Erik knew this wasn't what they needed—far from it. They should be with someone like Charles; after all, nearly every mutant would be better off with Charles. But they weren’t with him—they were with Erik. No, it was Magneto now.

A part of him screamed, trying to reason, to tell him that dragging these mutants into this war wasn’t right. But that voice was drowned out by the stronger part of him, the part that knew what he truly was. They didn’t need this, but they wanted it, and sometimes, what one wants feels like a need, doesn’t it?

So, he couldn’t see anything wrong with wanting; it was a human thing. And whatever they wanted, he provided.

Like now. He had helped them find the person they so desperately wanted to destroy—to vent their anger on, just as he had with Shaw.

He let them do as they pleased. They deserved it, after all, for what they had to gone through. They deserved to destroy their creator. He understood that better than anyone.

Magneto watched with a cold, calculating gaze. The sounds of battle—the grunts, the clashes, the desperate pleas of their victim—filled the air, but Erik’s mind was elsewhere, lost in the shadows of his own memories.

He had been here before. The rage, the need for vengeance, it all felt so familiar. But this time, it wasn’t just about him; it was about them. These mutants looked up to him now, seeing him as their savior, their leader. And in a way, he had become that. But it was a twisted salvation he offered, one that demanded a heavy price.

Eventually, their victim dropped to the ground—dead.

Magneto stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on the mutant's back. “You did well,” he said.