You've Just Lost Your Legs

Shrrrk!

With his hands clasped behind his back, Ron ignored the robbers' attacks as his eyes blazed with crimson light, "calling out" each robber in the exhibition hall one by one. Laser rays effortlessly pierced through bone and flesh, leaving charred, through-and-through holes in the heads of the robbers as they toppled stiffly to the ground.

"No good, boss—bullets can't even touch him."

The gang of robbers scrambled back in terror, trying to dodge.

"Rockets! Get the rockets out!"

Kicking over a display stand, the Robber Leader cowered behind it, shouting frantically at his men. Two robbers dropped to one knee, quickly hoisting the black launchers already loaded with heavy rockets.

"Hurry, blow him to pieces!"

"Help! Help!"

Seeing the rockets, the hostages screamed in fear, clutching their heads.

"That won't do."

Ron shook his head slightly.

Shrrrk!

Crimson rays swept across, slicing through the two robbers' thick legs like a hot knife through butter. They collapsed with bloodcurdling screams, blood splattering everywhere.

"Look what you've done—made the scene bloody."

"Ahh, my legs! I'll kill you!"

One of the robbers stared at his severed legs, screaming in agony and despair as he angled the rocket launcher and pulled the trigger.

Whoosh!

From just thirty or forty meters away, the rocket streaked through the air with a white tail of exhaust, arriving in an instant before exploding with a roar.

Boom!

Shrapnel tore through tables, gouged deep scars into the marble pillars of the hall, and shattered glass rained down in a heap.

The flames cleared.

"You only lost your legs."

Standing by the window, Ron was completely unharmed, his tall frame seemingly forged from unshakeable steel. The robbers stared in terror: "Monster... he's a monster!"

He fixed his gaze on that robber. "You don't value your own life much."

If he'd just lain still—crippled, legless, destined for a lifetime in prison—he might at least have kept his life, right?

Hum!

He raised a finger and tapped lightly.

A slightly thicker deep-red ray shot across the air, and the next second, that man exploded into nothing—no remains, just flesh and blood splattered everywhere.

"Ah..."

The horrific, brutal sight drew screams from all the hostages.

Precisely controlling his energy, Ron's plasma rays shifted from cutting to explosive. Every beam that landed in the hall blew two or three robbers to pieces.

"Retreat! Fall back now!"

Even rockets couldn't harm him. In the mere dozen seconds since he'd appeared, over half his men had been slaughtered like chickens or dogs. The Robber Leader screamed in panic, calling the remaining seven or eight to grab the jewels and fire suppressing shots as they tried to flee down the stairs.

Thud.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Suddenly teleporting behind them, Ron grabbed the fastest-running Robber Leader by the neck, lifting him off the ground like a chicken.

His gaze turned amused as he looked at the others.

"Ah!"

In terror and despair, they tried to raise their guns—only to be met with a sweeping ray.

A scorched trench carved into the wall, and the remaining robbers collapsed in unison, their chests and stomachs torn open, blood and other things spilling across the floor.

"Only you left."

He slowly turned his head, a chill settling in his eyes as if casually recalling something.

"Oh, right—what did you call me earlier?"

"I surrender... I'm willing to surrender!"

His legs dangling uselessly, choked by the iron grip of Ron's hand, the burly Robber Leader struggled to breathe, veins bulging on his forehead as he forced out the words, hoping to trade surrender for his life. He'd rather go to prison than face this demon again.

"Wrong answer."

As if regretting his wrong answer, Ron gradually tightened his grip.

"Urgh... urgh..."

The Robber Leader's eyes bulged in agony, meaningless garbled sounds escaping his throat as his face turned purple from suffocation.

Seconds later, he died, wrapped in pain and despair.

Ron tossed the corpse aside like trash.

He couldn't care less about surrender or not.

What he wanted to hear was tearful begging, fearful despair, and remorseful apologies.

Then maybe he'd grant a quick death.

"Not just rude, but brainless."

Crack!

Bursting through the window, battle sword in hand, Maeve saw exactly that—Ron casually discarding the Robber Leader's body.

She scanned the wrecked exhibition hall, littered with twisted, miserable corpses.

Her expression froze. In under twenty seconds, all thirty-plus heavily armed robbers with heavy firepower had been taken out.

She still held her combat stance, legs slightly bent, sword gripped in both hands, but there were no robbers left in the hall for her to clean up.

"Oh, you're here?"

Patting her shoulder as she stood frozen with her sword raised, Ron chuckled in reminder.

"Relax, it's over."

"..."

"Looks like you've got some skill after all. Saves me some trouble."

Her face dark, unwilling to back down, Maeve sheathed her sword coldly and prepared to calm the hostages.

"I've only ever seen one person cause wounds like this.

How did you do it?"

Taking two steps, she spotted a corpse with a charred, bloody hole in its forehead—a clean headshot. Her pupils contracted. She stopped, turned to Ron, her voice unsteady.

Looking closer, the shattered floor showed clear signs of a rocket attack on Ron, yet not a single hair was out of place, his hairstyle intact. It forced her to think of someone.

"Simple. Shoot lasers from my eyes, and they die."

Facing Maeve's suspicion, Ron raised an eyebrow, glancing at her.

Wasn't it obvious? Did she really need to ask?

"Don't brush me off. That's not what I'm asking."

"Isn't that exactly what you asked?"

"Uh..."

Stunned silent, Maeve paused for two seconds.

Given her question, Ron's answer was technically correct, but that wasn't what she meant.

"You know what I'm asking."

She tilted her head up slightly, worry hidden in her eyes, meeting the gaze of Ron, who stood a head taller, and asked seriously.

This Black-haired, black-eyed handsome youth—first treated like Homelander, now showing powers like Homelander—hinted at something too terrifying.

"Did Vought not learn its lesson making one monster that threatens the globe, and now made a younger one?"

"I don't recall being obligated to satisfy your curiosity."

Ron gave a light smile, refusing to answer.

"..."

Maeve frowned in silence.

"I know what you're worried about.

No need to be afraid. I'm different from Homelander."

Grabbing a strand of Maeve's hair from her shoulder, he toyed with it, looking down with a smirk.

"That move? Your words have zero credibility."

Seeing the flirtatious gesture, Maeve's face soured. She slapped his hand away.

"I'm not interested in men. Stay away from me."

"Especially a little boy who was probably still in high school when I was born."

Silently mocked over the robber incident, she jabbed back at Ron's age, a sneer on her face as she emphasized the words "little boy."

"Little boy?"

Ron chuckled, not angry at all.

Calling him a little boy in terms of age wouldn't be wrong, but it's not like he was born when Maeve was in high school. When Maeve joined Vought as a superhero, this world didn't even have him yet.

Physically, though, he's no little boy—have you ever seen a little boy over six feet tall and pushing two hundred pounds?

"I heard you and Homelander used to date."

"On-screen couple, just for company publicity."

Seeming reluctant to dwell on it, Maeve changed the subject with a cold reply.

"Alright, time to go soothe the hostages."

"You didn't hold back at all when you struck—too bloody."

She frowned at the blood splattered across the exhibition hall.

"I don't care about them."

Ron glanced at the hostages huddled in a corner, pale and trembling with fear, and shrugged.