At this moment, countless people like Adrian Toomes, struggling on the edge of the abyss, were pulled back by an invisible hand.
Online, the situation was even more explosive.
On Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and every major platform, every trending topic was completely dominated by discussions about Homelander.
Notification! Popularity +152,223!
Notification! Popularity +125,252!
Notification! Popularity +148,520!
Notification! Popularity +—
A massive flood of Popularity Points surged wildly, wave after wave crashing against Antony's senses.
The feeling was intoxicating.
Stronger than the finest alcohol.
Every cheer.
Every word of praise.
With just a thought, they could be transformed into real power.
Antony floated high above New York City, eyes closed, taking a deep breath as if he wanted to inhale the entire world's admiration into his lungs.
"Perfect performance."
He murmured the words to himself.
Then his figure blurred.
A sonic boom echoed through the sky as he landed smoothly on the platform of Vought Tower.
-----
Back in the Chief Executive Office.
The faint scent of lingering hormones still hung in the air after last night's passion.
But Jessica was gone.
"Miss Jones has already left, sir."
Skynet's voice came from beside the desk.
She was personally cleaning the somewhat chaotic office. She still wore her black-and-white professional outfit, though the collar of her blouse seemed slightly more open than usual.
"When she left, she also took the Macallan 64 from your liquor cabinet."
"She left a message as well."
Skynet paused slightly before continuing.
"If you don't take her along to beat up that damn planet… then the moment you leave Earth, she'll sell Vought."
"Technically, she hasn't resigned from her position as CEO yet."
"Heh. Let her try."
Antony smiled faintly.
"That guest calling himself Nick Fury has been waiting in the reception room for an hour."
"Let him wait."
Antony walked to the cabinet and poured himself another glass of milk.
"You finish cleaning the office first."
"Yes, sir."
Skynet stepped forward.
Her slender hand rested lightly on Antony's shoulder.
Leaning closer, she almost pressed her body against his back.
"However…"
She exhaled softly near his ear, her voice carrying a faint breathlessness.
"…I think Mr. Starr himself looks a little messy too."
Antony turned around and looked at the flawless artificial beauty standing before him.
"Is that so?"
He set down his glass.
"Then let's… clean up properly."
…
An hour later.
Skynet adjusted the slightly rumpled collar of her shirt and gracefully exited the office.
Another fifteen minutes passed.
BANG!
The office door was kicked open violently.
The door slammed into the wall with a thunderous crash.
An elderly white man in a black trench coat stormed in, his single eye burning with suppressed fury.
"Motherfucker! Do you know what I hate most in this world, Starr?"
Nick Fury didn't bother sitting down.
He marched straight to the desk and slammed both hands onto it.
"You made me wait two hours," he said, raising two fingers.
"Two hours! Do you have any idea I came here to talk about the fate of the—"
ZZZT—!!
Two crimson beams of heat vision tore through the air.
They slammed directly into the old man's chest.
BOOM—!!
Fury didn't even finish his sentence before the massive impact blasted him straight out of the office.
The red glow in Antony's eyes slowly faded.
He calmly set down his milk and spoke toward the doorway.
"First."
"I don't like people kicking open my door."
"Second."
"Organize your thoughts."
"And try again."
…
A few seconds later—
"RAAAAGH—!!"
A furious roar echoed from outside.
The temperature in the hallway suddenly spiked.
A strong sulfur smell filled the air.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Heavy footsteps approached.
Each step burned a blackened footprint into the carpet.
Fury appeared in the doorway again.
But he was no longer the white old man from before.
Orange flames burst violently from every orifice of his body, devouring his flesh.
Hellfire roared across a skeletal skull.
"You think that trick works on me, Starr—!"
The skeletal jaw snapped open in an enraged howl.
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG—!!!
Thousands of bullets hammered into bone in rapid succession.
Before Fury could even finish his sentence—before he could take a single step inside—
He was blasted all the way down the corridor.
Even the hellfire burning on his body flickered violently, as if it might extinguish.
Inside the office, Antony now held two pistols.
Their designs were exaggerated and elegant.
One completely black.
The other pure white.
Ebony & Ivory.
He had pulled them years ago from that ridiculous blind box system and tossed them into his magical storage space as useless junk.
But today—
These demon-hunting pistols finally revealed their fangs.
Antony spun the guns casually in his hands.
"Phew—"
He blew away the smoke rising from the barrels.
His expression was filled with disdain.
"Flashy nonsense."
Then he returned the pistols to his magical space and picked up the milk that hadn't even cooled yet.
…
One minute later.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A cautious tapping sounded on the door.
"Come in."
The door opened.
Nick Fury walked in.
His clothes were riddled with bullet holes, but he still took a moment to straighten his collar and brush dust off his sleeves.
He approached the desk.
Still standing.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Starr."
"Good afternoon, Fury."
Fury stared at Antony with a complicated expression.
"Your gun skills… are quite interesting."
Antony leaned back in his chair, studying this new version of Nick Fury with curiosity.
"That new skin of yours isn't bad either."
"Although it does take away some of the classic flavor from saying 'motherfucker.'"
"But at least now you look more like a Republican voter."
"It was… necessary," Fury replied expressionlessly.
"But the results work in my favor."
"Sit."
Antony gestured toward the chair.
Fury pulled it out and sat down, though his body remained tense.
The storm of bullets from earlier had left a powerful impression in his muscle memory.
"Go on," Antony said, glancing at his watch.
"My time is valuable."
"You get one chance."
"HYDRA."
Fury finally revealed his bargaining chip.
"Although their Project Insight failed, they're preparing a much larger conspiracy."
"I know their networks. I know their codes."
"I can help you wipe them out completely."
"In exchange…"
Fury looked directly at him.
"…I need resources."
"I need Vought's support to rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D.."
"Pfft."
Antony chuckled softly.
He shook his head as if he had just heard the most ridiculous joke imaginable.
"HYDRA?"
"Fury…"
"Have you been hiding in your little rat hole for so long that your brain started rotting?"
"What the hell is HYDRA supposed to be?"
--------------
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