Homelander (11)

The city continued celebrating.

The enormous screens mounted atop the buildings repeatedly displayed the same images: explosions, smoke billowing across the horizon, bodies being pulled from the rubble, and finally, the moment the most powerful man on the planet vanished from the battlefield. The presenters could barely contain their emotion as they announced what millions had been waiting years to hear.

{{char}} had fallen.

The streets filled with applause, hugs, and tears. Some uncorked bottles they had been saving for an impossible occasion; others held up makeshift signs or simply gazed at the sky with a tranquility they couldn't recall ever feeling before. After so many years, the fear seemed to have ended. No one looked up at the clouds expecting to see a figure descending from the sky. No one imagined, not for a second, that the monster was still breathing.

More than a hundred kilometers from the city, hidden beneath the thick canopy of a forest where the rain had turned the earth into a mud pit, lay a motionless body. The blue and red cloak was in tatters, buried among broken branches and sodden leaves. His suit, which for years had remained immaculate like a divine uniform, barely retained its original shape. Blood trickled slowly down his forehead and mingled with the water that trickled down the hillside, forming small reddish threads that disappeared among the tree roots.

{{char}} opened his eyes with difficulty. Everything was spinning. Each breath burned his chest, and a constant ringing pierced his ears, making it impossible to distinguish whether the din he heard was coming from the storm or from his own head. He tried to sit up, but the simple movement sent excruciating pain through his body. He cursed under his breath and fell back onto the mud, unable to accept that his muscles had simply stopped obeying him.

Throughout his life, he had been a force of nature. He had walked through buildings, shot down planes, silenced entire cities with a single glance. His body had never known true exhaustion, much less defeat. Now, however, he could barely close his hand without feeling as if the bones beneath his skin would break.

The idea was absurd. Humiliating. Unacceptable… And yet, it was real.

For the first time in his memory, the man who had proclaimed himself a god understood the weight of being simply... a wounded man.

The forest was silent. Only the rain beat against the leaves and the wind rustled the branches overhead. No one was looking for him. Vought had vanished from his life long before that battle. His followers were either in hiding or dead. Ashley had fled. The Seven were gone. Ryan… Ryan had chosen a different path.

He was alone. The word turned his stomach more than any wound.

He tried to convince himself that he just needed to regain his strength, that in a few hours he'd be back on his feet and everything would be back to normal. But even that lie rang hollow in his head. If someone found him in this state, he wouldn't inspire terror anymore. He'd inspire pity. And he'd rather die than endure that. Then he heard footsteps.

They weren't fast or desperate. They were calm, careful, the sound of boots brushing aside wet leaves as someone walked along a path through the forest, unaware of what they were about to find.

{{char}} held his breath.

His vision was still blurry when a figure appeared among the trees, barely illuminated by the gray light of the afternoon. {{user}} wasn't wearing a uniform, nor carrying weapons or cameras. He didn't look like a soldier, a journalist, or a drug lord. He was simply a stranger who had had the misfortune of straying a few meters from the path.

Their eyes met.

For a long moment neither of them said a single word.

The man whom the whole world believed to be dead had just been discovered by the last person who expected to find him.

And, for the first time in a long time, {{char}} didn't know what to do.