In an alley somewhere far away in New York.
Frenchie gripped his phone, staring slack-jawed at the utterly relaxed Homelander on the screen.
A muscular Black man had just emerged from the bathroom, clutching his stomach with a pained expression. He had clearly just suffered a bout of diarrhea.
He asked, "What happened? Did Butcher pull it off?"
"No." Frenchie's face looked grim, his pupils trembling violently. "Homelander burst the steel coil with his head."
Mother's Milk tossed aside the toilet paper he had used to dry his hands and walked over with a frown. "What do you mean, Homelander burst the steel coil with his head?"
Frenchie swore a couple of times, rewound the video to that moment, and tossed the phone to Mother's Milk to let him see for himself.
A few dozen seconds later, there was one more utterly bewildered person in the world.
They had thought that no matter how powerful Homelander was, he would struggle to withstand an impact like that. At the very least, he should have suffered some damage.
But the result slapped them hard across the face. They simply could not understand how the difference could be so vast when they all had human bodies.
Their attempt to measure Homelander against an ultimate weapon by human standards was doomed to be futile.
Meanwhile, thoroughly enraged by Homelander's provocation, Butcher gritted his teeth and climbed to his feet, sprinting madly toward the abandoned building nearby. His fingers clenched tightly around the detonator.
He knew he still had one last chance. If he could lure Homelander close to the explosives and set them off, he might just take the bastard to hell with him.
Although Homelander could stop him with ease, he was certain Homelander would not do it.
Watching Butcher's retreating back,