Lightbringer

The rest of the European trip remains tense after that flare-up. But Wanda notices Homelander making more effort to restrain his outbursts and attend to the cultural experiences she and Nat share. Occasionally he lets his guard down to reveal profound naïveté about normal life along with simmering anger at his bizarre upbringing.

Stopping in Russia, Nat insists on bringing him to the Balakovo nuclear complex; part Cold War relic and museum. Walking past inert missiles and warplanes, Homelander remains silent, struggling with conflicted feelings from validating parts of Vought's programming about American exceptionalism contrasted by glimpses of ordinary people's lives in these communities.

"Lotta complicated history, Gilman," Nat remarks carefully. "The world's always grayer when you get ground level."

He bristles slightly at that but for once doesn't take the bait to argue. "I didn't ask for the power...or to get turned into a lab project," he finally admits. "I just knew I didn't want to be afraid anymore."

The confession hangs in the air between them. Nat finds some understanding on her own experiences being forged into a weapon aged young. But also knows figures like the Homelander persona and the Widow program always brought destruction, despite intentions.

______________________________________________________________________

4 days later...

As Homelander stepped off the jet, he had to stop his instinct to blast the waiting heroes for old grudges. He needed new allies here, playing nicer for now.

Strolling up behind Nat, he kept that cocksure swagger. "Miss me back there, Cap? Figured you could use my security services on the homefront..."

Carol narrowed her eyes, not fully trusting his attitude shift since their last brawl leveled midtown. But Nat hinted the Eurotrip proved informative.

Back at the Triskelion later, Fury outlined probationary Avenger deployment, tracking Homelander's activities "to keep all our asses covered."

Homelander bristled inwardly at the oversight but kept emotion off his face, focusing on the cityscape instead where opportunity awaited. These self-righteous Boy Scouts didn't appreciate the power he wielded - but the criminal underworld would learn quickly not to trifle with his new order...

Within the week, headlines blared about the bulletproof vigilante brutally dismantling the Irish Westies gang and payroll heists by a mysterious blur. Kingpin took interest, sending Bullseye and other enforcers to eliminate the arrogant upstart. But they simply vanished...

In Ryker's Island weeks later, Fisk analyzed security footage with growing unease as a caped figure ripped cell doors off solo with his bare hands. Inmates fled shrieking only to be corralled back by crimson energy fields courtesy of the silent, grinning witch trailing behind.

"We need to talk, Mr.... Fisk that's a hilarious fucking name..." the flying man declared sarcastically, but with a hint of coldness, hoisting the Kingpin by his orange scrubs. "Your little fuckbuddy game ends today." Crashing through concrete walls and out over the river, Homelander relished making Wilson squeal...before dropping him battered and broken at NYPD headquarters.

___________________________________________

Having firmly established the name "Homelander" by dismantling Fisk's empire, He grew bored of petty underworld squabbles. Seeking new challenges, his enhanced senses detected strange energy spikes below old Chinatown temples. Ancient secrets lay hidden beneath the bustling streets it seemed...

And when he got there, all he could say in his head was what the fuck. 

"Bring Lord Satana forward that we may renew our covenant! The Black Sky must be revived!" the apparent high priest intoned. The acolytes redoubled their feverish chanting as shadowy faces with burning eyes manifested in twisting vapors around them.

Homelander had seen enough. These delusional fools actually believed they wielded real power through these theatrics? He would educate them... 

Striding out indifferently, Homelander interrupted the ritual, smirking as the shocked attendees prostrated themselves. "Well don't stop for little old me... Please, proceed summoning Sadako or whatever the fuck this shit is."

The outraged high priest drew an onyx blade. "Blasphemer! Lord Satana will feast on your arrogance!" He lunged futilely only for his weapon and arm to be vaporized by a casual glance from Homelander.

"Charming. Now take me to your real bosses before this gets messy..."

Dragging the whimpering priest by his robe through hidden passageways, they finally entered a torch-lit chamber with four figures wearing ceremonial masks. Homelander scoffed internally - he could crush these pretenders easily if it wouldn't complicate his plans.

"So which shitty ninja turtle cosplay is the head honcho here?" he mocked.

The one called Bakuto responded cautiously. "I am Bakuto...we lead The Hand in service of ancient power. State your business, stranger."

Homelander smiled coldly. "My business is taking a shit on your pathetic little operation..."

Homelander hovered menacingly over the cowering Hand leaders, almost disappointed at how easily he had ripped through their ranks.

"Pfft. And here I thought you ancient spooky types would actually put up a fight..." He grabbed the demonic emblem off the wall, crumpling the metal contemptuously.

"I don't give a shit about your ninja club or demon buddies." Homelander's eyes blazed, ready to deliver fiery oblivion. "I just wanted to remind the mud people of New York who the real apex predator is..."

Madame Gao struggled to her feet, clearly wary but stubborn. "Kill us and you make an enemy of forces beyond your comprehension, gweilo. The Hand serves immortal-"

Her words died in a scream as Homelander's heat vision liquefied her into a steaming pile of viscera.

"Yuck. Monologuing makes my eyes glaze over." He turned to the horrified Murakami with a menacing grin. "Now then, who wants to see some really crazy fireworks next?"

With childlike glee, Homelander spent the next few minutes utilizing the remaining ninjas for gruesome target practice, filling the chamber with red ruin. He finally grew bored, the Hand now a leaderless non-factor.

Hovering outside, he called back mockingly "I'm keeping the fancy bathrobes as trophies, hope that's cool. Just remember who the real hero is!"

______________________________________

The chilling remnants left by the flying intruder at the Hand massacre site troubled Matt Murdock deeply. He had long waged war against the ninja clan's spreading influence in New York's shadows. But this violent new vigilante seemed to lack any code beyond wanton destruction.

As Daredevil, he began tracking sightings of the volatile metahuman now dubbed "Homelander" by the Bugle press he privately consumed. Witness accounts varied wildly - some painted rescues of imperiled civilians worthy of the Avengers. Others told of ruthless slaughters more akin to the Punisher's tactics...

__________________________________________

One harsh winter night on patrol, Matt picked up distressed heartbeat spikes six blocks over. He arrived finding a small Asian bodega being shaken down for protection money by tracksuit Russian thugs. Homelander was hovering aloof nearby, callously watching it unfold.

"Walk away from this. Now." Matt declared firmly, billy clubs raised as the Russians growled curses.

Homelander scoffed in amusement, arms folded imperiously across that garish star-spangled costume. "The funniest thing about this interaction is that I've met someone just like you before. That was, of course, before I smashed his eardrums in and made him useless. Tell you what, little devil boy - make these cockroaches beg for their lives and I won't peel that ridiculous fetish outfit off painfully slow."

His casual cruelty sent Matt's moral outrage flaring. With lightning reflexes, one electrified billy club shorted out the Russian's assault rifles while the other struck Homelander directly across the jaw. No effect but it felt damn good for Matt.

"The people of this neighborhood deserve better than killers and cowards like you!" Matt knew he was overmatched physically but refused to yield the ethical high ground. He pointed a scolding finger up at Homelander's bemused silhouette.

A sudden shot rings out from a distant rooftop, the bullet pinging harmlessly off Homelander's neck. In a blur he rockets up, grabbing the unseen shooter - The Punisher - by the vest as Castle curses in disbelief.

"Let me guess, Tactical Hot Topic?" He smirks as Frank struggles furiously. "Maybe don't shoot the invincible demigod next time, genius."

Tossing Castle aside, he returns attention to DD. "I don't need any goddamn therapy lessons about responsibility! I'm trying to hold back, be less lethal! But fuckers like you running your mouths just piss me off..."