[One Week Later – Vought Tower, 100th Floor]
Floor 100 of Vought Tower, the pinnacle of authority, just under the US and Chinese governments, though realistically the top power, was now in a panic never felt, even under the thrall of Homelander.
The marvel that was Vought Tower showed the greatness of Vought's original vision.
But now, looking out that window, the view is obstructed. It could hardly compare to the golden underside of the Temple floating fifty feet above the tower's antenna, casting a permanent shadow over New York City.
Solomon's announcement of his church and school had already caused a captivating scene from the moment it was announced. Even today, people sat in prayer on the streets below, waiting for Solomon to
However, inside the boardroom, our corporate overlord was discussing something entirely different from the magic, myths, and awe shown by the people of New York.
"Stan, did you know about this?"
The fiery executive, Henderson, slammed a stack of papers onto the mahogany table. "Because if you knew about this, you should have told me before I got my ass handed to me in the stock market!"
Henderson rubbed his bald head aggressively, sweat beading on his brow.
"The markets are gone, Stan! Gone! Defense stocks are down 30% because the Generals think angels are real and Jesus is coming any moment now. Pharmaceuticals? Down 45%. Why buy pain meds when the 'Boy King' might cure you for free? They adore him, Stan, that's a problem, especially when we have more problems than just money.
"That will be handled," Stan replied, his voice calm, cutting through the panic like a swift knife. He crossed his right leg over the other, sipping his morning coffee.
"Handled? How?!" Another executive stood up. "The military contract negotiations for the Super-Soldier program are on hold. The Pentagon is asking why they should pay billions for Supes who get drunk and laser civilians when a kid is floating a castle over Manhattan who claims he can teach soldiers "Magic" without side effects. They want him, Stan. Not a Homelander. Not The Seven. Not any Supe."
Stan set his mug down, having already stated his opinion.
"Do you have him under control?" Henderson asked, his voice indignant, "He formed a temple seemingly out of nowhere, and has already convinced half the world that he's a divine entity.
"If you mean Solomon, then there's no need," Stan stated smoothly. "I trust him to act correctly, and any choice he makes today is supported by me wholeheartedly. This company will one day belong to him, you know."
Stan eyed the room down, looking for any adverse reaction to his claim. Faces were stone-faced, and the silence was suffocating.
"Based on his intelligence, by the time he hits eighteen, he could run the company with ease and develop it further than I ever could under the superhero era. No matter how much psychological control we have over heroes like Homelander... having the true ability to suppress them would allow for less time spent covering up unnecessary conflicts and murders."
"That's just talk, Stan!" Henderson snapped. "We deal in physics. In biology. This... this is magic. We can't monetize magic! And you actually expect me to believe that your 5-year-old can take Homelander.
Stan smirked
"Can't he and Can't we?"
Stan raised his hand. On his pinky finger sat a simple silver ring, a gift Solomon had crafted for him days ago, a 'test' of his father's aptitude.
Stan focused.
The heavy oak chair Henderson was sitting in suddenly groaned.
Henderson yelped as the chair levitated three inches off the ground. The other executives gasped, scrambling back. The chair hovered for three seconds, defying gravity, defying logic, before slamming back down with a heavy thud.
Henderson sat there, pale and trembling.
"Magic," Stan said, admiring the ring, "is just another resource, just not as refined. The military plan hasn't been canceled, gentlemen. It has been upgraded. Solomon has agreed to be part of Vought, in essence, at least until he's an adult.
Stan slowly looked around the room.
" Any more complaints?"
[Floor 99 Vought tower ]
John Homelander stood alone, looking down at the city from the Seven headquarters. Behind him was a room that looked like a hurricane had hit it. Charis was thrown about and split in half, burnt up American flags sat in one corner, and the stone table at the middle of it all was smashed into oblivion.
Every fiber of his being vibrated with rage.
There had always been one thing he couldn't see through, zinc; now there was the temple in the sky that, despite having looked to be made of standard material, was entirely solid to him. There was only one number 1 hero, someone who was loved entirely by the world; now there are two.
"Where did you come from?" The Homelander whispered to the empty room.
He thought about the files. He had raided the archives. Solomon was actually supposed to be Stan's biological son: a surrogate baby, but stan's seed nonetheless.
But he couldn't be. Even if Vought scientists entirely developed the cancer cure, this magic was too complex to be the work of a 5-year-old.
"Is he an alien?" Homelander muttered, pacing. Maybe he comes from the race that created the pyramids.
He stopped as the elevator chimed.
The remaining seven soon came walking into the room, one by one.
First was Queen Maeve, tired from all the press she had to do on the floating thing in the sky. The Deep followed, looking depressed about the overshadowing of his debut. Mr. Marathon sped in next, quietly gathering chairs for everyone before sitting down. Noir did as noir does.
"John," Maeve said, not stepping too close. "We need to talk."
"About what?" Homelander snapped. "Our points tanking? About how the whole world views us as false kings or some antichrist."
"About him," The Deep said softly, looking off to the side. " Everything is about him."
"Is it really that bad?" Mr. Marathon said his hands were up in the air." Even if a regular citizen learned magic, I doubt they could all summon giant things out of nowhere. I'm still the fastest man alive, and the everyday person would probably still need help from a supe.
Homelander just looked at him in disgust.
"They're saying he's a replacement," Maeve said, pulling a bottle of pink Whitney out of her pocket and taking a swig. "Vought isn't pushing The Seven anymore. The entire marketing budget is being moved to whatever Solomon is planning. Stan might shelve the team at any moment, except maybe Homelander. "
The Homelander walked over to the window. He looked at his reflection, the American flag cape, the eagle on his shoulder. He truly looked like some kid playing dress-up, amused enough not to pull a tantrum.
"They think they can replace me," Homelander yelled. "He thinks because he has some... tricks... that he's a god."
The Homelander turned back to them, his smile tight and terrifying.
"Come on, team, we are the strongest people in this world, we are gods, and we will not have some little child muck up our entire lives just because he claims to be tied to some fairytale. This isn't just a changing of power but a war on supe"s!
His eyes burned hatred.
" I know we can't directly pull anything in public, but if we can prove that he is some kind of false entity and or a false god, then no one would mind if we got rid of him."
[The Temple of Time – The Throne Room]
Solomon overlooked New York's bright night sky from his throne. Silently playing with strings made of Ether.
Each twitch of his hand sent shockwaves in the chosen direction, ripping through the atmosphere. A frown began to grow on Solomon's face as he thought about the events he set off just under a week ago and the looseness of magic in this reality.
It truly was unclaimed territory. Every previous authority, rule, or law imposed by his old world was gone. It felt like a new root entirely.
"The universe here is entirely quiet," Solomon thought, "Or perhaps sleeping."
And though he could use this world's mana without restriction and could even improve, it was because he didn't have to use Magic Circuits to use magic or claim authority.
A reinforcement spell to him gets supercharged by this world's ambient Ether. But say someone like his father were to try to use mana. Even with the ring Solomon gave him, a simple Mystic Code, it took incredible focus to lift a chair.
"I have to create magic circuits again, but how would it work in this world?" Solomon whispered.
He assumed his own power came from his abnormal birth and his connection to God's authority. But figuring out a system similar to Magic Circuits to create his school of magic for the masses would be a problem.
He leaned back, his mind wandering further than just this planet.
If the mana here is so different... Does that mean the Root exists here? Can I reach the Throne of Heroes?
He thought of Chaldea. Of Fujimaru. Of Mash. Everything he had left behind in his old world, and he couldn't help but tremble a little.
If I were able to reach the origin and master this world's Ether... could I travel back? Or perhaps... to other worlds entirely?
The thought was intoxicating. But he pushed it aside.
Right now, even if he were a master of magic, he hadn't completely gotten to the level where he could warp reality.
And therein lies his main problem, he needed resources, but the only way he could get them in mass at this age was by going through one of the things he hated most... corporate life.
He only agreed to host a few events for Vought and maybe make a few appearances, but he knew it was gonna cause him the most trouble in this life.
And the first one would be next year, ' what a pain he thought, looking at the message his sister sent him.'
Apparently, he was going to have to judge a beauty pageant, not just looking for beauty but grace and true faith. It was an event called Capes for Christ.
Well, I still have some time, Solomon thought, trying to figure out how he would start his school.
{ I don't like my writing format and or the way I'm writing} (give opinions)