A meteor shower streaked across the sky.
In the heart of Downtown Metropolis, the LuthorCorp Twin Towers shone brilliantly.
And directly opposite them stood a titan capable of rivaling them:
Vought International.
In fact, before the end of the Cold War in 1984, it was still called Vought American.
It was just that capital’s appetite was forever expanding, and now it was setting its sights on the entire globe.
On the sixty-eighth floor, in the mid-level executive office area:
The clacking of high heels resounded on the floor.
With a full bosom, Ms.
Madelyn strolled at a leisure pace, an unassailable, composed smile wearing on her face as she calmly accepted the awed and fearful gazes of the surrounding managers.
In this building, who didn’t know that it was this woman who used an iron fist to ruthlessly bring down the former Chief Executive Officer, Stan Edgar?
Walking up to an isolated cubicle, Madelyn pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Swish.
The blinds were pulled down swiftly.
In the cubicles outside, suppressed whispers immediately broke out.
“It’s terrifying.
Is James, the President of Hero Management, completely finished this time?”
“He definitely made a mistake in handling public relations.”
The elites trembled in fear.
After all, no one could have imagined that behind the soundproof glass…
“Mr.
Stillwell,” Madelyn said, lowering her head slightly in terror.
“There is still no definitive news regarding Soldier Boy.
Our security department has already expanded its carpet search to Kansas…”
The young white man referred to as Stillwell sat in his swivel chair, casually playing with a fountain pen in his hand.
Madelyn, however, didn’t even dare to breathe heavily.
Those fools outside had no idea that the real monster behind the scenes who had brought down the mountain known as Stan Edgar was the man before her, who united the three forces of military, politics, and business.
He simply felt that the title of Chief Executive Officer was too eye-catching, so he pushed her to the forefront to act as a puppet on a string.
“Madelyn?
Do you know what that girl represents to Vought?” Stillwell spoke up.
“Our company, our product.
The heroes of today, the future of tomorrow,” Madelyn said cautiously.
“Then you should know that Vought’s rise to power began precisely because of the Justice Society established by heroes during World War II.”
Pulling a document out from a drawer, Stillwell tossed it onto the desk.
“The US government realized the strategic value of individuals with superpowers, so they funded the creation of Vought to serve as logistical support and as an agency for the JSA—the Justice Society of America.”
“But the sun will eventually set.
The heroes grew disillusioned with politics, and one after another, they retired.
The Justice Society existed in name only, and Vought faced the desperate brink of bankruptcy.
Fortunately, this damn hero economy was still alive.
The public’s demand for a savior can never be satisfied, just like back then when they went wild in movie theaters over a boy in tights holding a shield.”
“That’s why we made a grand decision.
Wild heroes are uncontrollable, so we would manufacture heroes ourselves.”
“The government was clever too.
They simultaneously established A.R.G.U.S.
to monitor and control these paranormal affairs, which was how Project Cadmus was born.
They manufactured Compound V, while we recruited new metahumans and packaged them as new members of the Justice Society to push them to the public.”
“In the 1970s super soldier program, we spawned a series of super weapons: Soldier Boy, Deathstroke, Team 7, Payback, and so on,” he said calmly.
“But no matter what…”
“None of them could compare to the Homelander project initiated in the early nineties.”
Beads of sweat seeped from Madelyn’s forehead.
“So do you understand now, Madelyn?
Right now, our most important asset, that perfect masterpiece, has been taken by someone.”
“Ms.
Amanda Waller from A.R.G.U.S.
and Mr.
John Lynch from Cadmus are extremely furious.
They demand that we immediately retrieve the lost state asset,” Stillwell said indifferently.
“This…
but the one who took her was Soldier Boy…”
“He has always been an unruly bastard.
Thirty years ago when he joined the army, Vought wasn’t nearly as massive as it is now.
We don’t have his detailed profile at all—even his DNA file is incomplete!
I even suspect that the name ‘Nied’ he registered under back then was just an alias.”
“Besides, sir, we still have the twin test subjects, No.
2 and No.
3…
The brother has recently shown a tendency toward heat vision.
I think he…”
“Shut up.”
“Forcing a pair of genetically stable twins by increasing their dosage?
Do you think you’re fattening up pigs in a factory farm?”
“That girl is one of a kind.”
“Do you think we are powerful?”
Stillwell stood up and walked over to Madelyn.
“Northrop has the B-2 stealth bomber.
General Dynamics has Tomahawk missiles and M1 Abrams main battle tanks.”
“Even that lunatic Lionel Luthor is ready to swallow up more than half of America at any given moment,” he whispered.
“If we lose her, what do we have left?”
“Yes!”
“I will lead the search team personally!”
“According to the files leaked during the dissolution of the former Soviet Union, Soldier Boy carries a massive amount of radiation energy inside him!
We just need to follow the trail!”
“Don’t be nervous.
I’m just reminding you: don’t keep Ms.
Waller waiting too long.
After all, for the people behind her, squashing us is just as easy as getting rid of Edgar.”
“Yes.”
The woman practically fled the room.
Quiet was restored to the room.
Silence fell over everything.
Stillwell turned his chair around, quietly taking in the meteor shower outside the floor-to-ceiling window that was being hyped up by the astronomical community.
Yet such a magnificent sight, in this man’s owl-like eyes, was entirely devoid of life.
He only saw a rainstorm composed of howling winds and glass shards; he only saw a single figure standing atop the ruins of the LuthorCorp building, with the Stars and Stripes representing America fluttering wildly behind him in the wind like a throne curtain soaked in blood.
Homelander.
For the first time in forever, the corners of Stillwell’s mouth curled up in a brief smirk.
A.R.G.U.S.?
Amanda Waller?
He pulled out his phone and dialed Gotham.
“Please connect me to Mother Owl.”
Ever since he was led through this door by Martha, Ariel had often heard his adoptive father, Jonathan, sigh.
In Jonathan’s mouth, his younger brother was a useless bum.
A cowardly, stay-at-home, useless Kent who was the only one unwilling to even touch the farm tractor.
Lying in bed like a pile of mud every day, daydreaming while staring at the ceiling and the old television set.
Until one day, after a massive argument with Jonathan and their father, he ran away from home, vanishing without a trace for thirty years.
Until today, when this useless bum returned.
Ariel glanced at Benjamin sitting opposite him, who was currently crunching through an entire rack of ribs—meat, gristle, and bone.
Beneath his tattered plaid shirt, his muscles bulged tightly against the fabric.
Ariel retracted his gaze and looked at the sunny boy next to him, Clark, who was holding a huge bowl of tacos, eating until his face was covered in crumbs.
What does “My Uncle Ben is Soldier Boy” mean?
What does “My Cousin is Homelander” mean?
Do these two art styles even look right together?
When was the crossover made?!
Even if it was a crossover created after my death in my previous life, what the hell does it have to do with me, a transmigrator who died before the crossover happened?!
The comic books were definitely not drawn like this!
Logically speaking, a transmigrator like me coming from the Prime Universe should be punching the old Superman to death under a red sun, transforming into the ultimate chuunibyou who smashes through the Wall of Reality with a single punch…
Ariel’s thoughts paused for a second.
Forget it…
A certain lunatic seems to be even more Homelander than Homelander himself…
It’s better to just be a normal person.
He guiltily shifted his gaze to the corner of the table.
The blonde girl sat quietly on a high-backed chair.
She hadn’t touched her fork, nor had she looked at the food on her plate.
She just stared at the tabletop with icy blue eyes.
Homelander is my cousin.
Homelander is my cousin.
Ariel repeated it twice in his mind…
A ten-thousand-strong herd of grass-mud horses galloped wildly through his head.
As if sensing his gaze, the girl arched her back slightly, a faint breath escaping her throat.
Look at that—hissing again.
Adjusting his posture to sit up straight, Ariel offered an awkward yet polite smile.
BANG!
Benjamin slammed his water glass onto the table.
“You’re not fucking eating again?” He pointed at the full plate in front of the girl.
“Are you trying to starve to death?
Sit down!
Eat!”
The girl’s body stiffened, still unable to speak.
Under the table, Martha quietly kicked Jonathan’s leg and shot him a look.
The old farmer cleared his throat, trying to regain his dignity as an older brother.
“Ben,” Jonathan frowned.
“You shouldn’t treat a child like that.
The words you use are too vulgar.
This is the dinner table.”
“Vulgar?” He leaned back nonchalantly against the chair.
“Didn’t you and the old man treat me the exact same way back then?
‘Ben!
You useless waste of space, finish your food and get your ass out of bed to work!'”
Jonathan’s breath hitched.
The corners of Benjamin’s mouth tugged upward, seemingly satisfied with hitting a sore spot.
He was just about to ride the momentum and spew out thirty years’ worth of pent-up resentment in one breath—
“Ben.”
Martha spoke up.
“Eat.”
The hostility on the man’s face instantly vanished.
“Tch.”
He actually picked up his fork obediently, closed his mouth, and began tackling the mashed potatoes on his plate.
Ariel narrowed his eyes, examining this explosive Uncle Ass with deep suspicion.
This guy who could tear a tank apart with his bare hands actually obeyed Mom Martha’s words unconditionally.
Could it be that my grandmother was named Martha too?
Ignoring Ariel’s inner scheming, Martha stood up, cut a small slice of blueberry pie, and brought it to the girl’s mouth.
Joanna instinctively flinched back, preparing to hiss once more.
But before she could make a sound, her gaze met Benjamin’s somber eyes.
If you dare cause trouble, I’ll throw you out.
Opening her mouth quietly, the girl swallowed the blueberry pie.
One bite, two bites…
She suddenly reached out, scooped the white porcelain plate into her arms, buried her whole face in it, and began devouring the food like a starving wolf.
Dad said it’s not embarrassing to lose a little face for a bite to eat.
Perhaps that was what she was telling herself in her heart.
Martha felt a twinge of heartache.
“Honestly,” she turned to glare at Benjamin.
“How long did you starve this child?”
“I starved right along with her,” Benjamin replied offhandedly.
Ariel: “…”
He turned his head, about to whisper something to Clark, only to see his Superman brother holding a huge bowl of tacos, cheeks bulging as he chewed.
Sensing Ariel’s gaze, Clark even gave a shy, sunny smile, pulled a taco dripping with an unidentified sauce out of the bowl, and generously offered it over.
This silly kid really can’t be saved.
Ariel pushed the taco back with a single, expressionless finger.
“So…” Swallowing his mashed potatoes, Benjamin spoke up.
“You adopted both of them?”
Jonathan nodded.
“And what about this child of yours?”
“This child?”
Benjamin scratched his ear.
“Someone cloned her using my genes.
She’s tentatively considered my daughter.
Thanks to a tip-off from a good Samaritan, I originally just wanted to take a look at the lab, but one thing led to another and I ended up walking out with her.”
CLINK.
The fork in Jonathan’s hand dropped onto his plate.
The old farmer looked at his younger brother in utter disbelief.
The fact that Clark was an alien who fell from the sky in a spaceship was a secret he had kept in his heart for eight years, never daring to utter even in his sleep.
And yet this bastard had casually blurted out top-secret words like ‘cloning’ and ‘genes’ right in front of a few eight-year-old kids?!
Jonathan turned to look at the girl hugging her plate.
He saw that Joanna hadn’t even raised her head.
She had no reaction whatsoever to the word ‘clone’, as if it were just an irrelevant piece of nonsense.
She was completely focused on licking the very last drop of gravy clean.
The honest farmer fell silent.
He realized he couldn’t use common sense to understand this father-daughter pair’s thought process at all.
“So what do you plan to do now?”
“Let the kid stay here with you for a bit.
I have to keep running,” Benjamin crossed his hands behind his head.
“Don’t worry, I spent over six months shaking them off—they can’t even smell my exhaust anymore.
Besides, when I enlisted back then, I was smart enough not to use my real name; I registered under the fake name ‘Nied’.
Once I go out and find a few old friends to wipe my ass clean, I’ll come back and take her with me.
I guarantee I won’t cost you a single extra penny.”
“You bastard, still talking to yourself like that!
What kind of friends could you possibly have in the state you’re in now?!” Jonathan blew his top.
“I have plenty of friends,” Benjamin sneered.
“Terminator, Balkan, Raptor, Twilight, Spears, Evan Crosslight, Deadshot, Hellblazer…
They’re the most fucking lethal assassins in the world.
Jonathan, you’re behind the times.”
Jonathan laughed out of sheer anger.
“What kind of gibberish are you babbling about?
I haven’t heard a single one of those names before!”
Just as he was about to explode and scold his mouthy younger brother into the dirt, he met Martha’s helpless gaze.
The old farmer forced his anger back down, rubbing the heads of Ariel and Clark.
“Go to sleep now, you two.”
Ariel stood up.
He glanced back reluctantly at Joanna sitting in the corner.
His golden thigh.
His cheat code.
His ticket to the Grand Line.
Clark also stood up, glancing back reluctantly at the dinner table.
His tacos, his carbs, his source of pure joy.
Carrying their own hidden motives, the two boys walked up the stairs, one after the other.
Second floor, bedroom.
Ariel lay on the bottom bunk, staring at the ceiling in the dark.
The small line of text was still stubbornly flickering.
[Hidden Hint: This template can deeply fuse with the current Slot 1 template (Kryptonian) to generate an Advanced Template — [KING HYPERION].]
King Hyperion.
Isn’t that a character from next door?!
Furthermore, in the neighboring multiverse, different Hyperions existed across various universes, each with different origins.
But King Hyperion was undeniably the Hyperion among Hyperions—the strongest Hyperion who had once slain Galactus himself.
Not only did he possess an Eternals physiology, but he could also absorb any cosmic energy radiation, converting even cellular toxins into cellular energy.
That was why King Hyperion differed from other Hyperions—even without sunlight, his power would never diminish.
Ariel rolled over.
The moonlight outside the window spilled onto the floor like cold water.
Through the cracks in the floorboards, faint sounds drifted up from the first floor.
Suppressed whimpers.
It was likely the sound coming from Joanna.
She didn’t even dare to cry out loud.
This world is really sick.
Ariel pulled the blanket over his head.
He really just wanted to stay on this farm, peacefully soaking up the sun for the rest of his life, occasionally helping Martha pick some tomatoes.
“Clark.”
He spoke up muffledly in the darkness.
“What’s wrong, Ariel?”
Rustling sounds came from the top bunk as Clark rolled over.
“Do you know how to build a deeper relationship with a girl?”
The top bunk went quiet for a moment.
“Our cousin isn’t quite normal.
I suspect she has severe autism.
As her family, we need to help her,” Ariel said solemnly.
“…Really?” Clark expressed his doubt with pure innocence.
“Really.”
“Then just ask her out directly to play,” Clark yawned.
“I heard a star on TV say that if you like a girl, just ask her out directly.
That trick never fails for him.”
“That’s how I made friends with Chloe,” his voice grew increasingly slurred, already on the brink of falling asleep.
“You can do it too, Ariel.
As long as you’re sincere…”
Snoring resounded shortly after.
Ariel felt that people truly shouldn’t be generalized.
Superman could make friends by being sincere because he was Superman.
Whereas if he used sincerity to ask out his Homelander cousin who could shoot lasers out of her eyes…
He’d most likely end up as a pile of sincere ashes.
Sighing, he pulled back the blanket and looked out the window.
Bright silver lines streaked silently across the night sky.
What’s the benefit of living in Kansas?
You can make a wish upon a shooting star every single day.
Shooting star, Ariel chanted silently in his heart, bless me to become an Eternal…