Spare me!

Chapter 1

The air in the shattered Oval Office crackled with dust motes and the smell of ozone. On the floor, Homelander stirred. Her eyes fluttered open—confusion giving way to terror as reality slammed in.

She touched her body, fingers brushing the deep navy blue bodysuit with its red piping and gold eagle emblem.

The form beneath was still voluptuous: wide hips, generous breasts heaving beneath the skintight fabric. Blonde hair tumbled in a golden curtain around a face once synonymous with power, now twisted with fear.

She saw the silhouette across the room. Butcher. The Brit was walking closer, her dark leather trench coat flared open. Black jeans hugged strong legs, ending in heavy boots.

Beneath the coat, a dark gray Hawaiian shirt clung to a muscled frame. Short, raven-black hair framed a face that was striking: strong jawline softened by high cheekbones, full lips curled in a sneer, and piercing blue-gray eyes burning with hatred. There was no mistaking it Billy Butcher was fucking hot... and utterly deadly.

Homelander staggered upright, her movements uncharacteristically clumsy. "You!" Her voice cracked. Desperation tightened her chest as she raised a hand. She fired her heat vision.

Nothing.

She pushed off the floor, legs churning as she was trying to fly. Instead of soaring, she lurched awkwardly, stumbling like a drunken toddler.

Her boots scuffed the carpet. She landed hard, palms slamming down. The invincibility she'd known for decades... gone. Kimiko's power-draining beam had worked.

Butcher chuckled, low and harsh. "Shock and fucking awe, girly?" She straightened, her movements predatory. "Blood and bone."

Panic flooded Homelander. With a primal shriek, she launched herself at Butcher. Her punch flew wild. Butcher caught the punch mid-swing. In one fluid motion, she slammed a fist into Homelander's jaw—bones crunching with a sickening THWACK!

Homelander reeled. A follow-up blow connected with her stomach driving the breath from her lungs in a wheezing gasp. She doubled over.

Butcher seized her shoulder, hauling her upright. Her voice dripped venom.

"This..." she slammed Homelander's face with a vicious uppercut that sent teeth flying and blood spraying from shredded lips, "...is for FRENCHIE!"

Two more brutal jabs knocked Homelander sprawling. She crashed to her knees, gasping. Butcher straddled her.

Nine rapid-fire punches rained down on Homelander's head and face—each impact like a sledgehammer.

Blood poured from her nose, her mouth, a split brow. Her perfect face reduced to a crimson mask of agony.

Homelander collapsed backward onto the floor. A wet groan escaped her bloody mouth. "P-p-please..." Her voice was a broken whine. "...stop! I spared you before! I let you live!"

Butcher ignored her, walking towards the debris of the fallen desk. She picked up a heavy crowbar, rust-spattered iron that felt satisfyingly brutal in her grip.

"I'll give you Vought!" Homelander babbled, spitting a gob of crimson saliva onto the white carpet. She knelt, arms outstretched in pathetic supplication. "Becca... I'll get a shapeshifter to be your wife again! Please, just tell me what you want!"

Around the world, screens flickered to life. Live broadcasts erupted on TVs, phones, digital billboards. Everyone saw. The once-indomitable Homelander: beaten, bleeding, groveling.

Butcher paused, turning the crowbar slowly in her hands. The tentacles stirred beneath her skin, hungry.

"Anything!" Homelander sobbed. "I'll suck your dick! I'll eat shit, okay? ON LIVE TELEVISION, I'll fucking EAT IT!" Mascara streaked her cheeks in black rivulets.