“You’ll be begging me to let you die.” The red light in Homelander’s eyes had intensified to a blinding degree.
The surrounding air began to distort from the heat, and a scorched smell seeped into Ian’s nostrils.
Ian did not retreat.
His LV5 Carbon Skin should withstand Heat Vision, but he wasn’t willing to bet on it.
Moreover, this overgrown man-child was emotionally unstable—once he attacked, even if Ian didn’t die, his abilities would be exposed.
Not to mention, Homelander could simply hurl him straight into the stratosphere.
He had to interrupt his casting animation.
Ian’s hand moved inside his pocket.
His movements were quick, but Homelander was faster.
Homelander’s left hand shot out like lightning, seizing Ian’s wrist.
His five fingers tightened like steel clamps.
Ian felt his wrist bones groan, almost on the verge of shattering.
But the phone was already out.
The screen was lit up.
The interface, however, wasn’t the dial pad from earlier—it was a live-streaming screen.
TikTok’s logo flickered in the top right corner, the red “LIVE” text pulsed, and the comment section was scrolling.
The livestream title: “Night Run Encounter with a Superstar!”
Viewer count: 26.
This was the result of his efforts at Godolkin University, where a student’s ranking heavily depended on their follower count.
He never expected his casually managed account would now prove unexpectedly useful.
With his other hand—or rather, with the fingers of the hand being held—Ian tapped the screen.
The front-facing camera flipped, pointing directly at Homelander’s face.
“Hey, everyone!
Look who I ran into!” Ian’s voice suddenly rose, adopting the exaggerated tone of a short-video influencer, shoving the phone camera right between his and Homelander’s faces.
“Night run encounter with a superstar!
Oh my god, it’s really Homelander!”
TikTok livestream, title: Night Run Encounter with a Superstar.
The viewer count in the top right corner jumped: 47.
These 47 viewers were Ian’s get-out-of-death-free card.
The red light in Homelander’s eyes vanished instantly, as if doused by a bucket of ice water.
The face, previously slightly contorted with rage, rearranged its muscles at an unbelievable speed.
In less than half a second, it switched to that flawless, signature smile printed on thousands of posters.
“Good evening, everyone.” Homelander even waved at the camera, his voice as gentle as a late-night radio host’s, with no trace of killing intent.
“It’s a pleasure to see such an energetic young person at this hour.”
Ian sneered inwardly.
Homelander’s public image and approval ratings were his lifeline, the very air he breathed.
As long as even one person was watching, he had to cling desperately to that perfect human facade.
“Mr.
Homelander, are you still patrolling this late?
Oh my god, my hands are shaking!” Ian pulled the camera back slightly, ensuring Homelander’s entire body was in frame, while deliberately making his voice sound tremulously excited.
“Of course.
Protecting the safety of citizens is my responsibility.” Homelander smiled.
He took a step forward, extending his right hand to give Ian’s shoulder a heavy pat.
Thump.
This seemingly friendly pat carried astonishing force.
In that instant, Ian activated his Carbon Skin, an indestructible molecular structure forming beneath his skin.
Even so, the tremendous impact left half his body numb, and the asphalt beneath his feet even cracked slightly under the pressure.
“But right now, there’s an urgent mission here.” Homelander leaned close to Ian’s ear, his voice lowered so only the two of them could hear.
“You’re clever, kid. Get faster updates on novelping.com.
But I’ll remember your face.”
He straightened up, flashing his eight-tooth smile at the camera again.
“Hurry home, young man.
Be careful when jogging at night.”
With that, he bent his knees slightly and shot into the sky with a bang.
His red cape left a trail of afterimages in the night sky as he flew in the direction Ian had previously lied about.
Ian didn’t lower his phone.
He kept it raised, the camera pointed at the empty night sky, his face still wearing the expression of an excited fan.
“Wow!
Did you all see that?
He flew away!
So cool!
This is the best birthday gift I’ve ever gotten!”
The number of viewers in the livestream had risen to over eighty, and comments began to trickle in.
“It really was Homelander!”
“Homie, mommy loves you!”
“Still patrolling in the middle of the night, so dedicated.”
“The streamer is so lucky, I wish Homelander would pat my shoulder too.”
Ian watched the comments, his back already soaked in cold sweat.
He knew very well that Homelander might not have gone far.
That freak had Super Vision and Super Hearing.
He might be hovering above the clouds right now, staring intently at him.
If he showed any sign of weakness or immediately turned off the livestream and ran toward the factory, that red laser would slice his head off in an instant.
He had to keep this up.
When it came to patience, he had plenty.
He held up his phone and began walking slowly down the street, like a genuine night jogger, chatting nonsense to the camera as he went.
“I can’t believe I was that close to him.
Did you see the emblem on his chest?
It was glowing!”
Time ticked by.
One minute.
Two minutes.
Ian’s attention was fully focused, straining to catch any unusual sound in the night sky.
No sound of rushing wind, no heartbeat, nothing.
Just as the livestream reached the three-minute mark.
Boom!
Three blocks away, a massive burst of flames suddenly erupted.
Orange-red fire shot into the sky, illuminating half the night.
This was followed by a deafening explosion that even made the ground beneath Ian’s feet tremble.
Frenchie had succeeded.
The guy had probably set off a small propane tank array.
The commotion was big enough to completely divert Homelander’s attention.
Ian let out a long sigh of relief.
Safe now.
“Everyone, something seems to have happened over there, an explosion!
I need to get out of here, see you later!” He decisively ended the livestream.
Shoving the phone back into his pocket, Ian turned and, under the cover of darkness, sprinted at full speed toward the factory building from earlier. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
Pushing open the loosely hanging iron door of the factory, a strong smell of blood and some pungent chemical odor hit him.
Butcher and Hughie were busy at the workbench.
“Incredible, you’re actually still alive?” Butcher didn’t look up, holding a large plastic bucket as he poured something into a stainless steel trough.
“Almost died.” Ian walked over and glanced into the stainless steel trough.
Butcher and Hughie stood in front of the workbench.
Where Translucent had been lying was now a large, viscous, foul-smelling yellowish-brown liquid.
“The hydrofluoric acid mixture is potent, but this guy’s skin is just too tough.” Butcher spat and used a shovel to poke at the remaining skin fragments.
“What do we do now?” Hughie stood behind, his face pale, hands gripping the hem of his shirt tightly.
“If this stuff is discovered, we’ll all end up in the electric chair.
No, Homelander will tear us to shreds.”
“Shut up, Hughie.” Butcher cut him off roughly.
He walked to the corner and dragged out a heavy gray metal box.
Its surface was a dull, matte gray and looked exceptionally weighty.
“Zinc box.” Butcher kicked the box with his foot.
“Homelander’s eyes can see through anything except zinc.
I specifically got this.
Put all the skin and bone fragments that didn’t dissolve inside.”
Ian stood nearby watching.
His gaze fell on a pile of residue at the edge of the workbench.
Amid the charred debris was an extremely tiny metal object—a miniature tracking chip.
The tracking device Vought implants under the skin of every member of The Seven.
It hadn’t been destroyed by the strong acid.
This military-grade chip was encased in an extremely expensive shell, blending inconspicuously among the pile of blackened residue.
Butcher and Hughie clearly hadn’t noticed it.
They were busy shoveling the remaining skin fragments and slime into the zinc box.
Should he warn them?
No.
Maintaining the original plot’s direction would allow him to keep control of the future, and besides, this wasn’t what Ian wanted.
What he needed was chaos.
If The Boys and Vought remained in this state of covert probing and balance, when would he ever collect enough Supe abilities?
Only by making the two sides confront each other head-on, letting the conflict erupt completely, could he, the hidden third hand, reap the greatest benefits from the chaos.
Vought had to discover Translucent was dead.
They had to follow the signal from this chip to find this box, then realize this was a murder targeting The Seven.
“Ian, lend a hand.” Butcher called without turning his head.
“Help lift this thing in.”
“Coming.” Ian responded.
He stepped forward, using his rubber-gloved hands to help Butcher hold the edge of the zinc box.
Butcher began welding the lid shut with a welding torch.
Blinding sparks flashed in the dim factory.
The strong smell of molten metal masked the original acidic stench.
Hughie watched from the side, his body still trembling slightly.
“Can we really pull this off?
I mean, this is a member of The Seven.”
“He’s just a box of trash now, Hughie.” Butcher removed his protective mask, revealing a face full of ferocity.
“And trash belongs in the ocean.”
“Let’s go, load it into the car.” Butcher patted the box.
The three of them worked together to lift the heavy zinc box into the car’s trunk.
The car started and drove back into the dark streets.