Free Web NovelChapter 1: 01: Viltrumite Panel In The Boys!?
With great power comes the absolute certainty that you’ll turn into a right cunt.
— The Boys (paraphrased)
___
"Vought International announced today that The Seven will hold the annual Hero Festival in New York this month, and all members will make an appearance..."
The anchorwoman’s voice floated out from the TV, sounding way too fucking surreal.
Damp Brooklyn night.
A man lay sprawled in a dark alley, the back of his head sitting in a puddle of thick red blood, eyes fixed on a poster plastered to the wall.
It was a Vought International ad showing seven figures lined up like trophies.
The blond guy front and center wore that stars-and-stripes cape, chin cocked at a perfect thirty-degree angle, flashing a smile so fake and polished it looked poured straight from a mold.
Homelander!
America’s strongest superhero!
Vought’s golden boy. The most popular asshole on the planet!
When Hillel snapped out of his coma and saw that poster, every memory slammed back into his skull like a goddamn tidal wave.
The original body was twenty-four, same name, born in New York, raised in an orphanage.
No parents, no friends, scraping by on whatever shit jobs he could find.
As for Hillel himself, one second he was stuck in an office building pulling another all-nighter. The next, he was dumped into this world he knew way too well.
"The Boys."
A world where entertainment and death went hand in hand.
Superheroes here weren’t out busting real crime. They were packaged products cooked up by people who could give Epstein and Diddy a run for their baby.. and baby oil.
Even the worldwide sensation that was The Seven were nothing but Vought International’s brand ambassadors.
Behind the cameras, they did every kind of evil shit imaginable.
And the prick standing dead center? He was the worst of the worst.
Justice didn’t mean jack in this place.
Hillel sucked in a deep breath and shoved himself up off the ground.
The body felt off. Taller by more than half a head than his old one, shoulders wider, arms cut with solid muscle lines.
He clenched his fist hard.
The rusty trash can a few feet away actually wobbled twice from the air pressure of that single punch.
Right then, a golden panel flickered into existence in front of his eyes.
[Viltrumite Bloodline—Awakened]
Bloodline Level: Lv.1 Viltrumite Clerk (Basically a baby)
Strength: 8 tons
Speed: Subsonic
Defense: Immune to conventional weapons
Flight: Unlocked
Space Survival: 30 minutes
Bio-field: Primary (Passive · Protects body and clothes)
Genetic Status: Relatively stable, immune to all diseases, viruses, and genetic fuckery in this world
Ability Points: 0 / 10,000
Ways to earn points: Positive or negative emotions from the public, positive or negative emotions from key characters.
Viltrumite?
Hillel stared at the panel for a long beat, the corner of his mouth twitching.
He knew exactly what that meant. The alien race from "Invincible."
One of the most brutal warrior species in the entire universe.
In this race, the purer the bloodline, the stronger the talent. They didn’t fuck around with magic or tech. Their raw physical power alone could smash through anything.
Their lifespans were ridiculous too. Pure-blooded Viltrumites like the Regent or the Conqueror? Each one was a monster who’d been kicking around for thousands of years.
Most important of all, when Viltrumites geared up for a fight, they could speed up their growth straight to their physical prime, the absolute peak of combat power, and then just stop aging. The next few thousand years? All prime time.
What he’d awakened was only Lv.1 Clerk, the bottom rung of Viltrumite society.
Still, eight tons of strength, a body bullets couldn’t punch through, and subsonic flight. In a normal world, he’d be a straight-up Superhero.
In The Boys world, though? Hillel looked up at Homelander’s smug smiling face on the poster and wasn’t so sure.
Below the panel sat a bloodline upgrade path.
Lv.2: Regular Soldier
Lv.3: Elite Warrior
..
..
Lv.6: Pure-blooded Royalty
If it could level up, then it wasn’t a problem.
Upgrading needed ability points, and ability points came from emotions. Crowd adoration, gratitude, fear, disgust, hatred. Big moments with key characters could score points too.
The easiest route? Play the real hero in a world where every superhero was complete garbage.
Pretty ironic.
Hillel pushed himself to his feet and slapped the dust off his pants.
This body’s athleticism blew his mind. Standing up felt light as hell, no weight at all. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓
Eight tons of power hid inside those muscles and bones. From the outside, you couldn’t tell a thing.
But what the hell was the current timeline?
Hillel suddenly realized the problem.
The Boys’ plot stretched across years, and each season went in a different direction. If he’d landed in the era where Homelander ruled everything, he was fucked.
He dug through the original owner’s pockets: a beat-up phone with a cracked screen and thirty-seven bucks in cash.
He opened the news app. The top headline was the preview for Vought’s Hero Festival.
He scrolled down.
"The Seven’s Translucent will attend a Brooklyn community charity event this week!"
Translucent was still alive?
Translucent got killed by Hughie and Butcher early in season one. The fact that he was still doing public events meant the main plot of the first season hadn’t kicked off yet.
He kept scrolling.
"A-Train’s drug test report this month is normal. Vought International responds to external doubts!"
"Vought’s The Seven recruitment plan exposed: Nationwide search for the ’Eighth Member’ sparks heated discussion."
The headline made Hillel narrow his eyes.
The whole recruitment stunt was just hype to pave the way for Starlight joining the team.
Starlight—Annie January—got into The Seven through that same nationwide search, and her timing lined up exactly with when A-Train splattered Hughie’s girlfriend all over the street.
In other words...
Robin was still alive?
Hillel stuffed the phone back in his pocket.
In a world crawling with Supes, he needed to keep leveling up his bloodline if he wanted real power.
Power was the only thing that mattered. Power meant nobody could fuck with him.
Hillel looked up and focused his mind.
His feet lifted off the ground.
He rose smoothly into the air.
Night wind rushed into his collar, the air around him whipped faster, and Brooklyn shrank beneath him.
High-speed flight came as pure instinct to a Viltrumite, as natural as walking on two legs for a human.
Hillel hovered there, staring down at the city lights. Homelander’s smug face glowed on a massive billboard nearby.
Then he caught sounds drifting from a few blocks away.
Glass exploded with a loud crash. A woman screamed in pure terror.
A man’s furious curses cut through the night, and unless he was imagining it, Hillel heard the sharp crackle of electricity.
Supe crime.
In New York, shit like this happened more often than car accidents.
Vought only gave a damn about polishing their top-tier heroes to rake in cash. The low-tier Supes fucked up by Compound V and left to rot on the streets? Nobody cared.
The more of them there were, the better. It proved why people needed superheroes in the first place.
Hillel pulled up the system. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com
The points bar on the panel sat at zero.
Ten thousand needed for the next level.
He didn’t waste time thinking. He tilted his body toward the noise and accelerated hard.
Subsonic flight looked like nothing but a blur to normal eyes.
A few seconds later, Hillel touched down at the scene.
