Marvel : Homelander

One month later.

30 December 1999

---

What is a hero?

The word shifts meaning depending on who you ask.

To some, a hero is the shining knight, the selfless figure who steps into danger, braving the darkness to pull others into the light.

It's the one who stands against evil, who fights battles no one else can, who carries the weight of the world on their shoulders without asking for anything in return.

The kind of figure who gives people something to believe in, something to aspire to.

But what is a hero, really?

Strip away the stories, the costumes, the fanfare—and you're left with an idea.

An ideal born out of human frailty, a desperate need to believe there's something more, something greater than themselves.

A hero is hope, nothing more.

A fragile hope shaped by fear, by helplessness.

It's a beacon built on the belief that someone—something—can transcend the limits of ordinary life and make everything better.

Heroes are a product of human yearning.

When the world becomes too chaotic, when things are too broken to fix, they invent heroes.

They craft these figures to make sense of the senseless, to wrap themselves in the illusion that something—or someone who they believe to be their hero—will swoop in and solve the problems too big for them to face.

It's delusion.

A lie sold as salvation.

Because here's the truth: heroes don't exist.

Not the way people think they do.

They're ideal constructs—fantasies built on the impossible expectation that one person can shoulder the burden of millions.

They're the embodiment of humanity's inability to confront its own failures, its own weaknesses.

When reality is too much to bear, they look to a figure who's somehow above it all, someone who can sweep aside the struggles they can't handle on their own.

But that's all it is.

A mask. A lie.

The notion of a hero—this ideal of someone perfect, someone incorruptible, someone who exists purely to protect and serve—is nothing more than a beautifully told tale.

It's the easy answer to the hard questions no one wants to face.

And the longer people cling to the idea of heroes, the longer they avoid facing the harsh truth of the world.

That there's no one coming to save them.

There's no miracle waiting in the wings.

There's no knight in shining armor who'll fix what's broken.

Because at the end of the day, heroes aren't real, are they ?

This is the truth—until it isn't.

Heroes don't exist.

Not until, suddenly, they do.

That's what happened with Homelander.

He himself believed in that very same ideology.

He saw the world for what it was—a place where the notion of heroes was nothing more than a comforting lie.

He accepted the truth that no one could truly save anyone, not in the way people believed.

The ideals, the fantasies—they were just that, delusions created by those too afraid to face the reality.

But then, somewhere along the way, the world turned to him.

The people looked up, and they saw something different.

They saw him.

And without even realizing it, Homelander had become exactly what he thought was impossible: that very idealized thing, that figure of hope.

And this time there hopes were not far from the truth.

The world wasn't just watching him now—they were depending on him.

Depending on his strength, his power, his presence to protect them, to guide them, to lead them out of the darkness.

They saw him not just as a simple man ina suit but as a savior, something beyond their comprehension.

In their eyes, he had become the hero they'd always longed for, whether he wanted it or not.

And for the first time, Homelander understood what that meant.

He had unintentionally stepped into the role that people believed in, the role he thought was nothing more than fantasy.

Someone who, in their eyes, could truly save them.

But there it was—he had become that symbol, that beacon of hope in a world desperately clinging to anything that could give them a sense of safety.

Homelander had become the very thing he thought didn't exist: a hero.

---

An apartment building was a raging inferno, smoke billowing and screams piercing the air.

Amid the chaos, a figure appeared—clad in a blue suit and a black cape with a star on it.

With effortless grace, he cut through the smoke and flames, rescuing those trapped inside and carrying them to safety.

As he landed with the last of the rescued, the crowd below erupted in cheers. "Thank you, Homelander!" they shouted, their voices full of awe and admiration.

He grinned and waved off their praise. "Thank you," he said, his tone casual, "but let's not forget the real heroes." He pointed to the fire department, still working hard to douse the flames. "Those guys are the ones doing the real heavy lifting."

The crowd erupted once more at Homelander's humble response, but he was already in motion, zooming off to the next person in need of help.

His next stop was a middle-aged man perched precariously on the edge of a rooftop, contemplating suicide.

Homelander landed softly beside the middle-aged man on the rooftop, his blue suit and black cape casting a shadow against the dim sky.

"I wouldn't recommend standing so close to the edge"

---

Homelander floated high above the Earth's horizon, suspended at the delicate edge between atmosphere and the infinite stretch of space.

His mind was uncharacteristically calm—a strange serenity washing over him after talking a man down from the very brink of despair.

For a moment, he felt something almost like peace looking at the vast expanse.

He gazed out at the blazing heart of the solar system, the sun, an intense, molten source of life and light.

Its rays caught his face as he hovered in the silent dark, a godlike silhouette.

With a faint smile, he breathed in the vast emptiness before him.

Then, in a single burst, he propelled himself forward, vanishing from view at a speed beyond anything visible to the human eye.

His suit began to fray and dissolve as he accelerated, layer after layer peeling away in the cold of the void.

Piece by piece, his human guise surrendered to the cosmic brilliance underneath, giving way to a being of cosmic radiance—a form that reflected the light of distant stars and galaxies.

Homelander's speed approached the threshold where light and time seemed to bend, causing time to slow to a near standstill.

The stars stretched around him as he raced through space, until he found himself suspended above the sun itself, its fiery depths churning miles below him.

But even with the vast power radiating from the star, his gaze wasn't on it.

Something stirred in his senses, a disturbance echoing through the fabric of space itself.

It was subtle, like the faintest ripple on a still pond—but unmistakable.

His domain

His universe, had been breached.

His mind honed in on the presence, instantly alert, primal instincts flaring to life.

Someone had entered his space.

---

Blade moved with ruthless precision, his enchanted blade cutting through the first vampire like a knife through water.

The creature barely had time to hiss before he was split cleanly in two, blood and ash spilling out as his bisected form crumbled to the ground.

Another leapt at Blade, fangs bared, and he grabbed its jaw in mid-lunge, feeling its teeth graze his knuckles.

With a feral snarl, he pulled its jaw wide, bones snapping under his iron grip until he tore the vampire's face apart with a sickening crack.

For safe measure he shot the vampire through the back with his shotgun.

As the last body hit the ground, Blade straightened, catching his breath.

He heard a slow, deliberate clap echoing from the shadows behind him, and his attention sharpened.

The measured sound of heels on concrete grew louder as a woman stepped into the flickering streetlight—a composed, almost amused expression on her face.

"Mr. Brooks," she greeted, her voice calm but carrying an edge of authority.

"You're a hard man to find. Always busy killing these things."

Blade didn't respond.

His gaze narrowed, and in one fluid movement, he pointed his gun at her chest, his expression cold and unamused.

His instincts told him she was different, yet he couldn't tell if she was human, vampire, or something else. Either way, he wasn't taking chances.

The woman , Ashley, didn't flinch, only smiled, raising her hands slightly as though to calm him. "Relax. I come from the Frontline. We've been trying to get in touch with you. We have an offer for a man with your… talents."

Before Blade could respond, a vampire who'd been hiding in the shadows launched itself at her from behind.

But as it got within a few inches of her, it hissed in agony, bursting into ash as if burned from within.

Her skin glowed for a brief second, a slight sizzle as it reddened.

The temprsture of the room changed drastically as Ashley had elementalised for a fraction of a second.

Ashley lowered her hands, her smile unfazed as she held out a sleek black card, handing it to Blade. "Homelander has a proposition for you, Mr. Brooks," she said, her tone respectful but firm. "One that would be wise to accept. Though, I won't force you."

Blade took the card, glancing at its blank surface.

It was smooth, unmarked—nothing more than a nondescript piece of metal in his hand.

He frowned, tilting it to catch the light, but still, nothing appeared.

"What's this?" he asked, his voice edged with suspicion.

Ashley had already turned to leave but paused at his question, throwing a look over her shoulder. "It'll show you the information when you're ready to join. Truly ready." Her tone was teasing, yet somehow challenging.

And with that, she walked away, the sound of her heels echoing down the dark, empty street, leaving Blade alone with nothing but the blank card and questions hanging in the cool night air.

---

Logan sat hunched over the bar, fingers wrapped tightly around a glass of whiskey, the dim light casting shadows across his tired face.

He tipped the glass back, feeling the familiar burn down his throat, trying to drown out memories that clawed at him every waking moment.

He barely noticed when someone slid onto the stool beside him until a quiet, steady voice cut through the bar's low murmur.

"We need to talk," the woman said, her tone calm yet unmistakably firm.

Logan exhaled a sigh of irritation and turned his head, ready to snap at whoever was interrupting him.

But his words caught in his throat as he caught sight of her hand, extended just enough for him to see three long, razor-sharp metal claws sliding out from her knuckles.

His eyes widened, the shock freezing him in place.

"Father," she finished, the word hanging in the air like a punch.

Logan's face flickered with a mixture of confusion, pain, and disbelief. For once, he was speechless.

He searched her face, feeling his heart pound in a way it hadn't in a long time.

The claws retracted back into her hand, and she held his gaze, unflinching.

=========================

Dun dun dun , Volume Finale !

Stones and Reviews please

250 Powerstone 1 Bonus Chapter

500 Powerstones 2 Bonus Chapter