In a hidden base located right in the center of the Antarctic continent, Captain Albion and his cronies were sat around a long, wooden table, plotting their next scheme against the Soviets, who have been hunting them since the very end of WWII for aiding the axis powers in the final months of the war. As apposed to the rest of the base, the entire room was more expertly crafted, its walls made from wood, disguising the metal prefab structure they were in, the window to Captain Albion's left showing the frozen dark wasteland they had chose to hide in, their only possible way to stay hidden—at least for now—from the incessant probing of both the Mossad and SMERSH/KGB. They were about as far away from the civilized world as one could be, completely isolated in the frozen hell of Antarctica, and that circular, plexiglass window emphasized that, just with how dark it was outside when it was already noon, pretty much daylight in the other regions of the world. Hidden bases in hostile regions like this were very easy to build, the only thing required being a heavy-lift chopper, some prefabricated metal structures, and location, which, in Captain Albion's stroke of strategic genius, was Antarctica, completely unassailable by even the mightiest supes at Vought American's disposal, its frigid temperatures, cold as some regions of space, too in hospitable for even Soldier Boy and Liberty. The region was the perfect place for a supervillain to hide, its very locale too harsh for even supes to dare tread, lest they lose their limbs from frostbite, or rather, die from the immense cold that would bring upon hypothermia.
There was a long, rectangular map on the table, its image distorted as a result of how much the globe was stretched out over a very odd aspect ratio. On it were the plans, locations of various front corporations owned and operated by the Thule society to fund the schemes and supply the base with materials to keep its internal electrical infrastructure running, flown in via unmarked turbo-prop planes from New Zealand, which were hijacked from the US Military and repainted for that purpose. These front corporations were mainly casinos, owned and operated by Thule Society operatives who gave their income to the organization in the form of a tax, creating a vast pool of funding—roughly around two-hundred million per annum in 1960s US dollars. That was not all. The map also had cells that operated all the way out in the Middle East and Russia, the latter recruited from anti-Communist, anti-Semitic elements in the Russian population. The former was what Captain Albion was about to do with Palestine. He had a plan for both them and the Israelis, a scheme that would net him a lot of money after spending six months in the infirmary after he was caught in the blast of the Tsar Bomba, its higher yield prototype capable of wiping Israel off the face of the Earth in one detonation. He wanted to hold it for ransom for the high price of one-hundred billion US dollars in gold bullion, a scheme ripped straight from an Ian Flemming novel.
"Gentlemen, I have called this assembly to discuss the one-two-punch that will get rid of the Jewish problem in one brutal, fell swoop. We are going to steal a hydrogen bomb from the Soviets, modify it by lining it with cobalt, and then detonating it in Tel Aviv. Of course, we are going to hide our involvement by setting up some of the Jews semitic brethren—the Palestinians—who would have detonated this salted nuclear bomb, reducing the entirety of the Middle East and India into a radioactive hell, unable to sustain any form of multi-cellular life whatsoever. With us being the exception, of course. How are we on our finances?" said Arthur to the other members of the committee, smiling at the prospect of getting rid of one of their greatest enemies.
"As for finance, we 'ave seen a steep decline because Soldier Boy 'ad just arrested on of our operatives, who has now been committed for saying the infamous Horrace Yockey was behind everything in his confessions. Moreover, the superheroine, Liberty, 'ad busted another one of our operatives for running extortion rackets on Jewish owned bagel shops, out in New England, sir. Now that the heroine smuggling and protection rackets are gone, our funding has been halved thanks to those insipid super'eroes. Do ya want me to kill them both?" asked Yockey, leader of the financial cell.
"That would be, as the yankees say, a negatory. Instead, have the people who hold their contract with Vought American assassinated, ideally in the most gruesome, macabre fashion as possible, to send a very clear message to the American political elite that crossing us is very hazardous to their health and wellbeing. To take the heat off of us, I recommend hiring a negro to do the deed, thus inflaming the already tenuous racial relations to a boiling point, hopefully triggering a racial war that would get the Whites on our side once the blacks pull a Saint-Domingue on the American White population. It's simple, really. Have politicians assassinated by blacks, the American Government enforces harsher measures on blacks, causing them to start murdering White people out of anger like the childish baboons they are, and watch as Whites start shooting back, armed with their Second Amendment rights. What monkey would not turn down a brief case full of dosh to blow on fast cars and shiny crap. They are not smart enough to compete in our world, at least not fairly, so about four-hundred large to assassinate a random politician is worth it to them, even with the immense risks they may be shot to death by the US police forces, or brutally killed by the American supes. We might not even have to pay the monkey, as it will only be handed out upon completion of the hit," proposed Alfred Joseph Watson, head of the espionage and intelligence cells
"About that bomb?" asked Arthur Pierce.
"Ah yes, our organization is bleeding dosh right now. We need a more simple solution to keep it in the black to so much as highjack a nuclear device. I mean, the cobalt needed to make a salted thermonuclear bomb costs at least a hundred million dollars, just to get the right stuff off of the black market in order to even do so in the first place. Our resources are frankly not infinite, unless you plan on stealing the nuke; you probably have the strength to fly it over here, now that you have regenerated and recovered from your horrific injuries sustained in Nova Zemlya," sighed Alfred Joseph Watson, his eyes wide at his boss's extremely quick solution to the problem, though a bit rushed considering
"That is right. We spend at least one-hundred and eighty million a year on terrorist plots and around ten million just to maintain the nuclear reactor of this base, as windmills, even with the extreme weather, cannot even power our measly heating, let alone our communication equipment that broadcasts all the way to America and Europe through various relays. I never realized untraceable communications systems were so expensive. Blast!" yelled Pierce, frustrated at the fact he never calculated the cost of the radio network after he was finished recovering from all of his injuries he suffered in Russia because of the Tsar Bomba over the past six months.
Radio communication for such a secretive location in the outside world was rather expensive, due to all of the relays—located in offshore sites—needed to boost the signal over such vast distances all the way out in the middle of an arctic wasteland that hidden. Then there was the matter of building the radio towers to be resistant to the elements, which was not cheap to begin with, costing Pierce and his entire secret organization over a hundred and twenty million dollars US per year, thus leaving him with very little to salt a thermonuclear bomb with cobalt for his scheme ripped straight from the novel, Thunderball, though, in his arrogant mind, he came up with the idea of nuclear terrorism first. Why, he did not like the idea of using satellite communication, in spite of the fact he could literally carry one into the Earth's orbit for virtually nil cost at all, right under the noses of the world powers. Satellite communications were traceable; radio communications were not. Or rather, extremely difficult to trace in the first place, which was why he used them as apposed to Sat-Com, the former monumentally expensive for law enforcement agencies to trace in the first place, so they simply would not bother with such folly if it meant going overbudget.
Having expats from the British Union of Fascists in a special prefab building monitoring radio communications over terminals was how the core members stayed in the background, behind the scenes where the forces of Justice could not discern their fake identities from their real ones. The jobs of those men were to simply hand out orders to the various cells of the Thule Society which operated throughout America, Britain, Eastern Europe, and Palestine, the operations hidden through the various fronts the Thule Society operated in the shadows. All of the operatives who were arrested would claim their benefactor was the Thule Society, and, believed to be total lunatics, were promptly locked away in an insane asylum, diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic because the Thule Society was officially destroyed in the 1930s, when Hitler got into power; however, the truth was far worse for them. They simply moved on once they knew they were going to win. They came back once the Axis powers lost WWII, intent on trying again to accomplish their goals through different, far more secretive means that were less prone to failure, choosing to take over a global superpower to ensure that the next world war would go directly in their favor the next time, regardless if the entire world ganged up on that nation.
To find a hydrogen bomb, Captain Albion left the room, the automatic door sliding open by scanning the motion of his movement, a green LED light indicating that the door was cleared for access. Along a prefabricated hallway, he walked through it until he found the room he was looking for, the Communications Room, where he intended to find intel on where the Soviets stashed their prototype of the Tsar Bomba, the high-yield one, not the hamstrung one that merely gave him a really bad sunburn that weakened him long enough for Soviets soldiers to knock him unconscious through the use of nerve agents; he would have been in their custody indefinitely had it not been for Alfred Joseph Watson rescuing him when he was comatose, the potency of the nerve agent knocking him out for almost half a year. He needed to make sure the Soviets did not destroy the one that was capable of completely irradiating an entire continent, so he could, with the cover of a free Palestine Terrorist group—a fiction used to cover his tracks in the matter, cause utter economic chaos in the West by bankrupting it through the use of a ridiculously high ransom, forcing them to print money, Weimar Style, causing the United States perfect economy to crumble to ash, leaving the door open for a fascist puppet government to takeover in the chaos via a revolution. At his benefit, too, earning him the equivalent of a trillion dollars by modern standards. That was such a master stroke of strategy that the bumbling idiots who ran the US government could not even see his plans playing, too focused on chasing the imaginary threat of random hippies, who may or may not be communists.
Once the United States government was in utter shambles, his plan was clear: take over and declare himself king of the Second Empire, complete with a racial eugenics program to weed out all of the cowards and invalids among the American White population, whom he blamed for the current predicament of the country. The US was in a rather fragile situation in his view, with the whole civil rights movement and such, one that threatens to push the country past the tipping point of no return whereupon, in his view, the country's gene pool would be much too polluted for any eugenics program to save, at least not for a thousand years. Soon, the only thing, at least on his timescale on account of aging at around a tenth the rate of a normal human, practically granting him a millenia-long lifespan—would be what he refers to, and his group the British Union of Fascists—half-castes, the products of outbreeding, their only genetic legacy a small amount of European admixture on a black or Asian or whatever race that was projected to replace White Americans in the next hundred or so years, a mere decade from now in his lifespan, which was precisely why, like his son after, was so keen on acting as apposed to dallying around, hoping elections would turn things in his favor. In his mind, the clock was ticking down, ever closer to midnight, and he needed a bunker to keep the genes of his people free from contaminates for the next thousand or so years until the others died from either inbreeding or the cumulative effects of genetic defects flooding into the gene pools of developing countries, reducing their genetic fitness.
For this plan, he had two backups to preserve his people: England and the Eastern Seaboard of the United States of America, populated primarily by White Americans of Anglo-Saxon descent to begin repopulation of the White race should Europe and the rest of the colonies fall into utter darkness if his enemy win the war he was about to start, the apocalyptic war that would put him on the path so that him and his people would hold dominion over the world until the very ending of the planet, once its sun became too luminous to sustain any kind of life whatsoever. He needed only the hydrogen bomb from the Russians—with a few modifications, of course—to ensure continental saturation of the Middle East with lethal ionizing radiation in order to guarantee that none of the Jews there would survive, too irradiated and genetically malformed to have so much as a viable population. By the calculations of his plan, they would be gone within a few generations, each successive generation becoming sicker and more infertile than the next. The fallout from the cobalt would stay there for a hundred years, ensuring that whoever trod the land would wind up with endless cancers, deformities and countless disabilities as a result of the everlasting nuclear fallout from his cobalt bomb, thus setting the seal on the complete eradication of semites as an entire race in no more than seventy-five years or less, their extinction caused by genetic degradation.
It was all coming together, after years of plotting revenge on the group of people who took his wife from him, killed the last of his brothers and sisters, and murdered his parents, completely unopposed until he came in and flew Moshe over to his home under the threat of a slow and painful demise via smashing him through buildings at supersonic speed until nothing remained but a bloody, mangled skull, which he would have crushed between the grip of his immortal hand. He had threatened to exterminate Moshe's entire race, the ones that were not languishing under Hitler's tyranny if he did not reveal their locations, effectively destroying their world so thoroughly they would simply be left with nothing to grow up in, doomed to be the last generations of an otherwise dead people; thus, he caved into the pressure, directing him straight to the location of where they lived, as Moshe thought, at least in his mind, he was sparing them a fate that he believed to be far worse than death. However, when Pierce tore Moshe's eyelids off completely, forcing him to watch his wife end up disarticulated, limb by limb, until she was left a screaming head and torso, falling off of the Big Ben clocktower, crimson trailing from her body as it landed and shattered onto the cobblestone below to everyone's horror. Then he moved on to Moshe's son who was around eight years old, brutally skinning him alive and hanging his skinless corpse from the ledge of the building, a macabre reminder of things to come for the Jewish population who would make Britain their home after the fall of the Nazis. He simply defenestrated the infant, dropping him to his death, where he simply fell in a splash of crimson spatter on the pavement below, telling his father, Moshe, now begging for death, that he was simply kidding and was going to move on to exterminating his entire race once he was done. After that, Pierce tossed him over top the spire of the Big Ben clock tower, leaving him a crippled, disfigured, blind, deaf mute whose face was covered by a cotton mask, only able to communicate in morse code to the doctors and nurses, who were able to decipher the words "S.O.S. kill me." The idea came to Pierce whilst reading Johnny Got His Gun, an America novel a few days before that man murdered his wife, mother, father, and the last of his siblings who survived WWI.
And what sparked that event—the event that sparked Pierce's crusade of vengeance, thus leading to a chain of events that led to the deaths of many billions of people under his son, Adamantine—was a woman named Klara, one of his father's assistant's first test subjects, not that he had any quarrel with her, as he was mainly pissed off with Moshe who killed Pierce's family out of revenge for not allowing the Jewish people any refuge in the USA or Britain. Apparently, from what he could gather while mutilating and killing Moshe's family members was that Frederick Vought was creating a serum that did not have all of the kinks of his father's serum that created supes with random powers, based on the subjects personality as apposed to the radical gene therapy that altered the subjects neurology and ability to heal, granting its user flight, invulnerability/superstrength as well as speed from the neurology alterations as a result of a telekinetic forcefield generated by a bioelectric aura; moreover, it granted the user Prometheus's healing ability, able to regrow lost limbs and organs on account of activating the instruction sets to do so, although the user would still suffer from immense atrophy that maybe permanent due to the telekinetically enhanced strength that multiplied the users strength to a factor of a million from the vast durability they were gifted with. However, the Nazis loved those abilities; what they in fact hated was the fact that the user had increased IQ, doubled in fact, from the enhanced reflexes, effectively turning the nerves into superconductors where more data can be moved between brain hemispheres at around the speed of causality, aka light speed. This resulted in a soldier who was smarter than their CO and had the durability to take on a global army, armed with nuclear weapons, surviving with little more than a mere sunburn and ruptured eardrums, the latter of which would be healed in the coming day. Because of this uncontrollability and cost, Dr. Frederick Vought simply threw Serum 22 into the trash bin, its subjects far too powerful and dangerous, instead choosing to act on their own agency, independent from any government. It was why Pierce could not have one hundred percent control over his own organization, basically a loose collection of terrorists cells with their own territories and philosophies, a bunch of nobles whom the king could not effectively rule over one hundred percent. Hence why Frederick developed Compound V, with the intent to solve the creation of supermen who were far too powerful and difficult to control, the only supe even able to match a Serum 22 derived supe in strength and durability being on par with Captain Albion was Soldier Boy and maybe Liberty; however, they did not have the intellect or the same ability to fly away. Thus, they could be perfect market slaves to Vought American, the biggest threat to his plan to wipe out Israel with a nuclear weapon. That was why secrecy was important, as those two's combined might could beat him up or even outright kill him in a physical fight; he was smart enough to know that, one of the perks of having an analytical mind that could calculate into the future, projecting possible outcomes just by estimating it through statistics.
Now all he had to do was get that nuclear bomb, ideally the one hundred megaton prototype of the Tsar Bomba for which to detonate in the sky over Tel Aviv, Israel, killing everyone in a miniature supernova around the size of a New York borough. Then once that was done, the entirety of Southwest Asia will be killed off by the invisible death, breaking apart their very DNA at the molecular level, to be the worlds newest hotspot for cancer and birth defects as the radioactive cobalt isotopes gave everyone cancer. Probability of Liberty or Soldier Boy intervening to stop his plot of wiping out an entire continent was effectively zero, a foreign issue of little interest to America, other than oil; however, they had enough oil in the Texas and Canadian wells to sustain the entire continent of North America until the middle of the next century easily, thus negating the need for the use of Middle Eastern oil. When the radiation cleared and the population exterminated, he envisioned a world ruled over by the British with a complete global monopoly on a major source of oil, only ever sharing it with the European-populated nations who adhered to his agenda, the same way the UN got a nation to adhere to Human rights laws. However, his brain was getting a bit ahead of itself, requiring a nation to even hold that kind of power of the world, which was where America came in—through the American Nazi Party—with the help of its founder, George Lincoln Rockwell.
But first, he needed the doomsday device to salt the Middle East and India with highly irradiated cobalt to get rid of the current people whom he deemed as usurpers of the rightful rule of Western Civilization, the Jewish people. That was where the hydrogen bomb, salted with cobalt, came in. It was going to be deployed by a Palestinian terrorist group in order to throw suspicion off of him, already a wanted criminal for betraying Britain to the Nazis in exchange that he be crowned king and the monarchy of the nation restored, a rather simple exchange as Hitler knew, at least according to Frederick Vought, that he was the world's strongest man, more than able to wipe out both the Allies and the Axis right off the map, without so much as breaking a sweat. Hitler was not even in any position to dictate terms with him, and he knew it; he was desperate and wanted someone to turn the tide of the war in his favor, which he so generously obliged at Seelow Heights and his bombardment of Moscow. Not that it even turned the tide of war in Hitler's favor, as he lost too many men on the Eastern Front; thus, Hitler ran away, straight to Argentina with Arthur Pierce, living out the life of a depressed old, alcoholic curmudgeon, whereas Pierce continued on.
Upon reaching the exit of his facility, Arthur relaxed and allowed an invisible telekinetic field to overtake him, propelling him up a thousand feet, then to the Northeastern Hemisphere, straight to Russia where he intended to nick a nuclear bomb in order to jumpstart his doomsday plan, the one that would send the Western world into chaos, allowing him to ultimately rule over it. He traveled from the frozen center of Antarctica all the way from Russia in little more than a minute, covered in fires hotter than the surface of the sun, produced by the air friction of traveling more than one thousand times the speed of sound, his bioelectric aura holding his entire body together against the sheer kinetic energy on an atomic scale; a normal Human body would be torn asunder at the atomic level, floating in the air—a puff of harmless steam, essentially—at those speeds, or even chunky, crimson paste if they were in an aircraft. He was practically a comet at the speed at which he was traveling, a bright flame in the sky as bright as the sun as the air around him turned into a superheated plasma. Comets, however, did not change flight trajectory. He was pretty much a flying saucer, an alien on its way to invade Russia, his flights alone the subject of a multitude of conspiracy theories stretching back since the 1947 Roswell Incident, when one of his men smashed into the New Mexico Desert. However, what was to come was far worse than any alien being from another world.
Upon reaching the Russian RND facility where the nuclear bomb was developed, the Ministry of Medium Machine Building, Captain Albion went inside, smashing through the top window, in search of the higher yield prototype that gave him first and second degree burns roughly five miles away from the center of the blast, minus of course some perforated eardrums that caused temporary hearing loss for around three days due to the inner-ear damage he had to regenerate from. Inside, he killed a few guards, quietly, ripping their larynxes from their necks, making only a light squelching noise as skin and sinews were torn from their necks with the machine-like force of a supe's telekinetically augmented hand, essentially augmenting their force at which he hits like that of an anti-tank weapon. This was because his usual approach of punching a man's face into an explosion of chunky salsa would create enough noise to alert the guards. Explosions, even ones of organic material, still made a lot of noise, more than enough to alert the Ivans of his presence inside of the facility. Toggling his night vision, he seen the inside of the facility in a bright greenish tint, the irises of his eyes glowing green in a matter very similar to a pair of night vision goggles mere mortals would use in order to see during stealth missions.
He searched the filing cabinets, reading the Cyrillic syllables until, searching for intel on the high-yield Tsar Bomba prototype which was the lynchpin of his plan to reduce Israel and the rest of the western half of the Orient into a nuclear wasteland to eliminate the people whom he deemed a threat to Western Civilization. There was nothing. He would have to make do for a lowly thirty-megaton nuclear warhead and merely settle for the radioactive cobalt isotopes spreading all over the Middle East and East India to enact his plan of resettlement hundreds of years later, when the radiation's half life ran out, more than doable for a man of his immense lifespan of a thousand years. With the high yield prototype non-functional, Captain Albion resolved to simply hijack a nuclear warhead from one of the intercontinental ballistic missiles used in the Cuban Missile crisis, disassembling it down to the warhead, then placing it in a thick cobalt bomb casing of around a hundred tons; then, once the Cobalt was vaporised in the immense supernova, its atoms would be turned from Cobalt fifty-nine to sixty, cobalt's radioactive brother, with a longer half-life than Strontium ninety. With any hope, Europe, the heartland which he was planning to protect, would be spared the horror of cancer, death, and sterility. That was why his lackeys were against his whole plan to bathe the Middle East in atomic hellfire, as the fallout could have adverse effects on both the European population and the North American, European-derived White population; however, that was only the last resort option. The real plan was to use it to hold Israel for ransom for around a hundred billion dollars from America and a hundred billion pounds from the UK, more than enough to cause such economic turmoil in both nations that their currency would become so devalued that it would take a shopping cart full of stacks of hundred dollar/pound bank notes just to buy a measly loaf of bread, allowing him to begin recruiting, cell formation, and thusly an October-style revolution of the fascist's variety. If the governments did not cave into his demands, he would detonate the cobalt bomb right above Tel Aviv, salting the Earth so thoroughly, thus creating an extinction level event worse than the Permian-Triassic extinction.
The bomb was located somewhere in Cuba, handed over to Fidel Castro in order to get him on the side of the Soviet Struggle for the global dominance of communism, both of whom Captain Albion deemed to be controlled opposition, two sides of the same coin, controlled by the same elites who run both Western media and banking. Because of that little fun fact, he knew the Russians and Americans were not going to reduce the world into a radioactive hellscape, as they were both controlled by the very same people in his mind, the cold war in question being a farce to unite the countries populations toward a fake enemy in order to distract them from the real man behind the curtain, the very people whom he thought financed the October Revolution, an egregious event that slaughtered the very best of the Slavic population, reducing them into the perfect slave race, fit for rule by an elite, too stupid and timid to even entertain nor conceive of such an idea of a revolt. Anyone with an IQ north of room temperature was literally sent to the Gulags to be brutally tortured, demoralized, then promptly buried in a ditch out in the forests of Katyn or Lubyanka, if not released with a lobotomy. He thought the Jewish intellectuals, however, were exempt, allowed to continue as the ruling elite, their critics taken to the nearest Gulag to be executed for their crimes of merely disagreeing with them, or even saying an antisemitic remark, which thousands of Russians were put to death just for the mere crime of saying any offensive slur. In contrast, the American version, democratic capitalism, would send some right-wing religious fanatics to burn down one's house, knowing that full well the insurance companies would not cover the arson, nor cops would intervene, as one would simply be branded a communist or a socialist, ultimately leaving that person a pauper starving on the street, pushing a shopping cart full of liquor and canned goods. That is, assuming the dissident's family did not commit him, have him sent to the loony bin where he would say something antisemitic to a Jewish psychiatrist, ending with him being sent home a drooling invalid as a result of doctors shoving a metal spike into his frontal lobe to scramble his eggs, at the end saying "I love the Zionist occupation government", in the same way Winston Smith said he loved Big Brother at the end of George Orwell's 1984. Captain Albion was above such fears, of higher breeding than any other European, already in his mind a super man before he received the first successful injection of Serum 22; he was a God, and he was about to—from his point of view—unleash his divine justice upon the Jewish people and what he seen as their slaves—non-White people.
His next plan on his agenda was to head to the missile locale and separate the thirty-megaton nuclear device from the head of the ICBM, stashed all the way out in Cuba, where he was going to strike next, in an isolated jungle region away from prying eyes as to leave the CIA or KGB with not a witness to find of the mysterious, missing intercontinental ballistic missile. That way, they would not even know of his very presence, thus avoiding setting off the various red flags this really powerful supe would bring upon the world, from pressures on Vought American to improve upon their compound V formula all the way to the Soviets and Americas uniting against a common enemy from the mere fact they were both—at the time—ran by the same people. Not only that, getting caught on camera might just result in his enemies—in his view—simply turning the entire planet into a nuclear wasteland, devoid of all life except for the hardy cockroach, which would evolve to fill the niches leftover by virtually every lifeform on the planet exterminated by nuclear hellfire. He was just imagining that possibility on his flight to Cuba, as most of the supes who were durable enough to survive in a highly irradiated wasteland were all men, injected in the 1920s with the world's first known super-serum, with the two supes Captain Albion feared, Liberty and Soldier boy, injected last, in sometime around 1944. He knew his side might not be the only faction with a scorched earth policy on its foes, as the Jewish people, at least according to his own observations of them, had the Sampson option, which pretty much involved the same exact thing he was going to do to them: destroy the world to deny them of any sort of victory.
"Blast!" he yelled, muffled by the immense drag created from flying at over thousands of times the speed of sound, only perceptible by his enhanced hearing upon realizing the ways in which his enemy could royally fuck his whole plan over.
Soaring over, up in the stratosphere, he saw the missile in the back of a missile launch vehicle, where it would be launched straight at any major US city, the effective range and guidance of Russian ballistic missiles not being one of their strong suits, basically just V2 rockets with nuclear warheads instead of conventional bombs placed inside of them. Seeing his target with his telescoping vision zoomed at over one-hundred- and ten-times magnification right from the stratosphere, he twirled down, observed as a fireball moving about in earth's orbit, or rather, a beam of energy, traveling at around less than a hundredth of a percentage of a photon. There was the rocket, or one of them, containing the thirty megaton H-bomb he was going to convert into a C-bomb, a colossal radiological weapon that could render entire continents or even the world uninhabitable depending on where the Jetstream dragged the fallout of such a weapon off to. He slowed to an immediate halt, dumping a massive amount of kinetic energy into the air the same way a round from an assault rifle did when it decelerates in human tissue, causing massive distortion of it. The immense change in air pressure knocked Cuban soldiers on their asses, blood pooling from their ears, trees knocked down, and lightly armored vehicles such as AA technicals knocked over, reduced to burning car wrecks. Ironically, this resulted in a mysterious tidal wave that sucked in a whole bunch of beach goers, in both New Orleans and Florida, most of whom were children on the edges of the beaches, covered up by the United States government as an Earthquake.
With most of the soldiers on the ground incapacitated with one of the worst forms of tinnitus and some definite sensorineural damage, he landed in the now flattened, opened up region of the Cuban jungle, his prize completely intact due to the mere fact that the vehicles and the missiles themselves were over thirty tons, designed to essentially leave Earth's atmosphere, thus requiring one hundred pounds of fuel for every pound of their payload. There were, however, some peculiar looking tanks equipped with some strange loud speakers, about the size of surface to air missile launchers on certain armored vehicles, but what were some mere loudspeakers going to do against the strongest man in the entire world, highly resistant all over to both thermal and kinetic attacks, immune to anything more than a several hundred tonner or the heat of the sun's core, with nuclear bombs only able to give him what amounts to a mild sunburn, as the effects were basically no more painful than scolding hot water that was fresh from the stove splashed right at him, all over his body. So, what were the Soviet's hoping to gain with a tank armed with merely comically large speakers?
After pondering such a question, the tank's massive, nearly house-sized speakers put the Jewish folk song "Hava Neguila" on blast at such an immensely high sound frequency, crimson was flowing out of his ears, bursting even, giving him the most brutal form of tinnitus, he had ever felt in his entire fucking life. It was perhaps the first time his personal enemies have given him anything more than a mere sunburn. If it was not for his regeneration, he would be dead, his ear drums busted and his brain reduced to utter mush as the frequency reduced his brain into a crimson soupy substance, slowly leaking out of his nasal cavities, breaking down his telekinetic force field to the point where even a hit could hurt him, which it did, right from the back of his skull, almost knocking him down.
It was the butt of a Kalashnikov assault rifle, the solid wooden back of the gun producing a massive gash in the back of Arthur's head, almost right down to the neck, exposing the cracked bone in his skull, a bad hit that would have left a mere mortal with a permanent head injury but not Captain Albion, who still had his enhanced reflexes. He grabbed the gun when the soldier attempted the next strike, then delivering a swift uppercut, breaking the Cuban soldier's neck, killing him almost instantly due to the loss of oxygen to the brain, his injuries virtually incompatible with life
The gun now in hand, he dumped the entire mag into the pulsating membrane of the speakers until it resembled Swiss cheese with sparks flying in all directions, as the casing it was made from was a rather thin aluminum not even fit to armor a civilian aircraft against wind turbulence, let alone against a supe whose smart enough to improvise when the time came for it. The moment it was destroyed, the gun felt weightless, as with most objects he normally held in his hands, even though an AK47 was rather light to any physically fit male. His hearing, though impaired, returned to normal, by Human standards, around a hundredth of the capability of his hearing, but it would return in a few days after a bit of R&R, his nerves skin cells in the way they regenerate, able to be regenerated perfectly from anything short of completely lethal damage to the brain or heart; thus, if they got off a lucky shot from a gun and not a rifle butt, he would be lying on the floor with his brains blown out the front, dead from exsanguination, not alive and walking with a minor contusion to the occipital lobe on account of a skull fracture. His super hearing was his fatal flaw and his lack of any actual superhuman strength or durability, both of which simulated by a bioelectric field that could be disabled if his central nervous system was overloaded. Without that bioelectric aura, he was just an Olympian with a high IQ and superhuman coordination and reflexes.
With that tank's sonic weapon destroyed, he tossed the AK47 at it, hitting the tank as if it were struck by a railgun projectile traveling at around ten times the speed of sound, the gun completely penetrating the tank's inch-thick, high-grade steel armor, not even a fraction of its energy dumped, still traveling based on Newton's third law of motion. The tank was now a burning wreck, its crew killed by the shock wave's metal shards flying, supersonic razorblades reducing them into crimson colored minced meat. After all of his enemies were laid low, he grabbed the missile, carrying it off, gently, at around mach two, as light as a feather to his right hand, where he would disassemble and modify its warhead once he healed from his injuries, namely the contusion to his brain, as that was causing some strange form of agnosia where he saw colors completely off.
In the year of the lord, Adamantine, vast legions of Albion's royal guardsmen were securing the exits of the smoldering ruins their Godking, Adamantine left of Tel Aviv and Jerusalam, completely flattened, the survivors pouring out maimed or mutilated by the shockwaves tearing them limb from limb or utterly shearing off all of their facial features as the equivalent of the Ivy Mike nuclear bomb was just tossed at them. William Butcher, a Royal Guardsman, watched the devastation from far away, over a hundred or so miles from where Tel Aviv once stood in a devastated small town, currently two smoldering ruins of smoke, their fires still not having died down after more than two days. It was a well planned and coordinated attack: he killed the bulk of the civilian Israeli populace, his soldiers, equipped with better, far superior battle rifles, finish off the refugees coming into Europe and East Asia for refuge. Cars were knocked over from the immense sixty mile-high walls of plasma created from a seven ton rod heading into the epicenter of a city at around Mach thirty two hundred, reducing the city as what one would describe the ruins of Hiroshima, minus all of the radioactive fallout, leaving the land perfect for reclamation, soon to be a fine addition into the Second British Empire, which, according to what he heard from Adamantine, would last a thousand years, long after all of the degenerated, liberal, Western nations collapsed into Judiazed, debased cesspools, fit to be purified in his Lord's cleansing flame from orbit so that purer breeds of the Aryan race can come in and repopulate. Adamantine only promised he would not use nuclear weapons; however, he did not promise against using a conventional engagement that involved pelting his enemies with debris from space—rods of God-style—in order to utterly destroy his enemies, which he did. He kept his promise, in the sense he was only going to genocide them through multi-megaton kinetic strikes, followed by teenage Britons murdering all of the civilians and military personnel when they were cut off, disorganized, and completely and utterly demoralized. That was where he came in.
Armed with a .303 M18 Phalanx Battle rifle manufactured by Pierce Arms Industry, now renamed to Albion State Arms, William Butcher mowed down civilians and Israeli defense force with complete and utter reckless abandon, showing no quarter just as he was trained to do when he landed in Israel. The larger, more powerful rounds tore through the body armor of an Israeli soldier as if it were a hot knife through butter, its mass and velocity aided along with a dense tungsten core. That soldier may as well as have been wearing Spaghetti strainers made of aluminum as three .303s blasted three small holes in the front, followed by a large crimson streak at the back, bits of rib and shoulder blade completely blown out the back, each small shard about the size of a piece of ragged, white gravel following shredded pieces of heart and lung. Feeling a small 5.56mm round bounce right of his shoulder plate, Butcher turned to his right, unloading two rounds in another IDF soldier, precisely in the knees. The woman fell on the ground, a bloody heap in shock from losing both of her legs from rounds that were normally rated to be overkill for killing anything other than a buffalo or an elk out in the American sticks, the rounds more than capable of creating exit wounds the size of watermelons vertically from the immense cavitation such rounds produce, able to sever limbs rather easily if they struck in the center of bone or even a joint. Battle rifles were WWII-era bolt-action rifles with a selective fire similar to an assault rifle, an M1 Garand—for instance—jacked up on steroids, the assault rifle's bigger stronger brother that first-world nations never use for fear of violating the Geneva Convention, the obvious exception of course being Albion, for they were not bound by such rules of engagement. To add insult to injury, some soldiers, the ones charged with the duty of civilian mop up, used hollow point rounds, creating wounds that would most assuredly guarantee an amputation or death if it struck the head or close to a limb.
IDF soldiers were throwing themselves at Butcher and the Platoon around him, hoping against hope as to keep the Royal Guard occupied long enough so at least a few civilians could make it aboard to inflatable rafts that would allow them to slowly float to Europe, as that was the only thing NGOs could have done to help the Israeli refugees get back into Europe since all of the naval ships were completely destroyed by Adamantine flying into them like a large hyper-dense, hypersonic bullet. Because of that, no more than a few thousand of the Middle East's entire population could be saved from the Anglo onslaught, the only transports able to quickly and efficiently evacuate the remaining two or three million people in Israel alone reduced to a naval graveyard at the very bottom of the Red Sea. Adamantine was very thorough, even more so than the Roman Emperor Hadrian when dealing with the Bar Kohkba revolt, ensuring there was nothing left standing of the population, not even a minimum viable population to simply repopulate from the brink of utter extinction, Albion's Royal navy on high alert for any refugees heading into Europe, ready to blast them into minced down shark chow.
"Why do ya sheeny cunts even bother tryin'. Ya know we're just wipe ya out so effectively, it would make the bloody Kraut painter look like a fuckin' joke," Butcher said as he tossed a frag grenade at a group of Israeli soldiers hunkered down over by a burned car, the resultant explosion sending them flying in all directions, intact, though dead from blast trauma and shrapnel.
Butcher did not even need to use cover, his ability to shoot fast and accurately more than capable of ripping any enemy to shreds, the rounds fired out from the barrel of his rifle able to down an enemy soldier in a single hit, over three times the stopping power of the rifles used by the United States Army and the former British Armed forces. One round from his rifle knocked down an IDF soldier, reducing him to a twitching heap on the floor as the massive hydrostatic shock induced by the rifle's large, full-power rifle cartridges effectively killed him without even striking a major organ. The soldier on the floor reached for his sidearm, but Butcher noticed, firing two rounds into the IDF soldier's head, reducing the soldier's skull into chunky salsa. Behind him, infantry fighting vehicles were mopping up the rest of the IDF stragglers still hunkered down in a building, their high-tech, remote controlled twenty-millimeter cannons mowing soldiers down from behind the walls, its infrared sensors detecting them with pinpoint accuracy. Butcher could hear their screams, followed by the crunching of bone as tungsten cored twenty-millimetre shells tore them in half, quite literally, in one of the last buildings that was still left intact by the immense blast of Adamantine's rod from God strike on the city, minus of course, all of its windows, the glass of which littered throughout the street, crushed under Butcher's boot as he walked by.
Butcher looked up above him to see in the black soot that replaced the burning blue azure sky a flying supe, adorned in heavy armor made from gold, its immense weight not even affecting his ability to fly, held aloft in the sky—like the supes derived from the best killers in all of Albion—telekinetic fields created by a bioelectric aura that multiplied the user's strength, speed, and durability by over a factor of a million. He wore that golden armor like a medieval knight's suit of plate from the ages of yore, with even less of a hindrance due to the fact that the two hundred pounds of gold was reduced to that of a feather, whatever object held by GodKing Adamantine—or hell—even touched, was enveloped inside a tactile telekinetic field that rendered the object completely weightless to him, allowing him to lift large objects without them falling apart around him or the very ground caving in like quicksand beneath him underneath the object as well as his combined weight. These powers were unique to his genealogy, said to be the inheritance of the Norse All-father, Odin, and Freya, two very powerful Norse deities in Northern European mythology.
Why was the Godking returning to his crusade? Butcher was right sure that all of Israel was going to lose, right down to the last man, woman, and child, as the bulk of their military was wiped out in the orbital strike, when Adamantine tossed a heavy, multi-ton object in Israel's epicenter made of a tungsten alloy, heavy and dense, able to hit hard and disperse a massive amount of kinetic energy, more than the average hydrogen bomb currently in use by any first world power able to even fight back against the Second Empire; therefore, with the mere mortals doing mop up operations that were totally below the pedigree of Gods and Demigods such as Adamantine and his angels, there was something fishy about it, like he had a score to settle. There was a General with the IDF who Adamantine wanted taken alive and unharmed, the very reasoning completely unknown to Butcher as their Godking, and the very regime itself, hated Jews as if they were demons sent up from the underworld themselves. Perhaps Adamantine wanted to kill him himself, and if Butcher were a betting man, that was where his mind would take him, on account of the whole… string of events Adamantine mentioned to his soldiers when he was merely the leader of a terrorist group that harassed minorities until they left the country, by literally vandalizing their businesses or massacring them in Churches and Mosques. Of all of those possibilities, that was perhaps the most likely one, Adamantine wanting the sheer satisfaction of killing that man for his crimes in Kronos Facility, an MI6/Mossad operation rumored to abduct superpowered brats from the United States, right under the nose of their rich parents, and brutally vivisect them, experimenting on them in ways that would make even Joseph Mengele sick to his stomach. Of course, the media never cared about it when it was exposed, the victims of course being straight white males, the one kind of victim that was almost always swept under the rug because of the fact that it did not generate the kind of ratings that it would had it been minority children. Plus, most of the scientist in that strange facility out in the Scottish Highlands wound up dead just like those Mossad agents down in Providence Rhode Island, Northwest across the pond from the battle that was still taking place. In that facility, there was a child, Subject #16, the only one to ever survive the experimentation, already on the UK's most wanted list for murdering the head scientist's wife and daughter at the age of sixteen, and strangely enough, he looked like an emaciated version of Adamantine without a costume or his signature shoulder length, 80s rockstar hair.
"What is Kronos facility?" asked Stormfront, a puzzled look on her face when the Legend brought up the Israeli black site facility out in the UK, supposedly ran by the Israeli government with the expressed approval of the United Kingdom right down to the very royal family, who lived in fear of what was happening in the original Thirteen Colonies of the United States.
"Kronos facility was made to study and contain the naturally born supes created as a direct result of the first nine successful serum-22 subjects, their dominant genes able to practically override the genetics of any woman they lay with, the result of a specific enzyme that works very similar to CRISPR CAS9, thus allowing the person to—theoretically speaking—mate with anyone regardless of race and produce a child with a very Nordic phenotype. Another caveat to that was that the child from such a pairing would also have all of the powers of the parent as well, the bioelectric aura that allows for invulnerability, superstrength/speed, and flight would also show at around the age of fourteen, right when the child had hit puberty. Due to the fact the child developed those superpowers naturally and they were thus hardcoded into their DNA, any attempts to depower them would kill them, as they did not gain the power from a syringe like you but had them right when they were born, remaining dormant until they started to develop into adults. Arthur's father lied to Vought when he said that those powers were side effects of his regenerative medicine; that was merely an insurance policy to keep his four hundred-and fifty-thousand-pound-per dose supersoldiers from getting permanently injured by an attack from say an atomic bomb, or even a superpowered being of similar strength. Because of the prohibitive cost of the serum-22 gene therapy, there had to be ways in order to make sure that the powers from the subjects would be inherited, passed on from generation down to generation, untainted and unspoiled; thus, he included an enzyme that purified the users DNA of all mutations while making sure that his offspring had a similar phenotype with the enzyme practically editing out all bad genes, too. This means that there will be no genetic drift with the powers of each supe getting weaker within the next generation, therefore preventing any kind of dilution of their genetics. That was why they were kept at the Kronos facility, in order to prevent a literal army from ruining thousands of years of planning for the Jewish people. So, assuming the original eight supersoldiers had five children and their children and grandchildren had five children, it would not matter if Whites were reduced to a minority in their homelands because they'd have a legion of overmen flying around and protecting them. Hell, St Martins Pharmaceuticals releasing a vaccine that sterilized one third of indigenous male Britons back in the Swine Flu pandemic of 2008 due to inflammation caused by the MRNA shit would had zero impact in the long-term," explained The Legend to Stormfront.
Kronos, huh? I take it the irony of that myth wasn't lost on those scientists when they decided to name their ultra top-secret hush-hush "smite the gentile's first-born son's facility" to be Kronos. I mean, really. In trying to save Israel from another Hitler, they inadvertently created a monster far worse, flying around in the UK masterminding the complete and utter annihilation of the Jewish people, possibly massing a large army to launch a two-prong assault on the Middle East and Africa. Their hubris really is their downfall, pushing too hard and too fast and their fear of being exterminated by those they deem to be cattle really becomes nothing short of a self-fulfilling prophecy because of the sheer resentment their actions against their host nations generates. However, even localized to such a small area, such as a lab, they still manage to get people to hate them, probably because, at least from what I would know, they probably already had the ability to regenerate, which means they can abuse them in the most horrific fashion possible, wait for them to heal up, and do it again, quite literally the perfect subject for someone to vent their sadism on. They subjected those kids to a fate far worse than death, as their regenerative healing powers would keep them alive short of chopping their heads off or massively injuring their hearts, with the case of the former often recovering unless the threshold for catastrophic damage is reached, I guess. Since I am not privy to the happenings in the UK, I know nothing of such information, aside from the recent terrorist group that I deduce to utterly no one's shock at all to be in response to the sterilizing effects of the experimental vaccine the government forced over eighty-percent of the UK to take, causing sterility, myocarditis, pericarditis, nerve damage, and a whole host of problems they simply wished to pass of as big pharma doing big pharma things. Of course, terrorist cells formed, two-four man groups attack vaccination centers, torching synagogues and mosques, and in more advanced cases, assassinating influential people in the United Kingdom such as the Royal family and the Prime Minister; hell, that post was practically a death sentence, the average life expectancy, I guess, reduced to six months before some Men of Albion terrorist vented his skull with a 20mm sniper rifle, provided to them by Adamantine to keep his Godking persona alive through countries which he stole those very weapons from. When those terrorist attacks were going on, the armories of a lot of countries like Sweden and Germany had a lot of weapons that simply went unaccounted for, most likely stolen by Adamantine who would break in and deliver them by the fucking crate load to his terrorist fans, one of the many benefits of you know, being a bulletproof flying brick who can vanish as soon as he appears. In one case, I heard Scotland Yard and a couple of Mosques were destroyed by a Leopard tank before an airstrike by Israeli fighter jets of all things took it down, obviously to help their people evacuate a location on this Earth where they were no longer welcome on account of pissing off the indigenous population, as always. In other cases, neighborhoods and districts populated by non-Europeans were wiped out by Novichok gas attacks, the people responsible never caught on account of the police too scared to even do their jobs on fear of getting gunned down by Men of Albion terrorists. Ordinary guys with rifles, knives, and bombs, and they took over Britain, right at the eleventh hour and the fifty-ninth minute," replied Stormfront upon looking at the files, livid at the implications of what the Legend said, completely unable to do anything lest she lose her career on account of being exposed due to his Deadman's switch.
The Legend chuckled, fully aware of that fact, too.
"Well, that vaccine did not actually sterilize anyone permanently, as any blocker that would do such a thing has a habit of wearing off within six to eight months, requiring boosters to even keep that effect in the first place. Still, the effects such as heart inflammation that effected British school children, often crippled them permanently because of the fact that any sort of damage to the heart muscle, large or small, does not regenerate, leaving those who suffer it with permanent heart failure that should kill them within five years or less, unless of course the individual was Arthur Luther Pierce, that kid from Teenage Kix, or even Adamantine. Even among supes, the ability to recover damage to heart and nerve cells is a rare gift, supes with regenerative healing factors merely receiving accelerated healing instead of actual regenerative healing powers; thus, I can say with absolute confidence, that St Martin's vaccine crippled or killed a lot of people in Britain, small numbers of their enraged family members having taken up arms, lashing out like the raging entitled maniacs the straight cis-gendered White male is. There was this one child, a prodigy, smartest child in Britain, who ended up completely brain dead from the vaccine, the drug literally manufacturing spike proteins in his blood stream that tricked his entire immune system to attack his brain, completely and utterly reducing it down into mush. This vaccine only affects children, teens, and young adults, causing either temporary or permanent damage to their organs that often went untreated until it was too late due in part because the United Kingdom had a massive wait list to even get so much as a cardiologist. I find it hilarious that they even call it a vaccine; its side effects are very similar to that of a really shitty chemo drug, except used for preventing a flu that only killed the weakest, oldest of the entire British population. Per orders of the Israeli Government, we shuffled between placebos and hot doses, ensuring that it worked like a sort of Russian Roulette from a revolver with over a hundred rounds in a drum, a one in hundred chance of being killed or injured for the rest of your life upon taking it. It was the perfect cover, as the people who started to notice the deaths would simply be labeled as conspiracy theorists, the types who believed in strange shit like lizard people or the Zionist conspiracy theory," replied The Legend.
"I wonder what ever happened to that company. It was really big in the 2000s, its total value and stock eclipsing the value of the multibillion-dollar titans that were Vought International and Pierce Enterprises combined, and like a sight of big foot or whatever cryptid some schizo scam artist came up with, it vanished off the face of the fucking Earth, ending with Pierce Pharmaceuticals filling the vacancy the same way another criminal syndicate takes the place of another. Pierce Pharmaceuticals actually produced products that would not kill or maim people, at least sane people as their psychiatric drug product-line seemed to have a few kinks in it, producing drugs with some of the nastiest withdrawal symptoms I have ever read of before," asked Stormfront.
"Oh, that. It was blown up when a bunch of members of the Men of Albion terrorist organization drove a truck loaded with ammonium nitrate bombs, made from a combination of fertilizer and diesel fuel, right underneath the company's headquarters. There were no survivors. The truck was loaded with around two tons of high explosives, more than enough to completely wipe out an entire building, from foundation to just about the whole damn lower part, instantly killing everyone in those areas, the rest dying when the large skyscraper fell with them in it, crushed under thousands of tons of rubble. Thousands of lives were claimed, most of them scientists who went to Oxford, top of their fields, to simply kill a few hundred Jews who ran the corporation right at the very top, not that the board was spared. Adamantine killed them when they were vacationing out in California, flying in from space down to their very locations as to not to alert the Seven to his presence or even the world, for that matter. Without the board and most of the talent that made the corporation what it was, the bulk of it having been blown up in a scene very reminiscent of the Oklahoma City bombing of '92, the whole corporation fell to pieces, dissolved to be more specific, costing investors like me and Mr. Edgar vast swaths of our money and making Pierce the wealthiest man in the world, surpassing Bill Gates by around one hundred billion dollars, virtually over fucking night. Pierce Enterprises is a privately held company, its sole shareholder Arthur Luther Pierce II and now third, the Roman numerals added a bunch of bupkis to hide from the masses the fact that he is the same person, the very same genocidal, sociopathic slime who ran off to Argentina with Hitler when it was found out he aided the fucking Nazis in WWII. The whole boardroom meeting from what I hear is like walking into a fucking Klansman gathering, minus the fucking hoods, as every putz in that boardroom is a stereotypically Aryan white dude, sporting red/blonde hair and green/blue eyes to boot. They are all serum 22 supes whose very existence predates Soldier Boy, too. The only diversity that company has in the custodial department, who are often mainly teenage Jewish kids as well as black or latino men," responded The Legend, once again frustrated that Pierce Enterprises screwed him over again, illegally, costing him millions of dollars of investments that should have been his if it was not for that supe behind the curtain causing an insurrection across the pond.
"And here is the piece of shit who is about to takeover the entirety of Western Asia and Africa, all because the United Nations rightfully declared the nation of Albion the "Racist Entity to the Northwest" in Europe and the "Racist Entity across the Atlantic" in America, because of the mere fact that any one like me or with darkskin was practically expelled from the country, or more likely, had their ticket punched right from under the barrel of a loaded gun. The bulk of the minority population fled the United Kingdom for greener pastures such as Germany, Poland, Sweden, and the United States out of fear of dying from an unfortunate case of lead poisoning, brought upon by some White Nationalist, NRA-style terrorist group. Up until the country went tits up like the Roman empire under the weight of Christianity, we were under the impression that it was nothing more than a regular terror group, the kind comprised of two-four man cells like the NRA or any Middle Eastern terror cells operating out in the West. And boy, those guys were pissed right the fuck off when they realized their entire race was kicked out of the UK. Almost immediately, Islamic terrorist groups retaliated in countries like Germany, killing hundreds of people, not with the fancy toys the Men of Albion had at their disposal, mind you, as they were not supported by one of the most powerful superpowered entities on the planet, whom I refer to as the British version of Homelander. They relied on whatever shitty post-War weapons developed by the Soviet Union in the 1950s and smuggled over from their home countries. Such weapons, to their misfortune, were not able to allow them to get thousands of kills—more than the average supe in America—before authorities could stop it, ultimately causing many dead Hadjis. These in contrast were rather demoralizing. In response, westerners who were harmed by terrorist attacks committed by vengeful Islamic terror groups and Black power groups joined Adamantine's cult, seemingly receiving weapons of mass destruction, such as radiological and chemical weapons, which were used to utterly devastating effect on minority neighborhoods, causing them to flee in terror just like they have in the UK, straight back to Mexico, or in the case of African Americans, Liberia. This whole thing was calculated to happen as just a side effect. A White supremacist superpowered villain who claims to be the son of Odin and the Norse Goddess Freya. Sure, the average 4chan user would see him as a paid Actor, paid by the Israeli government in order to raise enough hell to get rights like the First and Second Amendment thrown into the paper shredder, right where that document that was written by a bunch of old racist pieces of shit from Colonial times belongs. In contrast, the other more fringe chans, you know, the crazies that hop on to one of your Instagram streams, endlessly spamming PDF links for the fucking Turner Diaries, Hunter, The Brigade, books written by Arthur Luther Pierce II and Harold Armstead Covington respectively. My only wish is that I could hop into a fucking Delorean, travel back to 1979, Georgia, grab Nolan Pierce by the legs, and bash his brains out against the fucking pillar before his powers developed," ranted the Legend as he handed Stormfront a picture of Adamantine inside the labs of Kronos facility
"Why do you hate White people," asked Stormfront with a quizzical look on her face with the photo and file of Subject #16.
"I do not hate anybody, Stormfront. All animals are equal. Some animals are more equal than others. Nothing more," replied The Legend in a reassuring tone.
The boy in the picture was dressed in a hospital gown, almost like he was some sort of mental patient in an old, 1940s to 50s psyche ward, his blonde hair cut short, disheveled from the constant stress of being a test subject. His face was completely gaunt, either a result of malnutrition or complete and total lack of sleep, giving him an extremely aged appearance, even though in that photo he appeared to be no older than ten years old. His emerald eye was obscured by a black circle, the result of the scientists depriving him of sleep for days or, more likely, weeks, evident from his vacant expression that implied he was either drugged or kept awake, constantly, causing immense pain to his enhanced auditory senses, possibly sleep walking or escaping to some imaginary world. The entire left side of his face was missing, exposed teeth, eye sockets. and all, but no blood, its cause most likely the result of a chemical burn eating away at his face, one of his eyes turned milky white as a result of its cornea being completely burn away by either fire or a powerful acid. The small sinewy muscles in his arms were visible, the skin melted completely from immersing him in a powerful acid, most likely an attempt to completely nullify his healing factor; however, that proved to be a bust, as Adamantine's ability to heal was almost as good as Gecko's, though much slower, allowing him to fully recover from his injuries within three weeks. His uninjured hand was in the grip of a man who Stormfront recognized, someone who immediately fled from England on account of some unknown superpowered being brutally killing his family, filming it on VHS tape, and sending it to him when he's under Vought protection—guarded by Black Noir—in New York city.
"Before you sympathise with Nolan, Stormfront, he murdered Yosef Rosen's entire family in their Chelsea home in 1995, flying over there upon finding out his street address with one of the cameras used to document the experimentation on him back before his skin literally turned to iron, immune to extreme temperatures, kinetic attacks, and corrosive chemicals due to the bioelectric aura keeping his entire molecular structure, very much like some spaceship with an integrity field. Anyway, when he realized he could defy gravity, Pierce decided to fly over to the Rosen family mansion, where he killed the family's servents—African Immigrants—for the color of their skin. Then he literally grabbed Yosef's wife by the arms and tore her arms and her legs off until she resembled Elijah Wood from that weird mindfuck of a show I like to call Sin City, finally kicking her head when she begged for death. After he was done with her, he went into Rosen's daughter's bedroom, pulled her out from under the bed by her foot, smashing her into the house, over and over again, in loopty-loops until she was nothing but a bloody, battered, bag of shattered bones that was once a human torso, finally crushing her skull in his hand while he was in the sky. He grabbed Yosef's infant son from his crib and threw him on the driveway, so hard and with such force, that there was literally nothing left of him but a large, red crimson smear on it. In the end, his home looked like it was hit by several artillery shells, the holes left by him flying around practically causing the house to cave on itself due to the fact there was nothing left to support the structure, mostly framed from oak wood beams. When… I saw that video, I was hoping… no wishing…. that Soldier Boy would come in and bash his brains in with his shield like Nolan was Glen from the Walking Dead, but unfortunately for me, the nuclear reactor meltdown threw that dream in the pipe," Lamented the Legend.
"He was sixteen at the time, Legend. Had he not continued down that path, Britain's juvenile justice system would have simply handed him a very light sentence, as they do not have the same demographic problems the United States has been plagued with since the Hart and Cellar act of 1965," replied Stormfront, still somewhat sympathetic of that kid's side of the story.
"That's the thing: he was at least as strong as Homelander with a much greater reach due in part to the fact that he was a round a head taller than him, at around six feet, two inches tall by the age of sixteen years old. Homelander was still a child raised in a lab by that point, so he was off the table, and Black Noir suffered burns and brain damage from the reactor meltdown that left him a mute who relies mainly on knives which are, as I understand them, not very good at piercing the flesh of supes augmented by bioelectric auras. They have a nasty habit of simply shattering to pieces, even against their eyes or any other weakpoints common to most supes, simply due to the fact that his durability applies literally to his entire body—internal tissue included—so even jell-o-like tissue would essentially be like diamonds. The only way to disable his superstrength, flight, and invulnerability is to, like I told you, blast his eardrums with the right frequencies. He is an utter weakling for a guy who is around six feet, five inches tall, around one-hundred and ninety-five, so even an old, one-legged fuck like me can bash his brains in with a baseball bat, an equalizer when it comes to fighting a larger man than you who has nothing but his fists, which are actually ill-suited to crack open a person's skull. Oh, and don't feel sorry for him. Because right before he took control of Combat 18, the bastard would literally hunt down interracial couples, murder the black or Arab male, and then rape the White female, often times literally splitting her in half with his super-durable cock in a fucking 90-degree angle. As a superheroine with a strong, independent female image, you should want to pull his dick off and jam it right up his ass; he was a fucking serial killer before he became a dictator, the kind who vents his rage at the fact that women of his own in-group no longer want to fuck him thanks to the end of segregation and racism."