Chapter 84: Where Did This Idiot Come From?
The President's face changed instantly.
It didn't turn red.
It turned white.
The kind of white as if a bucket of ice water had been splashed on him in the dead of winter.
The corner of his eye flickered toward Mark.
That blue-gold figure was standing in the center of the red carpet, back toward them, looking at his warriors.
But the President knew he could hear.
He could hear everything.
The advisor was still saying, "And these soldiers should have saluted you first; it's a matter of protocol. If the media captures this—"
"Enough."
The President's voice was soft, but the advisor shut up immediately.
He thought the President had taken his words to heart.
He thought his reminder had worked.
He even puffed out his chest slightly, feeling that he had upheld the President's authority at a critical moment.
The President didn't look at him.
The President simply raised his hand and gave a slight wave.
Just that one gesture.
The next second—
Two security guards in black suits appeared out of nowhere, grabbed the advisor from both sides, and dragged him away!
"Pre—Mr. President?!"
The advisor was stunned, his glasses askew, the gold frames flashing in the sunlight before hitting the ground with a clatter.
"What is the meaning of this?!
I—I was just following protocol—"
No one paid him any mind.
He was dragged until his feet left the ground, looking like a dangling chicken, still struggling desperately.
"Mr. President!
Mr. President!!"
His voice grew more distant, finally disappearing into a side door of the White House.
The President didn't spare him a single glance from beginning to end.
He only cursed silently in his heart:
If you want to die, don't take me down with you.
This scene happened so fast it was as if it had been rehearsed.
But among these shrewd people at the White Houseentrance, who didn't know what this meant?
The Minister of Defense and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff exchanged a look.
That look meant: Where did you find this moron?
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff shook his head slightly, his eyes glancing to the side—toward the Secretary of the department the advisory group belonged to.
That Secretary's face was currently ashen, fine beads of sweat already breaking out on his forehead.
He was fifty-eight years old and had spent thirty years maneuvering through Washington to finally reach this position.
He was just about to retire and enjoy his life.
And then a reckless greenhorn like this pops up under his command.
Talking to the President about "damaging dignity" right in front of that lord?
Why the hell didn't you just say, "How about we try to resist?"
The Minister of Defense leaned in, speaking in a voice only the two of them could hear:
"Where did you find this moron?"
The Secretary wiped his sweat, his voice even lower:
"Ha... Harvard, Kennedy School graduate, recruited last year, straight A's, interview performance was exceptional... who knew he had a hole in his brain..."
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff also leaned in, a hint of schadenfreude in his voice:
"Hurry up and fire him later."
The Secretary nodded frantically.
"Fire him, fire him, I'll fire him immediately."
He thought for a moment and added:
"Not just fire him, I'll make sure he can't even stay in Washington.
As long as this great Buddha is here, a greenhorn like him can forget about ever working in this industry again."
The Minister of Defense patted his shoulder in a gesture that seemed comforting, but his eyes were full of relief that it "wasn't my subordinate."
The other Secretaries nearby also withdrew their gazes, their facial management impeccable.
Some looked down at their leather shoes.
Some looked up at the clouds in the sky.
Some pretended to adjust their cuffs.
In any case—
None of my business.
None of my business.
None of my business.
After the advisor was dragged away, the scene returned to a deathly silence.
The President stood in place with a standard politician's smile, but beneath that smile was a raging storm.
In his heart, he was cursing the advisor's ancestors back eighteen generations.
You think I don't want to maintain my dignity?
You think I don't know the protocol?
But is that a normal person?
That's a monster who killed over fourteen thousand Superhuman!
That's the man who made the Secretary of the Military Department kneel and shout "Middle Class"!
That's a master who can crush diamonds with his bare hands!
And you want me to talk about protocol in front of someone like that?
Do you want me to go up to him and say, "Hey, wait a second, let me say a few words first"?
Do you also want me to go and run against him for the next presidency?
The President took a deep breath, swallowing all the curses back into his stomach.
Then he looked up, his smile unchanged, his tone as gentle as if he were coaxing a child:
"Mr. Mark, your brothers have arrived.
We can begin."
Mark turned around.
His gaze swept over the crowd, lingering for a tenth of a second in the direction the advisor had been dragged.
Then he smiled.
The smile was very faint, almost imperceptible.
But another layer of cold sweat broke out on the President's back.
"You have done well."
Mark walked toward Thorne, bent down, reached out his hand, and helped him up.
The movement was as gentle as if he were helping his own brother.
"Very well."
He turned to look at the President.
"Mr. President."
His voice had returned to its usual calm.
"We are all present.
You may take the oath."
He paused, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly.
"To that so-called God."
The President immediately stepped forward and cleared his throat.
"I am ready to take the oath for you at any time—"
His words were halfway out when Mark suddenly interrupted him.
"Why is there only a Bible?"
Mark's gaze swept over the book in the President's hand, then slowly rose to meet the President's face.
That look was very calm.
But the President's back was already soaked.
"Is it... the cross?"
He asked stutteringly.
"Of course, those are sacred items."
"Do you not have the slightest bit of piety toward your so-called God?"
Mark's voice remained calm, but every word was like a nail driven into the President's heart.
"Huh?"
The President was stunned.
He never expected Mark to challenge him at this moment.
If you want to kill me, just say so!
As long as you want to, can't you do it at any time?
The President was complaining wildly in his head, but he couldn't say it out loud.
He could only force a smile and explain cautiously:
"I am so sorry, so sorry, it was my oversight.
I will have someone go get it right now—"
"No need."
Mark waved his hand in refusal.
"On the way here, I picked up a piece of coal."
He pulled something out from his coat.
It was about the size of a fist, pitch black and shiny, gleaming with a deep luster in the sunlight.
Its surface was as smooth as a mirror, reflecting shadows.
It looked like a beautiful piece of obsidian.
But of course, it wasn't ordinary coal.
Natural diamonds don't come from coal—that's an old popular science myth.
True natural diamonds come from pure carbon crystals deep in the Earth's mantle, formed over billions of years of high temperature and pressure.
Only high-purity, low-impurity anthracite coal, after artificial purification and treatment under extreme high temperature and pressure, can be used to synthesize man-made diamonds.
And the piece in Mark's hand was the highest purity anthracite—he had specifically had someone dig it out from a coal mine in Pennsylvania.
At this moment, this fist-sized piece of pure carbon looked so small in his hand.
He walked toward the President.
Step by step.
Every step was steady.
When he reached the President, he held the coal suspended above the President's palm.
Chapter 85: This is the Grand Overlord!
"Open your hands."
The command was issued.
The President hurriedly extended both hands, palms flat, like a believer waiting for a holy relic to descend.
The next moment—
Mark's hand suddenly clenched shut!
"Creeeak—"
The sound set one's teeth on edge.
The coal was compressed in his palm, letting out an overburdened groan.
A large amount of smoke and dust seeped from between his fingers, but it was all held tight by that inseparable fist, with not a single trace escaping.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
Mark released his hand.
A sparkling object fell into the President's palm.
The object wasn't large, only the size of a thumb, but it was crystal clear, refracting rainbow-colored light under the sun.
Because it had been gripped by a fist, there were two indentations in the middle.
The overall shape was vertical.
It looked like—
Like an unconventional cross.
The President was stunned.
He looked down at the diamond cross in his palm, then back up at Mark, his lips trembling, unable to say a single word.
"Now you have a cross."
Mark stood before the President with his hands behind his back.
Behind him, five thousand Reaction Department soldiers rose simultaneously, lining up behind Mark in unison.
Five thousand people, five thousand pairs of knees, knelt at the same time.
Five thousand voices rang out together:
"Please swear to us!
Mr. President!"
The President took a deep breath.
Cradling the diamond cross, he opened the Bible and began to swear his oath:
"I, Joseph R. Biden III, the 46th President of the United States of America, do solemnly swear—"
His voice echoed across the square.
"I swear before Almighty God, before this holy Bible, and before this diamond cross bestowed by the Almighty's own hand—"
"From this day forward, no Superhuman shall be permitted to exist within the borders of the United States of America!"
"From this day forward, any attempt to acquire the power of Superhuman shall be deemed treason, punishable by life imprisonment or death!"
"From this day forward, all soldiers who participated in this 'Anti-Terrorist Purge Operation' shall receive the following rewards—"
He paused and began to read the long list:
"Each person shall receive a five hundred thousand dollar cash reward!"
"Each person shall receive a permanent housing unit provided by the government!"
"Each person and their immediate family shall enjoy free medical care for life!"
"Each person and their immediate family shall have all education costs waived for their children, from kindergarten to doctorate!"
"Each person shall receive the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the highest honor the nation can bestow!"
"Each person—"
He read for a full three minutes.
These rewards were enough for any ordinary person to live without worry for the rest of their life, counting money at home until their hands cramped.
After finishing, the President closed the Bible and looked up.
His gaze swept over those five thousand faces, finally landing on Mark.
"If I violate these oaths, may God punish my soul and may the people despise my name!"
"Amen!"
Five thousand voices rang out at once:
"Amen!"
At the same time.
In a dim rental room in Brooklyn, New York.
Butcher sat on a tattered sofa, smoking one cigarette after another.
The room was filled with smoke, as if it were on fire.
An old laptop sat before him, various news headlines scrolling across the screen:
"President Holds Special Inauguration Ceremony at the White House Today"
"Shocking! Global Superhuman Vanish Overnight!"
"Exclusive Reveal: What is the Origin of the Mysterious Organization 'Reaction Department'?"
"Homelander's Whereabouts Unknown, Police Issue Warrant"
Butcher stared at the news, a bitter curve tugging at the corner of his mouth.
This protagonist, originally endowed with a "destiny" by comic book writers to slay all Superhuman—
Now completely lost the support of everyone.
Because all the Superhuman were already dead.
Killed off by that guy named Mark Grayson.
He no longer had a goal.
It no longer had any meaning.
At ten in the morning, he went to the CIA.
He wanted to see his superior, apply for support, and tell them that Mark Grayson was also a Super and had to be eliminated.
The result?
The moment he uttered the name "Mark Grayson," his superior's expression changed.
"Say that again?"
"I said, Mark Grayson is also a Super!
We must eliminate him!"
The superior was silent for three seconds.
Then he pressed the call button on his desk.
"Security team, come in for a moment."
Four burly men rushed in and, without a word, grabbed Butcher and dragged him out.
"What are you doing?!" Butcher roared. "I'm telling the truth!
He's a Super!
He killed everyone!"
The security Captain was a bald, burly man; hearing this, he laughed outright.
"He's a Super?"
He leaned into Butcher's ear and whispered:
"Then do you know how much of a bonus he gave us?"
"Do you know how much equipment he gave us?"
"Do you know what his status is now?"
Butcher was stunned.
The security Captain patted his face, the gesture like patting a disobedient dog.
"Idiot, he's the Grand Overlord now."
"You damn well dare to say the Grand Overlord is a Super?"
"I think you're looking for trouble—carrying a lantern in a latrine, looking for shit!"
The next second, Butcher was thrown out of the CIAentrance.
He fell to the ground, rolling twice, covered in mud.
The doors slammed shut behind him.
He climbed up, patted the dirt off himself, and stared at the closed doors in silence.
Evening.
When Butcher returned to that dilapidated rental, there was already another person inside.
Vogelbaum—the Father of Compound V, the Father of Supers, that nearly eighty-year-old Jewish man—was sitting on the sofa, holding a vial of pale blue serum.
The vial glowed faintly in the dim light, like liquid sapphire.
"You're back?"
Baum's voice was hoarse and weary.
Butcher nodded, plopped down on the sofa, and lit another cigarette.
"My serum is no longer a problem."
Baum held up the vial and shook it against the light.
"One hundred percent concentration.
As long as it touches the skin, mucous membranes, or the mouth, it can react with Compound V to produce a lethal toxin."
"No matter how strong he is, as long as there is Compound V in his body, he is certain to die."
Butcher's eyes lit up.
But Baum's next words made that light dim again.
"But without a team, without CIA support, how are you going to get close to Mark Grayson?"
The old man put down the serum and sighed.
"Unless it's sprayed face-to-face, it's hard to guarantee the effect.
His current security level is likely higher than the President's."
"And—"
He paused.
"Now that you've lost the CIA's financial backing, I can no longer develop more high-concentration serum."
"There's only the standard dosage for atmospheric dispersal and this current one."
Butcher exhaled a smoke ring and fell silent for a long time.
Smoke filled the room, blurring his face.
"That's not for you to worry about."
He finally spoke, his voice low and raspy.
"I will find a way."
He stood up, walked to a rusted filing cabinet in the corner, opened it, and pulled a manila envelope from the very back.
The envelope was thick and heavy.
He tossed it onto the table with a dull thud.
Baum opened it and was stunned.
Inside were photos, documents, audio tapes, video tapes—
Every single one was a secret file on a Super.
Butcher stood by the window, his back to him.
"The intelligence I've accumulated over the years regarding all kinds of Superhuman is quite extensive."
His voice echoed in the dim room.
"The CIA thinks that without them, I'm isolated and helpless?"
He turned around, a cold curve on his lips.
"What a joke."
He pulled two photos from the pile of documents and pressed them onto the table.
Baum looked down, his pupils shrinking sharply.
In the first photo, a man in a blue and gold suit with a red cape was smiling at the camera.
Homelander.
The missing, strongest Super.
The only survivor who lived through the purge.
Butcher stared at the photo, his eyes bright like burning coals.
"I have two good helpers here who can assist me."
Chapter 86: The Most Prosperous
The most prosperous place in New York, the top of the Empire State Building.
Not the observation deck packed with tourists, specially designed for big shots to admire the night view.
Above it, there was a forgotten corner—a plain concrete platform, without any decoration, without any lighting, only the whistling wind on all sides and the void of eighty-six floors beneath.
This was a place where ordinary people would never come.
Those who looked up at the Empire State Building from the streets would never know that above those brilliant lights, there was such an abandoned darkness.
At this moment, a figure curled up in this darkness.
The once most powerful Superhuman, the god who once made the entire country kneel, was now tightly wrapping himself in his red cape.
That cape had once billowed in the sunlight, once the focus of countless cameras, but now it was crumpled around him like a rag used by a destitute vagrant for warmth.
His body was trembling.
That robust body that had once driven countless women crazy was now like a withered leaf in the wind, shaking uncontrollably.
It wasn't because of the cold—at this height, with this wind speed, he should have felt nothing at all.
It was because of fear.
"Why..."
His voice was hoarse and low, like a groan squeezed from the depths of his throat.
"Why is Mark so strong..."
He buried his face in his knees, his voice intermittent.
"Is this really a level that a Superhuman can reach..."
No one answered him.
The night wind whistled past, blowing up a corner of his cape, revealing the face underneath that had once appeared on countless billboards, countless magazine covers, and countless children's bedroom walls.
That face was now covered in tear stains.
Just then, a voice rang out from the darkness.
"That's right."
Homelander's body jolted violently.
The voice was calm, even a bit raspy, the kind of raspiness from smoking too much.
"He has already become strong enough to threaten human safety."
In the darkness, a figure slowly stepped out.
Butcher.
He was wearing an old black trench coat, its hem flapping in the wind.
His face was half-lit and half-dark under the moonlight, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, the crimson cherry flickering in the darkness.
"He's much more dangerous than you."
He walked up to Homelander and looked down at the man curled into a ball.
"If you could briefly paralyze a nation—"
He blew a smoke ring, the smoke dissipating instantly in the night wind.
"Then he can make the entire world extinct."
Homelander looked up.
His eyes were red and swollen, still containing tears, but in those eyes, a faint light now flickered—not hope, but a complex emotion that even he couldn't explain.
"To this extent..."
His voice was as raspy as sandpaper rubbing against an iron plate.
"Are you still here to arrest me, Butcher?"
If he were still at the peak of the world, if he were still the Homelander who terrified everyone, he would have used Heat Vision to blow Butcher's head off instantly.
How could that ant-like human dare to speak to him like that?
But he wasn't anymore.
The ant he once looked down upon had now unexpectedly become his only conversation partner.
Because he didn't dare go to Vought, didn't dare look for people he used to know—the moment he dared to appear, his whereabouts would be known by Mark immediately.
Did he know Mark was looking for him?
He probably did.
But Mark wasn't pursuing him with full force.
Why?
Homelander didn't know.
He only knew that his only 'friend' now was actually this man who once couldn't wait to tear him into pieces.
In Vought Corporation's blood bank, exactly ten thousand CCs of Homelander's blood samples were once stored.
When Mark first saw that number, he was silent for three seconds, and then sincerely marveled:
"As expected of Homelander, still alive and kicking after having so much drawn."
The researcher in charge of reception was a balding middle-aged man, wearing thick glasses and a crumpled white coat.
Hearing Mark's words, he explained with a sycophantic smile:
"Each time, a little was drawn during physical examinations."
He pushed up his glasses, his voice carrying a hint of pride—the pride of a technician in their professional ability.
"This was all... accumulated bit by bit."
Mark looked at him, and for the first time, a hint of respect appeared in his gaze.
He patted the balding man's shoulder, the force as light as patting a kitten.
"You are a steady and diligent worker."
The researcher almost knelt on the spot and called him 'Daddy.'
It was precisely because of this situation that Homelanderwasn't being pursued by Mark with full force.
With those ten thousand CCs of blood samples, it was enough for Vought Corporation's research team to study until the end of time.
Capturing Homelander himself again? That would be the icing on the cake, not a desperate necessity.
So Homelander survived.
Relying on his powerful flying ability and his extreme survival instincts, he fled everywhere.
Spending the night in a city's underground parking lot today, hiding in an abandoned church in some small town tomorrow.
With the sky as his blanket and the earth as his bed, he lived more miserably than a vagrant.
But Homelander was Homelander after all.
Even if he was as miserable as this, he wouldn't miss any chance to find some fun for himself.
"I slept with your wife."
Homelander looked at Butcher, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
That smile was full of provocation, malice, and a wicked desire to 'just see you suffer.'
"She even got pregnant with my child."
He emphasized his tone.
"Although my child wasn't born, and your wife died in childbirth."
He bit out the last few words particularly hard.
"Shouldn't you hate me?"
Butcher was quiet for a while.
The wind blew between the two of them, lifting the hem of Butcher's trench coat and revealing the faded jeans underneath.
He stood there like a statue.
Homelander watched his expression, anticipating that explosion of anger, anticipating that hysterical roar, anticipating that 'I'm going to kill you' madness.
He wanted to see Butcher lose control.
He wanted to prove that this seemingly indestructible man was actually just like him, merely flesh and blood.
But Butcher didn't lose control.
He just stood quietly, the cigarette in his hand burning, the ash accumulating into a long segment but never falling.
"If it's for a noble goal..."
He finally spoke, his voice very soft, as if talking to himself.
"I can discard everything I once had."
He looked up and faced Homelander.
Those eyes—Homelander discovered for the first time that this man's eyes could be so calm, so deep, so... hollow.
Chapter 87: What I Want...
"Love."
Butcher said.
"Family."
Another finger curled down.
"Hate."
The last finger curled down.
He clenched his right hand into a fist, then relaxed it, as if letting something go from his palm.
"Anything. I can let it all go."
Homelander's eyes widened.
They were truly wide—the kind where the eyeballs almost look like they're falling out of their sockets.
For the first time, he looked at the man in front of him with a gaze bordering on respect.
That tough-as-nails man, the man who was once powerless, stood now in the night wind. His black trench coat snapped in the gale, making him seem as if he were merging with the dark sky.
"I hate you, I really do."
Butcher's voice remained calm.
"I want to kill you every single second. Including now."
He pulled something out of his pocket and held it up before Homelander.
It was a vial of pale blue serum, glowing faintly under the moonlight like liquid sapphire.
"I even have the thing that can kill you right here in my hand."
Homelander's pupils constricted sharply.
He recognized that thing.
Vogelbaum's Extinction Virus.
The ultimate weapon against Compound V.
If Butcher sprayed that stuff in his face right now—
"But I'm holding back."
Butcher put the vial back into his pocket, his movements as natural as putting away a pack of cigarettes.
"I must hold back."
He looked up at Homelander and repeated it.
His voice was soft, but every word was as heavy as a mountain.
"I must hold back..."
"What's the point?"
Homelander truly didn't understand.
He, who had spent his life chasing fame and fortune and would give anything to be looked up to, could not comprehend Butcher's current state of mind.
It was the ultimate sorrow—the state where the heart has already died.
Yet, inexplicably, that dead heart was being propped up again by some sort of obsession, continuing to beat wildly!
"Tsk."
Butcher didn't answer.
He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, took one out and put it in his mouth, then threw the whole pack to Homelander.
Homelander reached out and caught it, looking down at the crumpled pack of Marlboros.
"Tsk, boring stuff."
He complained, but still took the lighter from Butcher and lit one for himself.
The smoke was quickly dispersed by the night wind. He took a massive drag, letting the pungent smoke fill his entire lungs.
Nicotine rushed through his blood into his brain, bringing a brief moment of numbness.
He pulled out another one and put it in his mouth.
He needed the tobacco to numb his nerves.
Even if it only helped a tiny bit.
Beside him, Butcher simply watched his cigarette burn leisurely.
He didn't inhale deeply like Homelander.
He just watched quietly, waiting until the cigarette had burned just right and the rich aroma of the tobacco leaves wafted out. Only then did he bring the filter to his lips.
He held his breath.
He took a deep drag.
Feeling the sensation of his lungs being stuffed to bursting.
Then, he exhaled a plume of blue smoke with satisfaction.
The smoke twisted and rose in the wind, finally vanishing into the night.
"I feel like I have a duty."
He finally spoke.
"I know very well it's a pipe dream. It's a duty I've forced upon myself."
His voice was as calm as if he were telling someone else's story.
"I don't think of myself as a savior. I know full well I'm a psychopath, already beyond redemption."
Homelander looked at him with a complex expression.
"You want to be a hero?"
He truly felt his worldview was shattering.
None of the shocks he had received in the past could compare to the impact of tonight.
Except for those few days when he was being targeted by Mark.
"No."
Butcher shook his head.
He gazed at the brightly lit city in the distance, his eyes somewhat glazed.
"But I've always had a thought."
He paused.
"I had this thought even before my wife and I fell in love."
The wind grew stronger.
It whipped their clothes and caused the city lights below to flicker.
"This world is truly unfair."
Butcher's voice drifted in the wind.
"The wealth gap, class disparity, intelligence gaps—so many things can target a life that has just arrived in this world, a life already adrift."
He took a deep drag of his cigarette.
"But then an even greater oppression appeared—the Superhumans."
He turned his head and looked at Homelander.
There was a light in those eyes.
It wasn't hate, it wasn't anger, but something much deeper.
"Like gods, possessing all kinds of extraordinary power."
"Since a long time ago, I've felt—"
"That this is a great mountain weighing down on humanity."
Homelander was stunned.
He looked at Butcher, at those eyes burning with obsession, and for a moment, he was speechless.
Butcher took another drag.
This time he inhaled very, very slowly, as if savoring something precious.
Then, he exhaled slowly.
The smoke blurred his face, but his voice was exceptionally clear.
"I hope there are no mountains weighing on humanity."
"I long for—"
He looked up at the infinite night sky.
"All creatures under the frosty sky to compete for freedom!"
The wind howled!
The wind rushed in from all directions, whipping their clothes into a frenzy and making Homelander's red cape snap, as if something were tearing through the darkness.
Homelander stood in the wind, motionless.
In this moment, in his eyes, Butcher's charisma reached its peak.
It was hard to imagine that these were words spoken by a mere mortal.
A mortal—how could he dare to have such ambitions?!
Only at this moment did Homelander truly understand—
The person before him could no longer be called a man.
He was a corpse driven by a delusion.
What a persistent delusion!
What a grand delusion!
Standing alone, he had boldly declared war on the greatest oppression!
"But my abilities are limited."
Butcher gave a bitter smile and shook his head.
There was no self-deprecation in that smile, only a calm acceptance.
"Since my abilities are limited, I'll do the urgent things first."
He looked at Homelander and said, word by word:
"At least eliminate the most powerful Superhuman."
Chapter 88: You Really Are a Madman
Butcher reached out his hand.
That hand was covered in calluses, with thick knuckles—a hand that had gripped guns, pressed keyboards, and flipped through files during countless sleepless nights.
"If one dares to raise the torch of the long night—"
His voice was soft, yet it exploded like a thunderclap in Homelander's ears.
"Then a crown shall be reserved for me."
He looked at Homelander.
"How about it?"
Homelander did not answer.
"I've already said everything I need to say."
Butcher's hand remained extended, without the slightest tremor.
"Such sincerity."
That indifferent smile remained on his face.
The cigarette tip glowed at the corner of his mouth, faintly illuminating that weathered, determined face.
"I just want to kill Mark Grayson. I also hope to kill you and the other helper in the process of the fight—that way, the strongest Superhumans will all be gone."
He admitted it quite frankly.
"But our goals do not conflict. As I've said repeatedly, my abilities are limited. Once Mark Grayson is dead, and you kill me, then you can continue to rule supreme!"
After finishing his words, Butcher smiled at Homelanderand said no more.
He wore an expression that said, "I have you completely figured out."
Silence.
A long silence.
The wind blew between the two, carrying the chill of the late night and the scent of the distant city.
Homelander looked at the extended hand, the callused hand of a mortal.
His own hands had crushed countless skulls, had waved elegantly before cameras, and had been kissed by countless admirers.
And now, these hands were trembling.
He looked at Butcher.
The man stood there, his trench coat flapping, his cigarette glowing and fading, with an indifferent smile on his face.
He was clearly just a mortal.
So weak that he could be crushed with a single finger.
But at this moment, he stood like a mountain.
"You really do have me figured out."
Homelander smiled helplessly.
There was no anger or resentment in that smile, only a complex sense of relief that even he couldn't explain.
He reached out and shook Butcher's hand.
That mortal hand.
"You do it for your fame and justice,"
Homelander said.
"I do it for my selfishness and malice."
"It seems we will make very compatible accomplices."
Butcher laughed.
This time, he actually laughed out loud.
"Hahaha—"
His laughter echoed in the night wind, as if he had set down some heavy burden.
"Don't use the word 'accomplices,' it sounds like we're about to commit a crime."
Homelander looked at him and smiled as well.
The smile was bitter and helpless, yet it carried a trace of inexplicable ease.
"This is far more serious than any crime I've ever committed."
He paused, looking up at the boundless night sky.
Moonlight spilled onto his face, illuminating the once-perfect features that were now etched with exhaustion and fatigue.
In the distance, the city lights remained brilliant.
Beneath those lights were countless people fast asleep.
They had no idea that eight hundred feet above their heads, the two most dangerous men had just formed the most dangerous alliance in the world.
One for his 'Freedom for all creatures to compete under the frosty sky.'
One for his'selfishness and malice.'
But at least in this moment, their goals were aligned.
To kill Mark Grayson.
Homelander withdrew his gaze and looked at Butcher.
The man had lit another cigarette and was blowing smoke into the night sky, his face wearing a rare look of relaxation.
"...Aren't you afraid I'll go back on my word?"
Homelander suddenly asked.
Butcher didn't turn his head.
"Are you afraid of death?"
Homelander was taken aback for a moment.
"Yes."
He admitted it quite frankly.
"Then that's it."
Butcher blew out a smoke ring.
"You think I'm not afraid?"
He turned his head to look at Homelander.
There was a hint of a smile in those eyes.
"But you have to kill Mark Grayson first before you have the chance to kill me."
"And until then, we need each other."
He reached out and patted Homelander on the shoulder.
The movement was light, like patting an old friend.
"So, for now, we're in the same boat."
Homelander fell silent.
He looked at Butcher, the man he hated to the bone yet couldn't help but admire.
"...You know what?"
He said suddenly.
"You are the craziest madman I have ever met."
Butcher smiled.
"Thanks for the compliment."
The night wind continued to blow.
The two men stood side by side at the top of the Empire State Building, in that forgotten darkness, looking down at the brilliantly lit city below.
Each had his own thoughts.
Each had his own agenda.
But at least in this moment, their shadows, stretched long by the moonlight, intertwined, indistinguishable from one another.
In the distance, a faint sliver of white appeared on the eastern horizon.
Dawn was approaching.
Homelander took a deep breath, drawing the last bit of acrid tobacco into his lungs, then slowly exhaled.
"Let's go."
He said.
"To kill a god."
Butcher looked at him, the corner of his mouth curving upward.
"Aren't you a god?"
Homelander was silent for a second.
Then, he gave a bitter laugh.
In that smile, there was powerlessness, self-deprecation, resignation, and an indescribable emotion.
"Yeah."
He said softly.
"That's why I know best—"
"Gods can be killed too."
His voice dissipated into the night wind.
The two figures disappeared from the top of the Empire State Building.
Only a corner of the red cape remained, caught by the wind, fluttering lonely in the darkness for a moment before it too vanished.
In the deepest level of Vought Corporation's top-secret experimental zone, cold metal corridors stretched into the darkness; there was no surveillance here, no unauthorized personnel, only the core research team and the most dangerous secrets.
The heavy alloy door slid open slowly, and blinding white light instantly flooded the entire laboratory.
Countless precision instruments operated at high speeds, data incomprehensible to ordinary people jumped on screens, pale blue liquid flowed slowly through sealed pipes, and the air was thick with a cold, eerie chemical scent.
The lead researcher, hunched over, walked quickly to Mark Grayson, his face filled with irrepressible excitement and awe.
He reached out a slightly trembling finger, pointing to the massive reaction device in the center, his voice distorted by excitement.
"Mr. Mark, we have been pushing the research day and night. The new Compound V has already broken through the most critical technical barriers."
He took a deep breath, trying to keep his tone steady.
"Currently, all data has reached expected standards. Stability, enhancement efficiency, and side-effect control have all surpassed the previous generation by dozens of times."
The researcher adjusted the screen, and the molecular structure of the compound and live experimental data immediately appeared on the display.
"According to current progress, it will only take seven days. In seven days, the new Compound V can officially enter mass production."
He looked up, gazing devoutly at the man before him.
"At that time, you will receive the most perfect and powerful new Compound V."
Only the slight hum of the instruments remained in the laboratory as everyone held their breath, waiting for Mark's response.
Mark stood before the equipment, his gaze calmly scanning the data on the screen without the slightest surprise, as if all of this was within his expectations.
He nodded slightly, a faint smile appearing on his face.
The smile wasn't exaggerated, yet it made all the researchers present instantly breathe a sigh of relief, as if a thousand-pound weight had been lifted.
"Well done."
Mark spoke, his voice not loud, but carrying an unquestionable authority.
"You haven't wasted time, nor have you wasted my trust."
He raised his hand and lightly patted the researcher on the shoulder.
"Keep it up. In one week, I want to see the finished product."
A simple sentence, yet it made the researcher so excited he could barely stand steady.
To receive a word of recognition from Mark Grayson was more precious to them than any honor.
"Yes! Mr. Mark! We will certainly go all out! We absolutely will not let you down!"
The researcher nodded repeatedly, his tone incredibly firm.
Mark said no more and turned to walk out of the laboratory.
His figure disappeared behind the alloy door, while the people in the laboratory remained immersed in their excitement.
The new Compound V was about to be released, and Mark's era would welcome a brand-new beginning in one week.
The entire Vought Corporation, and even the entire world, would completely bow down before this power.
Chapter 89: Soldier Boy
On the outskirts of Moscow.
This place was already two hundred kilometers away from the city center, surrounded by a birch forest that was covered in white snow in winter and lush green in summer.
But at this moment, in the depths of autumn, the leaves had mostly fallen, leaving only bare branches shivering in the night wind.
Butcher tightened his black trench coat and looked at the abandoned factory in front of him.
Calling it a factory was an understatement; it was more like a fortress.
Towering walls, dense barbed wire, and sentry boxes every fifty meters—though those posts were now empty, one could still see the heavy security that once existed here.
"Is this the place?"
Homelander stood beside him, his red cape fluttering gently in the night wind.
He frowned as he looked at the building, his expression complex.
"Are you sure?"
"Intelligence from Vogelbaum."
Butcher pulled a cigarette from his pocket, placed it in his mouth, and lit it.
"The Soviets captured him back then and kept him locked up for decades.
After the Soviet Union collapsed, the Russians kept him locked up.
He's been there ever since."
He exhaled a smoke ring.
"Soldier Boy.
The strongest Superhuman of the World War II era.
Supposedly, his physical durability is even higher than yours."
Homelander remained silent for a second.
In the past, hearing that someone was stronger than him would have made him snap immediately.
But now, after experiencing so much, he was surprisingly calm.
There were plenty of people stronger than him.
Mark Grayson was one.
One more didn't matter.
"Let's go."
He grabbed Butcher's shoulder, his feet left the ground, and he soared into the sky.
The night wind howled as the birch forest receded rapidly beneath them.
Seconds later, they were hovering over the factory.
Homelander looked down.
There were people in the sentry boxes.
Patrols were there too.
It seemed the Russians were still diligently guarding this secret.
"Are you ready?"
Homelander asked.
Butcher flicked his cigarette butt away; the crimson dot traced an arc through the night sky, falling into the darkness below.
"Do it."
Homelander's eyes instantly turned red.
Two beams of searing red light shot from his eyes, like two burning swords sweeping across the buildings below!
Sentry boxes exploded!
The patrol teams screamed!
Reinforced concrete walls were torn open like they were made of paper!
Wherever his Heat Vision touched, everything burned, melted, and exploded!
In just thirty seconds, this secret base, guarded for decades, turned into a sea of fire.
Homelander landed slowly with Butcher.
His feet stepped onto the scorched ground, his red cape snapping in the light of the flames.
"Shall we go in and take a look?"
Butcher nodded.
The two of them walked through the still-burning ruins into the depths of the base.
The corridor was long, lined with empty cells on both sides.
Some cells still contained skeletal remains, while others held nothing but piles of tattered clothing.
A pungent stench filled the air—a mixture of decay, mold, and chemicals.
At the very end was a heavy iron door.
There was a small window on the door, welded over with dense iron bars.
Butcher leaned in and peered inside.
Then he froze.
In the cell, a large, bare-chested man sat in a corner.
His hair and beard were incredibly long, tangled together in a mess that almost obscured his face.
But his body—it was covered in scars, new and old, layered upon each other as if he had been used as an experimental table.
But his eyes were bright.
Those eyes shimmered in the darkness like two burning flames.
"Soldier Boy?"
Butcher asked tentatively.
The large man looked up at him.
Then he smiled.
The smile looked somewhat ferocious on his bearded face, but his voice was unexpectedly deep:
"Is Hitler dead?"
Butcher paused for a moment.
"He's dead."
"How long has he been dead?"
"Over seventy years."
The man nodded, lost in thought.
"What about Stalin?"
"Dead too."
"Roosevelt?"
"Dead."
"Churchill?"
"Also dead."
The man was silent for a second, then let out a long sigh:
"Damn, I've been locked up for decades, and not a single acquaintance is left."
Homelander stood to the side, his expression complex.
This was Soldier Boy?
The man legendary for being able to overpower him in hand-to-hand combat?
He looked like a savage.
But that aura—
Even after being locked up for decades, even covered in wounds, even sitting in a corner like a vagrant, he still radiated an indescribable sense of pressure.
That was the temperament of someone who had truly experienced the battlefield.
It wasn't something a "hero" built on genetic modification like him could compare to.
"Are you here to save me?"
Soldier Boy looked at Butcher, then at Homelander behind him.
"Or here to kill me?"
"Here to save you."
Butcher walked to the iron door, examining the massive lock.
"You owe me a favor."
"Hahaha!"
Soldier Boy burst out laughing, his laughter echoing in the small cell, making the walls tremble.
"I like you!
Speak, what do you want me to do?"
Butcher didn't answer immediately.
He pulled something from his pocket—a special explosive Vogelbaum had given him, specifically designed to blow open an iron door of this caliber.
He attached the explosive to the lock and stepped back a few paces.
Boom!
The iron door blew open, and dust filled the air.
Soldier Boy walked out of the smoke, his bare feet stepping onto the scalding iron plate, making a sizzling sound.
But he didn't care; he just stretched, his bones popping and cracking.
Decades.
Finally, he was out.
He took a deep breath of the air outside—even though it was full of smoke and the stench of burning, to him, it was the taste of freedom.
"Speak."
He looked at Butcher.
"You saved me; what do you want?"
Butcher took out a cigarette and lit another one.
"Are you the strongest?"
Soldier Boy raised an eyebrow.
"Of course."
He clenched his fists; those hands were covered in callouses and scars, but the sense of power they exuded made even Homelander instinctively take half a step back.
"Back in the day, I took down a Nazi armored division single-handedly.
You tell me if I'm the strongest."
Butcher shook his head.
"No, you're not."
He turned sideways and pointed to Homelander behind him.
"He's stronger than you."
Soldier Boy looked at Homelander, sizing him up.
"Flashy."
He commented.
"You wear a cape and think you're Superman?"
Homelander's mouth twitched, but he held back.
"But it's not him I want to deal with."
Butcher continued.
"There is another guy in this world who is even stronger."
"Stronger than both of you put together."
Soldier Boy's eyes lit up.
"Oh?"
"His name is Mark Grayson.
He's in the United States right now."
Butcher took a deep drag of his cigarette and slowly exhaled.
"You help me, and him, take down that Mark Graysontogether."
"Use that as the price for me letting you out."
Soldier Boy was silent for a second.
Then he laughed.
The smile carried a beast-like excitement.
Chapter 90: solar particles!
"You release me, release me from this torture—then I truly should repay you."
He reached out and grasped Butcher's hand.
That hand was like an iron vice, nearly crushing the bones in Butcher's hand.
"Fulfilling this request of yours... I can do that."
"For me, it's quite simple anyway."
Meanwhile.
New York, Vought Corporation Headquarters, Top Floor.
This place was originally Edgar's private lounge, now converted into Mark's exclusive space.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was the Manhattanskyline, and below was the bustling Fifth Avenue; sunlight poured in through the glass, making the entire room feel warm and cozy.
Mark sat on the sofa, holding a cup of black tea in his hand.
Opposite him, Queen Maeve was dressed in casual clothes, elegantly sipping another cup of tea.
After shedding her suit, she looked like an ordinary urban woman—if one ignored her athletic physique and the heroic aura that inadvertently emanated from her every gesture.
"I prefer black tea a bit more than green tea."
Maeve set down her teacup and commented.
"The flavor of black tea is deeper."
"After all, it is a flavor that has undergone aging."
Mark smiled.
He picked up his own teacup and took a sip.
"Some things are always worth the wait."
Maeve looked at him, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly.
This man always managed to say things that made her heart flutter inadvertently.
Just as she was about to say something, the door was suddenly pushed open.
A researcher in a white lab coat rushed in, his face flushed and panting heavily.
"My... My Lord!"
He bent over, gasping for air, clearly having run all the way there.
Mark set down his teacup.
"What is it?"
The researcher looked up, his eyes sparkling with excitement:
"It's a success!"
"A truly complete, enhanced version of Compound V that inherits all of Homelander's power—it has been born!"
Mark's eyes lit up.
He had been waiting for this moment for a long time.
From the first day he arrived in this world, he had been coveting Homelander's abilities.
There was no other reason.
He just wanted Heat Vision!
Long-range attack methods are super cool, aren't they?
I, I want Heat Vision so badly!
With eyes glowing red, sweeping across the entire city, the masses wailing, and my former home being cut to pieces under my Heat Vision.
This is what you call conquest!
Whoever I don't like, I'll just start with a zero-frame move and blow his head off with a blast of Heat Vision!
I, Mark Grayson, will blast whoever I want!!
"Take me there, quickly!"
He stood up and grabbed the researcher by the shoulder.
In the next second, both had disappeared from the spot.
Maeve shook her head and also stood up to follow.
Deep within the research lab, there was a special room.
All four walls were alloy plates, airtight, specifically used to store the most precious experimental samples.
At this moment, on a platform in the center of the room, sat a transparent test tube.
Inside the test tube was a golden liquid.
The liquid wasn't pale blue like ordinary Compound V; it was pure gold, like liquid sunlight.
It flowed slowly inside the tube, shimmering with golden light as if it were alive.
"This is the brand-new Compound V that inherits Homelander's enhanced power."
The researcher stood to the side, his voice carrying uncontrollable excitement.
"We used up all of Homelander's genetic reserves, a full 10,000 CCs of plasma, to extract his superpower factors, and then performed countless purifications and enhancements."
He pointed at the tube of golden liquid:
"As long as you consume it and withstand the genetic modification, you can obtain power a hundred times stronger than Homelander's in every aspect!"
Mark stepped forward and picked up the test tube.
The golden light reflected on his face, coating his features in a divine glow.
"A hundred times?"
He laughed.
"Good, very good."
With Homelander's power multiplied by 100, the boost to him would likely be quite considerable.
He wasn't worried at all about anyone stealing a drink behind his back.
For an ordinary Earthling, drinking this would be seeking death.
Those 10,000 CCs of Homelander's genes would be enough to burst the body of any normal person.
But for him—
The Smart Atoms within his body were roaring.
They were cheering, anticipating, and craving this new power.
"My Lord."
The researcher hesitated for a moment but still spoke up to remind him:
"I still must remind you.
Once consumed, your physiological structure will undergo fundamental changes.
Although we speculate your body can withstand it, it is truly possible—that you might physiologically become Homelander."
Mark turned his head to look at him.
His gaze was calm, yet the researcher felt as if he were being stared down by an ancient giant beast.
"Heh."
Mark laughed.
"You vastly underestimate the aggressiveness of my lineage."
He held up the tube of golden liquid.
"Watch closely—"
"What it means to be Viltrumite Royalty!"
He tilted his head back and drained the tube in one gulp!
The golden liquid flowed down his throat, into his esophagus, and into his stomach.
The next second—
Boom!
Mark's body erupted with a blinding golden light!
The light was so intense, so dazzling, it was as if a small sun had exploded inside him!
Maeve instinctively covered her eyes.
The researcher was even more dazzled, stumbling back several steps and falling onto his backside.
In the golden light, Mark's eyes began to gather a red glow.
It was the embryonic form of Heat Vision.
But it was more than that.
The Smart Atoms in his body began to operate frantically!
Those billions of Smart Atoms were now like sharks scenting blood, pouncing madly on the Compound Vflooding his system!
They enveloped those golden factors, devouring them, decomposing them, and absorbing them!
His performance began to skyrocket at an alarming speed!
A hundred times the power—after being accepted by the Smart Atoms, it was no longer a simple 'hundred times.'
It was a qualitative change!
Mark could feel the searing heat flowing through his body.
The essence of Homelander's Heat Vision wasn't a laser, nor was it simple fire.
It was a high-energy thermal beam emitted directly from the eyes, with a composition close to intense infrared rays combined with high-energy particles.
Its core function was to concentrate energy on a single point, causing extreme heating, melting, and burning.
So, rather than 'Heat Vision,' it would be better to call Homelander's ability 'Cyclops' beams.
And this Cyclops ability, after being multiplied a hundredfold, the original maximum temperature of three thousand degrees, under the enhancement of Smart Atoms and Super Compound V—
Successfully reached fifty thousand degrees!
Furthermore, within that terrifying ionic energy, brand-new solar particles were born!
Those particles were even more violent than actual solar particles, infinitely close to the turbulent energy at the very core of the solar layer!
One should know that even surface solar particles could affect the Smart Atoms inside a Viltrumite's body.
And now, these violent solar particles circulating inside Mark—
Could absolutely breach a Viltrumite's physical defenses!
"Quite an unexpected harvest!"
Mark opened his eyes in pleasant surprise.
In those eyes, golden light was now swirling.
His appearance began to undergo some changes.
The genetic information of Homelander within the Compound V was in a frantic struggle against the Smart Atoms in his body.
That genetic information tried to reshape his body into Homelander's likeness—blond hair, blue eyes, a Caucasian face.
But it was pointless.
Viltrum Smart Atoms are the most aggressive substance in the world, bar none!
It was merely genetic information.
The moment Mark's body birthed his superpowers, his genetic information was already fixed!
It could be modified.
It could be enhanced.
But it would absolutely never be completely overturned!
Still the black-haired, black-eyed Mark, he now looked like a deity bathed in golden light.
A faint golden light began to emanate from his veins.
The luster of solar particles flowed over his skin, and two golden flames burned in his eyes.
Those were solar particles.
At this moment, Mark was the darling of the sun!
He soared into the sky!
Chapter 91: Son of Tomorrow
Boom!
A massive hole was smashed through the top floor of Vought Corporation, and Mark's figure shot straight into the sky!
He hovered ten thousand meters in the air, with the bustling prosperity of all of New York beneath his feet.
The sun shone above his head, and the sunlight spilling over him was frantically absorbed by the Solar Particleswithin his body.
Homelander's original Anti-gravity Field was now being amplified a hundredfold.
After merging with the original field of the Smart Atoms, a fundamental change occurred!
It was an ultimate energy field emanating from his biological essence.
Distorting gravity.
Distorting space.
Distorting the laws of physics.
At this moment, the Anti-gravity Field had completely become Mark's Bio-Electric Field!
It could be called the most comprehensive ability in the DC Universe!
Anything you can imagine, and even things you can't, the Bio-Electric Field can achieve!
Mark bathed in the sunlight; the Solar Particles in his body grew stronger under its radiance, and the transformation of his body became increasingly thorough.
The speed at which the Smart Atoms flowed was startlingly fast!
He closed his eyes, feeling the changes in his body.
Viltrumites have extreme control over their own bodies.
He could clearly feel that every muscle, every bone, and every drop of blood was being reshaped by this new power.
After Homelander's super strength was multiplied a hundredfold and stacked with his own power, it underwent another qualitative change—
Now Mark's strength had reached twice its original level.
But this was only the beginning.
Because the Solar Particles in his body seemed able to plunder the sun's power, constantly strengthening his body.
Although the speed of reinforcement was limited, it was definitely much more useful than ordinary training!
Mark opened his eyes, a satisfied curve hooking his lips.
"Reborn as a Viltrum, and I can get stronger just by basking in the sun?"
He laughed.
"That really is an unexpected surprise!"
He clenched his fist.
In that instant, the air around his fist was directly crushed, letting out a dull sonic boom.
Double the strength?
It didn't sound like much.
But the stacking of combat power and the stacking of physical strength are two completely different things.
Taking double strength as an example, Mark's current speed, physical hardness, and punching force were all twice what they used to be.
When all these stacked together—
The current him could take on five of his former selves!
In the 'Invincible' comics, which highly respect gang-fights, this could be considered extremely overpowered combat strength!
Even the so-called pinnacle of Viltrumite evolution, the strongest Grand Regent Thragg.
When facing a gang-fight from Anissa, General Kreigg, and Lucan.
He would still be beaten directly to the ground, forced into an extremely flamboyant posture.
Looking just like a mistreated little daughter-in-law.
Though that was partly because Nolan had already exhausted much of his stamina, and the trio of Anissa were the top combatants in Viltrum second only to Thragg.
But with Mark's current strength—
He really could go toe-to-toe with Thragg now!
At worst, we'll settle it inside the sun!
Solar Particles would no longer affect his body so easily.
The current Mark had already moved ahead of the Viltrumites.
Mark looked up, gazing at the blazing sun above.
In the next second, his figure vanished from the spot.
He charged toward space at an incredible speed, breaking through the atmosphere, breaking through low Earth orbit, and rushing toward that burning star!
The sun grew larger and larger, closer and closer.
Fifty million kilometers.
Ten million kilometers.
Five million kilometers.
One million kilometers.
Finally, he arrived at the surface of the sun.
Temperatures of a million degrees Celsius rushed at him; those flames, capable of melting any metal, merely rippled around him like a gentle hot spring.
He reached out his hand, probing into the churning solar flames.
Warm.
Comfortable.
Power was flooding in.
He could feel the Solar Particles in his body frantically absorbing the sun's energy, then converting it into nutrients to strengthen his body.
This feeling was like adding steel rebar to concrete.
As more and more rebar was added, the concrete wall gradually became a wall of solid steel!
Mark took a deep breath—even though there was no air here.
Then he leaped, diving deeper into the sun!
Through the Chromosphere, through the Transition Region, all the way down!
Finally, Mark's feet touched solid ground.
The temperature here was lower than the sun's surface, but the Solar Particles were more abundant and more violent.
Temperature cannot harm a Viltrumite, not even the hottest temperature of the sun.
After all, Viltrumites are a terrifying species that can stand next to a black hole to enjoy the scenery.
What truly harms a Viltrumite are Solar Particles; those particles can disrupt the balance of the Smart Atomswithin a Viltrumite's body.
Causing problems for their originally indestructible defenses.
But now, these Solar Particles could no longer harm Mark!
Because at this moment, they shared the same root and origin!
At this moment, Mark was the Son of the Sun, the Son of Tomorrow!
The flames of the Solar Layers churned around him, and those violent Solar Particles flooded frantically into his body!
His body was glowing!
The incoming Solar Particles were being devoured by the Smart Atoms in his body, converted into even greater power!
His muscles were expanding, his bones were strengthening, and his blood was boiling!
He could clearly feel that the speed at which he was becoming stronger was increasing at a staggering rate!
Ten times!
Ten times faster than simply basking in the sun outside!
This efficiency was roughly equivalent to fifteen times the efficiency of receiving top-tier special training from the Global Defense Agency.
The kind of training with rational lodging arrangements and a series of professional plans.
Although compared to those truly heaven-defying cheats, it was still a bit lacking.
But it was a cheat nonetheless.
Mark hovered in the Corona, allowing those million-degree flames to wash over his body.
He closed his eyes, savoring the feeling in detail.
With his talent, there would be new changes every month.
After staying inside the sun for three or four years, he would be able to go out and tear Thragg apart with his bare hands.
Mark closed his eyes.
At this moment, he only wanted to enjoy this tranquility.
This tranquility of being embraced by the sun.
After an unknown amount of time—perhaps minutes, perhaps hours—he opened his eyes.
In those eyes, golden flames were now burning.
He reached out his hand, looking at his palm.
Those hands now shimmered with a faint golden light, as if condensed from sunlight.
He clenched his fist.
Power was surging.
Power strong enough to tear apart the stars.
He smiled.
Then, he turned around, looking toward that blue planet.
In the next second, Mark's figure flew out from the sun, speeding toward Earth.
Chapter 92: The Return
Meave stood on the rooftop of the Vought Corporation.
This was the place in the entire city closest to the sun.
The wind was strong, blowing her long hair behind her and making the corners of her clothes flap loudly.
But she remained motionless, simply tilting her head back, looking at that blazing ball of light in the sky.
Two or three hours had already passed.
She had been standing here from the moment Markcharged toward the sun.
Staff members had come up in the interim, tentatively asking if she needed a parasol, a drink, or a comfortable chair.
She simply shook her head, and those people tactfully withdrew.
The sun moved slowly across the sky, transitioning from noon to afternoon.
Meave's shadow stretched from a small clump at her feet into a long, slender silhouette.
But she continued to stand.
She didn't know how much longer Mark would stay within that high-hanging ball of light.
But no matter how long it took, she would wait right here.
To be the first person to welcome Mark back.
As his woman.
When this thought surfaced, Meave found it a bit amusing herself.
Once upon a time, she was that cold-eyed female warrior who viewed the world, thinking love was nothing but a hormonal scam and men were merely seasoning for life.
And now?
She was like a housewife waiting for her husband to come home.
No, it was more exaggerated than a housewife.
A housewife at least waits at home, on the sofa, or in the kitchen.
She was waiting on a rooftop, in the wind, under the sun.
Love really does lower one's intelligence.
Meave sighed, yet the corners of her mouth couldn't help but turn up.
Right then—
A gentle voice drifted down from the sky.
"The situation exceeded my expectations."
The voice wasn't loud, yet it clearly pierced through the wind, falling into Meave's ears.
She snapped her head up.
From the direction of the sun, a figure was slowly walking out.
He was bathed in golden light, and his entire suit emitted a dazzling golden glow.
The light wasn't blinding; instead, it was as gentle as liquid sunshine, outlining a perfect silhouette on his body.
It was Mark.
He stepped out from the sun, one step at a time, treading on the void as if on invisible stairs.
His black hair shimmered with a golden luster under the sunlight, and a golden halo rippled within his black eyes, like two miniature suns.
Meave looked at him, momentarily dazed.
This man made her heart race every time he appeared.
Mark descended from the air and stood steadily in front of her.
Those eyes with the golden halos looked at her, the corners of his mouth curving slightly.
"Waiting long?"
"It's alright."
Meave shrugged. "Only two or three hours."
She sized Mark up, her gaze filled with curiosity.
"I can already sense your power."
She said, "How much stronger are you than before?"
Mark raised an eyebrow.
Then he took a step back and struck a classic bodybuilder's pose.
Clenching his fists and flexing his arms, he displayed his already exaggerated muscles.
"I can take on ten of my old self now!"
There was a hint of pride in his tone, like a child who had just gotten a new toy.
Meave was stunned for a moment, then burst out laughing.
Was this the decisive, ruthless Invincible who struck terror into the entire Superhuman world?
Was this the Emperor of the Universe who crushed diamonds with his bare hands and made the Presidentkneel to take his oath?
What was he doing now?
Showing off his muscles?
"Ten?"
She asked, suppressing her laughter.
"Ten."
Mark nodded seriously, deliberately flexing his arms even harder. "With pure physical strength alone, I could beat five of my old self.
Add to that the full enhancement of my Bio-field, and the solar particles in my Heat Vision—"
He lowered his arms and spread his hands.
"In short, I'm very strong now."
He was telling the truth.
With his pure physical strength doubled, combined with the full enhancement of his Bio-field and Heat Visionreaching 50,000 degrees.
Now, he could definitely accomplish the small goal he had always held.
Filial piety.
Pinning Nolan down on the the Himalayas, slapping him across the face while asking: Who will still be there in five hundred years?
He wondered if Nolan would say: He'd still have the Immortal in five hundred years?
Thinking of that scene, the corners of Mark's mouth couldn't help but turn up.
"That really is an unimaginable level of strength."
Meave said with a chuckle.
She didn't care about any of that.
Mark was already the strongest in the world.
Being even stronger now was nothing more than a change in numbers to her.
She couldn't beat him anyway, and it wasn't like he would use that power to bully her.
That was enough.
"What do you think of this world?"
Mark suddenly dropped his joking expression and looked at her seriously.
The two stood face to face, the wind on the rooftop passing between them, lifting Meave's long hair.
For a moment, it was incredibly soulful.
Meave was taken aback.
She looked into Mark's eyes—those black eyes with golden halos—and saw her own reflection within them.
"What is there to say?"
She sighed, her tone tinged with helplessness.
"It's livable, I suppose."
She had grown up in this world since she was a child.
She had seen too much darkness and experienced too much injustice.
She knew better than anyone what those so-called Superheroes were really like behind the scenes.
Life had never been a particularly wonderful thing for her.
But then, she took a step forward and rested her head against Mark's chest.
That chest was broad and warm, his heartbeat steady and powerful, like some kind of eternal rhythm.
"But if it's with you—"
Her voice was soft, like the wind blowing past.
"It doesn't matter where we are."
Meave wasn't a fool.
She had observed Mark's words and actions.
He was out of place in this world, he held its rules in contempt, and the logic behind his actions was completely different from the people here.
Yet he said he was of royal blood from a highly advanced planet.
He said his home was countless light-years away.
He said—
Meave boldly deduced that her partner might come from another world.
This deduction was crazy.
But with Mark, all things crazy became reasonable.
"It seems you've already understood."
Mark's voice came from above her, tinged with a smile.
"Are you willing to go over there with me?"
He paused, then added:
"My mom and dad are both very nice people."
Meave looked up into his eyes.
In those eyes, there was no ruthlessness or majesty at this moment, only a gentle expectation.
"Can I?"
Her voice trembled slightly.
Could she really leave this world?
Leave this world that made her weary, bored, and hopeless?
"You can."
Mark's answer was categorical.
He had already asked the Multiverse Travel System.
The system told him that it was possible to bring people along.
But there was a prerequisite—the person must be enveloped within his field.
The original Smart Atom field couldn't protect Meave that well.
But now—
His Bio-field could absolutely do it.
After all, it was DC's most versatile ability!
"Then it's a deal."
Meave smiled.
That smile was as bright as the current sunlight.
"Oh, right, I have a gift for you."
Mark slapped his forehead as if remembering something.
Chapter 93: Maeve's New Ability
He turned his head and nodded toward the staircase.
A staff member in a white lab coat immediately trotted over, respectfully holding a test tube in his hands.
The liquid in the test tube shimmered with a faint golden light, looking exactly like the one Mark had drunk before.
The staff member handed the test tube to Mark, and then—
Turned around and bolted.
That speed, that posture—it was as if he were competing in the Olympic hundred-meter final.
The way he ran under the sunlight looked like he was chasing after his lost youth.
Maeve watched, completely stunned.
"What is he running for?"
"He's afraid you'll beat him up."
Mark said matter-of-factly, "He was there last time I took the medicine. The golden light was so blinding it knocked him flat on his ass.
He's afraid you'll make fun of him."
Maeve: "..."
That reason was truly something else.
Mark handed the tube of golden potion to Maeve.
"Compound V was originally an incomplete drug.
Vought Corporation has always been dedicated to developing a better version."
He explained.
"But originally, out of consideration for film, television, and various revenue streams, the entire company didn't focus its energy on drug research."
"But under my supervision—"
He paused, a hint of pride in his tone.
"The true Compound V has appeared."
"Drink this potion; it will allow your abilities to undergo an evolution."
He looked into Maeve's eyes, emphasizing every word:
"To let you see your abilities—as they truly, originally were!"
Maeve was stunned.
She looked down at the tube of golden liquid in her hand.
The liquid shimmered with a soft glow in the sunlight, like liquid gold or solidified sunshine.
She could become a bit stronger?
She was happy, of course.
But she was even happier that this could bring her a little closer to Mark.
"Really?"
Her voice trembled slightly.
"Of course."
Mark said with a smile.
"It can make your original super strength, super speed, and super endurance all better—ten times over!"
"Ten times?!"
Maeve's eyes widened.
She was already a top-tier Superhuman.
Strength, speed, endurance—each was dozens of times the human limit.
If it increased tenfold again—
What kind of concept was that?
"Don't be surprised."
Mark shrugged, "This is still a conservative estimate.
Exactly how far it goes depends on how much your body can withstand."
He reached out and gently stroked Maeve's cheek.
"Drink it.
I'm right here."
Maeve took a deep breath.
Then, she raised the tube of golden potion and downed it in one gulp.
The golden liquid flowed down her throat.
The next second—
Maeve's body began to glow!
The light was a faint gold at first, like morning sunlight spilling over a lake.
But immediately after, the light grew brighter and more intense, finally turning into a dazzling golden radiance!
Maeve gritted her teeth.
She could feel something awakening inside her.
It was a power that had been dormant for over twenty years.
It was a potential that had been suppressed by Compound V for thirty years.
At this moment, it was awakening!
Her muscles began to tremble violently.
It wasn't pain, but power expanding.
Every muscle fiber was frantically dividing, reorganizing, and strengthening.
Her already fit figure became even more tight and powerful.
But it wasn't exaggerated muscle mass; it was streamlined, perfect lines full of explosive power.
If one had to use a phrase to describe it.
It would be that the girl was pure muscle!
Her bones made a faint clicking sound.
That was the bone quality changing—density increasing, structure optimizing, becoming tougher and lighter.
Every bone was being reforged, like steel being repeatedly hammered.
Her heartbeat began to accelerate.
Thump—thump—thump—
The heartbeat grew more powerful and louder, finally drumming in her chest like a war drum!
Blood was pumped more forcefully throughout her body, carrying more abundant oxygen and energy!
Tenfold.
It wasn't a simple tenfold increase in strength.
It was an all-around, fundamental evolution!
Maeve could feel her strength climbing at a terrifying speed.
Originally, she could lift a hundred tons.
Now—
Two hundred tons.
Three hundred tons.
Five hundred tons.
Eight hundred tons.
A thousand tons!
It was still rising!
She opened her eyes.
Her eyes now shimmered with a faint silver light.
She looked at the nearby device used for testing strength—it was specially prepared by Vought Corporation for Superhumans, with a maximum capacity of ten thousand tons.
She walked over and took a deep breath.
Then, she slammed down a punch!
BOOM!!!
The numbers on the device jumped frantically!
1,000 tons!
2,000 tons!
3,000 tons!
5,000 tons!
8,000 tons!
10,000 tons!!!
The needle hit the limit directly!
The device let out an overwhelmed groan, and then—
BANG!
It exploded.
Parts flew everywhere, and wires crackled with sparks.
Maeve stood there blankly, staring at her fist.
Ten thousand tons?
She could originally lift five hundred tons at most.
Now—
Twenty times!
Mark whistled from the side.
"Not bad, not bad. Even better than I imagined."
He walked over, circled Maeve, and looked her up and down.
"Let me see, how's the speed?"
Maeve nodded.
The next second, her figure vanished from the spot!
Too fast!
So fast that not even an afterimage was left!
Mark's eyes narrowed slightly—he could track her, but a normal person's naked eye definitely couldn't.
Maeve sprinted across the rooftop, lap after lap.
Her speed was like a silver lightning bolt; the air was torn apart wherever she passed, creating sharp sonic booms!
One lap.
Two laps.
Three laps.
She stopped and stood before Mark, her face filled with uncontrollable excitement.
"So fast!"
She said, "At least ten times faster than before!"
Mark nodded.
"What about endurance?"
Maeve closed her eyes and felt for a moment.
"Consumption..."
She opened her eyes in disbelief, "The consumption has barely changed.
Originally, sprinting at full power would tire me out in three minutes.
Now—"
She paused, "I feel like I could sprint for half an hour."
Mark smiled with satisfaction.
"Very good.
Next, there's something even more important."
He pointed to the sky.
"Try flying."
Maeve took a deep breath.
She looked up at the azure sky.
And then—
Her feet left the ground.
It wasn't a jump or a leap, but a true, slow ascent, as if lifted by invisible hands!
"I—"
She was stunned.
She was flying!
She was really flying!
The feeling was wonderful—as if her body had become lighter, or the surrounding gravity had been warped.
She didn't need to flap wings or blast fire; with just a thought, she could rise, descend, and turn at will!
She flew higher and higher, faster and faster!
Ten meters!
One hundred meters!
Five hundred meters!
One thousand meters!
She hovered a thousand meters in the air, overlooking the entire city.
The skyscrapers now looked as small as toy blocks, the streets like thin lines, and the pedestrians as insignificant as ants.
But she felt no fear at all.
Because Mark was right behind her.
She turned her head and saw Mark floating leisurely beside her, a doting smile on his face.
"How does it feel?"