Rain lashed against the safe house windows as we debriefed from the convention. Frenchie handed me a steaming mug of coffee—black, the way Butcher drank it. My hands shook slightly as I took it, adrenaline still working through my system from the fight with Black Noir.
"You're bleeding," Annie said abruptly, pointing to my shoulder where Noir's blade had grazed me.
I rolled the fabric back to examine the cut. The poison had long since burned out of my system, but the wound still oozed sluggishly. "It's nothing."
"Let me see it." Annie moved before I could protest, her fingers surprisingly gentle as she probed the injury. A soft golden glow emanated from her palms. "I don't have healing powers, but Starlight 101 includes basic field medicine."
The warmth from her hands soothed the lingering sting. Hughie watched us with an odd expression before abruptly looking away.
"I still can't believe you fought Black Noir and lived," MM said, cleaning his gun with methodical strokes. "That's... unprecedented."
"Not just lived," Butcher cut in. "You bloody well held your own. How'd it feel?"
I closed my eyes, replaying the fight. "Like staring down a freight train. His movements were... precise. No wasted energy. Every strike intended to kill." I flexed my hand, remembering the impact vibrations traveling up my arm when we'd clashed. "If I hadn't absorbed Compound King's strength first, he would have torn me apart."
Annie's fingers stilled on my shoulder. "You're saying you're stronger now than Black Noir?"
"In raw power? Maybe. But he's got decades of training I can't match. That makes him dangerous as hell." I met Butcher's gaze. "Which is why we need to accelerate our timeline."
Butcher smirked. "Now you're speaking my language. Who's next on the hit parade?"
Frenchie pulled up files on his laptop. "Based on Annie's intel and our surveillance, I've identified three high-value targets that would significantly boost your abilities."
The first image showed a woman in a lab coat standing beside Homelander. "Dr. Park, head of Vought's Special Weapons Division. She's not a Supe herself, but she's developed tech that can temporarily nullify superpowers. That kind of knowledge in your head could be invaluable."
The next image made Annie inhale sharply. "Titania? You can't be serious."
The muscular woman in the photo looked like she could bench-press a tank. "Super strength, enhanced durability, tactical combat training," Frenchie continued. "Former military, went rogue after Vought experiments enhanced her abilities. Currently operating as a mercenary."
"And the third?" I asked.
The final image showed a nondescript man in a business suit. "This is Thomas Sharpe. Calls himself The Alchemist. Can transmute matter at a molecular level—turn lead into gold, air into poison, that sort of thing. Works as a Vought black ops consultant."
Three incredibly dangerous targets. Three potential power boosts that could put me over the top.
"We'll need to approach each differently," I mused. "Dr. Park would be easiest—just walk into Vought Tower and hypnotize her. But Titania and The Alchemist..."
"Titania's in Syria right now," Annie said quietly. "Vought sent her after a terrorist cell that captured one of their researchers."
Butcher's grin turned feral. "Perfect. Isolated location, minimal witnesses. We can make that work."
"Wait," Hughie interrupted. "We're talking about hunting down a super-powered mercenary in an active warzone?"
"Scared, little man?" Butcher mocked.
"No, I'm being realistic! We barely survived a convention center. Now you want to go after someone even Black Noir wouldn't fight one-on-one?"
I stood, testing my healed shoulder. "Hughie's right. This is a huge risk. But it's the kind of risk we need to take if we're going to stand a chance against Homelander." I turned to Annie. "How soon can you get us intel on Titania's exact location and mission parameters?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "I have access to The Seven's operational briefings. Give me 24 hours."
The storm outside intensified, wind howling around the safe house like a living thing. I stared at the image of Titania—her cold eyes, the scars crossing her face, the way she carried herself like someone who'd never known fear.
Killing her would make me stronger. But at what cost? With each power absorbed, I felt myself changing, the lines blurring between justice and predation.
"Alright," I said at last. "We go after Titania first. But we do it smart. Recon, planning, contingency plans. No rushing in blind."
Butcher raised his mug in a sardonic toast. "To becoming monsters to kill monsters."
The coffee tasted bitter as I drank. Bitter, and faintly metallic, like blood.