Chapter 11: "The Butcher's Reckoning"
The Streets of New York – The Ruins of a False God
The city still smoldered in the aftermath of Homelander's rampage. The fires were dying down, but the scars left on the streets, buildings, and people would remain for a long time. Rubble filled the streets, ash falling like snowflakes, and the once-proud metropolis now resembled a battlefield. Emergency responders worked tirelessly to rescue the wounded, to restore some semblance of order in the chaos.
And lying at the center of it all, crumpled and broken in a crater of his own making, was Homelander.
The so-called "hero" of America, the man who had once stood above all others, was now a shell of himself. His suit was torn, stained with blood and dust, and his blonde hair clung to his face, wet with sweat and defeat. His breath came in shallow gasps, every inhalation a painful reminder of the fight he had just lost.
Above him, the sky was darkening. Superman had left the scene hours ago, choosing not to kill Homelander but to leave him to face the consequences of his actions. But not everyone shared Superman's restraint.
A shadow moved through the smoke and rubble, silent and predatory. Boots crunched over broken glass and cracked asphalt as Billy Butcher emerged from the wreckage, his face set in a grim expression. His eyes were locked onto Homelander, filled with a cold, unrelenting rage.
Butcher had waited for this moment. For years, he had hunted Homelander, driven by hatred, by the loss of his wife, by the carnage and corruption Homelander embodied. And now, the time had finally come.
Homelander's head turned slightly as he heard the footsteps approaching. His once-arrogant expression was now tinged with exhaustion and fear, though he tried to hide it behind a weak grin.
"Come to gloat, Butcher?" Homelander rasped, his voice hoarse. "You think... you can finish what Superman couldn't?"
Butcher stopped at the edge of the crater, looking down at the broken man before him. He didn't say anything at first. His jaw clenched, his eyes burning with a hatred that had only grown over the years. He reached into his coat and pulled out a weapon—a simple knife, not the fancy technology Vought used, but something far more personal.
"You're nothin' but a bloody animal," Butcher growled, his voice low and filled with venom. "You think you're a god, but you're just another monster. And monsters... well, they get put down."
Homelander chuckled weakly, coughing up blood as he struggled to push himself to his knees. His once-invincible body was broken, his strength sapped. But he still had that defiant, twisted smile on his face.
"I could crush you, Butcher," Homelander sneered, though the threat rang hollow. His hands shook as he tried to lift himself, but his strength was gone. "You... you're just a man. I'm... I'm a god."
Butcher's grip tightened on the knife. He stepped forward, descending into the crater, his eyes never leaving Homelander's face.
"God?" Butcher spat. "Nah, mate. You ain't a god. You're just a bloke with too much power and not enough sense. And I've been waitin' for this moment a long time."
Homelander's smirk wavered, his red-rimmed eyes widening slightly as Butcher approached. He had never feared anyone. Not really. But in this moment, there was something in Butcher's eyes—something darker, more dangerous than anything Homelander had ever faced.
Butcher knelt beside Homelander, grabbing a fistful of his bloodied blonde hair and yanking his head up so their eyes met.
"You remember my wife, don't ya?" Butcher growled. "You remember what you did to her?"
Homelander's grin faded completely. His eyes darted around, searching for some escape, some way to regain control. But there was nothing. He was helpless, at Butcher's mercy.
"She... she wanted it," Homelander rasped, his voice shaking. "She—"
Butcher didn't let him finish. His fist crashed into Homelander's face, silencing him. Blood spattered the ground as Homelander's head snapped back, but he didn't have the strength to fight back.
"You took everything from me," Butcher hissed, his voice low, dangerous. "You took my wife, my life, my goddamn soul. And now, you're gonna pay for it."
Homelander, blood dripping from his mouth, looked up at Butcher, the last vestiges of his arrogance gone. For the first time, there was real fear in his eyes.
"Butcher," he choked, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm—"
Butcher plunged the knife into Homelander's chest, cutting off whatever pitiful plea he had been about to make. The blade sank deep, piercing flesh and muscle, sliding between the ribs with a sickening ease. Homelander gasped, his eyes wide with shock as the pain hit him all at once.
Butcher twisted the knife, leaning close so he could whisper into Homelander's ear. "This is for Becca."
Homelander's body convulsed, his blood soaking Butcher's hands. His once-bright eyes dimmed, his superhuman heart slowing as the life drained out of him. He tried to speak, but no words came—only a gurgling sound as blood filled his lungs.
Butcher stood over him, his breathing heavy, his heart pounding in his chest. He watched as the light in Homelander's eyes faded, as the body that had once been worshipped as invincible went still.
It was over.
Butcher pulled the knife free, wiping the blood on his coat as he stood. For years, he had imagined this moment, dreamed of it. He had thought that killing Homelander would bring him peace, that it would fill the void left by Becca's death.
But as he looked down at Homelander's lifeless body, all Butcher felt was emptiness. There was no satisfaction, no relief. Just the cold, hard reality that nothing would ever bring her back.
The world around him was silent, save for the distant sound of sirens approaching. Butcher turned, walking away from the crater, leaving Homelander's body behind. He didn't care about what would come next, about the consequences.
He had done what he came to do. Homelander was dead.
Back at The Boys' Hideout – Hours Later
The hideout was quiet when Butcher returned. Hughie, Frenchie, Mother's Milk, and Starlight sat around the table, their faces tense with anticipation. They knew where Butcher had gone, what he had intended to do.
Butcher entered the room, his face grim, his eyes hollow. He didn't say a word as he walked past them, heading for the back of the hideout. Hughie stood up, watching him go.
"Butcher... is it done?" Hughie asked, his voice hesitant.
Butcher stopped in the doorway, his back to them. His shoulders were stiff, his posture tense.
"It's done," he said, his voice flat.
Hughie exchanged a glance with the others, uncertainty and worry flickering in their eyes. They had wanted Homelander gone, but there was something about Butcher's tone—something empty, broken.
Starlight stepped forward, her brow furrowed with concern. "Butcher... what happens now?"
Butcher didn't turn around. He stood there for a moment, staring at the floor.
"Now?" he said quietly. "Now we take down Vought. And we burn the rest of 'em to the ground."
With that, he walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the hideout. The room fell into silence once more, the weight of what had just happened hanging heavily in the air.
Homelander, the false god, was dead. But the fight was far from over.
The Boys' Hideout – Moments After Butcher Leaves
The silence that hung in the air after Butcher's departure was suffocating. Hughie stood frozen in place, his mind spinning as he processed what Butcher had just said. He exchanged a glance with Starlight, who looked equally troubled. Frenchie and Mother's Milk sat quietly, the weight of the situation bearing down on them like a lead blanket.
Homelander was dead. The man they had all feared, the living embodiment of Vought's twisted power, was finally gone. And yet, the victory felt hollow. There were no cheers of triumph, no relief washing over the group—just the grim realization that this fight wasn't over.
Hughie ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily as he turned to face Starlight. "Annie… what now?" His voice was soft, laced with uncertainty.
Starlight shook her head slowly, her eyes distant as she tried to comprehend the gravity of what had just happened. "I don't know, Hughie. Butcher… he did it. He killed Homelander."
Hughie's brow furrowed, his concern deepening. "But did you see him? There's something… off about him. I mean, more than usual. He's not acting like it's over."
"That's because it's not over," Starlight said, her voice tinged with a mix of sadness and anger. "Butcher's been driven by revenge for so long, I don't think he knows how to stop. Even now, with Homelander dead, he's still going after Vought."
Hughie stepped closer to her, his eyes searching hers for answers. "Do you think he's going too far? I mean… we all wanted Homelander gone, but I don't know if I ever pictured it happening like this."
Starlight's gaze softened as she looked at him. "I don't think Butcher ever had a limit, Hughie. He crossed that line a long time ago, and now… now I don't know what he's capable of. But you—you're different. You don't have to follow him down that path."
Hughie sighed, the weight of the world seeming to press down on his shoulders. "I don't know, Annie. I've been with Butcher for so long, I've seen what Vought does—what they turn people into. Homelander wasn't just some accident. He was a product of everything that's wrong with them. But if we take them down, really take them down, who knows how many lives we could save?"
Starlight's expression shifted, a flicker of hope in her eyes as she stepped closer to Hughie. "I get that, Hughie. But we can't become like them in the process. Butcher's willing to do anything—kill anyone—if it means taking down Vought. But that's not who you are. It's not who I am."
Hughie reached out and took her hand, his grip gentle yet firm. "Then we do it our way. We stick to our principles, and we fight like hell to make sure we're not just creating another monster. Butcher… he's too far gone, Annie. We can't stop him, but we can make sure we don't lose ourselves in the fight."
Starlight squeezed his hand, nodding slowly. "I'm with you, Hughie. We've come this far, and I'm not giving up now. But we have to be smart about this. Vought still controls everything—everything. Homelander may be dead, but there are more like him waiting in the wings. If we're going to take them down, we have to do it the right way."
Hughie nodded, his resolve hardening. "We need to find a way to expose them. The public needs to see what Vought really is—what they've been hiding all this time. And we need to do it without burning everything down in the process."
Starlight's face brightened slightly, her hope returning as she thought about the possibilities. "There has to be something—something we can use. Documents, recordings, evidence that ties Vought to everything they've done. We just need to find it."
Superman's Safehouse – Learning the Truth
The soft glow of the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the quiet warehouse that Superman had been using as a base. For hours, he had been trying to process the events of the day—his battle with Homelander, the destruction that had ensued, and the chaos still gripping the city.
His super-hearing caught the faint buzz of distant news reports, and though the world around him was still, Superman felt the weight of something bigger brewing. Homelander had been broken, defeated in their confrontation, but the fallout was far from over. The public's faith in Supes had been shaken, and Superman knew there were still forces in play—forces like Vought—that would stop at nothing to protect their interests.
Suddenly, Superman's concentration was interrupted by a soft beeping from the communicator in his pocket—a device given to him by Hughie and the Boys for emergencies. He pulled it out, pressing a button, and Hughie's anxious voice crackled through the speaker.
"H-Hey, Superman, it's Hughie. I, uh, I don't know if you've heard yet, but… Homelander's dead."
Superman's heart sank. He had left Homelander broken, yes, but he hadn't expected this. He had chosen to spare him, to leave him alive because killing was not the answer. But now, the end he had tried to avoid had come anyway.
"Hughie," Superman replied, his voice calm but tense, "what happened? How?"
Hughie hesitated on the other end of the line. "It was Butcher. He… he went after Homelander once you were gone. And he killed him. I guess… I guess he had been planning this for a long time."
Superman's jaw tightened. He had anticipated Butcher's need for revenge, but he hadn't thought it would come to this. He had hoped that Butcher, like him, would show restraint. But now Homelander—corrupt as he had been—was gone, and the consequences of that action were rippling across the world.
Superman exhaled slowly, his voice tinged with disappointment. "Butcher's anger... it's going to cost more lives, Hughie. You know that, right?"
Hughie sighed. "Yeah, I know. But what can we do? He's gone too far. Butcher wants to burn Vought to the ground, and… honestly, I think nothing's going to stop him now."
"I'm not going to let him tear this world apart," Superman said, his resolve hardening. "I need to do more than just stop the destruction. There's someone I need to find."
Hughie hesitated, confused. "Who?"
"Ryan," Superman answered simply, his tone softening. "Homelander's son."
A Small, Hidden Safehouse – Ryan's First Meeting with Superman
Ryan sat quietly in the small safehouse, clutching a worn-out superhero action figure—one of his father's, back from when Homelander was still celebrated as America's greatest hero. The boy's face was pale, his eyes red from crying, though his expression was mostly one of confusion. He had been whisked away to safety when everything started to spiral, and now, here he was, hidden from the world, unsure of what was happening.
He had heard the whispers, though. Homelander was dead. His father, the most powerful man in the world, was gone.
The door to the safehouse creaked open, and Ryan looked up, his eyes widening as he saw a man enter—not someone he knew, but someone who looked almost like his father. He wore a red cape and a blue suit, and he seemed to float into the room with an air of quiet calm.
"Hey, Ryan," Superman said softly, his voice gentle as he knelt down to the boy's level. "I'm Superman. I know you don't know me yet, but I wanted to meet you."
Ryan stared at him, his lip quivering. "Where's my dad?"
Superman's heart ached for the boy. He had seen children like this before—innocent, caught in the crossfire of wars they didn't start. But Ryan was different. His father had been a force of destruction, a man whose legacy would haunt the boy for the rest of his life.
"I know this is hard, Ryan," Superman said, his voice quiet. "Your father was… complicated. He was powerful, and sometimes that power hurt people. But I know that he loved you."
Ryan's hands tightened around the action figure, his voice small. "He said I was like him. That I had power, too."
Superman nodded, his eyes filled with compassion. "You do. And that power—it's a part of who you are. But you don't have to be like your father, Ryan. You can choose who you want to be. You can choose to be kind, to help people, to make the world a better place."
Ryan sniffled, looking down at the figure in his hands. "I don't know if I want to be a hero anymore."
Superman placed a hand gently on the boy's shoulder. "Being a hero isn't about having powers or wearing a cape. It's about what's in here," he said, tapping his own chest. "It's about standing up for what's right, even when it's hard. And I know you have that in you, Ryan."
Ryan looked up at Superman, his eyes searching the man's face. There was something different about Superman—he wasn't like his father. He didn't scare him. For the first time, Ryan felt like he could breathe.
"Do you think I could be a hero, like you?" Ryan asked, his voice trembling with both hope and fear.
Superman smiled softly, his eyes kind. "I know you can, Ryan. You just have to believe in yourself."
Vought Tower – The Seven's Reaction to Homelander's Death
The mood inside Vought Tower was a mix of panic and confusion. In the high-security briefing room where The Seven had gathered, the tension was palpable. Word had reached them of Homelander's demise, and none of them knew what came next.
A-Train paced back and forth, his usual cocky swagger replaced with a nervous energy. "What the hell happens now? Homelander's gone. I mean, who's in charge? What happens to The Seven?"
The Deep sat slouched in a chair, looking more defeated than usual. "You think Vought's gonna keep us around without Homelander? He was the face of everything. Without him, we're… we're nothing."
Queen Maeve, standing near the window with her arms crossed, said nothing at first. Her eyes were hard, focused on the cityscape below. She had long since come to terms with who Homelander was, but hearing about his death stirred something deep inside her. There was no joy in this moment, only a grim realization that the world would soon turn its eyes to the rest of them.
"It's not just about us," Maeve finally said, her voice cold. "It's about Vought. They're going to scramble to control the narrative. But with Homelander gone, things are going to get ugly—fast."
Starlight, who had been watching from the corner of the room, stepped forward. She had been prepared for this, but that didn't make it any easier.
"I'm leaving," Starlight announced, her voice firm. "I don't want any part of this anymore. Homelander was everything wrong with Vought, but he wasn't the only problem. The whole system is rotten."
A-Train shot her a skeptical glance. "You're just gonna walk away? What about everything we've built?"
Starlight's eyes narrowed. "What we've built? You mean what Vought built—a corporation that uses us to control people, to make money. This was never about being heroes."
Maeve turned from the window, her gaze fixed on Starlight. "She's right. Homelander might be gone, but nothing changes unless we make it change. If we keep doing things Vought's way, we're just as guilty as he was."
The room fell into an uneasy silence. They all knew the truth—without Homelander, The Seven was fractured. Their leader was dead, their future uncertain. But for the first time in years, the cracks in Vought's perfect façade were beginning to show.
Superman's Departure
Later that evening, Superman stood outside the safehouse where Ryan was being kept. He had spoken with the boy for hours, answering his questions, offering comfort in the only way he knew how. But he knew Ryan's journey was only beginning.
As Superman prepared to leave, he felt a presence behind him. Turning, he saw Starlight, her face a mixture of sadness and determination.
"I heard about Homelander," Superman said softly.
Starlight nodded. "Yeah. It's been… a lot. I wanted to check on Ryan."
Superman smiled faintly. "He's strong, just like his mother. He'll be okay, but he's going to need people who care about him."
Starlight stepped closer, her voice quieter now. "What about you? Are you going to keep fighting Vought?"
Superman looked toward the city, the lights flickering in the distance. "I have to. But I'm not doing it alone."
Starlight's gaze softened. "Neither am I."
They stood there for a moment, two heroes bound by a shared purpose, a purpose bigger than just power and fame. Together, they would face what came next, with the hope that they could build a world better than the one Vought had shaped.
