Chapter 45: So Damn Cool!
Mark changed into a set of black trench coat.
Exquisite suit pants wrapped his long and powerful legs. The white shirt underneath had its collar slightly open, and he wore the well-tailored black trench coat over it.
Standing on the street corner, he exuded a strong British style.
That blue and gold superhero battle suit was still too conspicuous.
At least.
Before he could figure out the true depth of this world, being low-key was always the right move.
Mark walked slowly down the street with his hands tucked into the trench coat pockets.
His gaze swept over the surrounding streets, buildings, and crowds, finally landing on the ubiquitous billboards.
superhero.
superhero.
Still superhero.
The Vought Corporation logo was visible everywhere.
A-Train's sports drink ads, Queen Maeve's cosmetic endorsements, The Deep's home appliance promotions, Black Noir's military recruitment posters, and—Homelander.
Mark retracted his gaze and calculated silently in his mind.
It was now certain: this was the TV series version of The Boys.
What did that mean?
It meant the inventor of Compound V was already dead.
It meant the entire Vought Corporation's scientific research capability was too weak to be an organization capable of creating the Super Soldier Serum.
So how was he supposed to obtain superpowers?
Did he have to mass-produce Superhuman and then see if there was a rare type among them capable of absorbing superpowers and granting them to others?
Mark shook his head, pushing the thought out of his mind.
It was too much of a waste of time.
Capitalist companies were just like that.
They could plagiarize the labor achievements of others to enrich themselves, and their powerful judicial capabilities allowed them to always stand on the side of justice.
The small companies whose work was plagiarized were either absorbed or destroyed; there was simply no third option.
So he wasn't planning on trusting the research capabilities of these companies.
The question then arose—
Which organization had stronger research capabilities?
In this world, comparing based on the existing conditions...
Almost instantly, Mark arrived at the answer.
The nation.
If the entire research capability of an entire nation was used to study Compound V, then there would be no problem.
But before that, he first had to establish righteousness.
He had to make the people of this world believe he was benevolent, that he was here to protect them, and that he was trustworthy.
After all, he was considered half of their own kind.
Under normal circumstances, he didn't want to bring genocide to this world directly.
Although that time on Planet F was quite satisfying, those were invaders; the nature was different.
"Then I should go do some good deeds."
Mark gave a wry smile.
As soon as the words left his mouth, a television screen in an appliance store by the street caught his attention.
In the news footage, a passenger plane was wobbling through the sky.
The anchor's voice came through the TV, laced with professional tension.
"Breaking News! A passenger plane flying from New York to Los Angeles has been hijacked by thugs!"
"Analysis suggests the hijackers likely intend to replicate the The Boys 9/11 incident from over a decade ago! That disaster led to the collapse of the Brooklyn Bridge and the deaths of hundreds!"
"And now, Homelander and Queen Maeve are rushing to the scene, but whether they can arrive in time remains an unknown variable!"
Mark raised an eyebrow.
Isn't this that time?
In the original story, Homelander and Queen Maeve did arrive.
They did indeed "save" that plane.
Or more accurately, Homelander flew next to the plane, took a few handsome photos, and then watched as the plane crashed, killing everyone aboard.
It wasn't that Homelander couldn't save them.
It was that he simply didn't want to save them.
Because once he rushed into the cabin, the chaos in such a confined space would be impossible to control.
He couldn't guarantee he could subdue the thugs without damaging the aircraft's structure.
He also couldn't guarantee that no awkward footage would be captured afterward.
So the simplest method was...
Let the plane crash, then claim, "We did our best, but it was too late."
Mark looked up at the sky.
With his X-ray vision, he could see a small dot moving rapidly in the distance.
"Boom!"
A sonic boom exploded above the street!
On the plane.
The passengers were huddled in their seats, trembling.
Some were crying softly, some were praying in low voices, and some just sat there blankly with vacant eyes.
Two thugs walked back and forth in the aisle, holding handguns.
"Fly steady! Head toward that bridge!"
The thug shouted at the pilot, "Any bridge will do! We're going to create another 9/11!
Let those so-called heroes see that they can't protect anyone!"
The pilot's hand was shaking, but he dared not disobey.
The plane slowly adjusted its direction, heading toward a cross-sea bridge.
In the back row of economy class, a young mother tightly hugged her daughter.
The Little girl was about five or six years old, with brown hair tied into two small braids. At the moment, she buried her face in her mother's chest, her small body trembling.
"Mommy... will a hero come to protect us?"
The mother's heart ached as if stabbed by a knife.
She took a deep breath, trying to make her voice sound calm and full of hope.
"Yes, they will."
"They absolutely will!"
The thug looked around at the terrified faces and suddenly burst into laughter.
"Everyone, stop screaming!"
"Even if you scream until your throats are raw, no one is coming to save you!"
He walked to the window, pointed at the clear sky outside.
"Those heroes won't make it in time! We've calculated their flight speeds! By the time they arrive, we'll have already crashed into the bridge!"
He turned around, spread his arms wide, as if embracing something sacred.
"Join us, and die together—for a better world!"
A chorus of desperate wails echoed through the cabin.
On the shore, at the live news broadcast site.
The anchor stood on a temporarily constructed stage.
Behind him were the surging sea and the city skyline vaguely visible in the distance.
"It's happening again! It's happening again!"
He shouted at the camera.
"The hijackers now have precise knowledge of every hero's flight speed!
They calculated the timing! In every instance, they will complete their goal before the heroes can arrive!"
His gaze turned toward the sky, where the plane was slowly descending.
"Who on earth can salvage this situation?!"
His voice carried a tone of near-desperate anticipation.
According to the script Vought Corporation had given him, he should now say, "Can Homelander really make it in time?"
This was intended to increase Homelander's exposure.
The company needed every crisis to become a superheroshowcase, needed every disaster to be a stepping stone for Homelander's glorious image.
He opened his mouth, preparing to utter that familiar line.
But the next second—
"Huh?"
He saw it.
In the bright, clear sky, a streak of crimson suddenly appeared.
What was that?
As an old hand who had struggled in the news industry for decades, the anchor had studied countless images of Superhuman.
He knew Homelander's flight speed.
But this one before him—
This speed, this momentum!
Homelander absolutely couldn't compare!!
This was...
What was this?!
The anchor felt his entire body trembling.
In decades in the profession, he had seen too many staged acts, too much performance, too many meticulously designed 'heroic arrivals.'
He had long grown numb to those things.
But at this moment, an unprecedented surge of heroism flooded his chest, making his scalp tingle and his eyes burn.
There was not the slightest pretense.
Not a hint of acting.
A streak of crimson cut across the horizon, charging straight toward the battle zone!
The anchor gripped the microphone and spoke to the camera.
His voice was hoarse from excitement, but every word seemed to roar from his very soul.
"I don't know who that is!!!"
"I don't know who that is—!!!"
"But my eyes, tempered by decades of discerning right from wrong, tell me—that is a Hero!!"
"Not a clown on the sidelines!!"
"That is a true Hero!!"
He took a deep breath and roared the final line with all his might.
"Although the timing is wrong, I still want to risk being fired to say this!"
"The way this Hero is flying—"
"Is so damn cool!!!"
Chapter 46: Worth the Price of Admission!
"For a better world, let us die together!"
The Thug opened his arms, his smile twisted like a piece of newspaper that had been crumpled up and then flattened out again.
His voice echoed through the cabin, like a thousand crows screaming at once.
He forced the pilot to steer the plane toward the bridge.
The pilot's hands were trembling, veins bulging on the back of his hands like twisted green snakes.
But he had no choice—the cold muzzle of a gun pressed against the back of his head, the chill of the metal piercing through his skin and straight to his marrow.
The instinct to survive made him feel like a fish pressed against a chopping block, forced to obey.
The plane began to dive.
Outside the window, the bridge drew closer and closer.
But at this moment, Mark had already arrived outside the plane.
His cape snapped in the vacuum, like a burning battle flag.
His gaze pierced through the window, seeing everything inside.
The crying little girl, the mother clutching her daughter, the desperate pilot, and the two maniacally laughing Thugs.
If he were to tear the fuselage apart directly, the air pressure would instantly suck everyone out.
Rain people down upon the earth?
Mark would not accept such an ending.
So he thought of a solution that adhered more closely to the laws of physics.
Although in this world, physics was merely a polite suggestion to him.
Sir Newton! For the safety of the people, I'll have to borrow your coffin lid!!
With one breath!
"Viterum Traversal!"
Almost in an instant, that blood-red cape turned into a crimson bolt of lightning, piercing directly through the tail of the plane!
The metal was as soft as tofu before him.
Bulkheads, seats, luggage racks...
Everything parted to the sides within that blood-red light, like Moses parting the Red Sea.
Piercing through countless cabin doors, piercing through terrified gazes, piercing through a second that felt stretched out like a century.
He arrived in the passenger aisle.
The little girl was still crying.
Her tears rolled down her cheeks, crystal clear, like shattered glass.
She held her mother tightly, her small body trembling like a fledgling bird with nowhere to hide in a storm.
The next second, a blood-red wind swept past her eyes.
The wind was so fast that it left no afterimage on her retinas.
She only saw a flash of red light, and then—the worldwent quiet.
Looking closely again, the Thug had already lost his upper body.
That person who had been laughing maniacally, whole and alive just a second ago, now only had a pair of legs standing in place.
The cut was as smooth as if sliced by the sharpest blade, not even having time to bleed yet.
The red wind had not stopped!
Viterum Traversal continued.
Mark arrived directly in the cockpit!
In the split second before the Thug could react.
That gap so short it couldn't even be measured in nanoseconds.
Mark was already standing in front of him!
In the Thug's pupils, the figure in the blue and gold suit was reflected.
The figure was too fast, too fast for his brain to process the information, too fast for his fear to even crawl onto his face.
"Viltrumite Hand Chop!"
No unnecessary movements, no flashy opening stance.
Just an arc of light.
The Thug's gun-wielding arm was severed at the elbow.
The hand still maintained its grip on the gun, flying off along with half of the forearm, slowly flipping in the air like a leaf caught in the wind.
Blood gushed from the stump, blooming like a scarlet flower in the cockpit.
The pilot regained his freedom.
Another hand chop cut horizontally upward.
A fine head soared into the sky!
The face on that head still bore a look of confusion before death.
Eyes wide open, mouth slightly agape, as if wanting to say something, but there was no longer any chance.
The headless corpse swayed and then crashed down.
And at this moment, due to momentum and acceleration, the plane was still moving forward.
Under the influence of the atmosphere.
Strong counter-currents poured in through the hole that had been pierced through the tail of the plane.
Like countless invisible hands.
Tearing at the seats, swirling the luggage, twisting the screams and cries into a chaotic drone.
"No!! This won't work!!"
The pilot screamed in a breakdown, his voice torn to shreds in the gale.
"Even if it's like this, the Thug is dead, all of us will still be buried beneath the blue sky!!"
He pointed at the huge hole, his eyes bloodshot, as if they might drip blood at any moment.
"Why did you do this?! With such a huge hole in the plane, how can we ensure our safety in the air?!"
There was a despairing, extreme anger in his voice.
Why, why tear this hope to pieces after giving it to them?
Mark looked at him.
The young man stood before the shattered cockpit window, with the whistling gale, the torn metal, and the blinding sunlight behind him.
His blood-red cape snapped in the wind like a burning flame, but he stood as steady as a mountain, without moving an inch.
"It's simple."
He said.
Then, he waved one arm.
The blood-red cape reversed!
Amidst the blazing red light, he was like a savior god descended from the heavens.
"I'll just protect the entire plane directly, won't I?"
As the words fell, Mark smashed the window in front of the cockpit with a punch!
Shattered glass splattered in the wind, like millions of diamonds exploding in the air.
Sunlight poured in through the gap, coating him in a golden rim of light.
At this moment, his cultivation was no longer hidden!
Viltrumite cultivation!!!
Dash out!
Turn around!
Mark thrust one arm forward, his palm pressed against the very front of the plane!
At that moment, time seemed to stand still.
The Smart Atoms within his body activated crazily!
The Viltrumite Smart Atoms, though not as monstrous as Superman's Bio-field which didn't require any contact to protect objects.
But as long as contact could be made!
For an object the size of a mere plane, the Viltrumite Smart Atoms could completely adhere to it and reinforce its structure!
Allowing it to withstand the power of a Viltrumite!
The plane, hovered.
It just hovered there in mid-air, less than twenty meters from the bridge.
Still as a painting.
That terrifying inertia which would easily crush an ordinary person into blood and foam.
That violent airflow capable of tearing steel apart!
Before Mark, it was nothing more than a breeze against his forehead.
The plane stopped, and the counter-currents ceased.
Mark moved directly beneath the plane, supporting the entire aircraft with one arm, and flew slowly toward the shore.
Sunlight shone from the side, hitting him.
The blue and gold suit reflected a warm glow, and the blood-red cape swayed gently in the wind, like a newly raised flag.
And that hand holding up the entire plane.
Where the palm made contact with the steel, there wasn't even a trace of effort visible.
It was as if he wasn't carrying a behemoth weighing over a hundred tons, but a feather, a cloud.
On the shore.
The host held the microphone, standing in front of the broadcast desk.
His voice was already hoarse, but he was still roaring.
"We still have hope!!"
He widened his eyes, his eye sockets slightly reddened from excessive strain.
He saw it!
He saw the hero in the blood-red cape pierce straight through the plane like a sharp sword!
"Go for it, hero! Now, it's all up to you!!"
But the next second, he saw it—the plane had been pierced through.
That hole, so big, so glaring.
The barrage exploded instantly.
[Holy shit! What is this guy trying to do?]
[Is he trying to rip the plane apart alive? I admit it's kind of cool, but what about the people on the plane?]
[Damn, are those passengers doomed to die?]
Countless voices converged on the internet into an ocean of despair.
"No——!! I said it, we still have hope!!"
The host suddenly shouted!
The entire broadcast platform suddenly fell silent!
He raised the microphone to his lips, using all his strength, as if trying to roar his very soul out:
"Go! Go, hero! A man's passion should be found on such a path of charging forward! It should be found on such a path of saving lives!!"
"I believe!!"
His voice was so hoarse it was almost tearing apart, but every word landed with impact, like a heavy hammer striking everyone's heart.
"As handsome as you are!! You will definitely be able to save the passengers of this plane!!"
He raised his fist, waving it toward the sky!
Forget the script, the lines, the career prospects—fuck it all!
It's just a mere one hundred thousand U.S. dollars in breach of contract fees!
His thirty years of savings... he would bear it all!!
At this moment, he was not some global news host, not some puppet of the Vought Corporation.
He was just a person.
An ordinary person who believed in heroes from the bottom of his heart.
And then—
"As you wish."
A grand voice descended directly from the sky!
Like a god responding to a mortal's prayer.
High above, the plane moved.
It did not fall.
It began to descend.
But the way it descended made everyone forget to breathe.
A hand.
A hand supporting the plane from underneath.
That hand was so small, almost insignificant compared to the massive airliner!
But it held the entire plane steadily.
Slowly, calmly, as if carrying a falling feather, it flew toward the shore.
The divine one, coming from the other side of the sea...
At this moment.
Everyone watching him was devout and sincere!
Sunlight shone from the side, hitting the man and the machine.
The blood-red cape snapped in the wind, like a burning battle flag.
The blue and gold suit reflected the sun's light, so dazzling that people dared not look directly at it.
The figure hovered beneath the plane, supporting the entire weight of the aircraft with one arm.
Like the giant god in myths holding up the sky, like the god descended to save the masses in murals.
He descended slowly.
At this moment the sun was high, and countless rays of light shone on his sides, setting him off like a divine messenger descended from the sun.
In the live stream room, there was dead silence.
The barrage was blank for a full three seconds.
And then—
[Holy crap]
[Holy crap holy crap holy crap]
[Is this something a human can do?!]
[A miracle! This is definitely a miracle!]
[He is not human! He is a god! A true god!]
[Mom, I've seen a god!]
[What is a true hero?! This is what you call a true hero!]
[Who is Homelander? I don't know him! I only know him!]
The host's microphone slipped from his hand, hitting the desk with a dull thud.
But he didn't pick it up.
He just stood there blankly, looking up.
Watching the figure getting closer and closer.
Watching the plane held up by one hand, watching the golden rim the sunlight coated him in.
Two lines of hot tears slid down silently.
"This..."
His voice was choked, incoherent, but every word was squeezed from the depths of his soul.
"This is truly... a miracle!"
Seeing this scene, even if I were to die immediately, it would be worth the price of admission!
...
Tomorrow is the debut, I ask the esteemed readers for some five-star reviews.
The author promises, for every additional five-star review, I will update one more chapter tomorrow!
Chapter 47: The People Above All Else!
The plane landed steadily on the ground.
The instant the landing gear touched the ground, the entire fuselage shook slightly.
The cabin door opened, and the evacuation slide quickly inflated and deployed.
Countless passengers rushed out from inside.
Some knelt on the ground, frantically kissing the earth.
Some embraced each other, weeping loudly.
Some looked up to the sky, tearfully thanking some unknown deity.
"We survived!"
"I'm alive! I'm really alive!"
"Oh God, I thought I was going to die..."
Cheers, cries, and prayers blended together, echoing across the airport tarmac.
And amidst this chaos,
A brown-haired Little girl, holding her mother's hand, walked through the crowd, step by step, toward the figure standing not far away.
That was a man wearing a blue and gold uniform.
His crimson cape swayed gently in the light breeze, and the sunlight outlined a soft golden edge around him.
He stood there quietly, gently watching these survivors.
The Little girl reached him and stopped.
She looked up, her eyes, still bearing tear stains, sparkled as if filled with stars.
"Are you a hero?"
Her voice was childish, yet remarkably clear.
Not far away, the host was directing the cameraman to adjust the angle.
Hearing those words, his heart skipped a beat.
This scene—
This scene was absolutely epic footage!
He possessed the intuition honed over decades of journalistic experience, that keen sense for a 'historic moment.'
"Quick! Zoom in on the lens!" he whispered to the cameraman, "Focus on them! The background—use that sea and the sun on the horizon!"
The camera slowly pushed in.
The figures of Mark and the Little girl.
With the vast ocean and the setting sun about to sink below the horizon as their backdrop, they appeared softly on the screens of tens of millions of viewers.
Mark squatted down, meeting her clear eyes at eye level.
He reached out and gently brushed away a lingering tear from the Little girl's cheek.
"I am your hero, child."
His voice was as gentle as a March wind.
"As long as you need me, I can be a hero."
The Little girl blinked, seemingly not quite understanding the meaning of his words.
"Then who exactly are you?" she asked again.
The person before her had not claimed to be a 'hero.'
Nor did he, like members of The Seven, immediately start with, 'I am here to protect you,' or 'You can trust me forever.'
He had only said: I am your hero.
As long as you need me.
Mark smiled.
The smile was gentle and profound, as if hiding endless stories.
"In my homeland," he said, "people call me 'The Guardian of the People.'"
He paused, his gaze sweeping past the Little girl.
Looking toward the crowd—those weeping, cheering, and embracing.
Looking toward the cameras broadcasting live, toward the countless eyes behind the lenses watching this scene.
"As long as the people need me, I can be anyone, whether a spear or a shield."
"Everything for my brethren."
As soon as he finished speaking, he gently pulled the Little girl into an embrace, then stood up and hoisted her onto his shoulder.
The Little girl gasped, then burst into giggles.
She had never been lifted to such a height.
Simply sitting on someone's shoulder felt like being carried by a giant.
The whole world spread out beneath her feet, and everyone was looking up at her—and at the person beneath her.
"My existence,"
"Is to lift you high."
Mark looked up at the Little girl on his shoulder, then looked toward the camera, his voice clear and firm.
"Because—"
"The People Above All Else."
At that moment, the sun had just dipped below the horizon.
The golden afterglow spread across the entire sky, coating Mark in an almost sacred halo.
The Little girl sat on his shoulder, smiling like a newly bloomed flower.
And Mark, that young man clad in blue and gold armor and wearing a crimson cape, calmly turned around, facing the camera directly.
He smiled.
The smile was incomparably brilliant, like sunshine itself.
"Everyone, I know you are curious about my identity."
His voice clearly reached every viewer watching the live broadcast.
"My name is Mark Grayson.
I am not from Earth, but a Viltrum from countless light-years away."
In the live chat, the barrage of comments instantly exploded.
["Alien?! "]
["Holy crap, is that real?! "]
["He said he's an alien?! "]
But Mark's voice continued, as if possessing a magic that quieted everyone down.
"But to me, we share the same appearance, the same thoughts, the same goals."
"Therefore, you are my brethren."
His gaze was gentle and profound, as if he could see through the lens to every audience member watching him.
"I am Mark Grayson, of the Viltrum royal family."
"I have seen your suffering."
At this point, the smile on his face slowly faded, replaced by a deep sorrow.
A crystal gleam appeared in his black eyes.
A single tear slid down his cheek.
That tear shimmered with golden light in the sunset's afterglow, like a falling star.
"This makes me sad."
Chapter 48: Invincible!
The live broadcast room fell into a dead silence.
And then—
[Holy crap, he's crying?!]
[No way, is he actually crying?!]
[He... is he crying for us?]
Mark raised his hand and gently wiped the tears from his face.
But the crystalline light in his eyes had not faded.
"From now on, my name will be—Invincible."
His voice suddenly became resolute, like steel striking steel, like an oath carved into a stone monument.
"I swear, from this day forward, I will protect the Earth."
"I swear, from this day forward, I will protect my compatriots."
"From now on, I will use everything I have to stop disasters from happening."
"Because—"
He took a deep breath, his gaze piercing through the camera, through the screen, through thousands of miles, landing directly in everyone's heart.
"Long live the people!"
"I will stand with you."
"Until the last star is extinguished."
Quiet.
The entire world seemed to fall silent.
That silence wasn't the absence of sound, but something deeper.
It was as if millions of people were holding their breath simultaneously, as if everything present had the pause button pressed.
The barrage of comments was blank for a full five seconds.
And then—
[...]
[I... I don't know what to say.]
[What is this feeling?]
Someone silently typed this sentence onto the screen.
[I don't know, I can't comprehend it.
But in this moment, looking at this hero, I actually shed tears.]
[I've never had an experience like this before.
Is this... the feeling of being loved?]
[Yes, it is love.]
[A love without reason, yet one that comes from the heart!]
[Mark Grayson! Invincible!]
[You are my only hero!]
The comments exploded.
More and more people felt that indescribable impact.
That wasn't acting, wasn't a show, wasn't carefully designed PR speech.
It was a sincere, unreserved, almost divine level of care emanating from the heart.
It was as if this person had embraced the entire planet in his arms.
It was as if he saw and remembered the pain of every single person.
It was as if—he truly was their guardian.
What great love this was, making it seem as if the planet belonged to him!
...
"Did they save the plane?"
"Those bastards finally did one good thing."
Deep in the snowy mountains, in a secluded villa.
The fire in the fireplace was burning brightly, the logs crackling.
A man in a long black coat sat on the sofa, holding a cup of coffee.
His facial features were sharp, his eyes sinister, as if daggers could shoot out from the depths of his eyes at any moment.
Butcher.
He looked at the young man with the brilliant smile on the TV screen, a mocking curve pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"Invincible?" He scoffed, "Hah, spinning another lie about an alien.
How unoriginal."
He took a sip of coffee.
"A new hero developed by Vought Corporation? Why does he seem even stronger than Homelander?"
He stared at the face on the screen, at those gentle eyes, at the tear sliding down his cheek.
For some inexplicable reason, he was momentarily stunned.
Why was this guy's smile so different from those Superhuman?
He could recognize the smiles of those scumbags instantly—they were hypocritical, pretentious, hiding filth behind them.
But this person's smile...
It held a sense of supreme benevolence, a tolerance as if an emperor were looking down upon the masses.
And this emperor was a kind and enlightened ruler!
He shook his head, throwing that absurd feeling out of his mind.
"He really knows how to act," he muttered, turning off the TV. "I'll find your dirt too.
After you've completely lost your future, I will personally kill you."
He stood up, preparing to leave the living room—
"No, no, this... How can there be a Super like this?!"
An old voice, thick with a heavy accent, came from the side, filled with disbelief.
Butcher turned his head and looked.
Vogelbaum.
The inventor of Compound V, the father of Superhuman.
He was standing by the window, staring intently at the now black screen of the television.
His aged face was full of confusion and shock regarding the unknown.
"Do you have any insight into him?" Butcher walked back with a smile.
"No, this is wrong, Butcher!"
Vogelbaum turned around, his withered fingers waving in the air. "My serum couldn't possibly create such a powerful Super!
Absolutely impossible!"
He paused, a flicker of suspicion flashing in his cloudy eyes.
"Could it be... there's a young talent in Vought Corporationwho surpasses me?"
Butcher raised an eyebrow.
"With so many people researching together, they're bound to come up with something new."
He said casually, "You are indeed a genius, Baum.
But there will always be successors."
He walked up to Vogelbaum and patted his old, wrinkled face.
"Just focus on helping me research the Super extinction serum," he said.
He smiled, and that smile carried a hint of bloodlust.
"I have a premonition—we'll be using it soon."
With that, he turned and left, his black coat billowing behind him.
Chapter 49: Homelander
Vought Corporation building, top-floor Chairman's office.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the dusk of the entire city was in full view.
The lights of ten thousand homes spread out like stars, and traffic weaved across overpasses like flowing rivers of light.
And the wealthiest person in this world, the true wielder of power, stood at the very top of this river of light.
Stan Edgar stood before the window, holding a glass of red wine.
His gaze fell upon the massive television screen on the wall.
The screen was replaying the footage from moments ago.
That man called "Invincible," carrying a little girl on his shoulder, shedding tears for the camera.
"Is someone under me developing new heroes behind my back?"
His voice was calm, devoid of any emotion.
As a competent businessman, he understood every product under his command.
Homelander was strong, but he was absolutely not as strong as that new Superhuman on the television.
That guy...
Edgar's brow furrowed slightly.
Strong like a real alien.
Instead of a mutated hybrid human.
He took a puff of his cigar, slowly exhaling the smoke.
"However..."
The corners of his mouth curled up slightly.
"My subordinates have finally given me a bit of a surprise."
"A very good character image—young, handsome, and with an Easterner's sense of elegance."
He thought for a moment, a shrewd glint flashing in his eyes.
"Perhaps... he can be used to seize a portion of the Chinese market."
Edgar raised his glass and took a sip of red wine.
He didn't feel impatient.
As long as it was a Superhuman, it was his property.
He was the mastermind behind all the heroes in this world.
No matter how strong Homelander was, he still had to obediently follow his arrangements.
This newcomer, "Invincible," would be no exception.
"Put on a good show, Invincible."
He spoke softly, his voice carrying a condescending playfulness, "And then, like a dog, crawl before me."
Edgar clapped his hands: "Ha, ha, ha, ha, haha, ha..."
The laughter was rhythmic and forceful, full of the feeling of money.
He laughed, his smile full of a capitalist's composure and confidence.
...
Tens of thousands of feet high in the sky.
Above the clouds, the afterglow of the setting sun dyed the entire sky a warm orange-red.
Homelander hovered in the air, one hand hooking Meiying's bracelet.
Because Meifu couldn't fly.
His other hand was leisurely grooming his golden hair.
The sunlight hit his face, illuminating that perfect, flawless countenance.
"How do I look right now, Meifu?" he asked with a smile, his tone full of confidence.
Queen Maeve awkwardly twitched the corner of her mouth.
"Very... very handsome," she praised him against her will.
"Of course," Homelander continued to smile, his confidence appearing innate, "I always am."
He was born to be the center of this world.
Although someone had hurt the employees in his corporation and killed his subordinate heroes yesterday.
But so what?
He would soon drag that guy out and burn him to cinders with his Heat Vision.
But the most important thing right now was—
"Hmm?"
Homelander's smile froze on his face.
He stopped flying and looked down at the clouds below with a grim expression.
"What's wrong, Homelander?" Queen Maeve asked in confusion.
She didn't have Homelander's Super Vision and couldn't see what he saw.
"Where's the plane?"
Homelander's voice dropped, "Why haven't I seen even the Shadow of a plane in this entire sky?"
He furrowed his brow.
"What is the Marketing Department in the company even doing? Where the hell is my plane?!"
But in the next second, his Super Hearing caught something.
It was a burst of cheering.
A burst of laughter.
It was... the sound of a crowd surrounding a hero.
Homelander was all too familiar with it.
Because he was often surrounded by such sounds.
That feeling of being worshipped, loved, and crowded was his reason for living.
But now—
What is going on?
Those cheers... that crowding... that worship...
They should belong to me!
Homelander's face instantly turned livid.
He lowered his head, his gaze piercing through the clouds and the distance, landing straight on the ground.
There, a crowd was surrounding a figure.
A man whose styling was identical to his!
The blue and gold Battle suit, the red Cape, the perfect smile, the scene of being surrounded by the crowd—
That should be mine!
Damn it!!!
A surge of blood rushed to Homelander's head.
His eyes instantly turned crimson, Heat Vision ready to burst from his sockets.
He wanted nothing more than to charge down right now and burn that bastard who plagiarized his styling to ashes with a blast of Heat Vision!
"Whew... whew..."
Homelander inhaled deeply, then exhaled deeply.
His hands clenched and unclenched, unclenched and clenched.
He saw them.
He saw the cameras below.
As a public figure, he couldn't lose his composure in front of the lens.
He couldn't show expressions of anger and jealousy before the whole world.
He had to be perfect, he had to be radiant, he had to be the Homelander who was always smiling.
"Come down with me, Meifu."
His voice was low, carrying a suppressed rage, "I want to see the guy who plagiarized my styling."
"Huh?" Queen Maeve was stunned.
Someone actually dared to copy Homelander's styling? Is anyone in the Marketing Department actually that brave now?
But Homelander had already grabbed her hand and begun to dive downward.
The sound of the wind howled in her ears, and the clouds whipped past.
That perfect face was now completely gloomy.
Chapter 50: You Aren't Even One Ten-Thousandth of Me
"Oh, let me see where this little Homelander came from."
A voice rang out from beyond the crowd, carrying a hint of playfulness and mockery.
Everyone's eyes were drawn toward it.
Up in the sky, Homelander was slowly descending, pulling Queen Maeve along.
His signature red cape fluttered in the wind, and a trademark smile hung on his perfect face—though that smile didn't seem to reach his eyes.
Mark's gaze also shifted over.
He first saw Homelander.
The same style of outfit as his—a blue-and-gold suit with a red cape.
But on the other man, it lacked that certain presence.
After all, he wasn't an Emperor.
Heh, weakling.
Mark's gaze shifted, landing on Queen Maeve, who was offering a soft smile to the public.
She had a standard Caucasian appearance but with long brown hair.
Her features were sharp and full of heroic spirit, like a female warrior stepped out of an ancient mural.
Her physique was indeed modeled after the Wonder Woman next door—a healthy kind of sturdiness, with rounded thighs that looked quite fleshy.
Mark's brow furrowed slightly.
He hated this kind of situation.
In his life, Mark liked two types of people most: good people and bad people.
As long as you did something bad, I could treat you as a bad person.
And then smash your head with a single punch.
Like Homelander, for instance, or most Superhumans.
But this Queen Maeve before him...
She had done some good.
She was one of the rare normal people in The Seven, much like Starlight.
And she was the only one among them who dared to provoke Homelander.
This suited a Viltrumite's taste quite well.
It also made it difficult for Mark to categorize her as a bad person.
This left Mark in an awkward position.
Should I kill you with a Viltrumite Hand Chop? Or kill you with a Viterum Traversal?
Heaven knows how agonizing it is for someone with decision paralysis to face a choice.
"You don't really have any value for me to imitate, Mr. Homelander."
Mark smiled as he walked toward Homelander.
His steps were composed and his posture elegant, like a king inspecting his territory.
"You should be glad.
Because heaven favored you, letting you wear the same style as me.
Otherwise—"
He paused, his smile deepening.
"You wouldn't be able to imitate even one ten-thousandth of me in your entire life."
Homelander's smile froze on his face.
"As a hero, all you care about is your outfit?
Instead of caring about the safety of the masses?"
His tone was light, yet it was like a blade, accurately stabbing into the place Homelander cared about most.
!?
Homelander's eyes narrowed.
He felt like a massive label was being forced onto him.
What kind of mysterious Chinese power was this?
Was this damn guy in front of him digging a pit for him with just a casual remark?
Which competitor sent him?
No.
I am the strongest Superhuman.
I have no competitors!
"Haha," Homelander laughed, a smile so bright it was almost perfect, "Not even one ten-thousandth of you?
I really don't know what to say to you youngsters."
He reached out his hand, his posture elegant and composed.
"But I care about the safety of the masses, and I don't spend my energy comparing strength.
Hello, I'm Homelander—the strongest superhero."
Mark looked at the outstretched hand and smiled.
He also reached out and shook it.
The next second, a laughable crushing force came from the palm.
Mark had to force his Smart Atoms into action to barely keep himself from laughing out loud.
How cute.
To actually think he could rely on that shallow grip strength to hurt a Viltrumite?
Homelander looked at Mark's calm expression and felt increasingly that something was wrong.
He felt like what he was holding was practically a steel plate.
No, a steel plate wouldn't be this hard!
Was there anything this hard in the world?
What was the deal with this guy?
His physical stats are actually on par with mine?!
The next second, Homelander realized he was wrong.
Because Mark squeezed back.
Five fingers slowly tightened.
Homelander felt his bones being crushed together, letting out a slight, almost inaudible creak.
"Mgh..."
Homelander let out a muffled groan.
But he couldn't let go.
He even had to force out a smile.
"What a beautiful smile, Mr. Homelander."
Mark said with a smile, his tone as sincere as if he were praising an old friend:
"On such a wonderful day, you should smile more.
I hope you can keep smiling like this every day from now on."
He continued to hold on.
Homelander began to struggle to break free.
He kept trying to pull his hand back, only to find that Mark's hand seemed fixed to his, completely impossible to shake off.
That power was like a mountain.
His eyes began to redden.
Not because of the pain—well, okay, it was partly the pain—but more because of a sense of helplessness he had never experienced before.
If it hurt any more, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from firing his Heat Vision.
He was Homelander.
The strongest superhero.
The god of this world.
But now.
He was being held by the hand like a little chick, unable to break free, unable to move.
Chapter 51: I'll kill you sooner or later, kid!
Mark watched the red light beginning to flicker in Homelander's eyes and let go of his hand with a smile.
After all, this was his debut.
He couldn't show any bad side in front of the masses.
He even less wanted this "superpower backup bank" in front of him to ruin his plan.
He turned around and walked towards Maeve.
"Hey, hello, beautiful Queen."
Mark smiled and reached out his hand, his tone carrying a hint of perfectly measured appreciation.
"I'm Mark Grayson. Invincible."
Queen Maeve looked at the young man before her.
He was taller than Homelander, yet not as rugged as those North American tough guys; instead, he carried a refined elegance unique to Easterners.
His features were handsome and his smile warm, like a fair-faced young man who had stepped out of an Eastern painting.
He was in a completely different style from those rough guys in North American culture.
"Calling a lady beautiful right when we meet?" Maeve smiled and reached out to shake his hand.
She found his hand warm and strong, but he didn't use force like Homelander did.
It was just a polite, perfectly measured handshake.
"I feel like a youngster like you knows how to please an older sister like me."
She winked, her tone carrying a hint of teasing.
Mark gave a helpless smile.
He had almost forgotten—Queen Maeve was bisexual.
And given Maeve's height of 180cm, her strong physique, and her combat-oriented personality...
...then a fair-faced young man like him seemed to be right within her hunting range.
"It's just because you're too beautiful," Mark smiled, continuing the praise, "I really couldn't help myself."
He let go of her hand.
"Don't say that," the corners of Maeve's mouth curled up, "This middle-aged girl might take it seriously.
After all, I'm at an age where my heart is easily stirred."
She winked at Mark.
Holy shit...
Mark's smile shifted for a fleeting moment.
I was still thinking about whether to kill you.
And now you're lusting after my body?
Then I can only change it to... fucking you to death.
He started smiling again, a smile so gentle it could drown someone.
"If I could be chosen by you,"
He said softly, his gaze looking directly into Maeve's eyes, "then I would definitely be so happy I wouldn't be able to sleep all night."
Suddenly being gazed at so affectionately by Mark, Queen Maeve's face—immediately turned red.
And that clever host had already turned the camera this way.
A scene of heroes meeting is quite rare.
As a result, this scene was recorded—
Under the afterglow of the setting sun, Invincible, clad in his blue and gold suit, gazed tenderly at the heroic Queen Maeve.
Maeve's face was slightly flushed, with a hint of a shy smile at the corners of her mouth.
Behind the two of them was the sun gradually sinking into the horizon, a sky covered in golden light, and this land that had just witnessed a miracle.
The bullet chat immediately exploded.
Who knows how many times the bullet chat had been exploded today—
[Oh my god! I'm starting to ship this CP now!]
[Everyone, start leering now! I know it's hard, but this is an order!]
[That's too easy, Sir! I've been leering from the moment I saw Invincible and Queen Maeve meet!]
[Freaking Gan, you're a freaking genius!]
[Waaaah, my Queen is blushing! She's actually blushing!]
[Invincible is so smooth! Who can resist this kind of Eastern man's tenderness!]
Maeve naturally saw those bullet chats as well.
Although she didn't have super vision, the contact lenses provided by Vought Corporation came with a built-in live bullet chat function.
But her maidenly heart was indeed fluttering a bit now.
The Superhumans she met in the past all had that "I want to do you, I want to do you" look on their faces, like a bunch of horny poodles!
She finally met someone with a soul!
She gently bumped Mark with her shoulder.
"Young brat," she said with a smile, "do you know what love is?"
Mark looked at her, his smile deepening.
"Because at my age—"
He paused, lowering his voice to a volume only the two of them could hear:
"I'm the most capable."
The bullet chat exploded again.
[Ohohohoho~ Ohohoho! This feels so good to watch!]
[Anyone who can make that kind of weird sound could suck the marrow out of my bones in one go!]
[At Invincible's age, it really is the time when one is most capable!]
[Really very capable indeed~]
[Posting a distress signal online! I hope Invincible can come help me deal with an evil monster!]
[I can treat him to some sea salt water~]
Isn't that the truth.
He's 19 now.
It's exactly the age to be most capable!
Men after 25 are no good anymore.
What? I'm a Viltrumite?
Oh, then forget what I said.
I can still be capable at 250.
While Mark was flirting with his teammate, Homelanderstood to the side, his brow furrowing instantly.
But he didn't go over to speak.
He just secretly hid his hand behind his back.
His palm—was completely fractured.
His five fingers were twisted at an unnatural angle, and the skin underneath was a mass of deep purple.
Even with his strong recovery ability, it would take at least a week of rest to fully heal.
The look he gave Mark was dark and unreadable.
This guy... what's his deal?
His strength is actually this great!
But then, he felt relieved again.
It doesn't matter.
No matter how strong this guy's physical body is, his Heat Vision can burn the other party to a crisp!
He had plenty of ways to kill this little bastard who came out of nowhere.
I'll kill you sooner or later, kid.
...
I haven't reached my limit yet, I can still fight!
Over 60 reminders to update!
If I give up now, how can I face my great readers!
I, Sunny Old Bean, definitely cannot fall!
And I definitely will not fall!
Chapter 52: I Want You to Invite Him
Thanks to Dice Boss for the God-tier certification!!!
Master, please feel free to order Daji around~~
...
A sudden vibration came from Homelander's pants pocket.
At this moment when everyone was watching the hero, it seemed particularly... subtle.
Homelander frowned.
Who was calling him at a time like this?
He pulled out his phone, and the word "Mom" appeared prominently on the screen.
Below it was the contact name: Madelyn Stillwell.
Madelyn, Vice President of Vought Corporation and head of The Seven.
Also the only person who could keep Homelander in check.
Because she filled the entire void of maternal love for Homelander.
In this world, if anyone could make him behave, it was only this woman.
Homelander's originally cold face suddenly turned into a smile the moment he saw the name.
The transition of that smile was so natural and swift, it could be called the pinnacle of the art of face-changing.
"Hey, Madelyn."
Homelander's tone became relaxed, carrying a hint of closeness that only surfaced before his nearest and dearest.
Before her, he had to maintain his pride but couldn't appear too distant.
A gentle female voice came from the other end of the phone:
"It's alright to miss this opportunity, Homelander.
Disasters happen every day; the impact of this loss can be made up at any time."
Madelyn's voice carried comfort, like a mother soothing a child who had been wronged.
Homelander nodded, the smile on his face deepening.
"I know,"
"Don't forget, I'm the strongest superhero!"
"That's right, you're the best."
Madelyn's voice carried a hint of a smile, "But this guy in front of us is a problem.
I don't know which guy created him, but without a doubt, he is definitely your rival."
Her voice became serious.
"Same abilities as you, same outfit, even the same persona.
Though his persona has been innovated a bit.
Alien Emperor?
Heh, quite a story they've spun."
"Yeah,"
Homelander said happily, "Even my persona is just an alien who fell to Earth."
He smiled sincerely.
Finally, someone understood him.
Finally, someone could comfort him at a time like this.
"So I want you to approach him."
Madelyn's words fell.
Homelander's originally cheerful smile instantly froze on his face.
Holy shit!
My hand was just crushed by him, and now you want me to approach him with a smile?!
Is this something I, Homelander, should be doing?!
But Homelander could only think this in his heart.
Currently, regarding Madelyn, he would never show a bad expression.
"Ah, of course," he said, his voice still gentle, "If it's your request, of course I'll approach him.
I'll go approach him in a bit, and then?"
"And then?" Madelyn's voice didn't change at all, "Introduce him to me, of course.
I want to study carefully which competitor sent him."
Madelyn's words were very skillful.
She didn't directly tell Homelander, "I want to get to know Mark."
Instead, she comforted Homelander by saying she just wanted to understand his competitor.
But having been in Vought Corporation for so long, Homelander wasn't a fool either.
Wasn't it just seeing a new hero and wanting to bring him under her wing?
After all, heroes like them were just commodities in the eyes of Vought Corporation.
When encountering a better product, these capitalists would definitely be interested in the new find.
Homelander's face tightened.
He subconsciously looked at Mark, the man who was currently chatting and laughing with Maeve, a flash of uncontrollable anger in his eyes.
At this moment, only those students from Japan movies who bring a friend home and then do homework in the study could understand Homelander's feelings—
I bring you home, and you want to hit on my mom?!
Don't be such an NTR!
Even he, Homelander, had never done such a cross-generational thing!
The older the woman, the purer?
Damn it!
Who on Earth could say such a thing!
The son of such a person would definitely be a pervert!
"I can do whoever the fuck I want" should be my catchphrase!
"Stop it, Homelander."
Madelyn's voice became serious, "We really need to contact him.
He is your rival; we must understand him to solve him!"
"I don't need to understand him to solve him!"
Homelander's voice lowered, but with uncontrollable anger:
"I'm the strongest, you know that?
I am the strongest!"
"Will you win?"
"I will win!"
Facing Madelyn's doubt, Homelander spoke these words through gritted teeth.
These words were as heavy as a thousand pounds.
Just then, Madelyn's voice suddenly became anxious:
"Homelander, Edgar wants to talk to you."
The next second, Homelander's call was directly intercepted.
A steady male voice came from the receiver:
"Don't throw a tantrum, Homelander.
Go approach him.
We need to know our opponents, don't we?"
Edgar's voice was steady, even carrying a hint of comfort.
Homelander was his best product; until he found a better one, he would take care of this product's feelings.
"I told you, I'm the strongest!"
Homelander's voice dropped even lower, but the anger was about to burn through the receiver, "I can solve him!"
"That's an order, Homelander."
Edgar's voice suddenly turned cold, "I am the CEO of Vought Corporation."
Homelander's breath hitched.
"You'll regret this, Edgar!"
"Snap!"
He turned off the communicator and slammed it onto the ground.
That expensive, custom-made phone shattered into pieces on the airport's concrete floor.
Chapter 53: Cuckolding Me to My Face?
Homelander stood there, his chest heaving violently, his heavy breathing clearly audible even to the nearby crowd.
Someone instinctively looked at him.
Only to find Homelander's eyes reddening, as if lasers were about to shoot out at any second.
Homelander also realized he was losing his composure.
He quickly slapped his face with both hands and let out a heavy breath.
"Sorry,"
He forced a smile at the person next to him. "A mosquito just flew into my eye."
"It's... it's okay."
The spectator's lips twitched stiffly. "You didn't scare me."
His tone sounded like he was soothing a lion that might bite at any moment.
From the distance, a whisper suddenly drifted over.
The voice was very faint, almost a mutter to oneself.
But to Homelander's super-hearing, every word was as clear as an explosion in his ear:
"Getting something in his eye from a mosquito?
As expected, Invincible is still a bit stronger."
!!!
Homelander felt like his heart was about to explode.
He wished he could use his heat vision to blast through everyone in front of him right now!
But now was not the time.
Homelander, now is not the time...
He patted his head, taking deep breaths in and out.
Finally, he regained his calm.
Edgar had given the order.
He was still too weak right now.
He couldn't win against Edgar.
So, Homelander would obey Edgar's orders.
But his eyes had turned completely cold.
"You won't be gloating for long, Edgar."
He whispered, his voice as cold as if it were pulled from an ice cellar, "I'll kill you sooner or later."
"Vought Corporation is mine!"
"Vought Corporation is mine!"
Mark had never wanted Vought Corporation so badly.
He was feeling the warmth of Queen Maeve's chest leaning against his shoulder.
That warm, soft sensation enveloped his entire arm.
As expected of the 180cm-tall female warrior Maeve, she truly had a broad mind!
He silently gave a thumbs up in his heart.
He was determined to get Vought Corporation into his own hands!
Although this world was destined to be his, he decided to take Vought first.
It could only be said that he was indeed more like a Viltrumite than the original Mark.
He had absolutely no resistance to this type of fierce female warrior.
I freaking love tall women with younger guys.
Feeling the boy's breathing grow heavier in her arms, Maeve felt like she was about to turn from bisexual to monosexual.
In terms of being a human tonic...
Mark's body was truly strong; Maeve could feel it.
Even though she was already hugging Mark's arm very tightly, Mark didn't feel the slightest pressure.
If it were a steel plate, it would probably have been crushed into wrinkles by Maeve's embrace.
Who understands 'Invincible wrinkles'?
Feeling Mark's body temperature rise slightly, Maeve thought seriously:
If her future husband were a pure-hearted boy like this, she felt it would be fine even without women.
Quality of this level was enough to beat quantity!
"Hello, Mark."
A voice suddenly cut in.
Homelander finally spoke again.
He had regained his composure, his face wearing that cheerful exterior, smiling brightly as if nothing had happened.
"May I ask, are you also a Vought hero?"
Mark turned his head and looked at him.
"I'm not."
He said, his tone as casual as if chatting about the weather, "I only found out about Vought Corporation's existence today."
Heh.
Want me to admit I'm a hero created by Vought Corporation?
So you can use public opinion to attack what I just said as a lie?
Such a shallow thought, Homelander.
Your intellect is as fragile as your physical body!
"I'm very sad that you weren't listening to me just now."
Mark smiled. "But I'm happy to explain it to you again."
Want to mess with me, huh?
In your dreams. I'll dunk right over your head!
Our old Chinese style of play is absolutely pure!
Mark cleared his throat, raising his voice slightly to ensure the surrounding cameras could clearly capture every word:
"I am a member of the Viltrumite royalty, the future Emperor of Viltrum, Mark Grayson.
Also, back where I'm from, there are no corporate-style superheroes."
He tilted his head, putting on a curious expression:
"Is your role as a superhero a private one?"
Homelander's smile stiffened for a moment.
"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean anything by it."
Mark waved his hands hurriedly, his face full of innocence:
"I just meant to ask, do your superheroes serve the public only for profit, rather than from the heart?"
He paused, then added another jab:
"Gosh, I'm really bad at speaking. Just pretend I didn't say anything."
He explained with feigned panic, speaking loudly enough for the nearby livestreaming equipment to hear clearly.
The livestream room suddenly went quiet.
The bullet chat went blank for a second, then—
[?????]
[Yeah, don't these heroes do endorsements too?]
[Is a hero who saves people for a salary really a hero or just a rescue team?]
[I don't get it. At least rescue teams are upright about it.
These heroes claim to be altruists all day long, but in reality, it's just for the paycheck?]
[That's not wrong. Vought Corporation is just a corporation. What corporation doesn't pursue profit?]
[If there were a company that didn't pursue profit, then communism would have been achieved.]
[And from the moment capitalism descended upon this world, it has been dripping with blood from every pore!]
[And capitalism is cannibalistic! Literally!
I don't know what other interpretations some people have. We Europeans aren't that subtle; when they say eating people, they mean actually eating people!]
[Moderator Warning: Two comments have been banned for violating positive values.]
Seeing the two banned comments in the livestream, Markcouldn't help but sigh:
At this point, the art is complete!
Homelander's smile was on the verge of cracking.
Damned brat, still digging pits for me at a time like this!
But he still had to do some PR for the company; after all, this was his Vought.