Chapter 31

Author's Note:

Hello Author-san here, Hope you enjoy the fights, there will be more far ahead. This is just the beginning. Anyway enjoy 😉

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( Homelander's POV)

The roar of the plane's engines hums in the background, a comforting noise that lets me sink into my own thoughts. Hovering outside, I can hear the terrified screams of the passengers. It doesn't bother me. In fact, it's almost amusing. These people are so helpless, so utterly reliant on me. The mighty Homelander, their hero, their savior.

I savor the moment, the anticipation of their awe and gratitude when I swoop in, wipe out the terrorists, and save the day. Just another chance to remind them who really holds the power. I can already picture their faces—the admiration, the devotion. It's intoxicating.

But then, something's off. The noise, the chaos—it suddenly goes eerily still. My brow furrows as my enhanced hearing picks up on the shift. I focus my vision, peering through the metal hull of the plane. What I see makes my stomach tighten.

A figure, cloaked in blue lightning, is moving inside the plane—fast, too fast for even my eyes to track clearly. Someone else is here. Someone new. And they're already inside, already handling the situation, already… stealing my spotlight.

"Who the hell…?" I mutter, my fists clenching. I can't see the intruder's face, but that doesn't matter. No one steps onto my stage without permission. No one takes what's mine.

I zip to the back entrance of the plane, opening it with a swift motion. The sudden rush of air pulls everything around me, but I effortlessly shut the door behind me.

I land gracefully in the aisle, my signature smile plastered on my face. But it's a facade, a mask to hide the irritation bubbling beneath the surface. The passengers, their joy now mingled with confusion, look between me and the intruder. And there he is, standing with an air of calm, as if he belongs here, as if he hasn't just robbed me of my moment.

"Don't worry, people, you're safe now," I announce, my voice dripping with feigned warmth. The words taste sour in my mouth, the usual satisfaction absent. My eyes flick to the stranger. Who does this guy think he is?

Now that I can see him clearly, he doesn't even flinch. His suit is unlike anything I've seen before—sleek, menacing, highly technological, with lightning still crackling around him. My enhanced vision tries to pierce the mystery before me. But I see nothing—no heartbeat, no heat signature, no breath. It's like staring into a void, and that only makes my irritation flare. A chill runs down my spine—a sensation I haven't felt in years.

"And who's this hero? Someone new in town?" I keep my voice casual, but the tension in my jaw betrays me. I don't like not knowing. I don't like surprises.

Then, the stranger speaks, his voice cold, cutting through the air with a disdain that makes my blood boil.

"No, I'm something you can never be. No matter how many people you trick into thinking you're a hero, you're nothing more than a disappointing actor."

The words hit like a slap, the insult so blatant, so raw, that it takes me a second to process. An actor? The nerve of this… this nobody! I force a laugh, sharp and mocking, trying to regain control of the situation.

"Heh, actor? Do you live under a rock or something? I'm the hero, I'm the savior! Just because you got here first doesn't make me any less of a hero, does it?" I smirk, confident that my reputation alone will put this upstart in his place.

But the man doesn't react, doesn't even acknowledge the attempt at intimidation. He just stands there, silent and unyielding, his eyes boring into mine with a calm that's unnerving. It's as if he's looking right through me, seeing all the things I work so hard to hide.

A flicker of unease creeps up my spine, an unfamiliar sensation that I quickly shove aside. This isn't how it's supposed to go. I'm Homelander. No one challenges me. No one ignores me. The silence, the lack of reaction, is infuriating. My smile falters, my expression darkening.

"Who are you?" I demand, my voice low and menacing, the question more a command than a query.

The response is immediate, and it cuts deeper than I expect. "I don't remember signing up to be one of your lapdogs, so I don't see why I should answer to you."

Lapdog. The word echoes in my mind, igniting a spark of rage. How dare this… this nobody speak to me like that? I feel the anger bubbling up, my vision tinting red. I can feel my eyes heating up, the urge to incinerate this insolent bastard overwhelming.

And then, the stranger laughs. Softly, but it's enough to stoke the flames of my fury. The mockery in that sound is unbearable. "What's the matter? Don't like what I said? Go on, show everyone the real you."

That's it. The last straw. With a snarl, I unleash my heat vision, the deadly beams slicing through the air where the man had been standing. But the figure is already gone, moving faster than I can track. Before I can react, a hand clamps down on my face with crushing force.

"Let's take this outside," the voice says, calm and unyielding. Suddenly, the world is a blur of blue lightning.

I don't even have time to think, to fight back, as the stranger drags me outside, the air ripping past us in a cacophony of sound. Then, everything becomes a blur. The next thing I know, we're high above the clouds, the cold air biting at my skin as we plummet toward the earth at unimaginable speed. The force of that toss rattles me to my core, my mind struggling to process what's happening. How could someone be this fast? This strong?

Panic surges through me, a foreign and unwelcome feeling. But panic quickly turns to fury. I'm not going to be humiliated, not by anyone. With a growl, I try to regain control, but before I can steady myself, a punch lands square in my face, the force of it knocking me off balance. It's not just the pain that shocks me—though that in itself is a revelation—but the sheer, undeniable power behind the blow.

I barely have time to recover before I'm grabbed by my cape, yanked along the ground at speeds that would pulverize any lesser man. The landscape blurs into a whirlwind of color and sound before I'm hurled again, this time crashing into the side of a mountain with an impact that shakes the earth. The pain is sharp, real, a reminder that maybe I'm not as invincible as I thought.

Buried beneath the rubble, my mind races. How is this possible? Who the hell is this guy? I should have been able to rip him apart, yet here I am, struggling to catch my breath, feeling the cold sting of humiliation. I've never been pushed like this before. No one has ever dared to challenge me like this, to make me feel—weak.

But that's impossible. I'm Homelander. I'm the strongest, the fastest, the most powerful being on the planet. No one can touch me. No one can beat me. And yet… here I am, sprawled out like some pathetic weakling.

The taunting voice of my adversary breaks through the haze of my thoughts, cutting into my pride like a knife. "Is that the best you can do?! World's strongest man alive, my ass. You're just a weakling, a disappointment preening like a proud peacock until someone spanks your ass. Show me your so-called strength, you wretch!"

Rage explodes within me, burning hotter than my heat vision. With a scream of unadulterated fury, my eyes blaze as I blast the rocks around me with heat vision. The insult, the challenge—it's too much. No one speaks to me like that. No one!

The debris clears, and there he is, the stranger, standing there relaxed, like I'm nothing, as if I'm not even worth the effort. It makes my blood boil. I want to tear him apart, to make him beg for mercy, to remind him who he's dealing with.

But as I surge forward, faster and angrier than I've ever been, a small, unwelcome thought gnaws at the back of my mind—a seed of doubt. What if… what if this man is right? What if, after all the power, the adoration, the carefully crafted image… what if I really am just an actor, playing a role I was never truly fit for?

The thought only fuels my rage, my desperation to prove myself, to destroy this man who dared to challenge me. I'm Homelander, damn it. The most powerful being on the planet. And I'll show this upstart exactly what that means.

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(3rd POV)

Letting go of any semblance of control, Homelander flies down towards Voidreaver with everything he has. After receiving the uppercut, he tries to use his sonic scream, but Voidreaver phases through it, countering with an elbow strike. The impact creates a crater on the ground where Homelander crashes, leaving him dazed.

Voidreaver hovers above him propelled by his boots releasing a constant energy keeping him afloat, disdain evident in his voice. "You are a pathetic man-child, always seeking the approval of others.

You don't deserve the power you wield."

Homelander struggles to rise, his body shaking with fury and pain. He blasts upward, trying to catch Voidreaver off guard, but his attacks are futile. Each strike is met with Voidreaver's evasive maneuvers or counterattacks, each one even more devastating than the last.

Finally having enough, Voidreaver grabs Homelander by the throat, lifting him into the air. Homelander's vision blurs, the strength leaving his limbs as he gasps for breath. This isn't possible. This isn't happening.

"See?" Voidreaver says, his voice cold. "You're nothing but a fraud. Be honest with yourself, you always seek approval of those you consider lesser. Only so that you could fill that bottomless pit you call a soul.

So what if you overthrow all the ruling power and you become a dictator, in the end nothing will ever clog that pit. Do you know why?

Because at the end of the day, you are the same as the rest of us, maybe even worse. Whether you like to admit it or not, your no hero, no savior, just a depraved raving dog that needs to be put down. But I won't grant you that gift of death, that honor lies on someone else."

With that, Voidreaver releases him, and Homelander crashes back to the ground, broken, his mind reeling. The world around him seems distant, the sounds muffled, the pain overwhelming. He's never been this hurt before. Never felt this powerless.

He lays there, staring up at the sky, his thoughts a jumble of rage, fear, and humiliation. How could this happen? How could he—Homelander, the greatest of all—be brought so low?

As the shock begins to subside, the reality of his defeat sinks in. He can't move, can't think, can't do anything but tremble in the dirt. The tears come unbidden, burning his eyes, and before he knows it, he's sobbing, the sound ragged and broken as he screamed.

He's never cried like this before, never allowed himself to be this vulnerable, this weak. But now, he can't stop. All the fear, the doubt, the realization that he's not invincible, that he can be beaten, that he's not the god he always believed himself to be—it all comes crashing down on him, drowning him in despair.

Voidreaver's presence fades, leaving Homelander alone in the darkness of the evening on an island. So alone with his thoughts, his shame, and his overwhelming, unbearable realization that he is not what he thought he was. Not what he's always claimed to be.

And as the tears continue to fall, the mighty Homelander is nothing more than a broken screaming man—so lost, terrified, and utterly defeated.

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