"Help me!! It's too painful! I must see my family!!"
Screams echoed through the secret facility beneath Vought Tower not only from the torture and projects Vought kept hidden underground, but from the birthing room at the end of the corridor. The facility's walls were plated entirely in zinc, seams welded shut like a coffin. Behind a thick pane of reinforced glass, Vought's upper brass sat in wait, watching the "miracle" they'd paid for.
"Are you sure about this, Stan?" Madalyn Stillwell asked, dressed in crisp professional attire that couldn't hide the strain in her face. She didn't take her eyes off the monitors. "Do we really need another Homelander?"
Stan Edgar didn't flinch. He stood with his hands folded, calm as a board meeting. "Yes, Madalyn. Unless you believe Homelander will somehow recover from the mental psychosis the scientists who raised him inflicted." His gaze slid to the old man beside him. "Do you think he'll recover, Vogelbaum?"
Vogelbaum's jaw tightened. "Stop with the blaming bullshit," he snapped, voice rasping with exhaustion and guilt. "You know this has nothing to do with Homelander." He pointed a trembling finger toward the glass. "You just want a real child—a replacement for your head‑popping daughter."
Stan's eyes went flat.
."Don't you dare mention Victoria," he said, each word measured. "Do you honestly think you did the world a favor bringing that monster into it?"
"I think you want to bring ano-"
"The Time of Birth Has Come, He Is the One Who Masters All"
The words didn't echo in the room. They didn't come through speakers, or monitors, or any human mouth. They simply *arrived*—printed behind every set of eyes, pressed into every mind, delivered to every creature on Earth as cleanly as a command.
Outside, the sky bled into impossible colors: a bruised violet edged with sickly gold, as if the sun had been dipped in oil. The light brightened, but the heat didn't follow. It was illumination without warmth—witness without mercy.
Across the city, alarms stuttered and then fell silent. Birds froze mid-flight, hanging in place for a heartbeat too long before gliding down as if something invisible guided them. Dogs stopped barking. In distant hospitals, monitors flatlined—then restarted, steady, as if the world itself had corrected an error.
The oceans hushed. Waves that should have crashed simply… didn't. Storm systems stalled, clouds holding their breath.
"Ars Almadel Salomonis"
The phrase rolled across the sky like thunder with intent. And in an ancient tongue older than prayer, the world spoke a single name:
Solomon.
Inside the birthing room, the woman's scream broke off mid-syllable not because she'd been silenced, but because the pain simply… let go of her.
A seam of light traced itself across her abdomen, bright as a welding arc and impossibly precise. Flesh parted without blood. No tearing. No panic. No human hand.
The baby rose from the opening as if lifted by an unseen tide, cradled in a column of pure energy that speared up through concrete and zinc and into the sky. It didn't burn. It didn't destroy.
It Healed everything.
The beam widened, spilling outward in a pulse that washed over the city, over the country, over the planet—threading through lungs and marrow, knitting shut what had been broken, quieting pain like a switch flipped off. In the room, the woman's torn body sealed as if it had never been harmed at all, skin smoothing under the light until she lay whole again, shaking with shock and tears she couldn't explain.
The energy faded. The air returned. Sound flooded back in all at once—monitors beeping, people breathing, someone choking on a sob.
The infant floated gently down into his mother's arms, small and calm, eyes open far too soon. For a single second, the room simply stared—executives, scientists, guards—frozen in the presence.
The infant was a beautiful bronze color similar to his would be sister but a bit darker, his eyes were a rare heterochromic gold and red. The small truffle of hair on his head was a mix of white and grey and he didn't cry, even a little bit. He looked extremely calm and regal living up to the craziness of his birth.
"My legs," Vogelbaum whispered. Then louder, breaking: "My legs—I can feel them."
He shoved himself up from the wheelchair, muscles stuttering, knees threatening to fold. Pain lanced through him—real, alive pain—and he laughed like it hurt. He clung to the chair's handle with white knuckles until, somehow, he was standing.
Awe and terror mixed on his face as he stared at the baby.
Then Stan Edgar moved forward and snatched the baby away.
He didn't look at the woman. He didn't look at the child.
He looked at the room.
"No one will speak of what happened here today," he said firmly. "Especially not to Homelander."
*********************************************
"Victoria," Stan said, voice smooth as polished stone, "this is your younger brother Solomon."
"Really?Who's the mom? Is he like me?
"Well Solomon wasn't exactly planned, but yes he's like you."
Solomon's heart pounded rapidly in his chest. One moment ago he Goetia's hand in his chest and had been erased from reality and now he was in the body of this young child trapped in a tight blanket.
Calmly looking around trying to figure out where he was and why he was here. He accidenlty locked eyes with the teenage girl holding him. She looked at him lovingl
"Where am I? How am I alive? Did Chaldea defeat Goetia? Why did I reincarnate? Who is this girl?
"Father did you do this? Did you allow me to exist here in your place."
That was the only Idea he could think of because wherever there was god, there was Solomon, and wherever Solomon existed with gods power, he would be erased from existence. Unless the father himself had acted and erased himself from this reality placing Solomon in his place.
' Finally a normal life' Tears welled up in Solomon's eyes, he could sense magic but it felt entirely undisturbed as though it had never been used in this world. He would finally get to live as.a normal human being without the stress of being king.
Though he had to admit being this weak and being loved as a baby did feel weird.
While he was contemplating his existence his sister had grabbed a bottle and brought close to him before stuffing it in his mouth.
" Don't cry little Solomon! Your big sister will protect you. Soon we'll both be the greatest super hero in Vought history."
' What? Superhero?' Isn't that what that kid Emiya was talking about in the throne. People with without magic, but still had supernatural abilities?
"Now Victoria you know we have to keep both of your powers a secret until the opportune time." HIs apparent father said with a cadence that simply sounded magical.
' Wait powers. I have powers'
He focused his mind trying to get them to work and slowly but surely a holy glow appeared from his hands illuminating the room and rejuvenating the energy his family had unwed that day
" So thats his power, he can heal things?" Victoria questioned her father
" For now that's all we have seen, but according to the scientist he should have at least 4 more aside from the normal enhanced physical body and strength form being a supe.
Solomon froze allowing the milk from the bottle to seep out the side of his mouth. The way they talked about it sounded like it was supposed to be a secret or a taboo. He felt if he really wanted to he could use the stagnant mana in this world to do magecraft, but to have actual powers?
" I died just to be born special again?"He thought to himself, of course he got to be Romani for a while but it wasn't nearly enough. Luckily he could keep his powers a secret, but to be normal was truly his dream.
" But you will both be able to use your powers to further the company, especially you Solomon, I have a feeling you will contribute ten times what Homelander can for the company." Edgar slowly played with Solomon's face with his finger to his dismay.
The Edgar household was soon consumed by cries as an old soul felt dismay at situation yet again. He of course still loved the freedom of being able to do things as a baby without scrutiny.