American Comics: Multiverse of Madness

492. Torrential Rain.

The sky darkened at a visible pace as eerie clouds churned and swirled, enveloping the battlefield.

At this moment, it felt as though the entire country was covered by a black shroud made of storm clouds. The air carried a damp, heavy quality, amplifying the unease and tension on every front.

The oppressive weight pressed on everyone. Ordinary citizens, overcome with fear, locked themselves inside their homes, drawing curtains and bolting doors, terrified of being caught in the crossfire.

As Edgar had predicted, this war was unstoppable. Neither side could retreat without utterly vanquishing the other.

Whether it was Homelander or Soldier Boy, both they and their followers fought with the singular intent to kill. In the end, only one side could remain standing.

While weaker superpowered individuals were easily eliminated, powerful ones rendered conventional weapons ineffective.

Neither the military nor Congress wanted to handle this volatile situation, and the police were powerless to intervene. The result was a chaotic civil war among superhumans, accompanied by the anguished cries of ordinary people.

The entire nation descended into turmoil, like a colossal killing machine dragging more people into its gears, squeezing out blood and entrails.

Clouds churned as lightning struck from seemingly nowhere.

At last, a torrential downpour began. Raindrops, as large as bullets, pelted the ground with tremendous force, washing away the blood and filth from the battlefield.

However, the rain did not quell the violence; instead, it intensified. Those taking refuge indoors trembled at the sound of the pounding rain interspersed with distant explosions.

Everyone knew how terrifying the hidden undercurrents outside were. Death itself seemed to have transformed into the storm clouds, blanketing the nation. Each clap of thunder was like its scythe, reaping lives below.

The news channels had gone silent. Whether due to the storm interfering with signals or superhuman riots destroying transmission towers, the nation fell into an eerie stillness, as if the apocalypse had arrived.

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Inside Vought International's secret compound.

The storm poured mercilessly over the small enclave, washing away the blood and severed limbs scattered across the lawn. The wind howled through every corner, like vengeful spirits venting their despair and rage before death.

On the bloodstained grass stood a small, solitary figure, letting the raindrops whip against him like lashes. Only the relentless rain seemed capable of quieting his tumultuous mind.

The boy's frail body was soaked through, his arms and face streaked with blood that the rain turned into crimson streams, dripping onto the ground.

Around him lay the dismembered remains of an elite mercenary squad, their severed limbs and blood-soaked uniforms strewn across the field. The once-lush, green grass was now a grotesque crimson.

The boy panted heavily, biting his lower lip as he stared at the lifeless body before him with a mix of despair and anguish.

It was his mother—the one person who loved him most in this world. He couldn't believe she had died right before his eyes. A wave of self-loathing engulfed him for his own cowardice.

Why hadn't he dared to step out and save her? Why, despite his immense power, had he hesitated?

His fear had led to his mother's death, sacrificed in her effort to protect him.

Clenching his fists tightly, a seething anger surged within him. He desperately needed an outlet for his rage.

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Just then, a creeping sense of being watched overcame him, sending shivers down his spine.

He couldn't describe the sensation, but the sheer malevolence of that gaze made him feel dizzy and nauseous. Acid churned in his stomach, and he barely suppressed the urge to vomit.

Instinctively, he wanted to call out for his mother. But as he turned his gaze back to the corpse, the stark reality of her death hit him like a hammer.

His mother was gone. There was no one left to comfort him in his fear and helplessness. Tears streamed down his face uncontrollably.

Trembling, the boy slowly turned toward the source of the gaze.

Through the veil of rain and mist, he saw a strange figure standing at the edge of the forest. The figure held a black umbrella and exuded an unsettling aura.

No one knew how long that figure had been standing there or when it had appeared. It was as if it had been there ever since the compound was built, silently observing.

The boy realized that this eerie silhouette had likely been watching him the entire time as he unleashed his wrath upon those who had hurt his mother.

The sinister scene sent chills down his spine. His teeth chattered as he stared at the figure with growing unease.

He wanted to run, but his legs refused to move. He also didn't know where to go; he only wanted to stay by his mother's side.

For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw the shadowy figure move. Rubbing his eyes, he looked again.

The ominous black-clad figure with the umbrella had vanished.

In its place stood a stranger—a man holding a small red umbrella—walking slowly toward him.

The boy recognized the umbrella in the man's hand—it was their family's umbrella, his own favorite one. There was no way he could mistake it.

The two of them stood there in silence, their eyes locked. The only sound was the relentless roar of the torrential rain. The boy watched the stranger approaching him with a mixture of wariness and confusion.

"Ryan."

Finally, when they were just five meters apart, the stranger stopped and broke the silence.

Hearing the man call his name, Ryan did not lower his guard. He remembered his mother's teachings: never trust the words of a stranger.

Seeing that Ryan had no intention of replying, Alex showed no particular expression. His gaze swept over the bloodied remains now being washed clean by the downpour.

"Who are you?"

Noticing the man examining the bodies of the mercenaries he had killed, Ryan felt a twinge of fear. Raised under his mother's guidance, his views on life differed greatly from those of Homelander or others like him.

Killing comes with consequences—this was what Becca had instilled in Ryan from a young age.

And now, after taking so many lives with his own hands, Ryan was deeply afraid.

When Alex's attention returned to him, Ryan held his breath. Despite the boy's immense power, Alex saw him for what he was—just a child.

With a faint smile, Alex took two steps forward and held the umbrella over Ryan's head.

"I'm here to help you. It seems you really need me right now."

"No, I don't need your help. I don't even know you," Ryan said, stepping back into the rain, his eyes filled with suspicion.

"You don't need to know me, Ryan. You just need to know that I can help you achieve any wish," Alex replied calmly, his tone resolute.

"Any wish?"

Ryan frowned, his expression conflicted as he looked at the man.

Though just a child, Ryan considered himself mature. Promises of granting any wish sounded like nonsense meant to fool little kids—not him.

Last year, Ryan had learned that Santa Claus wasn't real. He knew there were no gods in this world—only bad people claiming divine authority to commit atrocities. So, at this moment, when faced with Alex's offer, Ryan's first instinct was disbelief.

But as he turned to look at his mother's lifeless body, Ryan clenched his fists tightly.

What if it were true? What if this man really could grant his wish?

"Any wish, Ryan."

The stranger's voice echoed in his ears, like the whispered temptation of a devil, stirring his thoughts.

"Even bringing the dead back to life isn't impossible," Alex added.

That was the final straw. Ryan's breathing quickened.

Having just lost his mother, he couldn't ignore the hope dangled before him. No matter the cost, Ryan wanted to seize that slim chance.

"Really? You can really bring my mother back?" Ryan asked, his gaze locking onto Alex's face.

"Of course, Ryan."

A slight smirk appeared on Alex's lips.

"Then..." Ryan's small fists trembled. "What's the price?"

"You don't need to worry about the cost. Someone has already paid it for you. All you need to do is lend me your body. Once I've finished what I need to do, everything will return to the right path."

Alex paused and gently placed his hand on Ryan's head.

"And when that happens, you'll be reunited with your mother in this world and live a happy life together. Isn't that your greatest wish right now?"

Feeling the weight of Alex's hand, Ryan lowered his head as if in deep thought.

His instincts screamed at him to run, to get as far away from this man as possible. Alex was an incomprehensibly terrifying being.

But his mother's death held him in place. Ryan couldn't bring himself to leave her behind or accept her loss.

If someone told him that he could bring his mother back simply by offering his body, even with just a one-in-a-million chance, Ryan felt he had to take it. Otherwise, he would never forgive himself.

Resolving himself, Ryan raised his head once more.

"What do you need me to do?"

"It's simple," Alex replied softly.

"Just accept my power. Say 'yes.'"

Gazing at the stranger before him, Ryan closed his eyes, overwhelmed with helplessness.

"Then..."

Yes.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

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30 advanced chapters on p@treaon
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493. On the Other Side of the Mirror.
494. No More.........
495. Back on Track!!!
496. Suggestions.
497. The Mysterious Arrival!!!