Above New York City, 4 a.m.
Holander hovered in the sky, staring down at the city below. His super hearing fed him everything—phones buzzing, people cursing, the crash of objects being smashed.
Hundreds of thousands—no, millions—were condemning him, hating him, wanting him dead.
Thirty years.
For thirty years, he had followed Vought's script, playing his role perfectly.
Now the script was torn apart. The applause was gone.
All that remained was endless hatred.
Holander suddenly turned, locking his gaze onto Vought Tower ten kiloters away. At the top of the seventy-story building, the massive Seven logo still glowed in the darkness.
Once, it had been his pride.
Now—it was just a cage.
He dove.
A sonic boom exploded behind him.
Three seconds later, he reached the rooftop. His eyes blazed with scorching red light.
Heat vision slamd into the Seven's logo. tal lted instantly, twisting and collapsing under the blast.
Sirens shrieked through the night.
Holander landed on the edge of the roof. His heat vision swept again—this ti like the scythe of death—cutting through steel beams, glass, and load-bearing columns as if they were paper.
The entire building began to tremble.
98th floor. 97th. 96th…
Glass shattered like waterfalls. Steel snapped. Concrete crumbled.
Holander flew back five hundred ters and hovered in silence.
The upper half of Vought Tower slowly tilted.
Ten seconds later, it tore free completely and crashed into a neighboring building, sending up a massive cloud of dust and debris.
Screams filled the streets below as people fled in panic.
Holander watched coldly, expressionless.
Then he turned and flew toward Long Island.
Vought had a secret laboratory there.
The place where he had been created.
Two minutes later, he landed.
Ard guards surrounded the facility. The lead guard raised his weapon.
"Stop! We have orders—"
A flash of heat vision.
Three n dropped instantly.
The rest threw down their weapons and ran.
Holander walked inside, smashed the front desk with a punch, tore up the carpet beneath it, revealing a heavy steel door. He grabbed the handle and ripped it off—three tons of reinforced tal, torn free like paper.
The stairs led to Sublevel Two.
The air stank—disinfectant, chemicals, and sothing rotten.
Glass chambers lined the corridor. Three still contained subjects.
Holander stopped at the first.
Inside was a boy, about ten years old. Pale skin. Tubes everywhere.
The label read:
Subject D-117. Dosage: 150%. Survival: 231 days. Ability: Failure.
Holander placed a hand on the glass—and pushed.
It exploded.
The boy's body slid out. The monitor flatlined.
Second chamber. Third.
All destroyed.
Then the lab benches, containers, refrigeration units—every trace of Compound V smashed. Purple liquid spilled across the floor.
At the deepest point—the archives.
He opened drawer "001."
Inside: his file.
Date of Birth: None.
Creation Date: March 12, 1981.
Mother: None.
He closed it.
Then left.
Rising into the sky, his vision scanned the structure.
Three seconds.
He identified every load-bearing column.
Then he dove.
Like a missile, he crashed into the building, reaching the lowest level, fists slamming into the supports.
One. Two. Three.
The building began to sink.
He burst back into the air as the structure behind him collapsed into rubble.
Third target—
A Compound V production plant in New Jersey.
Ten minutes later, he arrived.
Five hectares. Massive steel facility. Six smokestacks belching fus.
He landed at the gate.
Guards rushed forward.
"Stop! This is—"
Holander grabbed one by the throat and lifted him.
"How many inside?"
"N-night shift… about eighty…"
"Run."
The man fled.
Holander entered.
His hearing expanded—machines, voices, boiling chemicals.
An ergency broadcast echoed:
"All personnel evacuate imdiately. Holander has—"
He burst into the main factory.
Workers scread and scattered.
He approached the largest reactor and unleashed full heat vision.
Titanium alloy lted. Seconds later—breached.
Purple Compound V gushed out, reacting violently with air, releasing thick white smoke.
Second reactor. Third.
More liquid spilled, pooling into a violet lake.
Sprinklers activated—but water worsened the reaction. Heat spiked. Machines ignited.
Holander rose into the sky, watching.
Flas spread. Black smoke billowed. Survivors fled in terror.
—
Lower Manhattan. Outside Vought Tower's ruins.
Queen Maeve, Starlight, and Black Noir stood beyond the barricades, staring at the smoking wreckage.
"He's lost it," Noir said. "Completely."
Starlight bit her lip, eyes red. She had idolized him not long ago.
"We have to stop him," Maeve said.
But even she didn't believe it.
Against Holander, she wouldn't last ten seconds.
Then—
Sothing changed.
Not Holander.
A different energy.
Space rippled like water. A crack opened.
Hang's clone stepped out, hovering above the ruins.
Dark coat. Black hair drifting in the wind. No armor, no emblem—
Yet his presence alone was suffocating.
Maeve looked up, her heart pounding.
Not fear.
Instinctive awe.
Her body told her—this man was a hundred tis more dangerous than Holander.
The clone's ntal force swept across Manhattan. He located Holander in New Jersey—felt the instability of Compound V within him.
Its molecular structure was collapsing.
Soon, Holander would either explode—or go completely insane.
Perfect timing.
But the clone didn't move.
The people of this world needed to understand how fragile their "heroes" truly were.
"Who are you?!" Maeve shouted.
The clone glanced down.
No answer.
He raised his hand. Golden light ignited.
Space Law and Alchemy Law intertwined, forming a complex array of runes in midair. It rotated slowly, emitting a soul-shaking aura.
Far away in New Jersey—
Holander froze.
His chest tightened.
He looked down.
Purple veins beneath his skin glowed.
Compound V—alive, writhing.
Pain.
Unimaginable pain.
He scread, plumting from the sky, crashing into the factory ruins. He tried to stand—but his body wouldn't obey.
Energy raged out of control. Heat vision burst wildly from his eyes, destroying everything around him.
"What is happening?!"
He tried to suppress it.
Useless.
The external force was rewriting his genes—tearing apart the molecular structure of Compound V.
Not destroying.
Rewriting.
Above Manhattan, the clone lowered his hand. The rune array faded.
He had planted an anchor inside Holander.
A shackle forged by Alchemy Law.
It would suppress the rampaging Compound V—
And permanently reduce Holander's power by thirty percent.
That was enough.
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