Black Robe: Superman Bloodline from the Start, Tate Superman?
Chapter 97: New York Becomes a Cutting Board, A-Zu Has Gone Crazy
"Yes, that's it. Look at me."
A news helicopter hovered in mid-air, its telephoto lens shaking like a sieve, struggling to focus on his face.
On the screen, Homelander couldn't even be bothered to pretend anymore.
There was no anger, nor any sign of compassion. A chilling smile hung on his face, like a brat who had finally gotten a new toy and was trying to figure out how to twist the doll's head off.
From inside the helicopter cabin, the pilot's cracked screams could be faintly heard, mixed with the harsh sound of static.
Homelander didn't care at all. He just stared at the tiny lens, his eyes filled with a sick sense of satisfaction.
"That's better."
He slowly spread his arms and turned halfway around in the air.
Two beams of red light shot from his eyes; they didn't sweep wildly but instead locked firmly onto the roof of the building opposite.
A giant Vought Tower billboard stood there, featuring his own image. The Homelander on the poster smiled with gleaming teeth, his blonde hair perfectly groomed.
Sizzle.
The Heat Vision, like two red-hot knives, sliced precisely across the poster's neck.
The steel frame softened rapidly under the high temperature, glowing blindingly, before melting into molten iron and dripping down.
The billboard snapped in half.
The half featuring his upper face swayed in the wind, then, like a giant flaming guillotine, plummeted straight toward the street below.
A sharper chorus of screams immediately erupted from between the buildings.
Hearing this, Homelander squinted comfortably. This was much more pleasant than the applause of those idiots.
"You don't deserve my protection!" he shouted down at them, the wind whipping his cape, "What do you think I am? Your toys?"
"I gave you a chance! I am the god!"
In the Safe House.
Red emergency alerts flashed on the TV screen.
The news anchor's usual exquisite fake smile was long gone; foundation couldn't cover her pale complexion, and her lips trembled as if she were having a seizure.
"...Repeat, this is not a drill. The attacker's identity has been... has been confirmed..."
Her eyes were red, and her voice trembled: "Preliminary estimates show that the casualty count is... is rising rapidly. The attacker is..."
She paused, as if afraid to utter the name: "It's Homelander."
The footage cut to the night scene captured by the helicopter.
In the night sky, that small red dot trailed two blinding rays of red light, sweeping back and forth between the skyscrapers of Manhattan. The fire illuminated half the sky.
"Clatter."
The glass in Hughie's hand smashed onto the floor, spraying glass and water all over his feet.
He didn't even react to look down, just stared blankly at the TV, his throat making two involuntary retching sounds.
"He's gone mad... He's completely lost it."
Frenchie's keyboard clattered, and the green code and military band waveforms on the screen were a mess.
"The military is in complete chaos." He cursed in French under his breath, then switched back to English, "Langley Base launched two F-22s, but the pilots are cursing up a storm over the radio. The order from above is no firing, repeat, absolutely no firing."
Frenchie spat on the floor.
"The pilots asked why, and the command center only replied with 'That's Homelander,' then went silent. What fucking cowards."
He tapped his finger on the screen next to him showing stock market trends, where a red line was plummeting in freefall.
"Vought's stock has hit a circuit breaker, guys. It's completely over."
"He's treating Manhattan like a cutting board."
Mothers Milk slammed a fist onto the table, making the clutter on top rattle. He pulled out his phone, his thumb trembling as he swiped across the screen.
No one answered.
Gritting his teeth, he dialed again, but there was only the cold sound of a busy signal.
"Damn it!" He threw the phone into the sofa.
"The military wouldn't dare make a move, of course. The place is full of people; if a missile goes off-target, how many would die? Homelander is blocking the downtown area, using hundreds of thousands of civilians as human shields."
He paced around the room, the floorboards creaking under his weight.
"My cousin's company is right next to Times Square, and he has two kids! Where are those Vought PR dogs? Where's Maeve? Where's Black Noir? Where the hell have they all gone?!"
Butcher leaned in the corner, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, his face expressionless, only the flickering light from the TV playing across his features.
"Edgar is probably popping champagne to celebrate right now."
He exhaled a puff of white smoke, squinting at the screen.
"For every person who dies, for every building that collapses, he can add a few more zeros to his V24 sales report. It's all free advertising."
Then, he shifted his gaze to the pale-faced Hughie and pulled at the corner of his mouth.
"See that, kid? This is the truth you went to such lengths to dig up. Are you satisfied with the price?"
Hughie opened his mouth, his throat dry, unable to respond.
He had always thought that revealing the truth would mean winning. But now, that "truth" was burning on TV, turning into ruins, turning into corpses being carried out one by one.
"Dead is dead in the end, it's just a difference of a few more or less," Butcher added coldly.
Becca covered Ryan's eyes with one hand, forcefully pressing his little head into her chest.
Ryan moved slightly, whispering, "Mom, the news says he's a great hero. Then why is he burning houses?"
Becca opened her mouth, her throat feeling like it was stuffed with cotton.
She couldn't explain to a child that the guy flying in the sky was just a giant baby who intended to wreck the shop because he couldn't get his toy. She could only hold her son tightly, her palms covered in cold sweat.
Ren stood by the window, watching the flickering red laser on the horizon.
In his earpiece, Annie's voice was mixed with the howling wind, sounding incredibly anxious.
"Ryan! Did you see that? The top floor of the MetLife Building was cut off by him! It's full of people! I can't get anywhere near it, he hits anything that lights up, he's almost wiped out all the streetlights on the street!"
Then came Maeve's voice, with the screaming of sirens in the background.
"He's crazy, laughing while he blows up buildings. Edgarhas already had Vought Tower locked down, and the executives are all evacuating. This bastard intends to tear down all of New York."
Ren didn't rush to respond.
He looked at the red light on the horizon, his index finger tapping unconsciously on the windowsill.
"I see it," he replied, his tone devoid of inflection.
"This giant baby's mental fortitude is even worse than I imagined," Ren said, pulling at the corner of his mouth, "This is just the first round of public opinion, and he's already completely broken."
Hughie turned his head to stare at him, his expression even worse than before: "So what do we do now? The truth is out, but if he keeps killing like this..."
Ren didn't reply, turning to walk over to the chair and picking up the blue Vought Janitor uniform.
The cheap rubberized logo on the chest was already peeling.
"This material is indeed cheap; if it really gets stained with blood, it probably won't be easy to wash clean."
After saying this, he casually tossed the clothes into the trash can next to him.
Beneath the clothes, a set of pure black combat gear was revealed. No cape, no flashy badges, just a minimalist black bodysuit.
Butcher raised an eyebrow, crushing his cigarette butt into the ashtray.
He scrutinized Ren. Usually, this youngster just looked like a tech support guy, but now, the vibe about him had changed.
"What's this?" Butcher eyed him askance, "Planning to go save the world?"
Ren stretched his neck, producing a faint sound of grinding bones.
He ignored Butcher and crouched down, looking at Ryan, who was being held in Becca's arms.
"Kid, remember this."
Ryan blinked, looking at him somewhat confusedly.
"When you encounter an unreasonable brat like this, talking to him is useless." Ren held out his fist and shook it in the air, "You have to use this to help him re-learn about the world."
After saying this, he stood up, picked up the walkie-talkie on the table, and pressed the button.
"Tell that lip-smacking bastard that I'm on my way to teach him how to behave."
Chapter 98: The Janitor Descends from the Sky
Butcher watched Rayne push open the window of the Safe House, his hand resting on the frame, not following him out.
"If you die at the hands of that overgrown baby, I'm carving a mop into your tombstone."
Rayne stepped one foot onto the windowsill, turned back to look at him.
"Old Butcher, the biggest problem in your life is that you always think everyone else is going to die before you."
Becca stood at the doorway holding Ryan, not stopping him.
Ryan poked his head out from her arms, his voice very small.
"Uncle, will you come back?"
Rayne looked at that earnest little face and nodded.
"I will. And when I get back, you're buying me a sandwich—the kind with three layers of peanut butter—and Butcheris paying."
Butcher didn't curse back.
Hughie stood up from behind the table, his mouth opening for a long time before he squeezed out a sentence.
"You can win, right?"
Rayne already had half his body hanging outside the window, the night wind pouring into the room.
"Hughie, that's a very rude question to ask."
He let go of the window frame.
A Sonic Boom exploded; the windows of the Safe Houseall cracked, and the files on the table were blown everywhere by the shockwave.
Frenchie shielded the computer, cursing in French under his breath.
Mothers Milk pulled the window shut, a row of broken glass falling from the frame.
"He just took off from our window; Vought satellites will lock onto this location within three seconds."
Butcher picked up his gun.
"Then we move. Pack up in three minutes, take the backup car."
Ryan was still staring at the vanishing trail outside the window, suddenly asking a question.
"Does he fly faster than that guy?"
Butcher pushed the magazine in.
"Kid, ask him that yourself when he gets back. Now get in the car with your mother."
Midtown Manhattan.
Firelight painted half the street orange-red.
Homelander hovered over Fifth Avenue, his Heat Visionsweeping across the fifteenth floor of an office building.
Steel beams and concrete were sliced open, the red-hot cross-sections trailing sparks as they fell.
Two fire trucks on the street were struck; the water columns from the broken hoses shot into the sky, only to be vaporized into white mist by the Heat Vision.
A CNN helicopter circled two kilometers away, the cameraman's hands shaking so much the lens kept wobbling.
The anchor's voice came through the live feed; it didn't sound like news anymore, more like reading a suicide note.
"Homelander has currently destroyed the partial structure of at least four buildings. The casualty count is impossible to calculate. An F-22 squadron from the military is on standby on the perimeter, but has not received orders to open fire."
Tens of thousands of messages were refreshing on Twitterevery second.
"He's actually killing people."
"What happened to the hero? Who's going to stop him?"
"It's over, it's all over."
Homelander heard these sounds, and the smile on his lips grew wider.
He turned to another building, red light gathering in his eyes again.
"Keep screaming."
"Scream louder."
"Let me hear how much you need me!"
Heat Vision shot from his eyes.
Before the beam could touch the exterior wall of the building, a black figure smashed down from directly above him at an almost vertical angle.
A fist cleaved precisely onto the intersection of the two Heat Vision beams.
The beam was interrupted.
A shockwave exploded from the point of impact, and all the remaining intact glass windows within a five-hundred-meter radius shattered simultaneously.
Broken glass scattered into a silver rain in the night sky.
The CNN helicopter was pushed sideways by the shockwave for dozens of meters, the cameraman lying on the cabin floor, hugging the camera for dear life.
The lens wobbled a few times before steadying.
In the frame, Homelander hovered in place, arms crossed to block his chest, his whole body pushed back a dozen meters by the shockwave.
And thirty meters opposite him, a man in a black combat suit stood in mid-air with his hands behind his back. No cape, no insignia, only the night wind blowing his hem gently.
The anchor's voice jammed for two seconds, then blurted out a sentence completely off-script.
"My God, someone stopped him!"
The social media platform crashed for three seconds.
After it recovered, the number one trending topic had only two words.
"He's here."
Homelander lowered his arms, staring at Rayne.
The whites of his eyes were completely red, his facial muscles twitching irregularly, his whole body trembling from his hair to his fingertips.
That wasn't fear.
That was the sound of his last remaining sanity collapsing after being betrayed by the whole world.
"You."
Homelander's voice squeezed out from the depths of his throat, carrying the sound of teeth grinding together.
"It's you again."
Rayne flexed the hand that had interrupted the Heat Vision, looked at his knuckles—not a single mark.
"Blondie, before you smash someone's house, can you check the building rating first? That was a Grade-A office building; the corporate slaves working overtime inside hadn't even had time to send their suicide notes yet."
Homelander didn't respond to his nonsense.
He charged over directly.
No probing, no warning.
1,500 tons of force poured into his right fist, carrying the insane angle characteristic of someone out of control, heading straight for Rayne's face.
The moment the fist wind arrived with a Sonic Boom, Rayne's absolute force field deployed automatically.
A muffled sound exploded in the high altitude.
Homelander's fist smashed into the surface of the force field, all kinetic energy swallowed.
There wasn't even a spark where the fist met the force field, only a circle of visible air distortion spreading out from the point of contact.
Homelander's eyes widened.
"Why?!"
He switched to his left fist and smashed again.
1,500 tons.
The force field didn't move.
He alternated fists, striking continuously, each punch harder than the last, each one more chaotic and reckless.
Twelve punches.
Every punch hit the same spot on the force field.
The feedback for every punch was zero.
The CNN camera captured this scene.
Audience members worldwide saw Homelander like an out-of-control child, punching wildly at an invisible wall, while the man in black opposite him didn't even lift a hand.
The live stream comment section went completely insane.
"He can't break it???"
"What kind of defense is this?? Even Homelander can't break it??"
"Who the hell is that guy?!"
Noah's live stream chat was scrolling at full speed, the child streamer's voice cracking.
"Everyone! Everyone, did you see that! The Preservation Walker is here! New York is saved! ε ٩ (๑ ＞ ₃ ＜) ۶ з"
Homelander stopped his fists, his chest heaving violently, the skin on his knuckles already split by his own force.
"What the hell are you?"
His voice didn't roar like before; instead, it dropped, carrying a tremor on the verge of complete collapse.
Only then did Rayne lift his head and look him in the eye.
"Me? I'm the only person you need to remember tonight."
He took a step forward.
Homelander subconsciously retreated half a step.
This image was captured by every lens.
The whole world saw Homelander retreat.
Rayne didn't give him time to react.
He raised his right fist, no charging motion, no exaggerated posture, just a simple push forward.
5,000 tons.
The moment his fist touched Homelander's chest, the Sonic Boom didn't explode in front of the fist, but behind Homelander.
All the force pierced through his body.
The chest of Homelander's uniform burst open, the Stars and Stripes pattern torn to shreds.
Blood spilled from the corners of his mouth, his nostrils, and even the corners of his eyes simultaneously.
His body flew backward at a visible speed, passing through the gap between two buildings, and smashed into the exterior wall of a parking garage three streets away.
The entire parking garage radiated cracks starting from the point of impact, concrete and steel squeezed aside like paper.
Homelander was embedded in the wall, half his body buried in rubble, blood from his mouth dripping onto the ruins.
In the backup car of the Safe House, everyone stared at the live stream on their phones.
Hughie's phone almost dropped a second time.
"One punch? Just one punch?? (⊙_⊙)"
Frenchie leaned back in his seat, pushing his hat back.
"Friends, I don't think we need an emergency evacuation anymore; what we need is popcorn."
Butcher didn't speak, but his grip on the steering wheel loosened a little.
Ryan was leaning on the back window, his eyes bright.
"Did he win?"
Becca pulled him back.
"Not yet, don't look."
Ryan tilted his head.
"But Mom, he's so cool."
Butcher glanced at Ryan through the rearview mirror, his mouth moved, but in the end, he only said one thing.
"Don't learn from him; that bastard's fighting style is too unorthodox."
Over Manhattan.
Rayne retracted his fist, looking down at the figure embedded in the wall three streets away.
"A-Zu, that 1,500-ton punch of yours felt like a mosquito bite on me."
He slowly lowered his altitude, flying toward the parking garage.
"Wake up, didn't you say you were a god? A god getting beaten to the point of vomiting blood by one punch—this script is too trashy."
Sounds of rubble falling came from the ruins of the parking garage.
Homelander struggled to pull his body out of the wall, his uniform tattered, half his face smeared with concrete dust, blood still dripping from the corner of his mouth.
He raised his head, staring at Rayne.
In those bloodshot eyes, the madness was still there, but underneath it, there was something more.
Fear.
Real, uncontrollable fear.
His hand reached into the inner lining of his tattered uniform, his fingers touching a cold metal syringe.
Blue liquid fluoresced slightly in the tube.
V1 enhancer.
The last trump card Edgar gave him.
Homelander pulled out the syringe, his thumb pressed on the plunger, the needle aimed at his own carotid artery.
Rayne stopped ten meters away, seeing that blue light.
His expression dropped its snarky smile for the first time.
"Yo, A-Zu."
"You were hiding some private stock?"
Chapter 99: A Thirty Thousand Ton Greeting
Homelander plunged the needle into his carotid artery.
The blue V1 liquid was pushed into his veins by the plunger, and something was swelling beneath his skin; the veins crawled from his neck up to his temples, each one bulging as if about to burst through the skin.
Ren watched this scene from ten meters away, making no move to stop him.
Homelander's body began to emit a low-frequency hum, and the muscle groups in his chest and limbs contracted and released frantically beneath the remnants of his uniform, while his bones emitted a dense, cracking sound.
His previously fractured cheekbone healed within seconds, the blood at the corner of his mouth covered by new skin, and even his tattered Stars and Stripes uniform was distorted further by his bulging muscles.
The empty syringe fell from his hand, landing on the rubble with a crisp clatter.
Homelander raised his head.
His eyes were no longer glowing with ordinary red light, but with two cores of high-density light compressed to their limit.
The airflow from his breathing blew the rubble beneath his feet three meters away.
The CNN helicopter camera captured this scene, the cameraman's fingers gripped tightly onto the stabilizer.
The host's voice cracked.
"Homelander seems to have injected some kind of serum; his body is undergoing a drastic change. My god, he's getting bigger."
Inside the backup vehicle at the Safe House, Frenchiestared at the phone screen, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, unable to strike.
"Friends, this isn't regular Compound V. This stuff has more than tripled his energy readings."
Mothers Milk pulled the car into the shadows by the roadside.
"Tripled? Can Ren handle that?"
Butcher didn't look at the phone; he stared at Ren's face in the rearview mirror.
Ren was pressed against the window, his eyes locked onto the red light on the horizon.
"He'll be okay, right?"
Butcher opened his mouth, but for once, he didn't answer immediately.
Becca pulled Ren back and answered for Butcher.
"He promised to have a sandwich with you, and he hasn't delivered on that yet."
Butcher then chimed in.
"Yeah, that bastard never welched on a debt."
Over Manhattan.
Homelander had completed his transformation.
He slowly stood up straight, the ruins of the parking garage beneath him continuing to crumble under the pressure waves radiating from his body.
He looked at his hands, clenched his fists, and laughed.
That laugh was different from before; it wasn't the hysteria of someone exposed, but the manic confidence of someone who had reclaimed the title of "The Strongest."
"You know, Ren."
His voice had changed, two octaves deeper than before, carrying a resonant chest tone.
"Edgar said this was insurance for me. I didn't want to use it at first because I didn't think I needed it."
Ren looked at him.
"And the result?"
Homelander grinned.
"The result is that you made me feel like I did. So now, let me return the favor."
He vanished.
Not "rushing over quickly."
But disappearing from sight entirely.
Mach thirty.
Ren's Super Hearing caught the frequency of the air being torn apart in a fraction of a second, and his body instinctively activated his force field defense.
But it was too late.
A fist smashed in from his left, and the moment the force field triggered, it withstood an unprecedented impact.
Fifteen thousand tons.
The force field didn't shatter.
But Ren, inside the force field, along with the field itself, was pushed by that punch and slammed into the office building behind him.
Entering from the fortieth floor.
Passing through the office area, the elevator shaft, the load-bearing wall, and the other half of the office area.
Exiting from the fortieth floor on the other side.
Then slamming into the hotel building next door.
Passing through the hotel's atrium, the crystal chandelier shattered into a rain of glass by the air blast.
Finally, his back slammed into the core steel column of the third building, bending the entire column ninety degrees, and the floor structure began to collapse from the point of impact.
Three buildings.
One punch, through three buildings.
The CNN helicopter lost him for two seconds, and when they found the shot again, the photographer's voice cracked.
"He punched that man in black through an entire building... no, wait, three!"
On social media, the hope everyone had just ignited was extinguished by half with that punch.
"It's over, that guy can't do it either."
"Homelander has gotten stronger; no one can stop him now."
"New York is finished."
In Noah's live stream, the young streamer gripped the microphone, speechless, while the chat spammed "GG" and crying emojis.
Inside the backup vehicle at the Safe House, Hughie's phone almost slipped out of his hand for the third time.
"He was punched through three buildings. Three."
Frenchie looked at the aerial footage of the building damage and took off his hat.
"This isn't the effect of regular Compound V; this bastard is at least three times stronger."
Ren's face was pressed against the car window, his voice very soft.
"Can he still stand up?"
Butcher looked at Becca, but Becca didn't speak.
Butcher placed his hand on Ren's shoulder, his grip much lighter than usual.
"That guy could talk back even after I stepped on his toes; going through a few buildings is nothing."
Manhattan.
The impact level of the third building was filled with dust, and steel bars and concrete fragments were still falling.
Homelander hovered at the entrance of the punched-through passage, arms crossed, looking down into the depths of the smoke.
"What's wrong, Janitor?"
His voice echoed through the ruins.
"Aren't you supposed to be a great fighter? Didn't you say you could swat me away with one punch?"
"Is it comfortable lying there now?"
There was no response from the dust.
Homelander laughed even louder, laughing until his shoulders shook.
"You see, the world is that simple. Whoever has the bigger fist is god. Your punch just now wasn't big enough, Ren. Not even close."
He spread his arms, facing the destroyed city around him.
"Who else dares to say I'm not the strongest?"
The CNN camera broadcast these words to the whole world.
In the live stream, the host's forehead was covered in sweat.
"The man in black's whereabouts are currently unknown, and Homelander seems to have completely gained the upper hand..."
The air stilled for two seconds.
Then, a cough came from deep within the ruins.
Not a weak cough.
The kind of cough one makes after choking on dust and finding it filthy.
Rubble was pushed away from inside, and steel bars were shoved aside.
Ren walked out of the ruins.
The left shoulder of his black combat suit was torn, and there was a bleeding mark where his ribs were.
He raised his hand, looking at the scrape that had appeared on the back of his hand for the first time.
The drop of blood was small, but it was definitely there.
Everyone around the world watching the live stream held their breath.
Inside the Safe House car, Hughie pointed at the screen, his voice rising two octaves.
"He's bleeding. He's actually bleeding. He's never bled before."
Butcher stared at the screen, only two words popping out of his mouth.
"Damn it."
Ren grabbed Becca's hand, his fingers clenched white.
Manhattan.
Homelander also saw that bloodstain.
His smile turned from manic to greedy.
"You're bleeding."
He licked his lips.
"You can bleed too."
Ren didn't look at him.
He was still looking at the tiny scratch on the back of his hand.
After two or three seconds, he lowered his hand.
Then he smiled.
Not the smart-ass, punchable smile from before.
But a truly relaxed smile that reached from his mouth to his eyes.
"A-Zu, you know what?"
He raised his head, looking directly at Homelander, who was hovering in mid-air.
"I've been in this world for so long, and this is the first time someone has hurt me."
Homelander frowned.
Ren flexed his right wrist, his knuckles emitting a dense cracking sound.
"So I have to thank you. Because before this, I never had a reason to get serious."
The air changed.
Not an abstract change, but a physical one.
The space around Ren's right fist began to distort.
Visible air refraction spread from his fist in all directions, and the rubble still intact on the road was ground into powder by the invisible pressure.
The steel bars in the ruins beneath his feet began to bend, the concrete began to crack, and the frame of the entire ruined building emitted a metallic scream of being unable to bear the load.
That wasn't a force field defense.
That was the sound of reality itself being bent after all his power was focused onto a single point.
Homelander's smile froze.
Every nerve in his body was screaming, telling him that fist contained something he couldn't withstand.
He should run.
But his legs wouldn't obey.
Not because of fear.
It was because the air collapse around that fist was pulling him forward.
Ren raised his right fist, looking at Homelander.
"Come on, let me teach you a new word."
He kicked off the ruins beneath his feet, vanishing from the spot.
His speed far exceeded any strike he had made before.
Far exceeding Homelander's Mach thirty.
Homelander's pupils only had time to contract halfway.
He saw that fist already in front of him, the energy gathered on the surface of the fist absorbing all the surrounding light, leaving behind a circular black vacuum ring.
Ren's voice fell clearly into his ears.
"Urban Superman Fist."
Thirty thousand tons.
The moment his fist made contact with Homelander's face, a sun exploded over Manhattan.
Chapter 100: Global Livestream: The Giant Baby Has Been Cured
Thirty thousand tons.
The moment the fist made contact with Homelander's face, there was no sound.
The shockwave arrived before the sound.
Above Manhattan, centered on the point of impact, a visible ring of white air pressure exploded outward, expanding wildly in all directions.
The clouds along its path were shredded.
The glass curtain walls of the skyscrapers shattered in massive sheets.
The CNN helicopter was flipped twice in the air by the blast, and everyone inside the cabin was nearly knocked unconscious by their seatbelts.
The camera remained fixed tightly on what was below.
Everyone saw it.
Homelander's face.
His face, the one he took such pride in, the one hailed as a divine visage on countless billboards and magazine covers, was like a piece of modeling clay struck by a heavy hammer under that fist.
His cheekbones collapsed.
Teeth shattered and sprayed out.
His entire face caved in from the middle into the shape of a fist.
He couldn't even let out a scream; his voice was swallowed by the even greater Sonic Boom.
The impact of that punch sent him plummeting vertically from his high-speed hovering state at Mach 30.
Like a meteor struck and sent flying.
Dragging a white trail of Sonic Booms, he smashed violently toward the ground from above Manhattan.
Impact.
The earth trembled.
Centered on the point of impact, the asphalt, paving stones, and roadbed were instantly compressed, displaced, and heaved upward.
A crater ten meters in diameter and several meters deep was forcefully smashed into existence.
At the center of the crater floor, Homelander lay on his back.
His Stars and Stripes uniform was completely reduced to rags, revealing the twisted and deformed torso beneath.
His chest was collapsed.
His limbs were bent at unnatural angles.
Only his chest still rose and fell weakly, proving he wasn't dead yet.
The debris and dust at the bottom of the crater slowly settled, covering him.
At the edge of the crater, Ryan slowly descended.
He stood at the edge of the crater, looking down at the figure at the bottom—the one who once made the whole world tremble with fear, now looking like a dead dog.
The tear in the left shoulder of his combat suit remained, and the abrasion on his ribs had already scabbed over.
But other than that, he was completely unharmed.
The night wind blew from afar, whipping up the hem of his combat suit.
The global livestream cameras, after experiencing a brief freeze, black screen, and signal interruption, refocused on this spot.
Focusing on the man standing at the edge of the crater.
Focusing on the "Homelander" who had been smashed into the ground with a single punch.
In the CNN broadcast studio, the anchor held onto the edge of the table to steady himself, his voice trembling with disbelief as it was broadcast across the globe.
"In the name of God... he... he just took down Homelanderwith a single punch..."
He couldn't continue.
On social media, words were no longer enough to describe the emotions of the moment; only endless exclamation marks and emojis of crying, face-palming, and kneeling flooded the screens.
In Noah's livestream, the young Black streamer clutched his microphone, his mouth wide open; it took several seconds before he finally burst out with a tearful roar.
"He won! He won! Preservation Walker won! Wuwuwu... ε(┬┴｡﹏┴┬)ε"
At the edge of the crater.
Ryan looked at Homelander, who had almost turned into a puddle of mush at the bottom of the crater, then looked up at the surrounding buildings that had been caught in the battle, either burning or collapsed.
He picked at his ear.
As if he had just finished watching an overly noisy concert.
Then, he spoke.
His voice wasn't loud, in fact, it was quite calm.
But through the ubiquitous livestream cameras and audio equipment, it was transmitted clearly into the ears of every viewer.
"John."
Homelander's fingers at the bottom of the crater twitched, and his eyelids struggled to open a slit.
"Did you think you were the strongest on this planet?"
Ryan shook his head, his tone tinged with helplessness, as if correcting an elementary school student who had gotten their homework wrong.
"You were wrong."
He leaned down slightly, looking at that unrecognizable face.
"You were just the loudest."
One sentence.
Through countless screens, it slammed into the eardrums of billions of people around the world.
For a moment, it was quiet.
Then, the whole world completely erupted.
Not cheers, not screams, but a complex noise mixed with shock, absurdity, relief, and ecstasy erupted from every city, every room, and every car.
On the broken streets of New York, survivors poked their heads out from shelters, looking at the figure at the edge of the crater, then back at Homelander in the pit; some began to laugh, some began to cry.
In the backup car.
Hughie stared at his phone screen, his mouth opening and closing several times, until he finally managed to squeeze out one sentence.
"I... I need to re-evaluate the true value of the 'Janitor' profession."
Butcher slowly drove the car near the edge of the crater, looked at the figure in the distance, and pulled at the corner of his mouth.
"Damn it."
He cursed under his breath, then rolled down the window and shouted in Ryan's direction.
"Hey! Asshole! The sandwich is on me! With ten layers of peanut butter!"
Ryan didn't turn back, just waved his hand casually, signaling that he had heard.
Ryan lay against the back window, his eyes shining brightly, and whispered to Becca.
"Mom, he won."
Becca hugged him and nodded, her eyes a little red, but this time it wasn't because of fear.
At the bottom of the crater.
Homelander's eyelids finally opened completely; he looked at the figure standing at the edge of the crater, his lips moving.
Blood and broken teeth gushed from the corners of his mouth.
He wanted to say something, but only a wheezing sound came from his throat.
At the edge of the crater, Ryan looked at him for another two seconds.
"Stop struggling, A-Zu."
"Your teeth are missing, so probably only ghosts can understand you now."
Having said that, he stopped looking at the bottom of the crater.
He turned around and walked toward the backup car.
The night wind blew against his back.
In the distance, more rescue helicopters and military jets were arriving, their searchlight beams scanning toward the crater from all directions.
But all the lights seemed to be following that retreating figure in the black combat suit.
The livestream cameras remained locked onto that figure.
Global viewers held their breath.
Until that figure disappeared behind the door of the backup car, and the car slowly started and drove away from the ruins.
The livestream footage finally refocused on Homelander at the bottom of the crater and the chaotic battlefield surrounding it.
The CNN anchor wiped his sweat and faced the camera; his voice was much calmer now, but still carried a hint of trance.
"The battle... seems to be over."
"A Superhuman we had never heard of before, known as 'Preservation Walker', has... defeated Homelander with absolute superiority."
"The world may really need to redefine the word 'hero'."
In the corner of the TV signal, Vought International's stock price curve was plummeting at an almost vertical angle.
The red numbers jumped wildly, finally freezing on a glaring horizontal line and two words.
"Circuit Breaker."
In Washington, inside an underground security conference room.
On the giant screen, the footage of Ryan throwing the punch and Homelander falling was playing on a loop.
Around the oval conference table, there was dead silence.
A gray-haired general picked up his coffee cup; his hand trembled slightly, and when he set it down, the bottom of the cup clicked sharply against the tabletop.
"Notify all relevant agencies."
He spoke, his voice dry.
"The highest security level assessment... needs to be redone immediately."
"That 'Preservation Walker'... no, it should be said, the existence itself that possesses this kind of power."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over everyone present.
"Must be incorporated into the new global strategic framework."
"Regardless of what he is."
On the screen, the image froze on the silhouette of Ryan as he said those words.
"You were just the loudest."
This sentence was like a nail, driven into this night, and also driven into the future of the world.
The backup car drove away from Manhattan.
Ryan leaned back in the passenger seat, closing his eyes.
On the system panel that only he could see, a new line of prompts was flashing wildly.
"Ultra-high intensity emotional fluctuations detected (fear, awe, ecstasy, subversion)..."
"Emotional points are rapidly gathering..."
"Estimated total gain: far exceeding historical records..."
The corners of his mouth curled up slightly.
"Finally quiet."
He said in a low voice, as if to himself.
And also as if saying goodbye to the past.
Outside the car, the darkness before dawn was about to pass.
But the real shock had only just begun.
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