Just been watching The Boys and after that i read a fanfic where ben 10 is in the boys universe, pretty good and hilarious. So here is my madara x boys just a shot i tried to give it. Dont mind some mistakes as you know me, i m not too familiar with The Boys series as I watched it when it had only 1 season, but i'm rewatched the whole thing from the start and i'm on s1 ep4 now amd madara here is appeared in Episode 3 when butcher was about to blow up Translucent but didn't as homelander was in that area looking for Translucent. Hope you guys will like it.
Chapter 1: The Rift in the Sky
The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the city. A cold wind swept through the streets, swirling to the right and left as laughter filled the air. Groups of men walked by, joking with their friends or strolling hand in hand with their girlfriends. Children ran around gleefully, clutching superhero toys as their parents watched on with indulgent smiles.
But even amidst the bustling life, one thing stood out: the towering skyscrapers that seemed to scrape the heavens. Among them, a single building commanded the skyline—its name, Vought, etched boldly into the night.
Far from the city center lay a park. A serene patch of green framed by towering trees stretched for kilometers, merging seamlessly into the woods beyond. At this late hour, nearing 11 PM, the park wasn't completely deserted. Some people strolled leisurely along the paths, enjoying the cool night air. Others jogged in the dim light of the lampposts, while a few were just leaving, the last of the day's energy spent.
The sky earlier had been breathtaking, painted in hues of orange and red by the setting sun. But that serenity didn't last. Suddenly, the peaceful sky seemed to ripple unnaturally, as though reality itself had been disturbed. A distortion appeared, faint at first but quickly growing—a swirling void, small and dark.
It expanded rapidly, its edges spinning faster and faster until it grew large enough for something, or someone, to pass through. Yet, for a moment, the rift remained ominously still.
And then, it emerged.
A dark mass burst through the wormhole, its form obscured, shapeless and strange. The air vibrated with its arrival, and the swirling anomaly closed behind it as abruptly as it had appeared.
The dark figure plummeted toward the earth, cutting through the sky with terrifying speed. As it descended, the black shroud around it began to dissipate, revealing glimpses of what lay beneath. Flames ignited around the falling figure as the friction from the atmosphere tore away the last of the shadows.
A man emerged—a figure clad in striking red samurai armor, his long, spiky hair flowing wildly behind him. His descent was unstoppable, and in mere seconds, he crashed into the park with a deafening impact.
The ground shook violently as a massive crater formed at the center of the park. The shockwave from the crash obliterated everything nearby—chairs, children's swings, and lampposts were swept away as if they weighed nothing.
The shockwave from the impact rippled outward, its force slamming into everyone nearby. People in the park were flung against walls, trees, and benches. Cries of pain filled the air as some clutched at bleeding wounds while others scrambled to call 911. Chaos erupted as the once-peaceful night turned into a scene of destruction.
Amidst the confusion, in the center of the crater, the man who had fallen from the sky began to stir. Slowly, he lifted himself from the rubble, his crimson armor cracked and tarnished but still gleaming faintly. His breathing was labored, yet his lips curved into a small, almost defiant smile—a smile that spoke of freedom hard-won, of fate mocked.
The smoke and debris swirling around him obscured his figure from those watching in shock. Each step he took to climb out of the crater sent fragments of his armor crumbling to the ground, yet he emerged unscathed, his body untouched by the violent crash.
Now standing at the surface, the man turned his head left and right, his piercing gaze scanning his surroundings. His sharp eyes darted between the unfamiliar buildings, the sprawling park, and the people cowering at a distance. He inhaled deeply, as if trying to ground himself in this alien place, then exhaled slowly.
"What happened? Where am I? What is this place?" he muttered, his tone tinged with confusion. His crimson eyes narrowed as he scanned the towering buildings and the modern structures rising above the smoky haze. "I don't remember a place like this anywhere in the Five Villages…"
His confusion deepened, and his mind raced. How had he come to be here? Where was here? The more he observed, the more foreign everything seemed. His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, sharp pain in his head.
"Ugh… ahhh…!" He staggered, clutching at his temples. It was as if his brain were being torn apart from the inside, a searing pain that stole his breath and clouded his thoughts. For two agonizing seconds, the pain persisted, and then—just as suddenly—it vanished without a trace, leaving him gasping for air.
"This… this isn't how it was supposed to happen," he murmured, his voice low and heavy with frustration. "This wasn't the plan. But… at least one thing went right." His gaze dropped to his hands, his fingers flexing as he marveled at his own body.
He could feel the steady beat of his heart, the warm rush of blood through his veins. This body—it was alive. Strong. Whole. He was no longer old, no longer a shell of his former self. He was at his prime.
"Ah… alive again. Hah. That Nagato brat finally pulled it off, huh?" His smirk returned, sharp and full of satisfaction. He took a step forward, the wind brushing against his skin. But the joy of life was quickly replaced by doubt.
"No… this isn't the Shinobi World," he said, his expression darkening. His eyes narrowed as he studied the skyline, the strange, towering buildings. "This… this place is too different. Too advanced. Nagato's not the reason I've been revived, is he?"
Being a Shinobi means Adapting to the situation, and this situation is one of them.
His voice trailed off as he sank deeper into his thoughts, piecing together the puzzle of his rebirth. But before he could delve further, his sharp instincts flared. Something—or someone—was approaching.
He turned his head, his gaze locking onto the movement in the distance. A shadowy figure, or perhaps several, were closing in. Their shapes grew clearer with each passing second, their intentions unknown.
….
In the depths of a rundown, forgotten district, three men huddled in a dimly lit room, tension gripping the air like a vice. Their surroundings were nothing more than shambles—broken furniture, peeling walls, and flickering lights casting unsettling shadows. This wasn't a place for living; it was a refuge for survival.
For Butcher, Frenchie, and Hughie, survival was all that mattered now. Especially when the last thing they wanted—the one thing they dreaded most—was flying overhead.
One of them dared to believe this was just a nightmare, but the cold reality staring back from the live CCTV footage crushed that hope. If he found them, it would be over. No escape. No mercy.
The monitor displayed a blurry image of someone moving impossibly fast through the sky, a streak that sent a chill down all their spines. Frenchie, seated near the screen, broke the silence. "Oi, lads. You need to see this."
Butcher, leaning against a rickety table, glanced over. One look at the screen and his jaw clenched. "Homelander," he growled. The name itself carried venom, spoken with loathing as if it was a curse.
"Th-tha—That's Homelander?" Hughie stammered, his voice trembling as his wide eyes locked on the screen. "He's… here? Oh, shit." Panic overtook him, his breaths coming faster as he instinctively looked upward, as though expecting the ceiling to crumble under the weight of that name.
"He could see us," Hughie muttered, almost to himself. "He's got… he's got x-ray vision. He could see through this damn roof. And—"
"And super fucking hearing," Frenchie interjected, grimly nodding toward Hughie. "You detonate that bomb inside him now, and he'll hear it. You'll blow our cover."
Butcher's sharp eyes darted between the two. "We've got to throw him off," he said decisively, his voice low but steady.
"B-but how?" Hughie's words came out in a panicked rush, his desperation palpable.
Before Butcher could answer, Hughie's gaze snapped back to the screen. Something unusual had caught his eye. "Uh… guys?" he said, pointing shakily at the footage. "I think… I think we don't need to anymore."
Both Frenchie and Butcher turned to the monitor. Their brows furrowed, trying to make sense of the fiery object plummeting from the sky. It was engulfed in flames, its descent leaving a blazing streak across the night.
"What in the bloody hell is that?" Butcher muttered, narrowing his eyes.
"I don't know, but I don't bloody care." Frenchie leaned closer to the screen, his tone shifting from curiosity to opportunity.
"A meteor?" Hughie ventured, his voice breaking with equal parts disbelief and hope.
Butcher's lips twisted into a sly grin. "A fucking meteor, eh? Falling far off from here. Hah! Seems like that bastard up there's got it in for the other bastard in here today." His grin widened. "Looks like we got ourselves a bloody blessing, boys."
The three of them watched as the figure of Homelander, a blur of motion just moments ago, came to an abrupt halt in mid-air. His posture stiffened, his head tilted as though he were listening to something distant, something urgent. And then, in a blink, he was gone, streaking toward the direction of the falling meteor.
Butcher turned to his comrades, his grin growing wicked. "Guess what? That cunt decided to lend us a hand. Alright, lads. Let's not waste it."
….
The park, once quiet and serene, had transformed into a scene of chaos. Armed forces swarmed the area, surrounding the mysterious man who had fallen from the sky. Police vehicles formed a barricade, their flashing lights casting a harsh, pulsating glow over the wreckage. Within minutes, military reinforcements arrived, and news helicopters hovered overhead, their spotlights piercing through the lingering smoke. It was as if the entire city had been waiting for this moment.
The man stood motionless, his crimson armor cracked but still formidable. His sharp eyes scanned the strange scene before him—figures in unfamiliar uniforms pointing metallic objects at him, vehicles that hummed and whirred, and those peculiar flying machines hovering in the sky, their lights fixed on him.
"This is definitely not the Shinobi world," he muttered, his voice low but firm. His gaze shifted to the lights in the sky. "The landscape is foreign, their attire is strange, and those flying machines—what kind of jutsu powers them?"
The news helicopters focused on him, their cameras transmitting the scene live to millions. Reporters provided a frantic play-by-play, speculating wildly about the man's identity and origin. Their voices crackled over the airwaves, but the man ignored them, his focus unshaken.
Suddenly, a ripple of movement among the forces caught his attention. Two figures arrived at the scene, stepping into view. Their clothing was unlike the uniforms of those surrounding him, each donning flamboyant, almost theatrical outfits.
And then, a third figure descended from the sky.
A man in a red and blue suit with a flowing cape landed with an aura of authority. Behind him, more figures emerged from the shadows. One wore glasses with a blue bodysuit; another was clad in a fully black ensemble; a third in yellow and white; and the last, a striking figure in armor and a skirt.
Five in total.
The Seven.
Homelander strode forward with his signature smile, his presence commanding. His cape fluttered behind him as he raised a hand to calm the growing crowd of onlookers. Cameras shifted to capture every moment of the heroes' arrival, their every move now part of the unfolding spectacle.
"Everyone, calm down," Homelander said, his voice steady and reassuring, amplified for all to hear. "We're here now. Everything is under control." The other members of The Seven followed closely behind him, their postures exuding confidence.
Homelander's eyes fell on the armored man standing amidst the wreckage. "Well, what do we have here?" he said with a slight smirk, tilting his head. "An alien? A visitor? Honestly, this wasn't on my schedule. But hey, it keeps things interesting."
The man in crimson armor narrowed his eyes but said nothing. His mind was racing as he analyzed the situation.
"Now there are even more of them," he thought. "Are these people part of some elite force? Their appearance is unlike the others, but their presence feels… commanding. I need more information—where I am, who they are, and how I ended up here."
As the armored man stood in silence, Homelander and his team began to move. A-Train blurred into motion, evacuating civilians and injured victims with superhuman speed, each rescue broadcast live by the hovering helicopters. The crowd cheered at his heroics, but the man in armor remained unimpressed, his gaze fixed on Homelander.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he stepped forward. His armor clicked faintly with each step, and the air grew heavier as his presence became impossible to ignore. He stopped at a distance close enough to meet Homelander's piercing gaze, the smoke and debris swirling around them.
Homelander's confident smirk faltered slightly as he studied the figure before him. "Human…?" he muttered under his breath, his tone carrying a hint of surprise. He had expected something else—a monster, a machine, perhaps even an alien. Yet here stood a man, clad in crimson armor, looking as human as anyone.
Behind Homelander, the other four members of The Seven shifted into fighting stances, their eyes sharp, their bodies tense. Whether they were preparing for battle or putting on a show for the cameras wasn't clear, but the man in crimson armor noticed their every movement.
"A Japanese?" Queen Maeve muttered, narrowing her eyes as she observed the man. His samurai-like armor and sharp, angular features resembled someone of Japanese descent, though his presence exuded a force beyond any normal human.
"Let me—" Before the man could respond, Homelander cut him off, his piercing gaze turning to A-Train. Without needing to speak further, he gave the speedster a subtle nod. The cameras were watching, and appearances needed to be maintained. Whether this man was a threat or not didn't matter—neutralizing him was the priority.
A-Train grinned, cracking his knuckles. "Ah, got it."
In an instant, he disappeared, a blur of motion streaking across the field. The man barely had time to react before A-Train reappeared directly in front of him, delivering a punch aimed squarely at his stomach.
The impact was sharp, sending a spiderweb-like crack across the man's crimson armor. He staggered back a few steps, his eyes narrowing in mild surprise at A-Train's speed.
"Hmm… you're tough, aren't ya?" A-Train said, his cocky grin widening. He blurred into motion again, readying another strike.
But this time, the man moved. His hand shot out like a steel vice, catching A-Train's punch mid-air. The crowd gasped as the two stood locked in place, the man's grip unyielding. Crimson eyes met A-Train's wide, startled ones.
"Before we introduce ourselves," the man said, his lips curling into a faint grin, "let me return the courtesy first."
With his free hand, he delivered a devastating punch to A-Train's stomach. The force of the blow reverberated through the air as A-Train's body crumpled slightly. His mouth opened, and he vomited violently, doubling over in pain.
"Pretty disgusting." The man released his grip, stepping back to avoid the mess, his tone calm but mocking.
The field fell silent, the tension in the air growing thick as the armored man adjusted his posture. His crimson eyes swept over the group before him. "Let's try this again," he said, his voice steady, commanding. "My name is Madara Uchiha. I demand to know where I am and what kind of place this is. From the looks of you, I assume you're important enough to answer me."
The Seven exchanged uncertain glances, their confidence visibly shaken. A-Train staggered back to their side, clutching his stomach. "F—fuck," he hissed under his breath. "I'm gonna kill that motherfucker."
But Madara wasn't finished. His eyes darted around the group, quickly assessing. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he spoke again.
"One of you is missing. I presume the one in black."
In a blur of motion, Madara reached up, catching a knife mid-air before it could strike the back of his head. He turned it over in his hand, examining it briefly before his lips curled into a smirk.
"You shouldn't have shown yourself if all you were going to do was throw a knife," he said, his tone almost amused. "Ever heard of a shinobi? Your tactics are amateurish at best."
Before the onlookers could react, Madara vanished.
In the blink of an eye, he reappeared directly in front of Black Noir, his hand gripping Noir's throat like an iron clamp. The move was so fast, so precise, that Noir had no time to react.
With a deafening crash, Madara slammed Black Noir into the ground, creating a small crater beneath them. Smoke and debris erupted from the impact as Noir's body lay pinned under Madara's crushing grip.
Madara's gaze was unwavering as he stood over Black Noir, the knife Noir had thrown now embedded in his chest. Blood seeped from the wound, staining his crimson armor, but the man seemed utterly unfazed.
Black Noir, desperate to fight back, thrust another knife toward Madara's neck. With precision that spoke of years of battle experience, Madara caught the blade mid-thrust. His grip tightened around Noir's wrist, rendering him immobile.
Without a word, Madara pulled his arm back, forming a fist that promised devastation. But before he could deliver the blow, something slammed into him with brutal force.
A shield.
The sudden impact sent Madara staggering backward, giving Black Noir just enough time to crawl out of range. Before Madara could recover, another attack followed.
Homelander.
His punch connected squarely with Madara's torso, the force propelling him through the air. Madara's body crashed into a nearby wall, crumbling the concrete on impact and sending dust and debris flying in all directions.
It all happened in the blink of an eye, leaving the surrounding onlookers—both armed forces and civilians—gasping at the spectacle.
Homelander stepped forward, his expression a mix of arrogance and threat. "Surrender yourself now!" he commanded, his voice booming with authority. "And I'll make sure you're not hurt."
The red glow in Homelander's eyes intensified, a clear warning that his heat vision was ready to strike.
From the rubble, Madara's silhouette emerged, his posture unfazed despite the damage he'd endured. He brushed the dust off his armor as though he'd merely tripped, his grin growing wider.
"Surrendering? Me?" he repeated, his voice laced with mockery. He locked eyes with Homelander, and for the first time, his gaze transformed.
Madara's dark eyes began to shift and rotate, a hypnotic motion that drew all focus to them. Three tomoe formed in each eye, spinning lazily in a sea of crimson.
Homelander narrowed his eyes, sensing a shift in the air or in his senses.