The broadcast cut off.
At that moment, the entire world fell into bewildered helplessness.
People stared blankly at the black screen, silent for a time.
Who had won?
The question weighed on every chest like a massive boulder.
In Times Square, a white-collar worker in a suit clutched his head in both hands. His legs gave out, and he dropped to his knees, his eyes filled with despair.
"It's over... He couldn't take it... That monster is too powerful. We're all finished."
A young hip-hop fan beside him immediately grabbed him by the collar, yanked him upright, and roared, "Shut your filthy mouth! Homelander never loses! You hear me, you son of a bitch? He definitely won!"
More people tightly embraced their family, friends, lovers, and partners. They closed their eyes, murmuring prayers for a miracle.
Tension, confusion, pessimism, optimism... every kind of emotion spread through the crowd.
Yet a steadfast light still gleamed in people's eyes. It was the conviction hidden deep within their hearts, their blind faith in Homelander.
"He'll save everyone. He promised us, right?" a little girl asked innocently, tugging on her mother's hand.
"That's right!" someone in the crowd immediately shouted in agreement. "He's Homelander! He must've beaten that ugly freak into pulp! We'll wait for his triumphant return!"
And so, burdened by complicated emotions, people kept vigil before the dark screen.
Meanwhile, in the Dark Dimension.
The violent torrents of energy had gradually subsided.
But Dormammu's enormous body had been punched clean through. More than half of it had vanished, and even part of his head was missing.
The remaining wreckage floated silently in the void, utterly motionless, as though he were truly dead.
It looked as if Homelander had won.
But there was not the slightest hint of relaxation on Homelander's face.