The next day, Tek Knight's supercar pulled over to the side of the street. The engine didn't die; it hummed softly. The silver-gray body was veiled in a light morning mist, not particularly conspicuous. He tapped his fingers on the phone, dialing again and again, but the line was always busy. Finally, irritated, he tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, pushed open the door, and cursed: "Damn it, that old bastard is definitely losing his mind."
Leather shoes pressed into the old carpet of the hallway, producing muffled thuds. When he turned toward Legend's apartment door, his steps suddenly stopped—the security door, which should have been intricately carved and gilded, had its frame collapsed in two, as if it had been hit by something massive, now hanging loosely.
The smoky smell inside was suffocating, thick enough to choke on. Legend was curled into a leather sofa, a cigar between his fingers, its red ember glowing faintly in the dark shadows. Hearing the movement, he didn't even lift his eyelids, slowly blowing a smoke ring into the air—it drifted and dissipated after two beats.
"Fuck!" Tek Knight stepped inside and surveyed the chaotic living room. "Were you robbed?"
Legend finally lifted his eyelids, the corners of his mouth twitching into a laugh that seemed half-asleep.
The smoky smell, mixed with alcohol, hit Tek Knight's face. "I was almost robbed by a dead man and a piece of shit." He flicked off ash, unconcerned about the cinders falling onto his pants, his tone lazy, as if discussing someone else's business. "All the treasures at the bottom of my collection were taken. Inventory cleared out. Even the bottle of whiskey Brando gave me back then was drunk by those bastards."
Tek Knight was baffled, completely unable to follow.
Legend didn't intend to explain. He turned his head, his eyes lowered, his voice very low: "Honestly, don't go to the party today if you don't want to die. And don't think about leaking this news."
Tek Knight thought Legend was joking crudely and was about to tell him to stop playing around—but when he met his serious gaze, his expression gradually grew grave.
"What do you mean?" Tek Knight's brow furrowed, his tone sharpening. "Today's party—all of Vought's signed and unsigned superheroes are supposed to be there, even Homelander. Could it be that…?"
Legend let out a heavy sigh, stubbing out his cigar with such force it crushed the enemy, finally twisting it twice—a gesture as if the ashtray were Butcher's ugly face.
"You know about the Elmira earthquake?"
Tek Knight nodded, unconsciously rubbing the seam of his pants. "Yeah, my secretary mentioned it to me a couple of days ago. Our family even invested in that place. After the incident, Vought bought out all the shares, so I didn't think much of it."
"If you dig a little, you'll find out it wasn't an earthquake at all." Legend's voice was very low, carrying a trembling seriousness. "It was all done by a test subject."
"A test subject?" Tek Knight's pupils contracted, his voice rising. "That was a 6.3 magnitude earthquake! What kind of monster did they create?"
"I don't know." Legend spread his hands, frustration in his voice.
"What do you mean you don't know?" Tek Knight took half a step forward, disbelief in his tone.
"All I know is that this test subject was locked up and studied by Vought for a year." Legend hesitated, tapping his fingers on the sofa armrest. "But after escaping, he didn't take revenge on Vought immediately. He went into hiding. I didn't find out until yesterday that it was that bastard Butcher who broke him out."
"Butcher?" Tek Knight was stunned for a moment, then reacted. "The one who killed Madelyn?"
"That's not the point." Legend waved a hand to cut him off, a flicker of fear in his eyes. "The point is, they've teamed up. I don't know what kind of crazy potion those two bastards fed Stan and Homelander, but now they're about to turn Vought into a slaughterhouse! They're digging their own graves!"
"Impossible!" Tek Knight shook his head firmly. "Why would Stan and Homelander go along with that? And even if the test subject could defeat Homelander, Vought still has nearly two hundred superpowers!"
"Then let me tell you—there's also Soldier Boy."
"Soldier Boy died years ago!" Panic finally crept into Tek Knight's voice.
Hearing this, Legend suddenly laughed—a cold, strange laugh. He raised a finger toward the empty display case on the wall and asked: "Then who took my collection? A ghost?"
Tek Knight looked at the empty case in the direction he pointed and was immediately speechless. He finally realized—it was all true. Whatever Stan and Homelander were planning, Vought was in for something big today.
In that moment of silence, Tek Knight's phone suddenly rang. The ringtone was so sharp it shattered the stillness in the room.
The caller was Ashley—an old acquaintance of his; the two of them had always gotten along well.
"Hello?" Tek Knight's voice was still tense.
"You going to that party?" Ashley's voice came through, tinged with a nasal hint of grievance.
"Uh... I've got something urgent right now, so probably not." Tek Knight was instinctively evasive, his mind still in chaos.
"Oh? That works out perfectly." Ashley sighed. "I was calling to let you know that Homelander told you not to come. He's kicked out all the non-supers. Even the waiters have been replaced by Godolkin University students. They kicked me out too. I'm so depressed."
Hearing this, Tek Knight's mind went blank. The phone slipped from his hand with a clatter, landing on the floor, the screen still lit. He didn't notice. He just stared blankly at Legend beside him.
Legend, meanwhile, had become leisurely. He hummed a nonsensical tune, lyrics he'd made up on the spot, singing slowly: "Today Vought is gonna be a big coffin~~!"
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Meanwhile, downstairs at Vought Tower.
After security checked Butcher's invitation, his eyes lingered on the man behind him. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he couldn't help his voice trembling slightly: "Your friend... Soldier Boy?"
Butcher twitched the corners of his mouth into a silent smile, took back the invitation the guard had handed him, casually brushed his fingertips across it, and turned to Soldier Boy, who was blowing smoke at the side, tilting his chin up: "Let's go."
Soldier Boy looked up at the gleaming glass walls of Vought Tower, the golden sign catching his eyes. A sneer escaped his throat, his voice dripping with mockery: "Looks like after they sold me out like a used rag back then, those bastards really made a fortune."
"No." Butcher glanced at him, not breaking stride. "Vought's current status is prettier than most arms dealers. In the end, it hasn't been tainted by the light of your genes."
Soldier Boy's brows knitted tightly, his face instantly darkening. He stubbed out his cigarette, his voice cold and hard as iron: "That soft egg is my seed? My son can't be that bad." He paused, his eyes filled with rage, glaring at Butcher as if in warning.
"But let me make this clear—when I kill him, I'm taking his seed back. I'm not letting anyone else raise him to be another limp-dick. I'll make him a real man. A man's man."
Hearing this, Butcher's steps faltered for half a second—so quickly it was almost imperceptible—then he walked on as if nothing had happened, not giving Soldier Boy the slightest clue.
But from an angle Soldier Boy couldn't see, the look in Butcher's eyes as they fell on the man's back turned instantly cold, as if doused in ice, a trace of merciless resolve creeping in that hadn't been there before.
Meanwhile, everything above the 95th floor of Vought Tower had been transformed into a dazzling high-altitude nightclub.
Deafening electronic music shook the ceiling. Laser beams slashed through the crowd. The sweet smell of alcohol and perfume, mingled with the faint energy of superhuman bodies, filled every inch of space.
Men and women on the dance floor swayed shamelessly to the beat, no one caring how spectacular the city nightscape was outside the windows—because this carnival on the top floor was the exclusive feast Vought had prepared for its own.
In the midst of this noisy heat, a heavy alloy door suddenly swung open, pushed by a strange figure.