After all, for someone like Homelander, the undisputed apex predator on this planet, the fact that he could be rattled by online hate was almost funny. The most powerful man alive, terrified of trending hashtags and angry comment sections. If that wasn't pathetic, Ethan didn't know what was.
Iron Egg's life, on the other hand, was just tragic.
He had once believed he'd hit the jackpot. After manifesting his bizarre ability, he'd reached out to Vought International, convinced that this was his golden ticket. With enough exposure, enough branding, enough carefully scripted heroics, he thought he could flip his fate overnight and finally be the one in control. For a brief, shining week, he imagined himself on billboards and talk shows, smiling in a tailored suit.
Reality had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head.
His power was grotesque and impossible to package cleanly. During his first livestream debut, the internet tore him apart. Memes spread faster than any PR team could contain. Commentators laughed, late-night hosts mocked him, and viewers flooded every platform with ridicule. His follower count crashed harder than it had risen.
When the numbers dipped below profitable, Vought cut him loose without ceremony. They told him to "reconsider his life choices" and quietly terminated his contract. The dream ended before it had even started.
With no brand, no sponsors, and no future in the spotlight, Iron Egg drifted into the underworld. By the third month of running with a local gang, he was doing small-time transport work, moving illegal goods through side streets under the cover of night. It wasn't glamorous, but it paid.
That night, he was halfway down a dim residential block when he abruptly stopped.
A man in a black mask stood directly in his path, silent and unmoving.
Iron Egg's lips curled in irritation. "The hell do you think you're doing? Move, or I'll stomp you flat," he snarled, rolling his shoulders as if warming up for a show.
His power was obscene but effective. He could transform his testicles into solid iron—dense, heavy, and nearly indestructible. Once activated, they became grotesque weapons capable of crushing bone and rupturing organs with a single swing of his hips. More than one unlucky opponent had died under that humiliating assault.
His ferocity lasted less than ten seconds.
Ethan stepped forward and drove a kick upward with surgical precision. The impact lifted Iron Egg off his feet before slamming him down onto the pavement. A second, merciless stomp followed, and something ruptured with a wet, sickening sound. The iron mass shattered under force it had never been meant to endure, collapsing into mangled flesh.
Iron Egg curled into himself, shrieking, then choking on his own scream. His "combat" ended almost as soon as it began.
A figure appeared near the corner of the house across the street.
The man wore a blue tactical uniform and a helmet with a mirrored visor. Even in the low light, the outfit was recognizable. He carried himself with the casual arrogance of someone used to cameras and applause.
"Now what do we have here?" the newcomer called out, voice dripping with disdain. "Some punk beating down one of ours? Bad move, kid. Real bad move."
Ethan glanced up and immediately recognized him.
Blue Hawk.
A Vought-sponsored "community hero" famous for aggressively patrolling minority neighborhoods under the pretense of crime prevention. On camera, he preached law and order. Off camera, he was a violent extremist who believed he was cleansing the streets. In the show's canon timeline, he would eventually clash with A-Train and cripple his brother, setting off a chain of events that ended with his own gruesome death.
What a waste of transplant material, Ethan thought coldly. With the right surgeon, Blue Hawk's eyes could've been repurposed, maybe even his organs. Vought loved recycling their assets.
Blue Hawk raised his shotgun and pointed it directly at Ethan. "Take your foot off him. Now. Or I start ventilating."
A sharp crack interrupted him.
Iron Egg's neck twisted at an impossible angle as Ethan casually stomped down again. The spine snapped cleanly. The body spasmed once, then went still, save for a few lingering twitches.
Ethan lifted his gaze to Blue Hawk.
The blatant indifference in that look—no fear, no urgency—ignited something ugly inside the supe.
"You little bastard!" Blue Hawk roared and pulled the trigger.
The shotgun thundered. Buckshot tore through the air in a dense spray, slamming into Ethan's chest at close range. The pellets shredded fabric and punched shallow dents into skin, but they went no further. Metal clinked as flattened rounds fell harmlessly to the ground.
Blue Hawk blinked behind his visor. "Bulletproof vest?"
In the dim light, he hadn't processed what he was seeing. He still thought in human terms.
Ethan brushed at his chest, flicking a deformed pellet away with mild annoyance. He wiped the sole of his shoe against Iron Egg's corpse, smearing away blood and tissue with casual disgust.
"You really shouldn't have involved yourself," Ethan said evenly.
Something in his voice made Blue Hawk's stomach tighten.
For a fleeting second, instinct screamed at him to retreat. The air felt heavier. The street, once familiar and controlled, now seemed like a hunting ground—and he wasn't the hunter anymore.
Then pride surged back.
I'm a supe, he reminded himself. Enhanced strength, enhanced durability. This is just some freak in a mask.
He lunged forward with explosive force, muscles bunching as he launched himself across the pavement. His fist drew back, knuckles tightening, aiming straight for Ethan's skull. One solid hit would pulp it.
Mid-charge, his peripheral vision caught the ruin at his feet—Iron Egg's crushed lower body, flattened like roadkill. The memory of that wet crunch replayed in his mind.
His momentum faltered.
Across the street, Ethan's eyes ignited.
Red light bled outward, bright and focused, mirroring a far more infamous supe's signature ability. The glow reflected off Blue Hawk's visor an instant before comprehension hit.
"Oh, you've gotta be—"
A searing beam of crimson energy tore through the space between them.
It sliced cleanly through Blue Hawk's helmet and skull in less than a heartbeat. For a fraction of a second, his body continued forward out of sheer inertia, head severed with surgical precision. Then the torso collapsed onto the asphalt with a heavy thud.
Blood fountained from the cauterized stump before spilling freely across the street. His legs twitched uncontrollably, heels drumming against the pavement as life drained away.
Ethan watched the body settle, eyes dimming back to normal.
Silence reclaimed the block.
—
The following evening, Ethan parked outside a discreet townhouse that served as a safe house for The Boys.
Inside, the team had just returned from surveilling A-Train's girlfriend. Frenchie stepped out first, lighting a cigarette as he scanned the quiet street. His gaze landed on Ethan, who was waiting calmly near the curb.
"Well, if it isn't our mysterious friend," Frenchie said with a crooked smile. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
Billy Butcher emerged next, coat collar up, eyes sharp. Hughie followed, along with Marvin—Mother's Milk—who had recently rejoined the group to dig deeper into Vought's operations. MM's massive frame filled the doorway as he studied Ethan with open suspicion.
"Who's this?" MM asked flatly.
Butcher smirked. "Bloke who handed us the idea for popping Translucent. Thought you might appreciate him."
MM's expression shifted, reassessing.
Ethan didn't waste time. He walked to his car, popped the trunk, and dragged out two heavy black body bags. The thuds they made hitting the pavement were unmistakable.
Frenchie swore under his breath. "You think we run a cleaning service now?"
"You said if I ran into supes I couldn't deal with, I should call you," Ethan replied evenly. "Figured the arrangement works both ways."
Butcher's eyebrows lifted. "Two of 'em, eh?"
Ethan didn't elaborate. He simply dropped the bags at their feet.
"Blue Hawk," Butcher muttered after checking the uniform through the zipper gap. "And that walking freak show, Iron Egg. World's not worse off."
MM's jaw tightened. "You didn't mention we were partnering with someone who can do this."
Butcher spread his hands. "Didn't know he could either. Might not even be him. Either way, he hates Vought's pets as much as we do."
MM crouched and unzipped one bag fully. The headless torso inside made even Hughie flinch. The wound was flat and brutally clean, like it had been pressed under industrial machinery.
"Is he a supe?" Hughie whispered.
Butcher examined the cauterized edge around Blue Hawk's neck and gave a low whistle. "Looks that way."
MM stood slowly, eyes hard. "We don't get involved with unknown variables. Not without knowing exactly who we're dealing with."
Frenchie gave Butcher a sidelong glance and chuckled. "You may wish to tell him the rest, mon ami. About the… conversation."
MM looked between them. "What conversation?"
Frenchie's smile widened. "The one where our dear Butcher was politely threatened."
MM blinked once, then the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. "Oh. In that case… maybe I judged too fast."
He looked down at the two corpses again, then back toward the street where Ethan had already driven off.
"Still don't like him," MM said quietly. "But I can't argue with the results."
....
Join my exclusive website to get 5+ Chapters FOR FREE...
Paid members get upto 60+ thrilling chapters!
Link: pa*yhip.com/JasminesParadise (Remove the *)
Don't miss out, join now!