The Viltrumite Across the Worlds Chapter 44: The Mask Slips

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

After greeting the dia, Holander flew straight up to the white-clad "god," baring his teeth as he demanded an answer.

"As you can see, I’m saving people," the man in white said with a smile.

"Fuck! I’m not blind—I know you’re saving people. But you need to understand sothing: so people can be saved, and so people can’t!"

Holander felt the fire in his chest rising, hotter and hotter.

"So you think the people on that plane shouldn’t be saved?" the man in white asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Holander.

"Of course they shouldn’t! Shouldn’t! Shouldn’t!" Holander repeated it three tis, seething.

"And what if I insist on saving them? What the fuck are you going to do about it?" the man in white asked, flashing a bright, sunny smile.

"I..."

Holander’s eyes flared crimson.

"Holander! The caras are rolling!" Queen Maeve warned, glancing between Holander and Freeman.

"I fucking know! I’ll deal with you later!"

Holander pointed a finger at the man’s nose, voice icy.

"If you want to fight, I’ll take you anyti—even right now. I can hold this island with one hand and still beat you into the ground," the man in white said with a contemptuous smirk.

"..."

Holander’s face twisted, but in the end he forced himself to hold it back. He flew toward the cluster of helicopters and put on his brightest, most photogenic smile.

"As everyone can see! With Vought, everyone can be rescued safely!"

While Freeman was tied up and couldn’t leave, Holander kept playing to the caras, trying to bury the backlash that would co later from all those "idiots" Freeman had saved—trying to crush the bad press before it could spread.

"Holander, is it true you r*ped soone’s wife?!"

But instead of praise, a barrage of questions hit him head-on.

"What?"

Holander froze at the first one.

"Holander, is it true you attacked the mayor of Baltimore?!"

Another reporter shoved a microphone forward.

"Huh?!"

Now Holander was genuinely stunned.

"Holander, is it true you deliberately crippled people during fights?!"

"Holander, is it true you like bullying the weak?!"

"Holander, is it true you discriminate against normal people?!"

The questions piled on without giving him ti to breathe.

"Listen! I don’t know where you heard these ridiculous rumors, but obviously all of that is false. I’ve always been an upright person."

Holander’s face went steel-gray as he denied everything—over and over—despite the fact that every single question was true.

"Stop asking these stupid questions. I believe Holander is an upright person!"

Sweat beaded on Maeve’s forehead. She could feel the anger boiling beside her, ready to erupt. She snapped at the reporters, righteous and sharp.

In truth, she wasn’t defending Holander—she was trying to save the reporters from what he might do if they pushed him too far.

"You heard her. Don’t make the lady angry, or I might not be able to stop her," Holander said, half-joking as he threatened them.

"Haha... we’re just asking, that’s all..."

The reporters knew exactly where the line was. They didn’t press further. They just waited—patiently—for the right mont.

"I understand people always doubt. They say there’s no such thing as a perfect superhero... but the truth is, perfect superheroes do exist. For example—."

Holander wore that sunny smile again, convinced he’d "addressed" the negativity.

"Heh..."

The reporters laughed along, polite as ever. They wanted nothing more than to slam the hard evidence right into Holander’s face—but they knew the ti wasn’t quite right yet.

Half an hour later...

A small island—about seven acres—settled slowly down near the coastline. One by one, the passengers stepped out of the airliner onto solid ground, lifting their hands toward the sky like they were reaching for salvation itself.

Above them, floating in the air, a figure drifted down.

A white bodysuit. A bright red cape. Behind him, the sun blazed so fiercely it turned him into a silhouette wrapped in light. The passengers strained to see his face even as their eyes watered from the glare.

"He’s a god... a god walking among us," soone murmured, spellbound.

"Haha..."

"Thank you, Freeman! Thank you for saving these passengers!"

Holander flew down toward the stranded crowd, wearing his signature smile.

"Devil!"

"Murderer!"

"You blood-soaked bastard!"

"You literally said you were going to kill !"

But the cheering Holander expected never ca. Instead, he was greeted by waves of curses.

"We agreed on this! I said I’d save all of you—see? Freeman saved you, didn’t he?"

Holander opened his mouth and tried to spin it.

"Bullshit!"

"I heard you! You said you were going to kill us!"

"Reporters! Holander wasn’t going to save us—he was going to kill us!"

A middle-aged woman stord forward, furious. She ignored Holander completely and shouted straight at the caras.

"Fuck! Uh— I an, ma’am, please calm down!"

Holander’s expression flickered. He cared about his image more than anything. He couldn’t allow it to be damaged.

"Devil! Devil! Devil!"

The passengers didn’t want his explanation. Led by a few voices, the whole crowd joined in, condemning him in unison.

"Fuck..."

Holander fought to keep his composure.

"They’re crazy! They’re all crazy! Don’t listen to them!"

He kept trying to explain it away to the press.

"Holander, please watch this video."

A reporter lifted a cara toward Holander’s face and played a clip.

On the screen was a bearded man—unkempt, exhausted, eyes bloodshot like an animal pushed too far.

"Yes. Holander rped my wife—and got her pregnant. For years I’ve been out on my own, trying to find a way to bring him to justice, but it’s been impossible. Senators, my bosses—everyone told to pretend I didn’t know. Fuck! I’m FBI! I’ve bled for this country, but now the country I’m bleeding for is telling to let the criminal go—the one who rped my wife—right in front of ?! Is there no justice?! No law?!"

The bearded man was Billy Butcher. He stared into the lens like he wanted to tear the world apart.

"Holander, listen! I don’t give a fuck how strong you are! I believe justice will co for you! You son of a b*tch!"

Butcher jabbed a finger at the cara and raised his middle finger.

"And this video..."

The reporter switched to another clip.

"I was threatened..."

The man giving a speech was a middle-aged guy with no hair—Mayor Steve of Baltimore.

"He threatened my entire family!"

"If we didn’t follow orders, he’d destroy our plane!"

The mayor spoke with a tortured expression.

"But didn’t you say it was an accident—and that Holander saved you?" a reporter asked in the clip.

"No! Holander didn’t save . Soone else did. Holander is an animal—a killer! And the reason I took my citizens’ money to buy a portrait of a murderer..."

"I admit I’m guilty. But if I didn’t do it, I would’ve died..."

The mayor covered his face, in visible pain.

"Then why are you speaking out now? Aren’t you afraid of Holander?" the reporter asked.

"I am! I’m terrified!" The mayor shook his head. "But I believe justice wins. I believe freedom wins."

He was terrified of Holander—terrified out of his mind. But there was sothing he feared even more.

"Freedom..."

The reporter in the clip repeated the word softly, aning heavy.

"And this one..."

The reporter standing in front of Holander played yet another video.

"I’m the CIA Deputy Director. I have enough evidence to prove Holander is a killer—a murderer. Soon, I will send him to a court-martial. Whether you’re a supe or a normal person, the law will protect you—and punish you. No one escapes..."

Susan Rayner looked resolute on-screen, the kind of steel you expected from soone in her position.

The clip ended.

The reporter facing Holander kept the cara trained on him, waiting.

"How do you respond to this?"

"..."

Holander fell silent. He didn’t even know what lie to start with.

"Let make a phone call," Holander said, smiling at the reporter.

"Sure..."

The reporter pulled out his phone and handed it over.

"Hello? Stillwell?"

Yes—at the mont he felt cornered, the first person Holander reached for was still Stillwell.

"Holander, take a look at what the fuck you’ve done?!"

Stillwell’s furious voice ca through the speaker.

"Can you fix it?" Holander asked, forcing his voice to stay as gentle as possible.

"Co back first. Prepare to face trial. The company will get you the best lawyers..."

As Stillwell spoke, a faint baby’s sound ca through the call—so quiet most people would never notice, but to Holander it was like needles scraping his nerves.

"Go to hell! You filthy b*tch who got fucked—you don’t give a shit about ! I don’t need you to ’save’ ! Lawyers? I don’t need lawyers. I’m Holander! I’m the strongest! I can do whatever the fuck I want!"

Holander scread into the phone.

"Holander—Holander—listen, that wasn’t —"

Stillwell didn’t get to finish.

Holander crushed the phone in his hand.

"That was my phone..." the reporter said weakly, staring at the shattered remains.

"You want to replace it?! Then I’ll fucking replace it!"

Holander grinned, feral.

The restraints that had kept the devil "controlled" snapped in his mind—and vanished.

Bzzzt...

His eyes burned white-hot.

The next second, a crimson beam ripped across the sky.

Holander let all his rage pour out through that light—he wanted to erase everything in front of him. Destroy. Rip apart. Silence.

"And you..."

He turned toward the passengers from the plane—

—and the beam carved through the island.

It beca a slaughter.

People didn’t even have ti to scream or run. The light tore through them, shredding bodies in an instant.

"I am the king of the world!"

Holander roared. Anyone who defied him would die.

"No. You’re not."

A voice behind him cut through the fury.

"Huh?!"

Holander turned, annoyed—ready to see who dared speak to him like that.

And then he saw him.

A muscular man in a white bodysuit, a huge letter F stamped across his chest.

"I am."

The man lowered his voice, baring his teeth in a brutal grin—

—and punched Holander square in the face.

Boom!

A sonic blast cracked the air.

Holander was launched like a missile, crashing down into the ocean.

And where Holander hadn’t noticed—

reporters were still holding caras.

Still livestreaming every second of it all.