Eighty-fifth floor.
Up here, the city smell disappears.
All that’s left is filtered air, spotless glass, and money.
The kind you can taste on your tongue.
I stood in the middle of the penthouse, not sure if I was awake.
Floor-to-ceiling windows let me see every light in New York—all laid out under my boots like some endless, electric tapestry.
Yesterday, fifty dollars was all I had for groceries.
Bronx walk-up.
Bad locks, thin walls.
Now, I had a private elevator, a marble kitchen I couldn’t cook in if my life depended on it, and seventy-five million bucks in some offshore account with passwords so long I could barely remember them.
Vought acted fast when they panicked.
Behind me, a big black hard case waited on the bed.
I walked over and popped it open.
There it was.
Vought’s engineers must’ve worked straight through the night.
The suit looked exactly like I’d sketched on that greasy napkin—blinding white, slate-grey slashing through the shoulders and ribs, no cape, no dumb muscle padding.
I peeled off my cheap jeans and got dressed.
No zippers, nothing fussy.
The suit stretched and snapped in place, hugging close like a second skin, already matching my body temperature.
Couldn’t have gotten a better fit at gunpoint.
I could move every part of me, no lag, nothing pinched.
I crossed to the mirror.
No “Vought hero” stared back at me.
I didn’t look like something they’d slap on a cereal box.
Not some mascot for little kids.
I looked like what I was—built for a fight.
Then my earpiece went off.
It’s this tiny thing, buried just under the skin, courtesy of corporate paranoia.
“Apex—sorry, Invincible.
Are you online?” Ashley’s voice, edge-of-panic.
“I’m here,” I said, flat.
“We’ve got a situation.
It’s big, it’s live, everyone’s watching.
Hostile cell—militia, anti-corporate nuts, whatever.
They stormed First National Bank on 5th.
Thirty hostages.
Cops don’t stand a chance.
News choppers are already overhead.” “What’s the play?” “Optics,” she spat out.
“Homelander’s doing his usual—he’ll talk to the press, secure the block, all that.
You go in through the roof.
Clear out the tangos.
Non-lethal if you can, but don’t let any hostages die.
Door’s open.
Go.” She took a quick gulp of air.
“This is your debut.
The world is watching.
Don’t embarrass us.” I cut the feed.
Forget the elevator.
I walked straight to the balcony, opened the doors, and stepped out into the cold.
Bent my knees, pushed off.
The glass rattled behind me as I broke the sound barrier.
I shot up into thick, gray clouds—just another white streak in the storm.
My Bloodline didn’t care about thin air or speed.
I felt weightless, calm.
Fifth Avenue looked like a battleground.
Cops had two blocks locked down—cars jammed together, SWAT teams braced behind the engines, rifles locked on the bank’s doors.
Above, helicopters circled, yellow lights flickering.
Waiting for blood.
In the middle of it all—Homelander.
Spotlighted, cape flying, grinning at the cameras like a kid with a school trophy.
For him, this wasn’t crisis.
It was theater.
I didn’t stop.
No flashy entrance, no wave to the fans.
Instead, a sharp turn, a dive—straight at the bank’s roof.
The access door?
Didn’t bother.
I landed hard, boots together, punching straight through two feet of concrete and steel.
No contest.
Dust kicked up everywhere.
Came to rest in the lobby, crouched in the wreckage.
Marble cracked and fanned out under me.
Silence fell.
Hostages huddled on the floor, crying, covering their heads.
Twelve mercs—real ones—spread out, loaded heavy, masks and rifles ready.
Every barrel trained on the pit I’d made.
I stood.
My suit was still clean, white as ever, dust slipping right off.
“Who the hell are you?” their boss shouted, M4 aimed at my chest.
I didn’t say a word.
Didn’t lecture or threaten.
I just moved.
They couldn’t see me—not really.
I crossed the room before anyone blinked.
The leader didn’t even squeeze the trigger.
I grabbed his gun’s barrel and crushed it to a flat mess in my fist.
He stared at what was left, jaw working, brain stalling out.
I backhanded him.
Lightly, I thought—maybe one percent of my normal strength.
Still enough to shatter his jaw and send him sailing into a marble column.
After that, chaos.
Gunfire stuttered, deafening.
Bullets hit everywhere—face, chest, legs.
Sounded and felt like hail.
Every round flattened and fell off, hot and useless.
The suit didn’t even show a wrinkle.
I didn’t dodge, just walked forward.
I yanked a guy up by his vest, tossed him across the lobby.
He bowled down two of his buddies, came up groaning and broken.
Another one lunged with a knife.
I caught his wrist, snapped both bones with just a light squeeze.
He screamed, fell.
Eight seconds, start to finish.
All twelve mercs, neutralized.
Alive, but done.
The only noise left was their moaning, brass cartridges rolling across cracked marble.
I rolled my shoulders.
This wasn’t a fight—it was cleanup.
Then, the bank doors went—well, not just open.
Melted.
Red heat beams sliced right through.
Homelander floated in, followed by buzzing news drones desperate for shots of carnage.
He landed all dramatic, hands on hips, that forced smile back on, about to spit out some half-scripted line about justice.
But he saw the room.
Mercenaries down.
Hostages safe.
And me, standing in the lights, spotless, barely winded.
There was a flicker in his grin.
His jaw clenched.
He glanced at the drones.
The cameras weren’t really on him anymore—they were on me.
Neither were the hostages.
They all stared at me, like they were seeing a threat and a miracle all at once.
They’d watched me walk through gunfire and slap a dozen mercs silly in less than ten seconds.
I looked right at Homelander.
Didn’t nod, didn’t smile.
Just waited.
Made him stand there in front of the world and see he was out of the story today.
He was late.
His backup was irrelevant.
Right then, my vision sparked blue.
The Plot Changing System shouted.
[Major Plot Alteration Detected.] [Invincible’s Debut.] [Public Perception of Homelander’s Supremacy Damaged.] [Global Brand Recognition Established.] Rewards started rolling in.
[Calculating Rewards…] [Reward: 20,000 System Points.] [Current Points: 62,500] Homelander glared, eyes glowing red for a split second.
He was doing his own math—how fast he could erase my face before the world saw.
He forced the smile back again.
It looked like it might hurt.
“Great work, Invincible,” he crooned, all fake warmth.
He turned to the cameras.
“See, folks?
Vought’s newest member of The Seven fits right in with my team.” His team.
He had to say it.
I didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
The cameras got exactly what happened.
The siege was over, and they knew who’d ended it.
I turned away, looked up through the jagged hole in the ceiling.
Fired up my Viltrumite gravity and blasted through the clouds, leaving Homelander behind, standing in the ruin, trying his best to look relevant for cameras that had already moved on.
Sixty-two thousand and change.
More than halfway to Elite.
Maybe I could play the game in the boardroom.
But out here?
Out here, the gods were already bleeding.