WebNovels

Chapter 269 - Chapter 269: A Tidy End, A Grim Beginning

The footage was a chaotic mosaic of terror, captured by news cameras dropped in the frantic scramble for survival. All across the globe, screens flickered to life with scenes of utter carnage. People watched from living rooms, crowded bars, and high-tech command centers, a collective, stunned silence blanketing the planet. They witnessed the pantheon of superhumans, led by the seemingly invincible Homelander, being systematically and effortlessly dismantled.

Before the power of the Void, the so-called Supes were revealed for what they truly were: ants trying to fight a god. He had played with them, a cat batting at mice, and when the game ceased to amuse him, he had simply swept them from the board.

The only one spared the slaughter was Starlight. The initial shockwave had slammed into her like a physical wall, burying her under a mountain of sand and debris. She lay unconscious in the vast crater, the golden light of her powers pulsing weakly around her, a faint heartbeat in the otherwise silent tomb. Her body fought to heal, her energy reserves utterly depleted.

But no one was looking for survivors. The world was transfixed by the raw, absolute power they had just witnessed. The mysterious Tenno Council was no longer a theoretical threat or a shadowy organization; it was a force of nature that could erase the world's most powerful heroes without breaking a sweat. Were they saviors? Conquerors? The question echoed in the halls of power and on hushed street corners, but no one had an answer.

As quickly as he had appeared, Marcus vanished from the ravaged beach, dissolving into a swirling vortex of dark energy. A moment later, he rematerialized in the climate-controlled stillness of his hotel suite. The pristine white walls and minimalist furniture were a universe away from the blood-soaked sand he'd just left behind.

He stretched his arms over his head with a satisfying groan, the muscles in his back popping. It felt no different from finishing a light workout. "Well, that's that," Marcus mused aloud, a faint smile touching his lips. "I got to watch a decent show. Now, it's time for the next act."

With a soft shimmer, the imposing form of Mag dissolved, replaced by Marcus's ordinary human appearance. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling utterly unbothered. He had business to attend to, one final loose end to tie up before he departed this reality for good. A quick visit to the Boys was in order.

In a dingy, cluttered safe house smelling of stale beer and paranoia, Billy Butcher and his team stared at a bank of monitors, their faces pale. They had watched the same fragmented footage as the rest of the world, and the implications were slowly sinking in, chilling them to the bone.

"Jesus H. Christ," Frenchie whispered, his voice a mixture of awe and profound terror. "Homelander… he just… poof. This is the true power of our partners?" He ran a shaky hand over his face. "The Compound V… it is useless to them, no? Why would they even desire it?"

MM, his large frame slumped in a chair, nodded slowly. His eyes were wide, still seeing the flashes of annihilation on the screen. "If they can do that to him," he said, his voice low and gravelly, "what the hell do they need with a bunch of back-alley thugs like us?"

"Who told you it was useless?"

The voice, calm and laced with dark amusement, materialized from the shadows behind them. All four men jolted as if struck by lightning, spinning around with weapons drawn, fingers tightening on triggers. Their practiced, frantic movements froze when they saw the shimmering, semi-corporeal form of Marcus standing there, looking completely relaxed. They lowered their guns, a flush of embarrassment creeping up their necks.

"Heh," Marcus chuckled, the sound echoing unnaturally in the small room. "You're lucky. If you'd pulled that stunt earlier in our partnership, your quick reflexes would have earned you a one-way ticket to meet your maker."

Butcher, ever the defiant one, narrowed his eyes, though he kept his tone carefully neutral. "What brings you here? Figured you'd be busy with… cleanup."

"My work is done," Marcus stated simply. "I'm here because our arrangement has reached its conclusion. We have the complete formula for Compound V, which means our business together is officially over." He paused, his form flickering slightly. "However, your work was exemplary. We believe in rewarding competence."

As the words left his mouth, Marcus dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the faint scent of ozone and the unsettling feeling of a void just passed through.

For a moment, they all stood frozen. Then, Butcher grunted and pulled out his burner phone, tapping the screen to check his encrypted bank account. His eyes widened, and he let out a low whistle that was almost a gasp.

"Mother of God," he muttered, holding the phone out for the others to see.

On the screen was a string of numbers so long it looked like a glitch. The agreed-upon payment was there, dwarfed by a bonus that could fund a small country's military for a year.

"Look at all those zeroes," MM breathed, leaning in closer. "That's more money than my entire family has seen in three generations. We could actually do it, Billy. We could take the fight straight to Vought."

For the first time since they'd started their crusade, they had more than just grit and a thirst for vengeance. They had resources. Real, tangible power. Homelander and his cronies were gone, but Vought International, the corporate machine that created them, was still standing. Their war wasn't over. It was just getting started.

Meanwhile, Marcus floated in the serene, endless expanse of the Void. The familiar sensation of non-existence, of being a thought between realities, was a comforting balm after the noise and mess of the physical world. The chaos he'd just unleashed was already a distant memory, a task checked off a list.

"Speaking of which," he murmured to the swirling cosmos around him, tapping a finger against his chin in thought. "I feel like I'm forgetting something… a minor detail." A nagging feeling pricked at the edge of his consciousness, a loose thread he couldn't quite grasp. He shrugged, the thought dissipating like smoke. If it was important, it would come back to him. If not, it didn't matter.

He turned his attention to the countless realities shimmering before him like soap bubbles in a storm. Each one held a different story, a different set of rules, a different adventure. The sheer number of possibilities was dizzying.

As he contemplated his next move, his gaze fell upon a few familiar patterns in the cosmic swirl. A dark, rain-slicked city under a perpetually stormy sky. A bright, optimistic metropolis watched over by a symbol of hope.

A genuine smile, a rare sight, spread across his face. "It has been a while," he said to himself. "I should go back and see how Bruce and Clark are getting on with their training."

There was a comfort in revisiting the familiar, a change of pace from constantly diving into the unknown. Besides, he was curious. He had planted seeds in that world, and he wanted to see what had grown in his absence.

Confirming his destination, Marcus waved a hand, tearing open a rift in the fabric of the Void. Dark, swirling energy coalesced into a gateway, and through it, he could see the grim, familiar streets of Gotham City.

"I wonder what my lovely students have become," he mused with a spark of anticipation.

With a final thought, he stepped through the portal.

The air that hit him was thick with rain and gloom, the signature perfume of Gotham. Marcus walked through the familiar, grimy streets, his footsteps silent on the wet pavement. The city was as he remembered it, a haven of crime and corruption, yet something felt different. There was an undercurrent of restraint, a new kind of fear that made even the boldest criminals tread carefully in certain areas.

Then he saw it. In the center of a newly paved square, a place that had once been a decaying slum, stood an impressive, life-like stone statue. It was Harrow the Exorcist, his face carved with grim determination, his hands clutching the tools of his trade. The statue wasn't just a monument; it was a warning.

"Well, I'll be," Marcus said softly, an appreciative glint in his eye. "They actually went through with it. I suppose this is the only truly pure place left in all of Gotham."

The church behind the statue was immaculate, its stone walls scrubbed clean, its stained-glass windows gleaming even in the dim light. Priests diligently polished the smaller gargoyles near the entrance, a level of care unheard of in the rest of the decaying city.

A screech of tires broke the relative quiet as a sleek, black car pulled up to the curb. The driver's door opened, and the increasingly portly figure of Oswald Cobblepot emerged. He hurried to the back and opened the door with a deference that was startling to witness.

"We're here, Mother," Oswald said gently, his head bowed as a frail, elderly woman with silver hair stepped out onto the sidewalk. This was Gertrude Kapelput, the one person on Earth for whom the dreaded Penguin would act like a loving, dutiful son.

"Mr. Cobblepot! So good to see you visiting again!" A priest bustled out of the church, his face beaming with a practiced warmth that became instantly genuine when he saw Oswald's mother. "Oh, and ma'am! I am so glad you could make it today."

"Thank you, Father," Gertrude replied, her voice soft but clear. "Oswald has told me such wonderful things about this place, and how he's been helping with the community. I simply had to come and see it for myself." Her eyes took in the grand facade, her expression filled with pride. "Oswald, my dear, did you truly help build such a beautiful church?"

"Of course, Mother," Oswald puffed up, a proud smile fixed on his face. "This church was built by the good people of Gotham. And naturally, its most outstanding citizens, like myself, contributed the most to its construction."

No matter how deep he waded in the city's underworld, in front of his mother, he was a philanthropist, a civic leader. And he wasn't entirely lying. The church had been built by the people of Gotham—out of fear and a desperate hope for salvation.

If his mother hadn't insisted on coming to pray, he never would have brought her. He plastered on a smile, but inside, a cold knot of dread was tightening in his stomach. Because he knew that beneath the polished marble floors and consecrated ground, at the very core of this holy place, there was a sealed gateway. An entrance that led directly to Hell.

There had been no incidents, no hint of trouble since the day it was sealed. But he still felt a prickle of unease bringing his mother here. If anything, anything, were to happen to her in this place, he would burn the entire world down in regret.

More Chapters