Chapter 36 Allen
You're back?"
he asked, his tone as calm as any ordinary father.
"Mhm."
Mark took off his shoes, walked into the living room, and sat down on the armchair opposite him.
Silence stretched for a few seconds.
The television was broadcasting the news.
A bank robbery had occurred in some city, and the local hero was handling it.
The image flashed by without causing any ripple.
Nolan picked up his teacup and took a sip.
"You single-handedly took care of Planet F."
It wasn't a question, but a statement.
Mark nodded.
"Their technology wasn't much, and their physical strength was very weak,"
he said casually, his tone devoid of any emotion, "so I took care of that place."
Nolan glanced at him, then his gaze shifted toward the kitchen.
Debbie was inside, tidying up the dishes, the sound of rushing water audible.
He confirmed the distance, then lowered his voice and asked a more specific question.
"Did you kill them all?"
Mark met his father's eyes.
He also secretly glanced toward the kitchen, ensuring his mother wouldn't hear his somewhat overly cold words.
He nodded and replied in the same low volume.
"I left none alive."
Nolan fell silent.
He looked at Mark, and the expression in his eyes changed.
A look of... appreciation.
Then, he smiled.
That smile was uncommon on Nolan Grayson's face.
Most of the time, his smiles were pretense, an act for Debbie and for the world.
But this smile now was genuine.
He stood up, walked over to Mark, extended his hand, and clapped him firmly on the shoulder.
The force behind that hand was immense.
It wasn't a test, but a true acknowledgment belonging to a warrior.
"Good boy."
"You will absolutely become an excellent warrior."
In that instant, Mark read many things in his father's gaze.
Nolan Grayson, the Viltrum conqueror who had lived for millennia.
This alien spy masquerading as an Earth hero was currently looking at his son with an almost proud expression.
The more he looked, the more pleasing Mark became.
Perfect—cold—powerful—strong potential.
When he clapped Mark's shoulder just now, his hand felt the recoil transmitted back from Mark's shoulder.
That was a signal only a warrior could understand.
Muscle density, bone strength, efficiency of force transmission.
Nolan assessed silently in his mind.
Stronger than during the last training session.
Exactly how much stronger could only be known by truly trading blows.
But what he could be certain of was that at the same age.
By Viltrum standards, Mark was currently equivalent to a newly adult recruit.
He absolutely didn't possess this level of physique back then.
What did that imply?
It implied that Mark would be stronger than him.
And he, Nolan Grayson, was already in the highest tier among Viltrums, second only to the Grand Regent.
If his son was stronger than him, didn't that mean...
Mark had a very high chance of reaching the Grand Regent's level.
Limb regeneration, invulnerable body, shattering stars with one punch.
Nolan felt a surge of genuine pride just imagining that scene.
This pride was so real, so intense, that even he was somewhat surprised.
He patted Mark's shoulder, about to say something.
"Voom—"
A strange energy fluctuation suddenly exploded in the center of the living room.
Blue-white light spun and expanded, condensing in the blink of an eye into a circular portal.
After the light dissipated, a figure in a black suit appeared in the living room.
Cecil Stedman.
The Director of the Global Defense Agency stood in the center of the Grayson home, wearing his usual expression of, "This is troublesome, but you have to help me."
The smile on Nolan's face vanished instantly.
Or rather, his mode switched instantly.
From "Proud Father" to "Serious Earth Guardian."
He looked at Cecil and asked in a low voice,
"Is there something, Cecil?"
Cecil wasted no time, directly pulling out a palm-sized device and pressing it a few times.
A holographic projection unfolded in the air.
It was a galaxy map.
Beyond the orbit of Earth in the Solar System, a red dot was blinking.
"Someone is approaching,"
Cecil said, his gaze shifting from Nolan to Mark, and then back from Mark to Nolan:
"Although I apologize for bothering you right after you've recovered, I still hope you can do this favor.
The only one who can leave the Earth's atmosphere directly is you, Nolan."
Nolan raised an eyebrow.
"Why only me?"
he said, his gaze falling on Mark, "Isn't there another one here?"
He pointed at Mark, his tone holding a sense of obviousness.
"Do you suggest taking a business trip outside of Earth, Mark?"
Nolan asked, "You need to start training these abilities too."
Mark was stunned for a moment.
A business trip? To outer space?
He looked at the blinking red dot on the holographic projection.
It represented an unknown object approaching Earth.
He knew clearly that this was Alan, currently the primary weapon of the Planetary Alliance, specifically created to counter Viltrumites, and the future Supreme Commander of the Planetary Alliance.
Mark was happy to leave a good impression on this guy, because as a 'brother,' Alan was decent enough.
After Mark destroyed the Planetary Alliance, he would gladly offer Alan a good position.
"Of course,"
he nodded, "If I can do it."
"I guarantee you can,"
Cecil interjected, staring into Mark's eyes:
"Otherwise, how could you have annihilated Planet F?
Stop pretending to be weak, kid.
I know very well that you've already learned not to breathe in space."
Mark said nothing.
Cecil was right.
He had adapted to a vacuum environment during the year he spent on Planet F.
Viltrumite bodies didn't require oxygen to survive; as long as their internal energy was sufficient, they could stay in outer space for days and nights without issue.
Mark said helplessly.
"I did learn not to breathe, but communicating with an extraterrestrial visitor seems a bit difficult for me.
Shouldn't a negotiation expert be sent for this?
One responsible only for negotiating, not for executing the terms?"
"This is a required course."
Nolan clapped him on the back, his tone carrying a rare encouragement:
"Go on, kid. I believe in you."
He smiled, and there was something indescribable in that smile.
Was it trust, pride, or something else?
Mark looked at his father and was silent for a second.
Then he nodded.
"Okay."
He turned and headed toward the door.
Halfway there, he stopped and looked back at Nolan.
"Dad,"
he said, "What if that guy... isn't here to communicate?"
Nolan's smile deepened.
"Then it's even simpler."
"Just shut him up directly!"
Mark laughed.
He thought the same way.
He pushed the door open, lifted off the ground, and shot into the sky.
In the night sky, the stars twinkled.
Mark's figure ascended higher and faster.
Passing through the clouds, through the stratosphere, through the ionosphere.
The city lights below grew smaller and smaller, finally disappearing beyond the azure arc.
The air grew thinner, and then vanished completely.
The surroundings turned into a dead, silent darkness.
Mark hovered in Earth's orbit, looking down at the blue planet beneath his feet.
This was the first time he had seen Earth from this angle.
It was beautiful.
Truly worthy of being his Earth.
Chapter 37: The Civilian 'Two-Dimensional Foil' Encounter
The moment Mark arrived in outer space, the first thing he felt was:
Freedom!
No need to breathe.
As this realization flashed through his mind, he took a deep breath.
Even though there was no air to inhale here, the tangible feeling of 'I can live in a vacuum' made him inexplicably excited.
He raised his hand and examined it before his eyes. His skin was intact, the blood flowing in his veins was still warm, and his heart was still beating strongly.
The body of a Viltrumite truly does not rely on oxygen.
The second feeling was:
Faster.
He tried flying forward a short distance, and his speed instantly soared to a level unattainable within Earth's atmosphere.
The vacuum offered no resistance, no air friction; the Viltrumite's propulsion could be released one hundred percent.
He felt like a cannonball fired from a barrel.
No, faster than a cannonball, so fast that the surrounding stars were stretched into thin lines, so fast that the Earth beneath him rapidly shrank in his vision.
This feeling was even more exhilarating than when he was on Planet F.
Planet F still had an atmosphere; although the composition was different, it still offered resistance after all.
But here was the true vacuum, pure freedom.
He spread his arms, letting his body glide through the void. His red cape fluttered loudly in the vacuum.
Although logically there shouldn't be wind in a vacuum, the cape was inexplicably billowing, probably due to the Viltrumite's intelligent atoms at work.
He couldn't be bothered to delve deeper.
Then he saw that guy.
In the distance, an orange-yellow figure was flying toward Earth at an astonishing speed.
The silhouette of that figure gradually became clearer against the backdrop of the starry sky.
Sturdy, robust, with a height of over two meters, wearing a dark uniform that looked incredibly durable.
There were some insignias on the uniform that he couldn't understand, looking like some kind of military badge.
The most conspicuous feature was his face.
Orange-yellow skin, like a ripe orange.
A single, massive eye occupied more than half of his face. At that moment, that single eye was blazing with an indescribable emotion.
Eager to fight.
Battle intent boiling over.
That single eye stared directly at Mark, the pupil contracting and expanding, as if measuring distance, or perhaps estimating combat power.
The facial muscles around the single eye twitched slightly, and the corner of his mouth—the one side he had—pulled upward, revealing half a fang.
Mark looked at that face, and one word popped into his mind—
Tang.
How could one eye manage such a complex expression?
The battle intent in that single eye was almost solidifying and ready to spray out. Paired with that large, orange-yellow face, it looked exactly like some kind of ridiculous meme character come to life.
But Mark didn't laugh, because that guy was already charging toward him.
The speed was fast, extremely fast.
The orange-yellow figure dragged an afterimage through the void, carrying an unstoppable momentum, like an orange-yellow meteor, heading straight to crash into Mark.
This was a provocation.
Or perhaps, this was a test.
A curve formed at the corner of Mark's mouth.
Good timing.
He pushed off with both feet in the void.
Although there was nothing there, the Viltrumite's flying instinct allowed him to find a point of leverage, just like pushing off the ground.
His entire body transformed into a streak of blue-gold light!
His cape streamed out behind him as a red line, rushing back toward the orange-yellow figure!
Two lights rapidly approached each other in the dark void.
One second.
Half a second.
Zero point one seconds—
The next second!
"BOOM!!!"
Although there was no sound, a shockwave rippled visibly through the vacuum.
That ripple spread outward from the point of impact between the two, stirring up the surrounding cosmic dust and forming a faint halo.
Mark's fist smashed solidly into that orange-yellow face.
In that instant, Alan felt as if he had returned to his childhood.
Back when he was just an ordinary recruit in the Planetary Alliance.
He hadn't experienced real combat yet, hadn't been implanted with the communication device, hadn't seen much of the world.
And the training he usually underwent was taking a beating.
Once during training, the instructor had them stand at the bottom of a slope and then pushed an 18-ton boulder down.
He stood at the bottom of the slope, watching the boulder roll down from the summit.
The boulder rolled faster and faster, carrying endless potential energy, crushing every obstacle, roaring loudly as it rushed toward him.
That sense of powerlessness, that instinctive fear of 'I'm about to be crushed,' he thought he would never experience it a second time in his life.
But at this moment, he experienced it.
And it was clearer, more concrete, and more real.
Because that 'boulder' was conscious, it was actively crashing into him, and it was hitting his face with a smile.
The force of that punch passed through his facial skin, flesh, and bone, driving straight into his brain.
He felt his entire skull vibrating, his brain matter sloshing inside his cranial cavity, and the world in his single eye instantly spun around.
666.
The civilian 'Two-Dimensional Foil' encounter.
Countless thoughts flashed through Alan's mind the instant he took the hit, finally settling on one question:
Audience, do you think I can still live?
He thought he couldn't.
That punch left half his face completely numb. Beneath the orange-yellow skin, his bones groaned, his muscles trembled, and his nerves screamed.
He struggled to open his single eye—he only had this one—trying to see the enemy's position clearly.
Then he saw a finger.
That finger was bent, rapidly enlarging in his field of vision.
The target was—
His eyeball.
"No—"
Before Alan's wail could escape his lips, the finger had already flicked against his large eyeball.
"Smack."
That sensation was hard to describe.
Soft, bouncy, with a little bit of moist warmth.
The moment the finger flicked, the eyeball slightly concave, then snapped back violently, causing a violent tremor.
That tremor traveled from the eyeball to the optic nerve below, and then to the brain, triggering not pain.
No, it was also pain, but more so an ineffable, sharp thrill.
Alan's wail exploded in the void.
"Ah—!!!"
Heart-rending, tragic, soul-piercing.
His body convulsed in the void, limbs flailing randomly, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.
The single eye that had been flicked instantly streamed with tears.
In the vacuum, those tears floated up, forming a string of crystal-clear water droplets suspended beside his face.
The communication device implanted in his brain by the Planetary Alliance immediately activated, projecting his thoughts directly into Mark's consciousness—
The anger of 'I'm going to kill you,' the grievance of 'You bastard, flicking my eyeball,' the resolve of 'I'm not done with you.'
And a trace of disbelief, 'How could you do this?'
Mixed together, they were as clear as if shouted next to his ear.
Mark stood in place, scratching his head somewhat awkwardly.
Uh... I couldn't hold back.
I really couldn't hold back.
The other guy's big eyeball was just sitting there, round and watery, looking very elastic.
It made his hand itch.
How to describe this feeling?
It's like someone standing in front of you with their pants down, and a gust of wind blows, constantly rustling their... uh... thing.
At that moment, your eyes only focus on those two things swaying in the wind...
It just gives you an impulse to flick it.
Mark felt he had been quite restrained.
At least he only flicked it once, not multiple times.
And he controlled the force well; it only hurt him a little, he didn't actually pop the eyeball.
Out of politeness, he stood in place and waited for Alan to finish howling.
Alan's wailing lasted for about three seconds, then turned into a roar of fury.
Chapter 38: Viltrumite Hand Chop!
"Kid—! You're finished—!"
He clutched his eye socket, which had been popped out. Besides tears, his one remaining eye burned with raging fury.
He stared fixedly at Mark. His burly figure seemed to have grown even bulkier at that moment.
His two-meter-plus frame was already huge, but now he looked like a moving mountain. The muscles on his shoulders and back bulged, and veins throbbed.
"Although I came here to test your strength,"
Alan gritted his teeth, his single eye flashing with fire:
"The situation is different now!
I guarantee that today, short of killing you, I will absolutely kill you!"
Before his voice faded, his fist, the size of a punching bag, was already smashing toward him.
It was literally the size of a punching bag.
Alan's fist was three sizes larger than an ordinary person's. When clenched, the knuckles were distinct, and there were calluses on them.
Those were marks left by years of training.
The fist carried the whistle of wind!
There is no wind in a vacuum, but the terrifying sense of pressure was more visceral than any sound.
The surrounding cosmic dust was displaced by the punch, forming a visible trajectory.
Mark did not dodge.
Instead, he stepped forward, leaned back, and charged!
He drove his forehead straight into the incoming fist.
It is well known that the forehead is one of the hardest bones in the human body.
If you add the premise that 'Mark's physical toughness is greater than Alan's,' then the result of the collision would be simply—
A testicle hitting a rock.
A complete failure.
"Bang!"
At that instant, Alan's expression was spectacular.
He stared blankly at his own fist, which had smashed into Mark's forehead.
He watched as several fingers bent at an unnatural angle, and his entire palm went limp in an unnatural posture.
The sound of bone fracturing was transmitted through his arm to his ears—*crack, crack*, several times in succession.
It was fractured.
No, probably more than fractured.
It was broken.
Several finger bones might have been shattered.
That hand of his was ruined.
But Mark gave him no time to react.
Appearing before Alan was a fist the size of a punching bag.
No, bigger than a punching bag—
Mark's fist.
"Boom!"
Sound cannot travel in a vacuum, but the terrifying impact force was clearly conveyed through vibration.
Alan's head snapped back violently. His cervical spine emitted an unbearable creak, and his entire body was about to fly backward—
But he didn't fly away.
Because Mark had seized his half-crippled hand.
Mark's hand clamped around his wrist like an iron hoop. He yanked Alan fiercely toward him, then brought his other fist down again onto Alan's forehead.
"Boom!"
Another blow.
Alan felt like a little boy under the hand of a priest.
Completely defenseless, he could only endure the pouring holy water.
His consciousness blurred momentarily amidst the shock, stars exploded before his eyes, and his head buzzed.
But he was Alan.
A warrior of the Planetary Alliance, a veteran who had tested countless rookies. How could he give up so easily?
Fiercely determined, Alan suddenly lunged forward, throwing his entire body onto Mark's waist.
His sturdy, two-meter-plus frame clung to Mark like a giant koala. His legs wrapped around Mark's waist from behind, locking him in place.
Then, he accelerated with all his might.
Rushing toward the nearest solid ground—the Moon—he went!
The two transformed into a single meteor, slamming into the lunar surface at terrifying speed.
"BOOM—!!!"
Dust exploded.
The two smashed into the Moon's surface, creating a crater dozens of meters in diameter.
Gray moon dust billowed up like smoke, slowly dispersing in the low gravity, resembling a curtain of gray gauze.
At the bottom of the crater, Alan was still clinging to Mark's waist.
He felt the impact from that collision. His chest felt tight, his internal organs churned, and a metallic, sweet taste flooded his throat.
But he gritted his teeth and refused to let go.
He looked up and met Mark's gaze.
Mark was looking down at him.
That young face showed no anger, no killing intent, not even seriousness.
There was only a faint look of amusement, like, 'You're somewhat interesting.'
Mark twisted his neck, producing a slight *click* sound.
He tested the residual impact force on his lower back and nodded with satisfaction.
That impact was good; it made his lower back feel less tense—it hadn't been tense to begin with, but the collision somehow made it feel even more relaxed.
Alan swung his fist toward Mark's face.
The left hand.
His right hand was useless, but the left could still function.
However, just as his fist swung halfway, it was firmly grasped by a hand.
Mark's hand.
His five fingers closed, gripping Alan's fist like an iron hoop.
Alan struggled with all his might. The muscles in his arm strained to their limit, veins bulging, but those five fingers did not budge.
Then Mark flicked.
Alan was flung aside like a ragdoll, rolling several times across the lunar surface, kicking up a trail of moon dust, finally stopping when he crashed into a protruding rock.
But before he could get up, Mark was already upon him.
The blue-gold figure appeared exceptionally light in the Moon's low gravity, covering a distance of over ten meters in a single stride, but when he landed, he felt as heavy as Mount Tai.
Mark formed his right hand into a blade, raising it high, and then brought it down!
The Viltrumite Hand Chop!
"Slap!"
The sound of flesh tearing could not propagate in a vacuum, but the intense pain transmitted from Alan's chest was clearer than any sound.
He looked down.
His uniform was neatly sliced open, along with a large section of skin and muscle on his chest, which peeled back to reveal the white, bare ribs beneath.
Blood surged from the wound, floating in the low gravity as droplets, suspended in mid-air like a string of red jewels.
The Air-Splitting Palm.
The most common superpower.
Mark had learned it on Earth from some guy who called himself a Chinese villain.
It proved to be incredibly effective!
Especially when paired with the Viltrumite Hand Chop, it was simply perfect.
The Hand Chop handled breaking the defense, and the force of the Air-Splitting Palm handled the tearing. The combined effect was outstanding.
Mark retracted his right hand and looked down at it.
His palm was completely intact, not even the skin was broken. Only a few droplets of Alan's blood clung to it, slowly rolling in the low gravity.
He nodded with satisfaction.
Very good.
He had now reached the combat strength of an average Viltrum.
As far as he knew, most of the current fifty-plus existing Viltrum warriors could defeat Alan at his current stage.
But none could suppress him like this.
The power he had used just now was only seventy percent.
If he had used his full strength, Alan should already be a smear of meat paste on the lunar surface.
Mark silently estimated his current strength level in his mind—
Just below Omni-Man Nolan, Anissa, and that tier of Conquerors.
After all, Nolan Grayson was a being crowned with the title 'Great,' whose combat power was second only to the Grand Regent among the Viltrums.
And he had only been awakened for a little over a year.
Although he had spent time on Planet F where time flowed 700 times faster, strictly speaking, his actual combat experience was only this past year.
To have reached this level was already quite good.
Chapter 39: He Still Has to Thank Me
Mark raised his fist, preparing to hit Alan one more time.
Alan looked at the fist Mark had already clenched, and his pupils suddenly contracted.
Those five, six, seven, or eight punches earlier had already beaten him to a pulp.
The gash on his chest was still oozing blood beads, his right hand was completely useless, and he could barely lift his left hand either.
If he took another punch, he might really end up lying on the surface of the Moon for three days.
"No more hitting, no more hitting!"
Alan quickly waved his hands, his single eye filled with the words "I surrender":
"I'm not doing this test anymore! Not anymore!"
Mark held up his fist and tilted his head.
Playing dumb was something he was good at.
Having read the original comic, he naturally knew Alan's identity.
He was a Star Rating Officer for the Planetary Alliance.
His job was to go to various planets to test their combat strength and see if there was anyone powerful enough on that planet to protect the entire world.
Alan had mistaken the target planet for 'Tu Ye Planet,' and 'Tu Ye Planet' happened to be on the Alliance's evaluation list, which was why he came.
In the original story, the Invincible Mark was just about to negotiate with Alan.
But before he could even speak, he was tightly restrained by Alan in a bear hug, then beaten a few more times, finally having no choice but to shout for mercy.
Mark remembered that scene very clearly.
When Mark saw the comic back then, he thought: This is too humiliating.
And now—
He looked at the orange-yellow, one-eyed freak in front of him, beaten black and blue, chest ripped open, and right hand crippled, a smile slowly curving on his lips.
The tables have turned, baby!
"Not hitting anymore?"
Mark deliberately frowned, "You say stop and we stop? You started it, and now you say stop?"
His fist was still held in mid-air, showing no sign of coming down.
"No, listen to my explanation—" Alan shrank back.
"What explanation!"
Mark slammed another punch down.
"Bang!"
This punch landed on Alan's shoulder, causing his whole body to list sideways.
"Ouch—!"
Alan screamed.
Mark ignored him and continued to swing his fists.
He was ferocious! He was lost in the moment!
His fists rained down on Alan's body—shoulder, chest, back, thigh, hitting wherever there was flesh.
The force of every punch was controlled just right: painful enough, but not fatal.
After all, Alan was here for a test, not to die.
Moreover, according to the original setting, this guy would still be useful later.
But every punch that needed to be delivered, he wouldn't miss one.
After five, six, seven, or eight more punches—
Alan had completely collapsed on the lunar surface, limbs spread wide like a dried-out, orange-yellow starfish.
His single eye was half-closed, emitting a faint groan.
"Ugh... ugh... stop hitting... please stop hitting..."
Mark finally stopped.
He shook his wrist, stretched his shoulders, and let out a breath.
Satisfying.
Although the fight on the Moon earlier was exhilarating, it was still a battle, requiring constant vigilance; he couldn't actually beat the other party to death.
These few punches now were purely for "personal grievances," delivered without any burden, completely unrestrained.
He bent down, grabbed Alan by the neck, and lifted him off the ground.
Alan hung limply in Mark's hand like a dead dog, his limbs dangling loosely; only his single eye could still manage to swivel.
"Alright,"
Mark stared into his eye: "Quickly tell me, why did you come to my Earth?"
Alan's single eye blinked, then blinked again.
His expression slowly shifted from "I'm already dead" to "Wait, I think I misunderstood something," and finally to "I'm screwed, I'm screwed, I'm screwed."
"Isn't this... the combat strength evaluation you guys applied for?"
Alan's voice carried a hint of grievance and confusion, "I just came to test you. Fine, I admit you're awesome, you can protect this planet.
Even if Viltrumites come to invade your planet, you can beat them back.
I admit it, please let me go!"
He spoke rapidly, afraid Mark would land another punch.
Mark frowned, looking completely bewildered.
"Huh?"
he said, his tone full of confusion, "We never applied for anything like that!"
"Ah?"
Alan's single eye instantly widened.
What was going on?
This guy in front of him seemed genuinely unaware.
That made sense too. If this guy really knew, why would he beat him up so badly?
It was just a test; couldn't they just go through the motions?
If he knew and still beat him like that, wouldn't that be pure idiocy?
Did he think he was a Viltrumite?
Wait—
Alan suddenly remembered something.
He painstakingly raised the left hand that could still move.
He fumbled around his waist for a long time before finally pulling out a palm-sized tablet computer from a pocket.
The tablet glowed faintly in the vacuum, displaying lines of text he couldn't understand on the screen.
Alan swiped a few times with his trembling finger and brought up a page.
The page showed a picture of a planet—blue, with cloud layers and continental outlines.
Below it was a line of small text: [Tu Ye Planet · Rating C · Pending Test]
He looked up again at the giant blue planet above his head.
Look again.
And again.
Silence.
A long silence.
Alan slowly lowered his head to look at the tablet in his hand, then slowly raised his head to look at the planet above him.
Then he lowered his head again to look at the tablet.
Finally, he raised his movable left hand and slapped his own face.
"Slap."
The slap was loud, creating a faint ripple in the vacuum.
"Oh,"
his voice filled with despair, "I'm really... screwed."
He closed his single eye, opened it again, and closed it again.
It was as if he were praying this was a dream and that when he opened his eyes, he would be back on his spaceship, continuing to be the excellent Star Rating Officer who never made mistakes.
But when he opened his eyes, he was still faced with that young, slightly playful Asian face, and the giant blue planet overhead.
The blue planet that was not called 'Tu Ye Planet.'
"So,"
Mark's voice dragged him back to reality, "This isn't Tu Ye Planet?"
"Of course not."
Mark corrected him, his tone matter-of-fact, "This is Earth."
"Earth..."
Alan murmured the unfamiliar name repeatedly.
He looked down at the picture of 'Tu Ye Planet' on the tablet, then looked up at the blue planet overhead.
They were indeed quite different.
The cloud distribution on Tu Ye Planet wasn't like this, and the continental outlines were different too.
How could he not have noticed?
Why had he been so impulsive just now, rushing up to start fighting?
Was it because he was too excited to see someone flying out?
Or because he hadn't fought in too long and his hands were itching?
Alan didn't know.
He only knew that when he got back, his superior would definitely chew him out, deduct his salary, and perhaps even give him a demerit.
"Star Rating Officer Alan, due to negligence, misidentified the target planet, resulting in innocent planetary residents suffering a violent test..."
Just imagining that scene made him want to find a crater and bury himself.
He looked at Mark's young face and forced out a smile uglier than a cry.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry,"
he said, his voice carrying twelve-tenths sincerity, "It was my mistake.
I thought it was Tu Ye Planet; I didn't expect it to be Earth..."
He paused, then quickly added: "So it's completely reasonable for you to beat me up! Please, definitely don't give me a bad review!"
He looked at Mark pleadingly, his single eye filled with "I beg you."
Mark looked at his appearance and couldn't help but want to laugh.
But he was a professional; he usually didn't laugh—unless he couldn't help it.
He held it in.
"It's fine,"
he waved his hand magnanimously, "Everyone makes mistakes sometimes.
I'm not petty to that extent."
Alan froze for a moment, then his eyes welled up.
What a good person!
This young man before him had just beaten him half to death, but now he could forgive his mistake so generously.
This was the demeanor of a true powerhouse!
"Thank you so much!"
Alan said sincerely, his voice full of emotion, "If I ever have the chance, I'll definitely treat you to a meal!"
Mark nodded.
See, he still had to thank me.
Alan struggled out of Mark's grasp and steadied himself on the lunar surface.
He rubbed his still-aching neck, then looked down at the wound on his chest that was still seeping blood, wincing as he sucked in a cold breath.
Even though the Moon had no air to breathe.
"Well, I'll be going now,"
he said, "I need to hurry and report to Tu Ye Planet.
If I delay any longer, I won't meet this year's assessment quota."
He waved his hand at Mark, his single eye filled with genuine gratitude.
"Farewell, Earthling!"
With that, he pushed off the lunar surface with his feet, soaring into the air, and flew toward the depths of the starry sky.
Chapter 40: Traversal!
Standing in place, Mark felt a bit bored for a moment.
He gazed at the distant, azure planet.
He felt a momentary regret, wondering why he hadn't brought a camera with him.
At a time like this, he should have found a spot to set up a tripod and then run to the perfect angle.
To strike a perfect pose of holding the Earth with one hand.
And snap a couple of beautiful photos just like that!
These photos would be useful in any situation later on.
"For a scene like this, am I actually only planning to take two photos?"
For a moment, Mark couldn't help but reaffirm his gender once again.
Under the influence of America's overly liberal gender ideology.
Amidst a crowd of Walmart shopping bags, Mark, a staunch believer in the binary gender theory, felt a bit out of place.
It was practically as out of place as a racial knight standing among Black people!
And thinking about how girls, upon entering a public restroom, could stand in front of the mirror and take a dozen or twenty photos of themselves.
Leaving the people waiting in line behind them impatient.
Cursing that men's restrooms are just too much bigger than women's restrooms, and demanding that all men's restrooms be converted into women's restrooms!
And after taking the photos, the girls would return home, pull out Little Red Book, and attach their beautiful photos.
Then start complaining that the partitions in the women's restroom aren't sturdy at all and can't protect them properly.
And The Boys, after a day of classes, finally find a toilet stall without a "strawberry tower."
Sitting down, looking at the empty space in front of them, even lacking a door partition.
And then scrolling through videos complaining about women's restroom partitions and strongly demanding that men's restrooms be converted into women's restrooms.
A peculiar feeling would surely nourish in their hearts.
They couldn't help but sigh, how delightful, how delightful~~
After his train of thought wandered, Mark's gaze focused once again.
"It's time to use my cheat."
That cheat he had carried since the beginning of his traversal, having held it for so long, he had never used it once.
It wasn't that he didn't want to use it, but he hadn't found a suitable opportunity.
At the beginning, when he had just awakened his superpowers, he hadn't even learned how to fly properly, so how could he dare to go wandering around in a movie world!
A DC big event might just get him killed.
Later, he was busy adapting, training, and dealing with his father's "education."
Then he went to planet F, staying there for a year.
And now?
Now he was back.
His father's matters had temporarily come to an end, the Young Heroes Team had been formed, and he had already fought Alan.
His strength had also grown to its current level.
It was time to try out that cheat.
"How can there be a cheat that hasn't been used after a year of traversing!?"
Mark sighed at the void, "It's time to grace the Multiverse Travel System with my presence."
He paused and cleared his throat.
"System, come out."
As soon as he finished speaking, a light screen unfolded before his eyes.
That light screen floated in the void, glowing with a faint blue light, with lines of text appearing on it—
[host Panel]
[Name: Mark Grayson]
[Age: 19]
[Race: Half-Viltrumite, Half-Earthling]
[Available Traversals: 3]
Mark looked at the last line of numbers and froze for a moment.
"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow, "I can actually traverse three times?"
For the first time, he wondered if he had been a bit too extreme in his killing on planet F.
He had been so carried away that he hadn't even looked at the system carefully.
"System, explain," he said.
The text on the light screen began to change, and new content appeared—
[Explanation as follows:]
[The first traversal opportunity is provided for free by this system when the host awakens.]
[Thereafter, traversal opportunities are recharged based on the improvement of the host's physical fitness.]
[During the host's one year on planet F, physical fitness has reached twice the original level, thus obtaining two traversal opportunities per year.]
[Traversal opportunities can be accumulated infinitely, with no upper limit.]
[Currently, the host can perform a total of three traversals.]
Mark nodded; this setting was quite reasonable.
"And what about the worlds I can traverse to?"
The light screen continued to change—
[Range of traversable worlds: All worlds containing characters similar to the protagonists in the comic where the host is located.]
[Including but not limited to: DC worlds, Marvel World, The Boys world, as well as all Variant worlds and parallel Universes of the above.]
"Fine, fine, fine," Mark waved his hand, "No need to explain further. If you keep explaining, the readers will start to suspect the author is padding the word count."
He stared at the light screen, suddenly recalling an important question.
"Is this traversal of mine synchronized with the time in this Universe?"
This was the question he cared about most.
What if he traversed to some extreme world, only to encounter various crises and snatch various opportunities as soon as he entered.
And then returned to find that time had passed and things had changed.
That wouldn't do!
Don't let him find out that while he was gone, Nolan lost his reason to delay the invasion and went straight to a showdown with Debbie;
Or even more absurdly, Nolan and Debbie had a second child.
Then how would he, the firstborn, manage?
What if his younger brother also wanted to inherit the imperial legitimacy? What then?
He couldn't just...
A real man never plays with order of succession!
Love you, little brother, see you at Xuanwu Gate!
When the time comes, I'll give my little brother a Viltrumite Hand Chop!
Let him experience the thrill of being an emperor directly!
Although the emperor he experiences is Louis XVI, he's still an emperor!
After the chop, I'll beautifully write a couplet at the front door:
First line: A duel at Xuanwu Gate, the winner is the Crown Prince!
Second line: A slash in the Jingnan Campaign, the loser is the rebel army!
Horizontal scroll: Winners are kings, losers are bandits!!!
The light screen flickered, and new text appeared—
[Please rest assured, host, time is not synchronized.]
[No matter how long the host spends in another Universe, for this Universe, it is but a mere instant.]
[Definition of an instant: A time span smaller than Planck time, undetectable by any instrument.]
Mark's eyes lit up.
"That's great."
He nodded with satisfaction, "I can fully improve my strength in other Universes without worrying about any trouble cropping up here."
Now, his last remaining worry was gone.
It was time for the Multiverse Travel System!
"Come on!"
He clenched his fists and announced to the void, "The next world I will conquer! System, initiate the traversal for me!"
The light screen flickered violently, the blue light growing brighter and brighter—
[Starting traversal now, please look forward to the next world, host!]
The light had already enveloped half of his body.
Mark suddenly recalled a very serious problem and hurriedly shouted:
"Wait a minute!"
"Can't you tell me which world I'm traversing to earlier?!"
"At least let me have some mental preparation!"
Before he was completely engulfed, the light screen displayed one last line of text—
[Once the host has traversed to the designated world, this system will naturally inform you of the world you are in and provide a full explanation.]
[But for now—]
[This system is not very sure where the host will go either.]
[It should be random.]
Mark: "..."
"Random what?"
[Randomly.]
Oh, randomly, I thought it was randomly, hahahaha...
If you say random, don't say the 'ly', civility is up to you and me!
You f*cking Multiverse Travel System, is the traversal random??
So lewd!
Even a system lets the little head control the big head!
I'm really going to control you!
But there was no time to complain, the blue light had already completely engulfed him.
In the last instant before his consciousness fell into chaos, another line of text popped up on the light screen—
[Please remember, host: death in another world is true death.]
[However—]
[The host can use traversal opportunities to resurrect yourself.]
[One traversal opportunity can be exchanged for one resurrection.]
Mark's consciousness, which had already given up struggling, shook violently.
"No—!!"
"You didn't tell me you had this feature earlier—!?"
Then wouldn't I have beaten my father into submission long ago?
Not to mention I have three resurrection opportunities now.
Even if I only had the one that came with the system at the beginning, I would have dared to go head-to-head with Nolan after training for a year!
When I was beaten to a pulp and his stamina was exhausted.
I would directly give my own neck a Viltrumite Hand Chopright in front of Nolan!
Snap.
In Nolan's shocked eyes, I'd complete the resurrection loading bar.
And then it would be the happy moment of beating up my dear father!
Then I'd rest for a few years, accumulate more resurrection opportunities, and improve my strength along the way.
I would even dare to go directly and tear into the Grand Regent!
You do have high damage on your left fist, and high damage on your right fist.
But my resurrection loading bar is no pushover either!
Resurrect, my body!
However, before his last thought could fully flash through, he was completely engulfed by the blue light.
The surface of the moon returned to silence.
Only that light screen remained floating in place, flickered one last time, and slowly dissipated.
Leaving only one line of text that gradually faded in the void—
[Wish the host a pleasant journey.]
Chapter 41 The Boys
The sun was just right, and the breeze was gentle.
People were coming and going at the entrance of the amusement park, the laughter of children, the hawking of vendors...
The sounds of the rides operating blended together, composing a joyful movement belonging to the weekend.
Hughie was holding hands with his girlfriend, standing by the side of the road, gazing at each other.
His girlfriend was named Robin, a girl with long brown hair, whose eyes would curve into two crescent moons when he smiled.
At this moment, he was looking up at Hughie, his eyes filled with love.
"I will always love you like this, my dear."
Robin said with a smile.
Then he stood on tiptoe, leaned forward, and gently kissed Hughie on the cheek.
The kiss was soft and warm, carrying the faint sweetness of a girl's lipstick.
Hughie had never felt so happy.
If only this moment could last forever.
This thought emerged from the bottom of his heart.
It would be best if no one came to disturb it, best if this moment could remain like this, forever!
But the next second —
Hughie froze.
A terrifying wind pressure rushed towards him.
That wind pressure was so intense, so violent, as if a jet fighter were flying at low altitude, charging straight at him.
His hair was blown wildly backward, his clothes were pressed tightly against his body, and even breathing became difficult.
He turned around in almost an instant.
But his physical reaction speed was too slow.
And his neural reaction speed was too fast.
This contradictory feeling trapped him in a strange situation.
His body was frozen in place, unable to move even a fraction.
But his nerves captured every detail, every moment, every scene that was enough to make his soul fly away in terror.
He saw a black man wearing blue clothes charging towards him.
That person's speed was too fast, as fast as a blue lightning bolt, dragging afterimages in the air, so fast that Hughie could barely see his outline.
But he recognized that outfit.
He recognized that face.
That was his favorite superhero —
A-Train.
Hughie's heart stopped beating at that moment.
No! No no no no no!
He screamed frantically in his heart.
Because he could guess that, with A-Train's running speed and impact, in an instant —
He would smash himself and Robin into pieces!
He wanted to move, wanted to push Robin away, wanted to block in front of him, wanted to do anything.
But he couldn't move.
His body seemed frozen in place, with only his nerves able to react in an instant.
He didn't know why.
Perhaps it was an adrenaline burst at the brink of death, or perhaps some strange power of time and space happened to surround him.
He only knew that he could only watch helplessly as that blue figure got closer and closer.
Please.
If there is a god —
Please save my girlfriend!
At this moment, Hughie gave up his love for A-Train that had lasted for years.
Gave up all the A-Train merchandise he had collected.
Gave up the signed poster he had stuck on his bedroom wall.
Gave up his humble wish that he had fantasized about countless times, "How great it would be if I could take a picture with A-Train."
He was like the most devout believer, praying in his heart for the arrival of a god.
No matter what kind of god it was.
No matter what price had to be paid.
As long as — as long as Robin could be saved!
"As you wish..."
In the ethereal wind, Hughie seemed to hear these words.
So clear, so understandable, so truly transmitted to his ears.
The voice seemed to fall from high above, carrying an indescribable majesty and composure, responding to his expectations.
The next second —
Hughie saw a figure before his eyes.
It was a man wearing a blue and gold battle suit, with a red cape flapping in the strong wind behind him.
His attire was a bit like Homelander's, but he was more handsome and younger than Homelander, with a hint of Asian softness in his facial contours.
He just appeared out of thin air.
It really was out of thin air, as if he had been standing there all along, only Hughie hadn't seen him just now.
In an instant, as if a god had descended, he appeared behind Robin.
With the help of some strange power of time and space, Hughie saw every one of his movements clearly.
He gently reached out his hand and pushed Robin away.
The movement was so gentle, so composed, as if he were just brushing away a feather that was blocking the way.
Then he took a step forward.
Using his own body, he faced the blue lightning charging towards him head-on.
A-Train's face was extremely terrified at this moment.
He had already seen someone in front — no, a person who had suddenly appeared!
But he couldn't stop!
His speed was too fast, too fast for any braking action to take effect, too fast that he could only watch helplessly as he crashed into it!
"No——!!!"
Hughie wanted to push the young man in front of him away in terror.
If he were hit by A-Train's terrifying impact, the young man in front would die!
But he couldn't react.
He could only see A-Train's head, filled with terror, slamming into the young man's shoulder at supersonic speed.
The next instant —
"Bang!!!"
The skull shattered.
Brain matter splattered.
Warm liquid covered Hughie's cheeks and blurred his eyes.
But his eyes remained open.
In the blood-red field of vision, he saw A-Train's head, neck, and chest — all embedded in that man's shoulder.
Then shattered.
Then splattered.
A-Train's entire half of his body disappeared completely in that instant.
The remaining half of the corpse collapsed softly to the ground, with blood and internal organs scattered all over the floor.
A-Train, who was once one of the heroes of The Seven —
At the moment of death, only his legs remained.
Silence.
The whole world seemed to have gone silent.
The laughter of the amusement park continued in the distance, but Hughie could no longer hear it.
He could only hear the sound of his own heart beating wildly, could only hear the sound of Robin trembling and crying in his arms, could only hear —
That man's voice.
"I said, all of this is as you wish."
The young man flicked his hand casually.
The blood on his shoulder seemed to be driven away by some force, disappearing completely in an instant.
The blue and gold battle suit was restored to new, without leaving even a single stain.
Chapter 42: And You, My Friend, Are the Real Hero!
Mark turned around and placed his hand on Hughie's shoulder.
The hand was warm, steady, and carried a reassuring strength.
Hughie looked up through the blood covering his face, gazing at that young countenance.
The person was smiling.
"And you, my friend..."
"You are the real hero!"
Hughie stood frozen in place, at a loss.
He could only hold his girlfriend tightly.
Robin cried in his arms, gasping, burying her face deep into his chest, trembling all over like a leaf in the wind.
"Thank you... thank you..."
Hughie finally found his voice, which was hoarse, choked, and broken:
"I don't know how to thank you... really... I don't know... I am truly grateful to you!"
Tears welled up in his eyes, washing away the warm blood belonging to A-Train on his face.
"But thank you... thank you so much..."
He spoke incoherently, holding Robin while sincerely thanking the strange young man before him.
Mark looked at the crying man before him, his smile deepening.
"I understand. I understand your gratitude,"
he said, his voice gentle and calm. "Now, friend, take your girlfriend and leave."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding crowd, which had started noticing the disturbance.
"Don't forget, it's a beautiful weekend.
Forget everything that just happened. Take your girlfriend out for a cup of tea, or perhaps a drink.
Go have a dance, or maybe, spend some time passionately together in bed."
He patted Hughie's cheek, the pressure neither hard nor light, like comforting a startled child.
"Forget the troubles of the moment."
"Your safety—"
"Is now the responsibility of Invincible."
Mark placed his hand back on Hughie's shoulder, applying slight pressure.
Hughie stared at him dumbly.
In those eyes were fear, gratitude, confusion, and a faint yet determined light that had just ignited.
"I... I understand!"
In an instant, Hughie grasped Mark's intention.
He clutched Robin tightly and hurried away from there.
His steps were unsteady, and he nearly fell several times, but he never looked back.
Mark stood in place, watching Hughie's retreating figure, a curve forming at the corner of his mouth.
"Heh, this kid isn't stupid after all,"
Mark muttered to himself.
He certainly knew Hughie.
The protagonist of The Boys, the ordinary man who was supposed to watch his girlfriend be torn to shreds by A-Train and then embark on a path of revenge.
The unlucky soul repeatedly ravaged by fate, yet never giving up the fight.
And at this moment—
Mark looked down at the unrecognizable remains on the ground, then at his own unharmed shoulder.
A-Train was dead.
He had personally prevented the original tragedy.
"I never expected to transmigrate to this world,"
he looked up toward the towering Vought Building in the distance, "and even managed to stop the initial tragedy from happening."
He laughed, a smile that seemed exceptionally bright under the sunlight.
"It seems destiny is on my side; I am meant to become the master of this world."
The world of The Boys.
A world ruled by Superheroes—or rather, manipulated by the Vought Corporation.
Those so-called "heroes" were nothing more than meticulously packaged commodities, tools used by capital to amass wealth and maintain stability.
They possessed superpowers, but lacked superhuman morals.
They were revered by thousands, yet engaged in the dirtiest deeds behind the scenes.
And the most wonderful thing about this world was—
Just by taking Compound V, one could obtain all sorts of marvelous minor abilities.
Although the type and intensity of the abilities couldn't be guaranteed, so what?
Mark looked at the distant skyscraper, his mind already planning his next move.
He could directly kidnap all the top executives of the Vought Corporation and rule the entire world with absolute force.
Make those hypocritical "heroes" kneel before him, make the capitalists hiding behind the scenes tremble and hand over everything.
And then—make everyone in this world his slaves, manufacturing the most perfect serum for him.
Gather all the Compound V!
Use the most cutting-edge research team to repeatedly purify, improve, and experiment.
Until a ultimate serum is developed that can stably grant superpowers, has no side effects, and can even stack multiple abilities.
By then—
He would be the true ruler of this world!
"Ring ring—ring ring—!!!"
The abrupt sound of a phone ringing echoed amidst the chaos at the amusement park entrance.
Mark looked down to see the source of the sound.
The unrecognizable remains at his feet.
More precisely, it was coming from the back pocket of the corpse that only had its legs left.
He raised an eyebrow.
This ringtone was quite persistent.
He calmly bent down and retrieved the cell phone from the corpse's back pocket.
The screen was lit up, displaying a contact name: [Chief Consultant · Ashley]
Mark brought the phone to his ear.
But then he glanced with distaste at the blood-stained screen.
So, he extended his arm, holding it at least thirty centimeters away, aiming his super-hearing at the earpiece.
"Hello?"
An anxious voice, tinged with reprimand, came from the other end of the line.
"What are you doing, A-Train?!
A crime is about to happen, you need to get there now! All our cameras are ready, waiting to film you!
No matter how many people you save, strike the best pose! Make your look the coolest!
Understand?!
Now, immediately, get to the scene! The hype is at its peak right now!"
Mark clicked his tongue as he listened to the barrage of words.
The superhero business isn't easy.
"Hi there,"
he said with a light chuckle, a hint of amusement in his tone.
The other end of the line fell silent for a second.
"Wait—who are you?!"
That voice suddenly became wary. "Where is A-Train? Where is A-Train?!
I don't care if you're some civilian wanting A-Train's autograph or whatever!
Now, immediately, be quiet! Give the phone back to A-Train! Tell him to get to the crime scene right now!"
Chapter 43: I Don't Like It
It was another barrage of rapid-fire questions.
Mark's brow furrowed slightly.
This person's manner of speaking made him very uncomfortable.
"Where are you?" he asked, his tone still calm. "I'll give you your phone back right now."
"Where else could I be?!"
The voice on the other end of the line carried a hint of arrogance and impatience:
"Listen closely, I am A-Train's exclusive consultant! I'm on the 12th floor office of the Vought Corporation!
It's the one with the A-Train poster stuck on the window! Hurry up and give me back my phone!"
After speaking, the other side let out a sneer, as if mocking this "ignorant commoner" on the other end of the line.
Mark did not reply.
He hung up the phone directly.
"I know..."
he murmured.
Mark looked up, his gaze sweeping past the amusement park's Ferris wheel.
Past the panicked crowds on the street, past the police cars and news helicopters rushing over—
and landed on the distant, towering Vought Tower.
The 12th floor.
He saw it.
A giant window plastered with A-Train's portrait, standing out conspicuously in the sunlight.
A slight curve formed on Mark's lips.
The next second, a gust of strong wind swept through where he had been standing.
He vanished.
Vought Corporation, 12th Floor.
Ash was sitting in his spacious office, legs crossed, still holding the phone receiver in his hand.
He had just been hung up on by that inexplicable civilian and was preparing to redial to viciously scold the fool who didn't know his place.
"Honestly, commoners these days just don't know the rules..."
he muttered, suddenly feeling the light outside the window dim for a moment.
He subconsciously looked up.
Then, his pupils contracted violently.
That huge A-Train poster on the window—it shattered!
Glass fragments poured down like a waterfall, refracting dazzling light in the sun.
And within that glare, a figure hovered outside the window, his red cape snapping fiercely in the wind behind him.
The figure gently landed on the windowsill, then stepped into the office.
Ash's mouth opened, wanting to scream, but no sound came out.
The next second, a hand clamped around his throat.
He was lifted by that hand, his feet leaving the ground, his whole body suspended in the air.
He struggled desperately, kicking his legs wildly in the air, his hands trying to pry open the hand gripping his throat—but those five fingers were like iron hoops, unmoving.
He finally got a clear look at that face.
It was a young face, with subtle Asian contours, more handsome than Homelander, and younger than Homelander!
But also more dangerous than Homelander!
There was no warmth in those black eyes.
"You can tell me your location,"
"I'd be happy."
The person spoke, his voice very light, almost whispering next to Ash's ear.
Ash's pupils trembled violently from fear.
"But the way you speak—"
The corner of the person's mouth lifted slightly, forming a chilling smile.
"I don't like it!"
As soon as the words fell.
"Crack."
Ash's head was gently squeezed by that hand, like crushing a ripe tomato.
Blood and brain matter splattered onto the person's blue and gold battle suit, then were instantly shaken off by some power, leaving it spotless.
The headless corpse slumped softly to the ground, convulsed a couple of times, and then lay still.
Mark released his hand, letting the already deformed head slip from his palm and roll under the desk.
He looked up, surveying the entire office.
The office wasn't large, but it was luxuriously decorated.
Floor-to-ceiling windows, leather sofas, and an entire wall of display cabinets filled with various trophies and memorabilia of A-Train.
At this moment, several staff members huddled in the corner, watching him with gazes of extreme terror.
A thin man wearing glasses spoke, trembling.
"You... don't make any sudden moves! There are cameras in here!"
His voice shook, his teeth chattered, and he wished he could stuff himself into the filing cabinet behind him.
Mark tilted his head.
"Oh, you mean the cameras?"
He casually pointed to a device on the nearby wall that was already smashed into a ball, sparking intermittently.
"I broke it the moment I rushed in. Don't worry, cheap junk like this can't capture my image."
He smiled, a gentle and harmless smile.
"No... No!!!"
The staff member trembled, genuinely trying to squeeze himself under the desk.
He curled into a ball, hands over his head, shaking violently like a sieve.
The next second, the desk was flipped over, smashing against the ceiling!
Wood chips rained down, looking like ash after paper money has burned away.
"You're not hiding very well, are you?~~"
Mark's voice was like a demon's whisper.
The next second—
Flesh and blood flew inside the office.
When Vought Corporation security personnel received the alarm and rushed into this office, this is the scene they witnessed.
The floor-to-ceiling window was shattered, and a cold wind howled in.
Desks and chairs were overturned, and documents were scattered everywhere.
On the walls, ceiling, and floor, there were splatter marks of blood everywhere.
And on the large desk in the center of the office, eight heads were neatly arranged.
Eight faces frozen in twisted horror.
Eight pairs of eyes that could not rest in peace.
Ash's head was in the center, the look of terror from the moment of his death still lingering on his face.
As for their bodies?
The security captain stood frozen in place, his stomach churning.
The bodies... were gone.
Only scattered pieces of shredded flesh, broken bones, and remnants of clothing torn into fragments by some terrifying force covered the floor.
The body of an ordinary Earthling could not withstand the hand-chop of a Viltrumite.
The sheer force of the wind generated by the hand-chop alone was enough to tear their bodies into pieces.
"This... what in the world is this..."
A young security guard muttered, his legs weak, almost collapsing to the ground.
No one could answer him.
Outside the window, the Ferris wheel at the distant amusement park was still slowly turning, and the sunlight remained bright.
But the figure clad in the blue and gold battle suit, draped in the red cape, had long since vanished without a trace.
Leaving behind only this bloody office, and the eight neat heads on the desk.
Like some kind of proclamation.
Like some kind of warning.
Or perhaps—
The first death knell before the arrival of a new order.
Chapter 44: You're Fired
The security team began searching for clues in the room.
To say they were'searching for clues' was generous.
It was more like they were gingerly picking their way through scattered pieces of flesh and bloodstains, terrified of stepping on something they shouldn't.
Several men were deathly pale, suppressing the churning in their stomachs while pretending to be diligently at work.
"Check over here."
"You check that side."
"Careful not to contaminate the scene..."
That's what they said, but none of them knew what was left of this'scene' that could possibly be contaminated.
The floor was covered in minced meat, the walls were smeared with blood, and eight severed heads were neatly arranged on the desk.
It had already been destroyed beyond any further damage.
A young security guard walked over to the row of desks near the window, bent down, and casually glanced under a female employee's desk.
Then he froze.
Curled up beneath that desk was a man.
To be precise, a naked man.
The man was trembling all over, clutching his knees with both hands, shrunk into a tiny ball.
His eyes were wide open, his pupils dilated, and he was repeatedly muttering the same sentence.
"Demon... He is a demon... He is stronger than Homelander..."
His voice was hoarse and shaky, as if squeezed out from the depths of his throat.
"Demon... He is a demon... He is stronger than Homelander..."
Over and over again.
"The In—Translucent?!"
The young security guard blurted out, his voice filled with shock.
Hearing this, the others quickly gathered around.
"Oh my god, it really is Translucent!"
"What is he doing here?"
"Wait—why is he naked?"
Everyone was stunned.
Translucent, one of the members of The Seven, had the ability to render his body completely invisible.
When appearing in public, he always wore a proper suit and sunglasses, looking suave and debonair.
But now, he was curled up under a desk, completely naked, like a frightened mouse.
Several security guards exchanged glances, unsure how to react.
Just then, one guard secretly pulled out his cell phone and aimed it at Translucent.
This was explosive news!
A member of The Seven, naked, hiding under a desk!
If this video was posted online, the view count would absolutely explode!
His finger was already hovering over the record button.
The next second—
"Tss."
A faint scorching sound.
The guard looked down and saw a charred hole appear on his phone, the edges still emitting wisps of smoke.
The hole had precisely pierced the camera, the storage chip, turning the entire phone into a piece of scrap metal.
He looked up sharply.
Outside the window, a figure was suspended in mid-air.
That face—handsome, perfect, bearing the signature brilliant smile.
Blue eyes, golden hair, the red, white, and blue uniform, and the red cape fluttering behind him in the wind.
The strongest Super.
The leader of The Seven.
Homelander.
"These things absolutely cannot get out."
Homelander said with a gentle smile.
He passed through the broken window and landed softly in the room.
His red cape slowly draped behind him, utterly spotless.
"Homelander! You're here!"
A security guard rushed forward as if seeing a savior, his voice full of excitement and relief.
"A demon broke in here! He killed everyone! Eight! A full eight people!"
Homelander raised a hand, signaling him to be quiet.
"Yes, I know, I know."
He said, still wearing that iconic smile:
"Everyone, could you please quiet down for a moment?"
"So as not to disturb our colleagues who are still working, let's maintain quiet, shall we?"
His voice was as soft as if he were coaxing kindergarten children.
The guards involuntarily nodded.
The room fell silent, leaving only Translucent's faint, incessant mumbling.
"Demon... He is a demon... He is stronger than Homelander..."
Homelander heard this, and his smile didn't change in the slightest.
He nodded in satisfaction.
"Very good," he said. "Then now—"
He paused, his gaze sweeping over everyone present once more.
"Congratulations."
He smiled, a smile as brilliant as sunshine.
"You've all been fired."
The security guards were stunned.
What?
"Although there will be no severance pay," Homelandercontinued, his tone as casual as discussing daily life, "we will issue compensation funds to your families."
The next second, his eyes lit up with a blinding red light.
The heat vision swept across the room!
"No—!!"
"Ah—!!"
Screams rose and fell, but they lasted for less than a second.
A dozen bodies fell to the ground, each bearing a charred hole pierced by the heat vision.
Blood gushed from the wounds, quickly pooling together.
Homelander retracted his heat vision, his face still holding that iconic smile.
He turned around, no longer looking at the corpses, but directing his gaze toward the desk in the center of the room.
On the desk, eight heads were neatly arranged.
Homelander slowly approached and looked down at the heads.
Eight terrified and distorted faces, eight pairs of eyes that died unwillingly.
Arranging human heads in a ritualistic manner?
An indescribable sensation rose up his spine—not fear, Homelander never felt fear.
It was a more subtle feeling, one that made him uncomfortable.
Even he wouldn't do something like this.
This wasn't slaughter; this was—a display.
This was a declaration.
This was a provocation.
Homelander's smile slightly receded.
He crouched down and looked at the still-shivering naked man under the desk.
"Translucent," he spoke, his voice still gentle, "tell me, exactly who broke in here?"
Translucent looked up, his dilated eyes meeting Homelander's gaze.
Then, his expression became even more terrified.
"No... no..." He began to shrink back, trying to hide himself deeper in the shadows, "Don't provoke him... Homelander, don't!"
His voice became sharp and chaotic, the man seeming to have reached the peak of madness.
"You can't beat him! You absolutely cannot beat him!"
"That guy isn't human at all! I couldn't even see his movements!"
He curled into a ball, burying his head between his legs—though he wasn't wearing any—shaking like a sieve.
"Demon... He is a demon... Stronger than Homelander..."
He started repeating that phrase again.
Homelander frowned.
Had he gone mad?
He stared at Translucent for a few seconds and finally confirmed one thing—nothing useful could be extracted from this guy's mouth.
He was talking nonsense.
What did he mean by'stronger than him'?
No one in this world was stronger than him.
He was the strongest.
Homelander stood up and pulled a communication device from his coat.
The device was small and sleek, bearing the Vought Corporation logo.
He pressed a button, and the connection was quickly established.
"Someone broke into an office on the 12th floor and killed everyone inside,"
he said, his tone as flat as if none of it concerned him:
"Translucent was spying nearby and should have witnessed the entire thing."
He paused.
"Send someone down to take him away to rest. Use every interrogation technique available to see if anything can be pried out of his mouth."
His gaze fell once more on the eight heads.
"Remember to send me all the information after the interrogation."
He smiled, the smile still brilliant, but a cold light was burning in his eyes.
"That guy—"
"I want to kill him myself."