MARVEL : Starts From Zombie universe

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Forty-three years ago, a man named Max Eisenhardt, who once used the alias Erik Lensherr, teamed up with villains like the Red Skull to kill nearly all of the superheroes.

Erik Lensherr didn't hesitate to kill his beloved daughter with his own hands in order to achieve his goals. After her death, he divided the land into several states and became a warlord.

People often prefer to call him by his other famous nickname: Magneto.

Fifty years before the plot of Twilight Wolf's Homecoming, Magneto—an old man living in the wasteland and incapable of defending himself—was said to have died at the hands of a fat black man who called himself the Kingpin.

However, it is currently unknown whether he was too old to use his mutant abilities, but for now, he is still alive.

"Of course, I remember. You led your men to kill nearly half of the Avengers," Matt, the stickman, said as he pulled a silver blunt stick out of nowhere and held it in his hand.

Matt sighed softly, stroking the bandage wrapped around the stick to improve his grip.

The memory of that day will always remain in his heart. The Avengers were the first to be attacked, followed by the X-Men, the Fantastic Four, and other heroic organizations. The strongest heroes like Thor and Iron Man were immediately surrounded and fell.

As a relatively unknown street hero, Matt wasn't a direct target and instead struggled to survive in the street fights he excelled at. By sheer luck, he managed to survive until today.

If Adrian hadn't suddenly sent Quicksilver to find him, Matt had originally planned to stay at the Chastity Wall Monastery and meditate for the rest of his life. He had been doing so for nearly forty years—ever since Bullseye struck the fatal blow three years after the Fall.

"Come on, let me see what you've got," Matt said quietly as he tightened his Daredevil liner and put on his sunglasses.

A group of them quickly drove from the old city of Hammerfall, near Las Vegas, to Salt Lake City, about 600 kilometers away, a journey that would usually take seven or eight hours. However, the modified Spider Car was incredibly fast, able to fly over cliffs without sustaining damage, and it greatly shortened the trip.

By the time they neared downtown Salt Lake City, it was already dark, and a light rain had begun to fall from the sky. The car gradually slowed down as they observed their surroundings.

This place was entirely different from the apocalyptic scenes of Hammerfall in the West. Many pre-war buildings remained standing. Although the tall buildings seemed covered in dust, they were still largely intact, with walls only slightly pockmarked by wind and rain. Some windows even had lights on, and citizens hurried along the streets, minding their own business.

As Pietro sat in the back seat, watching the passing pedestrians with Matt beside him, he muttered, "I always feel like something's off here."

Adrian sat in the passenger seat while Frank, as always, was driving. Salt Lake City resembled its pre-war state in some ways, but none of the pedestrians dared look up, and their gait was weak, as if they hadn't eaten properly in a long time.

When they heard the Spider Car's engine roar, they only glanced at it from afar before quickening their steps to disappear down side streets.

"This is Magneto's territory," Matt said, nodding. Although he had been secluded in the Himalayas, he still kept an eye on the outside world, concerned about whether the Red Skull still held power, whether Banner had died in his cave, and so on.

Naturally, this included how Magneto had ruled over his territories in the past few decades—so harshly that even neighboring Doctor Doom found him a bit too cruel.

The Spider Car coasted along, its tires barely grazing the dirty streets, and as the car turned onto the main road, the surroundings became quieter. There were fewer pedestrians, and the atmosphere in the car grew tense as everyone kept scanning for potential danger.

When the Spider Car reached the end of the main road, it suddenly came to a screeching halt. Everyone, except Matt, raised their heads to focus on the towering building at the end of the street.

Hundreds of iron spikes jutted from the dark skyscraper, like cold knives piercing the walls, pinning hundreds of innocent people to the structure. Their twisted expressions of agony filled the air with cries for help, but no one was around to answer.

Their hands were impaled by the nails, and they desperately clung to the rusted iron rods beneath their feet for support. Blood from these helpless victims formed a slow-moving, dark red stream that ran along the wall, mixing with iron shavings suspended in the air to create a grotesque and bloody spectacle.

Faded letters, once written in blood, adorned the wall, but as more blood and iron filings collected on them, the letters began to glow again: Mutants, the future.

"Looks like Magneto really has lost his mind," Adrian muttered as he stepped out of the car, furrowing his brows at the sight before him.

There were no passersby left, no lights but the dim glow from the building's top floor.

It was no wonder people had once supported Magneto even after he began feeding humans to dinosaurs in stadiums. The man had lost his humanity long ago.

If you think about it, it makes sense. Forty-three years ago, to secure a place for mutants in this world, Magneto killed his own daughter. He watched his son die before his eyes, and despite the great sacrifices, mutant numbers continued to dwindle. Now, there are only a few hundred left.

Mutants, once hailed as "the next step in human evolution," have become a bitter joke.

After Adrian stepped out, Frank was the first to jump out of the car, gripping his gun. He stared at the impaled victims on the skyscraper, his eyes burning with anger, teeth clenched.

"No one else is killing him. He's mine," Frank growled, throwing his jacket onto the driver's seat and revealing the faded white skull on his shirt.