It was obvious.
Savitar's arrival had already begun to ripple outward.
Arcs of electricity crackled across Quicksilver's body—something that should never have existed here.
His speed had surged.
Anyone with the right knowledge would have realized it instantly: Quicksilver had become the first to earn the favor of the Speed Force.
Just like Chaos Magic, the Phoenix Force, or the Goblin Force in the Marvel Universe, the Speed Force of the DC Universe carries its own consciousness and instinct.
Once brought into being by Savitar, it sought out its own chosen vessel—and within the Marvel Universe, Quicksilver, already the foremost speedster, was the natural candidate.
His innate Mutant ability had made him a born runner, his speed already rivaling many wielders of the Speed Force. Now, with its blessing, no one could say how fast he might one day become.
The only certainty was this: as the Speed Force took root in the Marvel Universe and grew stronger, Quicksilver's speed would climb to outrageous, unfathomable levels.
Perhaps even Barry Allen—the DC Universe's fastest man alive—might one day find himself unable to match Quicksilver's pace.
Herman's ambition was to forge his own pantheon, to claim the power of a god-king from the divine flame. And now, Quicksilver clearly possessed the foundation to become one of his true subordinate gods.
Of course, Quicksilver himself hadn't yet realized anything about the Speed Force. And Herman had no idea how long it would take before he uncovered the truth.
One thing was certain: the [All-Seeing Eye] had a habit of stirring chaos.
Herman's [All-Seeing Eye] seemed almost eager to inject the Marvel Universe with things that had no business existing here—Umbrella Corporation's bioweapons being one such example.
And now—beings and forces that should never have existed were once again being stitched into Marvel's reality, like shattered fragments sewn into a seemingly complete whole, reborn into the world through this fragile fabric.
...
Actually.
This upheaval wasn't just because of Savitar or the Speed Force he dragged in.
Platinum-tier anomalies were never as easy to deal with as Silver-tier ones. Almost at the same time Savitar appeared...
New York.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s satellites picked up an abnormal signal from outer space—an object hurtling toward Earth at an incredible velocity.
That kind of speed couldn't be explained by natural forces.
"Meteorite? Or some alien tech?" Nick Fury frowned as he questioned his technicians, a gnawing sense of dread rising in his chest.
In recent months, supernatural incidents had been cropping up worldwide, and things had only gotten worse ever since that damn playboy returned.
A Homelander looming in the skies.
A flaming skull riding through the night.
A mysterious figure whose destructive power rivaled a Tomahawk missile.
And in Egypt, strange events around the pyramids—rumors of some sealed, malevolent god stirring back to life.
Nick Fury already felt overwhelmed dealing with all of that. And now, it looked like something terrible was about to drop out of space as well?
That descent speed...
There was no way it was natural acceleration.
Nick hadn't read much as a kid, but after so many years as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s director, he knew his basics.
"Can you analyze what's falling?"
He turned sharply toward the tech staff.
"Detected... it's some kind of technological device." The agent's fingers flew across the console.
Moments later.
The monitor decrypted a feed: an image of something that looked like a hibernation pod, plummeting toward New York at terrifying speed.
The monitoring team gasped aloud. Professionals didn't lose their composure easily.
Unless the situation went far beyond their understanding. And in this case, even the battle-hardened Nick Fury's expression darkened.
"Aliens!?"
His pupils contracted sharply. Inside that pod-like device, he thought he could make out the figure of a clothed human?
The image was shockingly clear... there was no mistaking it—a humanoid form was inside.
Nick Fury stared at the screen, his face a storm of conflicting thoughts.
Right now, he wanted nothing more than to scream motherfucker ten thousand times over. Earth really couldn't catch a break. And now even aliens wanted to make an entrance?
He doubted very much that the pod had anything to do with Earth's astronauts.
Yes, plenty of missions had launched over the years.
But not a single country's program would've sent a teenage girl into space.
That was what Fury was seeing: a girl, sleeping peacefully inside a pod, as if in suspended animation.
He knew from old contacts that humanlike civilizations existed out there, scattered across the stars.
"God almighty... no way."
A technician zoomed in on the close-up, eyes going wide as his worldview shattered on the spot.
There was no way Earth could have built such a device. A hibernation chamber with a propulsion system, slipping through the ozone layer without leaving so much as a trace of fire?
None of it made scientific sense.
"My God... aliens can't really exist, can they?"
Clearly a junior agent—he had no idea S.H.I.E.L.D. already had alien corpses stored away, nor of the dissection and research projects they'd been running for years.
That was "Project T.A.H.I.T.I." The body they studied had belonged to a Kree. Fury had even used Kree blood to bring dead agents back to life—Coulson, for instance.
Coulson should've died in the fight against Loki. He was only walking again because of Kree biology.
"Seal this under Level Eight clearance."
Fury issued the order immediately.
He had always known humanity wasn't alone. The infinite cosmos was home to countless races, many capable of wiping Earth off the map without effort.
That knowledge—that lurking Dark Forest Law of the universe—was exactly why Fury obsessed over dangerous powers. Why he tolerated forces he couldn't truly control, like Herman.
Because at the end of the day…
Herman was still human. Still Earth's.
And if aliens came knocking, Fury was sure Herman would fight for Earth.
The same way he tolerated the Hulk—because, terrifying as he was, Hulk remained one of Earth's most valuable weapons.
"Aliens."
Nick Fury let out a long sigh.
He knew their arrival might bring Earth new opportunities, but far more likely, it would bring disaster—unpredictable and catastrophic.
Maybe it was his heritage speaking, but Nick Fury had never once assumed aliens would be friendly.
When two civilizations collide, war is the likeliest outcome. His ancestors had already proven that fact with blood.
The weak are enslaved by the strong.
Just look at what happened to the Native Americans. Did they not extend the greatest of goodwill toward the advanced civilization that set foot on their continent?
They welcomed those newcomers with honor and gifts, but the powerful civilization never returned their kindness.
Instead, they nearly wiped them out—leaving only a small handful alive, caged and kept like rare animals.
Yes.
That advanced civilization was the very nation Nick Fury now served.
A cruel civilization.
One that even went so far as to create a holiday mocking those it destroyed—Thanksgiving. Every year, Americans pardon a single turkey, then feast on countless others. Wasn't that exactly the same as massacring Native Americans while "sparing" a token few?
In Fury's eyes, if Earth's civilization ever encountered aliens, they'd suffer the same fate.
"Could this be scouts from an alien army?"
His face tightened with worry.
Fury was deeply anxious about Earth's future, to the point of paranoia. He ordered the technicians to lock onto the falling object's trajectory. Fingers flew across keyboards, calculations poured in, and soon the impact site was determined.
"This…!?"
The result made Fury's face freeze for a moment. Relief flickered through him, but the coincidence was unsettling.
"Why there of all places?"
His brow furrowed. He had no intention of sending out agents—the pod was falling too fast. No one would make it in time before impact.
"I just hope it doesn't crush any civilians..." Fury consoled himself with the thought that there were already plenty of agents stationed near the crash zone.
He pulled out his communicator and began making calls.
...
New York.
Outside Stellar Tower.
Herman strolled out humming a tune, enjoying a free lunch of grilled sausages.
Nearby, he noticed a vendor—actually an undercover agent—answering a call through a hidden earpiece. The man's expression shifted, just slightly.
It was a tiny change.
But Herman's sharp eyes caught it instantly.
"Something happen?" he asked casually.
"N-no... nothing."
Of course the agent couldn't admit it. Even if Herman had probably already guessed, he still clung to his last shred of operative pride.
"Then why do you keep staring at the sky?"
Herman tapped into his Mind Invasion ability, probing the agent's thoughts just enough to catch the message: an unidentified flying object.
"No wonder he keeps glancing up. A UFO... here?" Herman's curiosity sparked. He tilted his head back to see for himself.
He didn't even need his Divine Vision. With the naked eye, he could clearly see it—a gleaming silver oval tearing through the clouds at high speed.
"Holy shit!"
He barely dodged in time.
The sleek, mechanical-dolphin-like object would've smashed directly onto his head.
"Seriously? Of all places?"
His heart still pounded.
Even if it wouldn't have injured him badly, who wanted to step outside and immediately get flattened by falling space junk?
"Oh my god, a meteorite!"
"No, it's a UFO! Definitely a UFO!"
Civilians on the street screamed in excitement, trying to rush closer. Agents quickly stepped in to block them.
"This area is now under official control. Please clear out."
The crowd resisted.
"Official? You're just a shoe shiner! Don't think I don't know—you street vendors just want to keep the meteorite for yourselves!"
Nothing drew out greed like the promise of sudden fortune. Dozens were convinced this was a priceless meteorite.
"Apologies. Here's my badge. Leave immediately. I won't repeat myself."
The shoe shiner who had always looked meek suddenly pulled himself tall, producing a badge edged with gold scales.
At the sight of the IRS insignia, faces blanched. Timid gawkers scattered in fear.
Even the man who had been shouting insults seconds before stammered an apology before fleeing the scene without looking back.
...
"They're IRS agents!"
"God, you really don't want to mess with them!"
The crowd scattered in an instant.
S.H.I.E.L.D. had a knack for forging flawless credentials, always carrying IDs from countless agencies. Clearly, the agents knew exactly which badge worked best on civilians—this time they pulled out identification from the U.S. Internal Revenue Service.
In America, nobody dares cross the IRS.
Heaven and earth may be vast, but the IRS is vaster.
There's an old saying in this country: only death and taxes are eternal. From the White House down to street criminals, even illegal peddlers or shoplifters still have to pay taxes.
Ordinary people might not know a thing about S.H.I.E.L.D. But they all know this: if the IRS comes after you, you'll either die or get skinned alive. Even the boldest mobsters would never disrespect an IRS agent. Just look at American TV—directors and actors mock presidents and curse billionaires, but who dares to take a jab at the IRS?
"Those badges of yours are amazing. Make me one sometime," Herman said with a low whistle, glancing at the sausage vendor.
"....."
Behind the cart, the "undercover" agent who'd kept still throughout the commotion felt utterly speechless.
He didn't dare say a word. Just kept his head down, quietly turning the sausages.
What else could he do?
The only thing he had left was his perfect disguise mastery, and he was determined to cling to that last shred of pride.
So, he fully committed to the role of an unflappable sausage vendor. Even with an alien spacecraft crashing nearby, his mind was focused solely on the sausages over the grill.
"Want another?"
The sausage man was deep into character.
"...."
Now it was Herman's turn to feel exasperated.
He ignored him, turning instead toward the dust-filled crater carved out by the impact.
"Let's see what the hell dropped down here."
Unlike the agents who lingered at the edge of the scene, hesitant and watchful, Herman didn't waste a second—he jumped straight into the smoke-filled pit.
"That's our Homelander for you! Reckless as ever!"
The agents could only marvel at his nerve.
Herman, of course, wasn't the least bit worried.
A little alien machine— Wait, what the hell? There's a girl inside?
Through the fractured shell, Herman caught sight of the passenger. She looked thirteen, maybe fourteen. Innocent features. And shockingly, her appearance matched human aesthetics almost perfectly.
Click—
The transparent hatch of the small hibernation pod released.
Inside, the girl slowly opened her eyes. She looked at Herman standing over her, blank for a moment, then her gaze focused.
"Tsk—"
Herman's eyes locked on her chest. Don't get it wrong—he wasn't some creep. What caught his attention was the pendant hanging there.
An "S"-shaped pendant.
The sight of it, paired with her sudden arrival, sent waves surging through Herman's mind.
"Are you my cousin?"
The girl finally spoke.
And at those words, Herman's expression became utterly priceless.