Chapter Fourteen

Derek stood in the middle of the underground training room, sweat dripping down his brow as he summoned a crackle of lightning between his fingertips. The spark danced, erratic, like a wild animal not yet tamed. His brow furrowed in concentration, trying to control it, to bend it to his will. With a deep breath, he sent the lightning arcing toward one of the metal targets, its impact shaking the chamber with a sharp, sizzling hiss.

"Not enough," Derek muttered under his breath, flexing his fingers as he prepared another strike. He needed more power, more precision. Homelander had crushed him like an insect before, and Derek wasn't about to let that happen again. But no matter how much he trained, there was a nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right—that he was missing something critical in understanding Thor's powers.

The underground space was vast, built like a stadium beneath the safe house, but despite its size, it felt suffocating. He'd been here for days, maybe even weeks, honing his abilities in complete isolation. It was Eric's idea: to stay hidden, to train away from prying eyes while the world above kept spinning. Derek knew it was the only way, but the isolation weighed on him.

A sudden rumble from above snapped him out of his thoughts. Just a truck passing by, but the sound reverberated through the ground, making him feel even more cut off from the world. He glanced up at the ceiling, his mind wandering to the outside world, to the chaos that was surely brewing.

*Homelander is still out there,* Derek reminded himself. *And I'm still down here.* He clenched his fists, watching the lightning flicker and die in his palm.

He needed to be ready. But was he? Or was he just lying to himself, letting the isolation breed overconfidence?

Hours later, Derek was in the small living room of the safe house, absentmindedly flipping through channels on the TV. Most of the news was the same—corporate-controlled media praising the Seven and their supposed heroics. It sickened him, knowing what he did about Homelander and the rest of the so-called heroes. He was about to turn off the screen when a breaking news banner caught his attention.

"In a tragic accident earlier today, a young woman was killed by A-Train, the world's fastest man, in what authorities are calling a freak incident. The woman, identified as Robin Ward, was standing on the middle of the road, when she was struck by the Supe traveling at super-speed…"

The voice of the reporter became background noise as the images on screen took over. Derek's eyes locked on the scene—shattered glass, a pool of blood, and the distraught figure of Hughie Campbell, standing in shock as the world around him fell apart.

Derek's stomach twisted. *Robin...* He'd seen this before. Not just on the news, but in the storyline of *The Boys*. This was the moment everything started—the moment Hughie's life was destroyed, and the spiral into chaos began.

He stared at the screen, his heart pounding as the footage replayed over and over. A-Train speeding off without so much as a backward glance. Hughie left clutching Robin's dismembered hands. The scene was brutal, but Derek couldn't look away.

*It's starting,* Derek realized, his mind racing. *The timeline has begun.* His hands trembled slightly, still feeling the crackle of lightning beneath his skin. He hadn't expected this—hadn't expected the events of the show to start so soon, or so violently.

And now, there was no turning back. The world was already unraveling, and he was going to be a part of it, whether he was ready or not.

After watching the news for what felt like an eternity, Derek shut off the TV, his mind buzzing with unease. He had to do something. The death of Robin wasn't just a tragic accident; it was the first domino in a long chain of events that would lead to catastrophe.

*But what can I do?* Derek thought as he returned to the underground chamber. His heart pounded with a sense of urgency, pushing him harder than ever before. He couldn't wait any longer. He needed to be ready. He needed to act.

In the center of the training room, Derek stretched out his arms, summoning the power that had been growing inside him since he received Thor's abilities. Lightning crackled in his palms, and he forced it to flow outward, striking the targets with precision. But this time, he pushed harder, demanding more from the power than ever before. The strikes became more aggressive, the air around him heating up as the bolts grew stronger, more destructive.

The walls of the chamber groaned under the strain of his attacks, and Derek realized he was losing control. The lightning surged wildly, fueled by his frustration and fear. He gritted his teeth, trying to rein it back in, but it was like trying to hold onto a live wire.

"Damn it!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the chamber as he finally cut off the power. The room was filled with the smell of burnt metal, and a deep crack now ran down one of the far walls, where his last bolt had struck.

He stood there, breathing heavily, his hands still tingling from the overload of energy. It was clear now—he wasn't in control. Not fully. The power was still foreign to him, and his emotions were getting in the way.

*If I go out there now... if I face Homelander again...* Derek's mind flashed back to the moment of his death—the crushing force of Homelander's hand on his skull. He shuddered. *I'll die again. And next time, there won't be a second chance.*

Shaken from his near-loss of control, Derek made his way to the control room of the safe house. Eric had rigged the place with all kinds of surveillance tech, and now seemed like a good time to use it. Sitting down at the desk, Derek pulled up a series of live camera feeds, all showing different parts of the city.

He cycled through the footage, trying to find anything that might give him a clue as to what was happening out there. He paused on one feed, recognizing the figure of Hughie Campbell walking away from the scene of Robin's death. The camera zoomed in on Hughie's face, and Derek felt a pang of sympathy. The guy looked broken—completely lost.

*This is where it starts,* Derek thought, watching as Hughie stumbled down the street. *Butcher's going to find him soon. Hughie doesn't stand a chance on his own.*

Derek felt the pull to intervene, but something held him back. He wasn't ready. He knew he wasn't. But watching Hughie like this, knowing what was coming... it felt wrong to do nothing.

He flipped to another camera feed, this one showing the front of Vought Tower. No signs of Homelander or the other Supes, but that didn't bring any comfort. They were out there, and it was only a matter of time before the next tragedy hit.

Derek leaned back in the chair, his mind racing. He could feel the weight of everything pressing down on him—Robin's death, Hughie's devastation, the looming threat of Homelander. He wasn't ready to face them yet, but how much longer could he afford to wait?

Derek couldn't get the images of Hughie out of his mind. He had spent days watching over the cameras, analyzing every detail of the city. He had seen the devastation Robin's death had caused and knew that things were about to spiral. But what weighed on him most was his sense of helplessness. He had power—Thor's power—but it wasn't enough. Not yet.

Leaning back in the control room chair, he stared blankly at the screen showing Hughie walking down a dimly lit street. The guy looked worse each time Derek saw him, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Derek could almost relate.

*I have to do something,* Derek thought. *I can't just sit here.* But every time he thought about stepping outside the safety of the zinc-lined walls, his mind flashed back to the brutal encounter with Homelander. The memory of that fight, of his skull being crushed, was still too raw.

His fingers absentmindedly flicked the keyboard, pulling up new feeds, but his thoughts were elsewhere. The TV in the corner of the room droned on, playing yet another news report about the growing influence of the Seven. A large banner at the bottom of the screen read: "A-Train Cleared of All Charges in Fatal Accident."

Derek's jaw tightened. The world was falling apart, and the Supes were untouchable.

*Not for long.*

Suddenly, his eyes flicked back to the surveillance feeds. Something had changed. There was movement in the city. A new figure appeared on one of the street-level cameras—a man in a long coat and dark sunglasses, striding toward the electronics store where Hughie worked. Derek leaned forward, recognizing him immediately.

*Billy Butcher.*

Derek watched as Butcher approached Hughie, the two of them exchanging words outside the store. It was happening, just like in the show. But now, seeing it play out in real life, Derek felt a new sense of urgency rising in his chest.

Butcher wasn't there to console Hughie. He was there to recruit him, to drag him into the chaos. And Derek knew what that would mean. He had seen it before.

*But can I trust Butcher?* Derek wondered. He had to consider that in this version of reality, things might play out differently. *I'll need to keep a close watch on this.*

A few days passed, and Derek's routine became a cycle of intense training and monitoring the situation with Butcher and Hughie. The underground chamber echoed with the sound of lightning as Derek pushed himself to new limits, desperate to control his power.

In one particularly grueling session, Derek summoned a torrent of electricity, crackling bolts shooting from his hands as he focused on hitting multiple moving targets at once. The air hummed with energy, and the ground beneath his feet trembled. But as the power coursed through him, he could feel the strain building, the sensation of the lightning fighting against his control.

*More... I need more precision,* Derek thought, gritting his teeth as he tried to hold the power steady. Sweat poured down his face, and the room around him blurred as he focused all his attention on maintaining control.

But just as he was beginning to think he was getting the hang of it, something went wrong. A surge of power shot through him, and the lightning veered off course, slamming into the wall behind him. The force of the blast sent Derek flying backward, crashing into the ground with a heavy thud.

"Damn it!" he growled, lying on the ground, his body aching from the impact.

The lightning flickered out, leaving the chamber eerily silent. Derek lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, his mind racing. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling that Thor's power was still beyond his grasp. There was something he was missing, something that kept him from fully mastering it.

But he couldn't stop. He wouldn't stop.

With a groan, Derek pushed himself to his feet, dusting off his torn clothes. He had come too far to give up now. There was still time to get it right, but he needed to be careful. Another slip-up like that, and he could end up killing himself again.

Later that night, Derek was back in the safe house, sitting in front of the array of screens. He was nursing a bruised shoulder from his earlier training mishap, but his focus was still on the situation with Butcher and Hughie. The two had been meeting more frequently, and Derek had watched as Butcher slowly dragged Hughie into the conspiracy against Vought.

But tonight was different. Tonight, something had shifted. Derek's eyes narrowed as he spotted a black van parked across the street from Hughie's apartment. Men in dark suits were stepping out, and Derek instantly recognized them as Vought agents.

*They're watching him,* Derek realized. *They know what Butcher's up to.*

Panic surged through Derek's chest as he quickly cycled through the other camera feeds, trying to get a better sense of the situation. His mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle. He knew the agents wouldn't make a move on Hughie directly—not yet—but their presence was a bad sign. Vought was tightening its grip.

As Derek watched the agents, something caught his eye on another screen. A news broadcast was playing on one of the background monitors, and the headline at the bottom of the screen made Derek's blood run cold: "Homelander Interview: Plans for the Future of Vought."

Homelander's face filled the screen, smiling that same disarming smile that Derek had seen before. But beneath that smile, Derek knew, was a monster. He could still feel the phantom pain of his skull being crushed, and the memory sent a chill down his spine.

*He's out there,* Derek thought, his hand instinctively clenching into a fist. *And he's watching.*

He couldn't stay hidden forever. Eventually, Homelander would find him, and when that happened, Derek needed to be ready. But for now, the safest place was here, within the zinc-lined walls of the safe house.

The next morning, Derek woke up with a sense of determination he hadn't felt in days. The events unfolding around him—the agents watching Hughie, Homelander's looming presence, and the growing tension in the city—all served as a stark reminder that time was running out.

He couldn't afford to waste another day.

Pulling on his battered jacket, Derek made his way back to the underground chamber. He stood in the center of the room, feeling the cold concrete beneath his feet, the hum of electricity in the air. His eyes narrowed as he raised his hands, summoning the familiar crackle of lightning between his fingertips.

This time, he wasn't going to lose control. This time, he was going to master it.

With a deep breath, Derek focused all his energy, channeling the lightning into a steady, controlled stream. It arced from his hands, striking the targets with deadly precision. He could feel the power coursing through him, but this time, he was in control.

He pushed harder, letting the lightning flow freely, but never letting it slip from his grasp. The room around him shook as the bolts struck the walls, but Derek didn't stop. He kept going, determined to push his limits, to become stronger.

By the time he was done, the chamber was filled with the smell of scorched metal, and Derek's body ached from the strain. But for the first time in weeks, he felt like he was making real progress.

As he stood there, breathing heavily, a single thought echoed in his mind:

*I'm not ready yet. But soon... soon, I will be.*