"Superman..."
"He's Superman!"
"He saved us! He brought them back!"
Somewhere in the sea of people, a child's high-pitched cry acted as a spark in a powder keg. Within seconds, the name erupted from a thousand throats, then ten thousand.
"Superman!!!"
"Superman!!!"
The cheers didn't just carry through the air; they felt like a physical force, a tsunami of gratitude and hysteria that rattled the windows of the surrounding skyscrapers.
Mason Vance stood at the center of the storm, and if he looked closely at his peripheral vision, he could see the system panel hemorrhaging data. The numbers weren't just growing; they were exploding.
[Global Popularity is spiking... Calculating...]
[Ding! Popularity +2,450! +3,832! +5,109!]
[Current Popularity: 2,215,232!]
[Template Strengthening in Progress... "Steel Body" reinforced!]
[Template Strengthening in Progress... "Super Speed" reinforced!]
[Template Strengthening in Progress... "Heat Vision" reinforced!]
[Milestone Reached! Obtaining the "Homelander" Exclusive Set!]
The Avengers touched down behind him, their boots crunching on the glass-strewn pavement. Captain America approached first, his shield hung over his shoulder. He looked at Mason with a gaze that was a complex cocktail of suspicion, awe, and deep-seated gratitude.
"Mr... Superman?" Steve asked, the name feeling heavy and uncertain on his tongue.
Mason didn't answer immediately. He knew the power of a pregnant pause. He turned back to the life-support pod and, under the rapt attention of a global audience, reached out. With a slow, deliberate display of effortless power, he peeled back the reinforced alloy shell like it was the foil on a chocolate bar.
Psh—!
The pressurized seal broke, releasing a cloud of white vapor. From within the chamber, over a hundred children—mostly twelve or thirteen years old—began to stumble out, blinking against the harsh New York sun and rubbing the sleep of stasis from their eyes.
"Where's my mommy...?" a little girl asked, her voice tiny and timid in the sudden silence of the plaza.
The entire city of New York seemed to hold its breath. Tony Stark's faceplate retracted with a sharp clang, his mouth hanging open as he stared at the kids. He had no quip for this. He had no snark left.
The shield in Steve Rogers' hand slipped, hitting the concrete with a dull thud. Thor's eyes widened, his grip on Mjolnir loosening. "Odin's beard..." the thunder god whispered, his voice thick with uncharacteristic emotion.
The next second, the silence didn't just break; it shattered.
"—!!!!!!!"
The roar that went up was indescribable. People were screaming, sobbing, and clutching each other. It was a collective release of trauma transformed into pure, unadulterated worship.
[Ding! Popularity rising exponentially!]
[Ding! Popularity +3,011! +4,840! +5,526!]
[New York City Index: Fanatical!]
[All-America Index: Respected!]
[Global Level: Rising Star!]
Mason felt it—the raw, intoxicating rush of power. His strength and speed didn't just tick up; they surged, multiplying until he felt he could crack the planet if he stomped too hard.
Suddenly, the plain blue fabric of his suit began to shimmer with a localized golden light. A majestic, domineering eagle emblem materialized across his chest, its wings spreading toward the gold epaulettes on his shoulders. The "Homelander" set had arrived, turning the "Superman" knockoff into a figure of terrifying, star-spangled authority.
"Hero!!"
"Superman!"
"Hero!!!"
The crowd began to chant, the words blending into a rhythmic pulse. Mason stood there, bathed in the landslide of adoration, his arms spread wide as if to embrace the entire city.
After a long minute, he slowly raised a hand. The gesture was small, but the authority was absolute. Miraculously, the cacophony of New York began to taper off. Millions of eyes—on the street and behind screens—waited for him to speak.
Mason cleared his throat, flashing a brilliant, humble smile toward the nearest news helicopter.
"Thank you," he said, his voice amplified by his newfound power. He extended an index finger and gave a playful, gentle shake of his head, his golden hair remaining perfectly in place despite the wind. "But... I am not Superman."
He paused, letting the disappointment flicker for just a heartbeat before he delivered the hook.
"I am... Homelander."
He let the name hang there. "And you..." His smile softened, turning into the "boy next door" look that had made him an A-lister back home. He looked at the survivors, the cops, and the firemen, his expression full of a warmth that hid the killing machine beneath. "...You are the real heroes."
The word "Homelander" echoed through the plaza. In less than a tenth of a second, the name traveled through fiber-optic cables and satellite uplinks to every corner of the Earth.
The silence lasted for a breath. Then came the roar.
"Homelander!!!"
"Homelander!!!"
The name had a sort of dark magic to it. After the nightmare of an alien invasion, the world didn't just want a hero; they wanted a symbol. And Mason Vance had just handed them the perfect brand.
He stood in the center of the cheering masses, his face a flawless blend of holiness and humility.
"Dammit," Tony Stark muttered from a few feet behind him. He looked at the back of the golden eagle on Mason's cape. "This guy... he's really milking the spotlight, isn't he? I feel like I should be charging him for the stage."
"Tony," Steve Rogers frowned, his voice low, "be respectful." But even Steve had to admit that Mason's presence reminded him of his own propaganda tours back in the forties—only this guy was much, much better at the script.
The adrenaline finally began to fade, replaced by the hollow, gnawing ache of exhaustion and hunger.
"...So," Tony Stark said, breaking the somber mood as he struggled to unlatch his battle-scarred gauntlets. "Have you guys ever tried Shawarma? I'm starving. I know a place about two blocks from here. I don't know if it's still standing, but I'm willing to gamble."
Ten minutes later, Earth's Mightiest Heroes experienced the surreal sensation of eating in absolute, crushing silence.
They sat in a circle inside a half-wrecked restaurant, the owner too stunned to even ask for a check. The only sound was the scraping of chairs and the chewing of pita.
"So," Tony said, unable to bear the quiet for more than a minute. He swallowed a mouthful of meat and looked at Mason. "Homelander? Seriously? Did you workshop that with an agent, or are you just naturally that good at branding?"
Mason slowly revealed a perfect, calm smile. "It's just a codename, Mr. Stark. Like Iron Man. The people don't need a man; they need a symbol they can look up to."
"Wow," Tony arched an eyebrow. "That sounds like it came straight from a PR playbook. I like it. Very corporate."
"Tony," Steve interjected, putting down his wrap. "Now isn't the time." He turned his attention to Thor. "Thor. The Tesseract."
Thor nodded solemnly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "My father, Odin, left it on Midgard centuries ago for its protection. It is clear now that Earth is not ready for its power. It must return to the vaults of Asgard."
"Hey, wait a minute, Point Break," Tony cut in. "That glow-cube almost turned my city into a parking lot. You're just going to fly off with it? No paperwork? No filing a report with the locals?"
"It does not belong here, Tony," Thor said, his voice dropping into a princely register.
"He's right," Steve added, cutting off Stark's rebuttal. "Leaving it on Earth is an invitation for more people like Loki. It's better off in Asgard than in a S.H.I.E.L.D. basement."
Natasha and Clint exchanged a look but remained silent. Banner just nodded weakly.
"Fine, Capsicle. You're the boss," Stark shrugged, leaning back in his chair.
With the meal finished, there was only one piece of business left: the God of Mischief.
Loki was currently enjoying "special" treatment outside. He was fitted with a heavy Asgardian muzzle that ensured his silver tongue couldn't weave any more lies. After being "planted" in the floor by Mason and later "ragdolled" by the Hulk, the Prince of Asgard looked thoroughly broken. He sat slumped on the curb, his eyes burning with a silent, toxic resentment as he glared at the heroes who had dismantled his empire in an afternoon.
Mason stood up, his star-spangled cape catching the light of the setting sun. He looked down at Loki with a look of pity—the kind of look a saint gives a sinner.
"Don't worry, Loki," Mason whispered, loud enough for the nearby cameras to catch. "Maybe in the next life, you'll learn what it means to be a hero."
[Ding! Popularity +10,000 for "Merciful Taunting"!]
The Battle of New York is over, but the age of Homelander has just begun.
If you like it, please give power stones.