Kapitel 36: chapter 35

Author's Note;

Hello Author-san here, I'm currently dual working on both the boys fic and my original fantasy book, it's out now. If you search for 'In the shadows of the almighty ' it should pop up, please do check it out and tell me what you think. Either way enjoy your story 😉

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Deep within the ocean's depths, the Exodus, Reggie's helicarrier fortress, glided silently through the water. Sleek and imposing, it was a marvel of advanced engineering—an unassailable fortress hidden beneath the waves. Its interior reflected the high-tech precision of Reggie's meticulous planning: titanium walls reinforced with carbon fiber, sterile yet efficient lighting, and state-of-the-art systems that maintained a balance between military function and advanced technological sophistication.

The command center was nestled within the heart of the massive structure, buried deep where no enemy could easily reach. The fluorescent lights cast a pale glow over the expansive room, the soft hum of nuclear reactors reverberating beneath the steel floors. The entire fortress seemed to pulse with quiet life—its own heartbeat synced with the purpose and resolve of the crew aboard.

The training bay was an industrial marvel of its own. Modular and capable of simulating any environment, it could shift terrains with a seamless flicker, from dense jungles to icy tundras, or even alien landscapes if required. Every detail was finely tuned for the team's needs, pushing them to grow into the elite force Reggie knew they had to become.

Butcher, clad in his usual dark coat, cracked his knuckles, surveying the reinforced alloy walls with a calculating glint in his eyes. The room was designed to take impacts from the heaviest of strikes—a necessity when training superpowered individuals. He couldn't help but smirk at the fortress's sheer resilience. "This place feels more like a bloody fortress than a base," he muttered, stretching his enhanced muscles.

"Good," Reggie replied, his voice steely as he scanned the live-feed displays on the command center's screens. "We'll need it when Vought comes knocking." His eyes flickered with resolve, already a step ahead, anticipating how Vought would react once they made their move.

The AI, SPADE, silently monitored every aspect of the facility, from security to the team's vitals. Its presence was subtle, almost ghostly, yet essential—a silent guardian ensuring everything ran smoothly with it's robotic body recharging. "Gravity controls adjusted," SPADE's childish chimed, as the bay's atmosphere shifted. The team felt a subtle heaviness settle over them, the intensity ramping up to mimic real combat conditions.

With a growl of determination, Butcher bent his knees, then sprang upward, clearing several meters with ease. As he crashed back down, the reinforced floor shuddered under his boots, cracks forming from the sheer impact. Rolling his shoulders, Butcher felt the tension in his enhanced muscles as his heat vision flickered to life, glowing red. He swept the room with quick, precise pulses—each shot deliberate, controlled. No wasted energy. This level of control was new, and it showed how far he'd come since embracing his powers.

Nearby, Marvin focused intently on summoning his constructs. In the dim lighting, his focus narrowed, shutting out distractions. He clenched his fists, and an energy shield flickered into existence—a shimmering wall of force. It was raw and potent, but still rough around the edges. Tyrone, fully shifted into his werewolf form, let out a low snarl, barreling forward with predatory speed. His massive claws slammed into Marvin's shield, sending shockwaves reverberating through the room. The force was immense, enough to shatter weaker constructs.

Marvin gritted his teeth, every muscle straining as he funneled more energy into the shield. Sweat beaded on his brow, the tension crackling in the air as he pushed past his limits. The shield wavered but held, glowing brighter as it absorbed Tyrone's relentless assault. Just when it seemed like the barrier would shatter, Marvin let out a roar of defiance, reinforcing the construct with a final surge of willpower.

Tyrone snarled but finally relented, retracting his claws. As he reverted to his human form, he gave Marvin a nod of respect, his voice gruff. "You're getting there, MM. But remember, it's not just about raw power. You gotta learn to manage your reserves. Don't burn out too fast, or you're dead in the water."

Marvin nodded, breathing heavily. "I know. Can't afford to be a glass cannon out there." He wiped his brow, determination etched into his features. He was learning, adapting—becoming more than just the muscle of the team.

Frenchie, standing off to the side, leaned casually against a console, rolling a cigarette between his fingers with practiced ease. His eyes danced with mischief as he focused on a cluster of metal shavings, manipulating them with delicate precision. The particles spun and swirled in the air, forming complex geometric patterns. He was getting better—his magnetic control more refined—but the real trick lay in deception. With a flick of his wrist, the room suddenly transformed. The cold steel walls melted away, replaced by opulent décor, with chandeliers hanging from above, casting a warm, golden light. Ornate columns lined the room, and soft music played in the background. It was a grand ballroom, elegant and luxurious—an illusion so real it would fool any observer.

But Reggie wasn't easily swayed. "Another illusion, Frenchie?" he asked, his voice cutting through the facade with pinpoint accuracy. The opulence flickered and dissolved, returning the bay to its original stark, industrial state.

"Oui, mon ami," Frenchie replied with a grin, his accent thick with mockery. "But can you blame me? This place is too cold, too clinical. A bit of flair never hurt anyone."

Reggie smirked, though his tone remained stern. "We're not here to be comfortable. We're here to get ready."

Frenchie shrugged, snapping his fingers to craft a metallic dagger from the shavings he controlled. "Comfort is overrated anyway," he quipped, though he kept his focus on honing his abilities. Every shift, every slight adjustment required fine motor control—a dance between subtlety and precision.

Across the bay, Hughie was wrestling with his teleportation exercises. He had blinked out of existence multiple times, reappearing in different parts of the helicarrier, but his anxiety was still palpable. He clenched his fists, jaw tight as he fought against the gnawing dread that constantly threatened to unravel his focus. Reggie approached, his expression calm but firm.

"It's all about intention, Hughie. Fear's gonna mess with your focus, make you jump to places you don't want to be. You gotta learn to channel that fear, use it as fuel instead of letting it control you."

Hughie nodded, determined but still visibly tense. He took a deep breath, trying to center himself. He visualized the target point across the room, every detail seared into his mind. With a sharp exhale, he pushed past the knot in his stomach, and in an instant, he teleported, appearing exactly where he intended. He felt a rush of relief, but he quickly masked it, knowing the next phase—phasing—would require even greater control over his fear.

"Nice job," Reggie said, his tone encouraging but still edged with expectation. "Now let's see you phase. Remember, control your fear; don't let it own you."

Tyrone watched the exchange from the shadows, his yellow eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. The beast within him was always restless, clawing at the edges of his mind, yearning for freedom. His breath hitched, muscles tensing as he fought to maintain control. The memories of his underground fights—the reckless violence and bloodlust—haunted him, but they were tempered by the memory of his wife and son. They were his anchor, the only thing keeping the beast in check. Still, the struggle was constant, and it was wearing him down.

Reggie's gaze shifted, noticing the turmoil brewing beneath Tyrone's stoic exterior. He approached cautiously. "You okay, Ty?"

Tyrone's voice was a low growl, barely human. "Yeah. Just fighting it, like always."

"You're doing better than most could," Reggie said, his tone genuine. "That control is what makes you strong. Don't forget that."

Tyrone grunted in acknowledgment, flexing his claws as he exhaled a slow, steady breath. "Yeah… but it gets harder every day."

The training continued, each session pushing the team closer to their limits. Butcher's heat vision clashed with Marvin's constructs in simulated combat scenarios. Frenchie's illusions and magnetic assaults disoriented his opponents, forcing them to adapt quickly or get overwhelmed. Tyrone's sheer strength was a constant threat, his strikes almost feral, yet calculated. Hughie worked tirelessly on refining his teleportation, moving with more precision, while also practicing his phasing—a skill that demanded an almost meditative level of control. The helicarrier's advanced tech adjusted to their needs, simulating everything from urban battlefields to high-security facilities.

Reggie monitored everything from the command center, tweaking their strategies and analyzing their progress in real-time. Every success was noted, every failure scrutinized for ways to improve. This was more than just training; it was preparation for war.

By the end of the day, the team was exhausted but visibly stronger. The tension in their muscles was matched only by the hardened resolve in their eyes. They gathered in the central command room, surrounded by glowing monitors displaying the helicarrier's systems and external surroundings. Reggie stood at the head of the group, his eyes sharp, focused.

"We're getting there," he said, his voice carrying an edge of pride. "But this isn't just about power. It's about control, that's what makes a difference between life or death " everyone nodded in agreement, with each member of the team dispersing to their quarters, but not before exchanging nods, quiet affirmations that they were in this together. Reggie watched them go, his mind still spinning with strategies, simulations, and backup plans. Despite the camaraderie and confidence in the room earlier, the looming mission clung to him like a dark cloud. There were no certainties, no perfect plans, just calculated risks.

Reggie stayed behind in the command center, the hum of SPADE's systems the only sound accompanying him. The various screens displayed the endless stream of data he needed to sift through: intercepted communications, market shifts, and satellite feeds showing Vought's facilities across the globe. Despite the ship's submerged depth, he could feel the weight of the ocean pressing in, the silence beyond the walls reminding him of how isolated they were—both from the world and from any easy retreat.

"SPADE, replay the escape scenario," Reggie ordered, leaning over the main console.

The simulation ran smoothly at first. In a virtual rendering of Vought's underground Compound V lab, the team moved with tactical precision—Tyrone clearing a path with brute force, Butcher taking down heavy defenses, Hughie phasing through walls to disable security systems. But when the scenario reached the extraction phase, a red alert flashed on-screen, signaling an unexpected complication: Homelander.

In a flash, the simulation spiraled out of control. Homelander's sheer speed and power overwhelmed their tactics, shattering Marvin's constructs, incinerating Frenchie's illusions, and ripping through Hughie's phased form as if it were paper. Within seconds, the screen displayed the grim outcome: "MISSION FAILURE."

Reggie's jaw clenched as he stared at the screen, his mind racing to find a workaround. How could they counter Homelander? He was a living weapon, a near-invincible force with no clear weaknesses—except his ego. That's when the kernel of an idea began to take root in Reggie's mind. Homelander thrived on control, on superiority. What if they could bait him, turn that arrogance against him?

"SPADE, run the scenario again," Reggie ordered. "But this time, introduce a diversion strategy—something that plays to Homelander's desire for dominance. Target his pride."

"Acknowledged. Initiating revised scenario," SPADE replied in its cheerful voice. The screens flickered, and the simulated mission restarted, but Reggie's attention was suddenly pulled away as the doors to the command center hissed open.

Charlotte stepped inside, her presence a soft contrast to the cold steel surroundings. The faint glow from the monitors cast a halo around her, highlighting her concern as she approached. Reggie could see the fatigue in her eyes, but beneath it was the quiet strength he admired so much.

"I thought I told you to get some rest," Reggie said, managing a half-smile.

"I could say the same to you," Charlotte replied, her voice gentle yet firm. "You've been in here for hours. The team is ready. You've prepared them as much as anyone could. You don't have to carry this alone."

Reggie's smile faded as he turned back to the screens, watching the simulation play out again. Even with the diversion strategy, the odds were still shaky. "It's not just about preparation. It's about making sure we cover every angle. One slip-up, one misstep, and it's over. I can't let that happen."

Charlotte moved closer, her hand brushing against his arm. "I know you feel responsible for all of us. But you've got to trust that we can handle ourselves. You gave us the tools, the training. You don't have to bear all of this weight alone."

Reggie sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "It's not that I don't trust you guys. It's just… I've seen too many things go wrong because of one small mistake. I made decisions that cost people their lives. That's not a burden I want to carry again. Not with you, not with the team."

Charlotte's eyes softened as she took his hand, lacing her fingers with his. "You're not that person you. And you've made choices that prove that. Look at how you've led us—how we've changed for the better. We believe in you, Reggie. You've got to start believing in yourself too."

Reggie looked down at their joined hands, a fleeting warmth breaking through the cold knot of worry in his chest. Charlotte always had a way of getting through to him, cutting past the layers of doubt and fear. But the dark thoughts lingered, a constant whisper at the back of his mind reminding him that nothing was guaranteed.

Before he could respond, SPADE's voice interrupted. "Revised scenario completed. Success probability: 82%. Suggested enhancements include deploying additional decoy measures and increasing spatial disruption fields to delay hostile forces."

Reggie's focus snapped back to the screens. 82% was an improvement, but it still wasn't enough. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something—that Homelander, with all his unpredictability, was still the wild card that could shatter everything. His eyes darted across the data feeds, searching for any overlooked detail, any vulnerability they could exploit.

Charlotte noticed his renewed intensity and placed a hand on his cheek, gently turning his face back toward her. "You're doing everything you can. But if you don't let go of some of this pressure, you're going to break before we even get to the fight. You need to trust us, trust yourself, and know that whatever happens, we'll face it together."

Reggie met her gaze, the sincerity in her eyes grounding him in a way that data and simulations couldn't. Slowly, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "You're right," he said softly. "I just can't stop my mind from running through every possible outcome."

"I know," Charlotte replied with a small smile. "But for now, how about you let your mind rest a little? You've done enough for tonight."

Reluctantly, Reggie nodded. "Yeah… maybe you're right." He glanced at the screens one last time, then powered down the console. "Let's call it a night."

As they walked out of the command center together, the lights dimmed behind them, leaving the room in near-total darkness. The corridors of the helicarrier were quiet, save for the faint hum of the ship's systems. It was a brief moment of peace before the storm—a calm that both Reggie and Charlotte knew wouldn't last.

Later, in his private quarters, Reggie found himself lying awake, staring at the ceiling. His thoughts churned with strategies, contingencies, and the faces of his team, each of them relying on him to lead them through this. The weight of leadership was heavier than any physical burden, and the fear of failing them gnawed at his resolve. But alongside that fear was the flicker of hope that they could actually pull this off—that they could hit Vought where it hurt and finally turn the tide.

Charlotte's presence beside him, her hand resting on his chest, was a soothing reminder that he wasn't alone in this fight. As sleep gradually claimed him, Reggie clung to that thought—the knowledge that, no matter what came next, he had people by his side who believed in him. For tonight, that was enough.

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