In the year 2020, the entirety of the United Kingdom was in flames thanks to the work of a nationalist terrorist organization called the British Union of Fascists. They were armed with automatic weapons despite the fact firearms were illegal in the UK. Why, it was practically illegal to own a dull bread knife without a license. Those were not firearms of British make, they were in fact weapons of American design: Sig Sauer MCX Spear assault rifles, looted from several military bases in America. The CQC weapons that were made by them were medieval arming swords, used in the same way against British minority populations as the Hutu did to the Tutsi populations of Rawanda. The firearms were reserved for the police forces and military personnel sent in to stop them, not that they could.
The military were scattered and leaderless. The communication systems, both on the ground and in space were destroyed, cut to pieces by two high energy beams of superheated plasma the width of the human iris. Then the infrastructure met the same fate, all of those events happening within minutes of each other. The loss of this infrastructure could take many months and billions of dollars to repair; thus, the country had fallen into complete and utter chaos a mere weeks later when the food spoiled. Refrigerators required electricity, and without the infrastructure for electricity, food spoiled. It was a simple fact many people seemed to overlook in survival situations.
That was what the mastermind flying hundreds of meters above the Palace of Westminster, in full view of the Patriot Missile Defense Systems placed at various corners of the structure. There were defensive perimeters around the nerve centers of the country, secured with ramparts blocking off the roads, with a slit between the meter thick concrete embrasures for machine gun emplacements to fire through to deal with any of the warring factions who happened to get any bright ideas about taking the Palace of Westminster. On each side of the perimeter, there was thirty soldiers a row, a hundred rows of soldiers and four sides, bringing the total to around a hundred and twenty thousand soldiers defending the Palace of Westminster.
Clad in a black, form fitting suit of leather and synthetic carbon nanotube fibers, Adamantine was hovering above them, his green eyes turning crimson with superheated plasma, fixed on the Patriot missile launchers. He wore a cape made of those same carbon nanotube fibers that was blue, white, and red in color, that same color of the Union Jack flag, only with a circle in it. Inside of that circle was a Celtic Cross, the symbol of many white pride movements worldwide up until the 1990s. He chose that symbol because the Swastika was too mainstream for his tastes, being a fan of the Turner Diaries more so than Mein Kampf.
Flying above, he strafed the Patriot Missile Defense Systems before they could even acquire him as a target, targeting the warheads of their massive missiles within half a second. Beams of superheated plasma shot forth from his eyes at relativistic speeds, piercing the thin aluminum hulls of the missiles like shaped charges, instantly igniting the explosives of the warhead. The missiles went up in four fiery explosions that sent the troops defending the SAMs flying in opposite directions, their bodies perforated with thousands of pieces of white-hot metallic shrapnel. All of this happened on four sides of the square defensive perimeter in a split second.
They fired back on his position in the air, lighting the night sky with tracer bullets, only for the rounds to skate off of his super suit and the skin of his face harmlessly, like shooting the armor of a main battle tank that was rated to survive hits from BGM-71 high-explosive anti-tank missiles.
Two searing hot, reddish purple beams of plasma shot forth from his eyes, focusing the thermal energy of a Nimitz class aircraft carrier's reactor on the unfortunate soldiers shooting him. The heat transfer flash evaporated all of the fluids in the soldier's body, causing him to explode into a mist of steam and gore. The fragments of his bones perforated the bodies of several soldiers next to him, causing them to drop to the cobblestone grounds, in gory, mutilated heaps.
After witnessing that gruesome display, one of the armored vehicles, a Challenger Tank, shot him with a 120mm depleted uranium armor-piercing self-discarding sabot in the chest, aimed directly at his heart. The round skated off of him, sparking, not even damaging his costume as if protected by an invisible, psionic energy field less than a few millimeters thick. However, some of the kinetic energy did go through his force field, staggering him for about a millisecond as if struck by someone of equal strength.
Two streams of superheated plasma cut through the tank, igniting the air inside of the crew compartment and hitting the munitions storage, sending the tank's turret into the air. It went back down, landing on some troops who were about to be hit with Adamantine's ocular blasts, crushing them under more than ten tons of rolled steel and tungsten Cobham armor.
He turned his attention to the ammunition stockpiles near the M134 minigun emplacements, his eyes turning bright crimson, streaks of superheated plasma flowing out the sides of his eyes like the Piezo ignitors seen in flamethrowers. He flew around, his optical blasts of superheated plasma igniting their munition stockpiles, sending soldiers flying in all directions.
A crunching noise could be heard when every single bone in their bodies shattered upon making contact with the cobblestone road down below them.
Bullets went flying out of the guns of the running soldiers, only for the bullets to deflect completely in opposing directions the very moment they made contact with his face, eyes, or costume.
Two high-energy reddish-purple beams clove several soldiers in two, each low power beam destroying bowling ball sized surface area portions of flesh in fiery explosions. The stumps of the surviving soldiers looked more like bloody, ragged blast injuries than if they were cut with a lightsaber from the Star Wars movies. Nonetheless, they were still covered in horrific burns from the superheated air these beams produced around them. His optical blasts emitted so much thermal energy it killed people in a several foot radii as it dissipated heat around them. His eyes were basically war crime generators.
Levitating down, he used the same optical blast attack on the retreating soldiers at full power, transferring so much energy in the form of heat into their bodies that they combusted into red misty explosions of blood, with the resulting bone fragments puncturing several fleeing soldiers. One of the pieces of shrapnel, a rib bone, took off a female east Indian soldier's leg. Adamantine sneered even as bullets were skating off of his indestructible body, not even paying attention to the loud clattering noise that his enhanced senses would be more than capable of picking up.
After wiping out every soldier in the perimeter, he flew into the Palace of Westminster, crashing through the limestone at supersonic speeds, knocking everyone inside the room he was in to the ground as he decelerated in an instant. Some of them were even reduced to a crimson paste when rubble hit them at several hundred miles per hour. Again, like the soldier previously, he let out a contemptuous smile at the fact it killed a Muslim the very nanosecond he noticed the hijab.
"Fucking worthless haji piece of shite," he yelled at her corpse.
"Sunak, come out to play-ay," he announced while striding through to the main hall of the building.
"He's in Downing Street, you sadistic, flaxen haired, motherfucker," yelled one of the politicians.
In a rage, Adamantine's eyes glowed a bright red as his gaze met that politician, emitting two lances of superheated plasma that reduced that politicians head into a white mist of vapor from the extreme heat of the beam of ionized gas. He then levitated to the ground, gently, about ready to charge another optical blast to kill everyone inside of the building.
"If any of you fuckers still want to collect your thirty pieces of silver, I will laser you all into a puff of smoke. I will laser each and every one of you inside this building. Make no mistake, I can do it. I have killed every single East Indian shitskin soldier you had out there in a matter of two minutes and thirty seconds and counting," he snarled, pulling up a stop watch showing them the very exact time the entire military detachment was dispatched.
One of the politicians, crouched down and terrified, stood up, taking a deep, slow breath while all of the others were hyper ventilating. He was a middle-aged man in his late 40s with black hair, graying at the sides.
"What are your terms… oh, great one," stammered the Labor Party politician nervously.
"My terms are relatively simple, cut and dry, as you might have noticed. We want all of the non-White, third world shitskins out of England. Whether those terms are met with their deaths is irrelevant. The rules that I like to call my reign of the UK and, dare I say, Europe, are these: firstly, any citizen of the UK who has been harboring a non-White will be shot. Secondly, any citizen who speaks out against me will be shot. Thirdly, any citizen who breaks any other rules I have yet to formulate will—yes, you guessed right—be shot. As you can see, I am a compassionate man and will have the country's infrastructure repaired to peak working order as soon as humanly possible," declared Adamantine gleefully right in front of the TV camera crew that just moved in, not that many people had access to television, anyway.
It was merely recorded for historical purposes. He won the war and thus, he wrote the history. That was a really simple rule that governed the existence of civilizations. The losers will always be painted as the villains, regardless of the winner's atrocities as a means to attain victory. It was just a staple of Human history since time and memorial, ever since the first group of cave men used their spears and clubs to wipe out another competing group.
A few weeks later, communications were reestablished with Great Britain, and when the lights went out, off, and on again, it was already, to everyone's horror, under the management of a White supremacist warlord who had powers very similar to that of Homelander. As one would expect in the current year plus five America, the minority populations were rioting, taking their anger out on shopkeepers and other assorted small businessmen. Opportunistic people took advantage of the chaos that always results from these events, knowing that not even supes could respond to widespread chaos, let alone cops. Walmart Stores were picked to the bone all across the country, stripped bare amidst the chaos of the rioting.
The only thing Edgar and the rest of the Seven could do in response to these events was watch and fiddle as America burned, as responding to these protestors had very serious political ramifications in the more politically correct America. Edgar turned to notice that fact. Most of those people sat around the glass table in the shape of the corporate logo were White men and women. In woke America, it sent a very wrong message to send a bunch of White superheroes to quell rioting and looting done by non-White Americans, even though one of them was black. The media did not care. All he could do was wait out the storm and assess the damage later, like what the police were doing for the most part.
Homelander stood there in disappointment, knowing full well he could just fly over to England and punch out Adamantine just like the WWII propaganda of Soldier Boy shattering Hitler's jaw. But there were several problems that Edgar did not bring up, not that he cared when he handed compound V out to Middle Eastern terrorists in an attempt to get Vought into national defense. Even though he could, he still felt a sense of dread taking someone on who was a physical equal to him. It was not like there was a prison that could have held him, unless they found some sort of way to completely neutralize his powers, but the effects of V were, for the most part, permanent.
The guy who had taken over the United Kingdom, Adamantine as he was known, filmed himself committing the crimes in typical narcissistic Zoomer fashion, even going so far as to have his men operate cameras as he was executing people. His men, the British Union of Fascists, resembled IRA terrorists except with the tacticool factor cranked up to a million. They wore plate carriers, rucksacks and bandoliers of magazine pouches. The only distinguishing feature they had from the army was that they wore ski mask with Norse runes drawn on the forehead regions with a White Sharpie. In contrast, Adamantine wore a costume made of carbon nanotube fibers that was very similar in design to Homelander, but the color scheme was way different, black in color, like Stormfront. The costume was covered in runes on the pauldrons and the knee pads of it, one of them an algiz turned upside down to represent war.
"Oh my god, I think I am going to need a bandaid. Adamantine is just such an edge lord that I think I cut myself on all of the edge of his costume design, "chuckled Stormfront, cringing at the end of her statement.
"I also guess by the looks of those expensive materials that he's some very wealthy trustfund brat who somehow fell under Vought's radar. Graphene is a very expensive, very labor-intensive material to produce. There are only a few corporations on this Earth that have the money and means to create these materials and one of them just so happens to be owned by Jameson Luther Pierce, a businessman whose antisemitic beliefs match that of Henry Ford, in fucking 2020 of all times. That man looks just like Adamantine, having the same sneer, the same overall stereotypically Aryan facial structure, emerald green eyes, and golden blonde hair. He also has that same contemptuous British sneer that Jason Isaacs has on that Mel Gibson movie I watched in high school, like his father. I had a few trysts with him. He is actually the worst boyfriend I have ever had. Caught him in Amsterdam fucking a 16-year-old prostitute while coked up to his eye balls. That and his requests for me to choke him out while I have sex with him were the deal breakers in the relationship. It was not even his rampant Antisemitism, it was the fucked up autoerotic asphyxiation fetish," Maeve stated, bringing up Billionaire playboy Jameson Luther Pierce as a potential suspect.
Homelander furrowed his eyebrows in annoyance. Everyone and their dog knew that Jameson Luther Pierce was a total womanizing creep, the right-wing version of Slick Willie who constantly treated women as disposable objects. His inexplicably identical father, George Luther Pierce, cheated on Liberty in the 1970s. Then there was all of the crimes he was suspected of, from murder to good old securities fraud. Those crimes were covered up when the Jurors suddenly had their limbs blown off from the inside due to their bodily fluids boiling when two multi-megawatt lances of superheated plasma hit them at near luminal speeds. Forensics called the effect plasma scorching, the result of either a Vought hero or some thermodynamics breaking science fiction weapon that was liable to give its user third-degree burns.
"Doesn't the Israeli government suspect that cracker of being a Nazi sympathizer who was given superpowers after losing his arms, his legs, his sight, and his hearing to a German artillery shell in WWI in the trenches of the Somme? Back then, the fucker was known as William Luther Pierce and he supposedly died after the nurse, a German foreign worker by the name of Adele Risinger, killed him out of pity. But his father created the progenitor serum, Compound V's forty times as potent, but a hundred times more expensive brother. It put him into a regenerating coma, restoring his limbs, his sight, and his hearing, but in that time, he blamed the Jews for the past five years, from 1917 to 1922. During the battle of Seelow Heights, T34 tanks were reduced to molten slag by what the Red Army said was heat vision created as a result of his eyes telekinetically accelerating air molecules to near lightspeed, creating a sort of superheated reddish pink plasma projected out of his corneas. The convection currents on the battlefield reduced entire squads of Red Army soldiers into glowing piles of ash. His rampage did not even stop there. He reduced entire villages, populated mostly by Jews, to ashes with his heat vision inside of Russia, strafing them at supersonic speeds whilst doing so," interjected A-Train, mentioning one of the strange conspiratorial history channel documentaries he watched.
"Yeah, we do not take schizophrenic conspiracy theories as evidence. The fact the Israel's boogeyman, Captain Albion has reddish plasma-based purple optical blasts that do more damage than Homelander's lasers is pure coincidence," replied Stormfront.
"I punched him hard enough to perforate his skull after I found him with that sixteen-year-old prostitute in Amsterdam, and yet he survived with no injuries. It was like simply nudging him hardly. The only reason why he did not go to jail for that was due to the fact he recorded her saying she was eighteen. Otherwise, he would have been on the hook for sexual tourism charges. Seeing as how he is not dead nor so severely brain damaged he's using coloring books, I am starting to believe those accusations of the Israeli Government against him for being a superpowered, Nazi-sympathizing war criminal. People who try to threaten him die in seemingly strange ways, like those Mossad agents who tried to arrest him for his involvement in WWII for incinerating synagogues with his optical blasts in Soviet Russia. The fact that I punched him in the jaw hard enough to kill him a thousand times over and only stagger him, in addition to all of the conspiracy theories surrounding him leads me to believe he's a supe, and one out of Vought's control, worst of all," admitted Maeve.
"Why haven't you brought this up before?" asked Stanford Edgar, cocking an eyebrow.
"Well, he offered to pay me in upwards of two hundred million dollars for my silence. I refused. He was such a wealthy man that the figures he handed me may as well have been pocket change from where I was standing. Pierce said, 'Okay, your loss.' Then my girlfriend, Elena, was receiving threats from a hit man who had killed her mother and father, so I kept quiet for fear Pierce's hitman may escalate to attacking her. I cannot even sleep anymore. I am just waiting for the news that she started her car up and it exploded like that Senator in the 80s who wanted to bring down Pierce Futuristics for breaking anti-trust laws. He got away with a lot of crimes simply by killing key witnesses to trigger a miss-trial. Not an innocent verdict. A miss-trial. And because of America's double jeopardy laws, he cannot be retried for his crimes," answered Maeve in terror.
"Sounds like a real-world supervillain. Why'd you date him?" smiled Homelander, feeling a smug sense of superiority that he pushed her into the arms of a man far worse than him.
"I guess it is simply my taste in men," admitted Maeve mournfully, looking Homelander dead in the face as she uttered those words.
Then they all looked at the videos on the various flat screen television sets of the ninety-ninth floor. Adamantine's men were fanning out across Britain in the dead of night, in stolen armored personal carriers from the British Government. 30mm rounds perforated the bodies of fleeing Muslims to paste. Hails of .277 hollow point rounds reduced them to Swiss cheese if they avoided the barrages of 30mm cannon fire. Some of the soldiers did not even bother to expend ammunition on the Muslims in their ethnic enclaves, some of them simply caved their faces in with the stocks of their service weapons. It was a bunch of scenes edited together with aggressive death metal type music of the Rock Against Communism variety. It was from an obscure metal band called the Blackshirts, the type of metal one could only find on the deep web, a region of the internet that was arcane even to Stormfront.
"Fuck, those limey bastards are even gunning down small brown children in the fucking streets now, too. If that doesn't get us into the United States armed forces, I do not know what will," gasped Starlight, shocked at some of the atrocities she just bore witness to.
"The United Nations and the United States army won't do diddly squat," scoffed Stormfront. "The British are not sitting on trillions of gallons of oil. They are not close to Israel, which in my opinion is the prime reason. No, this will be quickly forgotten about, like the Chinese atrocities against the Uygurs."
"I would have to agree with Stormfront on this one," answered Edgar with a look of visible discomfort on his face. "This kind of behavior is nothing new in the world, especially when a liberal European state collapses into a right-wing dictatorship. Why, they could invade Israel tomorrow and the US would still do nothing. Want to know why? Simple. Nuclear weapons. The US would assuredly win the war in fifteen minutes. There's no doubt about that. The problem is that Britain will destroy every single major city from coast to coast before the button is pushed. In addition, Adamantine could target every single ICBM with his plasma-based heat vision analogue."
"So what are we supposed to do? Let Adamantine have Europe?" asked Maeve. "He will not even need to actually conquer Europe physically. All he would have to do is let Europe tear itself to pieces after the prospect of a White ethnostate came into the picture. Basically, he will wage proxy wars to conquer Europe instead. Adamantine will back White Nationalist terrorists in North America and Europe the same way the Soviets backed communist revolutions in South America."
"I think you mean the bankers. Never mind, that was the bankers and their puppet Lev Davidovich Bronstein in Russia, not the proxy wars of the cold war. You are correct Maeve," rambled Stormfront.
"What matters is that there's really nothing we can do about it, not with billionaire Jameson Luther Pierce's iron-fisted stranglehold over the United States Government," interjected Edgar.
"The best we can do is find White nationalist terrorist cells in America and shut them down," concluded Edgar. "Not that our information technology department can actually trace anything that goes on in the deep, dark void of cyberspace known as the deep web, where they actually organize on the alternative Chans.
"This meeting is adjourned."
At the very moment the meeting on the 99th floor had started, a whole other meeting was going on in the majestic, one-kilometer-high skyscraper that stood over the skyline of New England in the same way Barad Dur cast a shadow over Mordor. It was such a large skyscraper that every building in the city of Providence Rhode Island looked like a toy in front of that monstrous superstructure, dwarfing even the tallest structure in the city by around two-thousand, seven hundred and eighty feet. It was so large that airplanes had to fly about two kilometers in the sky, cruising altitude to even avoid crashing into it on accident.
It had this vaguely gothic style to its construction despite being made of mostly steel and concrete, as money was no object when building it for Pierce. Its construction was in line with the square cube law, thick at the bottom while tapering off at the top for that much needed support when mass was both cubed and squared. Pierce had designed it himself, mastering architecture in around a fraction of the time it took the average human being. Thus, he selected the architectural style structures were built in his home country of England, not caring the least bit about the exorbitant cost to do so. Not when one made money ten times as fast as they could spend it through criminal means, that is.
He was not a mortal man, not by a long shot, his cognitive abilities multiplied to that of ten to fifteen times that of a normal human being. He never forgets a face, a sentence out of a novel, nor the face of a person he has met or even killed. His intelligence has been enhanced to well beyond that of the greatest minds of the Human species. His brain was more like a supercomputer with a consciousness in it than any kind of brain whatsoever, able to learn from his mistakes without repeating them. Truly the mixture of a savant and a genius, all of the benefits, and none of the drawbacks. That was just one of the offshoots of his psionic powers granted to him by the progenitor serum.
"Last night was one of the greatest things to have ever happened in the history of Western Civilization, barring the Renaissance, of course. We have just wrested control of the old country from the perfidious parasites that our ancestors, in their folly, stayed their hand against them. This means the Zionist occupation government is vulnerable and its life blood is the electricity that powers all of the fridges, television sets, gaming systems, and communications. My son was able to conquer the country in less than two weeks by striking power substations, cellular towers, and communications satellites. The country's military was a disorganized mess of militias that was overthrown by a three-hundred-man group of White nationalist terrorist cells uniting as one to follow him in the chaos. By the time the army around the Palace of Westminster fell, there was nothing the Jews running the country could do but flee for bunkers in New Zealand. Cowardly vermin, the lot of them," sneered Jameson Luther Pierce.
These men were all sat around a long table with golden gilding all around the wood furnishings of it like an elaborate frame. The chairs were also made of a mixture of wood, leather, and the same gold gilding that the table had, in fact made in the same style by the same people all the way out in London. It was a collector's item when the meeting started, as the embargos brought forth by the UN would most certainly hamper their ability to buy new sets legally, not that they cared about United States law. The men sat around the long board room table broke the law every single day.
"Sure, we have conquered one large island nation out in Europe. But it's just an Island. One that would be fairly easy to starve with some simple embargos from the North Atlantic Treaty Organization. Have any plans for that eventuality?" asked on of the men next to him.
The man who posed that question was named Alfred Yockey, in charge of managing Pierce Pharmaceuticals, a corporate front for manufacturing the expensive, difficult to produce progenitor serum. He was six foot, seven inches tall, one of the side effects of the serum over several months, but the growth did not cause any disfigurements like acromegaly, just made the subject taller and increased their skeletal muscle and bone density to the point where they were twice as heavy as the average human, at one hundred thirty to one hundred and forty kilograms on average. He had red hair, light blue eyes, and an angular, aristocratic face.
"That is a question with a very simple answer. We take those resources—from the Middle East and all of Africa—the former serving as a bread basket of sorts with its year-round growing period and the latter our empire's industrial and manufacturing sector. These eventual factors will make Britain a bigger economy than China within the next fifty years and the world's foremost military superpower when the Jewnited States of America collapses into the ground. America will fall with all of the third worlders it allowed into the country to suck its welfare system dry while not paying a dime in taxes, not that I pay taxes to this Jewish-run shit-pile of a nation either," answered Jameson.
"We have numerous other people we have had injected with the progenitor serum at the Saint Martin's Center for the criminally insane, one of them a man by the name of Hugh Campell. Hugh Campell went off the supposed deep end after A-Train killed his girlfriend, Emma, a hot redheaded bird he fell in love with when she graduated high school. Anyway, he called A-Train the N-word after he killed her, which resulted in A-Train suing Hugh for a million dollars for supposed psychological damages. His father also publicly disowned him, stating that 'the hardships of loss revealed the true colors of my son, a hateful prick.' We redpillled him on who has been running Western Civilization since the 1700s, which caused him to move to Portland, get an MCX Spear assault rifle, and 600 rounds of .277 hollowpoint ammunition, courtesy of us. He killed a total of fifty worshippers in a Synagogue in 2019. Thanks to the special testimony of Stormfront, whom we have blackmailed with her Nazi past to tell the courts he was insane, he was put under our care. Once he was in our custody, we brainwashed him, turning him into one of our sleeper agents before injecting him with the progenitor serum," replied Alfred.
"What is his activation phrase," ordered Jameson.
"Would you kindly?" answered Yockey.
"Is that it?" asked Pierce, bewildered.
"Precisely," answered Yockey sternly.
Dressed up in a Mac Tonight costume, with the iconic rubber mask in the shape of a crescent moon, in contrast to the rubber rooster mask he was arrested with by Stormfront in 2019. Now he was flying, gifted with powers handed down to him from the effects of the bioluminescent, green liquid he was recently injected with. He thought he was just going to fly off to some tropical island with his powers he utilized to fly blondes and redheads off to. Might as well live the life of a billionaire on some secluded island, far away from any petty extradition treaty.
As he was flying to such an Island to lay claim to it, a voice came on over his earpiece.
"Would you kindly fly over to Canada and laser the kike-puppet Prime Minister?" crackled a voice over his earpiece.
Then, as if bound by an uncontrollable instinct, Hugh Campbell flew towards Toronto at Mach Three, having already just passed it trying to find an unclaimed island for him to build his new life. He practically forgot who he even was after those words were uttered, he was just guided on pure programming at that point, like a robot. That was all Hugh Campbell was now, a puppet doing the bidding of its puppet master, his string pullers beyond the ability for the forces of justice to subdue.