An old man?
Hawkeye and Coulson were both stunned by Herman's words.
They exchanged a glance, confusion written across their faces. Could this godlike man really have some acquaintance in New Mexico?
"For someone to warrant your anticipation, he must not be an ordinary figure," Coulson probed. He believed only someone truly extraordinary could pique Herman's interest. After all, Herman was so powerful that even S.H.I.E.L.D. felt suffocated in his presence—on top of being a billionaire.
No ordinary old man could possibly draw his attention.
"Relax. He isn't some supernatural being… probably." Herman's reply only stirred more speculation in Coulson's mind.
Probably?
If even Herman couldn't see through this person's depths… could it be Odin? The thought made Coulson's expression tense.
If the king of the Asgardian civilization himself were coming to Earth, then Thor's absence must mean far more than a simple mishap.
Coulson let his clumsy imagination run.
"Oh, right."
Hawkeye, on the other hand, wasn't overthinking it. He figured once the man arrived, they'd know soon enough.
"The Director said you described the Norse gods as alien-like beings. Are they really just a civilization more advanced than ours?" Hawkeye asked with genuine curiosity.
"In a sense, yes. They're simply a more advanced civilization," Herman replied calmly while peeling an orange. "If you brought your bow and arrows back to primitive times, those people would probably see you as a god too."
Hearing that, Hawkeye grew thoughtful.
"So those gods of myth were really just showing technology far beyond what ancient people could comprehend?" Coulson summarized.
"To them, even modern Earth might still look primitive," Herman warned, not wanting Coulson to get carried away.
Asgard's civilization was still leagues beyond Earth.
"I see."
Coulson nodded, catching the point. "So how much do you really know about them? I mean, in reality."
"Not in great detail."
Herman raised a brow. "According to legend, Asgard established the Nine Realms upon the World Tree. You can think of the World Tree as the veins of the universe."
Coulson and Hawkeye both tried hard to grasp his words. In front of Herman, these two elite agents felt like students sitting in class.
What was common knowledge to him was completely beyond their reach.
"The Nine Realms are like nine planets—just a metaphor to help you understand. Odin, the God King, rules over them all."
Both agents were left astonished by his explanation.
"Does that include Earth?" Coulson suddenly asked, as if something had clicked.
"Of course."
Herman nodded.
"So Earth is under Odin's rule too? But we don't even know they exist," Hawkeye said, still trying to wrap his head around it.
"We have their myths," Coulson countered.
"Just myths…" Hawkeye muttered stubbornly.
"Do you pay attention to the ants in your backyard? Do they know you exist?" Herman ended his argument in one sentence.
"..."
Hawkeye and Coulson fell silent.
As harsh as it sounded, they both knew it was probably the truth.
No wonder their director, Nick Fury, had gone bald.
Compared to advanced civilizations—hell, even compared to this Homelander standing before them—most humans really were nothing more than ants.
The air grew tense.
And then—
"Make way! Big truck coming through!"
A man's shout shattered the tense atmosphere.
Coulson and the other agents turned toward the sound—it was Tom, the guy who had failed to lift Mjolnir earlier. Somehow, he had called in a small truck and was now directing it to the edge of the crater.
"Alright, enough talk. Time for me to meet the one I came here for."
Herman set down the fruit in his hand and began walking toward the pit.
The moment they heard Herman had found the person he'd been waiting for, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents all grew alert, staring hard in the direction he was heading. Coulson even moved to follow right behind him.
At the crater's edge—
"This the spot?"
An elderly man in sunglasses leaned his head out of the driver's seat.
"That's it!"
Tom flashed an OK sign, then hopped back into the pit and started securing a chain around Mjolnir.
The other end was attached to the truck. He wound the chain tightly around the hammer's handle several times.
"All set!"
Once he locked the clasp, he shouted toward the truck. The engine roared as the driver floored the gas.
The truck growled under the strain, its wheels spinning in place and kicking up clouds of dust.
"Bang!"
A dull crack rang out.
The truck jerked to a stop, black smoke pouring from its hood—yet Mjolnir hadn't moved an inch.
"How the hell didn't that work?"
The old man in glasses leaned out again, scowling back toward the pit.
"I'd say it's your engine, old man. Maybe you need a Thor-brand upgrade."
Also wearing sunglasses, Herman walked over to the truck and teased the driver as if they were old friends.
"Hm?"
The old man tilted his head, peering over his shades to study Herman, his face showing faint surprise.
"This isn't a joke, stranger. Are you telling me that's Thor's hammer of war?" His voice carried a reproachful edge.
"Young man, don't believe in superstition. There are no gods—just fairy tales people make up." His tone was stern and serious.
"But that hammer… isn't it said no one can lift it? The myths describe Thor's hammer the same way."
Herman gave the old man a bright smile.
"That's something an alien dropped, not the nonsense you're talking about."
The old man's view was shared by most of the young people watching.
"You're right."
Herman smiled again as he studied the man's eyes carefully. He felt no trace of energy from him.
Of course, if this old man really was who Herman suspected, then his current power wouldn't be enough to sense anything anyway.
"Stranger, you look strong yourself. Don't you want to try?" The old man leaned halfway out of the truck and pointed toward the crater, where a group of young strongmen were still struggling with the "lift the hammer" challenge.
"You're right. Since I'm here, I might as well."
Herman gave him another long look, then rolled up his sleeves and headed toward the crater. He jumped straight down to where Mjolnir lay.
"Mind if I give it a try?"
Herman asked politely as he approached, but the muscle-bound man who had been at it all day only glared at him furiously.
"If I say no, what are you gonna do?"
The man sneered, slouched back like he didn't care—clearly high on something—and waved his middle finger at Herman, right in front of his crotch.
"Heh."
Herman felt his temper flare. Suddenly, Hawkeye's earlier suggestion didn't sound so bad. Golden fire began to burn in his eyes.
"Oh my god! He's a Homelander!"
"Homelander!"
The crowd around them panicked. People who had only come for fun now screamed in terror as they saw Herman smiling with glowing eyes.
"He's going to kill us all!"
"I saw this on TV!"
"Run!"
"Mom! I don't want to die!"
...
Let's be honest.
Being mistaken for Homelander had its pros and cons—and when it came to intimidating the public, Hawkeye had guessed completely right.
Many who saw Herman's glowing eyes panicked, convinced he was about to recreate one of those infamous scenes from the TV show.
In moments, what had looked like a festival turned into a stampede. People scrambled away in terror, dragging along those who hadn't realized what was happening.
Clearly, even here in New Mexico, Homelander's image carried tremendous weight—likely thanks to that viral combat video circulating online.
"I was wrong! I'm sorry! I'm such an idiot!"
The muscle-bound man who had mocked Herman earlier lost all his swagger. He stumbled away in tears and panic, apologizing frantically as he fled—leaving a wet trail behind him.
He'd pissed his pants.
Herman didn't bother killing him. It wasn't out of concern for S.H.I.E.L.D.'s stance—he simply knew the scale of his own power.
Coulson and Hawkeye hadn't been wrong. Ordinary people were ants before him. If Herman ever started treating human life as something disposable, it would end badly—for both him and the world. Some drugged-up local wasn't worth unleashing a massacre over.
Of course, for his own satisfaction, Herman still used Telekinesis to hurl a rock at the man's groin as he crawled away. He calibrated the force perfectly—to make sure the guy wouldn't be worrying about reproduction for a while. One clean strike to take out the root of all evil.
"I'm still too merciful."
Herman sighed. No one dared line up behind him now. Aside from the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, not a single civilian remained nearby.
Some who fled tried calling the police, but New Mexico law enforcement wasn't eager to get involved.
What? Homelander?
We don't even dare mess with gangs, and you expect us to deal with Homelander? What kind of joke is that?
And so, quite "naturally," the New Mexico police emergency lines experienced a sudden "service outage."
"The number you have dialed is not in service…"
Classic New Mexico. One had to wonder if the NYPD's infamous tardiness was a habit they'd picked up training here.
"He really does have quite the temper."
Coulson stood by the truck, watching the last of the civilians disappear before turning with a grin to chat with the bewildered old man, who had no idea what just happened.
"What's a Homelander? Why did everyone run off?" The old man was still sitting in his totaled pickup.
"Hey! They all left! Who's paying me back for the engine?" His delayed reaction finally kicked in as he shouted into the empty distance.
"Maybe you could just buy a new car?" Coulson suggested lightly, which only seemed to make the old man angrier.
"A new car? You gonna pay for—" The old man turned back mid-rant, only to find Coulson smiling as he handed him a stack of cash.
Money for a replacement? That wasn't a problem—Coulson could always put it on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s expense report.
"Good lad! Good lad!"
The old man brightened immediately, taking the money without hesitation. As he counted, he asked,
"You folks U.S. government? Here for that hammer?" He spoke as if he'd seen straight through Coulson.
"We're just the cleanup crew—here with that big shot over there to deal with it." Coulson didn't care in the slightest that Herman had scared everyone off. In fact, he thought it saved him a great deal of work.
"He's your boss? Looks awfully young… reminds me of my younger days." The old man seemed to drift into a memory.
"More like a partner to our boss."
Coulson wasn't entirely sure himself. From what he'd seen, Nick Fury treated Herman like a being they couldn't afford to offend.
"Your boss isn't half as impressive as him. Take it from me—I'm older, I've seen more. Switching to a stronger leader early will only pay off."
The old man chuckled while counting the bills again, openly encouraging Coulson to consider jumping ship.
"Ha ha, you're a funny one."
Coulson chuckled, brushing the topic aside, though his eyes stayed fixed on the pit, eager to see if Herman could actually lift the hammer. Not far away, Hawkeye had already started taking bets with the other agents.
"Think he can do it?"
Coulson asked the old man.
He couldn't shake the feeling that this truck-driving elder wasn't just some ordinary guy. Why else would Herman wait so long just to exchange a few words with him?
Maybe… he really was Odin.
That suspicion was why Coulson had so readily handed him a wad of cash—to show what he thought was "Odin" a gesture of goodwill on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D. and Earth.
"My guess? He's just a young man, skinny arms and legs, not even as strong as those lads down there." The old man gave his casual judgment.
"Oh, and what's his name?"
The old man seemed unsure how to address Herman.
"Herman Chu."
Coulson didn't bother hiding it.
It wasn't any kind of secret. As a billionaire in New York, Herman Chu's name was already known in every household. Not just his English name—people even knew his name back in China. Still, most preferred to call him "Homelander," thanks to that TV series The Boys.
"Herman Chu? Strange name."
The old man let out a hearty laugh. He rapped the truck door with his knuckles, then, after Coulson stepped aside, opened it and climbed out.
"You all play here. I've got dinner to cook at home." With the cash in hand, he strode off toward the town without a glance back.
"You're not going to stay and see the result? And your…"
Coulson didn't stop him.
"Doesn't matter to me if it's lifted or not. At my age, I've had my share of excitement. Most days I don't even like leaving the house."
"I've got a new car now. This old one's yours."
The old man waved the money in his hand, never looking back as he walked briskly away, disappearing from Coulson's sight.
Coulson turned back toward the pit.
By now, Herman was already standing before Mjolnir. He reached out, gripped the handle—
And in the next moment, the runes etched into the hammer blazed with unprecedented light.