The tarmac at JFK airport reeked of burnt rubber and jet fuel.
Everything felt warped in the fog—red and blue lights spinning, sirens blaring, a hundred and twenty-three passengers huddled on the wet ground.
Most of them were crying, shivering in those crinkly foil blankets, clutching each other like they’d just survived the apocalypse.
I didn’t have time for any of it.
News vans tore through security like they owned the place, way before the fire trucks even finished hosing down the engines.
Reporters jumped out, slipped in puddles, nearly tackled each other for a decent shot.
And standing dead center, loving every second, was Homelander.
He hovered right above the blacktop, cape floating like they had a wind machine aimed just for him.
That million-dollar smile was back—smooth, comforting, totally hiding the panicked loser I’d just yanked out of the clouds.
“It was a close call, folks,” he announced, voice cranked up so everybody had to listen.
Hands on his hips, striking the perfect pose.
“But when you fly with Vought, you’re flying with family.
And we don’t let our family fall.” God, he’d practiced that in the mirror.
The reporters swarmed him, arms outstretched, mics everywhere.
“Homelander!
What happened to the controls?” “Was it an anti-Supe terrorist cell?” “Where’s Queen Maeve?” He held up a gloved hand, easy as you please, making the whole pack go quiet.
He turned and nodded at me.
There I was, ten feet away, suit ruined, arms crossed, smoke and grease all over me, just staring through him.
“It was a coordinated attack,” he lied.
“But I wasn’t alone.
Today Vought’s newest hero, Invincible, proved he has what it takes.
We stabilized the aircraft together.” A woman shoved a mic at my chest, practically knocking over a paramedic to do it.
“Invincible!
You neutralized twelve armed terrorists three days ago in a bank.
Now this.
What’s your message to the people of New York?” I stared at the camera.
Not a smile.
Didn’t need a pose.
I was filthy, exhausted, and still reeling from the fact that Homelander had nearly slaughtered over a hundred people out of pure cowardice.
“My message?” My voice cut through everything—cold and flat.
“The sky is clear.
The hostiles are dead.
Go home.” I didn’t stick around for the next question.
I stepped back, loaded up my gravity drive, and blasted off.
The sonic boom finished whatever glass was left in that 727.
I tore through the clouds, left Homelander alone to enjoy the flashbulbs and ringing ears.
I just kept going, higher and higher.
Didn’t bother stopping in the clouds.
Didn’t stop at the stratosphere.
You get about sixty miles up before the sky finally caves in and turns black.
The pressure disappears.
There’s no cold anymore—it just…
empties you out.
No sound, no wind, just the curve of the Earth, glowing way down below.
I hung there at the edge, the suit scorched, my muscles twitching, everything still heavy from hauling a plane.
But I hadn’t come up here to rest.
I came up here to burn.
The System interface flickered in front of me—sick blue, the only thing shining.
[Current Points: 112,500] [Purchase: Elite Viltrumite Bloodline?] [Cost: 100,000 Points.] No hesitation.
I hit confirm.
[Transaction Complete.
Remaining Points: 12,500] [Warning: Elite Bloodline integration is lethal to standard biological forms.
Commencing atomic reconstruction.] The last two upgrades hurt like sledgehammers.
This one was a scalpel.
The pain didn’t start outside—it just exploded, radiating from every cell at once.
My vision went blinding red.
I tried to scream, but in a vacuum, nothing comes out.
My lungs collapsed in on themselves, the old biology torn to pieces.
The System rebuilt them, turning them into something else—energy reserves, no more dependence on oxygen.
My blood actually boiled.
The heat inside me rose until it burned away everything human, until it felt like molten iron racing through whatever veins I had left.
I curled in on myself, muscles locking up, flesh getting heavier and denser by the second.
Then the mental wave hit—except it wasn’t tactics or reflexes.
It was…
empire.
Like a hammer, like a crown dropped straight on my skull.
Commanding armies.
Shattering moons.
Looking down at a planet and seeing nothing but resources, never people.
Elite.
For a few seconds, pain ripped me apart.
Then—nothing.
Silence in the void.
My new lungs didn’t need to move.
The vacuum was just background noise; I didn’t even feel the freeze.
I flexed my hand.
Power throbbed under my skin, not just a little more fuel in the tank.
Soldier Bloodline let me land a plane.
Elite told me I could punch a hole through it.
And, as always, there was a cost.
My gut twisted, hard enough to make me curl up again.
I’d burned through every calorie I had.
I needed food, now.
I folded in, dropped my head toward the Atlantic, and launched—no soaring, no floating.
I fell like a meteor.
Broke the sound barrier, then Mach 5, then Mach 10.
Air caught fire around me, the suit lighting up again as I slammed back through the atmosphere.
I peeled up above the ocean, stirring up a massive storm beneath me, and turned toward New York.
Two hours later, I was camped in the back of some all-night Korean BBQ in Queens.
Threw a handful of hundreds at the owner, told him to lock the door and keep the raw meat coming.
The table was littered with empty plates—ribeye, brisket, pork belly.
Mostly, I wasn’t even cooking it.
I just tore into the raw slabs, letting this new furnace inside burn it to ash.
My body settled, muscle knitting itself together, nerves recalibrating.
Outside, I could hear the whole city—footsteps, cars, cops—but the noise slipped right through me, every sound sharp and categorized, nothing overwhelming.
And then, I heard the boots.
The slow, perfect heartbeat.
The shift of air at the front door.
The bell jingled.
The owner froze with a plate in his hands, eyes wide, dropped the food, plate shattering across the linoleum.
Homelander stepped inside.
Still in full uniform, cape dragging on the sticky floor, nose wrinkling like he wanted to laser all the oil stains off the walls.
He didn’t float—he walked, heavy and deliberate, sat right across from me.
I kept eating.
Didn’t bother looking up.
Plopped another piece of meat on the grill.
“You missed the debriefing,” he said, pretending at charm, but the mask was on tighter than ever.
“Stillwell was upset.
PR had a whole thing ready for us—the new dynamic duo.” My voice sounded different coming out, deeper, impossible to miss.
“I was hungry.” He smiled.
His eyes looked dead.
He leaned in, forearms on the table, closer than you’d let a stranger get away with.
“You did well today, Invincible,” he said.
“Really.
Glad I had you there to assist.
But let’s get one thing straight.
When the cameras are on, you don’t walk away.
You stand, you smile, people see *my* team.” He was trying to put the crown back on his own head, trying to believe he still pulled the strings.
I finished chewing, finally looked up.
The new bloodline didn’t just make me strong—it killed fear at the root.
Looking at Homelander now, he wasn’t a god.
He was a dangerous, insecure dog.
Loud, but not as untouchable as he thought.
“I didn’t assist you, John,” I said softly.
That landed hard.
He flinched—just a little—but the smile twitched.
“I carried the plane,” I continued, flat and cold.
“I did the math.
You pushed where I told you.” Now the mask broke.
His pupils went needle-thin, eyes glowing hot, light bleeding red over the booth.
Somewhere behind the counter, the restaurant owner whimpered and ducked.
“Watch your mouth.” Homelander’s voice cracked, took on a dangerous edge.
“Just because you can lift some metal doesn’t put you in my league.
Don’t talk to me like that.” I leaned in, unfazed by the heat.
“I covered for you,” I said, voice dropping low.
That Viltrumite arrogance started leaking out, big and undeniable.
“You were going to let a hundred people die.
You were scared.
You were gonna laser them because you didn’t want to look weak.” His jaw clenched, eyes blazing hotter, painting the walls with red.
“I could fry you right here,” he said, barely whispering, the crazy taking over.
“Cut you in half and tell Vought you went rogue.” I just stared into the red, no blinking, no heartbeat jump.
“Do it.” I didn’t move.
Didn’t raise my voice.
“Fire.” He froze.
He was used to tears, to people breaking, to fear.
What rattled him was the fact that I had none.
He stared, terrified by what he saw—or maybe what he didn’t see—in my eyes.
He didn’t blast me.
Because deep down, he didn’t know if his lasers would work.
If they didn’t, if I sat there while he tried…
the myth would die right there.
“Yeah.
That’s what I thought,” I said.
I picked up another steak, took a bite, chewed while I watched his head spin.
“The cameras are yours,” I told him.
“You can keep the fans and the spotlight.
But you don’t get to walk up on me again and pretend you’re in charge.
Go home.” He sat there for three long, angry seconds.
The light faded from his eyes, leaving nothing behind but hate—and fear.
He got up, cape knocking plates to the floor, and walked straight out.
No flying.
He just walked out into the fog, vanished.
The System pinged softly in my mind.
[Major Canon Manipulation Holds Stable.] [The Apex Predator has been psychologically compromised.] I wiped the grease off my chin, finished my steak, and wondered what came next.