Conquering the Multiverse Starting with the Black Robe

When the armed robbers saw Maeve and Homelander walking in side by side, they wisely raised their hands and gave up resisting.

"Let me do it." Homelander waved Maeve away and leaped over.

"In New York, the home of superheroes, the crime rate remains consistently high."

"The number of idiots in America is increasing year by year, which is not a good sign."

Despite saying that, his tone was not worried; it sounded more like he was talking to himself.

"What kind of beast would use bullets to mow down its own kind... Do you have antisocial personality disorder? Does doing this excite you?"

"Sir, I..."

Homelander shook his finger. "Tell me, what's your name?"

"Merrick...Merrick, sir, please give me a minute."

Homelander stared at him without saying anything more, but his silence spoke volumes.

Merrick's Adam's apple bobbed, and he explained in a trembling voice, "Sir, I really have no other choice. I... I have a son with cancer, and I've spent all my savings on his treatment... Then, health insurance kicked us out, and we can't even afford the medication..."

He grew increasingly nervous, almost panting as he finished speaking, "I swear, it's all true. I have nothing left. I lost my job, sold my house and car, and my wife left us. I'm completely desperate."

"...Merrick, how old is your son?" Homelander's eyes flickered slightly. He didn't need to verify this; his heartbeat didn't lie, and his cold, hard attitude softened immediately.

Merrick trembled as he pulled a commemorative necklace from his underwear, opened the lid to reveal a photograph, and showed it to Homelander. "His name is John, he just turned 18. Sir, please, I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I was forced into this situation. The police rejected all my demands."

You can throw me in jail and punish me, but I beg you, please help the child. I know you can do it…

The photo shows a family of three, each with a happy smile on their face.

Homelander remained noncommittal, the right side of his face twitching slightly. Upon hearing the name "John," a complex, inscrutable look flashed in his eyes, and he hesitated for a moment.

Two seconds later, he said, "Okay, I will expose this to the media, and your child will receive the help he deserves."

"Oh God, thank God, God bless America, thank you! Homelander!"

The man burst into tears.

"Your son is very lucky to have such a responsible father like you, who would do anything for him." Homelander reached out and hugged him, closed his eyes, and gently patted his back, his expression peaceful and devout, as if he were carefully appreciating the greatness of a father.

The man hugged him tightly, tears and snot streaming down his face onto the man's clothes. "Thank you so much, sir, you are so kind!"

Maeve watched quietly from a short distance away, a subtle smile playing on her lips.

"Do me a favor, Merrick."

"Okay, whatever you say, anything is fine!"

Merrick looked up, his reddened eyes filled with hope and joy, seemingly unconcerned about the fate that awaited him.

"Close your eyes." Homelander gently cupped his head.

"What?"

"Close your eyes."

"No...you just promised me..."

"I told you, John will be fine."

"No, please! My child is waiting for me at the hospital..." Merrick began to plead, despair spreading in his eyes.

"John!" Maeve shouted from behind.

Noisy!

As if he hadn't heard, the man's fingers were clasped tightly together, his restless eyes instantly burning red. "I said, close your eyes!"

"Shut up! Your damn eyes!!"

"Oi".

"Open your eyes, little lazy cat."

Shirley walked over, ripped off the black cloth covering the woman's head, looked her over, blew a puff of smoke onto her pale, terrified face, and casually blew her a kiss.

"Where...where am I?" The woman with the claws coughed as she slowly woke up.

In the damp and dimly lit space, the incandescent light was blinding. She tried to struggle, but found that her hands and feet were already bound by chains.

"Hey, would you like some water?"

The startled woman turned her head, and next to her stood a tall, thin man with pursed lips, leaning against the table, looking at her weakly.

"I recognize you!" The woman with the claws blinked; she remembered seeing this person before.

While she was at home, several men claiming to be plumbers knocked on her door. As soon as she opened the door, she was kicked to the ground by a rude bearded man.

Then suddenly a thick cloud of smoke billowed up in front of her, and before she could even flick her elbow blade, she was knocked unconscious by the smoke.

"Well, I have no doubt that you two sisters will have a lot to talk about in bed, but before that, you little glutton, you have to answer Uncle Billy's question first."

Boucher pulled up a tattered chair, sat down brazenly opposite the woman with the claws, and forced out what he thought was a friendly smile.

"Who exactly are you people? If you're after money, you've kidnapped the wrong person. I don't have a single penny on me." The woman with the claws trembled. Although she was a superhuman, she was ultimately a weak woman who hadn't experienced much hardship.

"I know you're so poor you can't even afford rent, darling. Don't worry, we don't want your money, and we won't kidnap a washed-up third-rate actress to make a group sex movie..."

Butcher took out a small bottle of blue potion and waved it in front of her. "I just want to know where you got this stuff from."

"This isn't mine; I've never seen it before."

When the woman with the "claws" saw what was in his hand, her pupils suddenly contracted, and she vehemently denied it.

Boucher raised an eyebrow, picked up a woman's handbag from the side, unzipped it to show the other person, and said, "You mean these things in your fridge grew out of moldy pizzas?"

Seeing that she couldn't fool her, the woman's tone became increasingly aggressive, "I told you that's not mine! Let me go! Do you know who my boyfriend is? He'll find me and smash you all into mincemeat!"

She shouted, but her voice was filled with fear, and the thought of the figure behind the thing sent chills down her spine.

"A locomotive?" Butcher couldn't help but laugh at her bluff. "How is he going to find it? By knocking on doors?"

"Even if he were standing here right now, we wouldn't be afraid, let alone whether he could find this place or not."

He laughed heartily, experiencing for the first time the benefits of having a powerful backer. "The news says he's going to compete against Shockwave tomorrow. Without these 'performance-enhancing drugs,' he won't be able to run. Wot will kick him out of the Seven, boom! He's finished."

He leaned forward and pressed down, "Don't flatter yourself, silly girl. He doesn't love you. When you're giving him oral sex, you're probably fantasizing about your little train going back and forth in Scarlett Janssen's (Black Widow's) β tunnel."

"You're talking nonsense! You bastard, I'm going to kill you!" The woman with the claws was so angry that her hair stood on end. Her muscles clenched violently, and the sharp blade under her elbow snapped open with a "clang," causing the chains on her body to straighten instantly.

"Hey thief, girl. I don't want to seduce you on your pretty face in front of Sherry."

French appeared out of nowhere, like a ghost, and pressed the muzzle of his shotgun against her temple.

The cold touch against her head caused the woman with the claws to freeze, her teeth clenched, her breathing rapid, yet she dared not move.

"Listen, I don't have the patience to waste time with you here." Butcher's smile vanished, his eyes turning sinister. He grabbed her chin and demanded, "Where did the locomotive get its cargo? Where is it going to be delivered? Tell me everything you know. I need the specific address."

"I...I really don't know..."

"Really? You're such a virtuous and chaste woman."

"Looks like your little brain's been blown out by the smoke. Let Uncle Billy fix it for you."

Butcher grinned menacingly, and the next moment, his fist, the size of a sandbag, landed precisely on the woman's pert nose without holding back. He knew how tough these superpowered freaks were.

"Wozfak?!" the demonic woman cried out in pain, blood streaming from her nose, tears streaming down her face.

"Are you feeling better?" Butcher asked with a smile.

The ruthless woman refused to back down, her eyes blazing with murderous intent. She gritted her teeth and spat at him, "You son of a bitch!"

"You ill-mannered little wildcat!" Butcher ignored the blood and foam on his face and responded with his iron fists, swinging them again and again, not like an interrogation, but more like simply venting his anger on someone.

The woman with the claws was beaten until she was dizzy and her head was soon swollen with bumps, so bloody that her face was unrecognizable.

The woman with the gruesome claws was almost delirious; she felt she would be beaten to death if the beating continued. She cried and begged for mercy, "Stop! I'll talk!"