Chapter 52 - Chapter Thirty Nine

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·Noir, a secret Homelander

The air inside the warehouse was thick with ozone, the scent of burnt concrete mixing with the metallic tang of blood. My fingertips crackled with residual lightning, arcs of electricity jumping between my knuckles. Across from me, Black Noir stood motionless, his black suit barely even scuffed.

For a moment, we just stared at each other.

Then he moved.

No hesitation. No warning. Just a blur of pure, unrelenting **speed.**

I barely had time to react before his fist **crashed** into my ribs like a freight train. My body **exploded** backward, slamming into a stack of metal crates. The force sent them flying, the steel collapsing around me like dominoes.

I gritted my teeth. That **hurt.** A lot.

Lightning flickered in my veins as I steadied myself. "Alright, asshole," I muttered, cracking my neck. "Guess we're doing this the hard way."

Noir didn't respond. He never did. But I could feel it—the **intent** behind his silence. The sheer **predatory focus.**

This wasn't just another fight.

This was a **war.**

I shot forward, faster than human eyes could track. The warehouse **shook** as we collided, the impact sending out a shockwave that shattered the remaining lights. Darkness swallowed us for a moment—then my body erupted in golden lightning, illuminating the space in a blinding white glow.

Noir didn't flinch. His fist **collided** with my jaw, sending sparks flying. I twisted mid-air, bringing my knee up into his ribs. The hit connected—solid, brutal—but he barely even staggered.

He was **fast.**

He was **strong.**

And as we exchanged blow after blow, I realized something.

He was just like **Homelander.**

No, scratch that. He was something worse.

Homelander had a persona. A **mask** he wore for the cameras. He cared—if only in the shallowest way—about **his image.**

But Noir?

Noir was **pure.**

A killer, honed to perfection. No hesitation. No theatrics. Just **death.**

The fight became a blur of movement. My fists crashed into his ribs. His elbows slammed into my shoulders. Lightning snapped around us, scorching the air, but he moved through it like a phantom, **silent, relentless.**

And then—

I finally saw **it.**

A flicker. A crack in the **perfect machine.**

He wasn't invincible.

He was **pushing himself.** Hard.

For the first time in who knew how long… he had met a fight he **couldn't** immediately win.

A jagged grin spread across my face.

"Getting tired, buddy?" I taunted, spitting out a glob of blood.

He didn't respond. But I saw the subtle shift in his stance. A microsecond's hesitation.

I **capitalized.**

My body **exploded forward,** lightning trailing in my wake. I crashed into him with everything I had, tackling him through the warehouse wall.

We **soared.**

The city lights **rushed up** to meet us as we tumbled through the air, locked in a brutal, mid-air struggle. We crashed onto the rooftop of a nearby building, the impact sending concrete debris flying.

I grabbed his throat. **Squeezed.** Electricity surged from my fingertips.

Noir's body **convulsed.** His suit absorbed some of it—but not all. His muscles **locked up** for half a second.

And that half-second?

It was **everything.**

I twisted, slamming him into the rooftop hard enough to **crater the concrete.** Noir gasped—not a sound, not a scream, but a tiny, human **gasp.**

I saw something flicker in his hidden eyes.

Understanding.

I wasn't just strong.

I was dangerous.

I saw his decision before he made it. His muscles tensed—not for an attack.

For a retreat.

Noir launched himself backward, flipping into the shadows of the night, disappearing without a sound.

I exhaled. The fight was over.

For now.

---

Inside Vought Tower, Homelander sat stock still.

The live feed flickered on the screen before him.

He had watched everything.

Every punch. Every impact. Every moment of that monstrous fight.

But what disturbed him most?

It wasn't just the power.

It was the familiarity.

Black Noir fought exactly like him. Had his speed. Had his strength.

And yet?

He had lost.

Homelander's fingers curled into a tight fist. His jaw tensed.

For the first time in a long, long time…

He felt something foreign.

Something unnerving.

A sensation he hadn't experienced since he was a child in Vought's labs.

Fear.