto. Everyone in the magic scene knew Mephisto. That demonic slimeball was infamous across dimensions.
If this contract went bad, even Odin would need a cosmic-level bribe to get Loki out.
And Doom? That guy fought Mephisto in Hell once a year just to rescue his mom's soul.
Every time, Mephisto made it harder. Every time, Doom still went.
This contract?
Yeah, it was legit.
Loki just stared as Doom handed the scroll to Dante, who now looked like he'd just closed a record-breaking real estate deal.
This was officially not worth the paycheck.
But fine.
Two hundred years.
For an Asgardian, that was basically a medium-term internship.
He'd just ride it out.
Meanwhile, Dante was glowing with joy. Doom had just handed him a tool most warlocks would kill their own teacher to get.
This was Mephisto's personal flavor of soul-binding magic.
You didn't out-deal Mephisto—you just tried to survive him. And Doom?
Doom had fought this guy so many times, he practically majored in demonic counter-law.
He needed power like the Emotional Spectrum to keep leveling the field.
So he studied. Mastered. Crafted tools like this scroll.
"This one's yours now."
"Pleasure doing business with you."
Dante held out his hand again—this time, genuinely smiling.
Doom hesitated for a beat, then returned the handshake.
How long had it been since someone treated him like an equal?
He didn't say it, but in that moment, he actually respected this smug little agent.
And as Doom's back vanished through the portal—
[Ding! Mission "Raid Latveria" completed.]
[Mission-related characters: Wolverine, White Queen, Mystique, Doctor Doom, Loki.
Obtained Ability: Wolverine's Perception
Obtained Ability: Diamond Form (White Queen)
Obtained Ability: Slowed Aging (Mystique)
Obtained Ability: Teleportation Magic (Doctor Doom)
Obtained Ability: Physical Constitution (Loki)]
---
Dante heard the system voice echo in his mind and had to bite down on his own cheek to keep from grinning.
He had to think about the most depressing crap he could imagine—three different childhood traumas and the tax code—just to stop himself from giggling in front of everyone.
His last mission? Total chaos. He barely salvaged a win by snagging the Ancestral Lantern with Batman's unbreakable willpower.
But this one?
Gold mine.
Wolverine's Perception was basically mutant-level spider-sense. Instinctual, raw, accurate. Fast enough to predict even Quicksilver's movements.
White Queen's Diamond Form? Virtually indestructible. Not brittle like actual diamonds. Withstands both superheat and arctic-level cold.
Mystique's Slowed Aging? Eternal youth. Longer peak condition. No downside.
Doom's Teleportation Magic? Eat your heart out, Blink. Doom's version could cross planets—and dimensions.
And Loki's Physical Constitution? Don't laugh. The guy was technically a Frost Giant. His official Marvel power scale put him at Strength Level 5—meaning he could lift 75 tons.
This was exactly what Dante needed.
He'd hit the ceiling of peak human. Time to upgrade.
After soaking in the rewards, he turned to Ada Wong and nodded.
"Open the door."
With a soft hum, the cell door unlocked.
Loki didn't run. Mostly because he knew it wouldn't help.
Dante stepped inside.
"Loki Odinson, God of Mischief, welcome to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Please sign here—and from now on, we're coworkers who share a pair of pants."
"I don't want to share pants with you! Doesn't your FBI even issue uniforms?!"
"It's a metaphor, you uncultured mythological mooch!"
Loki glanced at the glowing green ring on Dante's hand.
Then at the superpowered weirdo squad assembled behind him.
He sighed as he signed the contract—now upgraded to a 250-year employment term.
You damned profiteer!! Why did the price go up again?!
(To be continued.)
Chapter 8: Chapter 30-31
Chapter Text
Chapter 30: You're Really Something
"I'll let you go, but don't even think about pulling anything."
Back on the surface, Dante pointed at Magneto's nose with a final warning before canceling the Will Green Light restraint.
Tear!
Magneto ripped off the tape across his mouth with dramatic flair, spitting the gauze onto the floor like it owed him money.
But just as he was about to go full mutant revolutionary mode, his eyes fell on Wanda and Pietro—his kids.
His towering rage deflated about thirty percent on the spot.
Then his gaze landed on Dante.
And just like that, his anger dropped another fifty percent.
"I'm not interested in your squabbles with HYDRA or the Asgardians," Magneto muttered, now all brooding restraint. "I just want to take my children… and leave."
"Children?" Dante raised an eyebrow, doing his best shocked face. "What children?"
He turned toward Wanda and Pietro, who had been calmed by White Queen's telepathic suggestion magic, and asked, "He says he's your dad. You two close?"
"Not really," Wanda replied, deadpan.
"Oh. Well then, guess he's not." Dante turned back to Magneto with a bright smile. "See? They said it themselves. You sure it's not just wishful thinking at this point? What's next? Kidnapping them in front of a federal agent?"
Magneto opened his mouth—but then caught Wanda's expression.
Cold. Distant. Full of disappointment.
His heart cracked a little.
He'd been rejected by the world. Had severed ties with Charles. And now, the only soft spots left in his metal shell—his children—looked at him like strangers.
"…Tell Charles… to take care of them."
That's all he said before turning and walking out of the HYDRA facility without another word.
"I don't fully understand what just happened," Loki said, retrieving his scepter from the lab bench like he was casually picking up his groceries. "But it seems that… young man isn't planning to join our team."
The X-Men collectively gave Loki a weird look.
"Did he just say 'young man'? Doesn't he look the same age as us?"
"Logan's over two hundred and looks like a grumpy homeless guy. These people are gods—they're probably older than recorded history. Calling Magneto a young man is fair game."
Dante shrugged. "Let him go. Different path, different ending. As long as he doesn't get in our way, we don't need to bother."
Then he turned to Loki, squinting. "You've gotten… real comfortable real fast. Already acting like we're best buds?"
"What choice do I have?" Loki sighed. "I signed a 250-year employment contract—and a demonic pact. Unless I want to spend eternity rubbing Mephisto's hooves, I'm your obedient little field agent now."
"Trust me," Dante smirked. "Being an FBI agent is way more fun than screwing around in the Nine Realms."
---
The Latveria raid had paid off. Big time.
In addition to system rewards, they'd salvaged a trove of HYDRA research data on the X gene.
With the captured HYDRA scientists and the X-Men's guidance, there was now a real chance to decode the full potential of mutant powers.
First thing on the return trip?
Have White Queen give those scientists a light psychic scrub—just enough to ensure total cooperation. Like installing new antivirus software.
Then Dante had them test him for the X gene.
He'd gotten White Queen's Diamond Form via system reward. He wanted to know if that also meant he now had an activated X gene.
The results?
Nada.
No X gene. Not even dormant.
This confirmed it: System abilities were from a higher plane of power. They didn't operate on DNA.
"Fascinating," Loki said, flipping through the mutant data while lounging across his seat like a cat with a doctorate. "Your so-called mutant bloodlines are absurd. The randomness alone is enough to break causality. Some can barely light a candle. Others can obliterate the moon."
He wasn't a scientist, but with nearly 1,500 years of experience, he was probably more informed than most actual researchers—on a cosmic scale.
"You know, Odin once conquered the Nine Realms."
"You know that too?" Dante raised an eyebrow. "Right, your whole Norse pantheon thing became Earth mythology. Though I gotta say, I love the version where you're Thor's uncle instead of his brother."
"Pure slander," Loki said with a smug grin. "Has nothing to do with actual mythology. But I am curious… did Asgard really conquer ancient Earth?"
Dante hesitated. Because this wasn't the Marvel Universe. It was a scrambled egg of everything.
Who knew how many gods and monsters had taken shots at Earth over the millennia?
A Heavenly Father-tier Odin might've shown up—but it was anyone's guess who else had been on the guest list.
"When Odin conquered the Nine Realms, Thor and I hadn't even been born," Loki mused. "And a lot of history from back then… has been 'erased.' No one knows the full truth anymore."
Then he suddenly sat up straight.
"Oh, right! Speaking of Thor—Dante, I need to tell you something."
Dante narrowed his eyes.
Here it comes.
"Right before I was captured by that ironclad green maniac, I sent a distress signal to Asgard."
"To who?"
"My brother. Thor. God of Thunder." Loki gave an innocent smile. "Big guy. Bit of a brute."
"How big of a brute?"
Doctor Doom in this universe was a scholar-mage hybrid. Who knew what flavor of Thor they were getting?
But judging from Loki's state?
Probably not one of the nerfed ones.
"Pretty serious brute," Loki said. "One time he charged Jotunheim by himself. Just for fun. If he gets that signal and comes charging down to Midgard? Good luck."
"You want him to come save you, don't you?"
"Oh, I do," Loki said, grinning wider. "But if he charges in and finds you first, do me a favor—take him down."
"Wait—what? Why would I fight your brother?"
"I signed up for 250 years of unpaid cosmic labor! I'm not doing that alone. What's wrong with sharing the workload? I call it… sibling delegation."
Dante stared.
Then slowly gave Loki a deadpan thumbs-up.
"Wow. Loki, you really are committed to screwing over your own brother."
"Thank you," Loki said with a little bow. "I take my mischief very seriously."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 31: Teleport and Pick Up
After returning to FBI Headquarters and reporting to Fury and Professor X,
Dante invited Wanda, Pietro, and Loki inside.
Fury and Professor X—looked at Dante's actions with mild confusion.
Hadn't he already reported the general details of the mission?
What now?
Still not done?
"Uh, these siblings are Wanda and Pietro, Magneto's kids."
That one line left Professor X completely stunned.
"And that one over there is Loki, God of Mischief from Asgard. The guy who opened the giant wormhole over Metropolis a while back. He's now a new agent who's signed a 250-year employment contract with our Federal Bureau of Investigation."
That second line left Fury looking like he just stepped on a rake.
Both men turned to Dante with matching expressions of "Excuse me, the hell now?"
Wasn't this supposed to be a routine HYDRA op with the X-Men?
How did we go from that to Magneto's children and a literal Norse god?
"You sure these two are Erik's?"
"Absolutely. First thing I did when I got back was run a DNA test—Magneto's genome vs. theirs. 100% match."
"DNA test?" Professor X hesitated. "Okay but… setting them aside for a second, how'd you get Erik's DNA?"
"Uh, kidnapping?" Dante shrugged. "It's a long and emotional story about fathers and children that I really don't feel like reliving right now."
After Dante gave a third-person, heavily dramatized summary that may or may not have included flashbacks and unnecessary narration, Professor X finally pieced together the whole story.
"I see… well, since they're Erik's children, let the X-Men handle—actually, no. Just send them to the FBI Academy. That place is crawling with mutants and kids with all kinds of weird powers. They won't stand out there."
Professor X turned to the twins.
"Don't be scared, children. Your father and I were very close back in the day. You can call me Professor X, or Dean. I'll take care of you from now on."
The man's natural kindness—and not-so-subtle telepathy—calmed the siblings, who didn't seem inclined to resist.
But—
"Sorry, Professor X. We want to… go with him."
Wanda and Pietro exchanged glances and pointed at Dante in unison.
Dante, who was happily minding his own business in the corner, froze.
"…Huh? Me?"
He pointed at himself, unsure whether he was hallucinating.
"Yes, Dante. We only trust him."
The siblings' tone left no room for negotiation. Professor X, ever the diplomat, found himself stuck. He looked to Dante like: "What the hell did you do to make them imprint on you?"
Dante scratched his head. "Uh, sure, they can follow me. I mean… the Academy's a good fit, and the kids there at least have some control over their powers. So if they mess up, the fallout isn't catastrophic."
He glanced at the twins.
"These two, on the other hand, had their powers awaken under extreme conditions. It's unstable. If something goes sideways, the cleanup's gonna be a nightmare."
Fury nodded and turned to Loki, who was poking at a weird ornament on his desk with all the interest of a cat.
"Alright, then. This mutant sibling pair and the so-called 'God of Mischief' are now part of Star Team, under your command and supervision. And stop touching my ornament! That's an artifact excavated from an Incan site! It's over six hundred years old!"
"Only six hundred?" Loki scoffed and tossed it back. "I've got goblets older than that stuffed in storage."
Fury sighed. He knew exactly how to handle Dante—dump everything on him. If it's messy, complicated, or has even a whiff of multiversal chaos, shove it in Dante's inbox and walk away.
Call it poetic justice.
Speaking of poetry, he was getting hungry.
"Charles, since this operation's wrapped, I'm taking you out to that new French place in Washington. My treat."
Without waiting for a reply, Fury spun Professor X's wheelchair around and peaced out of the Director's office at speed.
Leaving Dante standing awkwardly with his new entourage.
"Well then, dear Captain," Loki said as he stretched lazily, "how about prepping our new home? I did sign an actual employment contract. You promised free meals, housing, and a generous salary. Don't tell me you're backing out."
Dante let out a deep sigh.
Now what?
Take them home, obviously.
Luckily, there were enough rooms.
Although Ada might not be thrilled.
...
After getting everyone settled with food, beds, and a decent Wi-Fi connection, Dante finally earned a short rest day…
Which wasn't supposed to happen.
But Loki, ever the wildcard, had a surprise in store.
Although Wanda and Pietro's powers came from their X-genes, they were triggered by Loki's scepter. That created some weird feedback loop between the three.
Specifically, Loki could use residual energy from the scepter to help them master their abilities faster.
Of course, that didn't mean he could actually wield the Mind Stone—just that he could tap into some of the power leaking out of it.
Apparently, the guy didn't even know his stick had an Infinity Stone lodged inside.
Loki was smart, sure, but in some areas, he was just as thickheaded as Thor.
Maybe being Odin's kid did that to you.
No blood relation required.
Anyway, with his babysitting duties on pause, Dante finally had time to check out his new powers.
No need to test physical attributes—he'd already seen those in action.
Case in point: when they got home, Pietro got excited and went full speedster mode out of nowhere. His power spike could've sent him flying straight through the walls.
Dante intercepted him instinctively, no big deal.
Next up: Diamond Form and teleportation magic.
"Alright, Diamond Form first."
Dante muttered to himself and activated it.
The transformation started from the heart and rapidly spread across his body. In the blink of an eye, he became a full-on diamond man.
He flexed his fist. The strength boost was there—maybe one or two extra tons—but the real kicker was his durability.
Fire, ice, bullets? Nothing.
And the best part?
Near-infinite stamina.
"Sweet. Next up—teleportation magic. Where should I go…"
Dante scratched his head.
After a minute of indecision, he spun a globe, shut his eyes, and jabbed a random spot.
"Norway? Sure. Let's go see how lonely those Norwegian forests really are."
He activated teleportation magic, calculated the coordinates, and conjured a portal à la Doctor Doom.
Stepping through, he instantly landed…
"…What the hell?"
This… was not Norway.
There were no fjords. No snow. No trees.
Just a massive underground city.
Above him? A ceiling of pitch-black stone.
"Who goes there?"
A low, husky, incredibly sexy voice rang out from the shadows.
Dante frowned. There were people here?
What, lost hikers?
No time to analyze. He jogged toward the voice.
"Are you trapped here? What's your name?"
There was a pause.
Then—
"Yes. I'm trapped."
"And who I am…"
"Odin's eldest daughter. Commander of Asgard's legions. First in line to the throne. Hela, Goddess of Death."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 9: Chapter 32: Dating?
Chapter Text
Hela, Goddess of Death, isn't one of the Big Five cosmic deities of the Marvel Universe.
Her rank is a bit lower.
But that's only in comparison to those reality-bending creation gods. Among the heroes and villains actually known on Earth, other than the big guy in red and blue underwear worn outside his pants, only Doctor Doom could go toe-to-toe with someone like Hela—someone operating at a full-on Heavenly Father level.
Back when Hela fought beside Odin to conquer the Nine Realms, she was absolutely a top-tier powerhouse.
Because of her divine nature, she governs the reincarnation cycle of Asgardian gods.
Normally, when someone dies, their soul exits the body.
But for Asgardians, their soul lingers in the body until the Goddess of Death comes to collect it and deliver it to its final destination.
That very connection to the cycle of life and death is what lets Hela match Odin's power completely when she's standing on Asgardian soil.
And right now, this same Death Goddess—theoretically the rightful heir to Asgard's throne—is sitting on a crude obsidian throne.
Her surroundings may be barebones, but her queenly aura is still undeniable…
Assuming you could ignore the slightly messy, adorably disheveled hair.
Honestly? Hela might be the most stunning Big Sis-type Dante had ever laid eyes on.
And the "Big" part?
Well, she's seven feet tall.
Who wouldn't love that?
Big Sis is the best.
"I was sealed away for a thousand years… banished from my home!"
"So now... am I just supposed to give up and die?"
"I am the heir to Asgard. I was born to rule the Nine Realms. Now, mortal of Midgard—kneel before your Queen!"
Dante scratched his head.
He was into queens, sure, but not this kind of queen.
"Dear Death Goddess, I'm just a mortal who learned a bit of teleportation magic and accidentally stumbled in here. I'll be leaving now."
"Teleportation magic? What kind of teleportation magic can bypass a dimensional seal?" Hela narrowed her eyes. "If what you say is true… then there's only one explanation."
"What explanation?"
"It doesn't matter anymore. If you can break through a dimensional seal… then you can take me out."
Hela stood up abruptly, and her flawless, god-tier proportions instantly filled Dante's field of view.
Her hands gripped Dante's shoulders with surprising strength.
For the first time, her regal face revealed something close to eagerness—a rare, human expression that made you want to start clapping.
"That's easy for you to say, but… why should I help you?" Dante said, unfazed.
He had no defense against the Big Sis type, sure—but he wasn't an idiot.
He knew exactly who Hela was.
"Do I look like an Asgardian god to you?"
That caught her off guard.
She closed her eyes, focused, then opened them again—this time with a spark of genuine surprise.
"No aura from Asgard... but you really do have an Asgardian physique. Are you a hybrid? Midgardian and Asgardian bloodline?"
"Nope. Just a Midgardian mortal. But let's say I got my hands on an Asgardian body through… a lucky encounter. My physical stats are already above most Asgardians. I'm basically no different from one of your so-called 'gods.'"
"I see."
Hela nodded, catching on instantly.
Made sense. She'd conquered the Nine Realms—she'd seen stranger things.
Unlike her dimwit younger brother, Thor, who would've wasted time trying to dig into every last detail.
Perspective.
Honestly, Odin's talent-scouting record was tragic. Compared to his eldest daughter, that son of his was a walking disappointment.
"So, taking you out of here is doable. But I'm not doing it for free," Dante said, adjusting the teleportation coordinates. "When you return to Asgard and reclaim your throne, I want a formal alliance."
Hela raised an eyebrow. "An alliance?"
"Exactly. You want power, stability, maybe even vengeance. I want access—resources, protection, and certain... strategic freedoms. With you on the throne and me backing you, we both get what we want."
He smiled innocently.
"I'm not asking to rule beside you. I'm asking to stand where it matters, close enough to make things happen, far enough not to get in your way.
There was a brief silence. While he made sure to plug in the coordinates this time.
"Ohhh, I get it now…" Hela said suddenly, her expression shifting as if she'd just cracked a cosmic riddle.
"You want to be the Queen."
"You're clever for a mortal. Very well—terms accepted."
"WHAT?!"
Dante had just finished calibrating the gate when Hela dropped that bombshell.
Before he could so much as blink, Hela moved with godlike speed—and scooped him up.
Princess carry.
She princess carried him into the portal.
And she was seven feet tall, mind you.
Despite the thirty-centimeter height difference, Dante instinctively wrapped his arms around her neck.
Because of course he did.
Oh god.
...
This time, Dante's return coordinates were set to his own room.
He cracked the door open and scanned the area—no one home.
Ada and Harley were still at HQ for combat training, that much he knew.
But what about Loki and the twins?
Gone too?
Did Loki take Magneto's kids out on a field trip?
Actually, with Loki's brains and Dante's "patient and fatherly" guidance, it wasn't likely they'd go cause chaos.
Maybe just some light credit card fraud.
Still, just in case, Dante opened his personal terminal and pinged Ingrid.
"Hey, dear Ingrid, good morning."
"…Captain, you do realize it's a holiday, right? Waking up a lady on her day off should result in you getting your head slammed in a door."
Dante flinched. He didn't even bother admiring the very flattering summer PJs she was wearing in the video call.
He just ended it.
Instantly.
There are entities more terrifying than ghosts in this world.
They're called Morning Grumps™.
Next attempt.
"Hello, Director Fury. Loki probably took Wanda and Pietro out sightseeing. Can you keep an eye on them? Just make sure they don't accidentally nuke a city block."
"Wasn't that your job?"
"True. But I want a break today. And you're old, you don't sleep much, and you don't exactly have a thriving nightlife. So do a little more work."
"You—where are you going, then?"
"Me? I'm going on a date. With a Big Sis."
Unlike his reaction to Ingrid's wrath, Dante was perfectly calm and smug with Fury.
Just before ending the call, he casually tilted the camera to show Hela standing behind him.
And then cut the connection before Fury could even form a comeback.
Click. Terminal off.
Done.
With that handled, Dante turned around.
Hela looked at him with a devil-may-care smile—her natural elegance laced with a faint edge of danger.
"So… you're dating me now, mortal?"
(To be continued.)
p>
Chapter 10: Chapter 33: Family Reunion
Chapter Text
Question: If you bring home an older woman who's thirty centimeters taller than you, and she says she wants you to be her Queen, what should you do?
Some people might rush forward and blurt out something dumb like:
"Do you want to eat first, shower first, or… eat me first?"
But Dante has always been a man of discipline. A husband of class.
He chose to let her shower first.
She'd been sealed away for over a thousand years!
Even if she somehow still looked squeaky clean, her hair was a bit of a mess.
Looked like some kind of edgy, smoky-eyed, non-mainstream cosplay wig.
Maybe because she trusted the person who yanked her out of a sealed dimension, Hela quietly accepted the towel Dante offered and walked into the bathroom.
The time she spent showering felt like a whole century to Dante.
Not because he was trying to peek.
He wasn't!
He was just… mentally preparing for the chaos when his other two roommates came home.
One Demon King-type older woman, one Psychopath-type older woman… and now a real, honest-to-Odin Asgardian goddess in the house.
This wasn't a casual situation.
Oh right—Loki.
How the hell was he supposed to explain this?
"Hey, this is your big sister. You're not blood-related, but yeah, she's totally your big sister."
Also, Loki looked Asgardian, but he was technically a Frost Giant from Jotunheim.
Hela probably slaughtered a metric ton of Frost Giants back in the day.
Let's just hope she didn't go full murder-mode the second they made eye contact.
As Dante spiraled deeper into worst-case scenarios, time flew by.
And Hela finally emerged from the bathroom.
Her long hair had returned to its full Asgardian glory under the healing power of conditioner and steam.
And her clothes—crafted with Asgardian tech—had automatically refreshed and transformed into a new outfit.
"So, Hela," Dante said, eyes flicking over her restored armor, "has your power started coming back?"
"Roughly… about one-fifth of my peak. If I can return to Asgard, I'll recover completely. But if I stay here on Midgard, I'll top out at half power. And even that'll take time."
He was a bit surprised.
So when she first crawled out of the seal in the movie and went 1v2 against her two little brothers—crushing Mjolnir in the process—she was only using one-fifth of her power?
Then her full-strength form must've been a peak-level Heavenly Father—basically Odin-tier.
Her only limiter was being on Asgardian soil.
But even off-world, half-power still made her a walking apocalypse.
Thanos, before he loaded up his jewelry box, was only sub-All Father-level.
Even the current rookie version of Thor was still nowhere close.
Hela sat down beside Dante.
It had to be said—she was the kind of regal older woman whose mere presence turned Dante's basic faux-leather IKEA couch into a throne.
"Now that I'm free, my perception has sharpened. Odin's getting old. His power's weakening, and so the seal he left behind has degraded. That might be how you were able to brute-force your way in with teleportation magic."
"Odin's getting old?"
"Mm. If I had to guess, he's got less than a thousand years left. He's not far from death."
Dante had just begun to process Odin is getting old, and then "less than a thousand years" casually dropped.
Only gods could make a statement like 'he's dying soon... in about a millennium.'
There was no way a human brain could emotionally relate.
"Forget that old man," Hela waved it off. "What I'm more curious about is this: Here on Midgard, a place where most people are basically insects, how are you walking around with a divine-tier physique… and living in such a cramped shack?"
"…Shack?"
Dante gave a weak smile.
Compared to Asgard, sure, this 400-square-meter apartment was probably a broom closet.
But c'mon. On Midgard? This was premium real estate.
He raised a hand and gestured around the room.
"First of all, this is already a luxury flat that most Midgardians could never afford."
"Second, yeah, I have a body comparable to your average Asgardian, but that doesn't mean I'm top dog. Midgard's got some pretty scary folks too. Especially that one."
"That one?" Hela tilted her head. "Who?"
"Technically an alien, like you. But he's often called the 'God of Humanity.'"
"God of Humanity?" Hela's interest was piqued. "What kind of god is that?"
"To be clear, he's not actually a god. Just an alien who crash-landed here. But... let me put it this way," Dante said, leaning back, "If your dad—at his peak—got into a fight with this guy? Best case, he'd crawl out bruised and begging for a truce."
This wasn't just bravado.
Dante had done his homework.
That Big Guy had soloed an entire Chitauri invasion and then closed the wormhole on his way out.
No way that was a rookie Superman still learning how to fly.
He'd asked Tony Stark. Lois Lane in this world was already 31.
So the Big Guy had to be around that age—meaning a fully matured, sun-charged Superman.
And against that version?
Even a peak All Father-level being might not win.
Of course, Dante was only talking raw combat power.
Asgard still had Queen Frigga, one of the most powerful witches in the Nine Realms.
If they pulled off a magical sneak attack, they might have a shot.
It was well-known: the Big Guy had zero resistance to magic.
"Does Midgard really have such a powerful being?" Hela asked.
"Yep. But all he wants is world peace, a warm home, and family life with his wife and kid. As long as you don't commit crimes in Metropolis or accidentally throw a car onto his farm, he's more docile than your neighbor's cat."
"Incredible… If I had that power, I'd spread Asgard's glory across the universe."
Dante wiped a bead of cold sweat off his forehead.
Yup. That's Odin's daughter, alright.
War maniac. Through and through.
Just as Hela was deep in thought, probably planning a conquest of the known cosmos.
The front door beeped.
Fingerprint unlock.
Loki strolled in, wearing a dark green suit that practically screamed "I am the moment," followed by Wanda and Pietro, both looking dazzled.
"Yo, Dante! Took the kids out for a walk—wait... Who are you?!"
Loki was mid-grin when his eyes locked on Hela sitting beside Dante.
His God of Mischief instincts screamed: RUN.
In a flash, he summoned his twin daggers and aimed them right at her.
He looked confident.
But his feet were already channeling a teleport spell.
This wasn't HYDRA's dampened cage. Magic worked just fine here.
"Oh? Odin's bloodline... No, wait. Frost Giant bloodline?" Hela's eyes locked onto him. "Fascinating. A Frost Giant whose outer form was permanently rewritten by Odin's primal magic. But you… you do resemble Odin in his youth."
Dante stepped in quickly and gently pushed Loki's dagger-hand down.
"Okay, everyone, chill."
"Loki, meet Hela."
"This is your father's adopted son. Call him Younger Brother."
"And this—" he pointed to Hela, "is your father's eldest daughter. Call her Elder Sister."
(To be continued.)
...
Chapter 11: Chapter 34-35
Chapter Text
Chapter 34: Household
After everything that had gone down recently, Dante finally decided it was time to take Loki and Hela to the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Because being an undocumented god in a modern developed country?
Total nightmare.
Fortunately, the FBI's "legit fake ID" program had been running like a well-oiled machine for years.
Just ask the X-Men. They were practically regulars.
So Dante flew the Quinjet to FBI Headquarters in Washington, D.C.
And along the way, he got a deeper understanding of Asgard—far beyond the tip-of-the-iceberg stuff he'd seen in comics and movies.
Hela didn't give the Quinjet even a passing glance. A machine that represented the pinnacle of Earth's current tech was, to her, no more interesting than a lawnmower.
But Dante noticed something else:
She was glued to his phone.
It had to be said—the Asgardian tech tree was extremely lopsided.
They had the Bifrost, which was basically a god-tier transdimensional railgun mixed with a wormhole cannon, and it even had automatic biometric identification.
But when it came to combat?
Swords and magic.
Straight-up mythological vibes.
They'd conquered the Nine Realms, seen tech on the level of the Celestials, and probably got bored of it all.
Instead, it was Earth's dumb little entertainment gadgets that fascinated them.
So now, as the Goddess of Death walked through the front doors of the Federal Bureau of Investigation—radiating untouchable divine beauty—she was also casually scrolling through Dante's phone.
In just a short span, she'd already mastered various social media platforms.
Of course, she was still logged into Dante's account.
And Loki?
He was surprisingly okay with suddenly having an older sister.
Actually, he was thrilled.
Why?
Because thanks to Dante's helpful commentary, Loki now knew this new big sister was the original founder of Asgardian rebellion culture.
Compared to her, all his own past schemes were basically kindergarten finger painting.
If following her meant giving Odin and Thor aneurysms?
Then Loki Odinson was all in. A loyal lackey for life.
"Big Sister, what's next? Should we just storm Asgard now?"
"Obviously not. First we consolidate power here on Midgard. Then we raise a grand army and then we take the fight to Asgard," Hela said—eyes never leaving the screen.
"Why not just go now? You'd get your full power back on Asgard, right?"
"First off, we can't return just yet," Hela said casually. "Second, even if I could go back and get all my power back, Father is still alive. We're both peak Heavenly Father-level. Even if he's on the decline, it won't be a quick battle. During that time… can you handle the wrath of the entire Asgardian realm by yourself?"
"…Right. Good point, Big Sister."
Loki nodded with the wide-eyed loyalty of a teenage fanboy in the presence of their punk-rock idol.
The vibe between them?
Somewhere between "queen and court mage" and "evil team-up that's going to set the universe on fire."
---
After reviewing your reports... so basically, you got that green power of yours from that green light during our battle with Wesker?"
"Yep."
"You also learned teleportation magic."
"Yep."
"Then used it to break into a sealed dimension."
"Correct."
"And you brought back a thousand-year-old Asgardian goddess."
"As you can see."
"…What kind of expression am I supposed to make at this point?"
Nick Fury sat behind his desk, looking at Dante's annoyingly smug face. His mouth twitched like he was fighting off a stroke.
"So you believe me?" Dante asked.
"I believe you because this—" Fury gestured at everything, "is exactly what we signed up for."
Fury rubbed his temples, exasperated.
"But the worst part? The second you walked into HQ, our energy detection systems lit up like a damn firework show. Sensors nearly exploded. The readings were brighter than a searchlight in a blackout."
Dante turned to Loki with a grin. "See? Your sister walks in and instantly registers as a top-tier threat on government scanners. Why can't you make an entrance like that?"
Loki rolled his eyes. At this point, he didn't even want to argue.
Sure, he was the God of Mischief. But compared to a peak-tier death goddess?
He was just a parlor magician with delusions of grandeur.
Still… if he ever actually used the magic he had instead of goofing off with those twin daggers, he'd be a force to reckon with.
Dante leaned in, cheerful as ever. "So, as the hosts of Earth, shouldn't we do our part to help these two visiting alien gods settle in?"
"…Are you trying to squeeze funding out of me again?"
"I mean, that would be nice, but I'm really here to get household registrations for our Goddess of Death and our God of Mischief."
"Listen to yourself. You want to get household registrations for gods."
Fury glanced cautiously at Hela, who was still lost in TikTok or whatever demon app she'd found.
Only when he confirmed she wasn't listening did he exhale.
He really didn't want Dante's loose-cannon mouth to trigger this grandmother of all disasters. If she went nuclear, not even Wakanda's vault could save the Bureau.
"What? Are you discriminating against aliens now? Or gods?" Dante slammed the desk. "Answer me straight. You gonna register them or not? This isn't even that hard for you guys."
"The problem isn't the damn registration process!"
Fury was now dangerously close to needing blood pressure meds.
Now he was kind of regretting recruiting Dante.
Save Harley Quinn? Good job.
Recruit the X-Men? Excellent.
Lead them against HYDRA? MVP.
But this brand of shameless chaos?
He wanted to shoot the guy in the face and give him a medal.
"…Fine. I'm not arguing with you. I'll have Internal Affairs handle it. Names?"
"Hela Odinsdottir. Loki Odinson."
Dante shrugged.
They were their real Asgardian names.
Straightforward stuff—daughter and son of Odin.
Fury sighed. "There. Your wish is granted. Now, don't you owe me a tiny favor in return?"
"No."
"…I've given you way too much freedom."
"Don't be like that! Don't get all sensitive. You tell me the job, I'll do it if I can. If I can't, I'll still try. Sound fair?"
Fury waved him off and passed a folder across the desk.
Dante opened it.
The first page?
A photo.
Deep in the eternally frozen Arctic, a man slept—his features stoic, noble, and unmistakably righteous, even in slumber.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 35: Frozen Man
"That's Captain America, right? I've heard all the gossip, but tell me straight—did he and Director Peggy Carter ever, you know…?"
Cough cough "You know?" Fury blinked. "What's 'you know'?"
Dante gave him a flat stare. "Obviously, I mean—did they ever go stargazing?"
"Ohhh. Stargazing. Got it."
"What did you think I meant?"
"I thought… I thought they went driving together."
"…Pfft."
After a while, Dante finally dropped the teasing and got back on task.
"So this photo—you want me to go bring him back, right?"
"Exactly. Since you already know about Steve Rogers, you understand he's a Super Soldier. With the serum in his system, he didn't die from the cold. He's in a suspended state—hibernation, basically. And even though his aging was already slowed, freezing nearly stopped it entirely."
"Right, but as far as I know, the Super Soldier Serum just makes him stronger than a peak human, yeah? And with the FBI now rocking both the X-Men and Star Team, is bringing him back really that urgent?"
"I get what you're saying…" Fury nodded, his single eye briefly softening with something like nostalgia. "But Steve Rogers isn't just muscle. He's a symbol—a moral compass. The spiritual totem of the Bureau. He reminds us that even when we're walking along the abyss, we can still move toward the light. That's why we need him."
Dante nodded. No arguments there.
Captain America was all about moral fiber and old-school values.
If you were picking a Superhero to be your friend and didn't have any weird edge-case requirements, Cap or Superman were the safest bets in the multiverse.
Superman was a god with both power and restraint.
Cap didn't have god-tier strength, but he was the kind of guy who would jump on a grenade for you without hesitation.
Especially when it came to leadership… Cap had something even the Kansas Boy Scout didn't.
And besides all that, Fury had another motive.
The FBI had been taken over lately by mutants and gods—literal gods.
And as the agency that once prided itself on being the first line of defense for ordinary people, they were starting to feel… outnumbered.
Bringing back Cap was a symbolic way to tip the scale a little.
"To that end, I've decided to assign one more agent to accompany you on this mission," Fury added.
"Oh?" Dante perked up. "A beautiful older sister? Please tell me it's Commander Hill. Or Mockingbird. I'm easy."
"You're easy? That's great."
Fury's expression suddenly lit up with evil glee.
Dante squinted. He saw it—the twinkle of pure schadenfreude in Fury's eye.
Fury pressed the comm button.
"Alright. Come up."
One minute later, the door to the Star Team office opened.
Dante turned expectantly.
Hill? Mockingbird? Even Quake would've worked!
But instead, in walked…
A slightly balding man with a warm smile and the aura of a tax accountant.
"Hello, Agent Dante. I'm a Level Seven Agent. Name's Phil Coulson."
"Ah… Hello."
Dante deflated like a tire, slumping onto the couch and leaning weakly against Hela—who was still scrolling through his phone.
Hela didn't mind. She casually put one arm around his waist.
"Hey," Dante muttered, "you're getting really good at this."
"In the Asgardian army, many offered themselves to me," Hela said with a straight face. "Although for some reason, they were always fearless warrior women… who eventually became my personal guard."
Dante rolled his eyes.
Oh, great. She's a lady-magnet too.
But unlike how he treated Fury, Dante knew he should probably show Coulson some basic respect.
So he stood up and extended a hand.
"Pleasure to meet you, Agent Coulson. I heard you used to serve under Fury back in the day. That must've been… rough."
"Director Fury was one of the most exceptional agents in the Bureau," Coulson said with a smile.
"I still am!" Fury cut in, immediately offended.
"The current standout agent would be Dante," Coulson said kindly."
The man's warm, almost dad-like aura somehow made his receding hairline feel distinguished.
Dante was momentarily stunned.
How could a middle-aged man be a little handsome without being greasy at all?
Aura. It's a real thing.
"Alright, enough mutual flattery," Fury snapped.
---
As expected, once Dante was done dunking on Fury, the System couldn't resist joining in.
[Ding: Mission 'The Perfect Frozen Man' has been issued]
[Mission Brief: Dear Star Team Captain, under Director Fury's orders, travel to the polar glaciers and rescue Captain America. Warning: the North Pole has more than just permafrost… strange things are buried in the ice.]
Dante stared blankly at the mission prompt.
He knew it.
There was always a twist.
But what the hell could possibly be hiding in the North Pole?
Cthulhu?
Wouldn't be that weird, actually. Both Marvel and DC have dipped into Lovecraft stuff before.
But if it really was some ancient tentacle god, then the divine Big Sis sitting next to him could probably flick it into another dimension.
So… manageable threat level.
Still, this mission didn't seem like it was gonna bring out too many new characters.
Maybe if he brought Hela along, the plot might… evolve?
While pondering this, Dante boarded the Airbus with Agent Coulson.
Waiting inside were Ada and Harley, freshly returned from combat training.
The second Hela stepped onto the craft?
Both Ada and Harley locked eyes on her.
A demon queen and a chaos clown, both staring daggers.
Every once in a while, they would glance at Dante like they were mentally measuring his coffin size.
Dante sat bolt upright, eyes fixed straight ahead.
He didn't know how dangerous the North Pole would be.
But he did know.
Nothing out there was more dangerous than being trapped in the same metal tube with two jealous women.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 12: Chapter 36-37
Chapter Text
Chapter 36: Team Coulson
The Star Team's Airbus tore through the stratosphere, flying at full throttle toward the icy reaches of the Arctic glaciers.
But Dante's head wasn't on the mission at all.
Because the current situation was way too hostile for him.
Three women. Three separate sofas.
Hela was unbothered, still casually flipping through Dante's phone like she owned it. Thanks to the Airbus's onboard Wi-Fi, she didn't even have to worry about losing signal.
But Ada and Harley? They shared a glance, then simultaneously locked their eyes on Hela.
The vibe was... antagonistic cooperation? That weird paradox where two apex predators pretend to play nice while sharpening knives behind their backs.
At first, Coulson had been coldly enjoying the free drama from the sidelines.
But Loki, sharp as ever, sensed the air thickening with estrogenic murder intent and physically dragged Coulson out of the lounge.
Dante, watching them make their tactical retreat, felt strangely emotional.
Honestly, if the Battle of New York had happened in this universe, there's no way he'd be seeing something this ridiculous: the killer and the victim walking arm-in-arm like brunch buddies.
But he didn't have the mental bandwidth to roast Loki and Coulson internally right now.
Because Harley Quinn had just straddled him on the couch, full face-to-face, full contact, zero warning.
"My Pudding~ I didn't know you were such a heartbreaker," Harley said, her eyes dancing with mischief and menace. "You made me wanna put a bullet in Mister J's head... Shouldn't I return the favor? You seduced me first…"
"Cough, cough—Harley, come on now! What do you mean seduced? That was professional-grade psychological breakdown therapy!"
Dante tried to clarify, but Harley lunged forward and bit down on his neck—hard.
Didn't hurt, thanks to his current enhanced durability. More like a weird ticklish tingle. If anything, it felt... vaguely suggestive?
"Still denying it! You scumbag! You don't say no, you don't commit, you don't take responsibility!"
Dante's protest felt weak even to himself. Because, yeah... in hindsight... he had been kinda Aquaman-ing his way through things lately.
Ada snorted coldly from the other sofa, her femme fatale aura practically turning the cabin's air into smoke.
Dante turned to her instinctively and sighed.
Since they were headed for the North Pole, he had to be fully suited up. Which meant Ada's usual show-stopping cheongsams, leather pants, short skirts, and signature black-and-white stockings were all sadly benched in the wardrobe.
A crime against visual culture, honestly.
But Ada Wong wasn't just anyone.
She could see straight through Dante's thoughts—and this Aquaman-tier rookie wasn't hard to read.
"A few days ago, I bought a pair of patent leather boots," she said casually.
Then she grabbed Harley, pulled her off, and yanked Dante up by the arm.
"If you like them, I can wear them for you when we get back. But for now? Go find Coulson and Loki. Men's tea party."
With that, Ada and Harley tag-teamed Dante out of the lounge.
If Dante really wanted to resist, the two of them couldn't have made him budge an inch.
But—
Why would he?!
Escaping was an absolute godsend.
"Oh, how impressive—you actually made it out alive," Loki deadpanned, smirking at Dante's half-dead expression.
But Dante was long past being phased by that level of snark. He flipped Loki as a greeting and dropped down onto the seat next to Coulson, immediately getting to the real talk.
"Director Fury sending you on this dig mission with me wasn't just a random decision, was it?"
Dante poured out three glasses of the bright green carbonated drink Harley had dubbed "Fel Energy."
Even if he was a mess in other areas, Dante stuck to the "no alcohol during missions" rule like a professional.
"Let me guess—Level Seven Agent, definitely not here to earn brownie points. You're not looking to join Star Team either." Dante clinked glasses with Coulson. "So it must be this: Director Fury wants you to build another special team. Handle the low-priority supernatural cases. Team core's gotta be Captain America, right? Fury's golden boy?"
"Your strategic sense is sharper than his. You're the best candidate for the next Director." Coulson said with a smile.
"Cough, cough, cough—ease up, man! Say stuff like that, and I might actually get shy."
"Fine, no more praise. Straight to the point, then. A few years back, I died. Heart stopped for over a minute. Got saved by the doctors over at the Federal Bureau." Coulson's smile lingered, but his hand subconsciously drifted to his chest.
He didn't say much more.
But Dante could feel it.
That trauma—the moment your heart stops and your soul hovers over the line between life and death—it never really leaves.
"I wasn't originally supposed to do this. But your Star Team? You're all turning into mini-gods. Can't use a cannon to swat a fly forever. So we set up a special emergency team. Low-spec Star Team, basically."
Coulson wasn't holding anything back. Total transparency. The polar opposite of Fury's default paranoid silence.
From him, Dante got the full download:
After Fury handed Coulson the authority to build his own team, he'd already finalized most of it.
Unlike Star Team, which was primarily a combat unit, this Special Emergency Team was full-spectrum—combat, science, tech, infiltration, contingency planning. Everything.
Dante had originally assumed it'd just be the cast of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. again. But Coulson's version?
Was on another level—multiverse-style.
Let's start with the familiar:
Grant Ward. Level Six Agent. Combat stats just shy of Natasha Romanoff. Secretly HYDRA. Infiltrated Coulson's team to uncover how Coulson resurrected from the dead. Reporting to John Garrett, who's already on death's door.
Skye. Provisional Agent. Hacking genius. Can fry hundreds of millions in FBI tech with a laptop that looks like it came out of a pawn shop. Real name: Daisy Johnson. Unawakened Quake.
Of course, Coulson only knew the first half of their bios.
Then you had Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons—the Science Babies. Still intact. Still brilliant.
But then came the kicker.
The one that made Dante's long-dormant egg twitch with anxiety.
Federal Bureau of Investigation, Level Two Agent. Forensics expert.
Barry Allen.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 37: Good Eye
Pfft!
That spit-take nearly made Coulson drop the folder he was handing over.
"Dante, what's wrong? Are you alright?"
"Shouldn't you be asking me if I'm okay?" Loki said flatly, drenched in carbonated soda. After a long, silent pause, he finally forced a smile and waved a hand—magic instantly cleaning him head to toe.
Dante turned his full attention back to the personnel files Coulson had given him.
He needed to double-check that he wasn't hallucinating.
But no—there it was again, crystal clear.
Born in Central City. Father imprisoned for murdering his mother. Grew up trying to prove his father's innocence. Joined Central City Police as a forensic tech. Later discovered and recruited by the FBI.
All signs pointed to the same guy.
Barry Allen.
The Barry Allen. From the CW show. Confirmed.
Except… this version didn't have his powers yet. No lightning bolt, no Speed Force, no scarlet suit. Just a regular 22-year-old crime scene nerd with solid credentials and tragic backstory.
Which only made Dante stare even harder at Coulson.
Was this guy's luck stat maxed out at birth?
And the Federal Bureau of Investigation… Maybe it really was what S.H.I.E.L.D. was always pretending to be in the comics. With all these deep-shelved future supers and villains hiding in plain sight—who knew how many were still tucked away?
Dante flipped to the next file.
The first thing that jumped out was the smug, playboy face of a man who looked like he walked out of a cologne commercial.
Oliver Queen.
Goddamn.
Star City's billionaire heir. Went sailing with his dad and his girlfriend's sister, crashed on a mysterious island called "Purgatory" in the southern seas, trained like hell, survived nonstop trauma and evil schemes, then returned five years later as a hooded vigilante known as Green Arrow.
He'd already joined the Bureau as a Level 4 Agent, under the condition that the Queen Group became an official partner and agents were assigned to protect his mother and sister.
All Dante could say was—
"Holy sh*t."
Barry was one thing. Speed Force hadn't happened yet, so he was still basically a quirky lab guy with great hair.
But Green Arrow? That dude was ready. Already trained, already operating.
And on paper? Green Arrow's physical abilities weren't far off from Batman's. In a lot of ways, he was Batman Lite—but with better aim and worse PR.
Key differences: less billionaire armor, more emotional baggage. Way too many entanglements. But that also made him feel… more human than Batman.
"Where the hell did you find all these legendary pulls? Why have I never heard about them? Is Fury just hoarding superheroes like Pokémon cards?"
"Actually," Coulson said, finally looking a little smug, "they were all part of my original Star Team screening list. But Director Fury rejected them all. Once I got clearance to build my own unit? I picked them back up with a smile."
Dante stared at him.
"Agent Coulson, I'm dead serious—you should be Director. Just your talent for pulling elite cards already makes you better than Fury. I mean, what can his one eye even see?"
"But I was discovered and promoted by Director Fury."
Coulson smiled, shaking his head and changing the subject by gesturing at the next file.
Dante didn't push the point. He opened the final folder.
Wade Wilson?
Wait, isn't that Ryan Reynolds in the photo?
What's next—Doctor Strange?
But no, seriously. Ryan Reynolds aside, this file was wild.
Wade Wilson. Only eighteen years old. Graduated early from the old FBI Academy with top marks. Before dropping out of Midtown High, he'd been besties with Peter Parker.
When the Academy was infiltrated by HYDRA, Wade went deep undercover, took out multiple HYDRA leaders, and personally returned with a truckload of intel.
As a result? He got a direct promotion to Level 4. Codename: Deadpool.
He didn't have his signature healing factor yet, but all his other combat skills were sharper and more refined than comic/movie Deadpool. And his brain?
Yup. Completely unhinged.
Certified chaos gremlin.
According to the file, he never took any of the FBI's internal assessments seriously. Deliberately flunked the written stuff. Otherwise, someone like Grant Ward wouldn't even be close to his level—let alone ranked above him, behind only Black Widow.
Oh, and one last detail: Wade volunteered to join Coulson's team.
After closing the file on Wade "Deadpool" Wilson, Dante finally had a full picture of what Coulson had built.
Grant Ward.
"Green Arrow" Oliver Queen.
"Deadpool" Wade Wilson.
And soon—Steve Rogers, the OG super soldier, frozen in a block of patriotic ice.
That squad was stacked. Not Avengers-tier, maybe, but damn close. Unless they were fighting Thor or Hela directly, they could definitely handle Loki with some smart gear and decent coordination.
But with that roster…
Grant Ward—aka that undercover HYDRA snake—what was he still doing on this team?
Even if he wasn't going to blow anything up yet, he was still a ticking time bomb.
"Are these all the members?" Dante asked, setting the files down.
"That's right. Once Captain Steve Rogers is defrosted and operational, my team's complete."
"Need some advice?"
"Always."
"You've got too many volatile types. You need someone with authority and experience to anchor them," Dante said, pointing at the files for Skye, Oliver, and Wade. "You're good, but you're too soft-spoken. Not exactly a fearsome legend."
He paused.
"Oh, right—I saw in one of the older files that there's a senior Agent in Internal Affairs. Retired from field duty."
"You mean…"
"Yup. Melinda May. AKA 'The Cavalry.'"
Dante recommended the final piece of the puzzle.
"I saw in the logs that she used to be your partner. With that connection, you can definitely convince her to un-retire."
The real reason? Besides the fact that Coulson's team really needed a stabilizing force…
Dante also needed someone to fill Grant Ward's vacancy.
That's right—he was already planning to arrange a "graceful exit" for Ward after this mission.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 13: Chapter 38-40
Chapter Text
Chapter 38: Arriving at the North Pole
After getting a detailed rundown of why the Coulson Team was even a thing and who was on it, Dante was starting to feel like maybe—just maybe—he had a little too much freedom.
Was this that legendary top-performer treatment?
The kind where you take a dump on your boss's head and he still claps like you just landed a triple-double?
Dante wasn't sure if Fury felt that way, but he did know one thing…
After all that chaos, the noisy lounge finally went quiet.
Could Hela have straight-up wrecked Ada and Harley?
Harley might be unpredictable, but Ada—Ada was the Agent when it came to reading people. No way she lacked that much awareness, right?
So, Dante crept up to the lounge door and peeked through the crack.
What he saw was Hela putting down his phone, arms wrapped around the two "older sisters" flanking her—slightly shorter than her, but still intimidating.
Ada and Harley's earlier hostility toward Hela? Completely gone.
From their eyes, Dante could read only one sentence:
"Death Goddess is awesome."
Seriously?
Dante figured it was time for him to step in and break this up. All this hugging and cuddling…
He was so freaking jealous.
Jealousy really does something to your cellular structure.
Cough, cough, cough! "Ada, re-confirm the landing site and perimeter situation. Harley… what the hell are you doing with that hand?! What kind of normal person just rests their hand on someone's chest?!"
"I saw that Hela-sis had a stain on her chest, so I was helping her rub it clean," Harley replied shamelessly, her tone unnervingly reminiscent of Dante's own teenage years.
Then she and Ada squeezed past him…
And that psychotic girl even pinched his butt on the way out—blatantly taking advantage of him!
"Hey! Don't you know I sell skills, not sex!? That's an upcharge!"
"My Pudding, you've been acting super innocent lately. Can't you learn a thing or two from Hela? At worst, I'll let you pinch me back after the mission."
Harley shot Dante a teasing look, then giggled and walked off.
"Like I'd believe that!" Dante grumbled, then shot a resentful glance at Hela. "This is your fault. How'd you get them on your side?"
"Women just love me."
Hela said it like she was reciting a fact about gravity—no brag, no emotion. Just cold, unshakable truth.
Which somehow made it even more devastating.
---
The Airbus carrying the Star Team finally landed at the target site after a long flight.
And that's when Dante realized—this wasn't some frozen wasteland.
A whole scientific expedition unit was already stationed there, camped up and unloading the heavy-duty gear needed for excavation.
With great power comes great responsibility, but it doesn't mean you're supposed to do everything.
Like right now—digging out a frozen artifact. Sure, he could just Green Lantern-punch a hole through the ice, but letting the professionals handle it wasn't wrong either.
Of course, if Thanos or General Zod showed up mid-dig, Dante—as one of the FBI's top field agents—would absolutely be the first one diving in to throw hands.
Everyone had their job.
Still…
Dante wasn't exactly worried the digging would take too long. What did bug him was the idea that, after all this slow-cooking, something from the mission's fine print might crawl out and put on a whole off-Broadway performance.
"Fair enough," Dante admitted. "But since we're already here, and there's a faster way to dig him out, standing around watching them set up just feels like a waste of time."
"You've got a point. If it saves resources and time, why not?"
Naturally, Coulson was thrilled with Dante's approach.
After all, who did the digging didn't matter—his job was just coordination, not leadership.
Plus, he was dying to meet his childhood idol in person.
Coulson joining the FBI was partially thanks to Captain America's wartime legend. The man still kept a Captain America trading card in the pocket of his inner suit jacket.
"Alright then. Ada, Harley—tell the scientific team to halt setting up the heavy equipment. Have them focus on perimeter security instead."
After giving the order, Dante turned to Coulson. "Let's go. I'm guessing you want to be there when the most iconic Superhero in the Bureau's history sees daylight again."
"Wait, I can go down with you?"
Coulson had assumed Dante would be using his powers solo, and he'd just wait up here for the big reveal.
He didn't think Dante's power included carpooling.
"What are you talking about? Of course I can bring someone. If I couldn't carry you, how would I bring that frozen popsicle back up?"
With that, Dante led Coulson off the Airbus, with Hela and Loki following behind.
And as soon as they got off—
Every head turned.
Not because of their high stats or intense aura—but because…
They were way underdressed.
Loki, at least, was in a dark green suit.
Hela? Hela had bare shoulders.
Good thing they were the Goddess of Death and the God of Mischief. Normal people would've frozen solid five minutes ago.
Cough cough cough, Dante cleared his throat. "You two don't think those outfits are a bit too flashy for this location?"
Sure, the FBI had more superpowered personnel than ever now, but this excavation squad had folks on loan from other departments too.
Let's not make this too extra.
Loki—Earth's most environment-adapted Asgardian—reacted immediately. Emerald magic surged from him in a soft wave that rippled through the outer circle of spectators.
When it faded, both he and Hela were dressed in fur-lined cloaks straight out of a fantasy novel.
"They'll forget we ever got off the plane like this—in ten seconds."
"Look at that," Dante muttered. "The mage finally remembered he can use magic to solve problems."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 39: True Fan Meeting
Loki rolled his eyes at Dante with the usual arrogant flair.
He got the point, sure... but still—
Magic was work. Close combat with his beloved little dagger? That was life.
Dante couldn't hear Loki's internal grumbling, and even if he could, he wouldn't care.
Let the guy eat a few more losses and he'd eventually realize how dumb it was for a mage to run around like a rogue with twin daggers.
He led the group to the area already marked off by the scientific expedition task force.
The original photo of Captain America had been taken when one of the researchers accidentally fell into a crevice in the ice. The poor guy thought he was going to die buried and forgotten, only to discover the winding ice crack led straight to the place where Captain America had been frozen.
After they pulled him out, the research team contacted the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and that's how America got the memo.
Dante's job now? Dig straight down along the same path.
"By the way, Coulson, you haven't seen my powers in action yet, have you?"
"That's right. Everything about you in the Bureau's files is locked behind Level 10 clearance. All I know is what Director Fury mentioned—something about green light?"
"Level 10 clearance?" Dante smirked. "Man, Fury really went full paranoia mode. What's he afraid of, someone coming after me with a hit squad?"
"Well, the FBI is still just the FBI. It doesn't control how the government thinks. The American government and the Bureau have always been at odds. They cut our budget every year. Politicians... their minds aren't wired like normal people," Coulson said with a helpless look."
"Ah... politicians. Got it. Tsk tsk tsk."
Dante chuckled, acting like he didn't care.
Still, after hearing Coulson's comments, Dante revised his plan for Grant Ward.
He'd originally planned to drive him off or take him out.
But now… he thought of a better way to deal with two pieces of trash at once.
---
When they reached the crevice, Dante had to admit—he'd underestimated the scale of Mother Nature.
This wasn't a crevice.
This was practically a canyon!
"Coulson, be honest. How blind do you have to be to fall into a 'crevice' this massive? Were they using their eyes to breathe instead of see?"
"You're really misunderstanding them," Coulson replied with his usual polite smile.
But the way he kept fidgeting made it clear—he was getting pretty excited.
"Originally, it was just a narrow ice crack. Just enough for a person to fall through and vanish into the Arctic icefield."
"But that slip happened a week ago. Then two days ago—before the expedition team even arrived—there were two minor earthquakes in the North Pole. Not big ones, but they shifted the ice layers and cracked the shell wide open."
Dante's eyes narrowed.
No earthquakes before, none after. But right in those two days?
Still, he didn't overthink it and immediately began to transform.
He made the oath, and the Green Lantern ring lit up.
Then, using the imagination granted to all Transmigrators by divine plot armor, Dante materialized an ice shuttle designed for gliding cleanly through glacier layers—thanks to the Will Green Light.
By the time Ada and Harley showed up—orders relayed, mission ready—Dante had already enveloped the group in the green glow and even conjured up custom seats and seatbelts for everyone.
Those who had already seen Green Lantern powers weren't surprised.
But Coulson and Hela?
Totally blown away.
Coulson was just plain amazed. His reaction was the wholesome, wide-eyed "magic is real" kind.
Hela, though… she saw deeper.
The shaping and stabilization of energy like this? It was unheard of in Asgardian power systems.
And this energy was ridiculously stable. Zero leakage, no volatility. It was pure order.
It might not be at Heavenly Father tier yet... but it was clearly heading there.
"What exactly is this power?"
"You mean this?" Dante wiggled the hand with the glowing ring. "This baby's called a Green Lantern Ring. It comes from the Will Green Light, part of the Emotional Spectrum. Runs on pure willpower. The stronger the will, the stronger the ring."
"Green Lantern Ring? Emotional Spectrum? Willpower?" Hela nodded slowly. "I've never encountered this type of power before. But I can sense its stability and potential. Of all the emotional forces, this one must be the most… orderly."
Dante gave her a longer look.
"Yeah. The Will Green Light sits dead center on the Emotional Spectrum. It's also called the Light of Order."
Truly worthy of being a peak Heavenly Father-tier being—even with her current power sealed down to a fifth, her perception was on another level.
But something about it bugged him.
Over the past few days, Hela had touched the ring several times.
When Doctor Doom touched it, the Green Lantern Ring had chosen him instantly.
And Hela? She's not just some big-name goddess sealed for a few thousand years—she'd been joking, sparring, and lowkey flirting with him since day one.
How could she not have willpower strong enough to sync with the ring?
Unless…
She was attuned to another color on the Emotional Spectrum, and the ring rejected her based on that.
Thinking about her life, the Red Lantern's rage or the Yellow Lantern's fear seemed way more aligned.
Dante stopped thinking about it.
Too many Green Lanterns weren't always a good thing anyway—what if it triggered some kind of team-wide DEBUFF?
"Alright folks, buckle up! Old Dante's taking us for a ride!"
With a holler, Dante activated the glacial shuttle and dove straight into the ice layer.
Sure, the crevice had widened a lot, but the basic structure hadn't changed. Dante ran the route through his head—winding, twisty, time-wasting—and decided:
Nah.
He charged straight through.
Come on, he was already using Green Lantern powers. Why play nice with the terrain?
That would be way too normal.
The ancient permafrost, locked tight for who knows how long, shattered like candy glass under the Will Green Light.
In just over a minute, Dante broke through into a massive natural ice cave and landed gently.
The moment they touched down, the glacial shuttle dematerialized and turned into several glowing green lanterns that hovered in place, lighting up the whole cavern.
And there—right there in the distance—encased in a layer of ice:
A man in a blue and white striped uniform, holding a five-point star shield.
The temperature here was even colder than outside. Ada, Harley, and Coulson all instinctively shivered, even under thick Arctic gear.
But none of that could chill Coulson's excitement.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 40: Deeper Sea Star
Coulson's face immediately flushed, despite the fact that the temperature in this ice cave was somehow even colder than before.
Dante glanced at him out of reflex. This guy was running on pure fanboy adrenaline.
"Coulson, calm down. Your idol's still an ice pop! Even if you're Captain America's dream guy, you've gotta wait until we get back to HQ!"
"Cough, cough, cough!" Coulson coughed a few times, then shot back, "It's just hard to believe the most iconic hero in American history was frozen up here for nearly a century."
"The real shocker shouldn't be that he survived being frozen for that long! I mean, I'm not knocking your scientists, but we're talking tech from over a hundred years ago…"
If this were a pure Marvel Universe, Dante wouldn't question anything.
But in a mixed universe? Weird is normal.
"No need to worry about that," Coulson replied, like he was about to give a full science lecture. "Back when the Super Soldier Serum was developed, survival in extreme environments was factored in. It gives the subject high resistance to both heat and cold…"
Then he immediately betrayed himself.
"…And most importantly, the research guy who fell down there had scanning equipment. It picked up vital signs from Captain America."
Dante rolled his eyes.
You could've led with the part where you already confirmed he was alive!
Still, he wasn't gonna blame Coulson. The man was clearly overwhelmed. Honestly, it was impressive he remembered this much while riding a full-on emotional rollercoaster.
Whatever. First things first—dig him out.
Dante summoned more Will Green Light, materializing a whole rig of floating, glowing-green ice-breaking tools in midair. Under his control, they began chipping away at the permafrost surrounding Captain America.
After a series of clang clang clang, Cap—ice layer and all—was neatly carved out.
"Huh? That's it?" Harley looked visibly let down. "I was expecting the old ice pop to unfreeze and wake up like BAM, surprise revival."
"Revive your head," Dante muttered, wiping away imaginary sweat. "Yeah, he's alive, but his body's been hibernating for decades. He needs time to boot back up."
The tools made from Will Green Light were absurdly sharp. He'd intentionally left the ice around Cap thick, not just for medical reasons—but because he was afraid of accidentally nicking the guy.
They were going to be coworkers, after all. Would've looked bad.
Although, given Cap's legendary moral compass, even if Dante had accidentally dinged him during excavation, the guy probably would've thanked him anyway.
"Ada, notify the scientific expedition task force that we're done here. They can pack up and head out."
"You're too late," Ada replied smoothly. "Before we came down, I already ordered the expedition team to pull out via the Bureau's command channel. They're probably halfway through loading their gear by now."
Ada Wong, ladies and gentlemen. Queen of Predictive Logistics.
The moment Dante said he'd handle the digging, Ada had made the executive decision to get the regular staff out of here. No way they were sticking around to witness what was coming next.
This is why she was his adjutant. Not the strongest on the squad—but easily the best external brain in his entire orbit.
Dante had imagination and reckless impulse. Ada handled the clean-up and the details.
Seeing that everything was already taken care of, Dante nodded, opened a portal back to the Airbus, and said:
"Time to go."
"W-what kind of power is that!?" Coulson's jaw dropped. This one hadn't been in the dossier.
"Oh, this?" Dante waved casually. "Just a little teleportation magic. First time I'm using it in front of you. Newly acquired."
He tossed Cap's irregularly-shaped ice coffin, into the portal like a chunk of luggage and gestured for everyone else to go in.
Coulson, Ada, and Harley stepped through first.
Coulson and Ada immediately headed to the equipment bay to see if there was anything they could use to start the thawing process. The ice block was too bulky to move as-is.
Harley, maybe because the arctic chill had temporarily frozen her brain cells, actually didn't start bouncing off the walls. Instead, she wandered off to the medical area to grab some vital-sign scanning gear to double-check Cap's status.
Watching her go, Dante felt a little emotional.
Harley was doing something serious. It almost made him feel like all the neck bites and lipstick marks were worth it. Almost.
The price of being her emotional support chew toy. He couldn't remember the last time he left a room without looking like he'd walked through a kiss-themed warzone.
Once the three Agents—none of whom had surpassed human physical limits yet—were safely back aboard the Airbus, Dante turned to call his beloved Goddess of Death and her chaotic younger brother, the God of Mischief.
But the siblings were still standing at the edge of the pit where Cap had been.
Now, all that remained was a large hole.
And both of them were staring into it.
"Hela, Loki, let's roll."
"No. Come here," Hela said without looking up.
"Something's… wrong here."
"What's the issue?"
Dante shut the portal and made his way over.
If Hela—an actual Heavenly Father-tier deity—was bothered by something, it wasn't something to ignore.
She didn't answer right away.
Instead, she summoned a Nightsword from the void with a flick of her hand.
It was a move eerily similar to his own Will Green Light materialization. Dante used imagination. Hela used her divine power as a mold, compressed elemental forces around her, and solidified them into a weapon.
Sounded complicated, but it all happened in a blink.
"What did you find? Why'd you bust out your sword?"
Dante's expression grew more serious.
He hadn't forgotten the "other things" mentioned in the system mission brief.
Could it be… Hela's perception had picked up one of them?
She didn't answer his question.
Instead, she controlled the Nightsword to stab straight down into the pit's center—driving it deeper and deeper.
Then she finally spoke.
"Extend your light along the sword's path. Increase the brightness. Illuminate everything below."
Dante didn't hesitate.
He pushed the Will Green Light to max output and funneled it downward along the sword's path.
After around ten meters, the energy reached something beneath the ice.
Water.
Seawater, to be exact.
The light spread into the frozen depths, illuminating the glacier and the dark ocean below.
And then—
Right in the middle of the glowing green abyss…
An eye opened.
Massive.
Wide.
Staring.
An eye almost as big as the entire ice cavern.
Dante froze for half a second.
Then instantly snapped open his communicator and roared:
"TAKE OFF IMMEDIATELY! NOW!"
"Motherf**ker, there's a giant STARFISH down here!"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 14: Chapter 41-42
Chapter Text
Chapter 41: That’s It?
As soon as Dante issued the warning, he opened a portal, booted Loki through it with zero ceremony, and—while Hela wasn't looking—grabbed her hand and bolted in after him.
The other side of the portal opened on the open ground near the Airbus. Dante emerged, scanning the surroundings immediately.
"Dante! Did I even get a chance to refuse the portal? Was kicking me in the ass really necessary?!"
"Shut it, you tsundere. Keep talking and I'll get your sister to slap you again."
Loki clamped his mouth shut, still fuming.
Not that he had a choice.
His lovely big sister had about as much familial affection for him as a tax audit.
Translation: she was kind of treating him like family now.
And more importantly, Loki couldn't beat either of them. One more snarky remark and he might end up the sad victim of a co-op sibling smackdown.
With Loki finally quiet, Dante exhaled.
Thankfully, Ada had ordered the entire scientific task force to retreat before they even entered the ice cave. Judging by the tracks in the snow, their vehicles were already long gone.
At least there wouldn't be any innocent bystanders to rescue.
"It really was a giant lifeform," Hela said calmly, with zero concern—only satisfaction. "I felt a faint pulse the moment I entered the cave. At first, I thought something was off with the frozen human, but it was coming from below him."
No fear. Just full-on, goddess-level vindication.
She turned to Dante, eyes glittering. "This planet's North Pole actually harbors such a massive creature? Just how many surprises is Midgard hiding from me?"
"My dear Hela, that thing is definitely not from Earth."
Dante shrugged and started giving her the briefest crash course possible.
"That's called Starro. It's an intelligent space monster. Wanders the stars, always looking for a prime parasitic environment."
"Parasitic?"
"Yup. When it finds a good spot, it asexually reproduces thousands of spores that latch onto the locals and mind-control the hell outta them. Doesn't matter which planet—it always ends in disaster."
The difference between Starro and your average space kaiju? Most just smash stuff for fun.
Starro? Starro doesn't smash. Starro settles in, brainwashes the ruling species, hijacks the planet's ecosystem, then strip-mines it like a corporate vampire.
The others leave a mess and go home. Starro moves in, lives rent-free, and takes your entire monthly salary.
That's what you call sustainable overexploitation.
And if a host doesn't get treatment quickly after infection? Game over.
Just as Dante finished explaining, Ada's voice crackled in through the comms.
"I've lifted the Airbus into hover mode. What happened down there? What giant starfish? Are you serious right now?"
Ada might mess around on the regular, but when it came to missions, she was a total pro.
The fact that she followed Dante's one-line freakout and immediately got the aircraft airborne? Perfect response.
Before Dante could reply—
RUMBLE RUMBLE.
The ground shook beneath their feet.
Then, with a blast of force, a massive purple-and-blue starfish erupted from the ice!
Dante instantly cloaked himself in Will Green Light for defense, stepping lightly off the flying ice chunks and putting some distance between himself and the monster.
Loki—while considered "weak" compared to Dante and his charming sister—was still a god. Dodging the clumsy attacks of a sluggish kaiju? Easy work.
Hela didn't even dodge. She just floated there in midair.
And then?
A hundred pitch-black Nightsword manifested around her in an instant.
They spun like deadly petals in orbit.
The second they made contact with the shattered glacier, the entire sky turned into a fine mist of ice powder.
Dante caught the wild gleam in Hela's eyes.
Oh yeah. She was thrilled.
This was Hela, Goddess of Death—conqueror of realms, destroyer of armies, literal war goddess. Calling her a warmonger was practically a compliment.
After being sealed away for over a thousand years, her combat instincts must've been clawing at her ribcage for release.
And now? Giant space starfish? Perfect warm-up target.
That's why Dante wasn't worried about Starro being the real danger.
The actual threat was if that thing got loose and started latching onto civilians. Its spores could wreck towns.
But as a monster?
Please.
Against a Heavenly Father-tier goddess? It was just XP.
Hell, even Loki—if he gave up the rogue cosplay and actually used his ridiculous multiverse-level spellbook—could probably solo Starro.
Suicide Squad killed it in the movie. Sure, that version was weaker, but so was the Squad.
A kaiju getting killed by rats with attitude says more about the monster than the rats.
"You… are all… SLAVES."
A sharp voice echoed directly into their heads.
Dante and Loki exchanged a look.
Well, it was definitely stronger than the movie version. This one had legit psychic projection.
Not much, though. Judging by how long it took to speak those words, the thing probably couldn't maintain a full telepathic conversation.
Maybe a thousand years ago, Starro could've been mistaken for a god by early humans. Might've even ended up as Lovecraft's muse.
But today?
It was just future sashimi for an actual goddess.
Dante didn't even bother attacking.
He and Loki just watched as Hela went full-on blender mode.
The Nightsword danced in formation, each one enhanced with her divine power. Their sharpness wasn't just supernatural—it was Asgardian divine-tier.
Starro never stood a chance.
And just like that—
The starfish was dead.
Aside from its big dramatic entrance, it hadn't offered any of the pressure or weight you'd expect from a true kaiju-class monster.
Because this wasn't beast vs. beast.
It was beast vs. God.
Even so, Dante couldn't help but marvel.
This was Hela at her lowest point—sealed away for a thousand years, drained of most of her power—and she still crushed a universe-level threat like it was a Tuesday workout.
Honestly, if he had to go all out right now? He still wasn't sure he could beat her.
His best assets were:
Green Lantern Ring
Diamond Form
Loki's physical toolkit
That was plenty for smashing Thor, Loki, Tony Stark—heck, even Vision if necessary.
But someone like Hela?
Different league entirely.
Before long, the shredded remains of Starro were scattered across a hundred-meter radius of snow and ice.
And Hela?
Still hovering in the air, radiating joy and goddess energy, laughing like she'd just cured her centuries-long itch.
"HAHAHAHAHA! Universe monster? That's it?"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 42: The Big Guy from Kansas Finally Shows Up!
"Is it completely dead?"
Dante stared at the mangled remains of Starro—now still and not even twitching—then turned to Hela.
"He's absolutely dead. As the Goddess of Death, I can guarantee I even sliced his twisted soul into pieces."
Hela dropped from the sky, casually running both hands through her hair. The ice dust clinging to her from the battle evaporated instantly.
The fight hadn't been particularly intense for her, but she still looked pleased.
This so-called Starro had given her a long-lost sense of exhilaration.
After a thousand years, she finally felt that rush of battle again.
"Completely dead?"
Dante scratched his head, frowning.
That… shouldn't be it, right?
If Starro was really dead, the mission should've triggered as completed.
And he'd already dug up Captain America.
This "other thing" was now space sushi courtesy of Hela.
So why hadn't the system responded?
Wait—could it be he still needed to melt Captain America ?
Dante frowned deeper and tapped his communicator again.
"Dante! You alive?! What the hell was that giant starfish?! Can we eat it?!"
Harley Quinn's excited voice blasted through the comm.
Dante's eye twitched. Harley could be reliable… for maybe two minutes.
"Harley, calm down. It was just a Universe-class beast."
"Huh? Universe beast? I thought it was some weird hentai monster! Boring. Anyway, didn't you have something to tell me?"
"…What even goes on in your brain—never mind. Did you run the vitals check on Captain America?"
No point trying to follow Harley's ping-pong logic, so Dante got to the point.
"We already did that when you told us to roll out. His metabolism is barely running, but he's definitely alive."
"Then start thawing him out."
"Eh? Ada and Cole already cleared all the ice off the old popsicle."
Harley's answer made Dante freeze.
Captain America—rescued.
Starro—dead beyond all levels of dead.
Yet the mission still hadn't triggered as complete.
Which meant only one thing...
Starro wasn't the "other thing."
Now what?
Where the hell was he supposed to find this so-called "other thing"?
Standing around wasn't helping, so Dante opened a portal and returned to the Airbus with the Asgardian siblings—Hela and Loki—in tow.
And the moment he stepped into the Airbus.
He was greeted by one of the dumbest scenes he'd seen this week.
Coulson, the middle-aged S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, was taking selfies with the half-thawed Captain America lying in the medical bay.
He'd even pulled out his precious, laminated Captain America trading card to get a matching photo.
Dante turned to Harley, who was calmly making coffee in the lab, and asked with a helpless smile:
"How long has he been like this?"
"Huh? Lemme think… Since that big starfish showed up. He was so hyped, he didn't even notice it."
Goddamn.
Turns out, idol worship is a universal disease—age and gender irrelevant.
Even someone as serious as Coulson couldn't resist.
"Coulson! Stop being insane!"
Dante couldn't take it anymore. He stormed over and gave Coulson a gentle but direct slap of reality to the face.
"Dante? Did you just slap me?"
"No one slapped you. Are you so starstruck you're hallucinating now? This is not how a professional agent behaves!"
"I—I'm sorry… I just got too excited."
Coulson looked embarrassed, rubbing his cheek while muttering, "Since we've rescued Captain America, let's head back now."
Head back?
Head back my ass!
Yeah, you got to meet your childhood hero, but my mission is still active!
Dante was just scrambling to come up with an excuse to stay longer in the North Pole when Ada Wong's voice suddenly echoed through the internal comm system.
"Everyone, report to the operations room," she said. Her voice carried a strange note of disbelief.
Everyone immediately made their way to the ops room.
Ada skipped the small talk and opened the electronic projection.
"This popped up when the Airbus reached this altitude."
On the screen, a pyramid-shaped structure made entirely of what looked like crystalline ice shimmered into view.
Dante frowned. Something about that structure felt... familiar.
"We didn't spot this thing when we arrived. It only becomes visible from this specific altitude. From any other height, it's just endless snow and ice."
"And radar from any major country never picked up this structure."
"My guess—it's some kind of alien ruin. Probably shielded by high-level tech. Maybe this angle is the only blind spot."
As Ada analyzed, the moment she said "alien ruin," Dante visibly jolted.
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
North Pole.
Crystal pyramid.
That was the Fortress of Solitude, wasn't it!?
The Kansas Big Guy's personal mancave!
Dante resisted the urge to slap himself in the face—twice.
Of all the things to forget…
He forgot the North Pole was basically Superman's backyard.
Wait.
Didn't the Fortress have an auto-defense system?
If someone so much as sneezed near the thing, it would ping him.
Even if Hela's Starro beatdown didn't look like much, that starfish's awakening had shaken the ice shelf like an earthquake.
That alone might've triggered the Fortress's sensors.
Which meant…
No surprise…
The Big Guy probably already got the alert.
Two unknown entities with extreme power levels had just thrown down on his front porch.
And even worse.
Today was a holiday.
He was probably home.
He could arrive any second now.
And his top speed? Faster-than-light.
Sure, he wouldn't break the speed limit inside the atmosphere, but he'd still get here faster than a Mach 10 jet.
Luckily, no real damage had been done to the Fortress, or Dante might be prepping a eulogy for himself right now.
"I'm still a kid," Dante muttered to himself.
I can't deal with him right now!
"Oh, and I already sent three drones to photograph and scan that structure," Ada added.
"…WHAT?! THREE DRONES?!"
Dante's voice shot up to a pitch that startled Ada into blinking.
"Uh… are three not enough?" she asked, confused.
Dante gave a tight, bitter smile and didn't answer.
"…Actually, three is too few," he muttered.
He pulled up the live feed from the drones—just in time to watch them nearing the Fortress of Solitude.
Suddenly, a blur passed over all three screens at the exact same moment—and then the signal cut.
Dante slapped his forehead.
It's over.
The others were still puzzling over the signal loss when Hela suddenly looked toward the hatch.
WHAM—HISSS—
The airlock opened—not by system override, but by pure physical force.
And in walked the Kansas Big Guy himself.
Blue suit. Red cape. Jawline that could cut steel.
In one hand: the three downed drones.
He politely shut the hatch behind him.
It was the perfect combination of overwhelming force and Midwestern manners.
"Hi, folks. These little toys buzzing around my house—belong to you?"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 15: Chapter 43-44
Chapter Text
Chapter 43: Love Consultation in the North Pole
"Is the North Pole your property?"
"Uh, no, but—"
"No? Then what's the problem with us launching drones in unclaimed territory for reconnaissance?"
"...Guess there isn't one."
"Then shouldn't you apologize? And pay for the drones?"
"Do I look like an idiot?"
"You look like Clark Kent, hometown Kansas."
Dante wasn't actually intimidated when he finally showed up.
His Federal Bureau of Investigation Star Team operated by the book, so it wasn't like the guy could just rough them up.
At most, there was a minor quake near his house, followed by a few drones buzzing around. Clark was just here to ask some questions.
After Dante dropped his real name, he only blinked—no dramatic reaction, nothing over-the-top.
Honestly, it looked like he'd expected it.
"You're not surprised?"
"Bruce Wayne talks about you often, Agent Dante."
Clark set the crumpled drone pieces aside and casually sat down on the couch like he lived there.
Everyone except Dante and Harley looked like they were bracing for impact.
Dante glanced at Harley in mild disbelief.
He was chill because he'd already connected the dots on Clark, but… when did Harley get this level of chill?
Then Harley moved.
She walked straight up to Clark—
And tugged on the little curl of hair falling over his forehead.
"Clark? Clark Kent? Since when do you go around wearing spandex?"
"Harleen Quinzel. Long time no see."
"Long time your ass. When I was locked up in Arkham Asylum, didn't you and Bruce Wayne come visit me? Tsk tsk tsk—seriously thought I wouldn't recognize you just 'cause of some glasses?"
"Ahem—well, maintaining a secret identity is necessary for us."
Dante watched Harley banter with Clark and suddenly got a headache.
Jesus. Harley Quinn's contacts in this world were terrifying.
The DC Universe's golden boy and its grumpy sugar daddy were both her old pals?
Where's the justice in that?
"Agent Dante, I'm guessing you're not fully up to speed on our connection." Clark nodded at Dante, totally ignoring Harley now rummaging around for scissors. "Louise, Harleen, and I went to the same university. I was a freshman; Louise and Harleen were already juniors when I got there."
So Harley met Superman and his future wife in college. Graduated and linked up with Batman. And now she's here, draining me dry.
Wait—is she the main character!?
Also... if Louise Lane is 31, and Clark's two years younger, that puts him at around 28 or 29.
A Superman under 30 already nearing peak power?
Feels like someone's running cheat codes.
"So... you and Louise Lane are still in an older woman–younger man relationship?"
"Uh, how should I put it… I don't like reducing our connection to something about age. That just feels reductive—"
"Don't listen to his crap." Harley, still scissor-less, flopped back down next to Dante with a huff. When she heard Clark's vague rambling, she rolled her eyes. "Clark Kent turns into a babbling idiot the second you mention Louise Lane. Anyone who doesn't know better would think they've been married for years. But reality check: he's never even confessed. Not once. Since college."
Clark Kent, under 30, savior of humanity, literally blushed like a kid caught lying to his mom.
Dante, on the other hand, was no longer calm.
"WHAT?! You're not even together yet!?"
"Are you close with Louise Lane, Agent Dante? Why do you ask?"
"Ahem, I mean—of course I've heard of the world-famous reporter Louise Lane. But I bring it up because I think you two are perfect together." Dante leaned in closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing state secrets. "If you're crushing on Louise, then you must know Tony Stark, right?"
Clark was stunned. He hadn't expected an FBI agent to suddenly turn into a dating consultant.
As a reporter at The Daily Planet, he'd interacted with public agencies a lot. Most of them held reporters at arm's length—if not outright hostility.
But the FBI guys he'd met had all been friendly and chill.
Was the entire FBI like this?
Then Dante said Tony Stark, and Clark's entire vibe shifted.
No killing intent, but the guy was definitely not happy.
"Yeah. I know him. Louise and I did an exclusive interview with him once. After that, Tony Stark started showing up constantly. Even invested in The Daily Planet just to get closer to her."
"See? If you don't man up and confess, you're just gonna get more guys sniffing around. Louise is a catch. Tony Stark's not the first—and definitely not the last."
"Then… what do I do?"
"See Harley? See that Asian big sister next to her? See the one glaring at you like she's ready to dismember someone? I'm sitting here completely at ease with them. So trust me—I'll coach you through this. Just chill."
Loki watched Dante confidently pat Clark's shoulder and sighed.
These two were the definition of "one dares to teach, one dares to learn."
...
While Dante was whispering strategic romance advice to Superman, the Asgardians and Agents finally relaxed a little.
This man named Clark Kent really didn't seem hostile at all.
"Big Sister, is this man… Clark Kent… really that strong?"
Loki leaned in and asked Hela in a quiet voice.
He'd already been punched halfway across the sky by the guy with the "S" on his chest, but curiosity was a persistent thing.
"Very strong."
Hela frowned, keeping her answer short.
But after a beat, she added:
"If he goes all out… right now, I wouldn't stand a chance."
Loki's breath hitched.
No chance?
Even if Father came to Midgard, Big Sister probably wouldn't say she had no chance, right?
"What about on Asgardian soil?"
"If I stood on Asgard, awakened the army of the dead with the Eternal Flame, and wielded both Mjolnir and Gungnir… I might be able to hold him off for a while. But the ending's already written."
Asgardians have one thing going for them.
They might be stubborn—
But they never bluff.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 44: Mission Ended with Deception
Inside the Airbus, still hovering above the North Pole.
The lounge was pure chaos.
Everyone was red-faced and mid-scream in what had devolved into a full-blown shouting match…
Everyone except Hela and Clark.
Hela had long since gone from being impressed by Clark to being flat-out bored. She'd swiped Dante's phone and was now scrolling through IG reels with an expression of practiced indifference.
Clark wasn't angry, but he definitely looked flustered. He glanced at Hela like he was silently begging her for help.
"Oh, young God of Humanity, you must grow accustomed to these absurd quarrels," she said flatly.
"This... I really don't think I can."
Clark gave a helpless smile.
In front of him, Coulson had taken off his gentlemanly mask. His suit jacket was off, his tie was loose, shirt sleeves rolled, and watch stowed.
He slammed the table like he was about to throw hands with Dante.
"...If Clark Kent has feelings for Lois Lane, why can't he just confess?! What's he waiting for—another fake death and years of separation?! You want to live in regret forever?!"
Coulson's eyes were red as he shouted.
He couldn't help but think of Audrey—the cellist he'd loved before his "death." She had been his calm, intellectual White Moonlight throughout his entire agent career.
But after everything that happened… after dying… he could never show up in front of her again.
Most of the time, he could suppress that pain.
But today? Too many emotional spikes. Then Dante randomly started dissecting Clark's relationship drama and even turned to Coulson—him—for thoughts?
What did he think?
Coulson said he saw it with his own two eyes!
So yeah, Clark's emotional issues had somehow sparked a full-blown debate between Coulson and Dante.
Then Ada Wong got dragged in.
Then Loki.
Harley Quinn? No help at all—she was just there to stir the pot.
"Yeah Coulson's right!"
"Me too!"
"I, Harley Quinn, hereby officially support this ship!"
She threw in whatever sounded most chaotic.
"Sure, Lois Lane has plenty of admirers," Dante argued with a smirk. "But Clark is the most special one. Plus, she's a career-driven power woman. Let him take his time. Wait it out. And when it matters, just show up as Superman and drive the competition off!"
He grinned. "As the old saying goes—'All's fair in love and war.'"
"You're a damn emotional scammer! Liar! Feelings fraudster!"
Ada's eyes flashed. The elegant femme fatale twisted her waist and sent a spinning kick flying right at Dante.
"Hey! We're talking about someone else's love life! Don't use this as an excuse to unleash your inner Fire-Type, Ada!"
"Hmph. You short-lived mortals are all so shallow," Loki scoffed. "Love? Romance? What foolishness. We Asgardian gods are born to rule the cosmos."
"Shut up, thousand-year-old virgin!"
The entire group turned on Loki with synchronized disdain, and the room hit another crescendo of insanity.
Clark looked around, completely at a loss for who he was supposed to be listening to.
Then Hela finally looked up.
Her presence immediately suppressed the chaos like a sword had dropped into the room.
"Clark Kent. God of Humanity from beyond the Nine Realms," she said, her voice low and commanding. "Your power may be great, but your heart has not yet caught up."
She set down Dante's phone.
"I've lived thousands of years. Let me give you a piece of advice…"
"Please," Clark said, nodding solemnly. "I'm listening, Ms. Hela."
"Don't listen to others. Follow your own heart."
"Follow my heart… I understand now. Thank you, Ms. Hela!"
Clark's brow finally relaxed. He nodded to Hela with genuine gratitude, then—using his signature method—opened the hatch and exited the Airbus.
As usual, the perfect mix of brute force and courtesy.
"What did he even understand?" Hela muttered. "I don't even understand what I said."
She yawned and stood up. "Whatever. That guy flew off at high speed the second he stepped outside."
As soon as she said it, the whole room froze.
Coulson straightened his tie. Dante stretched and cracked his back.
Ada walked off to check if the drone storage units were still intact, and Loki poured himself a martini—something he'd only allow himself post-mission.
Only Harley Quinn looked genuinely confused.
"Eh? Why'd everyone stop yelling? Keep going! I was feeling that!"
"Insane," Dante muttered, rolling his eyes at her.
"Ohhh my Pudding~ That look you gave me just now—mmm, so intense! Excuse me, everyone, I need to go check if I packed spare shorts."
Harley tossed out a one-woman monologue no one asked for, then bolted toward her room on the ship.
"Not bad, Coulson," Dante said. "You really sold that scene. I almost thought you were actually fired up."
"...Ahahaha, yeah, yeah, totally. Acting. All acting!"
"…You weren't actually acting?" Dante squinted at him. "You still hung up on someone?"
"Of course not! I'm a cold, ruthless, seasoned FBI agent!"
Coulson's awkward smile said otherwise.
Dante sighed.
It was supposed to be a performance to throw off Clark Kent, but Coulson had made it personal.
Nick Fury really needed to start monitoring the mental health of his agents more closely.
"Dante, memory cores on all three drones are wiped," Ada reported.
"Yeah… Clark Kent's simple, but not stupid."
Dante waved it off. He wasn't interested in the Fortress of Solitude anymore.
He'd officially met the Big Guy now. So sooner or later, they'd cross paths again.
Maybe the Avengers and Justice League would merge someday...
Call it the Justice Avengers or something.
Just a thought. There wasn't a universe-level threat yet that could force all these lone-wolf types into cooperation.
"All right, Ada—set a course. We're really heading back this time."
With the coordinates locked in, the Airbus finally pulled out of hover mode.
This particular model was old, and hovering burned way too much fuel.
On the return trip, Dante had already decided—he was going to hit up Nick Fury for more funds.
As the Airbus rose higher into the sky and left the North Pole behind entirely, the system prompt finally chimed in.
---
[Mission: The Perfect Frozen Man – Complete]
[Mission-Related Characters: Coulson, Captain America, Loki, Hela, Superman]
[Acquired Ability: Kree Blood (Phil Coulson)]
[Acquired Ability: Super Soldier Serum (Captain America)]
[Acquired Ability: Astral Projection (Loki)]
[Acquired Ability: Necromancy (Hela)]
[Acquired Ability: Heat Vision (Superman)]
(To be continued.)
Chapter 16: Chapter 45-46
Chapter Text
Chapter 45: Hello, Grant Ward
How to describe Dante's mood?
Comfortable.
Sure, he still didn't fully understand how the System chose its so-called "mission-related characters".
But hey, at least this time confirmed one thing:
Characters could show up again.
And best of all?
Clark Kent was still in the prize pool.
A guy like that would never drop some garbage-tier ability.
And looking at the results? Way beyond expectations.
First, Coulson.
As charming as the guy was, Dante hadn't expected much in terms of raw combat capability.
Yet the System dropped Kree blood.
A literal key to unlocking Inhuman abilities.
In other words, if Dante ever got his hands on a terrigen crystal? Boom—Inhuman unlocked.
Who knew what kind of power he'd get, but whatever it was, it was already light-years beyond Coulson's basic field skills. That was a full-on SSR drop.
Then came Captain America's Super Soldier Serum.
No need to explain. Just pure, no-frills, high-end physical enhancement.
Clean. Reliable. No downside.
Next up: Loki's Astral Projection and Hela's Necromancy.
The term "Astral Projection" sounded vague on paper, but once you got it translated to "your soul leaves your body but still punches people in the face"—well, that was very intuitive.
As for Hela's Necromancy? Naturally overpowered. Sure, it didn't exactly fit the FBI's official aesthetic, but Dante knew better than to care about PR.
He wouldn't use it in crowded urban zones, obviously—raising the dead kind of tended to cause more panic than a supervillain on a Tuesday.
And last but not least: Heat Vision.
Among Superman's Swiss-army-knife set of OP powers, it wasn't the flashiest.
But it was a staple.
It outclassed Cyclops' optic blasts by miles, and the energy modulation made it surprisingly versatile.
Need to cauterize a wound mid-fight? Done.
Laser-slice a tank in half? Also done.
And for Dante personally, it filled a huge gap: a dependable long-range attack, other than the occasional Green Lantern ring swipe.
In short?
Chef's kiss.
—
"So you're saying this guy—Superman—has some alien fortress in the shape of a pyramid in the North Pole?"
Fury's one eye widened as he stared Dante down.
"That's right. But don't even think about it," Dante warned. "Let me put it this way—there's no one on this Earth who can afford to piss that guy off. My advice? Forget this conversation ever happened. Delete the file in your brain. Don't do anything dumb and get us all nuked."
"…It can't be that bad. You've got the Goddess of Death on your side—"
Fury still wasn't fully convinced.
It was an alien fortress, after all. Who knows how many otherworldly black-tech toys were inside?
Forget raiding the whole thing—just getting one or two items could rocket Earth's science forward by a century.
"Fury," Dante said, cutting him off. His expression was stone-cold serious. "As long as you don't try to manipulate him—or anyone he cares about—he's the purest force for good we've ever seen. He saves people because he wants to. But if you ever make him give up on humanity…"
He didn't need to finish the sentence.
Injustice Superman was all the warning he needed.
"Fury, Agent Dante is right," Professor X added calmly from the side.
He didn't even need to read minds to know where Fury's head was at.
"I've seen what lies in people's hearts. Trust me—Superman is only dangerous if we make him dangerous."
"…Fine."
Fury rubbed his bald head and finally dropped the argument.
Dante knew he hadn't fully given up, but until an opportunity fell in his lap, he'd probably let it go.
"That's it for the mission report. I'm heading out."
"…What kind of mission report was that?! You just told me about Superman!"
"Huh? That's not the most important part?"
"Where the hell is Captain America?!"
"Med bay."
"Coulson?"
"Bathroom. Emo-ing with old photos of his ex."
"…Okay. You can go now."
Fury waved him off before this man stressed him into a second imported bottle of heart meds.
—
Dante didn't go straight home this time.
He dropped Hela off with Ada and Harley, letting the three women babysit each other.
Then, after dragging Coulson out of the thirty-first-floor bathroom with Loki, he made his way to the Coulson Team's airborne command post.
Technically, the Airbus belonged to him now—Fury had given it to him—but S.H.I.E.L.D. still had a whole fleet of similar airborne command platforms.
"Dante, you've seen everyone's files, so I won't introduce them one by one," Coulson said.
Dante scanned the room full of excited and composed faces, matching names to files with ease.
"H-hi, Agent Dante, you and the Star Team have basically become legends in the Bureau," said Fitz, clearly nervous.
"Fitz, not the time to stutter—Agent Dante," Simmons jumped in, eyes gleaming. "I heard you have incredibly advanced self-healing. Would it be possible to extract a sample of your tissue for research purposes?"
The Science Babies struck fast.
Dante smirked. These two were definitely indoor Agents to the core.
And Simmons? She had all the makings of a mad scientist in the making.
"Fitz, cool her down before she dissects him," Coulson muttered with a sigh.
They were great kids—brilliant—but very excitable.
"It's fine, Coulson," Dante chuckled. "But looks like not everyone's here. Where's Grant Ward?"
"Reporting, Agent Dante!"
Skye stepped up, trying to act cool and failing slightly.
"Agent Grant Ward is currently in the lounge. He's still debating whether he wants to join this team."
"Oh? That so? Guess I'll go say hello." Dante turned to Coulson. "Cap's been in the med bay long enough. He should be waking up soon. Might be good for your team to be there when he does. Guy's been on ice for almost a hundred years. Probably gonna need a moment."
With that, Dante waved and headed toward the lounge.
Halfway there, he glanced back over his shoulder at Skye.
"Next time you wanna sneak a peek, just do it openly. No need to lurk like a cartoon burglar."
He kept walking without waiting for her flustered response.
As he reached the lounge, he casually disabled the surveillance system along the way.
Time for a real conversation.
He stepped through the door.
"Hello, Grant Ward."
"As a HYDRA agent… you really don't feel even a little uncomfortable sitting here?"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 46: Give You a Chance to Survive
"What are you talking about, Agent Dante? I'm just here alone, having a beer."
Grant Ward, that absolute scumbag—his acting was flawless. Even when caught off guard, he didn't crack at all.
Dante had to admit, if he hadn't transmigrated into this mess of a multiverse, he would've definitely been fooled by this snake.
"Drop the act. Keep pretending long enough and you might actually start believing it yourself." Dante sat down beside Ward, leaned in close, and whispered in his ear, "Assassination, infiltration, deep cover—you're one of the most elite agents in the FBI. And also one of HYDRA's most trusted dogs."
Grant Ward smiled, but his hand had already started to draw the silver Glock from his waistband.
Too bad for him—Dante was faster.
The moment the gun was drawn, Dante pressed it right back into the holster and casually flipped the safety on like he was clocking into his day job.
Ward watched the whole thing unfold in stunned silence. His brain was screaming at him to react, but his body couldn't keep up with Dante's speed at all.
In the end, all he could do was let go of the gun, helpless, wearing the perfect face of a loyal and brave man caught in a desperate situation.
"Who are you, really? Are you the HYDRA agent who infiltrated the Bureau? Damn it! I won't let what happened a few years ago repeat itself!"
Dante watched his little performance and almost applauded for real.
Why waste talent as a HYDRA agent? With those acting chops and that face, if he jumped into the entertainment industry, he'd blow every idol group off the stage.
"My god, your acting is phenomenal, isn't it?"
"For a second there, I was starting to think you actually had dissociative identity disorder. One personality is FBI Agent Grant Ward, the other is HYDRA Agent Grant Ward."
"That would also explain why you weren't technically brainwashed by HYDRA. Most people with mental illness are immune to brainwashing or psychic interference. Like Harley Quinn. Unless HYDRA cuts open her skull and scrambles her brain structure, there's no way she'd be controlled."
Dante's tone was full of mock admiration, complete with a wide-eyed Oh my god face.
Then he casually grabbed a bottle of beer from in front of Ward.
Ward was still putting on a tough act, but beads of sweat were clearly forming on his forehead.
His earlier outburst had been loud, loud enough to get attention—yet no one responded. Which could only mean one thing: there was no one else on the mobile command center. And all the surveillance systems had been shut off or destroyed.
Grant Ward realized: he was completely, utterly alone.
And this situation… had clearly been arranged in advance by the agent across from him.
But most importantly…
There was no way in hell he could beat the beer-sipping monster in front of him.
"Oh, right—your old handler was John Garrett, wasn't he?"
"...No comment! You HYDRA bastards won't get anything out of me!"
"I really should stop praising your acting, but your commitment is truly impressive." Dante gave him a thumbs-up—but his eyes gleamed sharper than ever. "John Garrett, one of HYDRA's top leaders. And you… his most loyal dog."
The moment those words left Dante's mouth, Ward's back went stiff, and a wave of cold sweat drenched his collar.
That was his second-biggest secret—exposed in a single sentence. Fear aside, his brain couldn't process how someone else could possibly know this.
"Agent Dante... Officially you're a Level 7 Agent, but in reality, your clearance is just below Fury himself. So why would someone at your level be targeting me?"
"Oh? Still not gonna tell the truth?"
Dante sighed. He didn't have time for this Oscar-winning performance.
"You really think I said all that just to bait you? You've got it all wrong. The best liars are the ones who doubt everything." Dante tapped the beer bottle on the table, watching foam and liquid trickle down the bar to the floor. "Once upon a time, you were a protector—guarding your little brother from your abusive father and older brother. But in the end, you were the one who shoved him into a well and crippled him."
"Your hidden past, that's the real story, isn't it? No matter how good your acting is, no matter how much you've rewritten those memories in your head… you're still the abuser. The liar. The betrayer."
Grant Ward's breath caught. The grief and stubbornness in his eyes instantly shifted into something colder—something darker.
As a transmigrator, Dante knew: in Ward's heart, screw HYDRA, screw John Garrett. None of that compared to the fantasy he'd constructed to justify himself.
Some childhood "brother protector"? Get real.
"...Who the hell are you? How do you know all of this? Do you know my brother? Garrett wiped my past clean!"
The barrage of questions meant only one thing—Ward's mental defense just shattered.
Dante smirked to himself. Nailed it.
"I'm just an FBI agent. You don't need to know how—I just know everything. Compared to me, John Garrett calling himself 'The Clairvoyant' is a joke. His so-called power? Just a Level 8 security clearance and a big mouth."
"Pfft, what a joke. I could laugh about that for ten years straight."
As Dante laid out every detail—Ward's secrets, Garrett's motives, even the bit about Ward liking older women—without holding anything back, something interesting happened.
Grant Ward stopped freaking out.
He got calm.
"...What do you want me to do?"
"Oh? Not gonna go out in a blaze of glory? That's not very HYDRA of you."
"Right now, this entire airborne command center is cut off. No contact with the ground or sky. My odds of escape are zero. But you haven't killed me yet… which means you want something."
Resigned, Grant Ward prepared for whatever came next. After all, there wasn't much else he could do.
And honestly? It wasn't like he was some ride-or-die HYDRA loyalist anyway.
"Correct. Very sharp."
"Now I want to give you a chance—a chance to live. The only question is…"
"Do you want it?"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 17: Chapter 47-48
Chapter Text
Chapter 47: Supervisor Dante
Grant Ward froze.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Don't overthink it. I mean it literally," Dante said coolly. "Only by helping me with a few things will you get to keep your life—and your secrets."
He didn't give Ward room to argue. Wouldn't have entertained it anyway.
Ward seemed to be weighing the pros and cons. His expression darkened, unreadable.
"So… what do I get out of this?"
"What? You want benefits?" Dante looked at him like he'd grown an extra head. "I'm letting a HYDRA agent live. What more do you want? That's already the golden ticket, buddy."
"…Alright. Got it."
Grant Ward wasn't loyal to America.
He wasn't loyal to HYDRA.
He sure as hell wasn't loyal to John Garrett.
The only thing Ward ever served was himself.
Survival above all.
So, he stayed silent.
Dante finally let his smirk fade. "Looks like you've come to terms with it. Good. First thing you need to do… is kill someone."
"Kill who?"
"Oh, there's more than one," Dante said breezily. "First up: Agent Sitwell. One of the top officials in the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Most of the HYDRA moles in the Bureau were brought in by him. And the guy's network of political contacts? A roach nest. He's got half of Capitol Hill tangled in HYDRA threads."
Dante's tone chilled.
"So you're gonna kill him."
He paused, then added, "And while you're at it, send all those HYDRA-colluding politicians straight to hell. It's probably a long list. But for your own life, I trust you'll get it done."
"…You're more HYDRA than HYDRA."
With that, he held up his hand—and transformed it partially into diamond.
Then slowly ground the beer bottle in front of him into glittering glass powder.
Ward's eyes widened like saucers.
"You… you have powers besides self-healing?"
Dante gave him a smug look and retracted the transformation.
"Who told you I only had one ability? Even if I did, I'd still be able to beat you into a meat smoothie. Now get lost, Grant Ward. And don't forget to tell Coulson you're off the team."
Ward stood, eyes flicking between fear and gratitude, and backed out fast.
Faced with the choice between killing others and dying himself… he picked others. Instantly.
Dante watched him leave, lips curling into a cold sneer.
Sure, he remembered the major players, but the intricate web of HYDRA influence in the political arena? That was still fuzzy.
But Ward knew.
And nothing cleans out a roach nest better than turning one of the roaches loose on the others.
As for Sitwell—that shiny-headed bastard—Dante hadn't expected him to survive the last HYDRA purge. And yet, here he was, still hiding under Maria Hill's chain of command.
The FBI still needed a good old-fashioned purge. And not a single HYDRA agent was getting a free pass this time.
Luckily, cleaning house would be easy.
The X-Men alone had over a dozen telepaths.
Psychics were very good at sniffing out moles.
Didn't matter how deep the brainwashing went—no lie held up under mental scan.
Thinking of this, Dante suddenly smacked his forehead and jumped up to open a portal.
…
Three days later.
Phil Coulson stood outside the airborne command center and addressed the team.
"With regret, I'm here to inform you that Agent Grant Ward has, for personal reasons, withdrawn from the Special Emergency Team."
"But in his place, we welcome a new member: FBI Level 7 Agent Melinda May. Recruited into the Bureau by none other than America General Bureau's first Director—Peggy Carter. And she used to be my partner."
The younger team members clapped and cheered.
Melinda May walked calmly up to the group, gave a curt nod, then shot Coulson a look sharp enough to cut glass.
"You said this team had two science nerds and one forensics girl. Now there's a hacker baby too?"
She looked straight at Skye, who suddenly seemed very interested in her shoes.
"This team already has two non-combat liabilities. And now there's a third?"
"Ahem," Coulson cleared his throat quickly under her death glare. "While Skye wasn't part of the initial lineup, she's proven that a top-tier hacker is too valuable to ignore."
"However," he continued, "Skye told me she doesn't just want to stay behind a screen. She wants to train as a field Agent. For that, I've assigned her a personal supervisor."
"Supervisor?" May narrowed her eyes and scanned the squad—her gaze settling on Oliver Queen and Wade Wilson.
Green Arrow and Deadpool. Definitely looked like combat-ready babysitters.
But then, right on cue, a portal opened beside her.
Dante stepped out, casually adjusting his jacket and coming to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with her.
"Dante. I've heard a lot about you."
They shook hands.
"So you're the one assigned to the hacker baby?"
"Yep. I'll be sticking with Coulson's crew for a while."
"Oh? What about the Star Team?"
"They're off on a one-month war training program," Dante said, visibly shuddering. "Our Death Goddess is running it."
Training… from a god.
Ada and Harley were fine—they were into that kind of thing—but the pitiful little eyes of Wanda and Pietro?
Dante honestly couldn't bear to look.
Utter misery.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 48: The Undercover Skye
"Oliver, you get any of that?"
"Nothing major. They said Skye's new supervisor is Agent Dante—Captain of the Star Team. Oh, and the Star Team got dragged off for special training by the Death Goddess."
The Death Goddess.
Just a few days ago, when Dante brought her down from Asgard to HQ, the energy detection system across the entire building nearly exploded.
Getting special training from that kind of monster—was that a reward or a death sentence?
"But still," Wade said, turning to Skye with actual envy, "you're seriously lucky. Dante's personally your supervisor. Even without his powers, he's still in the same league as Natasha Romanoff."
Skye didn't hear a word of that.
Her gaze was laser-focused on Dante.
He didn't have a mountain-of-muscle build—more like a lazy, streamlined leopard. The kind that seemed harmless until it pounced and shredded you before you could blink.
She instantly regretted going undercover in the FBI for the Rising Tide.
She could've just been a hacker. But noooo, she had to go chasing conspiracy theories…
And now the biggest conspiracy of all?
That the government had been hiding a snack like Dante from the public.
…
After greeting the entire Coulson Team, Dante finally stepped in front of Skye.
"Hey, Skye. I'm your new supervisor, Dante."
"Hello," Skye replied politely, reaching out for a handshake.
And that's when Dante yanked her into a sudden embrace.
She instinctively opened her mouth to curse—only to feel her shoulder strap flip up in that exact moment.
Her blood turned cold.
Tucked inside that strap was a microSD card containing sensitive FBI intel—data she was meant to pass to the Rising Tide.
"Coulson. Catch," Dante said casually, tossing the card across the room. "Didn't you say someone's been downloading classified data beyond their clearance level? It's hacker baby. Found it right here."
He didn't have X-ray vision. He just knew Skye.
And while this world's timeline was a little scrambled—Skye joined the FBI earlier than expected—Coulson and the rest were still in the dark about her identity.
Facing the silent stares of the others, Skye suddenly stopped resisting. Her brain flipped to 'screw it' mode.
"How are you going to keep the truth hidden? The truth is everywhere! The Rising Tide will rise! You'll never stop us! You'll never find our true faces! We are the tide, we are the resistance, we are the voice that speaks against the ones who silence truth!"
Skye shouted like she was halfway through a drama monologue about to roll into the "torture scene."
Dante just blinked.
He honestly felt like he'd watched too many two-person stage plays with overly dramatic lighting and one camera angle.
He gave her a soft, almost divine smile—so serene, it short-circuited her brain.
Then, without warning, he dropped a black hood over her head.
"Hey! What the hell are you doing?! The FBI is a monster built to devour truth! The Rising Tide are the Guardians of knowledge! We resist your corrupt, fascist—"
"Blah blah blah, chirp chirp chirp—aren't you noisy?" Dante casually flicked her on the forehead, dead center.
"When did hacker orgs start branding themselves as heroes of justice? Sounds real cute on paper, but let me guess—you're aware the Rising Tide has been selling classified intel on the black market, right?"
"Lies! Slander! The Rising Tide is the embodiment of truth and freedom!"
"Fine. Righteous justice partners, got it." Dante sighed. "Now shut up. Say another word and I'll spank you. Be warned, I'm single and not entirely against doing something inhumane."
"…Wait, you're single?"
"Skye. I have never seen someone fall that hard, that fast, in my life."
…
In front of the entire team, Dante and Coulson tossed Skye into the mobile command center's interrogation room.
"Dante, confirmation just came through," Coulson said. "While the files she accessed weren't extremely sensitive, they were definitely outside a probationary agent's clearance."
"Also," he added, "latest intel says Skye was spotted at yesterday's New York explosion. She used the Rising Tide's account to post a video. A guy in a hoodie scaled a building, pulled someone out, then jumped off the fifth floor without gear."
Dante nodded, yanked off the black hood, and dropped into a chair.
Skye blinked hard as her vision returned. She was in a small, sterile metal room. Gray walls, dull lights, one table, two chairs.
Classic "you done screwed up" aesthetic.
"Am I about to get interrogated?"
"Eh," Dante shrugged, flipping through her file. "Honestly, your little drama doesn't even warrant a real interrogation."
"But you do have some information we're interested in. Namely, what do you know about yesterday's explosion?"
Dante had a general sense of where the plot was going, but the multiverse shuffle meant everything had already deviated.
Best to let it unfold naturally.
Especially since he couldn't just walk up and tell Coulson, "Hey, I'm really into this explosion because I know the script." That would raise… questions.
"Skye, we need a name," he said, suddenly serious. "That person in the video was a hero. And thanks to your little upload, he's now in deep trouble."
"Why do you think I know who it was?"
"You infiltrated the FBI as an undercover agent. You were at the explosion site. So yeah, we're assuming you filmed that video and gave it to Rising Tide."
"Uh-huh, but you just realized you can't crack the encryption on my laptop or my phone… so in reality, you've got nothing."
"You know, the FBI doesn't work like the NYPD—we don't need all that 'due process' stuff," Dante said casually. "So technically, we can still say you caused the explosion just to bait out the enhanced individual."
That hit a nerve.
Skye slammed her hand on the table and stood up.
"You think it was me?! You people are the ones who always cover things up with explosions! This isn't your first time! And what about the Centipede Project?!"
"…Centipede? What Centipede Project?" Coulson narrowed his eyes.
Skye's mouth dropped open.
"Wait… you seriously don't know?"
And then she cracked up.
Like, full-body, chair-shaking, villain-laugh cracked up.
"Hahahaha! You've got billions of dollars of cutting-edge tech—and you guys are still flying blind! I could crush your entire communications department with just my laptop!"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 18: Chapter 49-50
Chapter Text
Chapter 49: He Can Still Make You Cry
Dante glanced at Skye—who was still laughing—and then shot Coulson a look.
She wasn't wrong. The FBI's communications department really was trash-tier.
Even with a crushing advantage in equipment, they still got led around like puppies on a leash by Rising Tide.
This definitely needed to be handed off to the FBI Academy later. It was about time they started recruiting and training hackers with actual talent—like Skye.
"But think about that person," Dante said, tone dropping. "Yes, we admit we want to recruit him… but just to bring him in, not to harm him."
He leaned forward across the table, hands braced. Their faces were now just inches apart.
Close enough to feel each other's breath.
"But what about the others? You know the kind of groups out there—the ones that thrive on chaos. They won't stop at recruiting him. They'll use him. And after that?"
Dante stared into her eyes.
"They'll cut him up. Best-case scenario, they slice him open for research. Worst case? They slice him up just to taste him."
"...The Centipede Project," Skye finally said, her tone more cautious now. "It showed up briefly on the job boards online, then vanished once they had enough recruits. I tracked it through its MAC access point. The signal was coming from the building where the explosion happened."
A flicker of hesitation flashed in her eyes, but ultimately, she gave up the info.
Because Skye wasn't stupid.
She wasn't some diehard zealot either. She was smart, which is exactly why she'd become a legend in the hacking world.
And Dante's words had hit their mark.
She might see the government as a truth-suppressing monster, but even monsters had rules.
The ones in the dark? They only existed to destroy.
Dante watched her with interest.
"Let's see… hacked the FBI, infiltrated the FBI, stalks Superhumans online… you weren't just camping outside Tony Stark's bearded skyscraper, hoping to bump into Iron Man for a 'chance encounter,' were you?"
He gave her a wicked grin. "Wait… are you a Superhero stalker?"
"Excuse me?! That's slander!" Skye's eyes widened. "I only… did it once! I was just curious! What, a hacker girl can't do a little surveillance and suddenly it's stalking?!"
Then came a flood of barely decipherable words like "I swear I'm not into Iron Man" and "Wait, did you really say you don't have a girlfriend?"
The interrogation room, somehow, turned into a sitcom set.
Coulson watched the scene unfold and knew it was time to move on. There were more important things at stake.
Like not letting the team's first mission crash and burn.
Thinking quickly, the middle-aged fox shifted gears.
Coulson pulled a syringe-shaped device from his coat pocket.
A gun-shaped syringe.
He laid it on the table in front of Skye and spoke in an unnervingly calm voice.
"This is a QNB-T16. You probably don't recognize the model, but it's the FBI's latest and most powerful truth serum. Even the strongest-willed person will end up spilling how many times they wet the bed as a kid. The effect lasts about an hour. Long enough. But not too long."
Dante immediately caught on—Coulson wanted him to play along.
Originally, this kind of job would've gone to Grant Ward. But since that ship had sailed, guess it was his now.
If the serum had been real, Dante would've shot Coulson right there on the spot.
But…
It was fake. A bluff.
A con pulled on a fangirl.
"You don't need to worry," Dante said, keeping his voice gentle. "We'll release you as soon as we get the full intel."
He raised his hand slightly.
Signal received.
Coulson gave a small nod, then casually jabbed the syringe into Dante's arm.
He gave Dante's tricep a friendly pat and muttered under his breath:
"It's just saline."
Dante gave him a slight nod back, then said aloud, "Agent Dante, does it hurt?"
"Of course not. But getting stabbed out of nowhere is scary as hell…"
He paused, then smoothly shifted tone.
"Okay, maybe it hurts a little, but I swear it's nothing—Wait a sec! Coulson, why is this stuff kicking in so fast?!"
The last line was the cue. Coulson nodded subtly and left the room.
Man didn't even look back.
"You didn't trust the Bureau, right? Thought we were the monsters who devour truth?" he said on his way out. "Well now, you can ask him anything. I mean anything."
And just like that, he was gone.
But before disappearing, Coulson gave Skye a look that practically screamed: "You know what to do."
And Skye?
She absolutely knew what to do.
The moment the door closed, she sauntered over to Dante with a grin that was half-mischief, half-manic.
Gone was the righteous freedom fighter. Now she was a girl who had just found a shiny new toy.
She didn't say a word. Just took off her thin jacket, revealing a light gray tank top underneath, and sat down right next to him.
Like, very next to him.
Leaning in slightly. Definitely intentional.
"Agent Dante… are you nervous?"
"Nervous? Please," Dante scoffed. "You are gorgeous, no doubt. But I'm the kind of man who can juggle three women. There's no reason for me to get nervous around a kid like you."
"I'm not mature enough? You sure? You like older women, huh?" Skye ran her fingers through her hair. "Then why do I feel you trembling just a little?"
"Oh, that," Dante said, not missing a beat. "I was just imagining what'll happen if the three women I mentioned saw this moment right now."
"To be specific—two women and a goddess. They'd kill me."
…
Outside the room, Melinda May and Coulson watched through the monitor.
"Hard to believe a young agent like Dante could sync up so fast with a middle-aged fox like you," May muttered. "Now I see why Fury gave you two almost full autonomy. You three are exactly the same breed."
"I neither confirm nor deny that compliment," Coulson replied smoothly, still playing the harmless middle-aged man card. "But I am recording this footage. I have a feeling Agents Ada Wong and Harley Quinn would be very interested."
Yeah. Coulson was still holding a grudge about that "dating my ex in the Arctic" thing.
"Phil, everyone in the FBI knows Agent Dante's relationships with Ada and Harley are in a… delicate balance. You really want to be the one who tips it?"
"Balance is meant to be broken," Coulson said cheerfully. Then his expression hardened. "What did Fitz and Simmons find in the blast zone?"
May raised an eyebrow just as the two scientists walked out of the lab.
"We've got some bad news," Simmons said.
"The explosion was caused by a Centipede-type IV enhancer," Fitz added. "We analyzed the contents. It's a cocktail of all currently known enhanced-serum components—Extremis, Gamma radiation, Super Soldier Serum, and even alien material."
Coulson's face darkened. He had assumed this was a basic Rising Tide stunt tied to some rogue enhanced person.
But this?
This was a cover-up.
A cleanup job.
A wipe.
"And the main structure?" Coulson asked.
"It's a fusion—but mostly based on Extremis," Simmons said grimly. "We're talking about a patchwork version."
Everyone turned toward the voice that spoke next.
It was Dante.
He'd just finished playing his "truth serum" role.
And beside him, Skye was grinning like a fool, cheeks flushed, convinced she'd just wrung a goldmine of FBI secrets out of him.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 50: Technical Support from Tony Stark
"Can the surveillance footage be restored? If so, how much can we recover, Fitz?"
Dante immediately pushed Skye aside—who was still trying to glue herself to his side—and switched to work mode.
Fitz nodded. "Theoretically, yes. But the data's corrupted—badly. The time code's completely desynced. So we might be able to reconstruct a rough outline of the scene, maybe a partial profile… but don't expect precision."
"No time sync? What if I give you the audio from that moment? I was using a self-built long-tube sound collector to directionally pick up lab audio from nearby. But the static was terrible, so I thought it was junk. Still… for someone like you, scrubbing static should be easy, right?"
Skye, now calm and functional, stepped up with a look to match her tone. "The audio file's in my truck."
Fitz and Simmons instantly entered what could only be described as a nerd trance. A blizzard of science babble followed—half physics, half gibberish. No one else had a clue what they were saying until the two exchanged glances and nodded with synced smiles.
"Thanks a ton."
"Having audio would help a lot."
Coulson watched his team, the air between them smooth and unstrained, and couldn't help but smile.
People like Skye? Recruited every year by the Bureau—same as big tech firms tossing out six-figure offers to any hacker who successfully torches their firewalls.
And at the top of that food chain?
Black Widow. Natasha Romanoff.
Name known worldwide. Face? Ghosted.
As long as you weren't HYDRA, the FBI was happy to play ball with anyone.
That said, Coulson had picked up on something Skye mentioned earlier.
Her truck.
"All your equipment's been stored in your 'broken truck,' just like you said. And, yeah—you were right. We couldn't crack the encryption."
"I'll say it again—that's not a 'broken truck!'" Skye looked genuinely offended. "And it's no surprise you couldn't crack it. Since I'm officially working with you now, I can tell you—the encryption's linked to GPS. It only unlocks once the truck's in the right location."
She sounded very smug about this little trick. And honestly? She'd earned it. Even an agency as advanced as the FBI couldn't crack her encryption.
Dante opened his personal terminal, tapped a few times, and handed it to her.
"FBI agents already drove your truck back to the alley where we found it… Oh, and they also gave it a full interior and exterior cleaning. On the house."
"What! No!!"
Skye wailed at the screen, staring at her old truck—now so spotless it gleamed like a mirror.
"My gritty, sexy, battle-worn body! You monsters! I made it look old on purpose!"
Watching her flip out, Dante scratched his head.
...
In the end, the person who went with Skye to retrieve the audio file from her truck was Dante.
It was supposed to be Coulson and Wade Wilson, but Dante volunteered.
Wade Wilson might be one of the Bureau's top agents, but in Dante's mind, the threat level Mike Peterson posed was closer to "Avengers applicant" than "standard perp."
"So how long are you gonna keep staring at me like that?"
Skye gave him a side-eye. Her infatuation with Dante's whole "mysterious power guy" vibe had finally taken a coffee break.
Clunk.
The truck door swung open, revealing an interior that was... shockingly spacious.
A dozen different monitors and devices blinked away—some new, some retro. The whole place screamed post-apocalyptic punk hacker den.
"You're still technically a Rising Tide plant. We haven't exactly forgiven you yet." Dante rolled his eyes. "Honestly, I shouldn't even be part of this junior squad. The only reason I'm here is because Captain America's vitals normalized after thawing out, but he still hasn't woken up. Otherwise? You'd be dealing with Coulson and Cap right now."
"What!? Captain America!? Like... the Captain America? Nazi-punching, HYDRA-kicking legend!?"
Skye was fully lit up now—but her fingers never left the keyboard. Hacker instincts > fangirl instincts.
"He's actually joining this special task force?"
"In theory, yeah. But come on. He's been in a popsicle state for almost a century. Gonna take some serious mental recalibration before he's combat-ready again."
Dante sighed.
If he were in Cap's boots, waking up in this century would feel like a slow-motion horror movie.
A hundred years of frostbite later, he'd find himself in a world that barely recognized him.
The only ties left to his past?
An old flag, and an older woman—fading fast, body frail, mind frayed.
The same woman he'd once promised everything to.
Just like when a fragile Peggy Carter held Cap's hand and whispered…
"Sometimes, the best choice is to start over."
"We've… been apart too long."
"Too long."
Love doesn't die with time—but it can fossilize into lifelong regret.
Dante wiped a hand across his face. Being sentimental wasn't always a great habit.
"I get it, I get it. Like when I was growing up in the church-run orphanage, the nuns gave me the name 'Mary Sue.' When I finally left and tried to integrate into society, I realized just how cursed that name was."
Skye shut her laptop, pulled the memory card, and turned to Dante with a half-smile.
"But life goes on, right?"
"You done?"
"Everything you need is right here." She held up the memory card. "And I already pinged Mike Peterson… Think you can handle him?"
"You mean handle him how?"
"Handle him in a don't let him explode way." Skye stared him down. "He's a father. He has a kid."
For all her chaotic hacker energy, Skye's heart was still intact.
Growing up an orphan herself, the last thing she wanted was to see another kid dragged into a horror show.
That's why she'd tried to help Mike in the first place.
"Then you picked the only path."
"Great. Now watch out behind you!"
The second Skye looked up, she spotted Mike Peterson already raising a glowing fist behind Dante.
But before the words even left her mouth, Dante—like he'd been waiting for this exact beat—spun around with perfect timing and grabbed Mike by the neck.
Boom.
Straight into the wall. Left a dent.
"Who are you..."
"Hmph hmph hmph! That's the right question!"
Dante smirked and shook his head.
"Urm FBI?!"
"Skye! You betrayed me!? You said you came to help! You said these government suits would hurt us!"
Mike had already been skating on thin mental ice—unemployed, homeless, full of rage.
Now throw in a spliced Extremis knockoff called Centipede, and he was basically a glitching firework.
Skye's "betrayal" was the final straw.
Adrenaline slammed into overdrive. His blood vessels glowed a burning orange-red.
Even a random bystander could tell he was about to go nuclear.
And they'd be right.
Mike Peterson had officially become a living thermobaric bomb.
Then, from the back of the truck, came a small, shaky voice:
"Dad? Daddy?"
That one word hit harder than any punch.
Mike froze.
Dante let out a slow breath and barked at Skye.
"Get the kid out of here! Now!"
Then he turned and shouted at Mike.
"Listen to me, Mike Peterson! Your kid is right there! You want to kill him too!?"
"So calm down! Now! That's the only way I can help you!"
Mike struggled, trembling, but Dante was stronger. Way stronger.
He held him in place.
And slowly… finally… the trembling stopped.
Tears spilled down Mike's cheeks.
An adult's breakdown doesn't always come with screaming.
Sometimes, it's just quiet surrender.
Dante had him locked down.
But now came the real issue.
He could neutralize the explosion—if he killed Mike.
But after seeing that kid?
Dante couldn't do it.
Couldn't end a father's life in front of his son.
And just then, the communicator buzzed.
"Hello, hello! You alive, Dante? It's me—Tony! Coulson said you guys hit a little snag, so I figured… hey, I'm bored, I like attention—let's offer some tech support!"
"Since when are you Coulson's guy?"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 19: Chapter 51-52
Chapter Text
Chapter 51: Born a Monster
Dante had originally planned to call in the Science Duo for help.
But Coulson, apparently committed to maximum drama (or maybe minimum risk), went ahead and pulled in Tony Stark.
Wasn't he supposed to be in Metropolis hanging out with Lois Lane?
Guess not.
Apparently, one phone call was all it took to summon the billionaire playboy himself.
Honestly, calling in backup at the drop of a hat had become the FBI's new favorite habit. Not that Dante could blame them. Their biggest asset right now? A ridiculous number of Agents and even more ridiculous contacts.
"Aren't you with Coulson too?" Dante snapped over comms. "He called you and you just showed up?"
"I just think it's easier talking to a guy with a receding hairline than a completely bald guy," Tony quipped. Then his tone shifted. "Hacker Girl sent the audio file while she was on the run. I'm here now, trying to figure out how to neutralize Centipede."
"Adrenaline. Emotional spikes triggering a surge in adrenaline—that's what kicks the stitched-up Extremis reaction inside Centipede into overdrive."
Dante said, glancing at Mike Peterson, whose glowing orange veins were starting to pulse again.
No time left.
Without hesitation, he opened a portal and dragged Mike straight through.
"Dante—wait, WHAT THE—"
Tony Stark spun around just in time to see Dante drop out of thin air, casually dragging a walking time bomb into the lab.
"You seriously just brought a human thermobaric bomb into an airborne command center!?"
The portal had led them straight into the lab above the Coulson Team's command module. Currently occupying said lab: Fitz, Jemma, and one international playboy genius.
Dante activated his Green Lantern transformation mid-stride, answering Tony while throwing up hardlight constructs.
"I could have dumped him in the desert, sure, but if you figure out a cure, how would you get there in time?"
Layer after layer of green Will Light snapped into place, encasing Mike in a containment shell that pulsed like a high-tech sarcophagus.
Dante wasn't about to play chicken with a guy wired up like a nuke. The barrier would hold. He was sure of it.
The mission wasn't about neutralizing Mike Peterson—it was about saving him.
"Fitz. Jemma. Now's your moment."
"Oh my God… okay, so his emotional state links to his metabolic rate—so every emotional spike just shortens the detonation timer—"
"Stop repeating what I already know," Dante said, exhaling slowly. "Focus. I've got him locked down. Even if he explodes, nobody in here's getting hurt. So, if the trigger's emotional and adrenaline-based… fake his death. Didn't you design a tranquilizer gun?"
"Right!" Jemma rushed over to grab the prototype. "But the power's not calibrated—"
"Genius idea," Tony cut in, plucking the tranquilizer gun from her. "I'll take it from here."
Jarvis immediately scanned the weapon, blueprint data and bullet composition popping up across Tony's HUD like he was reading a digital comic book.
"Hmm… if you're going for true suspended animation, you'll want less paralysis and more rigor mortis. Add some low-toxicity sea snake venom, and we're in business."
"There's some in the lab!" Jemma bolted over to her bio-shelf. "But it's too strong. It needs to be diluted."
"Dilute it twenty—no, fifty times. Your bullets were already close to perfect. Just fine-tune them."
Tony didn't hesitate for a second.
Dante nodded to himself. Coulson made the right call bringing this guy in.
In the original Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. plotline, Fitz and Jemma eventually developed the perfect suspended animation serum in about two hours.
But here?
This timeline was already scrambled.
Skye's arc was diverging. The Coulson Team's path had gone off-road. Dante wasn't about to bet lives on plotline consistency.
And even if he dropped hints, there was no guarantee this version of FitzSimmons could deliver in time.
Fortunately, Tony Stark existed.
And when you dropped a peak-level human intellect into the mix, things moved.
Jemma focused on mixing the venom, preparing the custom shot.
Fitz, knowing Peterson's body had been reinforced by Centipede, modified the bullet to activate on contact and deliver the serum through surface absorption.
Dante considered volunteering to just stab the guy directly. He was more than capable of restraining Peterson long enough to force the shot.
But no—better to let the kids handle it.
Boost morale. Preserve initiative. Let the rookies feel like heroes.
Tony clearly had the same idea. He kept quiet.
Mike Peterson, meanwhile, sat motionless—trapped within the Will Light barrier, powerless to do anything except watch.
Eventually, the silence cracked.
"They call you Dante? Are you in charge?"
"That's right. In this emergency, I'm calling the shots. All responsibility's on me."
"I see… Then can you make sure the FBI takes care of my son?"
"You sure about that? 'Cause honestly, the best person to take care of your kid... is you."
Dante leaned forward, watching Mike carefully.
"And you don't have to panic. Our Coulson Team's stacked with the best agents we've got. We'll figure out what's inside that arm of yours. But before we do... I've got a question for you."
Mike clenched his jaw, trying not to react emotionally. Barely managing. Then nodded.
Dante pulled up a chair and sat down, like he was conducting a job interview—with a guy glowing like a lava lamp.
"Peter Parker once said: 'With great power comes great responsibility.' You've got power now. Can you carry the responsibility that comes with it? Can you live with the consequences?"
"Sure, you've got strength beyond normal humans. But does your son? Can you always be there for him?"
"What happens when someone uses him to control you? Forces you to do things you don't want to?"
"There's a guy out there called the Clairvoyant. Supervillain specialty: blackmail, manipulation, control. He implants electronic eyes to track targets. Commands their actions. Once he's used you up—missions done, bones broken—he turns you into a guinea pig for his cybernetics project."
Each sentence hit harder than the last.
Mike was drenched in sweat. Breathing like he'd run a marathon.
"I don't understand any of that… All I know is, with Centipede, I'm strong. I can work ten times harder at the factory. I can provide for my family."
"So even if that means hurting your kid, you're okay with that?"
Dante's final question left Mike Peterson completely speechless.
"I get it. Making choices sucks." Dante tapped the Green Light barrier. "But life is choice. You don't move forward until you make one."
"…I just want to support my family."
"You don't have to worry about that. Even if Centipede is removed, the enhancement effects won't vanish entirely. Sure, they'll decay—probably down to thirty percent—but even then, you'll still be stronger than most."
"Plus, you're a victim. The Bureau compensates victims of these kinds of cases."
Slowly, painfully, Mike emerged from the emotional spiral.
He made the call.
He let it go.
Centipede—his shortcut, his anchor—gone.
But his burden?
Lighter.
Dante had told him the truth: you don't move forward without a choice.
...
Under the pressure of a ticking time bomb, the Science Duo may have panicked a little—but their hands didn't slip. Not once.
Ten minutes later, Coulson arrived at the lab with the rest of the team.
Skye. Mike's son.
The full squad.
"Dante! Tony! What's the status?"
"Final step," Dante said.
He watched Fitz load the tranquilizer bullet into the chamber. Hands shaking.
Fitz raised the gun, trying to steady his aim at Mike inside the glowing barrier.
"Agent Dante, please… drop the barrier."
Dante smiled, then gently took the tranquilizer gun from his hands.
"You've done great."
Fitz's hands were shaking like a man with advanced Parkinson's. No way Dante was letting him take the shot.
One twitch, one miss, and everything would go to hell.
"O-okay…"
Fitz nodded, exhaling slowly.
But there was a flicker of disappointment in his eyes.
Coulson caught it.
He understood.
Fitz and Jemma weren't just research geeks. They didn't want to be locked in some lab forever.
They wanted field work.
They wanted impact.
That's why Coulson chose them.
So he gave them both a shoulder pat and a smile.
"You two are still a long way from being full-fledged field agents."
Then he glanced at Skye.
"But the three of you? Keep at it."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 52: John Garrett on His Way to Despair
What happened next was very simple.
Dante deactivated the Will Green Light barrier, then shot Mike Peterson in the neck.
Right in the jugular.
The injection took immediate effect—Mike stiffened, then collapsed.
Correspondingly, the destructive, highly unstable orange-red energy coursing through his veins slowly receded, replaced by the purplish-blue hue brought on by the injection.
Dante casually holstered his gun, then strolled out of the aerial command center with Tony.
All that remained was to neutralize the Centipede compound and dismantle it completely.
Fitz and Jemma immediately got to work on that.
Skye trailed after them, clearly buttering them up.
"Dante, you actually pulled it off."
"Of course I did… but is now really the time for flattery?"
"You must be Skye, right? The hacker who sent the data back," Tony Stark nodded at her. "Heard your skills are top-tier. Managed to throw the entire FBI Communications Division into a tailspin. Stark Industries could use someone like you… ever think about joining?"
Before Skye could reply, a voice immediately shut Stark down.
"Tony, do you mind not poaching people in front of me? Skye's got some baggage, sure, but so do at least a fifth of the agents in the FBI. After clearing up the minor issues, she's still a probationary agent on our team."
Coulson stepped out, holding Mike Peterson's son by the hand, catching Stark red-handed in the act.
Then he hopped into a flashy vintage red Chevrolet.
Oh yeah, and he'd named it Laura.
"Skye, let's drop Mr. Peterson's son off at his aunt's place," Coulson said as he started the engine. "I can tell you more about Dante on the way."
"Okay!"
Skye climbed in without hesitation.
Watching Laura vanish around a bend, Tony Stark draped an arm around Dante's shoulder.
"Drink?"
Originally, Dante was thinking some dive bar downtown.
Stark instead dragged him straight back to Stark Tower in New York.
Transport? A Quinjet—which Stark had access to thanks to hacking Jarvis and snagging the activation codes.
"Believe me, Fury is going to call and absolutely lose it on you in a minute."
Dante stretched out on the spacious leather couch. The top-floor office of Stark Tower was absurdly oversized, like everything else in Tony Stark's life.
The Quinjet was shamelessly parked on the giant terrace like a party bus on a rooftop helipad.
"Hey, Fury's fault. I offered double the market price for a Quinjet and he still wouldn't sell me one! So I just borrowed it. What, that not allowed?"
"Lately, Fury's been tighter with money than Bruce Wayne's press secretary. Every time I ask him for R&D funds, he just ghosts me and gives me chump change. Tightwad."
"Then come work for me," Stark said. "Head of Security for Stark Industries. Ten mil salary, plus two percent equity."
Just like that, his poaching target switched from Skye to Dante.
Dante couldn't be bothered.
Instead, he walked over to Pepper Potts—who was holding a bottle of red wine—bowed, extended a hand, and laid a flawless, gentlemanly kiss on her fingers.
"It's an honor to finally meet you, Miss Potts." He straightened up and gave her a warm smile. "Tony's truly a difficult man to handle, isn't he?"
"You clever men are all fickle creatures," Pepper said, smirking.
"Ahahaha, you flatter me—I'm embarrassed."
"Who's flattering you?!" Stark barked, visibly uncomfortable at the sight of Dante kissing her hand. "You just met her—don't act like you two go way back!"
"Don't put it all on me," Dante countered. "Haven't you been holed up in Metropolis lately? I heard you even bought a stake in The Daily Planet just to chase after that big-time reporter Lois Lane?"
"Don't remind me. I've given up on Lois Lane," Stark sighed, the sparkle in his eyes dimming. "Twelve invites in a row—every one rejected. Guess the dazzling Tony Stark doesn't do it for her."
"Tch. Can you be more narcissistic?"
Dante side-eyed him. At least the man had some self-awareness.
If he'd kept chasing her after that, he might've caught an Iron Fist from the Kansas Big Guy himself.
"Still, it wasn't a total loss. My investment in The Daily Planet went up ten percent in just a few weeks. That's over fifty million in profit! In the information age, media's a gold mine."
…
After they'd chatted and had a few drinks, things finally circled back to the real topic.
"Dante, when I got Coulson's call, I rushed over not just because of our friendship—but because he mentioned this incident involved Extremis."
"Oh? You interested in that stuff?"
"Not exactly me—more like the FBI. A while back when I was in Metropolis, this senior FBI agent kept visiting, trying to cozy up to me. Wanted a project collab with Stark Industries. Even offered to buy a chunk of the company outright."
Dante frowned.
Something wasn't adding up.
Given Stark's connection to Fury and Coulson, if the FBI really wanted to pursue this kind of cooperation, Fury would've handled it himself—or at least sent Coulson.
Tony Stark wasn't just some tech bro—he was the tech bro.
"In our meetings, the guy kept trying to probe for info about Extremis. Offered to share top-secret FBI data, even unreleased tech—just to help improve the side effects of Extremis."
As Tony spoke, a face flashed through Dante's mind.
Someone obsessed with body-enhancing tech…
Could it really be him?
"Tony, let me ask you something."
"Shoot."
"This senior FBI agent… his name wouldn't happen to be John Garrett, would it?"
"Yes, yes, yes! That's the name!" Tony slapped the table, fired up. "Guy was clearly hiding something. Super cagey. Never talked straight business."
"So I strung him along. Said I don't handle operations personally, and that I had to run things by the board. But… jokes on him. I don't even have a board. Pepper runs everything now! Haha!"
"You sound way too proud of being a hands-off boss."
Pepper shot him a look like she was five seconds away from delivering him a punch.
Dante tuned out their bickering.
His mind was elsewhere.
John Garrett. Level 8 FBI Agent.
Also a top HYDRA leader. Old-school double agent.
To the world, he was "The Clairvoyant."
His power? Level 8 FBI clearance—and HYDRA's intelligence network.
Every time Dante thought about that, he wanted to laugh.
Garrett had played both sides, brokered intelligence like a Wall Street commodity, and built a cult of believers who thought he was omniscient.
Unfortunately for him, the so-called "Clairvoyant" was on borrowed time.
A few months, maybe a year left at most—before he kicked the bucket from complete organ failure.
He'd been one of the first test subjects in the Death Soldier program decades ago.
Half his organs had already been replaced with mechanical ones.
Now, he was just using Extremis to hold death at bay.
And yes, he was the mastermind behind the Centipede Project.
His goal? Enhance the human body. Extend life.
The result? A ticking time bomb. The Centipede formula was wildly unstable.
So Garrett tried to erase all evidence—via explosion.
But he didn't count on Dante and Coulson's team rescuing the final Centipede subject.
And with his clearance, Garrett likely already pieced everything together.
Now? He'd be after the secret that resurrected Coulson.
Too bad for him—Grant Ward, Garrett's original plant on the team, had already been "converted" by Dante.
Now Ward was their internal HYDRA-sniffing bloodhound.
And the mystery of Coulson's resurrection?
Even with Level 8 clearance, Garrett couldn't crack it.
So now he was out of options.
A dead end.
"Nice work, Tony… Here's the play: keep stringing him along. Use any excuse—just make sure you act interested in cooperation."
"He pissed you off or something?"
"He's the one behind the Centipede Project."
Tony's expression shifted.
So the traitor was internal.
He wanted to roast Dante and the FBI for sloppy security—but then he remembered Obadiah.
"…Sigh. Same struggle, different agencies."
Tony clapped Dante on the shoulder like they were long-suffering war buddies.
Dante immediately swatted him off.
"Don't drunk-cry on me. Go find Pepper. I'm heading back to HQ."
Better to brief Fury about Garrett first.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 20: Chapter 53-54
Chapter Text
Chapter 53: Prison Break, Brother
"Skye! This is Fitz! Respond if you hear me!"
"Skye, copy that!"
"Jemma hasn't checked in for three minutes—I'm afraid she's already fallen to that guy!"
"Damn it! We have to avenge Jemma… but can just the two of us pull it off?"
"Sigh, forget the two of us—even Oliver and Wade got taken out. Beating him is impossible. We still need to finish the mission."
Skye crouched behind a massive tree. She looked grimy and worn, but aside from some scrapes, she was mostly unharmed.
She had just gotten through to Fitz and learned that Jemma had sacrificed herself.
It was also a clear message: the enemy was on another level.
One-on-one fights, group ambushes, traps, drugging—every tactic they had, they'd tried it all.
Useless.
"I've collected three stars. What about you, Fitz?"
"I've got two. We need ten total to clear this thing—ah!"
Skye froze as she heard Fitz let out a blood-curdling scream through the comm.
Then… silence.
The channel went dead.
Skye instinctively made the sign of the cross over her chest, whispering a prayer for Fitz.
This enemy was terrifying.
But she wouldn't quit. She was a Federal Bureau of Investigation agent—she didn't give up just because the odds sucked.
Skye! You've got this. You can do this!
With that mental reset, Skye took one confident step forward.
And got yanked upside down into the air by a snare trap.
She just stared, blankly.
How many times had this happened now?
At first, she would scream. Now, she just calmly wondered why this trap was here again.
Right on cue, a colorful snake slithered down the rope toward her.
"Hey, hey, hey! No way this is happening again! Dante, you bastard, help!"
Just as the viper's foul-smelling body was about to brush her foot, whoosh—a green arrow pierced both the snake and the rope.
Someone in an FBI combat suit leaped out of nowhere and caught her mid-fall.
Skye blinked, looking up at Dante's face.
Just as she started to blush—
He let her go.
Let. Her. Go.
"Skye, this isn't me being mean," Dante said, watching her tumble to the ground and groan while clutching her butt. He looked half-amused. "That trap you just tripped? Fitz and Jemma left that one behind. It was during our last training session. Dynamic duo, right there."
As their field supervisor, Dante was still responsible for training Skye and helping the Coulson Team whip their new recruits into shape.
Granted, he didn't last long at the FBI Academy before bailing—but that was only because he'd been assigned to train a bunch of hormonal, angsty teens.
Which, mentally speaking, was roughly the same difficulty as training Harley Quinn.
These new Coulson Team recruits? Not as bad. At least they followed orders.
Except Wade Wilson. That guy was a walking paradox of effort and laziness.
And this wasn't sarcasm—Wade's "slacking off" was literal slacking off. In nearly a month of jungle training, he'd spent half the time beefing with a river.
"Dante, you know me. I always pay back my debts," Wade had said once. "First day I got here, I hid in the river. Didn't expect those damn piranhas to bite my lychees. Had to teach them a lesson."
Aside from that minor... dietary revenge arc, Wade's performance had been nearly flawless.
Oliver Queen? Don't even need the last name. The man belonged in a rainforest. He was more comfortable here than in a living room.
Those two were the team's front-liners before Captain America officially joined.
As for the rest of the recruits…
Yeah. Long way to go.
Skye was doing best, all things considered. She was a street-raised orphan who'd played hide-and-seek with the FBI for years. Survival was in her bones.
Fitz and Jemma? Talented in their own fields, but… field ops? Not really their thing.
Still, with time and grit, they'd hit baseline competence.
But…
"Barry Allen, your athletic ability is honestly… mind-blowingly bad."
Dante really couldn't figure it out.
This was Barry Allen. The future Flash.
How was he so clumsy? So slow?
"Agent Dante! I know my shortcomings! I'll keep working hard!"
Dante facepalmed.
Kid had heart, though. Total Justice League material. A real team conscience.
After taking a moment, Dante opened a portal back to FBI Headquarters.
"You haven't defeated me. You didn't even finish collecting and delivering the star tokens. But, since I'm just that overpowered…"
"I hereby declare this tropical rainforest training camp—successfully concluded!"
And with that, he booted each recruit into the portal like luggage on a moving sidewalk.
…
Back on the long-missed 31st floor, Dante entered the command center.
Seeing the familiar overworked faces of Fury and Professor X, he couldn't help but grin.
"Yo. Busy, you two fossils?"
"I'm growing less and less fond of your attitude."
Fury looked up at him.
"You have any idea how much chaos we've had lately? The Star Team's off on an armed exercise, and the Coulson Team's stuck in jungle combat training! If I hadn't deployed Maria and Natasha to help out, Melinda's temper would've had her kicking down my door!"
Dante plopped onto Fury's stupidly expensive leather couch and gave both directors the same dumb, deadpan stare.
"Okay, but nothing serious happened while I was gone. I've been watching my terminal. Just a few low-tier bio-zombie attacks—didn't even need to activate B.O.W.s. Some brats from the Academy wiped those out on the way to class."
He gestured lazily. "So… ever think of just assigning missions to them?"
"They're not mature enough."
At the mention of the Academy kids, Professor X finally looked up. His dark circles were practically etched in.
Fury probably had them too, but his skin tone gave him stealth mode.
"Not mature doesn't mean not strong. And there's a shortcut to maturity," Dante said, smirking. "Give them course credit for missions. Boom—instant responsible agents."
The guy had no mercy. Not even for child labor.
But…
It was a damn good idea.
Fury and Professor X locked eyes for a full 0.1 seconds.
Consensus reached.
Kids had energy for days. No reason for them old-timers to keep doing all the legwork.
Worst case? Assign a field agent to monitor them.
"Anything else? If not, I'm out. I've been away from my squad too long. Time to return to the frontlines."
"Return my ass. I've got a mission for you."
Fury finally remembered why he'd summoned Dante in the first place.
"A mission? Me, solo?"
"Up to you. It's not complicated, but it is connected to the American government..."
Fury tapped on his terminal and sent over the mission dossier.
Dante opened the file.
Read the first line.
Frowned.
"A federal prison was sold to a private operator, and now there are supernatural incidents? You messing with me?"
"Do I look like I've got time to mess with you?" Fury growled. "I'm so busy I wish I could split my one eye into two!"
He paused, then composed himself. "On the surface, it's nothing major. But the issue is, we sent four agents in already—and they all came back confused, with zero memory of the prison."
Memory loss?
Dante immediately looked at Professor X.
He gently shook his head.
"All four agents were screened by every telepath we've got. Conclusion: not caused by psychic interference. No signs of drugs or hypnosis either."
And that was saying something.
When it came to telepathic screening, if the FBI claimed to be second-best globally, no one dared claim first.
If Mutants couldn't find a trace, that ruled out telepathy.
But drugs or hypnotic conditioning? That was murkier.
He'd have to go in himself to be sure.
Then he saw the name of the prison.
And that's when the system finally spoke up again.
---
[Mission: Prison Break, Brother]
[Mission Briefing: Experienced FBI agents have returned mentally scrambled. What secrets lie within Fox River Prison? Oddball inmates, a mysterious escape plan, a warden who never leaves... everything reeks of misdirection. And in the prison's deepest, darkest levels… they say you might just find traces of "God."]
---
Fox River Prison!?
You've got to be kidding me—that's literally from Prison Break!
Great. Now prison break arcs were supernatural too?
And honestly, how do you make something more supernatural than T-bag's name?
"I'm assigning this one to you. Shouldn't be a problem, right?"
"Right. Since we don't know what's causing the memory wipes, it's better to limit how many agents go in. But logistics? Yeah, we'll need a team."
Dante tapped into his comms.
"Have Fitz, Jemma, and Barry on standby at the aerial command post. I'll need research support."
"And tell Skye to track down Ingrid. I need a fake identity and intel package."
(To be continued.)
Junk dog's Note: Lots of bonuses, so it's only fair to get lots of power stones, right? :)
Chapter 54: Identity Questions
Fox River.
Literally translated: Fox River.
Located in Joliet, Illinois, this prison had been operational since the last century.
The local government sold it off for an eye-watering price to a wholly-owned private enterprise.
Just like that, the facility transitioned from a public to a private prison, but the original inmates continued serving their sentences right there.
Now, as everyone knows hospitals and schools tend to function "better" when they're privatized.
So naturally, prisons follow the same magical logic.
After all, look at Arkham Asylum and Belle Reve.
The former? Gotham's elite talent incubator.
The latter? Amanda Waller's recruitment center for the Suicide Squad.
It's like private prisons have to stir up trouble just to justify their existence.
Fox River was no exception. It had already booted four FBI agents straight back out—empty-handed and memory-wiped.
Dante had re-interviewed them himself. And the accounts were terrifyingly consistent: the moment they stepped through Fox River's gates… was also the moment they were somehow outside again.
That sense of space-time dislocation still had them too rattled for fieldwork.
Now Dante stood outside, eyeing the Victorian-style structure. Aside from the usual decrepitude of old architecture, there wasn't anything obviously wrong.
But he didn't have much time to gawk.
Moments later, Dante—dressed in a prison jumpsuit—was led into Fox River under guard escort.
He glanced back at the slowly closing gate and gave a subtle nod.
No weird distortions. No reality-warping feelings.
So it probably wasn't one of those kinds of anomalies.
The hallway was dusty, the floors worn.
To his left, just past two sets of towering steel fences, was the inmates' exercise yard.
And with his vision?
Yeah, he locked onto two familiar faces almost immediately.
Wentworth Miller.
Dominic Purcell.
Correction: Michael Scofield and Lincoln Burrows—the prison break duo themselves.
"Damn. Miller's face really is way too good-looking."
Dante muttered to himself.
He figured once he got inside, he'd try to get close to the leads. Something definitely wasn't right here...
Because this universe?
This universe was sick.
Whoever created it? Probably needed therapy.
After clearing the corridor, Dante arrived at the registration gate outside the cell block.
"Prisoner name."
"Dante Alighieri."
"What crime did you commit?"
"Isn't that already in the file?"
"Hmph! You're a prisoner! You answer when I ask! What crime did you commit!"
"I shot a green-haired clown with white face paint—right between the eyebrows—and stole his female subordinate," Dante replied casually, counting on his fingers. "Oh, and I later crushed the skull of some sunglasses-wearing wannabe philosopher."
As he recounted his highlight reel, Dante inwardly cursed Ingrid.
She totally sabotaged his profile out of spite. She was probably still salty from that morning argument.
The woman was vindictive.
Still, for him, identity fabrication wasn't exactly difficult—mostly because everything in the file was technically true.
He had killed those people. The information was real. And if it came from the FBI's records, the U.S. government would treat it as gospel.
The prison clerk stiffened, then sat up straighter.
"This one's a serious case. Shouldn't he be in… wait, what? Only five years? General Population, Block A, Cell 40?"
He gave Dante a few extra glances.
Two murders and the guy only gets five years? Doesn't even get transferred to max security?
How much did this dude's family bribe the prison execs?
Still, he kept his expression poker-flat.
"Alright, you're inmate number 114514. Starting today, you'll serve your sentence here in Fox River Prison."
"Good behavior may reduce your sentence, in accordance with federal law."
With that, the cell block door opened, and Dante stepped into the real mission zone.
The inmates were currently outside for rec time, so the interior cells were empty as he passed through.
Honestly? The general population cells here were pretty decent.
Other than that, no paranormal signs yet.
"You've arrived. Cell 40. Get in."
As the guard opened the door, he gave Dante a shove.
Bit aggressive.
Which only made what happened next that much funnier.
The guard stumbled and landed on his ass.
Meanwhile, Dante just stepped in like nothing happened and calmly closed the door behind him.
The guard blinked up at the closed bars, dazed.
Inside the cell were two beds.
Dante picked the one that hadn't been used yet and sat down, taking in the layout.
Truthfully? He'd lived two full lives and had never even gotten a parking ticket—let alone been tossed in jail.
"Hmph. There are three roll calls a day—morning, noon, and evening. Exact times get announced by broadcast. Typically 6 AM, 12 PM, and 7 PM," the guard grunted as he stood up, clearly winded by his own weight. "Meals come after roll call. Work shifts start at 7 AM and 2 PM. Everyone back in their cells by 9 PM."
"Lights out at 10. After that, any disturbances get ignored."
Dante leaned against the bars and raised an eyebrow.
"So what you're saying is… weird stuff happens after 10 PM?"
"Cough, cough—I didn't say that."
The guard realized too late he'd said too much. He adjusted his cap like it could erase the slip, and walked off, baton in hand.
But from his reaction, it was clear—something was going on.
Dante couldn't help but feel a little worried for the brothers and their prison break plan.
Could they actually make it out in one piece?
After confirming the guard was out of earshot, Dante casually reached up and tapped his ear.
Hidden deep in his canal was a nearly invisible comm device from the FBI.
"Yo. Ingrid. Skye. I'm in."
"Ingrid here. Received."
"Skye online… so, how's that fake charge look?"
The smugness in Skye's voice made Dante's eyebrow twitch.
Ah. It was you. You little menace.
"Anyway, I'm in Cell 40." Dante walked over to the single table in the cell, flipped open one of the books, and scanned the notes scribbled inside.
"Confirmed. This is Michael Scofield's cell."
He wasn't here for the scenery.
Preliminary investigation had shown that supernatural activity in Fox River didn't start until after Michael and Lincoln arrived.
So Dante wasn't interested in them just because they were the leads of Prison Break.
They were also the most suspicious leads in the actual case file.
Back at HQ, Skye started hammering away at her keyboard.
After a few moments, she sounded perplexed.
"Dante, these two brothers… there's definitely something off."
"How so?"
"Michael Scofield and Lincoln Burrows—yeah, they exist in the federal database. Files look totally normal, nothing's been tampered with…"
"But?"
"But they've got zero digital footprint. Nothing. No online history. No personal records outside official ones."
"That's strange? What if they just don't use the internet?"
Dante scratched his head.
You want virology breakdowns? Biological theory? He was your guy. He'd inherited Spencer's whole suite of biochemical knowledge.
But the internet?
Eh.
"Not possible!" Skye snapped. "In this era, unless they live in a cave in the Himalayas, people always leave digital footprints."
"If those traces are gone, it's either a deliberate wipe for smuggling purposes—or someone's preparing to vanish and live under an alias."
Her tone was dead serious.
And kinda proud.
Which made sense. This was her turf. Back when she was with Rising Tide, she used to do this exact kind of data scrubbing.
Certified pro.
"I hear pride in your analysis. What's going on here…" Dante said, leaning back against the table. "So what's your read on the brothers?"
"Replacement. Identity replacement," Ingrid cut in. "Even though supernatural rumors only started after the brothers got here, I ran the full intel sweep on local reports."
"And?"
"A year ago, there were scattered reports of 'divine revelation and a divine vessel descending from the sky' at Fox River."
"And right after that…" Skye picked up, "Rogues Group bought the prison from the Illinois government."
Dante's eyes narrowed.
That timing was way too perfect.
But the part that really caught his attention?
The "divine vessel from the sky."
In most universes, a law enforcement agency following up on something like that would be laughed out of the room.
Here?
That was probably the most legit lead they had.
The mission brief itself had mentioned something about "traces of God" in the prison's deepest levels.
If anything, the divine vessel theory might be the core of the whole anomaly.
"I guess I'm gonna need to explore all of Fox River tonight."
"I've already hacked into their full surveillance system," Skye said. "I can take over any time—but the feed only covers up to max security. The death row block has no surveillance… Wait! Yard time just ended!"
"Alright. Cutting comms for now."
Dante shut off the mic, then casually picked the book back up.
Three pages in, he felt someone stop outside his cell.
"…Who are you?"
"I'm your new roommate. Dante Alighieri. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Michael Scofield."
Dante closed the book and nodded.
"The Interpretation of Dreams really is a good read."
"I didn't expect a structural engineer to be this into psychology texts."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 21: Chapter 55-57
Chapter Text
Chapter 55: Discuss Him!
"You're… my new cellmate?"
Michael Scofield's brows knit together ever so slightly—subtle, melancholic.
Honestly, even as a straight man, Dante had to admit—this guy's face was no joke.
Like someone took the top ten most photogenic ethnic features and Photoshopped them together.
"Hello, hello! Haven't had a chance to introduce myself yet," Dante said cheerfully, stepping forward and shaking Michael's hand with both of his. "Dante Alighieri. They brought me in for killing two people."
"A murderer..."
Scofield gave him a once-over, and his eyes immediately filled with doubt.
No matter how you sliced it, the guy in front of him didn't act like a killer.
Unless… he genuinely didn't think murder was a bad thing.
"Impossible. A man who murdered two people should be in the high-security wing."
"Shameful, I know," Dante replied, shaking his head solemnly. "My fault. I had too much money, so they only gave me five years."
You're ashamed?!
Even Michael, the walking iceberg of composure, almost broke character. His mouth twitched like he wanted to say something—anything—but held it back.
This guy was clearly not right in the head.
God, please don't let him blow up the plan.
In this increasingly bizarre prison, even the smallest deviation could snowball into a disaster that cost five to ten times more to fix.
"Then… let's get along," Scofield said, forcing a smile so fake it belonged in a DMV poster.
But Dante leaned in conspiratorially and whispered in his ear:
"I already know the truth."
NO!
Michael's brain practically screamed.
What truth?! What the hell are you talking about?!
…
Formal prison admission happened during the noon yard time slot—between 12 and 1 PM.
And for the rest of the day?
Dante was glued to Scofield's side like a haunted sticker.
He never actually sat next to him—but never strayed more than five steps away.
And all the while, he maintained this courteous, serene, polite smile—like he was walking around wrapped in a spring breeze.
But to Michael and Lincoln Burrows?
It was full-on horror movie energy.
"Goddammit! What does this lunatic want?! Should I just kill him? Burn him to ash!?"
"Listen to yourself, Lincoln Burrows!"
Scofield gave him a calm look, but his words didn't sound like a little brother trying to save his big brother.
No.
It sounded more like a commander dressing down a disobedient subordinate.
And that emphasis—"Lincoln Burrows"—he did that on purpose.
Hearing his full name hit different. Lincoln calmed down immediately.
But that boiling rage didn't fade. Not from his eyes. Not one bit.
He wanted to grind Dante into powder.
But… they had a mission. And the plan came first.
Even if the walking sunbeam was clearly an alien.
And this whole exchange?
Yeah. It wasn't just seen by Dante.
It was currently streaming on a giant monitor inside the mobile aerial command center.
Ingrid and Skye had hijacked Fox River's full internal system and were now running full observation through airborne terminals.
Every camera feed was being recorded in real time.
And the entire Coulson Team was seated in front of that big screen, watching Dante's infiltration mission unfold.
"Even with Agent Dante's strength, in a completely unfamiliar environment, maintaining a convincing cover identity is essential," said Phil Coulson, eyes fixed on the screen as he lectured the team.
"Remember, you're not soldiers of fortune, not solo vigilantes, and definitely not Superheroes in skin-tight suits doing rooftop ballet. You're FBI agents. Mission first. Threat neutralization above all."
No one answered.
But then a new voice rang out from behind them.
"That's right, kids. Use your strength wisely—but don't rely on it too much."
Everyone turned around.
A blond man in a leather jacket was walking toward them.
He looked familiar. Very familiar.
But no one could quite place him.
Then Coulson stood up straight—like really straight. Stiff as a flagpole.
He couldn't decide whether to salute or shake hands. His right hand hovered between both, awkwardly.
"Idol—Officer—sir—Welcome back!"
"I'm not an officer. Just an idiot kid who woke up from the ice," the man said, extending a casual handshake. "Call me Steve."
Steve Rogers.
Captain America himself.
He wasn't wearing the suit. No Vibranium shield in sight.
Just a guy in a leather jacket and a quiet intensity.
He stepped up to Melinda May and offered his hand.
"I heard you were recruited into the FBI personally by Peggy Carter?"
"Yes, sir," she replied. "Director Carter recruited me when I was seven."
"In a few days… would you come with me to visit her?"
"As you wish."
Even Melinda May—the ever-stoic Melinda May—showed real reverence when speaking to him.
Fury didn't get this kind of treatment. Coulson sure didn't.
But looking at Steve's calm demeanor, you wouldn't think he was once America's greatest hero.
You'd think he was a retired athlete. Or a missing rockstar.
"All right… Steve," Coulson said quickly, sitting down beside him. "You just woke up. Still adjusting to modern society, huh?"
Coulson's team had missed Steve's awakening.
They weren't there when he came out of the glacier with his body somehow restored to its peak.
Coulson himself had led the task force to track and deprogram him—until Steve finally believed this wasn't some HYDRA mind-simulation.
And yes, they'd heard him curse.
They'd seen Wolverine rant—but Captain America?
That man cursed HYDRA with surgical precision. Like it was a reflex hardwired into his bones.
"If I'm not mistaken," Steve said, nodding toward the screen, "that man is Dante. The one Fury kept mentioning."
"That's right," Coulson said, sitting up straighter. "He's the one who pulled you out of the Arctic glacier. Twenty-five years old. Right now, he's the most capable agent we've got. Period."
"He's running an undercover op?"
"We didn't know what caused the previous agents' memory loss, so infiltration seemed the best option."
"Smart. Sometimes solving problems with your brain is faster than breaking them with brute—wait, what's he doing?"
The entire room went silent.
On-screen, Dante had casually wandered behind Lincoln Burrows.
Then, with the smooth motion of someone reaching for a snack.
He patted Lincoln's bald head.
As if polishing a cue ball.
"…Dry and rough!" Dante exclaimed. "Wrinkled and scaly!"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 56: Rogue Gang
"Motherf**ker! What the hell do you want?!"
Lincoln Burrows had finally had enough.
Ignoring Michael Scofield's warning glare, he shoved away Dante's hand—specifically, the one that was once again caressing his bald head like it was a magic lamp.
He instinctively reached for his waist.
Then, realizing something was missing, he adjusted course and threw a punch instead.
But Dante, acting after and arriving first, smacked him clean in the jaw.
The hit was perfectly calculated—just enough to knock Lincoln out cold with a minor concussion. No permanent damage. Just a solid "go to sleep" tap.
The guards, who had been casually watching the drama unfold from a distance like it was lunch theater, finally decided to stroll over and check on things once a body hit the ground.
"Still breathing? If he's still alive, toss both troublemakers into solitary!"
The head guard—same guy who'd processed Dante's intake—squinted at him again.
This "murderer"... better not actually murder Lincoln in solitary. Sure, the guy was on death row, but not here. Not in Fox River Prison.
"Don't forget to separate them!"
Dante made no move to resist.
In fact, the guards were more nervous than he was. They basically escorted him like he was royalty. No one wanted to find out what happened if this guy got annoyed.
As he passed by Michael, Dante casually pointed two fingers at his own eyes… then gave a slow, deliberate nod.
I'm watching you.
Michael understood instantly.
This lunatic was serious.
But honestly, that was the least of his problems.
Lincoln was going to solitary, which meant he wouldn't be released for at least three days.
Their plan for tonight?
Dead in the water.
And if they didn't act tonight, then the thing on Michael's back.
It would be too late.
Just like he thought earlier: every bit of unexpected resistance multiplied the cost of success.
So tonight…
He had to risk it.
---
Fox River's solitary cells weren't rooms so much as sealed voids. No light. No bed. Just black walls, steel, and the whisper of existential dread.
The only opening was a tiny peephole that could be opened—from the outside.
Your average corporate CEO tossed in here would die of stomach ulcers and claustrophobia before dawn.
But Dante? He sat on the floor like he was meditating in a spa retreat.
The pitch-black silence actually helped him think more clearly.
Back in the yard, when he'd intentionally provoked Lincoln, he'd noticed that weird gesture—reaching for his waist like he was drawing a sidearm.
That wasn't acting. That was instinct.
And Lincoln Burrows, in the original Prison Break, was a brute. Not exactly tactical material.
And Michael?
He didn't feel like an architect genius trying to bust out his brother.
He felt like an actual, calculated criminal.
"Smart… dangerous... You're not who you say you are."
Whoever these two were, they weren't Michael and Lincoln.
No chance.
"Ingrid to Captain! Ingrid to Captain! Come in!"
"I'm listening."
"Captain, we've finished the background sweep on the Roggers Group—the one that bought out Fox River. Every department, every company, all managed by hired executives. Shareholders are all proxies. Every name on paper is a stand-in."
"So it's a shell company? Front operation?"
"Exactly," Skye jumped in, clearly riding high on the win. "At first I thought we'd hit a dead end. But Coulson and... uh... Steve said we were overthinking it. Sometimes, the trick is hiding in plain sight."
"Hiding in plain sight... Wait. Who's Steve? You mean Captain America's fully online now?"
"You're so unromantic," Skye pouted. "Don't change the subject! Think, what else does 'Roggers' sound like?"
"…Roggers… Rogues... The Rogues!?"
Dante smacked his forehead.
Finally—everything clicked.
"Skye, you're my Big Guy!"
Skye blinked and looked over at Coulson, confused.
"Big Guy… Is that a compliment?"
"Probably...? I think so?"
---
10:00 PM.
Time of death for normalcy inside Fox River.
Solitary was a vacuum chamber. Lincoln and Dante were cut off from everything—and everyone.
No windows. No clock. No sensory input.
If you wanted to know the time, you had to count your pulse or whisper numbers in your head like a crazy monk.
Dante didn't have to.
He had Skye and Ingrid feeding him minute-by-minute updates through his ear mic.
"Captain, it's officially ten o'clock," Skye reported.
Her fingers danced across the keyboard, seizing control of every camera still online inside the prison.
Meanwhile, the guards—following the golden rule of never patrolling after 10 PM—had all retreated to their comfy little lounge outside the blocks.
That was normal.
That was protocol.
Nothing strange ever happened. And if it did?
They didn't see it.
"Have the mice come out yet?" Dante asked.
"Hold on... not yet. Wait. He's pulling something out of the mattress—oh my God. A gun? Two guns?!"
"Heh. Knew it," Dante smirked. "Keep comms open."
"Got it."
With Skye monitoring, Dante leaned back against the door.
Even with the solitary block separated from Block A, his heightened senses picked up the vibrations—light, cautious footsteps.
Getting closer.
Then they stopped. Right outside.
Dante opened his eyes and placed one hand on the door like he was gently caressing it.
Then his hand morphed into diamond.
With a motion smoother than peeling a banana, he ripped the door open like cheap wrapping paper.
Honestly? That was cathartic.
Neck crack. Stretch. Step out.
And right there in the hall—
Michael Scofield and Lincoln Burrows.
Only, not them.
Michael—no, Leonard Snart—had just vaporized his cell door into icy shards with a cold gun.
Lincoln—Mick Rory—was shouldering a heat gun and snarling like a flamethrower in a vest.
The infamous duo.
Captain Cold and Heat Wave.
Founding members of the Rogues.
Flash's least subtle nemesis crew…
And the most dedicated fanboys.
Skye had been right. The real Michael and Lincoln did exist—but they'd been replaced.
Two super-criminals wearing their faces.
Dante gave them a friendly wave.
"Yo! Fancy running into you two Rogues. What, you also breakin' out tonight?"
Their answer?
Two beams of energy—one ice-blue, one blazing red—slammed into him.
Fire and frost enveloped Dante in the hallway.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 57: Scumstantine
When Dante stepped out from the clash of Ice and Fire, his entire body had crystallized into something diamond-like.
Just by looking, it was obvious—those primitive Freeze and Heat Guns didn't have the firepower or absolute-zero capabilities to put even a scratch on him.
The only downside? The prison uniform he'd swapped into after arriving at Fox River had been completely torched by Captain Cold and Heat Wave's combined assault.
Luckily, he was quick on the draw—he activated his Green Lantern transformation just in time.
Even if the tight battle suit that came with it left very little to the imagination, it was still better than running around completely naked.
Especially in front of two grown men.
"Who are you? Gotham? Star City? Or are you from Hell's Kitchen?" Snart asked, squinting.
He clearly had no idea who Dante was, so he was throwing out guesses based on the big-name hotspots. He just hoped it wasn't Gotham. The Joker and his gang might've been quiet lately, but everyone knew—once Gotham's freaks went nuts, they went nuts.
Worst part? Gotham villains never negotiated.
"Hmm… to be precise, I'm here on behalf of Washington," Dante replied, doing his best impression of sounding mysterious.
It wasn't often you ran into villains—or heroes—who were this out of the loop. Might as well keep his identity under wraps a little longer.
Washington?
That was a federal zone! Who the hell but HYDRA would be dumb enough to mess around in that area?
"Shhh, don't ask. It's for your own good."
In the blink of an eye, Dante had disarmed both Captain Cold and Heat Wave.
Snart looked him up and down, then sighed—and raised his hands with a casual smoothness that screamed: I've done this a lot.
"Why aren't you Rogues staying in Central City? What the hell are you doing in Illinois? You even went full crypto-casino and bought the whole damn prison."
"We don't know anything," Mick Rory grunted. He didn't raise his hands, but he wasn't making a move, either. Without his weapon, he knew damn well he wasn't a match for this guy.
"No. You know. You definitely know."
Dante didn't hesitate. He formed a glowing sword from pure Green Lantern Will—a Sword of Damocles—and let it hover right over Rory's head.
These two clearly thought he was clueless. And they were right.
But as long as they knew more than he did, and as long as they were scared of dying...
Well, that made things real simple.
"I'll give you five seconds. Tell me why you're here—and who hired you."
"We really—"
"Five... I don't care what you're trying to explain. Time's ticking... four!"
"Our employer's some blond British bastard in a trench coat! Always has a cigarette in his mouth! He tattooed a magic circle on my back and said it'd help him collect some artifact that fell here recently!"
Snart finally cracked, dropping the smooth voice and spitting out the info faster than a speedster on Adderall.
A blond British jerk in a trench coat...
"So you're working for that scumbag Constantine?"
"That's right! Constantine's got his eyes all over that artifact!"
Dante didn't pull the Sword of Damocles away—he just narrowed his eyes and gestured at Snart.
To take off his shirt.
"What are you implying?"
Snart's face twisted into something between confusion and panic, which almost made Dante choke.
"I'm not gay, you closet case! I want to see the damn tattoo Constantine gave you!"
Snart instantly looked embarrassed. That one was on him for thinking dirty.
When in someone else's house, you bow your head.
He took off his shirt, revealing a complex and precise magic circle inked onto his back.
Since unlocking Doctor Doom's Teleportation, Loki's Astral Projection, and Hela's Necromancy, Dante had picked up quite a bit of magic knowledge.
He wasn't on the level of Doctor Strange or Doom yet, but he'd officially joined the magic elite.
Even so, all he could really tell was that this magic circle had some kind of containment function.
"You've been camping out in this place for a while—mind answering a few more questions?"
"We'll talk. Just... can you please move that thing away from my skull first?" Mick said, eyeing the glowing Sword of Damocles. He swallowed hard, thinking that surrender wasn't so bad.
Dante shook his head but lifted the sword just a bit higher.
"Since the artifact and supernatural weirdness popped up in this prison, four FBI agents were sent here. You know what happened to them?"
"Agents?" Snart and Mick exchanged glances. "You mean those guys in black suits that got invited to the Warden's office? They walked in, walked out. Nothing happened."
"Nothing?"
"I mean, even if something did happen, we wouldn't know. That Warden's never left that weird tower-office of his."
Dante frowned.
Right. The mission report had flagged this "Warden" as unusual.
So if he wanted to fix the agents' amnesia, he'd have to go meet this mystery man.
But first, the artifact.
That Warden wasn't going anywhere, anyway.
"Shhh!"
Just as Dante was about to speak, Snart raised a finger to his lips.
A second later, the sound hit—deep, heavy, and slow.
Thump... thump...
Like the heartbeat of something impossibly large.
But Dante realized—these weren't two pulses from the same location. They were coming from different directions.
As if… communicating.
"Behind the death row block, there's another area," Mick said, pointing toward a dim, shadowy passage. "No guards ever go there. They act like it doesn't exist."
"That whole 'ignore everything after 10 p.m.' rule? That's for those sounds. They start like clockwork."
"Alright. Let's go."
With no better option, Snart and Rory led the way.
The previously sealed prison gate was torn open like wet paper by Dante.
The maximum-security area still had signs of human life, but past this point? It was completely deserted.
Only the pulsing sound grew louder in their ears.
Eventually, they reached the end of a long corridor—and a vast, circular chamber opened up before them. In its center, a deep meteorite crater.
Suddenly, Snart staggered and slid down into the crater. As he approached the artifact in the middle, the magic circle on his back began to glow brighter and brighter.
At last, kneeling at the artifact's feet, Snart collapsed.
The magic circle on his back ignited completely.
And only then did Dante realize he'd analyzed it wrong.
This wasn't a containment circle.
It was a reverse containment.
It was a release.
With a burst of brilliant light, a figure emerged from the glowing circle on Snart's back.
Click.
He lit a Marlboro.
Took a long, deep drag.
Blew out half a lung's worth of smoke.
Then lifted his head, eyes dull and weary.
"Good evening. I'm John Constantine."
"This meta from God-knows-where—too bad for you. But this artifact? It's mine now."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 22: Chapter 58-60
Chapter Text
Chapter 58: The True Appearance of the Artifact
"What is it? You… don't recognize me either?"
Dante looked a little surprised, but still tossed the question out there, because of course he did.
"Are you a third-rate opera singer? Why would I know you? I don't have a single coin to throw in your hat."
Constantine was mocking Dante with every word. But honestly, Dante thought he looked kind of adorable right now.
Finally. Two opponents in a row who weren't ridiculously well-informed.
Being infamous wasn't always as glamorous as people thought.
"Right, right, right. Don't recognize me. Best case scenario."
Dante could practically applaud Constantine right now.
Sure, with that loser's level of magic, digging up someone's identity wouldn't have been hard at all.
But Constantine was completely fixated on the so-called "artifact."
Snart was gasping for air on the ground. Which was weird—this short a jog shouldn't have worn him out that bad.
"So what am I now, huh? A taxi?"
"Hahaha, Mr. Snart, don't be so grim," Constantine said with a grin. "How could you be a taxi? You're clearly a five-star luxury hotel. It's just that opening a pocket dimension portal siphons a huge chunk of your stamina. Don't worry—just rest up at home for, oh, a few months at most…"
Dante raised an eyebrow. That little exchange told him everything he needed to know.
Constantine, that shameless bastard, had been hiding in a pocket space connected to Snart's back for at least half a year. Sure, he wasn't completely cut off from the world, but clearly he'd only been communicating with other mages.
No wonder he didn't know who Dante was.
But whether he did or not didn't matter.
What amazed Dante more was how Constantine always managed to sprint to the front lines when it came to "borrowing" other people's gear.
No matter how many artifacts he got his hands on, he still wasn't a match for demons like Nero.
Then again…
Constantine's cheat code was his shamelessness and confidence.
Even when he didn't have a single artifact on him, Hell's biggest names still couldn't kill him.
And that was probably the scariest thing about the guy.
Meanwhile, Mick Rory—who'd been trailing behind Dante and Snart—finally caught up, panting.
"Snart! You still alive?!"
"Damn it! Have you ever seen a dead guy gasping for air!?"
"He's a magician! Who knows if that's a ghost version of you still talking! I've seen it in anime and novels!"
"Don't confuse fiction with reality!"
"Isn't our whole situation more ridiculous than fiction?!"
Seriously—one guy powered by a green ring, one guy who was a literal magician. Technically "ordinary people," but running around like they belonged here.
Were they just screwing with them?
Or screwing with death?
Mick wanted to stall a bit longer, hoping Snart would get his strength back so they could make a break for it.
But Dante kicked him aside without warning.
"Reflex. My bad."
Mick curled up, groaning on the ground, clutching his side.
The only reason Dante had time to casually bully Mick was because…
He'd seen what the artifact actually was.
"So, folks, pleasure running into you here. Now, Constantine's gonna grab his artifact and bounce through a dimensional portal."
Constantine gave Dante a theatrical bow, then strode toward the center of the crater.
He bent down, reached out, braced himself—smug as ever.
And promptly overexerted, lost his balance, and faceplanted into the dirt.
"Pfft—HAHAHAHAHA! That's what you get for acting like the main character!"
Dante laughed with zero restraint.
What a joke.
With that personality, Constantine actually thought he could pick up Mjolnir?
Ordinary folks couldn't even budge it.
And as for Constantine—if the universe was fair, he should've been struck by eighty-one lightning before even getting close to the hammer.
Falling on his face was getting off easy.
But… what the hell was Mjolnir doing here?
Something didn't add up.
Dante scratched his head. Logically Thor should still be in Asgard, right?
Sure, Loki had said he sent out a distress signal to his brother…
But since when did backup actually arrive the second someone hit send?
Especially when that someone was Thor—the world's densest blond—and a bunch of Asgardians who thought "time" was something mortals worried about.
It'd be a miracle if he showed up within the same fiscal quarter.
Still, here Mjolnir was, just lying there, and Constantine couldn't even twitch it.
That probably meant it was the real deal.
And Constantine wasn't dumb enough to grab the thing barehanded unless he really thought he could take it.
So if Mjolnir was here…
Then the God of Thunder couldn't be far.
Dante glanced at the sealed door at the far end of the chamber.
---
"ACHOO! ACHOO!! ACHOO!!!"
Loki, who was resting on the floor, suddenly sneezed three times in a row.
"You okay? You caught a cold?" Pietro, sitting to his left, was panting but still had enough breath to sound concerned.
"You idiot. I'm the God of Mischief. From Asgard. I'm not even human. I just look human. Our internal structure's completely different, okay? If I could catch a cold from Earth's viruses, this planet would've been extinct a long time ago."
"Then someone's talking about you," Wanda said from his right. She looked exhausted, but kept twirling Scarlet Energy between her fingers—practicing energy control by disassembling the Tesseract.
Loki taught her that. Apparently, it was how real Nine Realms assassins trained their magical finesse.
"Huh? Talking about me? Where'd you hear that superstition?"
"Big Sis Hela's phone. The internet is amazing. It says if you sneeze once, someone's cursing you. Twice, someone's missing you. Three times, someone's talking about you…"
"Do you believe online clickbait, or do you believe that I—Loki—am the undisputed leader of the Star Team?"
Loki rolled his eyes.
Ever since Dante dropped these two mutant gremlins off, he hadn't lifted a finger to raise them.
Loki had somehow ended up as their default guardian.
If Dante was the deadbeat dad who picked up kids and dumped them at home…
Then Loki was the unlucky older brother who had to raise them.
Over the past month… Loki was exhausted.
Now he understood how Thor and Odin must've felt cleaning up after his messes.
"You're the leader of the Star Team? Then can you get Big Sis Hela to hit me one less time today?" Pietro whined. "She hits hard! My body can't take it anymore!"
Loki rolled another eye labeled "hopeless."
This dumb kid seriously couldn't read the room.
If he really had that kind of authority, the first thing he'd do was cancel this hellish "training regimen," which was basically just constant beatings.
But he had to admit—Hela, as Asgard's former supreme war commander, had a lot of experience training soldiers.
And her abuse was tailor-made for each of them.
Loki's daily regimen? Materialize Dante's face out of energy… while dodging ten flying Nightsword.
Now just seeing Dante's face gave him phantom pain.
His body twitched instinctively like the wounds were being reopened.
That said, he had noticed his magic improving faster than ever.
And more importantly, in real combat, he wasn't instinctively reaching for his dagger anymore—he was using magic first.
Of course…
He still loved his daggers best.
A mage who doesn't want to be an assassin isn't real.
Meanwhile, up ahead, Hela and Harley Quinn were squaring off.
"As a mortal—and one without any notable abilities—"
"Who says I don't have abilities!" Harley yanked up her torn fishnet stockings. "My legs are very special!"
"I meant combat ability!"
"Yeah, and they're very useful in combat. I just flash Dante a peek of the fishnets—bam! Instant distraction! That's how I land sneak attacks every time."
"You… are insane."
After a month of binging the internet, Hela's speech had shifted from half-ancient royalty to something way more casual.
But even now, she still didn't know where to begin when talking to this psychologist-turned-chaotic-bombshell.
Even though Harley wasn't that physically strong, and didn't have any real powers, she somehow still outperformed the mutant twins in almost every fight.
Sometimes, even Loki couldn't match her actual combat results.
It just didn't make sense.
Even for someone with mental issues, this level of chaos shouldn't be possible.
For someone who'd commanded armies across the Nine Realms for millennia, Harley was just… beyond calculation.
Just as Hela was about to rethink her entire strategy for analyzing Harley…
A portal suddenly opened behind her.
Dante, now in full Green Lantern armor, poked his head through.
"You two Asgardian siblings! Get over here!"
"Come check if this golden-haired idiot belongs to your family!"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 59: Is This Thor?
Rewind ten minutes...
"What the hell kind of artifact is this!? I nearly dragged a demon out of Hell to possess me, and it still won't budge! What is this thing!?"
Constantine cursed and kicked Mjolnir furiously, cigarette dangling from his mouth.
Unbelievable.
Absolutely unbelievable.
He'd never seen an artifact like this before.
No retaliation. No defense mechanisms. Not even a warning pulse.
He kicked, punched, slammed it—it didn't fight back or react in any way. Aside from refusing to move an inch, it might as well have been a regular oversized hammer.
If he couldn't sense the surging divine energy coiled around it like living lightning, he would've sworn this was some cosplay prop off eBay.
"Man, you're taking this real easy. Is this how all you magic circle guys are? I know another male mage—his favorite hobby is close-quarters combat with daggers like he's some dual-wielding rogue."
"...Is that guy mentally ill?" Constantine asked automatically.
Then he froze.
Because the voice had come from directly behind him.
And sure enough, standing just inches away...
Was Dante.
The second Constantine turned, he instinctively started chanting a spell—an incantation loaded with eldritch syllables meant to unleash Hellfire.
He barely got the first sound out before a hand clamped around his mouth and shoved the smoke right back into his lungs.
Constantine began choking violently, eyes bulging.
"Shhh. Bad mage. No Hellfire spells," Dante said, wagging a finger in front of his face. "Play with fire too much and you'll wet the bed. A mighty Archmage like you wouldn't want to publicly pee yourself, right?"
Constantine didn't have the energy to argue with the crude taunting. All he could feel was that Dante's grip was like a hydraulic press.
Even trying to use non-verbal casting was useless.
Before he could activate any failsafe, Dante conjured a glowing green energy straightjacket straight out of a psychiatric ward.
If Magneto were watching this, he'd probably tear up.
Yes! This is the feeling!
This pain—it's only real when someone else shares it!
Constantine, now fully bound, looked absolutely baffled.
What the hell was this green energy?
It wasn't tech.
It wasn't any known form of magic.
Even someone who could blackmail Kings of Hell couldn't break this down on the fly.
For the first time in years, Constantine felt a twinge of helplessness.
Especially when he realized he couldn't even cast non-chant spells with his hands bound.
"John Constantine. Renowned mage. Legendary conman. A betrayal record longer than his romantic history," Dante said, finally letting go of his mouth. "So, how exactly did you know there was an artifact here?"
"If I answer… will you let me go?" Constantine wheezed. "I have an eighty-year-old mother to care for… and a child who just got weaned…"
"Do you think I'd believe that? You? Constantine? With an eighty-year-old mom and a just-weaned kid?"
"Well, you can flip it around. I've got a just-weaned mother and an eighty-year-old kid. Both require full-time care."
Dante stared at him like he was trying to decide whether to punch him for comedy or therapy.
He used to like Constantine a lot—as a comic book character.
But face-to-face? In the flesh?
Ugh. Just… no.
Still, the guy was a high-level mage. And with the amount of chaos coming down the pipeline, Dante knew he might need someone who specialized in the kinds of problems that broke causality just by existing.
Didn't mean he couldn't rough him up a little first.
Even with Constantine's "broad spectrum" interests, he probably wouldn't enjoy this part.
Seeing the look in Dante's eye shift from amused to 'I'm gonna rearrange your face for fun', Constantine waved the white flag.
"Esteemed superhuman! We have no beef—past or present. Let's just pretend this was all a misunderstanding. You can keep the artifact—think of it as a welcome gift!"
Constantine said, a smile twitching into something vaguely charming, "Just so you know, I spent a long time on a southern island—Purgatory. Lovely weather. I met a good friend there. He's an FBI elite now. If I ever go missing, he'd turn the whole damn country upside down to find me."
Classic Constantine—sweet talk laced with soft threats and emotional manipulation.
If Dante had really been some rogue superhuman, wrongfully imprisoned and low on political capital, this kind of pitch might have worked.
Unfortunately for Constantine...
"You wouldn't happen to mean a certain archer named Oliver Queen, would you?"
"You've heard of my brother-in-arms? Excellent. Then we can talk terms. You let me go, I hand over the artifact—wait, what are you doing?"
Dante didn't answer. He casually tapped his communicator, switched it to speaker mode.
"Skye, is Oliver there?"
"Yup yup!" Skye's voice came through with a pop. "Not just Oliver—everyone's watching your mission. We just don't have visuals where you are."
"Don't be disappointed yet. Put Oliver on the line."
Two seconds later, a rich, tired voice came through.
"Agent Dante. What do you need?"
"There's a British guy in a yellow trench coat in front of me. Says he has an eternal bond with you. Claims the friendship was forged in Purgatory."
"British? Magician? Purgatory? Oh hell no—is that Constantine?! That bastard made me tank all the melee damage! I'm a ranged unit, you idiot!"
"Says you two are very close."
"Bullsh—! I mean… We've worked together a few times. That's it."
"He also says you'd flip the country upside down looking for him."
"Only if I was trying to return him to Hell!"
Constantine's smile slowly turned into a thousand-yard stare as Oliver's voice kept coming through loud and clear.
Welp. There went that bluff.
Constantine scrambled for Plan C.
He couldn't outmuscle the guy.
Couldn't out-talk him.
Then, with surgical efficiency, Dante sealed Constantine's mouth shut with Will Green Light and chucked him aside.
By now, Mick Rory had finally recovered from Dante's kidney-shot and made his way to the bottom of the crater.
He was about to help Snart up when Constantine, now hogtied in green energy, landed next to him.
Dante gave Mick a shrug.
"You and Snart aren't allowed to run. We've still got business. But in the meantime—go ahead. Beat the crap outta him. Consider it prison warm-up."
Snart: "Don't help me up! Beat him first! Start with that smug nose!"
Dante ignored the chaos behind him—Mick's rage, Snart's cheers, Constantine's muffled yelps—and walked straight toward Mjolnir.
He reached out…
And failed.
Not even a wobble.
"This hammer's got trust issues! I'm so righteous! What else do you want from me!?"
"Sure, I enjoy staring at Ada's legs. And Harley's too. But I've got principles! My soul is pure!"
Dante grumbled, but didn't linger.
He moved to the cell at the far end.
Just a regular iron door—but loaded with complex, divine-targeting enchantments.
He examined them.
They weren't meant to hurt humans.
They were designed to suppress divine beings. If someone like Loki tried to walk through, he'd lose all power—like a Devil Fruit user swimming in Seastone.
Which meant…
There was a god inside.
And with Mjolnir just lying in the pit?
The identity was obvious.
Thor.
Dante didn't hesitate. He tore the door open and stepped inside.
In the center of a fading seal was a tall, blonde figure with a godly build.
This version of Thor looked more like a tired 90s action star than the usual golden-haired himbo.
Dante erased the last of the enchantments, then opened a portal.
Time to drop Thor off with the team—and maybe bring them here too.
Because the second he broke the seal…
A red streak sliced through the sky—originating from the Warden's tower.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 60: Are All Asgardians Not Very Smart?
After Dante opened the portal, the first one to rush into Fox River Prison wasn't Hela or Loki.
It was Ada Wong.
She even hooked herself through with a grappling hook gun.
"What the hell? A portal can be hooked by a grappling hook gun? So this thing has mass now?"
"Are you seriously asking me how portal magic works?"
Ada flipped lightly through the portal and landed in a perfect backflip.
"I'm just a little surprised. What surprises me more is that you actually seem kind of eager to see me."
"To be honest… I really was looking forward to it."
Her gaze softened into something dangerously sweet.
Then she stepped on Dante's foot and ground it in hard.
Did it hurt? Not even a little. It kind of tickled.
But still—manners!
He had to say something! She just stomped on him for no reason!
Fortunately, Dante wasn't wearing shoes anymore—his prison-issue gear had been vaporized during his double-teamed barbecue with Captain Cold and Heat Wave.
If he'd still been wearing those signed sneakers he bought last month?
He might've actually cried.
He didn't know a damn thing about American football, but those collaboration sneakers? Chef's kiss. Gorgeous.
Cheap stuff's only perk is that it's cheap.
Expensive stuff's only flaw is that it's expensive.
Ada's stomp seemed to deflate a bit at Dante's usual casual sarcasm.
But just because her rage subsided didn't mean it disappeared.
She jabbed a finger toward the portal.
"You have some nerve talking like that. I—an emotionally stable, mortal human—have spent an entire month being trained by a galactic war criminal who's conquered multiple planets!"
"Do you even understand what being mortal means? Living in some emotionally ambiguous guy's house, changing outfits just to see if he reacts—but he never takes the bait! Managing a team he never manages! Filing all the paperwork! And guess what—there's not a single sane person on this team who can help me with it!"
"Even while I'm drowning in all that, I still have to train! And the one training me is an actual Asgardian Goddess using her real power! For a salary that doesn't even break six figures! I nearly had to sell an organ just to afford a grappling hook gun!"
"Remind me again why I'm risking my life?!"
Ada's tirade finally snapped Dante back to reality.
Oh. Right.
That was... actually a valid point.
When Hela first proposed "building a Midgard army," Dante had agreed without hesitation.
He figured it'd be good for the superhumans.
What he forgot was that Ada was—relatively speaking—a normal human.
Harley Quinn didn't count. First of all, her brain-to-pain threshold had clearly been reset somewhere along the way.
While she wasn't literally superhuman, her strength, speed, and reflexes were miles beyond any average Agent.
And second…
She was 100% a narrative-anchored, chosen-one-style wildcard. If this universe were a comic book or fanfic written by a half-mad keyboard gremlin, Harley Quinn would absolutely be one of the protagonists.
To put it plainly: Harley Quinn could rally an army tomorrow and take over the world… and no one would be surprised.
"Yeah… that one's on me," Dante admitted. "Kinda unfair grouping you with all the supers."
"Hmph. Even so, I'm still the one who scored the highest in monthly combat evaluations—from the Asgardian Goddess herself." Ada rolled her eyes. "Just because I complain doesn't mean I'm weak."
The moment she let that off her chest, her balance came back.
Then she glanced around the crater.
Her eyes landed on a half-naked golden-haired man in the center.
"Uh… who's that?"
"Oh damn—see, now you've distracted me so bad I forgot the mission briefing." Dante pointed dramatically. "Ada! This is a serious failure of operational conduct. Distracting your leader with flirting and grievances? Tsk, tsk."
"Your punishment will be administered post-mission. Go home, change into white stockings, and prepare for an in-depth conversation with your superior officer. Also, use titles when you talk to me."
With that bit of wildly inappropriate HR violation out of the way, Dante hopped back through the portal.
He didn't bother saying a word to his recovering team, who were still lying flat on the ground like the world's most exhausted chess pieces.
Instead, he looked straight at the Asgardian siblings.
"Come see if this golden-haired dumbass is from your family!"
"Dude's lying face-down in the deepest cell of Fox River wearing nothing but shorts! If he had one piece of clothing more or less, I might've taken him seriously!"
"So what—you're implying all Asgardians are a bit insane?" Loki muttered, standing up and dusting himself off. "Actually… that checks out. We kind of are."
Dante blinked in mild shock.
Holy crap. Loki just… agreed? With logic?
Emotional stability? Self-awareness?
Maybe that beating Clark gave him really did knock his whole personality into alignment.
"Your Majesty," Dante addressed Hela next, "mind elaborating on your earlier comment?"
Hela appeared wearing a high-tier version of her usual black battle armor—same style as when she first broke free from her seal, but clearly tailored and reinforced.
Her presence radiated a potent cocktail of divine authority and regal elegance, wrapped around a dangerously tall woman who probably bench-pressed enemies in her sleep.
Dante felt visual pressure just looking at her.
"What golden-haired dumbass?" she asked, stepping forward with deliberate power. "Did you pick up another stray while I wasn't looking?"
"You call that an ability?" Dante facepalmed. "Do I look like I want this much drama? I didn't choose him! He showed up in a prison crater! I'm 90% sure he's Asgardian. But I need Loki to confirm it."
Hela's frown deepened.
"My brother, isn't this realm—Midgard—a bit too… strange? Why is there another Asgardian here?"
"Don't ask," Loki sighed. "Midgard is built different."
"Let's not forget, even you got sealed in Midgard by Father."
"True. Which means we might be anomalies too."
"No! I made a calculated deal with that lunatic Thanos!" Loki corrected, proudly. "He'd supply the troops, I'd take Midgard. That was an intergalactic mercenary army!"
"And you still got stomped by Clark Kent," Hela said, crossing the portal and firing the killshot mid-stride.
"Big Sis! Can we not bring that up every time? I'm still under fifteen hundred years old!"
Loki followed her through the portal, sulking.
"That whole invasion failed because I chose the wrong city. If I had picked New York—wait no, not New York, Dante's there. Maybe—Washington? No, not Washington either—Dante's also there—ugh!"
"You didn't choose anything," Dante snapped, spinning around. "If you had picked New York, Stark alone couldn't have stopped the Chitauri. FBI teams wouldn't either."
"But if you had…"
"I'd deliver your head to Odin personally."
Dante gave Loki a tight pat on the shoulder and shoved him toward the half-naked thunder god.
"Go check if this guy looks familiar. Blonde, brainless, probably your non-blood-related brother with identical cognitive malfunctions."
Loki hesitated, then rushed over.
He crouched next to the golden-haired man, squinted at his face—and immediately burst into laughter.
"Wahahaha! Thor! It's really you! I never imagined you'd end up like this! My glorious big brother—what are you doing lying here half-naked, butt in the air, passed out in a Midgard prison?"
"They say Midgard prisons love handsome men, you know."
Hela wasn't one for subtlety.
She walked past them and stepped directly on Thor's ass, using him as a footstool to examine the surrounding magic arrays.
Honestly, Hela didn't care much about this younger brother she'd never met.
He looked too much like Odin, which triggered her every time.
If anything, she preferred Loki—the troublemaker frost giant who, deep down, was just as twisted as Odin himself.
But even Hela's nonchalance had its limits.
Because the moment she stomped his rear, Thor groaned and started waking up.
The first thing he saw?
Loki.
"Loki, you scoundrel!" Thor barked. "You tricked me with that distress signal!!"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 23: Chapter 61-63
Chapter Text
Chapter 61: The Peak
"Who tricked you?! I was actually captured by a terrifying guy back then, okay?! I was locked in a magic-suppression cell for an entire year!"
Loki flared up the second Thor accused him.
Sure, he'd played "The Wolf Is Coming" on his brother plenty of times before—and yeah, he probably wasn't done doing it in the future.
But the one time he sent a real distress signal across the freaking galaxy?
He was serious.
Who would go through all the trouble of interstellar communications just to prank their own himbo brother?
"And you didn't even come to save me! We're the ones who saved you!"
Dante found Loki's expression a bit too bitter this time.
The moment Thor received that distress signal, even if his brain told him it was probably just another trick…
His body didn't hesitate.
He flew straight from Asgard to Midgard. No second-guessing. No delay.
Because deep down, he was terrified something had really happened to his brother.
That's love.
Dante looked away, expression twisted in a rare moment of emotional awkwardness.
Goddamn it… now I'm shipping them.
Thor x Loki — brothers, idiots, and emotionally stunted tsundere types.
Thor, oblivious to the silent fanboying, continued grumbling at Loki:
"You were imprisoned for a year? In a magic suppression cage? Then look at me! I've been locked in this place for a whole year too!"
"Surrounded by fifty overlapping divine suppression magic circles! I could only muster up just enough power to resonate with Mjolnir at 10 PM every day. Barely enough to nudge it outside the damn circle!"
"And you, my brother—one of the most powerful magic users in the Nine Realms—how am I not supposed to think you set me up!?"
Dante pieced it together.
Thor came to Midgard to save someone… and got trapped himself.
For a year, he sat in that prison, convinced that the betrayal came from his own brother.
And now? Finally seeing Loki again—and learning he really had called for help?
That stupid thunder dumbass was secretly thrilled.
He was still yelling, but Dante could feel it.
Thor's joy was practically radiating off him, even with just shorts on.
Thanks to the Ancestral Green Lantern Ring, even if Dante could only wield Will Green Light, he'd gained passive awareness of emotions—especially tsundere ones.
So of course, Dante's brain immediately swiveled to Hela.
If tsundere is a family trait… then what kind of black-hole emotional damage package is she hiding?
Meanwhile, the tall Asgardian Queen was crouched over the magic array Dante had wrecked.
"Divinity suppression, magic dampening, physical weakening, nightmare recursion…"
"How is it?" Dante asked. "Find anything fun?"
"Other than the divine suppression seal, the rest are standard fare. Nothing unusual. But this divine countermeasure array… even this blonde fool could've escaped if that wasn't here."
"I don't know who made it—but I guarantee it wasn't crafted by a magician. This came from something higher."
Hela stood up and walked toward Dante...
And once again, stepped directly on Thor's butt as she passed.
This time, Thor was awake.
"Hey! You—woman! You're being rude! I am Thor Odinson, first son of Odin, the All-Father! The God of Thunder of Asgard! Future King!"
Hela stared at her clueless golden-haired brother and sighed.
"First son?" she scoffed. "Future King of Asgard? You think you're the first one to hear that lie?"
"What? What does that mean? Who even are you?!"
"My foolish little brother," Hela said darkly. "You know nothing, Thor Odinson."
---
"WHAT?! You mean you're my older sister?! Odin's first child?! The Commander of Asgard's Army?! Crown Prince?! That's heresy, Loki! Don't lie to me!"
"Hmph. Looks like peace made Odin lazy. He actually raised an heir this… dumb. He really is getting old."
Hela examined Thor's dumbfounded face like it was a historical artifact she didn't understand.
She'd known warriors like him—brave, straightforward, emotionally sincere.
She liked that type.
But to put that type on the throne?
Asgard would collapse in a month.
To her, Thor—at least this version—didn't have the heart or mind to be a king.
"Shut up! Even if you are my sister, I won't let you insult Odin!"
Thor staggered to his feet, still weakened, and raised a trembling hand toward the ceiling.
Dante saw that movement and casually side-stepped out of hammer range.
This moron never looks when he calls Mjolnir.
Besides—Thor's not the only one with a claim.
Right now, his previous hammer owner was standing right there.
And speaking of Mjolnir...
Dante suddenly remembered something.
There were still three idiots outside waiting to be thrown into the Bureau's lockup.
No one was guarding them, sure.
But between exhaustion, trauma, and Dante's casual threats, they were probably still where he left them.
"Hey. Go grab the others," Dante said, jerking his chin at Loki. "Also, round up the three criminals outside."
Loki nodded and walked back through the portal to retrieve Wanda, Pietro, and Harley Quinn.
As the portal closed behind them, Mjolnir—a war hammer forged from the core of a dying star—cut through the air like a divine missile.
It flew straight toward one golden-haired man in shorts.
Thor reached out, fingers trembling.
He was just inches away.
If he grasped Mjolnir, Odin's seal would instantly reactivate. His divine powers would surge back in full.
It would be like watching Hela step on Asgard's soil—instantly restoring her peak might.
For Thor, Mjolnir wasn't just a weapon.
It was a limiter, a crutch, and a full-stack resurrection item rolled into one.
But…
A slender, pale hand reached out first—and grabbed the hammer mid-air.
Thor's lips froze mid-smile.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 62: Double Punch
"Loki, if I gave you a chance right now… would you really kill Thor?"
Dante let out a sigh, gaze full of melancholy.
"If it were before, maybe. But now… let's just drop it."
"Why?"
"You're seriously asking me why?" Loki pointed at Thor, who was currently being pounded into the concrete by Hela.
Dante glanced at Thor's once-classic, square-jawed golden-boy face—now swollen and dented to the point of species ambiguity.
That was some sisterly love.
She wasn't even using her powers as the Goddess of Death—just pure Asgardian muscle and Mjolnir-to-face action. And thanks to Thor's insane physical durability, he wasn't dead. Yet.
Honestly? This was her being gentle.
Dante was starting to think Hela wasn't actually the cold-blooded villain history made her out to be.
Hell, she didn't even hate Odin the way people assumed.
What she hated… was being erased.
She'd conquered realms for him, killed for him, won wars—and he turned around and sealed her away on Earth like a mistake.
And for what?
Because one day, he decided he wanted to rule "peacefully" now?
Classic Emperor Dad move.
First he trains you in war, then ditches you when you become too good at it.
No wonder Hela wanted to get some retroactive payback.
And what better way to insult Odin than to reduce his poster-boy son to a cosmic punching bag?
Naturally, Dante and Loki decided to sit back and watch the live show.
Siblings brawling violently? That's family bonding—Asgard edition.
At first, Thor stayed stubborn, clenching his jaw through the pain, even trying to fight back.
But by the time Mjolnir had finished sculpting his face, even he realized this wasn't just a scolding.
This was… something else.
His sister wasn't angry at him.
She was using his face to punch Odin in the metaphorical nuts.
And being the Crown Prince?
Well, that made Thor the most punchable thing in sight.
Realizing this, Thor's massive frame shuddered with a strange new emotion:
Grievance.
"M-my elder sis… I was wrong."
Loki's poker face completely crumbled.
"PFFFFT—HAHAHAHAHA! I'm dying! That idiot actually admitted he was wrong! And begged for mercy!"
"Ahh…" Dante sighed with faux depth. "According to my professional analysis, if he were up against a life-or-death enemy, Thor would rather die than surrender. But here? Getting beat by Big Sis? Of course he's gonna beg. It's family."
"Hmph! He doesn't get to surrender yet!" Loki huffed. "If you're getting beat, you're finishing the beatdown."
He glanced at Hela.
Eyes gleaming, Loki slinked toward the sibling smackdown with a devilish grin.
Dante reached out—half-heartedly—but he was already too late.
Not that he tried that hard.
"Big Sister! Don't stop! He and Father were in cahoots! Only you and I are the real family here! We're the true heirs of Asgard!"
Hela froze mid-swing.
Then turned.
Her expression was unreadable.
But the heat behind her eyes made Loki's blood run cold.
Because while Thor resembled Odin on the outside...
Loki—adopted or not—acted like Odin on the inside.
And Hela could not stand that.
"B-Big Sister… why are you looking at me like that?"
Then—crack.
The next swing landed squarely on Loki.
"DANTE! HELP!"
"Sorry, man. I'm morally conflicted and spiritually unavailable."
Dante was already exasperated.
"Hela, just think about this. Odin let these two clowns run free across the Nine Realms, while you, who actually wanted to strengthen Asgard, got sealed away on Earth. Does that not piss you off? Does that not break your heart? Hit 'em harder! No proper King ever rose without beating the stupid out of his siblings!"
...
Despite the epic domestic violence playing out behind him, Dante remembered he had an actual job.
He left the cell, leading his squad back out while giving the siblings some… private time.
Mostly because there were too many people in there, and Hela might start holding back.
And judging by the air pressure, she'd probably already summoned her Nightsword.
As he exited, Dante glanced back one last time, pressed a palm to his chest, formed a hand sign, muttered "Amitabha," and walked away solemnly.
Once out, Dante put his game face back on.
No more religious memes—now it was mission mode.
"There are three guys down in the pit. Two of them are just petty criminals, motivated by profit. Not that dangerous. But the third…"
He glanced at Wanda.
"…He's a magic user. A very skilled one. Right now, he's fully locked down by my Will Green Light. Can't form seals, can't chant spells. But don't get cocky. He's a manipulative dirtbag with zero moral bottom."
"Yes, Captain!" Wanda saluted instinctively. She was still adjusting to seeing Dante in full federal-agent mode.
"Big Sis Hela taught me a lot about channeling magic this month. If he can't resist, I should be able to suppress his abilities temporarily."
"Perfect. Constantine's yours."
As they dropped down into the pit…
Mick Rory was still beating the crap out of Constantine.
"Alright, that's enough. Mick Rory, stop. Punishment has been served."
But Rory was full rage-mode by now.
Words were no longer getting through.
Dante sighed and gestured at Pietro.
"Make him stop."
"Yes, Captain!"
Pietro grinned—a confident, actual smile, which would've been unheard of a month ago—and disappeared in a silver flash.
To normal people, it looked like a bolt of lightning knocked Mick out cold.
But Dante saw every frame.
Pietro's speed had been climbing steadily since his mutation stabilized.
He wasn't breaking the sound barrier yet—still around 600 mph—but that was more than enough.
Quicksilver wasn't just fast. His body was evolved to handle that speed.
No fatigue toxins. Supercharged cardio-respiratory systems. Insane muscle efficiency.
Strength wasn't his thing, sure, but lifting a few hundred kilos? Child's play.
And as his speed kept increasing, the rest of his body would evolve too.
That thought reminded Dante of Barry Allen.
Honestly, if nothing weird happens, Pietro and Barry will probably become bros. Like, really fast bros.
Both lost their moms. Both had practically nonexistent dads. Both ran to escape the pain.
God, that's sad.
But hey—at least they weren't Bruce Wayne.
Speaking of…
Far away in Gotham City, Bruce Wayne paused mid-training as he suddenly sneezed.
Alfred glanced up from dusting the Batcomputer. "Master Bruce, are you alright? You haven't sneezed in years."
"It's nothing, Alfred," Bruce muttered.
Still, as he resumed training, he had a sudden sense of foreboding…
Someone, somewhere, was talking about him behind his back.
Meanwhile, back in the pit, Dante squatted next to Constantine, who was tied up like a cursed zongzi.
"You still able to talk, Constantine?"
"Wuwuwuwu! Wuwuwuwu! (Let me go! I swear I won't run!)"
"…Are you stupid? Do I look like Professor X? I can't read your mind."
Dante rolled his eyes and loosened the gag.
"But let's get one thing clear: if you run, I will hunt you down. Doesn't matter how deep into the magical underworld you crawl—I'll find you. You know I can."
Constantine nodded frantically.
Run?
Hell no.
He could feel it—at least three terrifying presences nearby.
One had just popped into the cell above.
The other was outside, near the warden's office.
And the one in front of him?
Well… that one made all the others look like warm-up bosses.
Even if he wanted to run, he knew damn well…
This time?
He probably couldn't make it out alive.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 63: The Crimson Lord
Dante released Constantine without the slightest psychological burden.
Sure, the guy might betray him and run off, but he wasn't stupid.
He wouldn't make a run for it with people watching—odds were too low. Constantine's greatest strength was always knowing his own limits.
"Cough, cough, cough. You're really ruthless, you know that? You actually shoved that weird green light cylinder thing into my mouth... Honestly? The sensation reminded me of my ex-boyfriend—no, the one before the last."
"Damn it, I didn't let you out to listen to your pansexual dating history."
Dante had zero interest in Constantine's flexible romantic resume.
What he really wanted to know was—who the hell was inside the Warden's Office?
Or more accurately—what the hell?
Because whoever—or whatever—it was, it had to be high-tier. No way it could've taken down Thor otherwise.
And Hela had said the divine counter-magic array that had nullified her power could only have been created by a higher-level being.
Coming from her, that meant at least someone on Mephisto's level.
Maybe even someone beyond All Father-tier.
If they were in a more recognizable setting, Dante might've had a clue which great cosmic jerk this was.
But this was Fox River Prison.
The most evil thing normally here was T-bag.
"I was just trying to lighten the mood..." Even with a face puffed up like a balloon, Constantine lit a cigarette, exhaled, and followed up, "Because unless something crazy happens—we're pretty much screwed."
Dante frowned.
Screwed?
If even a degenerate like Constantine sounded that hopeless…
Then just who was inside that Warden's building?
"You sensed the presence inside the Warden's building. You should've sensed the one in the cell too, right?"
"Yeah. The one in the cell—is she your person?" Constantine blinked, then smacked his forehead. "Damn it. That fire-throwing bastard knocked me around so hard, I definitely have a concussion. Of course she's with you—if you're out, that means she is too."
"With her, do we have a chance?"
"Do you think one more 'god' matters when you're facing an entire universe?"
Not exactly the answer Dante wanted.
That basically meant this mission was a no-go. At least for now.
Sure, the system didn't impose any time limits or failure penalties, but Dante knew his best option was retreat.
Live to fight another day.
Still, the whole thing left a bitter taste in his mouth. He almost wanted to summon Clark then and there.
"That human magician. Stop spouting doomsday nonsense."
A majestic voice cut in from behind him.
Hela, Goddess of Death, had arrived. Looking very pleased after beating up her brothers.
Two guys were limping behind her, helping each other along.
Apparently, getting your ass kicked by your sister was a decent way to bond.
Turns out fists really are friendship accelerators.
Constantine opened his mouth to fire back, but the second he saw Hela, he shut it.
Because this was another legit god-tier presence.
"Noble goddess, I may not know your exact identity," Constantine said with an overly formal bow, "but I wasn't exaggerating. I can sense it—that presence isn't from our universe. These dimension lords, they're omniscient in their own planes. Invincible, even. And when Agent Dante grabbed me earlier, I could already feel that thing had cracked through the boundaries of our universe. Its power has bled through. Right now, this prison is basically covered by a foreign dimension."
"It's just a bit of energy leaking out from a dimensional rift," Hela scoffed.
She'd seen her fair share of dimension lords.
Sure, they could manipulate time, reality, even remake their home dimensions with a snap of their fingers.
But that was in their own house.
Once they left their territory, they were just glorified All Father-level nuisances.
Take Mephisto. Once that guy left his Hell Dimension, he got into multiple scraps with the old man Odin and even her.
He was strong, yeah. But beatable.
This human magician? Still wet behind the ears.
"Hela," Dante stepped forward and lowered his voice. "Are you sure?"
Her answer would decide if this mission was salvageable.
"At most, he's All Father-level."
Hela didn't hesitate for a second.
Even the most powerful plane demons and dimension overlords had to pay a steep price to act outside their own backyard.
That confirmation made Dante exhale.
So she and he were on the same page.
With Hela's restored power and Dante's current setup, they could take on a standard All Father-class opponent.
"You—how can you be so sure it's just leaked power?" Constantine pressed. His tone was unusually serious.
Even a bastard like him had pride in his craft.
"When a dimension lord overlaps this world with their own," Hela said coolly, now standing beside Dante and pulling him close like she was claiming territory, "you don't get the luxury of a debate. We'd have been instantly erased. Not killed. Erased. Like we never existed."
Okay, Dante thought, being pulled into a full-body Death Goddess cuddle. That tracks.
He wasn't some rookie anymore. He could now tell the difference between interdimensional and intradimensional teleportation.
And that was key—his portal had worked.
Meaning this place still belonged to their native dimension.
"But don't start celebrating just yet." Hela leaned down and whispered, "That magician wasn't completely wrong. Someone in this prison has collected divine relics—or items tied to that dimension lord. With enough compatible power, the guy descending could be stronger than usual."
"Why do you guys always have to speak in riddles?"
Dante groaned.
So what she meant was—the enemy wasn't a normal All Father-level, but possibly a peak-tier one?
Before he could say anything else, Coulson's voice came through his comms.
"Dante! Are you okay? Skye and Ingrid just detected a rapidly expanding energy entity at Fox River Prison!"
"You picked it up too?" Dante asked. "How strong is it?"
"Too far away for an exact read, but all indicators are off the charts. Higher than when Hela entered FBI Headquarters."
That was all he needed to hear.
Whoever was inside that Warden's building wasn't just All Father-level.
They were above Hela's current combat threshold.
Dante glanced at his team.
No way he was dragging them into a boss fight like this.
Just as he was about to order a full retreat, the Green Lantern power battery materialized in his hand out of nowhere.
He froze.
He hadn't summoned it.
"Guardian, that place... it's tied to the Emotional Spectrum."
A childlike voice came from the lantern battery.
Dante blinked.
Wait what?
His Green Lantern battery... talked?
And it was a kid's voice?
Wait. Were they telepathically linked?
He peered through the lantern window.
Sure enough, the tiny Ion Shark was circling inside like an excited puppy.
It even had that very human expression on its little face.
Dante recognized it.
Speechless disappointment.
"You're Ion Shark?"
"Yes, dear Guardian. It is I."
"You just said... the dimension lord is connected to the Emotional Spectrum?"
"Yes."
"Then all the more reason I can't go! A peak All Father-level wielder of Emotional Spectrum power? That's suicide for my team!"
"I can help. But I'm still young. At best, I can merge with you for one minute…"
Merge?
Merge with Ion Shark?
Dante smacked his own forehead.
Right. He had that wild card.
Even if it was just for a minute...
That was one hell of a minute.
Decision made.
"Ada. You, Harley, and the Wanda twins—escort these three prisoners back to the Bureau and stay on standby."
"Hela, Loki. With me. We're facing that bastard head-on."
As Dante spoke, he opened a portal.
Ada Wong and Harley Quinn gave him the are you sure? look, but they didn't argue.
They understood this wasn't their fight.
And they trusted Dante.
After sending them off, Dante turned to Thor.
"You really don't want to see the guy who locked you up?"
"Oh, I do."
"And once you see him—you want to punch him?"
"Obviously."
"Then let's go."
Hela, noticing Thor seemed a bit less dense after his beating, casually tossed Mjolnir back to him.
As soon as it touched his hand, Thor's power surged.
With a BOOM, he smashed open the cell wall.
The Warden's building came into view.
Or rather, what used to be the Warden's building.
It had completely turned blood-red, like it had been soaked in gore.
And standing at the entrance—was a massive figure.
Also blood-red.
"I have waited long enough, you ants."
"You will cry out my name in despair as you die."
"My true name is…"
"Crimson Lord—Cyttorak!"
(To be continued.)
...
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Chapter 24: Chapter 64-65
Chapter Text
Chapter 64: Crimson Universe and Raging Red
Cyttorak?
The Cyttorak who created Juggernaut?
Dante frowned as he stared at the towering "figure" clad head-to-toe in crimson—armor, skin, and the energy swirling around him, all the same blood-red hue.
Even among the infamous Dimensional Devil Gods and Plane Lords, Cyttorak was one of the absolute strongest.
His mastery over the Crimson Cosmos was unmatched among the dimensional pantheon.
But Cyttorak wasn't like that flashy troublemaker Mephisto. Mephisto loved nothing more than showing up in person to meddle in cosmic and historical events.
He was the guy who planted maggots on Celestials, tempted Adam and Eve to eat the fruit of wisdom, created Ghost Rider, and convinced baby Thanos to start his Earth invasion arc...
Basically, Mephisto was the devil in humanity's Wikipedia edits.
By contrast, Cyttorak was the complete opposite.
He had a mild curiosity about the world beyond his Crimson Throne, but not enough to actually leave it.
Instead, his influence came in the form of manifesting fragments of his power into objects and launching them into reality like eldritch care packages.
Case in point: the Crimson Gem that turned Cain Marko into Juggernaut.
As Professor X's non-blood-related brother, Marko gained divine-tier strength by touching the gem. The result? Juggernaut—Cyttorak's Earth-side tank.
On paper, Juggernaut could brawl with Savage Hulk. Some even said he could go a few rounds with Green Scar on a good day.
But in practice? Juggernaut didn't make the A-list.
Part of that was the editor's fault… but mostly it was because Cyttorak's power was severely nerfed once it left the Crimson Cosmos.
Still, that only applied to Juggernaut—and that one gem.
According to legend, Cyttorak had cast eight Crimson Gems into the physical universe.
Maybe when they were all gathered, Juggernaut's true potential—or even a direct Cyttorak avatar—would finally emerge.
And the being in front of him? Easily over four meters tall. Juggernaut-adjacent in look, but clearly something else entirely.
Dante could already tell: this crimson titan was stronger than the current Hela.
And that was... ridiculous.
Almost as ridiculous as him claiming to be Cyttorak.
Dante wasn't buying it. There was no way the actual Crimson Cosmos overlord just randomly dropped into Earth to hassle an Asgardian.
"Dear Guardian! Do you feel that terrifying red energy coming off that person in the distance?"
"How could I not? It's basically screaming, 'Look at me!' like a spotlight at midnight."
"That is the red of the Emotional Spectrum—the energy of Rage and hatred."
Ion Shark's voice echoed in Dante's mind.
Dante inhaled, closed his eyes, and focused...
Sure enough, the red aura seeping from the figure was faintly reacting with the uncontrolled Green Willpower energy within him.
That confirmed it. This wasn't just red. It was Rage—pure Red Lantern Rage.
But...
"Ion Shark, besides the Emotional Spectrum energy, isn't there another dimensional or universal power fused into it?"
"Yes. In addition to the Rage Red Light, these crimson energies also contain a different power—just as red, just as potent. And it makes up a substantial portion. Its properties are so compatible with the Rage Red Light that even without a Red Lantern Corps to channel it, it can absorb and control the Rage energy naturally."
Ion Shark was young, but as a naturally born Lantern Beast, he came preloaded with more knowledge than most interdimensional scholars would ever collect.
So hearing that the Crimson Cosmos energy had this kind of compatibility with Rage? Totally on brand.
Juggernaut types always fell into rage-fueled destruction. Even if their willpower could suppress it for a while, eventually they gave in.
The Crimson Cosmos wasn't just a source of power—it was a black hole of violent obsession.
And now, with Ion Shark confirming everything, Dante had a pretty clear read on the monster in front of them.
This guy didn't just tap into one Crimson Gem.
He probably had several.
Add to that a method of channeling the Rage Red Light, and this combination must've caught the eye of the real Cyttorak, lounging on his eldritch throne across the dimensional divide.
Result? Temporary dimensional overlay.
This fusion of Crimson Cosmos energy and Emotional Spectrum Rage had become a perfect vessel for a piece of Cyttorak's will.
So yeah—he wasn't lying when he said he was Cyttorak.
But he definitely wasn't the Cyttorak.
His power level came not from his own merit, but from Cyttorak being just curious enough to sponsor him like some kind of multiverse influencer.
Otherwise? He'd be stuck on the same level as Hela.
If before, Dante was banking on Ion Shark as a last-minute Hail Mary, now he was just... confident.
Sure, fusion powers were usually insane.
But they also shared the same fatal flaw: instability.
Ion Shark had said the Rage Red Light was being controlled—but only because no Red Lanterns existed yet. There were no ring-bearers to push back.
Unclaimed energy was easy to manipulate.
But what if it became claimed?
In canon, Atrocitus had to use cosmic blood magic to forge the first Red Lantern Ring.
But Dante had another method in mind...
If the Crimson Gem could attract and stabilize Rage Red Light—then why not use the gem itself as a foundation for a Red Lantern Corps?
The idea lit a fire in Dante's mind.
Wasn't that basically stealing Cyttorak's lunch money and building his own empire with it?
Multiversal NTR?
Hell yeah.
"Hela, what are our odds against that guy? You, your brothers, and me."
"It's razor-thin," Hela replied as she strode forward through the hole Thor had smashed. "Energy levels don't dictate combat performance. But one thing's clear—this fight will drag on."
With every step she took, a Nightsword shimmered into existence beside her, floating ominously.
"My sister! Let me lend you a hand!"
Thor came flying after her, Mjolnir spinning like a jet turbine. Lightning sparked wildly, blue arcs flashing across his eyes.
Compared to the golden himbo who just got pummeled earlier, this version of Thor actually looked like the God of Thunder.
But unlike his two battle-happy siblings, Loki was more of a thinker.
"Dante, do you really think that guy's the real Cyttorak?"
"What do you think?"
"Well... he's strong. But if this were the true body of a Dimensional Devil God... wouldn't he be stronger?"
"Exactly. He's just a puppet—carrying a sliver of Cyttorak's gaze."
Dante patted Loki's shoulder.
"As your sister said: power doesn't equal skill. You three Asgardians should be able to hold him off. So... go! Pokémon!"
Loki snapped. Then blinked. "Wait, what do you mean we can handle him? What about you?"
"I'm a senior FBI agent. I supervise. Delegation is my superpower."
Loki was still mid-sarcastic explosion when a blur crashed into the wall beside them.
"For the name of Odinson! What a powerful foe!"
Thor leapt to his feet, stretching like he just pulled a muscle, not like he just got swatted by a god.
Dante silently gave him a nod of respect. Not even All Father-tier yet, and the guy tanked a hit from a top-tier rage fusion without a scratch. Just a few wrinkles in his golden hair.
"Huh? Loki, why are you still here?"
Thor spotted his brother and immediately grabbed him by the collar.
"THOR! YOU #$%...&*!!!"
Watching the two soar into battle.
"Ah. Sibling love. So moving."
Then Dante stepped out of the breach.
But unlike the Asgard trio, Dante didn't charge into the fight.
He took a sharp turn and entered the blood-red building behind the crimson giant.
Fight?
Please.
He was an agent. Not a gladiator.
He didn't need to throw hands in every encounter.
And his team had just completed Death Goddess boot camp. Wasn't it only fair to test their training results?
As an FBI agent, efficiency mattered. Solve problems. Complete objectives. Don't waste time.
And right now?
His goal was to hit the enemy's soft underbelly while the siblings distracted the big red boss.
He had a hunch this building—now pulsing with crimson energy—was the real key to the whole mess.
And sure enough, the moment Dante slipped through a side entrance.
Cyttorak, mid-fight with the Asgard trio, snapped his attention toward him and immediately charged.
But he didn't make it.
Hela stepped in and blocked him.
"Hela, he's guarding something. Hold him back—I'll take care of what's inside."
Even in the middle of a high-tier battle, Hela's voice reached Dante like it was whispered in his ear.
"Be careful, my Queen."
"Of course."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 65: Mystery Man
As soon as Dante officially stepped into the building, his entire field of vision was drowned in crimson.
"Damn it. I don't know who designed this place, but their aesthetic is completely shot. Everything's crimson or deep red—does this bastard not know any other colors?!"
Grumbling, Dante summoned a greatsword forged from his Will Green Light—ridiculously oversized and entirely impractical-looking, like a prop from a fantasy RPG.
With a crisp "chi," the sword plunged into the wall.
Then, he dragged it in a circle and carved out a chunk of the wall.
He lifted the red slab. The moment it touched the Will Green Light, part of the red energy inside started boiling.
"Ion Shark, I thought the opposite of Rage Red Light was Hope Blue. So why is it reacting this violently with the Will Green Light, the most neutral one?"
"That's just a theoretical opposition based on Emotional Spectrum attributes. In reality, Rage Red reacts antagonistically with any other emotional light. The more extreme the emotion, the more volatile the interaction."
Dante nodded.
You could see it just from how unhinged the Lantern Corps got in canon.
Red Lanterns? Full-on maniacs.
The Violet Lanterns? Lovesick psychos.
Rage and love—those were the emotions that always drove people off the deep end.
"Emotional Spectrum or a philosophy 101 class…" Dante muttered.
He tossed the slab aside and pressed deeper into the building.
It was tall, sure—but only had four floors.
Each floor had ridiculously high ceilings.
But weirdly enough, the first three floors had no guards, no defenses—just empty crimson halls, silent and eerie.
Tap. Tap. Tap…
Aside from the occasional thundering crash of exchanging punches outside, only Dante's footsteps echoed through the space.
Every floor he reached, he swept thoroughly.
And every time, it was the same result: nothing but ambient red energy and oppressive silence.
Now he was on the third floor. Still nothing.
Annoyed, Dante slumped into an office chair and stared at the stairway ahead of him.
The door to the fourth floor.
It was blocked by a dense, suffocating layer of crimson energy.
That kind of defense could only mean one thing:
Whoever—or whatever—was behind that barrier was the real mastermind.
Dante exhaled and tapped his communicator, trying to reach Skye and Ingrid.
Nothing.
Not even static—just the flat hiss of dead air.
And this was the Bureau's top-tier communicator. The kind that could deliver real-time clarity from Earth to a space station.
Moments ago, he could still hear the Asgard siblings brawling with the crimson juggernaut.
Now?
It was like that fight never existed.
Which meant…
Reality here had been distorted.
Technically, this area was no longer part of the original universe.
But it wasn't like the crimson titan outside—it wasn't sentient. This was more like a sealed-off wall.
Dante cracked his neck, then stood up from the chair, activating his full Green Lantern output.
In raw force, the Primal Green Lantern was equivalent to an All Father-tier being.
Sure, it lacked those reality-warping hax skills, but in terms of power?
Top shelf.
Still, even at max output, the crimson barrier barely budged.
Five minutes. Ten. Twenty...
Half an hour later, Dante finally bored a man-sized hole through the wall of rage.
"This thing's seriously built Ford Tough. Makes sense—the Crimson Cosmos isn't exactly famous for its softness. No wonder Juggernaut's whole gimmick is being immortal and indestructible."
He muttered as he slowly squeezed through.
At last, he reached the hidden fourth floor.
The stairs themselves looked the same—still red, still creepy.
But once he stepped fully into the space beyond the stairs…
Everything changed.
It was an enormous office.
Bright. Warm.
And the walls?
Not crimson.
Just... normal beige wallpaper.
Dante blinked.
At the back of the room sat a white guy with a face that screamed problematic. Fierce eyes. A presence like a villain in a Baki side story. But instead of wearing a warden's uniform?
He had on a white lab coat.
Muscles bulging out of it like he'd just walked off a bodybuilding competition stage.
This guy looked like he should be punching holes in tanks, not writing research papers.
It was only then that Dante fully grasped the phrase "dressed like a scholar but shaped like a war crime."
But then the man looked up—and Dante saw his eyes.
And all his assumptions shattered.
There it was.
In those eyes.
Wisdom. Madness. Self-destruction. All flickering like a broken neon sign.
Dante quietly nodded to himself.
That's the look. Full-blown mad scientist energy.
Just... in the wrong body.
"You're quite the anomaly," the man said, his voice smooth but unnerving. "Managing to beat my subordinates and break through the barrier I created to stand before me…"
"I hope you can entertain me."
Dante's eye twitched.
Then walked up, raised a hand—
And slapped him across the face.
Hard.
The man flew off his chair and hit the floor.
"OW! Why so rude?!"
"Cut the crap. I'm not here to play villain-of-the-week with you. And what's with the over-the-top boss lines? How old are you, dude?"
Cough cough. "A man is a youth until death," the lab coat musclehead said, rubbing his jaw, totally unfazed.
Instead of retaliating, he just sat back up calmly.
Dante finally noticed what was sitting on the desk behind him.
There were several objects emitting a faint red glow.
He'd been too focused on the guy to notice them earlier.
Dante stepped over him and walked to the desk.
Four red gems rested neatly on a tray...
And on top of those gems was a palm-sized blood-red ox, curled up and snoozing peacefully.
The gems? Very clearly Cyttorak's Crimson Gemstones.
Of the legendary eight gems supposedly scattered across the multiverse, four were now right here.
As for the thing using them as a mattress...
"Ion Shark, correct me if I'm wrong—but that's a Lantern Beast, yeah?"
"Correct. That is the Butcher, born from within the Rage Red Light."
Ion Shark's voice rang out again.
"I didn't expect it to emerge from the Red Light before the Primal Red Lantern Furnace had even formed."
"So these four Crimson Gems are acting like a surrogate host? Like a proto-furnace?"
Dante's eyes gleamed.
That meant he could potentially use these four Crimson Gemstones as the foundation for the real deal—the Primal Red Lantern Furnace.
A true construct to hold, shape, and wield the Butcher and the surging Rage Red Light.
Way more stable than just winging it like now.
But as the thought settled in, Dante turned his gaze back to the guy still sitting on the floor, suspiciously calm.
"All right. Who the hell are you? And how did you come into contact with Cyttorak's Crimson Gemstones without turning into a rage puppet like Juggernaut? Instead, you collected the gems and ended up attracting the Rage Light and the Butcher."
"Me? I'm just a poor soul who can't die."
The guy stood up and walked toward him, casual as if they were chatting at a coffee shop.
Dante studied him again.
There was a ruby pendant on his neck—clearly out of place with his jacked-up gym rat outfit.
"I'm not asking if you're sad or immortal. I'm asking how you resisted the influence of those red gems."
Dante summoned his will-greatsword again, the blade resting right on the guy's shoulder.
But the man didn't even flinch.
Instead, he walked to the other side of the desk and sat down.
"You mean that voice that once promised me eternal life? Said I'd become something called a 'Juggernaut'?"
"You heard Cyttorak's voice and didn't fall?"
"That was supposed to do something?" He scratched his head, puzzled. "Sounded like a scam pitch. Wasn't even convincing. I've heard more persuasive robocalls."
"It's not the words! His power wouldn't let you off just for saying no!"
"Oh, that," the man chuckled, pointing casually toward the exit. "That thing outside? That's the previous me."
"…Excuse me?"
Dante froze.
What did he just say?
"That thing is... you?"
"I have to admit, the entertainment value in your universe is way beyond what I imagined."
"Oh, right—I haven't introduced myself, have I?" He smiled like someone who hadn't spoken to another sane person in centuries.
"My name is Jack Bright."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 25: Chapter 66-67
Chapter Text
Chapter 66: You Will Become...
"…Wait, are you Dr. Bright? One of the Four Horsemen of the Foundation Apocalypse?"
Dante felt a mouthful of metaphorical old blood rise to his throat.
Goddammit, why does this universe also have these chaos goblins?
"Oh! You actually know the Foundation? Looks like you're a fellow traveler—from another universe, right?"
"Another universe? Also? So this world doesn't have the Foundation?"
"That depends on what point in time you're using."
Jack Bright stood with his hands behind his back, posture deep with mysterious gravitas. "In the past, there was no Foundation. Naturally, there isn't one now either. But in the future… there absolutely will be."
Dante didn't hesitate. He slapped Jack Bright right on the forehead.
"Speak like a normal person! Don't give me this cryptic oracle crap!"
The slap sent Jack's head slamming straight into the table, and blood immediately started leaking out.
Cough, cough, cough! "Man, you're violent."
But Jack seemed used to this kind of abuse. Didn't even flinch at the thought of the body getting wrecked.
Right—because at this point, he was basically a Lich.
As long as SCP-963—his personal phylactery—remained intact, Jack Bright was functionally immortal.
But…
Could that really still be called "living"?
Dante didn't want to imagine what that felt like. Wouldn't dare. Because when it came to anything related to the Foundation… the bigger the reward, the steeper the price.
A guy hopping dimensions illegally really didn't have any ground to complain about being roughed up. Who knows? Maybe the universe he came from is still trying to trace him—and if that trail leads here, they might bring along a few of those delightful little anomalies.
Dante gave Jack Bright a long look.
Most of the SCP Foundation's creatures weren't all that strong by this world's standards—but those High Divinity entities? They had some real tricks up their sleeve.
Granted, the embarrassments among the High Divinity were just okay. Respectable, but essentially All Father-tier in name only.
Still, the ones that performed well… those were real monsters.
Given the current development stage of this universe, if a High Divinity-level anomaly actually showed up, this world might not be able to stop it.
Unless Superman suddenly reached enlightenment and broke through to near-conceptual Silver Age Superman levels, they were screwed.
Those High Divinities liked to roll with stuff like "timeline detachment" and "universal overwrite" as standard features.
"Anomalies? Nah," Jack Bright spread his hands, clearly aware of what Dante was worried about. "I've studied this universe. No such thing as 'anomalies' here—or rather, you're the anomalies."
"You see," Jack said, "your so-called dimensional lords, planar demon gods… aren't they just rebranded High Divinities from the Foundation's records? And what's the real difference between you superhumans and anomalies? It's just that most of you haven't lost touch with universal values. That's why I said a Foundation-style organization will definitely emerge in the future. Because as human society evolves, there's no guarantee every superhuman will hold onto morality."
Dante didn't reply.
Because in a sense… Jack Bright's read on this universe was spot-on.
The power levels of frontline heroes and villains here were miles beyond most Foundation anomalies.
Only the heavy-hitters—the really infamous SCPs—could even compete.
But compete was the keyword. You really think Shy Guy or the Immortal Lizard could take down Clark Kent on a bad day?
"…Then what are you planning to do?"
"I'm very interested in this universe," Jack said with a smile. "It's fascinating. Way more entertaining than dealing with random anomalies back home…"
"...Should we thank you or something?"
"Well, if you insist on thanking me— Actually, never mind. You're the type who thanks people by slapping their forehead."
Dante rolled his eyes. He was already losing interest in this mentally questionable mad scientist.
"Alright, I'm done talking. If you don't want to spend the rest of your immortal life as a keychain locked in a titanium safe at the bottom of the Mariana Trench, you'd better cooperate."
"…You're joking, right?"
For the first time, Jack's expression faltered.
He didn't fear death. But the idea of eternal imprisonment? In unending, suffocating darkness?
That scared the hell out of him.
Jack began frantically scratching his head, turning his well-groomed hair into a bird's nest.
"Fine! You win! You damn dark-hearted FBI bastards!"
"Dark-hearted? You have the nerve to call someone else dark-hearted? You work for the Foundation!"
After roasting Jack, Dante pointed at the four crimson gems on the table—and the Butcher, snoozing peacefully on top of them.
"If I'm not wrong, you were planning to use these four crimson gems as the core to create a device that manipulates the Red Rage Light, right?"
"'Rage… Red Light'? That's what you call this red energy?"
"Not exactly. That's just part of it. The rest comes from the planar demon gods of the Crimson Cosmos."
"…Ah, I see." Jack nodded. "If my research is correct, the two energy types are extremely similar—possibly interchangeable. But…"
"But what?"
"But I haven't figured out a way to alter the shape of these gems. They're literally divine-grade artifacts. Way too sturdy."
Clearly, Jack Bright—the legendary mad scientist—had thought about forging a new artifact to contain and manipulate both energy sources. He just didn't have the tools or materials to make it happen.
Dante looked at the crimson gems on the table for a moment. Then he reached out and picked one up.
Jack tried to stop him—but Dante's hand was way too fast.
So fast that even the Butcher didn't react. Still curled up like a big red bull plushie on the other three gems, snoring away. The one ox hoof dangling off the edge was almost comical.
"Hey! What the hell are you trying to do?! You can't swap bodies with an artifact like I can!"
"You don't have to worry about that. You should focus more on how you're going to be useful once we're back at HQ."
"Useful? Who said I'm going back to the FBI with you?"
"The FBI… or a nice cozy little black box at the bottom of the ocean trench. Pick one."
"Motherf— Do I look like I need to think about it?"
Jack raised his hand in defeat. "Of course I choose the great Federal Bureau of Investigation."
Dante snorted. He looked at the gem in his hand—the red light was growing brighter by the second. He didn't push Jack any further and instead focused on asserting his Will.
If Cyttorak's power in the Crimson Cosmos shared the same roots as the Red Rage Light, then the Will Green Light had to be its natural counter.
[Excellent, mortal. I am Cyttorak.]
[You shall become my chosen one—my herald on Earth…]
(To be continued.)
Chapter 67: One Minute Ion Man
As soon as that voice rang out, even with the Will Green Light stabilizing him, Dante froze for a moment.
When he came to, he found himself inside a vast, crimson temple—soaked in red from floor to ceiling.
But unlike the Warden's facility, which had been forcibly stained with red energy, this place felt... natural. Like the crimson had always been part of it. Born into the stone.
Dante's eyes scanned the darkness stretching deep into the heart of the temple.
He should go inside.
Yeah. Go inside.
That thought surfaced out of nowhere, uninvited—but it felt too smooth, too certain.
Immediately, Dante snapped to attention.
Even with Batman's willpower—a mind strong enough to awaken and command the Ancestral Green Lantern Ring—he was still being subtly influenced by Cyttorak's consciousness.
An unseen pressure had already started crawling up his spine.
And still, Dante stepped forward without hesitation.
The moment he entered, the pitch-black void lit up around him.
He didn't know where the light source was coming from, but his vision cleared instantly.
A long, crimson corridor stretched endlessly inward. Dante walked. And walked. And kept walking.
Time slipped.
There was no rhythm here, no sense of movement—just the eerie echo of footsteps that shouldn't have existed.
This wasn't a normal universe. In Cyttorak's Crimson Cosmos, time and physics weren't even on speaking terms with reality.
After what felt like two hundred steps—but who the hell could be sure—the infinite corridor suddenly ended.
Dante took one more step forward... and the space around him unfolded.
The temple interior floated like it was suspended at the center of the entire universe. No crimson walls to his sides, front, or back—just a cosmic void stretching forever.
A crimson cosmic void, of course.
He looked up—and at some point, a towering "person" had materialized on the Crimson Throne in front of him.
"Human. You are... very interesting."
"Oh great, another one of you," Dante muttered, unimpressed. "Why is it that you minor gods always love to open with, 'You are very interesting'?"
He looked like he was having an allergic reaction to the cliché.
"No, human named Dante," Cyttorak said, leaning forward slightly. His massive form finally revealed itself fully on the throne. "I genuinely find you interesting."
The armor on Cyttorak's body was the same as Juggernaut.
Which pretty much confirmed it: the Juggernaut was a vessel—a suit—meant to let Cyttorak descend into the physical universe whenever he damn well pleased.
Jack Bright's current Juggernaut form—the one duking it out with the three Asgardian siblings—was also just that: a Juggernaut, empowered by Rage Red Light and imprinted with a shard of Cyttorak's will. Basically a clone.
And this… this was the catch.
Anyone who received the so-called "eternal immortality" of the Juggernaut would one day become Cyttorak's meat puppet.
Their original soul and consciousness? Erased, the second the real Cyttorak came knocking.
Immortal, sure—but headed straight for annihilation.
What a poetic little curse.
"As a demon god from an entirely different dimension, I'm not even sure you have what we'd call a 'heart.' Both your body and soul are built on rules that completely break human understanding."
"Hahaha. And yet you're still over here thinking all this through."
Cyttorak chuckled. "Every creature who's ever become a Juggernaut has fallen—completely consumed by power the moment they laid eyes on this temple. But you… you walked in, stood before me, and held your ground."
"That's because I know this is just a projection. The Crimson Gem dragged me here into the Crimson Cosmos. It's not actually you."
Even Dante was surprised. Aside from the whispers, Cyttorak's power didn't affect him directly at all.
"Will Green Light. Dionysus Factor. A bit of Asgardian genetic leakage... You are superior to every Juggernaut before you. No—you're superior to all of them combined."
Cyttorak didn't deny anything. Instead, he saw through Dante with a single glance—cataloging all of his powers in a heartbeat. Even the Dionysus Factor.
Even Batman—the literal "creator god" of DC logic—couldn't detect the Dionysus Factor in Joker's blood. And Cyttorak spotted it instantly.
"I never said I wanted to be a Juggernaut," Dante said.
"That's not your decision to make."
As soon as Cyttorak spoke, the entire Crimson Cosmos glowed brighter.
One thought from him was enough to shift his own universe.
Dante hadn't even finished being impressed when Ion Shark's voice exploded in his ears.
"Guardian! Merge with me now! Fast!"
"Otherwise, you're really gonna get dragged into the Crimson Cosmos!"
Dante froze, baffled.
Why the hell could Jack Bright just say "nah" and bounce, while he was about to be pulled in like a free upgrade?
He didn't believe for a second that Jack escaped. Cyttorak just wasn't interested enough.
...Is this guy seriously that into my body?!
And sure enough, something felt off. Everything around him was turning real. Solid.
He was starting to separate from the physical universe.
Shit. This bastard meant business!
Dante instantly summoned the Ancestral Green Lantern Power Battery.
Ion Shark didn't linger in the battery this time—he dove out and zipped straight into Dante's Lantern Ring.
"Guardian! I told you—I'm a newborn Lantern Beast. We can only hold fusion for one minute."
"One minute. Is that enough?"
"It's enough."
In the next instant, Dante's Green Lantern uniform morphed.
A sleek, green mask formed over his face.
For one minute—just one—Dante would become the Lantern Corps' strongest form:
Ion Man.
Ion Shark poured all of his power into Dante without hesitation, and in an instant, Dante had full command of the Ion Man form.
Granted, since Ion Shark was still newborn, this wasn't the peak Ion Man that could bend time or rewrite causality—but it was enough.
Enough to push back Cyttorak's cosmic influence bleeding into the real world.
Thirty seconds.
That's all it took for Dante to sever all contact with Cyttorak.
In a blink, the dimension shattered—and he was back inside the Warden's building.
"I underestimated you," Cyttorak's voice echoed faintly. "A newborn Lantern Beast... already born inside your Lantern Furnace."
"I'm very curious, Dante."
"What kind of chaos will you unleash... in the real world?"
"I'll be watching."
His voice faded.
And then there was silence.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 26: Chapter 68-69
Chapter Text
Chapter 68: Eternal Rage in the Soul
I'll be watching?
Goddammit…
Just hearing that sentence made it sound like some creep in a hoodie was hiding behind the vending machine.
Like one of those stalker weirdos who tracks you from a burner Reddit account to the coffee shop across from your building.
Eugh.
Thinking about it made Dante's skin crawl.
"Tch. Dimensional demon gods," he muttered.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Ion Shark's weak, high-pitched voice rang in his ears:
"Guardian! Did you forget that my delicate little body can only last one minute!? Hurry up and use the remaining time to deal with those gems!"
"Relax, Little Shark," Dante snorted, reaching toward the four Crimson Gems and the Butcher snoozing on top of them.
Butcher, who had been sleeping suddenly jolted awake the second he felt Ion Shark's energy closing in.
The first thing out of his mouth?
"Snacks!? Where are the snacks? Did someone bring Lantern Beast snacks—wait, HOLY CRAP, Ion Shark!?"
"Take it easy, Ox," Dante grinned, flashing his signature smile—the kind that he thought was charming, harmless, and inviting.
Of course, in the Butcher's eyes, it looked more like Ion Shark had teamed up with a psycho human to hunt down carefree Lantern Beasts.
"ION SHARK! I have never once messed with your Will Green Light! Why are you targeting me first!?"
"Alright, shut it."
Dante flicked the Butcher's forehead.
Still in Ion Man form, that single flick was enough to paralyze the poor ox entirely.
Sure, native Lantern Beasts were powerful—but without a bonded Lantern Ring wielder, their strength wasn't combat-ready.
And since Dante hadn't forged the Ancestral Red Lantern yet…
Right now, the Butcher was just a fancy action figure with attitude.
"Fifteen seconds left! MOVE!"
Dante raised his hand and got to work.
He began forging the Ancestral Red Lantern, using the Crimson Gems as the base.
With Ion Man's full toolkit active, he began analyzing the four Crimson Gems, reshaping and condensing them into a Lantern Furnace.
At the same time, he used his limited reality-shifting powers to modify their structure.
Question: How many steps does it take to forge an Ancestral Red Lantern?
Answer: Three.
Step one: Sever the link to the Crimson Cosmos.
Step two: Rewrite the energy filter to make it compatible with both Crimson Energy and Rage Red Light.
Step three: Chuck in the Butcher like a Lantern Beast Happy Meal toy.
Done.
This was Dante's first time using Ion Man powers, and he pulled it off effortlessly.
Right before the last second, the Ancestral Red Lantern Furnace was complete.
He even had enough time left over to casually vacuum up all the chaotic Crimson-Rage energy swarming Fox River Prison… and stuff it into the newly forged Lantern Corps.
---
Outside the Warden's Building...
The three Asgardian siblings were still in a deadlock with "Cyttorak."
Sure, this version had a higher energy level than current Hela, and even carried a sliver of Cyttorak's awareness.
But fake is fake.
Early in the fight, the trio was cautious—testing its tactics, keeping distance.
But as it went on, they noticed something.
Sure, this massive red bruiser had insane strength…
But it was slow as hell.
If Dante had been there, he would've spotted it instantly.
This "Cyttorak" was just a buffed Juggernaut. Its power levels had been cranked up, but its core style, its logic, its moveset—unchanged.
It had one extra gimmick: it could spew blood flames laced with Rage Red Light that clung to skin like cursed napalm.
But the startup animation was ridiculously long.
Hela and Loki were both quick and agile, magic-enhanced tricksters.
Even Thor was fast and nimble enough to avoid most of the windups.
Still, that one flaw came with a massive tradeoff: insane defense and health regen.
By the end of it, Hela was actually wondering if even her full-power self would have trouble taking down this hyper-armored punching bag.
Then, suddenly, they all heard a strange voice echo in the air.
And the terrifying crimson aura surrounding "Cyttorak" vanished like someone flipped a switch.
The energy receded like a tide, draining into the Warden's Building in a flash.
"Cyttorak" clenched its fists, looking... disappointed?
"Asgardian gods… I thoroughly enjoyed that massage. I... will always be watching you."
But with his power withdrawn, that sliver of Cyttorak's mind knew—playtime was over.
---
Fifteenth second.
The Ion Man state ended.
And the tiny, barely-conscious Ion Shark floated out of Dante's heart like a dead goldfish.
Meanwhile, the Red Lantern Furnace ignited—burning with crimson flames like a divine altar set ablaze.
A completely new Red Lantern stood before Dante.
The four Crimson Gems used in crafting had turned the entire Furnace into a scarlet, translucent masterpiece.
Dante reached out and lifted it with one hand.
Inside, the Butcher was spinning in circles, clearly losing his mind.
"HOLY COW!? I go to sleep in a prison bunk and wake up in a freakin' luxury villa!? You humans are... weirdly generous!"
"You have no idea how good I am," Dante said, holding the Lantern Furnace up to eye level. "So how about a little thank-you present? Maybe… an Ancestral Red Lantern Ring?"
"Uhhh... about that. You've got insane willpower, sure, but that's not really the Red Lantern criteria…"
"You wanna try again?"
The Butcher was about to argue—but then noticed the Red Lantern Furnace starting to rumble.
He immediately retreated to the corner, kicking his stubby ox hooves like a scared toddler.
Inside the Furnace, energy began to spiral—surging, spinning, condensing.
Finally, a translucent red Lantern Ring, made from the same crystalline material as the Furnace, formed in the center.
Then it burst into a streak of red light, shot out of the Lantern Furnace, and began circling Dante like a dog that hadn't decided where to sit.
"Intelligent lifeform detected.
"Dante Alighieri, of Earth."
"Your soul burns with endless rage."
"You belong to the Red Lantern Corps."
Even the Butcher—technically a newborn Lantern Beast—couldn't hold back his screech, his voice trembling:
"HOLY MOTHER OF COWS! How does a Green Lantern wielder, with terrifying calm and control, have this much rage and hatred inside him!? Are you messing with me!?"
Dante held up his left hand—the Green Lantern Ring glinting on his index finger.
The Red Lantern Ring circled once more… then, as if making a conscious decision, slipped onto his middle finger.
"With blood and rage of crimson red,
Ripped from a corpse so freshly dead,
Together with our hellish hate,
We'll burn you all—that is your fate!"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 69: Emotional Spectrum Version of the Sage of Six Paths
Butcher was completely stunned after seeing Dante successfully awaken the Ancestral Red Lantern Ring.
Sure, he was a newborn Lantern Beast—but still a Lantern Beast—bound in symbiosis with the Ancestral Lantern Furnace.
He could grow within the Furnace, tap into its power to possess Lantern Ring wielders, and even manipulate it to some extent. But influencing which Corps member the Ring chose? Yeah, that wasn't part of the package.
As a Lantern Beast born of Rage Red Light, he came with a preloaded wealth of knowledge and instinct. In his experience, Rage Red Light apostles were always in a state of unfiltered fury and hate.
Even if they started out controlling their minds and bodies, that tiny sliver of humanity would eventually get eroded by eternal rage, until only a rage-puppeted body remained.
Wasn't their default expression supposed to be "say one word and I'll rip your face off"?
Yet after Dante slipped on the Ancestral Red Lantern Ring, not only did he not fly into a berserker frenzy, he even... smiled gently?
At first, he'd assumed it was the Will Green Light resisting the Rage Red Light, keeping him sane.
But the little Ox quickly realized: because Ion Shark had forcibly merged during its juvenile stage, temporarily becoming Ion Man, the Ancestral Green Lantern Power Battery and Ring were both drained—and the Green Lantern transformation had already dissipated.
In other words…
This was all him?
No wonder the Lantern Beast archives all say, "Don't mess with lone Green Lanterns." The advantage Will Green Light has when facing other Emotional Spectrum colors alone is no joke.
"What are you muttering about?"
"I learned a lot today," Butcher blinked his giant, innocent-looking eyes at the man who had just shifted from Ion Man to Red Lantern Devil. "You're holding both a Green Lantern Ring and a Red Lantern Ring. What do you call that? A contradiction in terms?"
Dante looked at the "very dumb, very innocent"-looking Butcher and couldn't help but wonder if he was fated to collect all the newborn Lantern Beasts.
What was this, Emotional Spectrum Edition of the Sage of Six Paths?
Anyway, speaking of Lantern Beasts—Ion Shark, after disengaging from its Ion Man merge, had immediately scurried back into the Green Lantern Power Battery to nap.
Dante knew that activating Ion Man's ridiculous power-up had been way too much for the newborn Shark and the Ancestral Furnace.
For now, he'd have to bid Green Lantern power a temporary goodbye.
Seems like Ion Man's power was best reserved as an emergency trump card going forward...
After all, he couldn't just keep draining the little shark dry.
Thankfully, the Ancestral Red Lantern was more than enough to fill the void.
And when it came to raw destructive power and aggressiveness, Red Lantern was arguably better.
Plus, this Ancestral Red Lantern—created using Ion Man's power—didn't come with as many nasty side effects as the original version.
Sure, it still amplified rage, hate, and rebellion against injustice, and the risk of falling into Eternal Fury was real. But maybe because it was molded with Will Green Light and Ion Man's energy, the fury was more... containable.
After transforming, the searing red energy would still course through his veins like lava, but none of the usual horrors applied—no heart-replacement shenanigans, no dying the moment the Ring was removed.
In a way, the Red Lantern's "evil" traits had been heavily diluted.
Dante was genuinely pleased with that result.
He'd been afraid the Red Lantern Corps would end up being nothing but a psychotic demolition squad that would completely destroy his rep.
Meanwhile, Dr. Jack Bright—who'd watched the entire thing go down—was still frozen with his jaw dropped.
"Hey, Jack, you dead or just buffering?"
Jack's soul—which had definitely yeeted out of his body—snapped back into place with Dante's voice.
What the hell had he just witnessed!?
That was a Dimensional Devil God. No—a High Divinity—living in the Crimson Cosmos, crossing multiversal boundaries just to handle a human.
And then that human just casually morphed into another High Divinity—well, maybe a bootleg version, definitely not at peak form, but still...
What kind of FBI agent was this!?
Jack had always assumed the Foundation Universe was the weirdest one out there.
But now?
He had to admit: it was no longer "the weirdest." Just "one of many."
"Did you just... rewrite reality?"
Whether it was severing the High Divinity's connection to the real world or altering the Crimson Gem's core properties—it was all clearly permanent.
This wasn't some cheap parlor trick by those annoying "reality warpers."
Plus, ever since his soul had merged with SCP-963, no matter which Universe he visited, the Universal Will would always tag him as one of the "Constants."
Which meant that any instance of reality-warping near him would automatically ping his awareness.
"I guess?"
Dante scratched his head. Ion Man, being one of the Lantern Corps' ultimate endgame cards, had some seriously busted feats.
Time manipulation, reality rewriting.
Even going head-to-head with Superman-level glitch characters, blowing up several Universes in the process.
As for Butcher—judging purely by endgame potential—he was still a tier below the Lantern Beast big dogs, Ion Shark and Entity.
But compared to the rest of the pack, he was already in another league.
Of course, this was based on the assumption that the Lantern Corps and Lantern Beasts had been around and had matured for a long time.
Right now? These two baby Lantern Beasts under Dante's care could barely survive a fusion session without blacking out.
Honestly, it wasn't a Green Lantern Corps or Red Lantern Corps at this point—it was more like the Ion Shark Nursery and Butcher Daycare.
"Anyway, now that we've wrapped up the big problem—have you made up your mind?"
Dante summoned a blazing-hot pointer crafted from Rage Red Light and hooked it through the ruby pendant hanging around Jack's neck.
"You coming back to the FBI with me quietly?"
"Or are you gonna put up some pointless resistance... and get buried by me in an ocean trench that never sees sunlight?"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 27: Chapter 70-71
Chapter Text
Chapter 70: Only Thor is Really Breaking Out of Prison
Dante and Jack Bright walked out of the Warden's building side by side—only to find no signs of a fight anywhere.
Instead, the three Asgardian siblings were standing there, studying the giant collapsed on the ground.
"By Odin! Is this thing even human? I've never heard of a Midgardian growing this tall."
"My dear brother, just because you haven't seen it doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Look how uncultured you sound."
"Both of you shut up! Did you forget what I just taught you!?"
Hela, at this moment, didn't look like a goddess or even an older sister—more like a war-hardened commander, drilling her greenhorn recruits on how to handle enemies in deep-space combat.
"When facing an enemy with absurdly high durability and defense, you have two options. One: charge up your strongest attack and hit a single point hard enough to pierce through the whole."
"Or two: use speed and magic to strike critical organs and weak points with precision."
"Once you're on the battlefield, don't think of yourself as a god."
Her methods were strict, but undeniably effective. Loki had been getting chewed out like this for nearly a month, so he was used to it by now.
But Thor, who had only recently rejoined his siblings, clearly hadn't received enough beatings yet—he puffed out his chest and actually argued back.
"But everything you just said is different from what you yelled at me earlier! Didn't you call yourself the 'Goddess of Death' every time you smacked me!?"
Before Hela could answer, Dante jumped in.
"Come on. When your sister was beating you, that wasn't war."
That was domestic violence.
Of course she brought out the whole 'Goddess of Death' thing—it was for suppressive purposes.
Thor's jaw tightened. He opened his mouth a few times as if to say something, then just gave up with a defeated sigh.
It was bad enough that he couldn't beat his older sister, who had a millennium head start, but now even this random "FBI agent" from Midgard was verbally dunking on him.
And he'd just spent who-knows-how-long imprisoned by a multiversal-tier Devil God.
Midgard was exhausting. He wanted to go back to Asgard.
Not because he was afraid. No. He just... missed his mother. Yeah. Frigga.
Loki snorted softly to himself.
He recognized that expression on Thor's face instantly.
It was the face of a man whose worldview had been shattered into a fine powder and was now being rebuilt from scratch.
He'd made that face once too—back when he got wrecked.
Although Dante only knew that Loki had been launched by Clark Kent and then scooped up by Doom in green robes, that was just the tip of the iceberg.
That punch from the Kansas Big Guy had knocked him from Metropolis all the way to New York.
That was the physical beatdown.
What came next in New York was magical obliteration.
He'd been stuck in freefall for a solid hour... and then got yeeted straight into Latveria.
The memory alone made every hair on Loki's body stand on end.
He had to get stronger.
Even if it was just to survive comfortably on Earth, he couldn't keep being everyone's chew toy.
As for Thor's slow-booting brain? He could take his time catching up.
"So, this guy on the ground—is that the body you abandoned earlier?" Dante asked Jack.
"That's right. Originally just some short, skinny guy. Never expected that 'Juggernaut' power to bulk him up into a meat tower. Honestly, if I'd known earlier, I would've given it a spin. Never had a body that swole before."
Dante frowned—not because he had any issue with Jack Bright, but because the face under Juggernaut's helmet looked... weirdly familiar.
Wait a second.
Juggernaut collapsing from exhaustion?
That didn't add up.
"Hela, what happened to him? Why's he down like that? What's the situation?"
"Looks like you handled that source of crimson power... and actually managed to manipulate it?" Hela looked at Dante with surprise in her eyes. "I could feel it. In that moment, the spatial distortion just vanished. Then that thing calling itself 'Cyttorak' lost its All Father-level aura, said something like 'Playtime's over,' and poof—this guy hit the floor."
Dante nodded.
The original soul inside Juggernaut had been devoured by a sliver of Cyttorak's will, and when Cyttorak pulled out, all that was left was a husk.
It didn't revert to its base form because it was still wearing Cyttorak's matching gear.
"So, my dear Queen, did your Green Lantern Ring mutate, or did you get your hands on a different color?" Hela said, turning to Dante.
"Please allow me to introduce... the Red Lantern—wielder of the red of rage."
Dante struck a dramatic pose, presenting the Lantern Furnace in her direction.
And then...
Nothing happened.
"Huh?"
Dante blinked.
Had he been wrong this whole time?
The Red Lantern Ring didn't respond to Hela at all?
That couldn't be.
She'd been treated like Asgard's crown jewel, prince, marshal, and even a war buddy by her own father for literal millennia—only to get sealed away on Midgard like trash.
If that didn't qualify as apocalyptic resentment, what did?
In one particularly messed-up universe, a similar character made his dad sit on a golden toilet for eternity—only able to pass the time with a broken Bluetooth speaker.
So why... no reaction?
But Dante wasn't the kind of guy who got stuck over a weird hiccup like that.
He lived by a simple truth:
There's no such thing as difficult—just stuff not worth doing.
Whatever.
Instead, his attention was pulled back to the Juggernaut husk lying on the ground.
Even though the body had bulked up to over four meters and was warped beyond recognition, it still gave off a weird sense of familiarity.
Dante reached out to remove Juggernaut's iconic dome helmet—but the moment his hand touched it, the last lingering trace of crimson energy was absorbed by the Red Lantern Ring.
The armor disintegrated.
The bloated, twisted body shrank back to normal size.
Dante wiped his face—and then froze.
Good grief.
Wasn't this T-bag?
The same T-bag he'd been complaining about non-stop before the mission even began?
What kind of alignment is this?
Started with ranting about T-bag, ended with ranting about T-bag.
And in between... where the hell was the actual Prison Break?
Wait—never mind. There was one.
Thor.
[Mission: Prison Break, Brother – Completed]
[Related Characters: Captain Cold, Heat Wave, Constantine, Thor, Juggernaut (T-bag)]
[Acquired Skill: Captain Cold's Genius-Level Mechanical Engineering]
[Acquired Trait: Heat Wave's Literary Foundation]
[Acquired Ability: Constantine's Traditional Black Magic]
[Acquired Power: Thor's Lightning Manipulation]
[Acquired Trait: Juggernaut's "Unstoppable Incarnation of Power"]
(To be continued.)
Chapter 71: The Troublemaker Joins the Gang
If the system had a physical form, Dante would have already given it a front-row seat to a personal demonstration of pain.
He honestly couldn't tell if his luck was just that bad, or if whoever coded this system was just twisted for fun.
Captain Cold's mechanical engineering talent was legit. The guy wasn't one of those "rich people with tech" types—he relied on good old-fashioned hand-built mods, with a side of black magic tech sprinkled in.
There was something about it that gave off weird Goblin Tech vibes.
As for Heat Wave, well… there wasn't much to pull from combat-wise, but his "literary foundation" skill? That was unexpectedly abstract.
Granted, if you looked at the Legends of Tomorrow version, then yeah, Heat Wave was technically a bestselling romance novelist writing under the pen name Rebecca Silver—so popular that he time-traveled just to attend his own book signings.
But seriously... what the hell was Dante supposed to do with that!?
This was a comic universe.
Next up: Constantine's black magic. Didn't feel all that intense at first glance, but once Dante got hands-on, he realized the real perk.
Versatility.
In theory, black magic could be used to assist almost anything he did.
In practice, though? He had to stomach some truly revolting casting mediums...
Just thinking about the show's eyeball jars and foot-chopping rituals made his stomach churn.
Only someone like Constantine could do this stuff with a straight face.
And now, for the "appealing" part of that appealing-yet-smelly combo.
Thor's lightning manipulation.
This wasn't referring to his built-in Asgardian god powers, but his actual control over natural lightning.
Technically, it was an ability from Thor, but the way it played out felt more like something Storm would do.
Still—lightning was lightning.
And lightning was always, always cool.
Being cool was serious business.
Then came the real prize of the entire haul: the Unstoppable Incarnation of Power.
Juggernaut's signature trait didn't boost his strength or energy directly.
Instead, it worked off a brutal mechanic: once Juggernaut started moving in a direction, stopping him was virtually impossible.
Sound abstract?
Put it like this: once Dante charged, he basically became immune to control effects.
In Juggernaut's case, it meant one thing—if he rushed forward, you either dodged or got flattened.
"Dante? Are you even listening? Dante!"
"Captain, respond if you can hear me."
Right then, Skye and Ingrid's voices came through the comms again. Until now, all he'd gotten was static.
With the connection between Cyttorak and the Crimson Gem completely severed, the residual energy had been absorbed by the Red Lantern Ring. Space distortion had snapped back to normal, which meant the comms network was back online too.
"Dante here. Mission's fully resolved."
"Copy that. Every electronic system inside Fox River just went haywire a minute ago," Skye replied. "Comms only came back just now. But all the civilian gear inside the prison is still fried… So—what the hell happened in there?"
"Long story. You'll get a full report," Dante said, opening a portal. "Oh—and tell Coulson and the others to send in a full cleanup team."
He glanced back at the giant hole in the prison wall and the cratered ground in front of the warden's building.
At this point, the FBI probably needed a whole "Science Uncovered" task force—something specifically built for coverups and wiping data from civilians who weren't supposed to know a damn thing.
...
Back at FBI Headquarters, standby personnel were already lined up to meet them.
The ever-reliable Ada Wong had already locked up Captain Cold, Heat Wave, and Constantine in the Bureau's modular superhuman containment cells.
Each got their own room. Treatment was excellent—five-star inmate experience.
After hearing her quick summary, Dante gave a nod and then gently shoved Dr. Jack Bright who had been lurking next to him this whole time forward.
"This is Jack Bright. As of today, he's officially joining the Bureau and will be part of the Internal Affairs Team. Oh—and Ada," Dante flicked his chin in her direction. "Use my terminal to send out a full-frequency, top-priority broadcast across the entire Bureau system."
"Okay. What's the message?" Ada said as she took Dante's personal terminal from her jacket.
Yeah, that was normal. Besides Dante himself, most of his gear ended up with the women around him.
His phone? That was currently Hela's new toy.
The Quinjet's activation key? Harley Quinn had it stashed somewhere.
"Effective immediately, no one—absolutely no one—is allowed to touch Dr. Jack Bright's pendant."
Dante shot Jack a quick look.
"You too. Don't flaunt it. Tuck that thing inside your shirt."
"It's kind of uncomfortable in there…"
"You want to end up with a seat in the bottom of a trench?"
"Alright, alright, you're the boss," Jack muttered as he shoved the pendant inside. "So… does this mean I'm one of you now?"
"One of us? Not exactly."
Dante still didn't know why Dr. Jack Bright had ended up in the real-world universe.
Was it for some hidden mission? Or just to run from trouble?
Either way, the safest move was to keep him where Dante could see him.
That said—intentions, ethics, and general chaos aside—Dr. Jack Bright was a certified genius in bioengineering and anomalous genetics.
The X-Men had already brainwashed a group of HYDRA scientists from Latveria who'd specialized in X-gene studies, and even with all that brainpower, they were still stuck trying to crack the catalyst mechanism for activating the gene.
If Jack Bright joined the team?
They might actually have a shot at breaking through the deadlock.
"Alright, I'll do my best to fit in. So... when do I start? What's the salary and benefits like?" Jack said, instantly switching gears into onboarded-employee mode. "And most importantly—how's the cafeteria food? I'm telling you, the Foundation's food was criminal. Absolute garbage. We got to the point where the entire site depended on SCP-458 to feed everyone. Infinite pizza box. Saved our lives."
"Don't worry about salary. The Bureau never underpays high-level talent. The only hard part is… budget approvals."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 28: Chapter 72-73
Chapter Text
Chapter 72: The Legendary Team
After deciding Jack Bright's fate and implementing strict surveillance and containment protocols, Dante dismissed the rest of the team.
Although Wanda and Pietro had officially joined the Federal Bureau of Investigation a month ago, they were in such rough shape at the time that Dante had them move straight into his home.
Ada took it upon herself to give the two curious little troublemakers and Jack Bright a full tour of FBI Headquarters.
Even at night, the Federal Bureau of Investigation's departments remained fully operational.
Thor was still painfully out of touch with Midgard culture, so Hela and Loki decided to drag him off to sample the local cuisine… naturally, all charged to Dante's government card.
Everyone dispersed, leaving only Harley Quinn unusually quiet beside Dante.
"What's up, Harley?" Dante asked as they stepped into the elevator. "You're way too quiet today. This is very un-Harley Quinn behavior."
"Oh, my Pudding~ Even a dazzling little maniac like me has those few days a month when the madness wears thin and I start craving a normal life…"
Dante mentally translated that sentence.
Oh.
Her period.
He hit the button for B5—the Federal Bureau of Investigation's special prison for superpowered offenders.
As the elevator descended, Dante stood silently beside Harley Quinn.
Just as the doors were about to close, Harley suddenly launched herself at Dante and started biting him.
The floor display ticked down: 1… B1… B2… B3… B4… B5.
Ding—
The doors opened.
Dante calmly wiped the lipstick off his right cheek and peeled Harley off him.
Turns out it wasn't her period.
She was just insanely pent-up.
Ever since Harley had shifted her affections from Joker to Dante, this was the first time they'd been apart for over twenty-four hours.
That barrage of kisses had even startled Dante a bit.
Not that it didn't feel good.
Sure, Harley's sanity was… negotiable. But her face? Absolutely killer.
And she moved like lightning—when she pounced just now, Dante immediately felt the insane flexibility in her body.
"Woohoo~ Pudding energy replenished!"
"You've replenished alright. Tomorrow, Internal Affairs is gonna file a full misconduct report straight to Fury's desk!"
"Oooh, scared, are you?"
"Scared of who?" Dante raised his brow.
"Then… since no one's watching… just one last kiss… Mmph!"
Dante finally gave in to Harley's temptation and pressed her up against the wall.
Lips locked.
Sure, he was a virgin—but not an idiot.
When meat was literally at his mouth, he didn't hesitate.
He kind of… missed her too.
But then—
"Bloody hell, you FBI people roll like this? Is it too late for me to apply?"
"Shut it, you magical bastard. Someone like you in the FBI? Only if the whole Bureau had their brains eaten by zombies."
"Hmmm… So kissing can work like that. Good material for later."
Three voices, all deeply sarcastic.
Constantine. Captain Cold. Heat Wave.
Dante and Harley Quinn had been too caught up in each other to notice that their, uh, audience was located just a few meters from the elevator.
The three inmates casually threw jabs at them.
But neither Dante nor Harley flinched. Thick skin, both of them.
Instead, they turned and silently stared down the peanut gallery.
Eventually, even Constantine and the other two realized something was off—and shut up.
"Everyone calmed down now?" Dante tilted his head. "Do you three not fully grasp your situation yet?"
"You don't think I locked you up here just for fun, do you?"
"Uh… I mean, even the FBI has to follow basic law, right…" Snart muttered.
"To hell with basic law, Snart." Dante strolled to his cell door, grinning. "From today on, all superpowered and special-skilled criminals will be detained directly by the FBI. And trust me—I've got the clearance to make it stick."
He chuckled to himself, remembering the absolute genius who once thought it was a good idea to keep supercriminals in regular prisons.
Before the trio could react, Dante suddenly spun around.
"Who's there? Come out. Now."
Silence.
Not just the prisoners—even Harley looked thrown off.
But Dante didn't waver. He pointed toward the far corner of the holding area and said coldly:
"I'll only count to three. All six of you in that corner—get out. Don't make me say it again."
The corner looked empty.
But then—
"Hi! Dante! Don't go White Lantern on us! Don't banish us to the Dark Dimension!"
"Idiot! He's not White Lantern right now! And he's not Sorcerer Supreme either!"
"Crap, did that just mess up the timeline?!"
"The timeline isn't that fragile, but could you not run your mouth?"
"Okay, okay, you win, Professor Stein. Happy now?"
The light and shadows in the corner warped, and a group of odd-looking individuals slowly emerged into view.
Leading the group was a stunning blonde woman with an athletic build, clad in a sleek, form-fitting white combat suit.
"Long time no see, Dante."
"…Uh, who are you? And how the hell did you get into FBI HQ?"
"My bad—we always forget you're not the you we know yet," the blonde said apologetically. "I'm a Level Five Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Codename: White Canary. Real name: Sara Lance. I'm part of the FBI's special unit—'The Legendary Team.'"
"The Legendary Team?"
Dante's eyes widened.
What the hell?
Since when did the Legends become an official FBI unit?
This had to be some kind of sick joke.
"The FBI doesn't have a team like that," Harley muttered with a frown. "I mean, I'm crazy, not stupid. Don't lie to me."
Sara Lance shook her head.
"Of course the current FBI doesn't have us. That's because we're from the future."
"And the reason we traveled back to this point in time to meet you—here, in the Bureau—is because you, in the future, gave us this mission."
"Acting Director of the United States General Bureau… Agent Dante Alighieri."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 73: Messed Timeline
Dante admitted it—he was genuinely dumbfounded.
But not because of their identities. Sure, a couple of faces were unfamiliar, but he immediately recognized Sara Lance.
So, he guessed it instantly: the Legendary Team.
No, what really threw him was where the Legendary Team came from.
As Sara Lance explained, Dante gradually pieced it all together.
Apparently, he—the future him—created the Legendary Team. Recruited talents from different points in the timeline.
Sara Lance, White Canary—Oliver Queen's ex's sister. Presumed dead in a shipwreck, rescued by the League of Assassins, trained as one of their own.
Martin Stein—top nuclear physicist, inventor of the Firestorm Matrix.
Jefferson Jackson—mechanic of the Waverider. The two could merge into Firestorm.
And then Ray Palmer. The Atom himself.
Those were the usual suspects.
The other two? Total blanks to Dante… until Sara introduced them.
First up: the loudmouth from earlier who wouldn't shut up—"Stark." Full name: Howard Stark.
Tony Stark's dad.
Apparently, they snatched him up while he was being hunted by the Winter Soldier. The invisibility rig that used optical distortion? That was his invention.
Then came the silent one—the woman who interrupted Sara and spoke up herself:
"Dante, my name is Fongji Wu."
"Hmmn!?"
It didn't click immediately.
Fongji Wu… wasn't that the White Phoenix?
And the most powerful Iron Fist in recorded history.
But the shock only lasted a second.
This Fongji Wu clearly only had the Dragon Power of the Iron Fist.
Made sense. If she had become the White Phoenix, she'd probably be off-world by now.
"Let me get this straight. I'm the acting director in your timeline? Where's Director Fury?"
"I really can't say too much. Just know that Director Fury is alive and well. But after you officially announced the formation of the Legendary Team and defined its mission… you vanished."
Dante nodded. Made sense to respect the timeline. People who mess with time usually get messed up by time.
Unless he ever goes full Ion Man and learns to rewrite time himself.
"So, I asked you to come back to this moment and recruit new members?"
"That's right. You said there would only be three prisoners in the Bureau's superpower containment wing during this period—and that all three were perfect candidates to join the Waverider."
Dante turned to look at the trio still sitting in stunned silence inside the prison.
To be fair… they were core members of the original Legends.
Still, the recruitment style? Kinda messed up.
Who the hell forms a heroic time-travel team by raiding their own prison?
Then again, the Legends always did have that "temporal labor reform" energy.
Honestly, it wasn't a bad idea. Otherwise, these three would just sit here burning government rations.
Might as well let them contribute to protecting the timeline.
"If it was my future self's decision, then take them."
"…You just believe that?" Sara blinked.
"Why wouldn't he?" Harley Quinn cut in, shrugging as she gestured at Dante. "That sounds exactly like something this guy would do."
Outside the prison, Dante and Sara quickly finalized the handover.
Constantine, Captain Cold, and Heat Wave—now officially conscripted into time patrol.
As they were preparing to leave, Sara suddenly remembered something.
"Oh right, Dante—go to the training room on the twelfth floor. There's someone waiting for you."
"Huh?"
"This person requested to meet you in this timeline—and you agreed."
"Isn't that gonna cause timeline distortion?"
"The timeline is sturdier than you think… You taught me that, Teacher."
"…Teacher? You call me Teacher?"
"Well… I only call you that, but… you were the closest thing to a father figure I had."
"…Does everyone in the FBI just copy-paste that line?"
Dante waved her off, sending his future protégé-slash-time daughter on her way, but couldn't help muttering.
He distinctly remembered Fury saying that line.
And if nothing went wrong, Coulson would probably say something similar to Skye in the future.
So this was his legacy, huh?
One emotional line.
Passed down across three generations of the FBI.
From past to future. From agent to agent.
Truly… beautiful.
"Wow, she said you're her dad."
"So this is time travel! So cool!"
"Cool, my ass. Most of the time, you'll be stuck on standby inside the time buffer zone. Picture this—an endless green void, cosmic spatial distortion, no day or night…"
"Okay, so basically Arkham. No windows there either. No time. No sanity. Who cares! Let's go, let's go—didn't your daughter say someone unexpected is waiting in the training room?" Harley squealed, leaping onto Dante's back and pinching his butt, "Giddy up, cowboy! Destination: training room!"
Dante didn't have the heart to toss her off, so he just carried this unhinged woman into the elevator.
He had a feeling Internal Affairs was going to file an even longer report about him tomorrow.
When they reached the twelfth floor, he finally dropped Harley.
He straightened his collar and checked to make sure the lipstick bite marks weren't showing.
Then he pushed open the training room doors.
Inside, a massive sandbag was being pummeled with relentless force—each strike fast, fierce, and way beyond normal human limits.
Brown hair whipped with each movement. Jeans, plain white shirt, but under the simplicity—a solid, battle-hardened physique.
BANG.
The person-height sandbag flew off the chain from a final punch, bursting open as sand exploded across the floor.
Dante and Harley stepped in.
The woman noticed them right away—but didn't seem surprised. She casually walked over, grabbing a leather satchel from against the wall.
It looked like… a shield?
As she approached, Dante realized—she was just about his height.
"Your future self told me… if I ever completed my mission and didn't know where to go, I could come to this timeline."
"Let me introduce myself."
"My name is Peggy Carter."
"You can also call me… Captain Carter."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 29: Chapter 74-76
Chapter Text
Chapter 74: So Excited
The next morning, bright and early.
Nick Fury was humming a West Coast rap track as he drove toward FBI Headquarters in Washington, D.C.
He was in a good mood.
In fact, ever since Dante showed up, things had been steadily looking up.
Even his legendary paranoia was almost under control.
Just look at the current structure of the General Bureau: Professor X managing the FBI Academy and keeping the base stable, Fury himself overseeing operations from the center, while Dante and Coulson took charge on the frontlines.
It was perfect.
If there was one downside, it was that this little monster Dante kept bringing back increasingly terrifying allies—each one more ridiculous than the last.
He had already brought back two actual gods.
Oh, wait. According to the mission log Fury received on his terminal last night, the Goddess of Death's brother and the God of Mischief had also been abducted by Dante.
"Tch. First priority is updating the Bureau's energy detectors."
The monitoring room was lit up like a rave every day now. It was getting harder and harder on the eyes.
As he was thinking this, Fury had already driven into the FBI parking garage. He slid into his designated spot, locked the car, and headed into the building.
No sooner had he stepped into the lobby than someone approached.
"Director Fury."
"How've you been lately, May?"
"Aside from being babysitter to a whole squad of brats, not bad."
"Isn't Steve Rogers on the team too?"
"A World War II vet who was frozen in the Arctic for decades is harder to deal with than any of the kids. He's completely hopeless when it comes to adapting to modern society."
Melinda May's expression didn't change much, but a faint trace of long-suffering resentment slipped through.
Fury didn't press the issue. Instead, he moved on to something else.
"How's Coulson doing these days?"
"Busy. He's handling missions, training regimens, digging into that intel broker they call 'The Clairvoyant'… He's been so occupied he hasn't had time to reflect on his resurrection."
"Good. Make sure no one brings up Project T.A.H.I.T.I. to him. Don't push him to look for answers. Keeping him in the dark is the best way to protect him."
Fury couldn't help sighing every time he thought about T.A.H.I.T.I.
GH325, derived from the blood of a certain blue-skinned race—Fury still didn't know the word Kree—was capable of saving FBI agents who were critically injured, dying, or even recently deceased.
At first, it seemed like a miracle cure.
Then it turned out to be a literal deal with the devil.
People resurrected with GH325 seemed normal at first… but eventually, they'd deteriorate. Hallucinations, compulsive drawing, speech loss, full catatonia. The mentally weaker ones ended up completely insane.
Eventually, they started erasing memories.
Which, of course, came with the lovely side effect of trauma worse than death.
By the time the project was shut down, some subjects had committed suicide. Others went mad.
"Have you ever told Agent Dante about Project T.A.H.I.T.I.?"
"Dante?" Fury paused and glanced sideways at May. "Why bring him into this? That project's in the past. There's no reason for him to know."
"You need to let go of your old paranoia." May didn't flinch under his gaze. She'd been trained by Peggy Carter herself. "Even with all the new powerhouses running around the Bureau, Dante is still the strongest. He doesn't just have multiple abilities—he's constantly evolving new ones. He might be the only one capable of solving the T.A.H.I.T.I. aftermath. Coulson may seem fine for now, but it's only a matter of time."
"You care about Coulson more than I thought."
Fury pressed the elevator button. They stepped in together.
"Sir, I've just had a stiff expression since childhood. Doesn't mean I don't feel anything."
May stood at attention behind Fury, hands clasped behind her back, left side aligned as if on parade.
"But Coulson's emotional sense is the problem. He reacts like a block of wood," Fury muttered, half-laughing. "Honestly, one of my biggest surprises in life is that you two never dated."
May glared at the back of Fury's head.
"He only ever accepts feelings passively. Never initiates. That's why I ended up saying yes to Andrew. So take a lesson—men shouldn't wait forever. Like how you shouldn't wait for Dante to discover Coulson's problem before telling him."
"There you go again!"
"I always got first place in logical reasoning and debate. Just don't show much emotion."
Fury rolled his one good eye.
Thankfully, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open onto his floor.
He and May stepped out—
Only to find a man and woman already waiting inside his office.
The man was lounging on his desk, chatting comfortably with the woman on the sofa.
Fury pushed the door open and barked,
"Dante! Of all the places to sit, you just had to sit on my desk?!"
Naturally, the one on the desk was Dante.
Who else had the guts?
Okay, maybe Hela. But she couldn't care less about desks.
"Oh hey, Fury. You're here?" Dante flipped down from the desk with a light somersault. "And May, too? Great. Let me introduce you to a new friend."
He gestured toward the brunette on the sofa.
She stood up, turning to face Fury and May.
Both of them froze.
"Hello, Nick Fury. And… Melinda May? So this timeline's May became an FBI agent instead of the Supreme Justice?"
"You… you're…"
Fury rubbed his eye, unsure if he was hallucinating.
Even Nick Fury couldn't get a full sentence out.
"Oh, right! My bad—I got too excited seeing familiar faces and forgot introductions."
"I'm Peggy Carter. Or to be exact, not your Peggy Carter. You can call me… Captain Carter."
Dante watched as Fury and May stood there, completely stunned.
Then he slapped the desk and burst into laughter.
Shouting at me for sitting on your desk just because you're the leader, huh?
Then I'll just bring back your leader!
Let's see if you still dare reject my funding requests now!
(To be continued.)
Chapter 75: Three Text Messages
"Dante, you really are the bane of my existence!"
"Hehe, thanks for the compliment."
"But so what if it's Peggy Carter? She's not the Director Carter from my timeline. What do I have to be afraid of?"
"You sure sound tough." Dante elbowed Fury in the ribs. "Then why haven't you sat down this whole time? What's the matter? Feeling guilty?"
"This is just me showing proper respect for a World War II hero and a Super Soldier from another timeline!"
"Damn… No wonder you're the boss. You're so good at flattering the higher-ups. Why don't you act like this around Pierce?"
"Alexander Pierce doesn't even belong in the same league as Peggy Carter"
Dante gave Fury a big ol' thumbs-up.
This is why he's Director.
A masterclass in flexible morals and bureaucratic integrity.
Peggy Carter, meanwhile, sat off to the side—serene, composed, completely unfazed.
Unlike Steve Rogers in the main timeline, who spent decades frozen and technically still had the mentality of a young man, this version of Carter had lived.
She had truly survived from the era of World War II all the way into the modern multiverse, with firsthand experience of battles across Earth, space, and even alternate timelines.
This was a real veteran.
A true stabilizing force.
Dante honestly wanted to shake hands with his future self for sending someone like her back.
"Oh, right, Director Carter. About what we discussed yesterday—joining the Bureau…"
"Hm? Didn't we already go over that?"
"We did. But what I meant was, I was hoping you'd take on the role of Commander... and I'm just a Special Task Force Captain. I don't really have the authority to appoint someone to that post."
But as soon as he said it, Peggy Carter raised a brow and cut in:
"What do you mean 'Commander'? I've never done that before." She shrugged. "I've always led from the front. I don't mind commanding small-scale ops, but the FBI's Commander position would mean staying behind the scenes, managing the big picture. Not really my style. That special team you mentioned? That's what interests me."
"Ah... well…"
Dante suddenly felt awkward.
Who would've guessed that she still wanted to charge headfirst into battle?
He shot a glance at Fury, silently signaling say something, you're the one in charge!
"Uh—ah—right! Well, technically, there's no one better suited to be Commander than Director Carter…So let's do this, we'll table the Commander talk for now. Agent Dante, Director Carter will be assigned to your Star Team for the time being... Don't forget to register her ID at Internal Affairs!"
Fury gave Dante a forced smile as the latter glared daggers at him.
What could he do? Even after wielding power for years, seeing Peggy Carter's face instantly dragged him back to being just another rookie agent.
Her authority was absolute.
And honestly...
In the original timeline, Carter had always wanted to stay on the frontlines. Age and seniority had pushed her into a leadership role she never really wanted.
But this version? She had the Super Soldier Serum. If she wanted to get out there and throw punches again?
Let her live the dream.
…
Seeing that Fury clearly agreed, Dante had no choice but to drop the issue.
Still, it was a huge win for his Star Team. Having a veteran like Carter on the squad was a godsend.
After all that, Dante left Director Carter at HQ and took his leave.
Fury and Melinda May clearly still had a lot to talk about with the legend in the room.
As soon as Dante stepped out of Fury's office, his old phone—which he'd only just gotten back from Hela after trading her a brand-new model—buzzed three times in quick succession.
Three different texts from three different numbers.
Dante tapped his screen and opened the first one.
It was from Bruce Wayne.
Ever since they met, Dante had been asking Bruce to help source rare materials through his insane billionaire connections.
Like, say... Terrigen crystals.
But when he saw the total price on this one, he physically winced.
Two Terrigen crystals. Almost three million dollars.
Yeah... definitely not giving up on embezzling funds anytime soon.
Then came the second text.
Short and sweet:
"It's all taken care of."
Dante nodded.
Grant Ward really was the king of efficient wet work.
He had stealthily eliminated Agent Sitwell—who held key positions in both the FBI and HYDRA—and from the phrasing, it sounded like he'd taken out an entire group of HYDRA-colluding U.S. politicians too.
Most importantly? No leaks. No evidence. Not even a whisper.
So far, no one had even noticed those people were gone.
In terms of assassination skill, this dirtbag was way more precise than Bucky Barnes.
Everyone loved to say the Winter Soldier was an unstoppable assassin, but honestly? That was mostly hype baked into his lore.
Still… Dante wasn't planning to let him off the hook just yet.
He had promised to spare Ward's life.
But others might not feel the same way.
Feeling good now that the day's plans were on track, Dante opened the third text.
It was from that narcissist Tony Stark.
Judging by the tone, he expected it to be something smug and unhelpful.
But then—
Dante's eyes went wide.
"Holy crap, Tony Stark! You're the real MVP, showing up right when I need you most!"
Dante hadn't expected Stark to hand him this kind of gift.
The message also included a request to meet up.
Only issue? Dante's Quinjet was out for maintenance, and sending the Airbus to pick up just him felt excessive.
So...
Dante casually strolled back into Fury's office.
Under the gaze of five stunned individuals, he started rummaging through Fury's stuff like he owned the place.
He grabbed a set of car keys—and bolted.
"Are you kidding me?! Can't you buy your own damn car?!"
"I don't have a driver's license!"
Dante flashed Fury a smug, unrepentant grin and sprinted out of HQ.
Even Peggy Carter, who had seen some wild things in her time across the multiverse, found this level of "superior-subordinate interaction" absolutely baffling.
The middle-aged Dante she knew from other timelines was always calm, strict, and deadly serious.
But this version?
Completely outrageous.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 76: Hydra’s Special Lure
It was noon. The sun was blazing.
"Miss Potts, where is my best brother Tony Stark? I've called him over twenty times, and he didn't answer once!"
Dante had driven all the way from Washington, D.C. to Stark Tower in New York, and now barged into the CEO's office on the top floor without knocking.
Of course, the current CEO and majority shareholder of Stark Industries wasn't Stark himself—Pepper Potts held that title. Stark was just freeloading with flair.
Maybe after getting completely shut down by Lois Lane, the man had finally realized who he actually loved. His relationship with Pepper had rapidly heated up over the past month.
How could Dante tell?
Because Pepper was radiating honeymoon glow.
"Calm down, Agent Dante. Tony will be here soon—he's meeting me for lunch," Pepper said, guiding Dante to the sofa. She sat beside him. "So, what's the rush? Did Tony do something… again?"
"Oh, Miss Potts, he absolutely did something. And this time, it's genuinely good."
"Uh-oh… Wait, this isn't serious, right?"
"What do you mean serious? It's not serious—it's just… shockingly helpful. And for once, I'm not being sarcastic."
Dante shook his head, amused and slightly exasperated.
What was Tony Stark doing every day?
Judging by Pepper's tone, the man probably racked up more drama than a daytime soap.
"Don't worry, Miss Potts. Tony might be impulsive, flawed, a walking narcissist—but he's not the kind of guy to do anything truly evil."
"I hope so." She smiled and extended her hand. "And from now on, just call me Pepper."
Right then, Tony Stark walked through the door carrying a massive paper bag, sunglasses halfway off.
"Oh, Pepper, these cheeseburgers are insane. Swear on my dad's beard, there's nothing better in all of Queens—what the hell?! Dante! Why are you here? And why are you holding hands with my girlfriend?!"
Tony's voice shot up an octave, and even his mustache seemed to bristle.
Pepper looked at him with a mix of triumph and embarrassment.
"Oh, come on, it was a polite handshake. Unlike you, not everyone treats handshakes like foreplay."
Dante couldn't resist roasting him.
But Tony wasn't fazed. He set the bag down, took two quick strides, and dropped himself between Pepper and Dante, cutting them off like an overgrown toddler.
"Hey, hey, hey. Are you seriously acting like a jealous middle schooler?" Dante shoved him a little. "Pepper's like a big sister to me. Even if I were a scumbag, I wouldn't make a move. Okay?"
"Don't give me that. Everyone at the FBI knows you've got a thing for older women. You're tangled up with three of them in your Star Team alone!"
"Cough! Older women and older sisters are totally different categories! Pepper, don't listen to his garbage."
Dante waved it off quickly. He wasn't shameless enough to flirt with a friend's girlfriend—especially not in front of said friend.
"Hmph. Fine, spill it. What brings a busy man like you to my tower at lunchtime? You're not here to mooch lunch, are you? I only bought two burgers. Haven't you heard? People who interrupt a couple's private time get kicked to death."
Despite the grumbling, Tony finally cooled off.
Dante laughed and threw his arm around Tony's shoulder.
"Because my good brother Tony Stark just did something amazing. Didn't you text me this morning? You said you helped Fury upgrade the latest Helicarrier, right? And that the collaboration between the FBI and Stark Industries was speeding up construction? Estimated completion—soon?"
At the mention of that, Tony immediately threw his arm around Dante too, like they were frat bros.
"What's our relationship, huh? Your business is my business. Besides, I'm curious about a lot of your Bureau's tech… Ever since that little hacker Skye joined your team, I can't even hack the FBI's database anymore. She's that good."
"It all started when Fury reached out asking me to help solve a propulsion issue on the Bureau's satellite launch system. I looked at the schematics and made a few minor adjustments. The satellite can now do continuous sub-orbital flight without needing to land."
"Then, of course, Fury brought a bunch of beautiful agents to thank me. You know how it is, I don't chase women—I just demonstrate excellence in front of them."
"So I went underground with Fury, looked at those old Helicarriers. They were pretty busted, but nothing I couldn't handle. They'll be operational in two weeks, tops. Ninety percent were already built. Naturally—" Tony pointed to himself with both thumbs "—I filled in the critical ten percent."
Dante listened and finally understood.
Still, intentional or not, Tony had just saved him a ton of trouble.
So Dante leaned in and whispered in Stark's ear—laying out the full, hidden risks of the Insight Project.
Tony's expression started to shift as the implications sank in.
"Wait—so… did I just make everything worse?"
"No, no, no." Dante grinned. "They're so focused on catching their mark, they haven't noticed the sniper aiming at them."
The Insight Project?
It was just bait.
A shiny, world-ending, high-tech, juicy worm on the hook.
Originally, Dante had been planning to wait for a better opportunity to take out HYDRA in one clean sweep.
But thanks to Grant Ward's precision assassinations, there was now a brief window where HYDRA was flying blind.
And Tony? He'd just completed the most critical piece of the trap.
There wouldn't be a better time.
With no major missions on the table, it was time to push the plan forward.
Use the Insight Project as bait—let HYDRA think they were on the verge of "controlling the world."
They'd bite. No question.
"Wait, Dante—did you tell Fury about this?"
"I'll tell him after I finish setting everything up. I don't plan to let the Insight Project go live anyway. HYDRA's gonna come knocking at the Bureau's front door soon enough—and that'll be our chance to crush them all."
"You make it sound like squashing a bug."
"We're both seasoned foxes. Don't play innocent with me."
Dante elbowed Tony in the side, grinning.
"Don't tell me you didn't leave a backdoor in those satellite and Helicarrier systems. One only you can crack open."
"Do I look like the kind of guy who'd do that?"
"So… is there one or not?"
"…There is."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 30: Chapter 77-79
Chapter Text
Chapter 77: Item No. 084
After Dante and Tony reached a consensus, he got ready to set the whole thing in motion.
This was actually Dante's first time setting up the ol' "bait the enemy and close the trap" play.
But finally, this felt like some real "Agent" business. I mean, ever since transmigrating, when has anything he touched not been the kind of mess that even Superheroes might break a sweat over?
With that thought, Dante made a video call to Coulson using his personal terminal.
A few seconds later, the familiar sight of Coulson's receding hairline popped up on screen.
"Dante? What brings you to me today?"
"I just wrapped up a mission. The Star Team just finished a month of tactical training, so they're on break for a few days. I'm feeling antsy. Figured I'd ask if you've got anything troublesome lying around that needs a hand?"
"Don't joke. I don't have anything major going on that would justify bringing out you… But if you're free, come along. I'm on a flight to Peru right now."
"Alright. Be there in a sec."
Dante nodded, opened a portal, and stepped right in.
Coulson suddenly felt a chill run down his spine—then turned to see Dante already behind him.
"Honestly, portals are a neat trick. I always thought they were just a movie gimmick."
"In my opinion, nothing in movies or comics is half as fantastical as real life," Dante smiled, patting Coulson on the shoulder. "Where's the team?"
"They're in the combat briefing room. This is their first time encountering an 084 item."
084 item—FBI special classification. Translation: no one knows what the hell it is.
Usually, it's either some relic from an ancient hyper-civilization, or something straight-up alien.
For example, when Thor's hammer was discovered in the original timeline—it had massive energy output, couldn't be moved, and fit the bill for a textbook 084.
Which brings us to the first recorded 084 item: the Kree Obelisk.
Now that was a trap within a trap. The outer shell—the so-called "Diviner"—was just a failsafe meant to vaporize non-Inhumans.
Thanks to Jiaying and her cult melting the crystal encasing the Diviner, the layers got fused. So when it was activated, both the Diviner and Terrigen were released at once. Non-potential Inhumans? Instant charcoal.
Thing is, pure Terrigen crystals aren't fatal to ordinary people.
So yeah… that one's on Jiaying and her low-culture band of misfits.
But can you really blame them? Compared to the Celestials who birthed the Mutants, the Kree were just cosmic warmongers with more pride than brains.
They got their asses handed to them plenty of times—by Odin and Hela's forces, no less.
Dante and Coulson walked into the Airbus's combat briefing room. Inside, the team was gathered—including Steve Rogers, who, notably, wasn't wearing his usual getup—and listening to Jemma Simmons geek out over the Peruvian ecosystem.
"You guys should know, there are over 200 snake species in Peru's jungles. The South American Bushmaster? It's got venom that's not only neurotoxic, but also breaks down proteins and causes hemolysis. Real nasty stuff."
Steve Rogers leaned in and asked quietly:
"Is she always this excited?"
At this point, the team had been around Steve long enough to talk to him like a regular person. The whole fanboy stage had passed.
Helped a lot that Steve hadn't worn his old Captain America uniform once since waking up from the ice.
Coulson, his forever fanboy, had asked him multiple times if he wanted a new Cap suit made, but Steve always politely declined.
Too much time had passed. The world had moved on, and so had he.
Maybe the world didn't need Captain America anymore.
Maybe Steve Rogers just needed to live.
So now, he wore the standard FBI tactical uniform. Only the round Vibranium shield on his back gave away who he really was.
"How do I put this? Occupational hazard," Barry Allen said, a beat slower than usual. "It's like Fitz geeking out over Stark's suits or how I start analyzing tread marks without realizing."
"That's good. I thought Jemma was just one of those people who can't sleep the night before a field trip."
"Uh, judging by the bags under her eyes, she definitely didn't sleep last night," Barry added.
Dante looked at Steve Rogers—so quiet and grounded now—and couldn't help but wonder…
What would happen if he met Captain Carter?
After all, one's about to lose his Peggy Carter.
And the other already lost her Steve Rogers.
"Good afternoon, my dear teammates. I, Dante Alighieri, am back!"
Before Coulson could say anything, a loud "Aww!" rang out.
Instant chaos.
Everyone in the room—except Steve—visibly twitched. Even Jemma, who had been bouncing with excitement, froze like she'd been hit by a stun grenade.
That voice!
"Demon, begone!"
"Someone bring me a cross!"
"Ugh, damn it! I get stress-induced vomiting just hearing that voice… Ugh!"
The formerly calm scene collapsed into disorder.
Dante's eye twitched.
Are these clowns serious?
Especially Barry, stress-induced vomiting?
He literally had the lowest training intensity out of all of them!
Come on, Speed Force—smite him already!
He really couldn't take Barry's submissive, soft-spoken act anymore… but ironically, in boys love fanfics, Barry always ends up being the one on the bottom.
Tragic.
In canon, the guy dies and gets reset every other arc.
In fanfics, he has to offer up his butt too.
"Ah, Barry… you've really suffered."
"You— Ugh!"
"Is it really that dramatic!?"
Dante gave the twitching Wade a casual kick out of the way, clearing a path through the chaos, and approached Steve.
"It's an honor to meet you, Steve Rogers."
"You too, Dante. Thanks for digging me out of that damn ice."
Steve extended a hand. Dante shook it firmly.
"I figured you'd call me Captain America."
"I don't see Captain America. I see an old soldier who wants to say goodbye to the past and start fresh."
(To be continued.)
Junkdog's Note: For more bonus drop PS : )
Chapter 78: You Again
When Dante arrived on the Airbus via portal, they were already nearing Peru—so there wasn't much time left.
The Airbus belonging to Coulson's team eventually flew over a dense, endless rainforest before landing on a patch of flat ground outside the tree line.
Then, they loaded up into the Federal Bureau of Investigation's custom off-road vehicles and headed toward the predetermined coordinates.
Dante didn't open a portal this time. The Coulson Team wouldn't always have him around, and if they got too used to teleporting everywhere, they'd get soft.
Besides…
Rare chance to go abroad on government expense—shouldn't they enjoy the view?
After about an hour of driving, they finally reached their destination.
This was an excavation site of Inca ruins.
Dante first did a sweep of the surrounding jungle, circling the perimeter to confirm there were no signs of large lifeforms. Once he was sure, he nodded for the team to begin.
Fitz and Jemma hopped out, chatting and laughing, hauling their gear with them.
"Oh, Jemma, is that the South American Bushmaster you mentioned on the plane?"
At those words, Fitz and Jemma whipped their heads around—only to see a yellow-brown, venomous snake coiled tightly around Dante's perfectly sculpted forearm. It was a Bushmaster, currently gnawing on Dante's hand like its life depended on it.
Unfortunately for it, Dante's physical stats were still intact. Snake fangs had no chance of penetrating his skin.
"Is it fun having a venomous snake wrapped around your arm?! It's literally biting you!"
"Don't say that. It kinda tickles, honestly. I think this little guy really likes me," Dante said casually, unwrapping the snake from his wrist.
Then he flicked his arm and launched it back into the jungle.
Jemma rushed over to inspect his wrist. She knew the venom couldn't hurt Dante, but that Bushmaster's poison was still dripping off his hand and onto the ground.
She immediately pulled out high-concentration disinfectant and started cleaning his hand.
"Uh, Jemma, I appreciate the concern, but snake venom really doesn't affect me. I could probably drink it and be fine."
"I know it doesn't affect you," Jemma sighed. "But if the venom gets on anyone else, they might not be so lucky. Clean it up—don't cause trouble for the team."
They turned and walked into the ruins of the Inca temple. The ancient site, hidden deep in the jungle, had stood for at least five centuries—and it was where the 084 item had been detected.
Dante followed the Science Babies into the temple. After they finished the most thorough on-site scan imaginable, they reached a conclusion.
"Everything in here is authentic—Inca-era at the latest, possibly even pre-Inca." Fitz pointed to a chunk of wall where something clearly didn't belong. "But this thing? I don't care how low your IQ is—there's no way you'd think this should be here."
"Inside the fossilized rock layer we just excavated, there's a mechanical object embedded—one with a clear, ordered structure," Jemma added. "Which means it's been here at least fifteen hundred years—longer than the temple itself has existed."
"…But from the manufacturing quality, it looks kinda… German."
Dante watched them geek out for a moment, then decided to step outside for air.
He had Captain Cold's genius-level engineering ability, and at a glance he could tell—it was probably some kind of energy emitter.
But knowing tech wasn't the same as liking it.
He wasn't built for research labs and whiteboards.
"May, have you eaten?"
As soon as Dante stepped out of the ruins, he spotted Melinda May—just now returning from parking the car in a hidden spot.
"You should save that kind of greeting for someone else."
"My bad, my bad… Oh, by the way—have you and Fury told Steve Rogers about the existence of Captain Carter yet?"
"Not yet. Rogers is only just now adjusting to the present. No need to provoke him. I'll take him to see our Peggy Carter first—she's been… relatively lucid lately."
At the mention of this timeline's Peggy Carter, Melinda May—usually a blank-slate poker face—let a flicker of sorrow show through.
Dante stared at her warily.
"…Why are you looking at me like that?" May instinctively touched her face. "Do I have something on it?"
"No. I just figured, in this kind of setup, you were about to drop the classic FBI agent line—'Peggy Carter is the closest thing to a mother you've ever had' or some crap like that. I've heard that line so many times lately, I'm getting an allergy."
"Uh, I had actual parents."
"Then you're already ahead of the game. Double-parent configuration—OP setup."
As Dante spoke, he suddenly flashed a series of hand signals—specific to Federal Bureau of Investigation field tactics.
May got it instantly.
They split, flanking both sides of the brush.
Then—bam—they moved in sync, yanking several armed intruders out from cover.
All of them were fully kitted soldiers.
Dante had spotted them when they first reached the ruins, but he hadn't bothered making a fuss.
He preferred cleaning them up in one go.
Now that the enemy squad was nearly assembled, he signaled May—and it was go time.
She and Dante immediately knocked out the closest soldiers. At the same time, military jeeps came roaring in from all directions.
Dozens more soldiers poured out, rifles raised.
Oliver Queen, Wade Wilson, and Steve Rogers stepped out of the jungle like it was rehearsed.
Dante raised his hands in a gesture of "don't look at me."
The five Agents—all seasoned—barely exchanged glances.
They already knew the plan.
Soon enough, the ground was littered with unconscious bodies.
"I heard Peru's got a rebel group stirring up trouble lately. Think it's them?" Wade said as he slid his katanas away.
"Nope. These guys are too well-equipped, too well-trained," Oliver said, scanning the scene. "They'd be top-tier soldiers in any country. Clearly government troops. But why would the army ambush us? We already informed the Peruvian officials."
"What happened?" Coulson and Barry came out of the temple, faces darkening the moment they saw the sprawled-out soldiers.
"A squad of Peruvian soldiers just attacked us for no reason. Don't worry—we went non-lethal. No international incidents today," Steve explained.
That calmed Coulson.
But what happened next made him spit out that calm like expired milk.
Because the next person to show up was someone he used to know very well.
...
About twenty seconds after the skirmish ended, Peruvian Military Police Commander Camila Reyes arrived on the scene—only to find her troops all groaning on the ground.
And Dante standing there, waiting like he'd been expecting someone.
"Who are you?!" Camila Reyes demanded, alarmed. "What happened to my soldiers?"
"I'm Agent Dante Alighieri. Level Seven, Federal Bureau of Investigation. We're here for an international security matter."
Dante's tone was cool. He already knew who she was.
As he spoke, some of the soldiers on the ground started coming to—groaning weakly.
Honestly, they'd held back during the fight. If they hadn't, non-lethal or not, nobody would've been conscious this fast.
"Federal Bureau of Investigation?" Camila's acting was good—her fake confusion was flawless. "I'm Camila Reyes, Commander of the Peruvian Military Police. Your operations on Peruvian soil demand an explanation."
"As you wish, Commander Camila Reyes." Dante nodded, gesturing to the ruins. "We detected an 084 item within these Inca ruins. As you should know, under international agreements signed by Peru, 084 items fall under Federal Bureau of Investigation jurisdiction and do not belong to the country of origin."
Camila looked like she still wanted to argue—until Coulson stepped up.
"Hmm? Phil?"
"Camila," Coulson said with a small smile, stepping forward. "It's been years. You're a Commander now?"
"Three years ago, actually. Phil, we should greet each other properly."
And with that, Camila and Coulson shared a cheek kiss.
"I've got a few questions for you," Dante interrupted them.
"Oh, Phil…" Camila shook her head. "Your Agents are competent, but they lack manners."
"Camila, I think there's a misunderstanding," Coulson said, expression going from warm to strictly professional. "Dante's not my subordinate. In some ways, his authority and importance even outrank mine. And while he may act casual, he never interrogates people without cause. So if he's asking, you should probably answer."
Camila's frown deepened.
Damn you, Clairvoyant. How come there was no intel on someone like him?
No choice now. She'd have to play along.
Dante waited for her nod, then started his questioning.
"Given the conflict between Peru's military and the rebels… how does the Commander have time to rendezvous with an old flame here? Or does Peru now have tech to detect 084 items? Is that why you deployed elite forces in secret?"
"…We were conducting a rebel sweep. The encounter was a coincidence."
"Yeah? Let me answer for you." Dante stepped between her and Coulson, voice low. "The Clairvoyant told you Coulson's team was coming to retrieve the 084. He said it was a weapon—something that could end the civil war. But then… an unexpected obstacle appeared."
Camila's expression changed completely. She subtly stepped back, looking at Coulson with mixed emotion and growing resolve.
Coulson was shocked too—not at her betrayal, but at her sheer ruthlessness.
"So… when did you decide to throw our history away?"
"…The moment I saw your team."
"Should I be grateful you didn't make that call when you got the intel?"
Camila didn't answer. Instead, she pressed a button on her communicator.
More engine sounds echoed in the distance—perfectly matching the backup units Dante had detected during his earlier recon.
They'd come fully loaded.
"Subdue the FBI Agents! Seize the 084 item!" Camila ordered coldly.
Then, to Coulson, she added, "I'm sorry, Phil. But between you and my country, I had to make a hard choice. Don't resist. I won't hurt you. Once the rebels are dealt with, I'll surrender to the international court and the Bureau."
"Is that so…"
Coulson nodded. He knew then that there was no saving this.
So he turned and walked toward the mountain—
He turned and walked toward the ruins.
"Team, listen up. Try not to kill anyone."
"It's your team now, so I'll listen."
His old flame hadn't shown any old affection—but Coulson still couldn't be cruel.
He wasn't a bleeding heart. If they'd come with malicious intent, he wouldn't have hesitated to pull the trigger.
But Camila Reyes and these soldiers… they weren't evil.
Just desperate patriots making a gamble.
Coulson couldn't bring himself to hurt them.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 79: Layout Begins
"Honestly, Commander Camila, I sincerely recommend you surrender now," Dante said, flashing Coulson's old flame a bright, sincere smile. "Because fighting me is really going to hurt."
Camila ignored Dante's jab and gave a crisp, clear order.
"Teams One and Two, suppress the target! Team Three, on alert! Teams Four and Five, surround the temple—don't let anyone escape!"
In her eyes, sure, these Federal Bureau of Investigation agents were strong—strong enough for a handful to drop an entire squad—but no matter how you sliced it, they were still trying to stop a tank with a toothpick. Against an organized military force, they'd get flattened.
If it were that scumbag Grant Ward, even he would've given up on a frontal assault by now and tried sneaking out another way.
But reality check…
Even without Dante, just three top-tier Agents plus Steve Rogers was already an overkill combo.
And with Dante—this literal walking cheat code?
Forget it.
"Sigh, how stubborn." Dante shook his head like a disappointed teacher.
Right as he finished speaking, his eyes lit up—literally.
The sky, previously cloudless, suddenly roared with thunder.
Lightning Manipulation.
Thousands of lightning bolts crashed down from above.
The soldiers didn't even get to scream—just dropped on the spot, twitching uncontrollably.
But under Dante's meticulous control, despite the fireworks show, not a single life was lost.
It looked divine—felt divine—but in the end, it was just a warning.
These were still soldiers fighting for their republic. Risky? Yes. But honorable in its own way.
Still, those poor guys would be stuck in bed for a solid month.
Camila Reyes could only stand there in stunned silence, helplessly watching as everything around her crumbled.
The commotion outside drew Fitz and Jemma from the temple—ignoring the 084's high-frequency radiation warnings to come running out, still clutching the item.
Jemma pointed at Dante, stunned.
"…Another new ability? Can we still call Agent Dante human?"
"If nothing's changed, he should still think he's human… right?"
"I'd love to run a full body scan on him," Jemma muttered. "Maybe even a few biopsies. He's got insane regeneration anyway."
Everyone slowly turned to look at her.
"Wh-why are you all staring at me?! I was making a cold scientific joke! I wouldn't actually dissect a colleague!" Jemma groaned. "Besides, I'd probably need a Vibranium scalpel just to scratch him."
"So let's skip the dissection." Coulson chuckled. "If you're curious, just ask him. Dante's always open about that kind of stuff. In fact, I'm kinda curious too."
Coulson nodded and turned to contact the International Military Tribunal.
Since no one had died, Camila would probably walk away after some diplomatic back-and-forth between Peru and the Tribunal.
The country was still in internal turmoil—they'd shield their commander.
Still, he had other concerns.
"Tell me, Camila. Who exactly is this lunatic called 'The Clairvoyant'? Have you seen him in person?"
"Everything about him is a mystery… and yet, he knows everything about us. Like a prophet from legend…"
Prophet.
Coulson had never been one to believe in that nonsense.
But over and over, reality forced his hand.
A prophet is dangerous.
A malicious prophet? Even worse.
And Dante had whispered the name "The Clairvoyant" right in Camila's ear…
Coulson glanced over at Dante, who was now patting Fitz on the back while spinning some exaggerated war story.
Maybe he'd get the answer from him.
...
"Dante, I've got some things I need you to explain."
Back at FBI HQ, the Coulson Team's Airbus was docked nearby.
The rest of the team was off waiting for the Slingshot Protocol to kick in.
The Slingshot Protocol—officially—was the Bureau's method for destroying uncontrollable or unanalyzable 084 items by launching them into the sun via rocket.
Unofficially?
Just a smokescreen.
Agents Level Seven and up knew the truth: there was nothing in the rocket.
The real 084s went into a top-secret facility known only as The Fridge.
So while junior agents crowded around the viewing platform to watch the rocket show, Dante and Coulson were somewhere more productive.
Dante put down his green soda and smirked.
"Couldn't hold it in, huh? You want to know who that bastard 'Clairvoyant' is, right?"
"I don't believe in prophets. But this guy's clearly a danger to global security."
Dante slid a glass of Coulson's favorite whiskey toward him.
"First, consider this: if he really was a prophet, why didn't he tell Camila about that weapon earlier? That 084's been sitting in the Peruvian jungle for thousands of years. Why wait until the Bureau detected it?"
That made Coulson freeze.
Dante continued:
"If he wasn't just watching drama unfold for fun, then it means he only learned about the 084 around the same time as the Bureau."
"But even then," Coulson muttered, "what organization could rival our intelligence network?"
"No one," Dante said flatly. "Because the guy is FBI."
Coulson's head snapped up.
"A senior Agent," Dante added. "Once you hit Level Eight or above, you get access to intel you couldn't dream of seeing at lower levels."
"But unlike you honest types, who treat that access like a curiosity binge, this guy saw it as a goldmine."
"He exploited global information gaps to rake in massive profits."
"And this guy? He's an old friend of yours. FBI Level Eight Agent—John Garrett."
"WHAT!?"
Coulson slapped the table and shot to his feet.
Two betrayals in one day—who wouldn't crack?
"John Garrett? That can't be right!"
"Why not?" Dante tilted his head. "He's not just the Clairvoyant. He's HYDRA."
PFFT!
Coulson had just taken a sip of whiskey, only to immediately spit it out.
"Cough cough cough—!" Coulson wheezed, ignoring the insult as he wiped his face. "You're sure? John Garrett? He's not just The Clairvoyant—he's HYDRA too?"
"Positive." Dante nodded. "Remember the Centipede Project? He created it—to prolong his own life. And he even contacted Stark, pretending to represent the Bureau, trying to get Extremis research."
Coulson's face turned grim.
He'd never expected Garrett—trusted colleague, veteran Agent—to be both a snake and the mastermind behind the Clairvoyant.
After a long silence, he spoke again.
"If Garrett's HYDRA… then what about Grant Ward? He was trained by Garrett."
"Bingo. Ward's HYDRA too. That's why I kicked him off your team from the start."
"You kicked him off?"
"Technically, I nudged him. Then offered a deal."
"A deal?"
"I said, work for me and I'll give you a way to survive. Pretty good offer, right?"
"But he's HYDRA!" Coulson stood up again, the calm facade completely gone.
HYDRA—the very cancer that led to the FBI's internal purge. That had gotten him killed.
No way he was letting HYDRA go.
"I get it. But I made a promise. I'll keep it." Dante shrugged. "You didn't make any promises, though."
Coulson exhaled slowly, calming himself.
"…You're not the kind of guy to expose Garrett just for kicks. So what's your angle, Dante?"
"Can't fool you, huh?" Dante grinned. "Ever heard of Project Insight?"
"Fury mentioned it back when he was working on Project T.A.H.I.T.I… but that got shelved after the Bureau's last internal shakeup."
"Well, Stark visited the Bureau recently. Under Fury's persuasion, he upgraded all three Insight-class Helicarriers. They'll be completed soon."
"But Project Insight is too risky!" Coulson said, frowning. "If someone modifies the algorithm, it'll go from protection to mass execution!"
Dante waved him off.
"Relax. This version of Project Insight is real—but it's also bait."
"HYDRA bait," Coulson said slowly.
"You got it," Dante confirmed. "That last purge? That was just HYDRA sacrificing pawns to save kings."
"Now we are laying the trap."
"We'll use Project Insight to lure HYDRA's main force into the open—then crush them."
"And your team?" Dante added, leaning forward. "You guys are assigned to protect The Fridge."
"As the Bureau's top-secret storage facility, its value to HYDRA is only second to Project Insight."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 31: Chapter 80-85
Chapter Text
Chapter 80: The Two Captains Meet, Lemuria
Three days later, somewhere over the Indian Ocean, fifty kilometers from the Lemurian Star.
"Dante, you come in here with your schemes and your ambushes—and you don't think it's worth telling me, the Director, until the plan's already unfolding? You think that's appropriate? Is that appropriate??!"
"Haha, I just thought you'd definitely understand my intentions. Guess I'm not that important to you after all!"
Dante sat cross-legged, gazing at the night sky thick with clouds, casually speaking to Fury through the comms.
"Don't you start trying to change the subject!"
"Ahem. You want the truth?" Dante grinned. "It's because you, as Director, are constantly being watched by that pain-in-the-ass World Security Council."
"That was Alexander Pierce's decision. He insisted the Bureau needed oversight."
"Yeah? Well, Pierce is HYDRA. No surprise there. If I had to guess, I'd say he orchestrated the Bureau's last internal purge. Think about it—wasn't it right after that mess the U.S. Bureau started getting leashed?"
"…It was really him?" Fury muttered, then snapped back into volume. "When this is over, you better give me a full damn explanation!"
"Sure, sure. Don't forget to keep acting for Pierce's sake. Anyway, I'm hanging up now."
He checked the time, set the plane's autopilot, and stepped out of the cockpit. His face shifted from smirking trickster to no-nonsense field commander.
Everyone in the cabin went rigid.
Not from fear—but because the air was weird.
Weird.
No one spoke. No one even dared breathe loudly.
Because standing dead-center were two Captains, silently staring each other down.
Steve Rogers looked at Captain Carter with visible disbelief.
And though Carter was more composed, her pupils were visibly shaking.
They'd both lost their versions of each other.
And this meeting—despite the shock—wasn't emotional. Because neither one was the person the other had truly missed.
Skye was internally cringing so hard she might snap her spine. Her chronic secondhand embarrassment was kicking in.
As soon as she spotted Dante, she power-walked over.
"Was this really a good idea?" she whispered. "Throwing them together like this? Carter's one thing, but Steve only just came to terms with being frozen for half a century…"
"Relax," Dante said with a smile. "If he couldn't handle this, he wouldn't be Captain America. He's got way more inner strength than you give him credit for."
Still—this couldn't go on. They were at work, not a soap opera.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Dante clapped his hands, snapping the tension.
"I'm Level Seven Agent Dante Alighieri, and the overall commander for the Lemurian Star rescue operation."
"Skye—sync the mission info."
Skye nodded and tapped on her terminal. Data filled the large screen behind her.
"The Lemurian Star is a satellite launch vessel under the Bureau. It's currently under pirate occupation—forty-eight hostiles on board."
"They're heavily armed with automatic weapons. Six of them are equipped with individual grenade launchers."
"The leader is George Batroc—a world-class mercenary with a criminal record longer than a Netflix contract. Ruthless, lethal, and very much not a people person."
"Their raid began ninety-three minutes ago, right when the final satellite was launching."
Steve studied the screen and turned to Skye.
"How much are they asking?"
"One-point-five billion dollars. But, this is a Bureau ship…"
"So… we're cleaning up another one of Fury's messes?" Steve sighed and shook his head. Then he scanned the hostage list and frowned. "Wait—Sitwell? He's HR. What the hell is he doing on a launch ship?"
Dante stiffened. Sitwell?
Sure, in the original timeline Sitwell was here but—
Wasn't that guy dead?
Grant Ward had definitely killed him.
And Ward wasn't the type to lie about something like that. Especially not to Dante.
Too risky. Too dumb.
Killing Sitwell was faster, simpler… safer.
So if Sitwell's name was still on the active list, that meant someone had stepped in and filled the body slot almost immediately—so fast, no one noticed the original was missing.
But who?
Couldn't be Mystique—Mutants were on their side.
Skrull?
Or maybe a shapeshifter Agent?
Either way, once he got on that ship, Dante needed to go meet this "Sitwell" personally.
"Captain Rogers, Captain Carter," Dante began, flipping into ops mode, "you two will approach from opposite sides and clear the deck."
"Everyone else—parachute to the stern. Infiltrate and rescue the hostages."
"Skye, you're backup. Hack the Lemurian Star's security system. Get me a lockdown."
"As for me—I'll go directly for the engine room. I'll shut it down and clear access routes for extraction. Understood? Prep for deployment!"
As the assignments finished, the transport hovered above the Lemuria Star.
The Agent leading the combat squad stepped forward, hand extended.
"Agent Dante—I'll be commanding this elite formation."
"And you are?"
"Level Nine Agent Maria Hill," she said, removing her mask and revealing a sharp bob cut and serious eyes. "First time meeting, isn't it?"
"I've heard plenty." Dante shook her hand.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Maria smiled slightly. She liked Dante's personality; she wouldn't be here otherwise.
"Then I'm leaving the rescue team in your care."
"As you command."
"Hey, I'm only Level Seven. You don't need to be that formal."
Dante scratched his head.
After all, Level Nine was second only to Fury himself. Technically, she outranked him.
"Come on. Who in the Bureau still thinks you're just a Level Seven Agent? Anyone who does needs their head examined."
Maria waved it off like a joke.
Because really—who didn't know Dante was now one of the Bureau's top combat assets? His Level Seven badge was just window dressing.
"Appreciate the flattery."
They reached the drop point.
"Alright. Move out!"
At Dante's command, the first ones out were the two Captains.
As per usual, neither bothered with parachutes.
They jumped straight from the plane, no hesitation, leaving the elite Agents stunned.
"Don't worry about them," Dante said casually. "They never really liked parachutes anyway."
"Rescue team, hold position. Stagger the deck-clearing sequence."
Dante stood at the hatch, issued one more order—then leaned back and dove straight out of the plane.
The Agents rushed to the edge, only to hear a faint chant echoing behind him—
"With blood and rage of crimson red,
Ripped from a corpse so freshly dead,
Together with our hellish hate,
We'll burn you all—that is your fate!"
Red Lantern Transformation!
Dante lit up like a comet of crimson fury, streaking toward the Lemurian Star.
Skye crossed her arms and pouted.
"You're the last person who should complain about worldviews…"
...
"Have you seen Dante? I haven't been able to reach him."
"I can't either. But with his powers, what could happen to him?"
Steve and Carter met up mid-deck.
As they spoke, a blur zipped out from behind them—a vicious, twisting whip-kick flying at Steve Rogers' head.
A sneak attack.
Fast. Clean. Lethal.
It was George Batroc—the mercenary no one had been able to catch.
All surveillance across the Lemurian Star had already been replaced with home appliance ads and Crayon Shin-chan reruns.
Batroc had known the ship had been compromised the moment his comms started going dead.
He knew it was time to act.
He made it to the deck just in time to see the two Captains deep in conversation.
Instinct told him: target the guy in the S.H.I.E.L.D. combat uniform.
So, classic Batroc—strike first.
Bad move.
Very bad move.
Because the moment his foot launched—two Super Soldiers countered simultaneously.
What followed was a textbook example of a two-on-one beatdown.
A beatdown with rhythm.
"Agh-do you dare fight me one-on-one?!" Batroc wheezed from the ground, barely conscious. "You just rely on numbers-and that shield!"
Steve scoffed. "Buddy, I was fighting Nazis before your grandma hit puberty. One-on-one? This is war, not a gentleman's fencing match!"
Captain Carter gave Steve a rare nod of approval.
Exactly.
Every seasoned soldier curses.
They just hold it in during peacetime. On the field?
Let it fly.
They turned toward a nearby locked door—the Lemurian Star's central control room.
CRACK!
Captain Carter lifted her shield, slammed it down, and snapped the lock clean off.
The door swung open.
And inside?
Bent over a console, frantically copying files.
Dante.
"…Ah."
He looked up slowly.
"…Well, this is awkward."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 81: The Last
"Dante, why aren't you responding to calls? Wasn't our mission to rescue the hostages?"
Steve Rogers stepped forward, eyes fixed on the massive screen in the control room, where a progress bar was crawling forward like a Windows XP update.
Dante smacked his lips. If you're gonna act, go all in.
In theory, after Steve Rogers and Captain Carter bulldozed the deck like two tanks with personality disorders, there was no reason for them to storm the control room too, right?
But logic was taking a smoke break again, because here they were.
Both Captains, barging in like synchronized battering rams.
The only surprising part? Steve Rogers did ask questions—but he wasn't suspicious. Not really.
He was just genuinely worried about why Dante ghosted the comms. Cute.
"Rescuing hostages is your job—and the rescue team's. I'm overall command. I've got a different set of priorities. Hope both Captains can understand that."
"Oh, I don't care what tasks you have," Steve waved it off. "On the battlefield, everyone just needs to stick to their lane."
Dante blinked.
Wait, what?
This Captain America was... chill?
In the original timeline, when Cap found Natasha swiping S.H.I.E.L.D. data in this exact room, he blew a red, white, and blue gasket. Then stormed off to scold Nick Fury like a patriotic dad.
Even though that Cap eventually became worthy of Mjolnir, emotionally he was still somewhere between "angry gym teacher" and "righteous Eagle Scout."
But this Cap? This one had clearly seen some things.
Probably been on a few black ops missions too.
Anyone who's ever worked FBI field duty has done something off the books. It's practically onboarding.
Captain Carter, meanwhile, hadn't said a word—just kept inspecting Dante with narrowed eyes.
"This red uniform is very flattering."
"Uh, Captain Carter, please don't roast my fashion choices." Dante rolled his eyes. "I'm not exactly a fan of these skintight battle suits… but I gotta admit—they're practical."
The progress bar zipped to 100%. Data transfer complete.
Dante unplugged the external drive and tapped his comm.
"Calling Agent Hill. If you're hearing this, respond."
"Maria Hill, received. Commander, go ahead."
"What's the status on the rescue?"
"All hostiles guarding the hostages have been neutralized. All hostages are safe. A few agents sustained minor injuries during resistance, but no fatalities."
"Is Sitwell there? Tell him to meet me on the deck."
"Understood. Relaying the message now."
Dante ended the call and nodded to the two Captains, gesturing for them to follow.
As they exited the control room, Steve casually picked up George Batroc's barely-breathing body like it was part of a daily gym routine.
When they reached the deck, they found the rescue team already rounding up the remaining pirates, most of whom were too broken to resist.
Then a bald man stepped out from the ship's cabin. His dome reflected the sunlight—shiny, vaguely greasy, vaguely sketchy.
"Agents! Thanks for the timely rescue. But I need access to the launch platform's data. It's a direct order from Nick Fury."
"Right... I don't think you're a Skrull. They at least replicate memories properly." Dante raised an eyebrow and crooked a finger at the fake Sitwell. "Because here's the thing—Sitwell knows that while we're both Level 7 FBI agents, I'm the captain of the Star Team. My clearance dwarfs his. Also, even if the Star Team didn't exist, Sitwell's just internal affairs—HR, basically. No way in hell would Fury send him on a critical, high-clearance field mission."
"Agent, you—"
"Save it. If you haven't come up with a halfway decent excuse by now, don't bother. We're gonna have a little chat... in private." Dante turned to Steve. "Hey Cap, mind if I borrow a light?"
Steve Rogers pulled a lighter from a side pouch of his utility belt and handed it over.
He didn't smoke. But every soldier knows a lighter is a survival essential.
Good habit.
Neither Steve nor Carter followed.
Dante hadn't invited them. Which meant this wasn't their scene.
So the two super-soldiers quietly helped the rescue team round up more pirates.
...
"As senior agents, we both know how Fury operates—compartmentalized intel only. There's no way you'd know my objective. So let's skip the games and start cooperating. Unless you want to explain yourself to Nick Fury."
Dante led the fake Sitwell behind one of the rocket tubes. Out of sight. The guy kept rambling the whole way, trying to bluff, convince, confuse—take your pick.
Dante, for his part, tuned him out. Background noise. Buzzing gnat-tier dialogue.
But eventually, he got annoyed.
Once they were deep enough into the shadows, Dante suddenly spun, grabbed Sitwell by the throat, and slammed him into the cold metal wall.
"Shut it. You're not Sitwell. He's dead. I ordered the hit."
Dante's eyes narrowed, voice calm but deadly.
"Pretty funny, actually. You must've stumbled across the body. Needed an identity. So you torched the evidence and wore his face. Shapeshifting perks, I guess."
The fake's expression didn't change. Not even a flicker of emotion.
"You picked a clever alias. Internal affairs with top-tier access. But you don't know enough. You don't understand how the Bureau works. So last warning—change back to your real form. Or Sitwell dies again."
Still no reaction.
"You seem to know a lot about shapeshifters across the universe," the fake finally said.
"Not bad, huh?" Dante raised the lighter. "This ring any bells?"
That finally did it.
Sitwell's face twitched. The flesh near the flame turned a faint green.
"Oh? A Green Martian?" Dante said, mildly surprised.
The fake Sitwell sighed, then slipped free from Dante's grip like a wisp of smoke.
By the time he landed, he'd already shifted into someone else.
"Agent Dante, not exactly the warmest first impression, huh?"
"I think I've been plenty polite. Otherwise, I'd have exposed you in front of the whole crew," Dante shot back. "So. Wanna explain what the hell you're doing here?"
"The last Martian Manhunter. J'onn J'onzz."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 82: It’s Time to Get the Big Stuff
J'onn J'onzz didn't understand.
Why did this young agent named Dante not only know his name, but also know that he was the last Martian?
Compared to that, the fact that Dante identified him through fire wasn't even the weird part.
After arriving on Earth, J'onn J'onzz had been constantly changing identities.
He'd passed through multiple countries and eventually decided to settle in Washington.
On his very first night in D.C., he happened to stumble upon Sitwell—who had just been murdered.
Although J'onn J'onzz used his telepathic abilities to copy part of Sitwell's memories in the moment he took his final breath, it wasn't complete.
He only got fragments—memories from the past few decades, nothing more.
After weighing his options, J'onn J'onzz still chose to assume Sitwell's identity.
He then boarded the Lemurian Star to carry out the last mission stored in Sitwell's memory.
What he didn't expect was that not only would he be seen through as a fake Sitwell, but his true identity would be completely exposed.
Absolutely absurd!
And this agent—Dante—who saw through him? He was strong. Way too strong.
It was the first time J'onn J'onzz had encountered an Earthling with this kind of power.
For context, even in his base form, Martian Manhunter could casually lift a hundred tons.
And if he fully activated his molecular abilities, his strength could go toe-to-toe with your average Kansas Big Guy.
Even so, he'd been slammed into a wall by this Dante guy like it was nothing.
"J'onn J'onzz, as a Martian, how does it feel to be stuck settling on Earth? Doesn't feel so great, huh?"
"No. Earth is a beautiful and vibrant planet," J'onn J'onzz shook his head, clearly not agreeing with Dante's statement. "To me, this place gave me a new life. It's my second home. I will do whatever it takes to protect Earth's safety."
Dante wasn't surprised by that answer.
He was just testing him—to see if this Martian Manhunter had been tampered with or not.
After all, assuming there were no timeline screw-ups, Martian Manhunter's moral compass should still be pointing True North, about on par with the Big Blue Boy Scout.
"Then do you know that the guy whose identity you copied with your shapeshifting powers—not only was he a senior agent in the FBI, he was also a member of HYDRA?"
"HYDRA?"
J'onn J'onzz frowned.
While he'd been traveling across the world, he mostly lived as a civilian. Evil organizations like HYDRA weren't even on his radar.
"That's right. HYDRA. A secretive, evil organization that's been around for thousands of years. The Nazi HYDRA you've heard about from World War II? Just one tiny branch in a long-ass historical river," Dante explained briefly. "Bottom line? Their endgame is world domination. And Sitwell—he was internal affairs. He came to this ship to obtain the Project Insight algorithm that HYDRA needs for its next move."
Of course, that so-called "algorithm" was a complete fake. Dante had Skye cook it up—just convincing enough to bait HYDRA into crawling out of their hole.
"So, do you remember who Sitwell was supposed to report to after getting the algorithm?"
"I do. The name… was Alexander Pierce."
"Tsk tsk. Yep, that old bastard." Dante nodded, then shoved the portable hard drive in his hand into J'onn J'onzz's palm. "If you really consider Earth your second home, then complete this mission. Hand this over to Alexander Pierce."
"Can I trust you?"
"If you don't want to live in a world with no freedom—where everyone's lives are under the crosshairs of flying aircraft carriers—then yeah, you'd better trust me."
...
"DANTE! Do you only know how to act first and report later?!"
Inside Nick Fury's office, Dante was casually cracking sunflower seeds with Professor X, while Fury was already on the verge of blowing a gasket.
Dante pulling the "act first, explain never" routine on other ops? Fine.
But this?
This was on another level.
He was planning to take down HYDRA. Directly. In one clean sweep.
A massive, globe-spanning evil organization.
Couldn't the guy maybe give a little heads-up beforehand?
But the worst part?
Every step so far had gone off without a hitch. So even if Fury wanted to chew him out, he had nowhere to direct his anger.
He was suffocating on it.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
"Can you stop cracking those damn sunflower seeds?! We're in the middle of a serious conversation!"
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch...
"Serious conversation? How about you explain first why you tricked Tony Stark into perfecting those flying aircraft carriers? And then sent a whole squad of hot female agents to distract him? Why didn't you send any to distract me?"
"Ahem, I just thought Stark was a bit idle recently. Gave him something to keep busy."
"Hmph. Yeah, you're just looking for excuses to cause trouble," Dante snorted. "Using an algorithm to launch three fully armed flying aircraft carriers to monitor every human being on the planet?"
"That was the World Security Council's idea. I thought... maybe it had some potential…"
"Oh, now you're playing the victim?" Dante flung his sunflower seeds at Fury. "The Council is just a glorified spy ring created by a bunch of politicians who all want global clout. Alexander Pierce only humored them so he could hijack the entire American General Bureau."
This guy—Nick Fury—you say he trusts people? Then why is he running segmented management with all his elite agents?
You say he doesn't trust people? Then why the hell did he let Alexander Pierce—who was practically flashing neon HYDRA signs in his face—slip past him?
Only now was he starting to feel that something was "off," but still couldn't put his finger on it.
"So, what do you suggest we do?"
Even Fury lost his temper now. Hands up. Let Dante do what he wanted.
"What to do? Just go with the plan!" Dante said irritably. "Before a beast dies, it goes insane. If everything's gone smoothly, that fake algorithm's already been delivered. So the other side will definitely gather their forces and try to pull off a final, decisive move—directly replacing the entire General Bureau."
"Like that FBI rebellion a few years ago?"
"This'll be way bigger than that. That was just a sacrificial pawn, a bait-and-switch. A strategic withdrawal to gain more ground later."
Though Dante always looked down on HYDRA's sketchy pyramid-scheme-style operations, he had to admit—they'd been around for millennia. They were bound to have a few trump cards left.
Which is why he didn't plan to waste time trying to eliminate them one by one around the globe.
Much simpler to lure them all into one big fiery pit—and torch the whole nest.
"So, are the three flying aircraft carriers in the Project Insight hangar fully built?"
"They'll be done in three days. The progress has been synced continuously with Alexander Pierce."
"Perfect. The nest's been stirred, the bait's been set—now get the net ready…"
Dante grinned like a fox who already smelled feathers.
"It's time for the big catch."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 83: Whoever Hits You, You Hit Them
Dante had always been wary of Alexander Pierce and the handful of HYDRA higher-ups whose names he had on file.
But…
These guys were all old foxes. Why bother with tricks here?
Why wouldn't Alexander Pierce be just as wary of Fury and Dante?
The morning after the Lemurian Star incident wrapped up, Dante's personal terminal lit up with a barrage of messages.
"HYDRA made their move early."
"Attacked, but successfully rendezvoused with Captain Rogers."
"HYDRA has gone all in. Agents have infiltrated the FBI, and dozens of Winter Soldiers are leading an all-out assault on the Bureau's HQ."
"Coulson is already heading to The Fridge to set up defenses."
Dante sat on his bed, his heart stayed calm.
The Star Team was intact. The X-Men were in position.
HYDRA? Just a bunch of turtles stuck in a jar.
But what about the three Helicarriers that were supposed to be completed in three days?
Looked like Alexander Pierce had streamlined some features—cut a few corners to finish early and catch the Bureau off guard.
Makes sense. No one here's stupid.
And what was this about dozens of Winter Soldiers?
Could HYDRA really field that many troops?
Dante immediately called Tony Stark.
"Hello, Tony, is it time?"
"Time for what? I just lay down… Pepper finally let my old back rest."
"HYDRA made their move, damn it! You still lying in bed doing your conjugal duties?"
"What!? The Helicarriers aren't done yet—they need at least two or three more days!"
"Pierce couldn't wait. He probably stripped them down for speed. Doesn't matter. Since he took the bait early, we reel them in early."
"Hell! Can't even enjoy a post-sex nap anymore. I swear, I'm personally punching Pierce later."
"You go meet up with Fury and Steve Rogers. I've sent you their coordinates."
Dante hung up and walked from the bedroom into the living room.
His team was already assembled.
The three Asgardian siblings were probably the calmest in the room. After all, this wasn't their homeland. To them, this was just one of countless future ops.
Captain Carter, a battle-hardened vet herself, had already gone into combat mode. She'd fought HYDRA in her own timeline, and her eyes were already flashing with kill intent.
Only Wanda and Pietro looked a little flustered—this was their first major FBI op, after all.
Ada and Harley had already finished gathering intel and were giving their sitrep.
"Even though there are HYDRA moles helping from the inside, today happens to be the Bureau Academy's big philosophy lecture. Professor X is the keynote speaker, and all students are present. Combat capability shouldn't be an issue. Just to be safe, the X-Men's main force is on the way."
"The Coulson Team has already locked down the Sandbox Research Base and is en route to The Fridge. John Garrett's leading HYDRA soldiers there now."
"The American General Bureau has basically fallen. Maria Hill and Natasha Romanoff are leading street-to-street guerrilla resistance to buy time, but the Helicarriers are preparing for takeoff…"
The two women turned to Dante.
"Now, it's time for the Star Team to make their move."
Dante nodded and started assigning missions.
The Asgardian trio, being the heavy hitters, had destructive power off the charts. They'd clear HYDRA's outer perimeter.
Everyone else would parachute directly into the American General Bureau. Wanda and Pietro would be the tactical core. Objective one: reclaim critical floors and rendezvous with Hill and Romanoff.
"What about you?" Harley asked.
"Obviously, I'm heading straight to the source."
"Then see you later, my Pudding."
"See you later, dear."
...
At the top floor of the American General Bureau—in the conference room once used for remote World Security Council meetings—those high-ranking politicians from various countries had finally shown up in person.
But gone were their smug, satisfied faces from earlier.
What happened to that promised new way of eliminating crime?
Why the hell was Alexander Pierce also planning to wipe them out?
And control the entire world while he was at it?
Wasn't his appetite a bit too big?
Alexander Pierce, thinking he had the upper hand, even had time to make small talk.
"Imagine this. Your homeland gets invaded. Your parents, your wife, your daughters are rounded up and dragged to the nearest stadium for public execution. And all you have to do is press this button, and those three carriers will erase the invaders in seconds…"
"I don't need your button."
The speaker was an old, hardline, no-nonsense person.
He was also the only member of the World Security Council who'd openly opposed Project Insight.
HYDRA's discount pyramid-scheme rhetoric wasn't cutting it with someone like him.
And when persuasion failed…
They usually chose execution.
Clean. Efficient. Just meant the janitors had to work overtime.
Alexander Pierce knew the drill. He grabbed a pistol from a HYDRA agent and aimed it at the old man.
"Oh, Alexander Pierce holding a gun? About to kill a foreign politician? Weren't you the guy who once refused the Nobel Peace Prize? This is almost poetic…"
Just as he was about to pull the trigger, a voice rang out.
A young voice—crisp and mocking.
But to Alexander Pierce, it might as well have been the last voice he wanted to hear right now.
Ever since that guy arrived, he'd done nothing but ruin HYDRA's good days.
As the voice echoed through the room, several elite HYDRA agents dropped dead on the spot.
Some had their spines crushed with bare hands.
Some had their foreheads pierced with heat vision.
Some were cooked alive by lightning tearing through their bodies.
The most pitiful one had his skull crushed, and blood flames poured straight into him, devouring him from the inside out.
Dante didn't even look winded. He ignored the horrified stares, casually walked up to Pierce, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and pinched his jowls like he was checking a melon.
"Nice to meet you, Alexander Pierce. I'm Dante Alighieri, your designated apocalypse."
Pierce opened his mouth to speak, but Dante clamped it shut, casually squeezing until Pierce winced.
Dante held the pose for a beat, then came another voice, just as smug.
"Alexander Pierce, I used to think you were a decent guy… But HYDRA? Seriously? Come on, old man. My late father—died a little too early—used to tell me every day: HYDRA's nothing but poison to the world."
Tony kicked open the door, gleaming in his brand-new MARK 10 armor.
Behind him came Fury—expressionless, one eye cold as stone.
"When Dante first told me you were HYDRA, I believed him. I'd found some clues too. But I still hoped… as a friend… maybe you'd just lost your way."
"Lost my way?" Pierce sneered.
Dante released his grip just in time.
Pierce laughed—wild, unhinged.
"Bogotá. That's when I saw the truth."
"This world is too dangerous! Terrorist attacks, military coups, missile strikes—any of it could destroy our lives in an instant!"
"So what if we sacrifice two million people to save seven billion? That's a good deal. It just takes guts."
"If you take that step, it's a brand-new world!"
Fury shook his head at his old friend, now swallowed by madness.
"But I've got the guts not to take that step."
Meanwhile, Dante was disabling every FBI security protocol in the building.
The Bureau never feared exposure, but HYDRA's roaches, those who thrived in the shadows? They weren't so eager to be seen.
"Dante, you're playing with fire. You, Fury, Romanoff, Hill—none of you are saints. You sure you want the whole world looking over your shoulder?"
"Unlock requires two Alpha-level admins. I'll borrow your eye, if you don't mind? Oh—and I mean you walk over and unlock it. Not me popping your head off and scanning it myself. I'm a little squeamish."
Dante shoved the withered old man forward.
"Hypocrite. Those two million sacrifices you talked about—bet none of them included you, huh? HYDRA's motto: 'cut off one head, two more grow back'? It's just greed, all the way down. Sacrifice is easy when it's never your own damn neck on the line."
He slammed Pierce's face onto the iris scanner.
Fury pulled off his eyepatch and leaned in to scan his damaged gray eye.
"Encryption unlocked. Confidentiality canceled."
"Stark, you and Cap, go join the fight."
Dante stepped to the window, punched through the double-layered glass—designed to withstand high-explosive rounds—and soared out into the sky.
"Damn it! I'm fine with fighting—but how the hell do I tell who's HYDRA?! Their agents are still wearing your uniforms!"
"Skye already uploaded HYDRA's roster to JARVIS. For the ones without data…"
Steve grabbed Stark by the arm and rushed him out the door, eyes already burning.
"Howard's kid, listen—on the battlefield, don't overthink it."
"Whoever hits you, you hit 'em back!"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 84: Deploy
In a secret room in New York—
Gideon Malick, Whitehall, Original Sin Sinthea Schmidt, Baron Zemo, Dr. Faust, and Madame Hydra sat around a massive circular table.
At its center: the HYDRA emblem.
Alexander Pierce was currently at the American General Bureau. Baron Strucker had been captured in Latveria. Hive? Off somewhere on an unknown planet, playing PUBG.
That left these few—HYDRA's remaining top brass.
"Where is John Garrett?" Madame Hydra was the first to speak.
"Hell if I know what that life-hoarding opportunist is doing now," Sin muttered as she ran her fingers through her blazing red hair. "According to intel, he led the task force meant for the General Bureau and redirected it to 'The Fridge,' the FBI's top-secret warehouse. Probably sniffed out something in there that might extend his life, right?"
"No need to concern ourselves with that kind of trash," Zemo sneered. "We were going to eliminate him anyway. Only reason he lasted this long was because he wore a Bureau badge."
Zemo had always looked down on Garrett—his methods were bottom-tier Supervillain tactics.
Passing off as a prophet by abusing his FBI clearance and information asymmetry?
Zemo laughed a full thirty minutes when he first heard about it.
"Forget Garrett. What I want to know is, how the hell did Strucker get captured?" Whitehall adjusted his glasses, his sharp eyes hidden behind layers of lens reflection. "Didn't he say he had a deal with the dictator in Latveria? And those Umbrella Corporation lunatics—are they even still with us? All they ever do is lock themselves in that tiny Eastern European country to play with bioweapons."
"Don't bother with the side characters. What matters now is securing the General Bureau," said Dr. Faust, voice calm but grim. "And then launching the three Helicarriers from the Project Insight hangar. We may not be able to directly control the world—but we'll be able to negotiate with it."
With a flick of his fingers, Faust summoned several large 3D screens.
They lit up with real-time footage from the battlefield.
"As you can see… the situation isn't looking too good."
"Ever since that Agent named Dante arrived, not only did their strength spike—our embedded Agents haven't been able to pull any worthwhile intelligence."
Everyone in the room understood exactly what Faust meant.
The reason they'd thawed and deployed all their Winter Soldiers—soldiers they'd been hoarding in cold storage for decades—was because they had no idea how deep the FBI's true combat strength ran.
But the bait was too juicy.
Project Insight offered them a shot at controlling the world.
They had no choice but to go all in.
If they won, they'd write the rules.
If they lost, they'd crawl back into the shadows—dormant, like after World War II.
"First of all, look at the FBI Academy. Where the hell did they pull so many superhumans from?" someone snapped. "I knew Nick Fury had a habit of collecting powered kids, but this many? This isn't a task force, it's a damn army! And our thousand HYDRA soldiers? They're getting steamrolled!"
"And the main battlefield, can someone explain those two monsters? Even if Lord Hive came back, I doubt he'd be a match for either of them!"
"Then look at the Bureau's headquarters! That's supposed to be where we hold the advantage! Maria Hill and Romanoff resisting is one thing, but then a few elite Agents and Iron Man show up, and boom—instant counterattack?!"
The screens painted a hopeless picture.
On the far right, teenage superheroes and mutants from the Academy were charging into HYDRA ranks like a human blender.
The most ridiculous part?
The X-Men, who'd shown up in case something went wrong, hadn't even lifted a finger. Instead, they formed a perimeter and pulled out notebooks, grading the students' combat performance like it was PE class.
The center screen was even more brutal.
The three Asgardian siblings had turned the battlefield into an actual bloodbath.
Hela's necromancy on a mass-combat scale was downright broken. Every enemy she killed became another fighter on her side—and her forces grew with her kill count.
To top it off, soldiers were watching their own dead comrades rise from the ground and turn against them.
That alone was enough to shatter morale.
The leftmost screen showed the situation inside the Bureau.
Technically more balanced—but only just.
Tony Stark and Steve Rogers were carving their way through the HYDRA agents like they were running a mowing service.
Meanwhile, the Star Team—
Ada Wong led the charge with terrain intel.
Captain Carter and Harley Quinn smashed through choke points.
Wanda held the center as the team's core.
And Pietro cleared flanks like a blender on overdrive.
They were advancing faster than Steve Rogers himself.
"We thought we'd already overestimated the FBI's combat strength to the limit…" the Madame muttered.
"And yet, we still underestimated them."
She let out a breath, then stood.
As HYDRA's current top commander, she had no choice but to pull the most dangerous card in the deck.
"Release the Super Winter Soldiers."
"You're not serious…" Whitehall said, eyes narrowing behind the lenses. "Even we can't control them. Even if we win, how do we lock them back down?"
"Do we have a choice?" Madame Hydra jabbed a finger at the screen showing the Asgardian siblings tearing through HYDRA forces like tissue paper. "Only they can even hope to stop them. We've already invested too much—there's no turning back. I'd rather die on this table than hibernate for another fifty years like it's 1945!"
She slammed her fist on the table, her green skintight battle suit stretching taut over her explosive figure from the impact.
No one dared comment on the view.
Madame Hydra had taken over after Red Skull's defeat in World War II.
No one knew her origins. No one knew her age. All they knew was—she never seemed to age at all.
"As you command."
Whitehall nodded, picked up the communicator, and said:
"Deploy the Super Winter Soldiers to the main battlefield. Repeat—deploy the Super Winter Soldiers."
Minutes later, two military transport planes appeared on the center screen, each carrying a massive cryogenic pod suspended beneath them.
The pods dropped like missiles.
Boom!
The tremor drew the attention of the three Asgardian siblings.
The pod doors exploded skyward—
And from within emerged two titans.
One green.
One red.
Both wearing Winter Soldier uniforms.
"HULK! SMASH!"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 85: The Sun is Setting
The moment Loki saw the two towering monsters—one red, one green—his whole body trembled involuntarily.
What an infuriating feeling!
Some voice in the darkness whispered:
"Don't let them get close. Absolutely not!"
If they did… his legendary rep as the God of Mischief? Ruined.
"By Odin!" Thor exclaimed. "Those two are stronger than Frost Giants!"
Looking up at the two Gamma beasts in the distance, Thor couldn't help but be genuinely awed.
Even Hela, the undisputed power ceiling among the Asgardian siblings, furrowed her brows.
"Hela, you see those two monsters, right?"
Just as the words left Thor's mouth, Dante—still fully transformed into his Red Lantern form—flew down from the FBI HQ rooftop, landing right next to her. A few floating blood flames trailed behind him, giving him that "walking hazard sign" energy.
"They're mine. I'm not letting you steal My opponents."
"My dear Queen, don't even think about it." Hela gave a wicked smile. "One each… I call dibs on the red one."
Dante smirked. "Fine. The green one's mine."
Before Hela could respond, he rocketed toward Hulk, no hesitation whatsoever.
Thor opened his mouth, ready to fight for the red one himself—but after one look at his big sister's icy glare, he wisely shut it and stuck to beating up HYDRA's foot soldiers with Loki.
"Alas…"
Thor sighed and tried to comfort himself.
There'd be more boss fights in the future. Probably.
Seeing Loki standing dazed not far off, Thor kicked off and flew straight at him—
WHACK!
A palm came down hard on Loki's head.
"Damn it, Thor! Why'd you hit me?!"
"You're really gonna just stand there instead of helping me wipe out HYDRA's grunts?"
This… this is the sibling hierarchy.
Get bullied by big sis? Don't fight back—just go bully your little brother instead.
---
Truth be told, Dante was a little impressed by this version of HYDRA.
They were way more competent than the originals.
Sure, in the canon timeline, HYDRA was always hyped as this ancient evil cabal…
But in practice? Trash.
Especially in the power department—they were always underwhelming. They treated Winter Soldier like a cheat card, when really he was just an edgy B-list assassin.
Honestly, HYDRA and their so-called "strength" existed only on paper.
But here?
They'd mastered the art of mass-producing Winter Soldiers and even managed to get the drop on him. That was not easy.
A squad of these enhanced agents was nothing to sneeze at. If it weren't for the three Asgardian siblings and the FBI Academy brats, HYDRA might've actually pulled off their goal of "crippling an entire nation in a matter of hours."
And the number of HYDRA troops they unleashed? Totally unprecedented.
Clearly, they wanted to go all in. One strike to win the war.
Same as Dante's plan.
But what he never expected was that HYDRA actually created two super Winter Soldiers…
Hulk and Red Hulk!
He'd been wondering why those two hadn't shown up yet.
Turns out HYDRA had already bagged and brainwashed them.
Sure, Hulks were walking nukes—but they had a universal flaw…
They were emotionally unstable and prone to mind control.
And no one did brainwashing better than HYDRA, short of telepaths.
So, after paying some price, they managed to get both Hulk and Red Hulk on a leash.
And maybe they didn't even pay that much.
Bruce Banner? Just a squishy science guy when he's not green. Easy pickings.
General Ross? Sure, he's a U.S. Air Force Lieutenant General, but compared to HYDRA's black ops? He's standard fare.
So unleashing the Hulks now? Clearly HYDRA's final gamble.
Because if they weren't the trump card… Dante didn't want to know what was.
Like… Loki Chthon?
That guy was the Big Bad behind Madame Hydra, and his power rivaled Gaia's. No way he'd act just to back up some washed-up spy syndicate.
"HULK! SMASH! DESTROY EVERYTHING!"
Hulk, now decked out in a modded Winter Soldier uniform, was rampaging at full tilt.
And this Hulk? He'd picked up some basic combat technique from the Winter Soldier playbook.
So yes, apparently even Hulk could learn a few moves.
This was Dante's first time facing Hulk directly.
Even with all his stacked abilities—Loki's constitution included—he wasn't sure he could take Hulk head-on.
So he activated:
Diamond Form.
Unstoppable Incarnation of Power.
With high-speed flight and pure force, Dante smashed into Hulk like a crimson comet, carrying them both out of the city in an instant.
As they crashed into the distant suburbs, Dante even glanced Hela's way—yep, she had the same idea. She lured Red Hulk away from the main battlefield, too.
After all, fighting Gamma monsters in the city? Recipe for disaster.
Hulk, though caught off guard, had freakish reflexes. He still managed to swing a hammer blow at Dante's back during the flight.
But thanks to Unstoppable Incarnation of Power, Dante powered through the hit and drove Hulk deep into a suburban mountain crater.
He flipped out of the crater, wincing as he stretched his back.
What now?
How the hell do you deal with this guy?
As Dante pondered, a terrible idea popped into his head.
Hulk clambered out of the crater, pissed off and looking stronger than ever.
Winter Soldier uniform? Ripped. Rage meter? Maxed.
But Dante, straining to keep his voice calm, took a deep breath and tried the oldest trick in the MCU book.
"Hey, big guy…"
"The sun's getting real low…"
He slowly reached out a hand, signaling peace.
Hulk froze.
His expression went… blank.
Then, slowly, he reached out—and placed his massive hand on Dante's.
And then?
He smiled.
A charmingly evil smile.
OH NO.
SLAM.
SLAM.
SLAM SLAM SLAM SLAM SLAM SLAM SLAM SLAM.
Dante got ragdolled eight times in a row.
What the hell?!
Loki's physical constitution! It's cursed!
And this Hulk actually knows how to fake out?!
Luckily, Dante summoned a Red Lantern energy barrier mid-smash and took no real damage.
But emotionally?
He wanted to scream.
Why the hell did I try that dumb move?!
What if Hulk hadn't gone WWE-mode and instead pulled a "Hulk X Black Widow" moment? He shuddered.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 32: Chapter 86-88
Chapter Text
Chapter 86 Dual Lantern Ring
"You little rascal, you're not dumb at all!"
"Hulk! Smart! Little man dumb! Haha!"
"Damn it, now I'm getting mad!"
Dante rolled up his sleeves, ready to go full rage mode—until a sudden thought hit him.
Wait a second…
Wasn't this Hulk supposed to be brainwashed by HYDRA's Winter Soldier protocol?
Then why the hell is he acting smarter than the original Hulk?
You'd think Winter Soldier brainwashing would turn an IQ 180 and an IQ 18 into, like, IQ 50 combined.
Except that's not how intelligence works. Obviously.
So…
"Hulk, you weren't actually hypnotized by HYDRA, were you?"
"Hulk doesn't understand what you're saying."
"…When you answer like that, it's impossible you're the damn Winter Soldier!"
"Hulk… Hulk is the Winter Soldier!"
Dante's forehead twitched with several black lines.
Where did this three-meter-tall green muscle brat even come from?
What kind of Winter Soldier runs his mouth like this?
Still, Dante didn't bother arguing with the green beefcake.
Let him babble on from the floor.
The Rage Red Light burst toward the sky like a blood geyser, and searing blood flames poured from Dante's seven orifices.
A Red Lantern in full rage mode was a lot more extra than a Green Lantern.
There's a reason Green Lanterns are seen as heroes… and Red Lanterns as demons.
When it comes to raw intimidation, Rage Light is the king among the emotional spectrum.
Hulk's beast instincts kicked in the moment he saw the blood fire erupt from Dante's body.
Danger.
"Monster! HULK! SMASH!"
Classic Hulk opener: leap and pound.
Except this time?
Didn't work.
A fully-formed Rage Red Light barrier stopped Hulk's tank-smashing blow cold.
Red Lantern construct generation is rare.
Even in the comics, Atrocitus—the Red Lantern Corps founder—couldn't pull it off at first.
Why?
Because Red Lanterns usually lose their humanity in the process. They become mindless shells of rage—pure destruction with zero imagination.
But creating constructs requires rationality. And imagination.
Luckily for Dante, his Red Lantern Ring wasn't running off pure Rage Light. It was fused with the volatile energy of Cyttorak's Crimson Cosmos.
This made it more unstable than Green Lantern energy—but not evil.
Still, it made generating constructs harder than with green willpower alone.
Dante never let a little instability stop him.
Unlike the system-powered Batman-tier Will that fueled his Green Lantern side, this monstrous, focused rage?
That was all him.
Honestly, he always felt he was more Red Lantern than Green.
"Bang! Bang! Bang—"
Fists coated in bloodfire gauntlets rained down on Hulk, blow after blow.
For a hot second, even the Hulk got pushed back.
But Dante wasn't deluded. This was just the warm-up.
In full Red Lantern mode, he could feel emotional fluctuations around him with terrifying clarity.
Right now?
Hulk's anger was skyrocketing with each punch.
Sure, the damage wasn't decreasing, but the stun time between hits?
Shortening.
Fast.
Because Hulk got stronger the angrier he got. And Dante's pummeling was giving him a free power-up.
"HOT! TOO HOT! HULK ANGRY!"
The blood flames burned more than the punches themselves.
And now, Hulk started countering.
Three hits from Dante? One smash from Hulk.
But each retaliation hit harder than the last.
Dante, curious to test his limits, didn't summon any advanced weapons. He went all-in with his fists.
In Red Lantern state, he stayed mostly rational… but also way more prone to tunnel vision.
And Hulk?
Hulk was just straight-up a walking cheat code.
There was no cap to his strength curve. The madder he got, the scarier he became.
"BOOM!"
Finally, Hulk not only caught up to Dante's attack speed… he surpassed it.
Dante got knocked flying.
But even as he skidded to a halt, he looked up at the roaring Gamma beast and grinned.
"Hulk… your strength really does go beyond imagination."
"HULK STRONG! LITTLE MAN NOT AS GOOD!"
"Not as good as you?"
Dante shook his head.
If we're talking raw stats, strength and durability even the All Father-tier heavyweights might not beat Hulk.
So if you want to win against him, you have to take him down before the rage builds past the tipping point.
Problem is…
Killing Hulk? Not exactly on the menu.
Dante glanced at his Green Lantern Ring.
Ion Shark hadn't fully recovered, but the charge was back.
"Alright then…"
"Let's begin Round Two."
"In brightest day, in blackest night,
No evil shall escape my sight.
Let those who worship evil's might,
Beware my power—Green Lantern's light!"
The Green Light surged, and the Red Lantern sigil on Dante's chest morphed.
The Red Lantern transformation stayed, but a new glow lit up across his chest.
The Green Lantern insignia.
This was it.
His first Red-Green Dual Lantern Transformation.
Two incompatible powers, fusing into one.
Red rage. Green will.
Clashing forces, dancing in sync under his command.
Dante could feel the power spike instantly.
In this fused state?
He was confident he could go toe-to-toe with all three Asgardian siblings at once.
Hulk, naturally, had no clue what just happened.
Even with some barely-trained cunning from HYDRA's programming, at his core, he was still a glorified rage potato.
"Hey, big dummy—what's coming next is gonna be way more exciting."
"HULK NOT AFRAID OF YOU!"
"You'd better not be."
Dante smiled, extended his hand.
Red and Green Lantern Rings pulsed together.
No fancy constructs this time.
Just raw energy, ignited by pure rage and unwavering will.
"BOOM!!"
The blast rocked the entire uninhabited zone.
Tremors rippled across the ground.
Dust clouds billowed high—but this time, the classic "smoke means no damage" trope didn't apply.
Dante waited for the dust to settle.
And there lay Hulk—flat on his back, green blood leaking from every pore.
A Will Green Light scan confirmed it:
Most of his bones?
Fractured.
Over 80% of his muscles?
Torn clean.
And still…
Even now…
He was healing.
"Hulk… hurt."
"You shouldn't have tried to pass off as the Winter Soldier."
"Hulk… ate too much… They said Winter Soldier only need eat…"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 87: You Belong to the...
Dante looked down at Hulk, sprawled on the ground, mumbling his excuse like a green toddler, and suddenly felt a wave of dizziness hit him.
He joined HYDRA's Winter Soldier program... just to get three meals a day!?
Sure, Hulk had always been more beast than brain, but this? This was peak food-motivated.
Feed him and you're basically his mom now?
"You joined… just to eat enough every day? You were okay with inhuman torture for that?"
"Hulk doesn't understand. What is inhuman torture?"
"It's when they break your will using physical torment, brainwashing, electric shocks, experimental drugs, psychological manipulation—"
"Oh! Hulk knows that! It didn't hurt! Haha!"
As Hulk laughed with this weird combo of smug innocence, Dante actually felt a bit relieved.
…HYDRA really is weak as hell.
They couldn't even crack Hulk's defense.
"But…" Hulk kept laughing, then his tone changed. "But Banner was scared. Hulk protects weak Banner."
"You mean… Banner was the one actually forced into the brainwashing?"
"Banner couldn't fight back… so Hulk became the boss!"
Dante looked into Hulk's big, sincere green eyes and shook his head.
So Bruce Banner, who always treated Hulk like a disease to be cured, was actually saved by Hulk when HYDRA captured them.
Talk about a reversal.
What a messed-up partnership.
But since Hulk wasn't truly brainwashed…
"Hulk, if I can make sure you get all the food you want, will you follow me?"
"But… red and green little man hurt Hulk. Hulk is angry."
"But you'll get full meals. And people to fight."
"People to fight?"
"Yeah. I've got a big, dumb, golden-haired guy at home who loves to brawl with strong opponents. And a handsome, sneaky black-haired guy you can toss around when you're mad."
"HULK HAPPY! HULK WILLING!"
Why does recruiting Hulk feel like kidnapping a giant child?
"Dante! Hurry up and summon the Red Lantern Corps!"
The Butcher's high-pitched voice echoed in Dante's ears, practically vibrating with excitement.
"This big oaf is perfect for the Red Lantern Corps... Oh! The sheer purity of this Rage Red Light!"
In truth, Butcher had wanted Dante to summon the Red Lantern Corps since the fight started—but the matching, intense Rage Light coming off both Hulk and Dante had distracted him.
All he wanted now was to slurp up that sweet, pure, unfiltered red fury.
But hearing Butcher's voice reminded Dante of Ion Shark.
Kinda weak, but with a soft boyish voice that had its own strange charm.
Dante extended his other hand and summoned the Ancestral Red Lantern Furnace. As usual, he gave Butcher a few casual pets with one finger.
Once sufficiently petted, Butcher started happily running laps inside the Lantern Furnace.
With each lap, the Red Lantern energy began to condense and swirl.
Pop.
A newborn Red Lantern Ring floated out of the furnace and hovered in front of Hulk.
"Intelligent life locked.
Hulk and Bruce Banner of Earth.
Your heart surges with rolling Rage Red Light.
You belong to the Red Lantern Corps."
Dante blinked.
Wait, did that thing just say two names?
That was a first.
Then again, Lantern Rings had never been assigned to two separate personalities sharing one body in canon either.
Guess the Ring was smarter than it looked.
---
Meanwhile, on the other side of the battlefield…
Hela was panting softly, her hair—meticulously styled by Ada and Harley—now slightly tousled.
She had to admit, this had been her most intense battle since crawling out of her dimensional prison.
All things considered, Cyttorak's clone had more punch.
But this guy calling himself Red Hulk?
Solid opponent.
"You were very good," she said, her voice smooth and regal.
"You were just… this much away from defeating the Death Goddess."
She pinched her fingers together dramatically, and Loki—who had been shamelessly slacking and watching from the sidelines—saw an entire damn galaxy between those fingers.
As for Red Hulk?
He'd been thoroughly smashed back into General Ross form.
Currently slung over the shoulders of two necromanced HYDRA soldiers, his trademark gray mustache twitched on occasion.
Still mumbling in a daze: "Hail HYDRA…"
Apparently, like Banner, his human form had been thoroughly brainwashed.
But Hulk was a whole other personality—one HYDRA couldn't corrupt.
Red Hulk, though?
After General Ross transforms, he keeps his own memories and mind.
Which means Red Hulk really did become a true Super Winter Soldier.
Unlike Hulk, who only cared about food and fistfights.
And while Red Hulk could absorb radiation and spit fire, he didn't have Hulk's busted stat of rage = infinite power scaling.
So when Hela lost interest?
That was it.
She'd traded blows with Red Hulk for a few entertaining minutes, but honestly?
Compared to battling Fire Giant Surtur or Frost Giant King Laufey?
Red Hulk's high-temperature attacks were just… mid.
"Witch calling Death! Witch calling Death! Do you copy? Respond if you hear me!"
The communicator, which had been on standby, came alive.
"Witch" was Ada Wong's codename. "Death" was Hela's.
To Hela, this whole 'choose-your-callsign' agent game was surprisingly fun.
"Death received. Witch, go ahead."
"The HQ building is secure. Two massive energy readings were just detected. Unknown origin. Engage or observe?"
"My Queen took one. I dealt with the other." She paused, eyes flicking toward Loki. "And Loki tells me the one I took down… was apparently a U.S. general?"
"General? The only one still missing from the roster is Air Force Lieutenant General Thaddeus Ross."
"Then that's him."
"And the other? Has Dante not resolved it yet?"
Hela didn't respond.
She wasn't sure how things were going on Dante's side either.
"Look over there!"
Thor, just returning from cleaning up another sector, froze mid-air and pointed to the horizon.
Hela followed his gaze.
It was where Dante had taken the green one earlier.
Right now, a massive column of pure Rage Red Light shot straight into the sky.
(To be continued.)
Chapter 88: Happy Death Day
Federal Bureau of Investigation's Top-Secret Warehouse — "The Fridge."
A confidential facility tucked away in a classified location. Only agents with Level 7 clearance and up even know how to get there.
The Fridge is where most 084 items are stored awaiting research—along with a surprising number of "problematic guests" in indefinite detention.
If the Legends hadn't shown up when they did, Dante would've shipped Captain Cold, Heat Wave, and Constantine here personally.
Due to The Fridge's overkill-level external defenses and the less-people-know-the-better policy—it was always staffed with the bare minimum.
Just enough boots to keep the lights on.
So when HYDRA made a surprise move on FBI HQ, Coulson followed Dante's prior orders (and Fury's general paranoia) and evacuated everyone except Steve Rogers to The Fridge for backup.
Which, shocker, turned out to be exactly the right call.
Because right at the start of the war between the U.S. Federal Bureau and HYDRA, John Garrett took a portion of HYDRA's forces that should've attacked the main HQ…
…and rerouted them to The Fridge instead.
Five hundred HYDRA soldiers.
Four Winter Soldiers.
His plan?
Smoke and mirrors.
"Damn it! Open the door, quick! Coulson, you want us to die out here?!"
John Garrett and his HYDRA agents—still cosplaying as FBI field agents—hunkered behind cover, shouting over the roar of gunfire from a heavily armed HYDRA chopper above.
And yes, the chopper had an obnoxiously huge HYDRA logo on it. Subtlety was dead.
Inside the vault, an agent posted behind Coulson was watching this chaotic scene unfold on the external monitor, looking increasingly tense.
Because per Fury's orders, Coulson had full command of The Fridge until further notice.
That said, the veteran agent guarding the door wasn't fooled.
He watched Garrett's overacted "save us!" scene play out like it was a badly staged highway accident.
Still, the moment Garrett's cover was nearly wiped out and bullets started flying closer to the lens, the guard cracked.
He stepped forward, bypassing Coulson.
"Sorry, sir, but we can't just stand here and let our own die—AH!"
Before he could hit the "open" button, he was smacked into the wall like a button.
"Nope. Buddy. Are you insane?" Dante's voice cut through the tension as he strolled up behind him. "If you're the guy who opens the door to a top-secret vault without orders, especially in a situation like this—congrats. You just bought yourself a lifetime of suspicion. Best-case scenario? You get flagged as a HYDRA sleeper and end up in here yourself."
"Dante?! When did you get here?! What about the main battlefield?"
"Handled. Mostly. We're just sweeping up now." Dante narrowed his eyes at the screen showing Garrett's "performance." A slow, mischievous grin spread across his face. "See? I was right to have you guard The Fridge. John Garrett went full theater kid to give you something to watch. Man's dedicated."
Also missing from this performance?
Grant Ward.
Ward was a classic opportunist. When Garrett held all the cards, he played loyal. But the second Dante entered the scene?
He was gone.
Because he knew that against Dante, Garrett's plans were as good as dead on arrival.
And Ward? Ward never did meaningless things.
Because dying for a failed plan?
That wasn't profitable.
So Garrett, nearing the end of his own tragic arc, was left with five hundred soldiers, four Winter Soldiers, and no allies.
Still, this last-ditch push for The Fridge should've worked.
Coulson was in charge, after all.
And Captain America? Still out fighting on the main front.
So all that stood in Garrett's way were Melinda May, Green Arrow, and Deadpool.
Sure, each had their own rep.
But still in the realm of "normal humans."
Garrett had the numbers. He had the firepower.
It should've been enough.
"Coulson! Damn it, don't hesitate! Don't you trust me anymore?!"
Garrett was now screaming with authentic panic, crouched behind what little cover remained as the HYDRA chopper continued laying down actual firepower.
The hail of bullets? Real.
The explosions? Real.
Garrett was actually pinned.
"Coulson," Skye called out, running over with her laptop in hand. "I tapped into remote surveillance. Garrett's bringing in HYDRA, and—wait, Dante?!"
She stopped, blinking in surprise and visible relief as she saw him standing beside Coulson.
Dante and Coulson exchanged a look.
Time to end this little show.
Dante nodded to Skye. "Open the door."
She didn't know what Dante was planning.
But she didn't hesitate.
Click.
The door hissed open.
Garrett and his squad ran in like desperate survivors.
"Phew—my God, Coulson! I thought you were really pulling a Fury move and gonna leave me to die out there!"
Garrett exhaled dramatically, straightening up.
He turned, ready to drop the charade and make his move…
…and froze.
Because standing behind Coulson…
Were Skye.
And Dante.
"Agent John Garrett," Dante said pleasantly, "nice to see you."
"Agent Dante… weren't you at HQ?"
"Oh? Garrett, weren't you being hunted down by HYDRA on your way here? Kinda weird you're keeping up with my location mid-escape. What's the matter? Concerned about me? Or just afraid I'd show up?"
"I think there's been some misunderstanding—"
"Yeah, let's not get sidetracked. I actually have something I need your help with."
"…What would that be?"
"I got intel that HYDRA agents have infiltrated The Fridge."
"HYDRA?! Here? No way!" Garrett's performance shifted into shocked denial. "Even this place has been compromised?!"
"Well, yeah. HYDRA being 'everywhere' is kinda their brand. They're trash, but they're sneaky."
Dante stepped closer, smile unchanging.
"So obviously we can't waste time. We need to eliminate these HYDRA moles before they grab any 084s."
"Yes, I agree—"
FLASH.
Lightning flared.
And just like that, in two blinks—
Every HYDRA agent who entered with Garrett hit the ground.
Dead.
Single-strike kills.
Not even time to scream.
Skye and Coulson barely processed what had happened. All they saw was a silver blur and the bodies dropping.
When the flash cleared…
Only two people were still standing:
Dante.
And John Garrett.
"You… you just attacked and killed FBI agents! Are you HYDRA?!"
Garrett raised his pistol in a shaky hand.
Dante didn't flinch.
He just gave him that same easygoing smile.
"Oh, please. You really missed your calling. You could've been a Broadway actor. But let's cut the crap, 'Clairvoyant.' You're the HYDRA rat here."
He reached out and tapped Garrett's chest with a single finger.
Calm.
Bright-eyed.
Like they were chatting over coffee, not standing in a vault full of corpses.
"I—"
"Shhh." Dante held a finger to his lips. "Don't argue. Bad lies are embarrassing."
He stared straight into Garrett's eyes.
"I actually get you, though. I do. Who doesn't want to stay alive longer? You're the Death Soldier prototype. Just one Extremis injection away from dying, right?"
"…How do you know that?!"
"Oh? The all-knowing 'Clairvoyant' is suddenly surprised?"
Dante looked mock-shocked.
Then he grabbed Garrett by the back of the neck and dragged him to the door, pressing his face to the transparent glass.
Outside, the full HYDRA force had assembled—Winter Soldiers and foot soldiers alike—waiting for Garrett's go signal to storm in.
Dante smirked.
And calmly pressed his palm to the main door—
Opening a portal.
It was massive.
The Winter Soldiers tensed immediately.
None of them knew what the hell that glowing vortex was—but it was big, weird, and loud. That was enough to raise every red flag.
They entered battle-ready mode instantly.
Too bad…
It wouldn't help.
"ROOOAAARRRR!"
A deafening howl erupted from the portal.
A beam of molten, blood-red flame shot out, thick as a tree trunk.
The four Winter Soldiers dodged just in time, but the HYDRA grunts behind them?
Not so lucky.
And then—
Hulk stepped through.
Wearing a red-and-black battlesuit, eyes blazing.
His mouth still oozing molten rage-flame.
Every breath he took sent out steam and heatwaves.
Dante, casually watching the panic outside, leaned close to Garrett's ear—
"My favorite thing in the world…"
He smiled.
"…is watching arrogant pricks die with their eyes wide open."
"Happy Death Day, John Garrett."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 33: Chapter 89-91
Chapter Text
Chapter 89: Get Down First!
Even though John Garrett had long been looked down on by other HYDRA leaders for both his tactics and overall performance
He was still one of their top dogs.
He had enough pull to mobilize troops and Winter Soldiers, and more importantly, he knew about the Super Winter Soldier Program.
Those two terrifying trump cards—one green, one red—had once been HYDRA's ultimate monsters.
And now?
That very same green monster had just come stomping out of a portal summoned by Dante.
What the hell?!
This wasn't how it was supposed to go!
Why did the Super Winter Soldier betray HYDRA?
What the hell was that red-and-black battlesuit?
What was that insignia on his chest?
Did he just—did he just spit fire!?
Since when could the Hulk breathe fire!?
A thousand questions slammed into John Garrett's brain like a mental traffic jam.
But it didn't matter.
He didn't have time to answer a single one.
In his peripheral vision, he caught a glimpse of his own body falling.
And then—
Darkness.
Total, permanent, final.
Dante had vaporized Garrett's neck with a precise blast of heat vision.
Just like he said: the man died with his eyes wide open.
Then Dante tossed Garrett's severed head aside and watched with some genuine admiration as Hulk, now fully initiated into the Red Lantern Corps unleashed hell.
Honestly?
Hulk was the most perfect Red Lantern in existence.
Rage-fueled power? Check.
Exponential strength scaling with anger? Check.
Practically zero upper limit? Check.
Now layered with Rage Light energy?
Yeah. Broken.
He was basically a mobile, self-feeding apocalypse in pants.
The only way to stop him would be with some reality-warping, concept-erasing cosmic god—because short of that?
You're toast.
Granted, Dante had managed to beat him earlier using both Green and Red Lantern Rings simultaneously, but that was only because Hulk hadn't peaked in anger yet.
In a war of attrition?
Hulk wins. Every time.
Right now, the new Red Lantern Hulk was charging through the HYDRA ranks.
To say it was a tiger among sheep would be a massive understatement.
More like… an elephant breakdancing in a termite colony.
The four remaining Winter Soldiers lasted all of five seconds.
Hulk ripped one in half, barehanded.
The second was roasted by a fireball of furious blood-flame straight to the face.
The other two?
Hulk just grabbed them and started swinging them around like twin clubs in a Dynasty Warriors bonus stage.
When it was all over?
Every HYDRA soldier was down, and the two "weapons" in Hulk's hands were now tattered meatbags.
Dante hit the door release and casually booted John Garrett's corpse and head out the front.
"Don't dirty my nice FBI flooring," he muttered.
"Hulk, burn the rest. No sense wasting our budget on corpse disposal."
"HULK FIRE!"
The green giant thumped his chest like a child showing off a toy and blasted another wave of flaming rage from his mouth.
He was clearly fascinated by his new ability.
And had already named it.
Because of course he did.
Like a kid naming a stick "Ultimate Justice Sword."
"Dante... what... is this exactly?"
Coulson's voice wavered as he watched Hulk incinerate HYDRA's remains.
The visuals were a lot to take in.
"Oh, right. This is Hulk. Civilian name: Bruce Banner. Gamma radiation specialist. Holder of seven PhDs—nuclear physics, radiation physics, biochemistry, engineering, robotics, computer science, and math."
"…Is he trying to use PhD diplomas to prop up a table or something?"
"Geniuses like to prove things. Why else does Stark keep reinventing his own armor?"
"…Fair point."
Dante nodded, but deep down?
He much preferred Hulk to Banner.
The two personalities were opposite sides of the same coin, really.
Savage Hulk was basically Banner's childlike core, made flesh.
Even the Lantern Ring recognized them as one lifeform in two minds.
Banner wanted to be a scientist.
Hulk didn't even know what a "hero" was. He just wanted a full stomach and someone to punch.
Two extremes locked in one body.
Kind of poetic. And kind of sad.
While Dante reflected on the green tragedy, Skye was practically vibrating with excitement.
Let's not forget—this was a girl who once pried the emblem off Tony Stark's car in the Stark Tower parking lot just to have a souvenir.
She was that much of a superhero fangirl.
"Green monster defeats HYDRA's evil plot! That's straight-up classic superhero material!"
Dante sighed, ruffling Skye's hair.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a shimmering purple crystal.
"Here. This is for you."
"Wait… you're giving me a crystal?" Skye blinked. "Dante, I'm not one of those girls you can bribe with shiny rocks. You could at least wrap it in platinum and call it a ring."
"Stop talking." Dante stuffed the terrigen crystal into her palm. Then leaned in close and whispered, "Break this when you're alone. Trust me—you'll thank me later."
---
HYDRA's entire operation to take down the FBI?
A massive, flaming failure.
Yes, they managed to launch the three Helicarriers.
But the Project Insight they were supposed to run?
Fake.
Instead, HYDRA had sent in Winter Soldier prototype Bucky Barnes, carrying Arnim Zola's consciousness storage device, hoping to have him upload Zola directly into the Helicarriers.
No preloaded targeting system? No problem—they'd just build one from scratch.
Would've worked too...
If Bucky hadn't bumped into Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, who arrived together.
The moment Steve saw the eyeliner-smeared hobo version of his childhood friend?
He didn't hesitate.
He instantly whipped out his shield and went for the face.
Jarvis, after scanning Bucky's identity, updated Tony.
"Captain, this is your childhood best friend."
Tony's eyebrows shot up. "Damn, Cap, maybe don't smash his jaw in just yet?"
Steve snapped. "He's brainwashed. You think I'm gonna stand here yelling, 'I believe in you!' like some idiot from a TV show? First, we knock him out. Then we talk. After the war."
Then he promptly kicked Bucky in the nuts.
"Lie down, best damn brother!"
Tony paused.
Then nodded, impressed.
Lesson learned: Never one-on-one if you can two-on-one.
He joined in.
And together, Cap and Iron Man beat Bucky Barnes senseless.
They even ripped off his mechanical arm as a team finisher.
And Zola's precious consciousness storage?
Smashed to shards by Steve mid-fight.
Tragic.
Truly tragic.
---
Meanwhile, in the Helicarrier command center.
Tony, through Jarvis and his own backdoors, fully took over the three Helicarriers' systems.
He shut down all the weapons.
Just like that.
Nick Fury watched the whole thing unfold, tears nearly welling up.
"Motherf***er," he muttered. "That was taxpayer money…"
Standing nearby, Alexander Pierce made a last-ditch play.
He pulled a controller from his pocket.
"Don't move, Fury! I push this button, and the special brooches worn by the World Security Council will burn holes through their hearts."
Cue instant political panic.
"Alexander Pierce! You psychopath!"
"HYDRA only knows how to play terrorist!"
"Nick! Save us! If we die, you'll be brought before the Tribunal!"
Fury… didn't even blink.
He actually looked more upset when the Helicarriers got shut down.
"Pierce, I used to consider you a family…"
Fury slowly raised his pistol.
He wasn't smiling.
He wasn't bluffing.
"But we don't compromise."
"They're from other nations—"
"So?" Fury narrowed his eye. "They stood up to HYDRA, resisted to the bitter end. I'll tell the World Federation they were heroes. I'll even put up a fancy-ass monument for them."
And then?
BANG.
He shot Alexander Pierce in the heart.
Reflexively, Pierce hit the button.
Multiple brooches activated.
Several high-profile political corpses hit the floor.
But Fury?
Unbothered.
In fact, he kinda wanted to laugh.
He could've gone for a headshot.
But why waste the opportunity?
Let the fame-hungry suits die as "martyrs."
Then, as he looked down at Pierce's still-warm corpse, Fury pulled out a dusty old pager.
"Good thing we had Dante. Otherwise…" he said softly, "I really would've had to call you back."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 90: Complicated Genius
HYDRA was completely wrecked.
Their main assault force got obliterated by the Asgardian sibling trio.
The HYDRA agents infiltrating the Federal Bureau of Investigation Academy were spun like Beyblades by the students and ended up as living props for a surprise test.
And the squad ambushing The Fridge? Absolutely smoked.
Not a single fleck of bone dust remained. Hulk's rage-fueled blood flames turned them to ash.
Let's be clear: HYDRA went all-in this time. Every last mass-produced Winter Soldier they'd hoarded over the years? Gone. Prototypes? Captured during the Helicarrier invasion.
Not to mention the two Super Winter Soldiers.
Even HYDRA's top brass led by Madame Hydra were racking their collective brains trying to figure out where the hell that OP woman in the Bureau came from.
If they'd known there was someone this busted on the playing field, HYDRA would've gladly stayed in hiding for another hundred years.
Unfortunately for them, the X-Men's telepaths kept intel leaks to practically zero. So HYDRA walked into a massacre with a massive information gap.
Result? John Garrett died with nothing left to bury.
Arnim Zola's digital brain got crushed. And when his consciousness tried to escape into the internet as an electrical signal, it was blocked by Jarvis and locked into a horror movie streaming site—forced to binge nonstop gore flicks, 24/7, no skip button.
But HYDRA wasn't entirely wiped out.
Their high-value assets were toast, but not every other division had S-tier agents or superhumans guarding it.
So, a bunch of branches still fell into HYDRA's hands.
Once personnel from The Fridge, the Academy, and HQ regrouped, they immediately started assessing the situation nationwide.
Out of fifty branches, twenty-four were under HYDRA control.
HYDRA might be small fry compared to the Bureau's main HQ, but they were still a juggernaut when going up against isolated branches.
Fury didn't waste time. He handed out assignments for reclaiming every lost base.
Intel suggested many agents at those locations were still alive—still fighting.
So to speed things up, Fury even deployed students from the Bureau Academy. Each team came with two senior agents, one for commanding, one for calculating... weighted academic credits.
Because only the promise (or threat) of credits could stop these students from suddenly doing something wildly chaotic.
But Dante, Hela, and Hulk? Not on the team lists.
Coulson patted Dante's shoulder.
"Told you before—we used to kill mosquitoes with cannons because cannons were all we had. Now we've got electric swatters. No need to bring out the artillery every time. Also... you really wanna fight a bunch of Academy kids for academic credits?"
With that, Coulson and Steve Rogers split into two squads and headed off to support different branches.
Steve didn't stick around to babysit his BFF, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes. He used special high-molecular ropes, developed by the Bureau—to wrap Bucky up like a present. Even if Steve himself got tied up in those, he wouldn't break out.
Then Bucky, along with General Ross, got thrown into the isolation wing beneath HQ.
Naturally, a full-on military assault on the U.S. capital drew the attention of the American government and the entire world.
Fury's phone kept ringing off the hook, but he ignored it.
Until he got sick of the buzzing and picked up.
"Hello, this is Fury."
"American military? You heard we've got General Thaddeus Ross?"
"You want us to hand him over now? Are your brains filled with bacon grease? He's still brainwashed. What happens if he comes to, turns into that psycho Red Gamma monster, and blows you and your grandma's urn to dust?"
"Don't talk to me like that, Lieutenant General. The Bureau only reports to the World Federation. Not the U.S. Not the FBI. Not the CIA. Not the Super Investigation Department. None of 'em. Motherf—!"
"You wanna talk to the President? Go ahead. But I'll tell you straight: even the American President can't touch the Bureau."
"Lieutenant General, I appreciate your call, but I do not appreciate your tone."
"You better hope you've never jaywalked, because the Bureau will dig into every second of your life from kindergarten onward."
After laying down a verbal nuke, Fury hung up.
Then he glanced over at Dante.
"…No. Are you seriously doing this while I'm yelling at someone?"
Dante was casually holding Hela's hand in the Director's office, reading her palm.
Fury had a complicated relationship with Dante—equal parts admiration and blood pressure.
Who the hell reads a woman's fortune in the middle of a strategic debriefing?
Let alone this woman.
Mystically speaking: she's the Death Goddess, a divine being.
Scientifically speaking: she's a humanoid alien from Asgard.
"What, you want me to cheer while you scream into the phone? Maybe pour you some water so you can yell for another eight hundred rounds?"
Dante pouted. Fury interrupting his little moment with Hela? Rude.
...Okay, flirting with an Asgardian in the boss's office was a bit much.
But only Dante could get away with it. Anyone else would've been dropkicked out the front door.
Fury's face was thundercloud-dark. He'd long accepted that he'd never win an argument against Dante.
His gaze shifted to the massive green dude munching on snacks on the couch.
"Dante, mind telling me what's going on with this guy?"
"A mad father. A dead mother. A broken home. And a genius."
"…You're really out here dropping rhyming summaries at a time like this? Why aren't you this talented when filing reports?!"
Cough cough. "I'm not making it up. That's literally Banner's backstory."
Dante shrugged. That was Bruce Banner in a nutshell.
Just then, a strange agent pushed the door open.
"Dante, I finished everything you asked."
"Now let's talk about me joining the Bureau."
And with that, he shapeshifted right in front of Fury—into a green, bald alien.
Dante smacked his forehead.
No wonder he'd felt like he was forgetting someone…
(To be continued.)
Chapter 91: Old Man, Drop Some Gold Coins
Fury watched as the agent transformed, in the blink of an eye, into a green-skinned alien in a cape.
Definitely not a Skrull.
Sure, the guy could shapeshift, but he didn't have that trademark Skrull chin-groove, and his features leaned way too human.
Fury couldn't help but flash back to that mission thirty years ago.
The one where he first realized superheroes were real. The one where he first made contact with extraterrestrial life.
Also… the first time he started wearing the eyepatch.
As that memory rolled through, he glanced over at the Flerken curled up, snoozing in its little nest.
But more importantly—
This green guy didn't even flinch when he saw the Flerken. Either he had zero clue what a Flerken was… or he knew exactly what it was and still didn't give a damn.
Whichever it was, this green alien was not a Skrull.
"Dante, where the hell did you dig up this new creditor?"
"But seriously, I gotta ask—between this alien guy, the big green glutton on the couch who cleared out half the cafeteria, and your own Green Lantern cosplay, do you have a thing for the color green? Like, is this your aesthetic now?"
Dante ignored Fury entirely and stood up, motioning for J'onn J'onzz—to sit down with him on the opposite couch.
Because Hulk's butt had turned the three-seater into a glorified bar stool.
It was cramped.
Hela followed too, her curiosity piqued. She'd never seen a creature like J'onzz before.
More importantly, she could feel the power radiating from him.
"J'onn J'onzz, seriously—thanks for handing HYDRA that fake Project Insight. You really got them to go all-in."
"I love this planet as much as I love Mars. Earth is my second home. I have no reason to sit back and watch as peace is shattered by those with bad intentions."
"From today forward, you're officially part of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Star Team division." Dante shamelessly boasted, patting himself on the back while he was at it. "And you're right, J'onzz. You've got a heart of gold and the noblest character—just like me."
Fury, standing off to the side, rolled his eye.
You?
Dante?
Heart of gold? Noble character?
He might be a decent guy. Barely. But noble?
Get outta here.
Still, Fury didn't say anything. Dante was currently the Bureau's top contributor. And right now, he was bringing in a very powerful alien asset.
Fury had to admit—Coulson had a point.
He was still active, but he wasn't getting any younger. Probably time to think about who'd take over once he stepped down.
And Dante was the perfect candidate.
Top-tier ability. Reasonably stable personality. Flexible ethics when needed.
A future leadership team of Dante, Coulson, and Maria Hill? Probably the strongest the Bureau had ever seen.
That idea stuck in Fury's head and immediately started growing roots.
Because he had another plan brewing too…
A specialized department for extraterrestrial events. A task force to deal with off-world threats before they reached Earth.
A real shield for the planet.
He even had a name in mind:
S.H.I.E.L.D.
---
Dante called Ingrid and had her take J'onzz for identity processing and onboarding.
"Captain," she asked, "Is Mr. J'onn J'onzz… a Martian? Like, from that Mars?"
"Yeah. The same Mars that's been probed to death by half the countries on Earth. What, you think there's another Mars I don't know about?"
"Cough, cough—I was just surprised, that's all." Ingrid awkwardly waved it off, then eyed J'onzz. "But how are we supposed to register this look in a legal identity system…"
J'onn J'onzz didn't seem offended. Instead, he casually transformed into a tall, white human male in front of everyone.
"John Jones. Thirty-eight. Residence: Middleton City… I've used this identity for decades."
"…He can do that?" Ingrid blinked, stunned. But she quickly recovered and nodded. "Alright then, Captain. I'll handle the rest."
She turned around and walked out without even waiting for J'onzz.
"This kid's a bit on edge."
"Haha, well, she's an internal agent. Not much face time with aliens or supers."
Dante chuckled. J'onzz didn't mind—he phased right through the door to follow.
Fury, meanwhile, was still mentally stuck on the "walks through walls" part.
"…Is this guy you brought back an alien, or some kind of mage?"
"Does it matter? We've got someone in the Bureau who's both. You've met him."
At that very moment, Loki—being dragged by the collar by Thor—was en route to a Bureau branch still held by HYDRA.
He sneezed.
"Loki, are you catching a cold?"
"No. I know what this is. That bastard Dante's bad-mouthing me again. Magic users are very sensitive to this sort of thing!"
But hey, it's not like Dante could hear him from this far away, right?
Meanwhile, Dante—zero super hearing—was back in front of Fury with a serious expression.
"All right. We've handled the side stuff. Now it's time to tackle the most important matter."
Even Fury felt the shift in tone. Did something else happen?
"…The most important matter?"
"Exactly. The most important." Dante nodded solemnly, then extended his hand. "Old man. Drop some gold coins."
"…Motherf— You and the gold coins again. Do you think I'm a quest NPC or something?"
"No, no. You're clearly a one-eyed elite miniboss guarding a treasure vault. One who refuses to move."
"…Are you seriously calling me a miser now?"
"I neither confirm nor deny that. If the shoe fits."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 34: Chapter 92-96
Chapter Text
Chapter 92: Really High
Back then, when Dante asked Fury to "drop gold coins," it was probably just a joke.
But this time?
Dante was serious.
He needed Fury to bleed a little—for real.
Let's not even talk about the stack of cash he burned buying that Terrigen crystal from Bruce Wayne.
Right now, with the Star Team's lineup growing like a Pokémon roster, that big ol' apartment Dante was originally assigned? Way too small.
Most importantly—
Now they had Thor and Hulk.
Two walking natural disasters. Sure, the apartment was spacious, but there were still neighbors above and below.
If Hulk went full Smash Mode? Nobody could guarantee the furniture or the structural integrity of the building would survive.
Honestly, Dante figured the bare minimum needed was something like Professor X's mansion. Big, indestructible, and isolated enough for Thor and Hulk to throw hands without collateral damage.
Living separately? That was never on the table.
They weren't some janky hero coalition.
They were a legit Federal Bureau of Investigation team.
Call it a non-military squad with military-grade chaos. Living together made sense.
Coulson's team all lived together on the Airbus—but that only worked because they didn't include a thunder god and a gamma-powered wrecking ball.
So Dante brought up the housing issue, full seriousness this time.
Fury stopped grumbling and started thinking.
The Bureau had plenty of property under its name. Most of it was confiscated from supercriminals.
Some of those were legit mansions.
Only catch?
They were located by the Panama Canal.
Fury squinted out the window, then slapped his bald head like the light bulb just went on.
"That's right! We can move there!"
"…What the hell is 'there'? Be more specific, old man."
"While Washington, D.C. is where HQ is located, we also technically have a branch office in Washington." Fury said, clearing his throat.
Dante narrowed his eyes.
"You mean it exists on paper only, right?"
"Exactly. Officially, HQ doesn't handle local incidents, just manages branches. But over the years, we've absorbed most of the Washington branch's duties, letting us send their personnel elsewhere."
Fury kept going.
"Ten years ago, we basically mothballed that branch. But we still send maintenance crews to keep it functional."
"It's a full branch base—housing, training grounds, labs, offices. Basically, a mini version of HQ."
"And best of all…"
"It can order takeout."
That last line sold it.
Dante's brain went from "considering" to "sold" in under a second.
This was it.
Thank God.
The Bureau's cafeteria food was abysmal.
Fat-loss meals. Protein shakes. Muscle-gain soup.
No spice. No joy. No point.
He'd take greasy, guilt-laden junk food over that "wellness sludge" any day.
So, the Star Team's new HQ was set: Washington branch.
Coulson's team would move with them too.
They couldn't live on the Airbus forever. Even super-agents need walls that don't hum at night.
Dante had zero objections.
He actually liked Coulson's team a lot.
Besides Fury, Coulson was probably the person he was closest to in the Bureau.
"…What about the gold coins, though?"
"Have some shame," Fury snapped. "You just got a whole-ass base handed to you and you still have the nerve to ask for cash?"
Every time Fury looked at Dante's face now, he remembered that day on the Helicarrier, Dante and Tony tag-teaming to sabotage the weapons system.
He could practically see the piles of money being vaporized in real time.
Gold coins? He should be lucky Fury didn't stab him on sight.
Hulk finally lifted his head from the table.
Not because he was full.
Because… there was nothing left to eat.
"Hulk still hungry!" he growled, rising from the sofa.
The moment he shifted his weight—crack.
The couch, which had been hanging on for dear life, finally gave out.
It flattened like a pancake. All that was left was the giant green butt print, stamped into what used to be luxury leather.
Fury's face went dark. He stared at his ruined couch.
"Dante! Get your oversized green glutton out of here!"
---
Moving day wasn't hard.
It just meant opening a few portals and making some trips back and forth.
Two days later, all the previously occupied Bureau branches had been retaken.
And just like that, the Star Team entered a rare phase of…
Idleness.
Not retirement. Not peace. Just… nothing blowing up for five minutes.
Sixty percent of domestic chaos had always traced back to HYDRA or its various shell groups.
Now that the Bureau had basically nuked HYDRA's operational strength, the organization wouldn't be able to crawl back up for at least a century.
Of course, "idle" was relative.
No more constant firefights and death matches with supervillains.
But Dante was still tied up with a different project: joint psychological consultations with the Bureau's telepaths.
Their targets?
Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes.
Red Hulk, aka General Ross.
Bruce Banner.
That's when Dante started to get a deeper understanding of HYDRA's Winter Soldier programming.
Turns out… those psychos weren't completely useless.
The telepaths could restore the memories of the brainwashed, but they couldn't remove the hypnotic conditioning.
Even if you wiped someone's memories clean, all it took was the trigger phrase…
And boom.
Back to being HYDRA's most obedient killing machine.
A room full of powerful psychic operatives, people who could make you forget your own birthday just sat there.
But the person who cracked the case?
Wasn't a mutant.
Wasn't a psychic.
Wasn't even qualified.
It was…
Harley Quinn.
Self-proclaimed: The Bureau's First Psychological Therapist.
"What's so hard about this?" she said, blinking innocently. "It's just an artificially created dissociative identity. Induced by extreme trauma. Then reinforced with muscle memory and key triggers."
She smiled.
"Not saying it's the same as what Joker did to me, but it's exactly the same."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 93: Welcome to Four Years Later
Harley might've proposed the fix, but when it came to actually pulling it off? This still required a whole support team of super-powered individuals.
She might be crazy, but Harley's not stupid.
Two of the three brainwashed subjects could turn into Gamma-powered monsters.
Even if she swung her edman-alloy bat hard enough to light it on fire, she wasn't doing more than giving them a gentle back massage.
And sure, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes was more human-shaped, but trying to beat him to death was still a pretty tall order.
So the chaotic Harley waved her hand, peaced out of the room, and left no trace behind.
Today she had business over at the Federal Bureau of Investigation Academy.
After all, when you cram a school full of super-powered teenagers, you're gonna rack up a lot of psychological trauma.
Case in point? Jessica Jones was basically a VIP client at the counseling center.
"Pudding, open a portal. I'm heading to the Academy," Harley said, clinging to Dante like a koala. "Ugh, this calm and peaceful life is seriously driving me insane."
"Babe, your definition of 'insane' needs a little recalibration," Dante muttered as he opened a portal to the Academy's psychological counseling office. He gave a lazy wave to the girl on the other side.
"Oh hey, long time no see.."
Harley hopped down and strutted into the portal. Just before stepping through, she turned back and blew Dante a kiss like a live grenade.
"Bye-bye, Pudding. See you tonight."
As the portal snapped shut, Jessica Jones slumped and sighed.
"Teacher Harley, why are you even into that bastard Dante? I mean... okay, sure, he's strong, but still."
"Do crazy people need a reason to like someone?" Harley flopped onto her couch. "But if I had to give one…"
"It's because Dante's crazier than I am."
As a veteran psychiatrist and a lifetime resident of Crazytown, what really hooked Harley wasn't Dante's power or charm.
It was that delightfully unhinged sanity of his.
The kind of madness that knew it was madness... and leaned into it anyway.
"All right," she clapped her hands. "Where did we leave off last session? Let me check... ah yes. So, family of four, car accident, parents and younger brother died, and now you hate yourself for surviving. That's where we were, right?"
"…I sincerely thank you for reopening that wound."
"You're welcome," Harley shrugged. "At least you had a happy childhood at some point. Me? I never even met my deadbeat dad. And the closest thing I've had to a father figure was Nick Fury."
Jessica sighed.
This woman might be her therapist, but she was also probably the FBI's deadliest contact...
Was therapy here really the safe option?
---
The Bureau's squad of telepaths had practically stress-balded trying to crack HYDRA's conditioning—until Harley casually broke it down.
Once a solution was found from a different psychological angle, the whole operation took off like it was running on high-speed rail.
Total time: five and a half hours.
Five of those hours?
Spent convincing Hulk to give control back to Banner.
"…Uh. Everyone? Who... are you?"
Dr. Banner blinked, lying on a medical bench, surrounded by a crowd of unfamiliar faces.
Half an hour ago, he'd been fully brainwashed, chanting "Hail HYDRA" like it was his personal Spotify playlist.
"Hey, you're awake! Surgery was a success! You're a girl now."
"…Huh?"
"Mother—! Quentin!" White Queen snapped, slapping the pink-haired kid across the head.
Quentin Quire. Omegon. Telepathic powerhouse. Also, graduate of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Unfortunately, still chronically insufferable.
"Guys? Anyone? Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?" Banner blinked again, still not fully catching the wild comment Quentin had dropped.
His mind was stuck on what felt like a memory from a lifetime ago: traveling the world, trying to find a cure for the Hulk virus lurking in his personality.
The last thing he remembered?
Coming back to America. On a janky cargo ship that started disintegrating as it neared the coast.
He swam. He blacked out.
Then he woke up here.
Dante took one look at the chaos inside the lab, scooped Banner up, and got them both the hell out of there.
He opened a portal back to the Special Squad's new HQ—the repurposed Washington Branch base.
Bucky Barnes and Red Hulk Ross had already completed their recovery sessions.
Bucky had been taken back by Steve Rogers to the America General Bureau to start clearing up all the historical drama.
Then he was headed to Tony Stark for arm repairs.
Because let's be honest—whoever disassembled it should be the one putting it back together.
And as far as identity verification went? Not a problem.
Bucky was old-school. His records were still stamped and sealed in Bureau archives. First Director Peggy Carter herself had signed off on him.
As for General Ross?
The America Military had taken full custody. He was still an active-duty Air Force Lieutenant General. It wasn't the Bureau's place to hold onto him long-term.
---
"What kind of tech is that?" Banner asked as they exited the portal. "Was that... direct spatial transference?"
Now that was a scientist brain in action—seven doctorates and counting, and still analyzing in real-time.
"That wasn't tech," Dante said. "That was magic. Teleportation magic."
He snapped his fingers, sealing the portal behind them.
"Please, have a seat, Dr. Banner."
"Oh. Uh. Thanks." Banner sat down on the couch and glanced around, scanning the surroundings.
Then his eyes landed on the Federal Bureau of Investigation logo plastered across the lounge wall.
"This is an FBI facility? What did Hulk do this time?"
"Correct," Dante said. "But how'd you guess Hulk was involved?"
"If you kept blacking out, and then woke up naked in a strange cave every couple of weeks, you'd start making the same assumption."
"Fair. Okay, then tell me—what's your last memory?"
Banner's brow furrowed.
"My last memory was the cargo ship disintegrating, then swimming to the coast."
Dante clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"Welcome to four years later, Dr. Banner."
(To be continued.)
Chapter 94: Vibration
"What?!" Bruce Banner shot up from the couch like he'd been tasered. "Four years?! You're telling me I've been the Hulk that entire time?!"
He immediately started patting himself down, like he expected to find missing limbs or swapped organs.
"Wait, wait, wait—why do I have a Red Ring on my hand?! I have zero memory of this thing!"
"Dr. Banner, I'm gonna need you to breathe," Dante said, backing up a step.
"Breathe with what, exactly?!" Banner roared, his voice cracking as a faint green shimmer crawled up his veins, and the Red Lantern Ring flickered ominously. "Four YEARS! I've lost four entire years of memory! And Hulk was in control the whole time! Who knows what kind of catastrophe he left in his wake?!"
Dante stayed silent.
Even in human form, the Hulk's rage seeped into Bruce Banner's psyche like ink in water. Best not to trigger it further.
Only after Banner calmed down, slumped back into the sofa, and muttered a half-hearted apology did Dante finally speak up.
"Look. Maybe Hulk's been a thorn in your side. Maybe you've spent your whole life thinking he's your curse. But I'm telling you right now—during these last four years? It was Hulk who protected you."
Back during the takedown of HYDRA, Dante had relied on J'onzz's perfect Sitwell impression to infiltrate and pull loads of intel from within.
That intel included extensive files on HYDRA's Super Winter Soldier program.
As it turned out, HYDRA had been the one to sabotage the cargo ship Banner was traveling on. They'd never realized Banner was the Hulk—they just wanted to capture a genius-level scientist.
They got both. By accident.
At first, HYDRA thought they'd hit the jackpot, landed themselves a world-class researcher. They didn't connect the quiet man with the walking green apocalypse.
After the ship incident, HYDRA recovered the unconscious and nearly drowned Banner, brought him back to their secret base, and started the brainwashing.
Naturally, that memory had already been erased by the Bureau's telepathic cleanup crew—no point in subjecting Banner to a second trauma.
But just as HYDRA's hypnosis was about to take root?
Boom.
HULK SMASH.
It was only then they realized what kind of "gemstone" they'd dug up.
Only problem?
Their programming techniques had zero effect on Hulk.
Didn't work.
Didn't register.
Didn't even land.
"…Protect me?" Banner asked, voice tight. "Protect me from what, exactly?"
Dante didn't feel like explaining it all in detail. He just pulled HYDRA's files from the folder beside him and handed them over.
"All the answers you want? They're in here."
Banner snatched the folder like it contained the last functioning MRI machine on Earth and began reading furiously.
And with each page, his expression grew darker.
He'd always viewed Hulk as a freak mutation. A problem. A ticking bomb fused to his DNA. Something to be cured.
Now, the records showed the opposite.
The Hulk had kept his hands and conscience clean. Shielded him from forced participation in HYDRA's twisted experiments. Refused to obey, no matter how deeply they tried to dig.
Even if Hulk was mentally a three- or four-year-old child, he still instinctively knew to protect Banner. Knew when to fight. Knew what not to touch.
Banner remained a scientist with clean hands... because Hulk made sure of it.
"I think…" Banner muttered, closing the file slowly, "I need to be alone."
"Yeah," Dante nodded. "Thought you might. Your room's the one closest to the training ground."
"…Wait, my room? Isn't this an FBI facility?"
"Exactly. Hulk's now a probationary agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation."
"…Agent. You're kidding."
"Why would I kid about that?" Dante said, reaching out his hand. "I personally subdued and recruited him."
He smirked. "Name's Dante Alighieri. Leader of the Star Team."
He paused dramatically.
"Dr. Bruce Banner, welcome to the team."
---
Recruiting Hulk had been a nightmare. Low IQ, even lower patience, stubborn as hell.
But recruiting Bruce Banner? That was easy.
Geniuses like him didn't have the energy for social games. Seven doctorates, zero dating life, and zero poker face.
People like Banner, Tony Stark, and Bruce Wayne all had one thing in common: intellect over emotional intelligence.
After sending off the deeply introspective Banner, Dante strolled outside the base building.
Right in time to watch Thor absolutely deck Loki across the training field.
"Man…" Dante said, hands in his pockets. "Peaceful days."
As if on cue, Loki finally got caught and took a thunder-charged knuckle sandwich straight to the soul.
Ouch.
Still, Dante was pretty sure Loki had it coming.
Thor wasn't exactly subtle. He was honest, straightforward, and secretly soft-hearted especially when it came to his adopted brother.
If Thor was throwing punches, Loki definitely earned them.
If Loki had been born with half a conscience, he'd be the God of Wisdom.
"Hey, Agent Dante! Did things go alright with Hulk?"
Dante turned.
It was Barry Allen, fresh from the lab, looking like he'd just crawled out of a mountain of data sheets.
He couldn't fight worth a damn yet, but no one on the Coulson Team could beat him in evidence processing.
Every scan, trace, residual reading—Barry logged it all. Especially with all the 084s they had to deal with.
"Barry Allen," Dante said, waving him over. "How've you been lately?"
He nearly asked, "Have you been struck by lightning yet?"
But nah. That wasn't something you could rush. Speed Force activation needed the full recipe: the right weather, chemicals, and a ridiculously specific accident.
Barry just had to bide his time.
Until then, the lab was probably the safest place for him.
"Pretty good," Barry said, stretching. "Just wish Fitz and Simmons hadn't transferred to Sandbox Base. I've had some bio-radiation stuff I really need help with, and digging through research myself is a pain."
Dante nodded toward the lounge.
"Banner's inside. Seven doctorates. Go nuts."
"Seven doc—wait. Bruce Banner?!"
Barry yeeted himself toward the lounge like a bullet.
"Hey Barry! Have you seen Skye lately? She hasn't been around for two days."
"She hasn't left her room!" Barry called back without stopping. "Probably holed up in there doing hacker stuff!"
That made Dante stop cold.
Two days?
Skye hadn't come out in two full days?
"…Vibrating Woman's about to go live," he muttered.
And right on cue, a massive shockwave erupted from her room.
BOOM.
Dante's eyes bulged.
"HOLY SH*T—DON'T YOU DARE BLOW UP THE BASE! THAT'S ALL PROPERTY DAMAGE!"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 95: Gone
Skye was certain she had always had a good impression of Dante…
But now, more than ever, she wanted to stab him twice!
Was it really that hard to just tell her clearly what the crystal did?
He had to be so mysterious, telling her to break the crystal when she was alone.
And he said she would thank him.
Thank him for what?!
She had turned into a human charcoal stone statue for an entire day!
Do you know how agonizing it is to be conscious but have your senses fail and be unable to move for twenty-four hours?
Skye sat on the floor, panting, as she looked at the room completely wrecked by the vibrations she had just emitted…
Damn it! Anyone who didn't know would think this place had just been bombed!
"Hey! Skye! Are you okay?"
The door was kicked open from the outside, and the man Skye most wanted to stab twice appeared right in front of her.
"Dante! How dare you show your face in front of me! Is it that hard to speak clearly, you bastard!"
"Dante coughed awkwardly a few times, then helped Skye, who was slumped on the floor, to her feet. "Thank goodness, Skye, you successfully emerged from that stone shell, and it looks like you've gained an incredible ability…"
"Speaking of this ability, Dante, what exactly did you do to me! Don't you know how desperate I was when I was petrified, you bastard!"
"Skye, that's where you're wrong! As your supervisor, I told you during your training that as an FBI agent, no matter what strange things happen, you shouldn't be afraid. You weren't paying attention when I lectured."
"I, I, I! If you were inexplicably petrified, and then all your senses completely failed, would you be scared?!"
"Of course, I'd be scared, but I'd absolutely act tough and wouldn't say it."
Dante teased.
Through the vibration just now, Dante already knew that Skye's Inhumans bloodline had completely awakened.
Vibrating Woman was definitely the ceiling of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s combat power in the original work.
And she was Nick Fury's only true confidant.
An eighteen-year-old S.H.I.E.L.D. Level 10 Agent is no joke; no one would find it abrupt if she immediately joined the Avengers.
In fact, she is also recognized by fans as a member of the "Avengers First Reserve Team."
Both her ability and popularity are quite good.
Otherwise, there wouldn't have been "Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D." later, with her as the protagonist.
A full seven seasons, dying a natural death—this is definitely a great success in the drama circle, where most series are either canceled or on their way to being canceled, and it also indirectly reflects the character's popularity.
Dante naturally knew that the girl in front of him was the perfect candidate to replace Coulson or Maria Hill in the future, but now…
She seemed very angry.
"If I could control this power better right now, I'd really like to vibrate you hard!"
"The way you say that, I should thank you for not killing me, right?"
Dante smiled as he helped her walk out the door…
Her room was temporarily uninhabitable.
The ceiling was shaking so much that debris was falling; it was quite something.
And everyone who felt the vibration rushed over from all directions of the Base.
Skye had always been popular.
Dante handed over the task of assisting Skye to Wanda, who was the first to arrive, and then picked up his constantly ringing personal terminal.
It was a video call from Nick Fury.
"Hello, do you need something from me? If not, I'll hang up; I'm busy at home."
"Stop being glib!" Fury's mouth twitched, then he asked, "We just detected a 4.0 magnitude earthquake in Washington, and the epicenter was near your Base… Did you cause something again?"
"Yes."
"Are you and Tony Stark related by blood? Do something normal, I beg you!"
"Beg me? Then go cook two dishes for me first!"
"I'm giving you too much leeway!" Fury's already dark face grew even darker. "Come to headquarters, I have something to tell you."
Dante turned around, saw that Skye was fine, and then opened a portal to Nick Fury and Professor X's office.
Looking at Professor X, who was sitting behind the same desk as Fury, Dante greeted him.
"Oh, both of you are here today?"
"So what exactly happened with that earthquake just now?" Professor X asked curiously, "Could it be that a Mutant with vibration abilities awakened in your Base? But besides Wanda and Pietro, there are no Mutants there."
"It's Skye." Dante sat down in a chair and explained to the Black and White eggs, "She's not a Mutant, but an Inhumans."
"Inhumans?"
Professor X and Fury exchanged glances, both seeing confusion in each other's eyes.
If the previous disappearance of Mutants was intentional, then Inhumans were truly somewhat obscure.
It's understandable, after all, Inhumans awakening generally requires the aid of a terrigen crystal, unlike Mutants who might have their genes awaken at an unknown time.
"That's right, Inhumans. This group looks similar to Mutants, but they are actually a combat race created by the Kree who came to Earth in ancient times." Dante gave an example that the two were more familiar with: "One of the earliest Inhumans was called 'Hive.'"
"HYDRA was formed as an ancient organization because they worshipped and followed him. For years, HYDRA, led by Gideon Malick, has been dedicated to bringing back their Lord."
Nick Fury nodded.
In that case, HYDRA still had a last glimmer of hope waiting for them to eradicate.
Dante looked at the two lost in thought and asked:
"Alright, I'm done talking about my business, it's your turn."
"Didn't you say you had something to tell me?"
Nick Fury looked at Dante with his single eye and asked faintly:
"Do you remember that you drove my car away?"
"I remember! I parked it in the Stark Industries parking lot, and I even put two wheel clamps on your car!"
"It's gone."
"What's gone?"
"The car's gone."
"Huh?"
(To be continued.)
Chapter 96: Welcome to Fairytale Town
Boston, outskirts.
Dante ultimately couldn't escape the fate of looking for a car for Fury.
"That Fury guy, so stingy!" Dante grumbled about his direct superior while searching everywhere. "If I wasn't so morally upright, I definitely wouldn't come find a car for you!"
Who knows why Fury's official car has such low anti-theft capabilities!
It was clearly a vehicle equipped with a highly intelligent AI system, and its exterior hardness could basically be considered a heavily armed armored vehicle, yet it was stolen by some unknown thief.
And the funniest part was that even the tracker specifically installed in the car stopped working after entering this forest in Boston.
It should have been a matter of getting accurate coordinates and opening a portal to resolve it.
Now, he could only personally come to this forest to find the car.
"I'm baffled. This high-tech car is only explosion-proof, not anti-theft. Do they really think no one would dare to steal from the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation?"
In a flash, Dante had searched through most of the forest, but he still couldn't find any trace of the car.
"This is so weird! I clearly saw the tire marks fro Fury's special tires, so why haven't I found it yet?"
Dante sighed.
Damn it.
He should have brought that kid, Barry Allen, with him.
Although he isn't Flash yet, he's one of the best forensic specialists. Analyzing through various details would definitely be much easier than him blindly searching here.
But since he was having such a pleasant conversation with Banner, Dante really didn't have the heart to interrupt the kid's meeting with his idol.
Forget it, just consider it a trip to get some fresh air.
Dante changed his mood and continued to advance into the areas he hadn't searched yet, as if he were sightseeing.
But things are just that magical.
When you deliberately look for something, you just can't find it.
Once you stop looking, it will inexplicably turn up from some corner after a while.
Director Fury's Chevrolet soon appeared in Dante's sight...
Aside from the wide-open car door, there seemed to be nothing unusual.
Dante was about to step forward to check, but the system's voice, long unheard, suddenly rang in his ears.
["Ding, mission 'Welcome to Fairytale Town' has been issued."]
["Mission Introduction: Dear Star Team Captain, in order to retrieve Director Fury's beloved car, you came alone to Storybrooke Town on the outskirts of Boston, only to discover its secret... The townspeople here are all 'Fairytale Characters' who have crossed dimensions, living in this inescapable town in various unbelievable relationships. As a rare outsider, you will stir up an unknown storm within the town. Is 'reality' merely another form of 'illusion'?"]
Dante listened to the system's mission introduction while walking towards the car.
But after taking the next step, he instantly felt a distinct sense of disorientation.
A sense of disorientation from the distortion of space-time and reality.
Even with Dante's current powerful physique and the protection of the Red and Green Lantern Beast, he still fell victim.
Before falling, Dante saw the town sign on the road not far away.
"Welcome to Storybrooke."
700 kilometers away in Washington, Hela was enjoying the virtual war without smoke on the internet.
As the Commander of the Asgardian army, Odin's executioner, and the Death Goddess of Asgard, she was exceptionally interested in any form of "war."
But in the next moment, she suddenly looked up, her brows furrowing sharply.
Reality seemed to be subtly changing, something completely imperceptible to ordinary people.
But for the Death Goddess, who possessed divinity, this wave of reality modification and distortion was as noticeable as throwing a husky into a mirrored pool.
She clearly felt that a part of the reality in her memory had been modified or distorted.
"Who is it? Who possesses the power to modify reality?"
"Wait... could it be that thing?"
And the direction she subconsciously looked towards was Boston.
...
"Damn it!"
When Dante opened his eyes again, it was already evening.
After quickly getting up from the forest grass, Dante immediately retreated without a word.
But unfortunately, an invisible barrier stood in front of him.
Unseen, untouchable, yet he just couldn't take a step out of there.
He even tried the Red and Green Lantern transformation.
Still no luck.
It was as if...
It was a rule of this space.
A boundary that allows entry but not exit...
Dante frowned slightly.
He was probably in trouble.
Thinking of this, he immediately took out his phone.
There was a signal, but every number he dialed was busy.
Then he took out the Federal Bureau of Investigation personal terminal...
Well, it couldn't even turn on.
Aside from being hard and painful to hit people with, it had no other use.
Bad news: the once powerful Federal Bureau of Investigation personal terminal could now truly only be used as a brick.
Good news: Dante also knew a thing or two about the Thirty-Six Styles of Brick Head-Smashing.
All in all, just smash their face and it's done.
"Damn it, so which god did I run into this time? How did Storybrooke Town even come out?"
And the system even issued a mission...
Before, he had casually crushed HYDRA because of a text message, and the system didn't even issue a mission!
Dante walked to the town sign, looked down the road, and could see the flickering lights in the distance...
It seemed the population wasn't too small.
"Sigh, since I'm already here."
Dante sighed, comforting himself.
He returned to Fury's Chevrolet and tried to start it, but it wouldn't turn over.
The fuel wasn't used up.
But it couldn't start.
The Director's car, heavily modified with various Federal Bureau of Investigation black technologies, now seemed to be a useless metal shell, just like the personal terminal.
Dante got out of the car and slammed the door shut.
Alright, he would carry the car away.
Just as he was about to bend down, he suddenly heard a sound behind him.
In a flash, Dante had already turned around and launched a counterattack, striking first despite reacting later.
A man wearing a black hood was directly pinned to the grass by Dante.
"Who are you? Why did you ambush me?"
"..."
Seeing that the other party didn't speak, Dante didn't waste words and reached out to pull off the other party's hood.
Oh, wow.
A handsome CEO-like face, fan-diagram eyes, and an ascetic temperament...
"Holy crap, Bruce Wayne? What are you doing here?"
(To be continued.)