Since Vought publicly announced that Vice President Madelyn had died in a terrorist attack, the global landscape had shifted with frightening speed.
Homelander's quiet campaign—deploying Compound V overseas to manufacture "super terrorists"—was finally bearing fruit. Reports of enhanced individuals were surfacing across Europe and the Middle East, erupting like weeds after a summer storm. Governments panicked. News cycles ignited. Fear became currency.
The most infamous of these new threats was a man named Nachib, a volatile Supe capable of releasing explosive bursts of raw kinetic energy. His debut appearance on the Department of Defense's radar couldn't have been timed more conveniently. Just as Vought was bracing for a CIA investigation and potential litigation, Nachib detonated his way into international headlines.
The result was predictable.
Military legislation that had stalled for months suddenly passed with overwhelming support. Public pressure mounted. Lawmakers folded. Vought's embarrassing history with Compound V was quietly buried under classified seals and patriotic speeches. In exchange, the federal government signed contracts worth tens of billions annually, authorizing Supes to assist the armed forces in eliminating super-powered threats abroad.
At home, the pattern repeated. Mayors across major cities allocated enormous sums to hire registered heroes for "public safety initiatives." Crime statistics blurred into media spectacle. Fear justified everything.
From a corporate perspective, the strategy was flawless.
Ethan Pierce, however, had no illusions about altruism. He wasn't interested in preserving American global dominance or eradicating rogue Supes for the sake of world peace. But New York required discretion. Staying distant, remaining unpredictable—that mattered.
And Nachib, explosive and high-profile, might eventually prove useful.
He had gone down easily in a skirmish with Black Noir, but that didn't diminish the spectacle. Even a flawed piece had value in the right context.
After finishing their meal, Harris stepped outside to survey the block. Ethan followed a minute later and slid into the back seat of Harris's sedan. The engine turned over smoothly.
They weren't heading toward the docks.
Instead, the car angled toward Brooklyn.
Harris's initial loyalty had been bought with cash—an entire box of it—but money wasn't the real motivator. There was something else festering under his calm demeanor. A debt. A humiliation.
Years ago, Harris had come home early and walked into a scene that shattered him. In the house he had paid for, in the bedroom he shared, his wife had been with another man. The memory had carved itself into his mind with surgical precision.
For a normal man, that kind of betrayal was corrosive.
He had hesitated only a few seconds before pulling the trigger. His wife of five years had died on their bedroom floor. The other man—her lover—had been shot as well, but he hadn't fallen. He had fled.
Later, Harris learned why.
The man wasn't ordinary. He wasn't registered with Vought, either. He was an independent Supe operating off the grid. His ability allowed him to convert his entire body into steel, rendering him nearly indestructible.
Harris had tried again. Quietly. He hired gunmen through indirect channels. Every one of them disappeared.
Eventually, the man known on the street as "Iron Knight" vanished from public view. Harris buried the revenge along with his wife.
Then he witnessed Ethan's power.
The embers reignited instantly.
Now they had a lead.
"Boss," Harris said, opening the glove compartment with one hand while steering. He handed back a photograph. "Name's Knight. Forty-five. Turns his entire body into steel. Bullets don't do much. I already tested that."
Ethan studied the image.
The photo had been taken discreetly. A long-faced white man in casual clothes, expression bland, the kind of suburban anonymity that blended into a grocery aisle without notice.
Appearances meant nothing.
This would not require effort.
Ethan leaned back against the seat, eyes closing briefly as the car hummed toward its destination.
Knight's residence sat in a well-maintained neighborhood, far from abandoned warehouses or alleyway hideouts. Financially, he was comfortable.
Harris knocked.
A moment later, the door opened. Knight stood there in a wrinkled T-shirt, eyes half-lidded from sleep.
"Yeah? Who—"
His gaze sharpened as recognition set in.
"Oh," Knight said slowly, lips curling. "You. I've been wondering when you'd show up again."
His eyes flicked dismissively toward Ethan before returning to Harris. "Still thinking about that night? I am. Your wife was unforgettable."
Harris's jaw tightened, but his voice stayed level. "Boss."
Knight frowned slightly at the form of address. His attention drifted back to Ethan, studying him more carefully now. Something shifted in the air—an instinctive warning.
Knight stepped backward.
In an instant, his skin rippled and hardened. Metallic sheen spread across his body, steel replacing flesh with a cold, reflective glare.
"You brought backup?" Knight sneered. "You think that changes anything? I'm not afraid of—"
Ethan's eyes ignited.
A thin beam of scarlet energy lanced forward without warning.
It swept low.
Knight's steel legs glowed red in less than a heartbeat. The metal blistered, liquefied, and separated cleanly at the knees. Molten slag splattered across the hardwood floor as both legs collapsed beneath him.
He hit the ground screaming.
The sound was raw and animalistic.
"Who are you?!" Knight howled, scrambling backward with his hands. "Who the hell are you?!"
In his mind, only one person possessed heat vision of that magnitude. But the man standing before him didn't match the image burned into the public consciousness.
"Let me go," Knight gasped. "I've got money. Real money. I used to work with syndicates. It's yours."
Ethan regarded him with calm detachment.
"Kill you," he said lightly to Harris, "and everything you own becomes his anyway."
He turned and walked out without another word.
Harris stood still for a moment, absorbing the gesture. This wasn't interference. This was permission.
He drew his pistol and approached.
Knight's breathing was ragged. Steel flickered across portions of his torso as he attempted to maintain protection around vital organs.
"Wait," Knight said desperately. "We can fix this."
The first shot rang out.
The bullet struck his chest and ricocheted off the steel plating protecting his heart.
Pain contorted Knight's face. Maintaining partial transformation required concentration he barely possessed.
Harris adjusted his aim and fired again, this time at Knight's groin.
The round deflected, clattering uselessly against the wall. Knight had just managed to harden the region in time, though the impact left him trembling.
Harris's expression didn't change.
He lifted the muzzle slowly and centered it on Knight's forehead.
"Judy," Knight blurted suddenly. "Judy had a child."
Harris froze.
The name struck him like a physical blow.
Two years ago, he had put a bullet through Judy's skull. The memory replayed in flashes—blood against wallpaper, the gun trembling in his hand.
"She was pregnant," Knight said quickly, seeing the hesitation. "She told me before you came home. She was going to leave you. It was mine."
Silence thickened the room.
Harris's grip tightened.
"What did you say?" he asked, voice unsteady for the first time.
....
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!