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.)
Special thanks to takeo_vi for sponsoring this extra chapter 🎉🎉
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.
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.)
Special thanks to takeo_vi for sponsoring this extra chapter 🎉🎉
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.
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.)
Special thanks to takeo_vi for sponsoring this extra chapter 🎉🎉
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!"