Chapitre 193: Chapter 191: Crimson Countess
It was a dark, moonlit nighttime. William Butcher stood beneath the towering branches of an old tree, holding a phone that displayed the latest breaking news: "Flash Bore Found Dead—Circumstances Under Investigation." The blue light of the phone screen illuminated Butcher's determined expression, highlighting the intensity in his eyes.
The sound of footsteps crunching through the grass made Butcher look up. Mother's Milk approached, his face marked by a blend of determination and frustration.
"Everything's ready. Now we just have to wait for that bastard to show up," Mother's Milk said, his voice a mix of tension and anticipation.
Butcher nodded, a sharp, decisive motion, before turning to look at a nearby dilapidated house. Its windows were dark, and the structure looked worn, as if it had witnessed its fair share of secrets. Together, they walked towards the house and went inside, their footsteps echoing through the empty space.
In the dimly lit hall, sat an elderly female superhero dressed in a tight red suit, bound securely to a chair, her hands tied behind her back and her ankles fastened to the legs of the chair. Her expression showed a mix of defiance and fear, but she was undeniably trapped.
"Seems like the hot night you were planning on is ruined, right, Crimson Countess?" Butcher smirked, stepping forward with a swagger that indicated his confidence. His eyes, suddenly and dramatically, glowed with the same intense, searing heat as Homelander's heat vision.
Crimson Countess's muffled attempts at speech were stifled by the gag in her mouth. She twisted in the chair, her eyes narrowing in rage.
Butcher moved even closer, and without hesitation, ripped the cloth from her mouth with a quick tug. Crimson Countess gasped for air, breathing heavily before spitting out, "What the hell do you bastards want?!"
Mother's Milk stepped forward, his large frame imposing in the dim room. "We're not here to hurt you. We just need to tell you something—didn't want you to get too scared," he said, his tone calm but with a hint of menace.
Mother's Milk grabbed a chair from nearby, dragging it noisily across the wooden floor, and positioned it directly in front of Crimson Countess. He sat down, leaning forward as he spoke. "Your old lover is on his way."
Crimson Countess's face instantly filled with terror, her eyes widening as she shook her head in frantic denial. Her fear seemed to pulse through her, her whole body trembling.
Mother's Milk added, "Soldier Boy. He's alive."
Hearing this, Crimson Countess's face twisted into an expression of deep despair rather than shock or surprise, which caught both Butcher and Mother's Milk off guard. They had assumed that, like everyone else, Crimson Countess thought Soldier Boy had died long ago in battle. Her reaction indicated something else entirely—she already knew.
"How did he ...?!" Crimson Countess whispered, her voice cracking as if the words themselves caused her pain.
From his position near the window, Butcher raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Interesting. So you knew he was with the Russians all along," he said, almost to himself, as though piecing together a puzzle.
Crimson Countess's expression grew frantic as she blurted out, "No, I need to get out of here! Let me go! He'll kill me! He'll kill us all!" The terror in her voice was palpable, her eyes darting around the room as though searching for an escape.
"Why? What did you do?" Mother's Milk demanded, his brow furrowed as he stared her down.
"Screw you!" Crimson Countess screamed, her voice echoing through the hall. "Let me go, or we're all dead!"
"Oh, love quarrel turned ugly, huh? Don't worry, darling. We need a big catch," Butcher said, cracking his neck with a smirk. He leaned down until his face was level with hers, his voice dripping with menace. "And you're our bait."
"Are you insane?! Let me go, now!" Crimson Countess shouted, her voice laced with desperation. Panic radiated off her in waves, but Butcher merely turned away.
Butcher and Mother's Milk walked out of the house, stepping into the crisp night air just as Hughie approached, holding a small, neatly wrapped package. Hughie's face was a blend of determination and nervous energy, his eyes reflecting the weight of the task at hand.
Hughie opened the package in front of them, revealing a few items inside. Butcher grabbed a water bottle and handed it to Mother's Milk.
Mother's Milk took the bottle without hesitation, uncapped it, and drank it all in one go, though his eyes never left Butcher's. There was tension between them—unspoken words that neither was willing to express. He looked visibly nervous, and the act of drinking the water seemed more about calming his nerves than quenching any thirst.
The Boys all carried deep vendettas against various supes: Butcher had his sights set on Homelander, Hughie harbored hatred for A-Train, Frenchie had his grudge against Lamplighter. And Mother's Milk's vendetta was against Soldier Boy.
Soldier Boy had been responsible for the death of Mother's Milk's grandfather, a wound that had never healed. Like the others, Mother's Milk had assumed Soldier Boy was long dead—until that fateful trip to Russia when they had accidentally set him free.
Originally, the intel they had received suggested that Soldier Boy had been killed by the Soviets. Armed with this belief, they went to Russia to find the supposed weapon that had ended his life. But instead of finding a weapon, they found Soldier Boy himself—alive, dangerous, and changed.
Soldier Boy had somehow gained a new ability—a radiation blast capable of nullifying the powers of any supe it hit. In essence, Soldier Boy had transformed into the ultimate weapon against supes, a tool of destruction that could bring them down.
Mother's Milk set the empty water bottle down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. But then, suddenly, he felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. The world around him seemed to spin, his vision blurring at the edges.
"What's happening?" he muttered, his legs giving out beneath him as he collapsed heavily onto the ground.
Butcher took two deliberate steps forward, his face expressionless, as though he had anticipated this reaction. There was no sympathy in his gaze, only cold calculation.
Mother's Milk looked at the bottle, then back at Butcher, a mix of confusion and betrayal in his eyes. "What did you do?"
"Sorry, mate. The plan's changed," Butcher said, his voice devoid of emotion. "I knew you wouldn't agree with this, so I had to make sure."
"What the hell are you doing?" Mother's Milk roared, his voice filled with anger as he struggled against his weakening state.
Butcher knelt beside him, speaking softly. "We all saw it, mate. Soldier Boy has the power to destroy supes. So, Crimson Countess isn't just bait—she's an offering," he said, his eyes cold. "We're going to make a deal with Soldier Boy."
Mother's Milk shook his head, struggling to stay conscious. "You're a bastard, Butcher," he said, his voice trembling with rage. "The Compound V—it's turned you into a monster, inside and out."
The meeting room doors opened slowly, creaking on their hinges, and Jon, dressed in his Phoenix Warrior uniform, walked into the grand space. The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension, and Jon could feel it immediately.
The other heroes were already seated—all except Phoenix Warrior and Homelander. At that moment, Homelander stood by the large window, gazing out into the night, his posture rigid and commanding.
"Phoenix Warrior, this is your first official meeting and you are late," Homelander said without even turning around, his voice carrying a note of authority that seemed to demand obedience.
Jon paused for a moment, surprised by Homelander's tone. It was different from what he had expected—Homelander didn't sound like someone who had been intimidated.
Previously, Jon had crushed Homelander's confidence, forcing him to back down and show weakness. Jon had actually been looking forward to seeing what kind of demeanor Homelander would display in their next encounter.
But now, Jon couldn't help feeling a bit disappointed. He realized that he might have underestimated Homelander. Something significant must have happened to him, or perhaps he had simply figured something out overnight.
Jon suddenly remembered that in the third season, Homelander faced similar pressure when Soldier Boy re-emerged, shaking his confidence. Now, it seemed Jon had taken the role of Soldier Boy in Homelander's mind, becoming the new challenge he had to overcome.
And just like then, it only took one night for Homelander to recover his resolve.
"Apologies, Homelander," Jon said calmly, stepping forward and taking his designated seat at the table.
"No problem. I had originally prepared a welcoming speech for you, but there's something more urgent to address," Homelander said, his tone haughty and dismissive, as though Jon were nothing more than a subordinate.
Jon couldn't help but notice this change in attitude. Homelander was once again becoming an unpredictable factor. Then again, perhaps he always had been.
Jon had a sinking feeling that the old Homelander—the one who used to crave everyone's love, the one who would humiliate himself, begging for approval—that part of Homelander was gone. And without it, Homelander was far more dangerous.
He had to find a way to bring back the old Homelander, the one who wanted to be loved.
"Alessa, later I need you to steal a file for me," Jon whispered.
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