As Homelander In Multiverse

When Brad returned home, he was met with the sound of his wife's agonized moans.

The salesman in his early forties couldn't help but dim his gaze.

His eyes drifted to the wall, where photos of him and his wife hung in neat rows.

Back then, they had been so young, so full of life.

The images captured their carefree laughter, their eyes sparkling with happiness, as if hardship and darkness could never touch them.

But last year, everything changed.

His wife had fallen ill—grievously so. They had done everything possible.

Brad had sold their house, their car.

Every penny went toward her treatment, forcing them to rent a place, to live frugally.

A life they had once thought unimaginable.

Even so, her condition worsened.

Every day, she writhed in pain.

Once a gentle and beautiful woman, she had grown cruel and sharp-tongued, her face twisted in perpetual agony.

Brad never knew that sickness could change a person so completely.

He understood—it wasn't her fault. The disease tormented her, forcing her to lash out.

And yet, there were days when he wanted to run.

Run far away from this hell.

But he couldn't.

He loved her. And he remembered his vows.

So, he forced himself to stay. Forced himself to endure this hell alongside her.

"Brad! Where the hell were you?! Get me my medicine! I'm dying here!"

"Brad, you bastard, did you run away?!"

Her voice, hoarse and laced with fury, rang through the house once more.

Brad let out a weary sigh.

Opening the bedroom door, he was met with the sight of his wife—a frail, skeletal figure lying in bed.

The chemotherapy had stripped away her once-lustrous hair, leaving her scalp bare.

Her sunken features, her lifeless eyes, the perpetual scowl on her face—it was almost unbearable to look at.

The moment she saw him, she grabbed the remote control on her nightstand and hurled it at him.

"Damn it! I thought you were dead out there!"

Her lips curled into a sneer.

"Look at you, Brad. You despise me now, don't you?"

"What is it? Did you fall for some younger, prettier woman?"

"Was it Sonya from the bar?"

"Or Mary, the cashier at the supermarket?"

Brad sighed again, his voice calm.

"I'll get your medicine."

"I don't need your pity!" she screamed.

"Get out! Just leave!"

Her outburst was so intense that, for a brief moment, she forgot her pain.

Like a cornered beast, she roared.

Brad covered his face with his hands, then spoke softly.

"There's a new drug."

"It might cure you."

"I've already contacted the seller. He should be here soon."

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Brad turned to leave.

"Wait here. You're going to be fine soon."

He rushed out of the room—like a prisoner gasping for air—and hurried to the front door.

Standing outside was a Black man, dripping in gaudy jewelry, his golden chain thick enough to be mistaken for a leash.

On his feet were shoes inlaid with gold, so blinding that Brad instinctively squinted.

The man grinned.

"You're lucky, Mr. Brad."

"This is the last one."

He glanced around before carefully pulling a small box from his pocket.

Opening it, he revealed a single syringe.

Brad's expression darkened.

"This had better work, or I swear to God, I'll—"

"Relax," the dealer chuckled.

"That'll be $200."

Brad pulled out the last of his savings, shoving it into the man's hand.

The dealer, however, eyed the watch on Brad's wrist.

His smile widened.

"Actually, since this is the last one, the price just went up."

"$500."

Brad's face contorted in anger.

"You bastard. You can't do this."

"I can, because I'm the seller."

The man smirked, pointing at Brad's watch.

"Of course, if you hand that over, I might let it slide for $200."

Brad clenched his fists, his jaw tightening.

But in the end, he removed the watch.

His fingers lingered on it—his wife's gift to him.

His voice was hoarse.

"This is from my wife."

"Hold onto it. I'll buy it back for $300."

The dealer didn't bother responding—he had already strapped the watch onto his wrist.

With a satisfied grin, he handed Brad the syringe.

"Better hurry. I won't promise to hold onto it forever."

Then, humming a country tune, he strolled away.

Brad shut the door, rushing back inside with the syringe in hand.

"Honey, this is it."

"They say it can cure anything."

His wife eyed the needle warily.

"Brad… is this poison?"

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

Brad's voice was firm.

"No, it's not like that."

"I spent everything on this—including the watch you gave me."

"Trust me."

"No! Help! Someone help me!" she screamed.

Brad, determined, leapt onto the bed.

His frail wife was no match for him—he held her down with ease.

The needle sank into her skin.

A moment later, she stopped struggling.

Her eyes glazed over.

Silence.

Brad gasped for air, sliding off the bed, staring at her expectantly.

This was his last hope.

His last chance.

If this failed, he had nothing left.

Time ticked by.

Half an hour later, she stirred.

An hour later, light returned to her eyes.

Two hours later, color flushed her cheeks, and she sat up.

"Brad… this is incredible."

She stood, still thin as a skeleton, but brimming with newfound vitality.

For the first time in a year, she smiled.

Tears welled in Brad's eyes.

She reached out, embracing him tightly.

"I love you, Brad."

But the moment she did—

CRACK.

A sickening crunch echoed through the room.

Her eyes snapped open.

Brad's mouth gurgled, blood spilling over his lips.

His eyes, wide and uncomprehending, locked onto hers.

Then his body—twisted at an unnatural angle—slumped to the floor.

She screamed.

She looked down at her hands.

They had swollen, turning an eerie shade of pale blue.

Then—

From beneath her skin, writhing, fleshy tendrils burst forth, flailing wildly.

"What… what's happening to me?!"

She stumbled backward, crashing into a mirror.

Looking up, she saw her reflection—

Her head had begun to expand, her skin stretching paper-thin, blue fluid seeping from beneath.

She watched in horror as her body morphed into something grotesque.

Then—

A knock on the window.

Her heart pounded.

She was on the sixth floor.

Slowly, she turned.

Outside, floating in midair, was a man.

Blonde hair. Blue eyes.

A red cape billowing behind him.

Homelander.

She screamed.

Homelander, arms crossed, smirked.

"Relax."

"Between the two of us…"

"You look way more like the monster."

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