Deep under the water, Aldrich was disappointed to see that he couldn't drown Homelander. It had been three hours, and the man showed no sign of asphyxiation.
Until now, he had simply been thrashing and lasering blindly into the dark, attempting to swim to the surface, but every time Aldrich dragged him back down.
Aldrich was completely naked; Homelander was his grand prize, a stubborn one. His consumption had to be ritualistically perfect. While his prey thrashed, Aldrich grabbed the gold-trimmed cape and dragged him down, deeper and deeper.
Swimming gracefully behind, Aldrich clapped his hands as hard as he could. The water resistance weakened the shockwave, but it stunned Homelander enough for Aldrich to move in.
He bit down on the back of Homelander's neck. He would have preferred the chest, but he was cautious not to be grabbed, so he stayed behind him.
Inside his mouth, his tongue parted, and from underneath, three high-pressure, serrated tubes latched onto the skin. Aldrich felt his mouth getting hotter and hotter as the tubes attempted to drill, but no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't penetrate the skin at all.
Since the skin was too hard to drill, Aldrich knew he had to force him open. He needed an open wound. He retracted the tubes and locked his legs around the man's waist. He preferred to keep his enemies in the dark; if he used heat vision and Homelander survived, another of his secret would be out.
So, he just had to make sure he didn't survive.
Aldrich felt the heat build behind his eyes, the pain forcing him to cover them before he finally unleashed an uncontrolled, full blast. The red light hissed through the water, carving one small wound on Homelander's right side.
Aldrich latched his mouth onto the tear instantly.
Homelander let out a muffled roar beneath the waves, his hands reaching back to grasp at Aldrich's hair in a desperate attempt to dislodge him. Aldrich held firm, his focus narrowed entirely on the wound as the pressure of the ocean depths continued to mount.
At that moment, Aldrich felt the pressure increasing on him, but he ignored everything, sucking greedily until he felt sluggish in the water and felt a sharp pain where his gills were.
Aldrich attempted to maintain his grip, hoping to drag his prize toward the surface to continue the process, but the man felt as heavy as a mountain. The strength required to move such a weight while oxygen was depleting was beyond his limit. Like an ant trying to move a boulder, the effort was futile and compromising.
With his lungs screaming for air, Aldrich released his hold and kicked for the surface, escaping the threat of asphyxiation.
Above, the scene was a chaotic mess of desperation. Vought had sent everything: Vought special teams, coast guard vessels, choppers, and the remaining members of the Seven.
A-Train, Starlight, and Queen Maeve and black noir scoured the beach while the deep was "scouring" the sea for their missing captain tracing the tracker signal.
When Aldrich breached the water far away, he was still adrift in a trance of pure euphoria, the stolen DNA singing in his veins. He was blind to the world.
But what woke him up from his trance was the removal of a vital part of him. He woke up and, without looking, reached down to feel where his beautiful gills were, but all he felt was skin.
In that second, he felt as if half his soul had been carved out. The Atlantic, which had been his only true home, suddenly felt like a vast, icy stranger.
A heavy, calloused hands grabbed him by the shoulder, hauling him toward the edge of a boat.
"Welcome home, son. We missed ya."
Aldrich looked up, the euphoria finally draining away to reveal the jagged, triumphant grin of Billy Butcher.
"You've made a right bloody mess out there, haven't ya? fucking diabolical," Butcher remarked, looking at Aldrich's blood-stained mouth with a dark sort of pride. "Time to come home, sunshine. The 'family' has missed ya. Hughie missed ya; he's been losing sleep over ya. Don't worry, we've got a fresh set of clothes and a nice, quiet place where you can tell us all about your adventures. And the best part? Hughie's gone and made you your favorite sandwiches."
Aldrich smiled back at Butcher. "Good. I'm still starving. Can I have a medium pepperoni pizza? Make it a 'Supe-Deluxe' pepperoni."
"Well, that depends," Butcher said, leaning in, his eyes searching Aldrich's face for the one thing that mattered. "Is he dead?"
"Who?"
"Homelander! Who else, you daft pillock?"
"No," Aldrich replied, his expression unchanging. "He was a tough nut to crack. But I feel like I'll get him next time."
Butcher's expression hardened, the brief flicker of amusement vanishing. "Then no. No fucking pizza for you. You stay on the sandwiches until you finish what you started."
Butcher jerked a thumb toward the other man on the boat, a large black man. "Aldrich, meet Marvin. Marvin, meet the Runt."
"A black man. First time I've seen one up close," Aldrich said simply.
"Cover your dick, man," MM snapped, looking away. "That's disgusting. Get him a towel, Butcher, before I throw him back in."