Godfather Owl: Guardian of Batman

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about," Bruce said with a shake of his head. "It's a completely normal thought."

Homelander's eyes lit up. "So you also—"

"I don't," Bruce interrupted flatly, cutting him off.

Then he added, "Let's go. Your Joker persona is probably waiting at the tallest building in the city."

---

Reality.

The city had descended into utter chaos and panic.

Night had fallen, and the darkness crept over the sky. Unlike the usual bustling lights and life, the city was now consumed by fire. Buildings crumbled, the ground fractured, and screams filled the air as countless people ran for their lives.

It was nothing short of hell on earth.

"Ha ha ha ha!"

Homelander hovered high above, raining destruction with bursts of laser vision.

To him, it was a game—a sick display of his godlike power, reveling in the terror of the helpless masses beneath him.

Their screams, their desperate cries, the sight of mothers and children torn apart—it all filled him with twisted delight.

But this wasn't enough. He wanted more.

"This city is almost done for," Homelander muttered with a deranged smile. "For the next one, I need a new game."

Perhaps he could round up all the families in the city, force parents to shoot their children, or children to shoot their parents.

The thought of such despairing scenes thrilled him.

"Ha ha ha… hee hee hee!"

The anticipation was almost unbearable. He could already imagine families kneeling before him, paralyzed by their inability to act, begging him for mercy.

At that point, Homelander might show a hint of "compassion"—and send them all to the afterlife together.

The idea was so tantalizing that he grew impatient.

Looking down, his gaze fell upon a family fleeing through a narrow alley—a father, mother, and son.

"You'll do."

In the blink of an eye, Homelander vanished from the sky and reappeared before them, blocking their path.

The mother screamed, her voice piercing and full of terror, as if she had encountered the devil himself.

"Is there really a need to scream?" Homelander asked, shaking his head.

What an ordinary, boring woman.

With another flicker of motion, he reappeared, this time holding a handgun.

He tossed it to the father.

"I'll give you three shots," he said. "One of you has to die here."

The father caught the gun, his hands trembling. Without hesitation, he aimed it directly at Homelander and pulled the trigger.

The bullet shot out, hurtling toward Homelander's head.

To Homelander, however, the bullet was as slow as an ant crawling. He made no effort to dodge, letting it strike his eye.

The bullet didn't penetrate. It crumpled against his indestructible eyeball, unable to inflict the slightest damage. The force of the impact compressed the bullet into a flattened piece of metal, which fell to the ground with a faint plink.

"You've got two shots left," Homelander said coolly.

He didn't need to laugh.

Sometimes, silence was the greatest form of mockery—a condemnation of the father's impotence, his failure to protect his family.

"You're free to shoot at me," Homelander added. "That's within the rules of the game. But after three shots, someone must die. If not, I'll kill all of you."

The choice was now the father's.

Paralyzed by fear and despair, he looked down at his trembling wife and son. A spark of determination flashed in his eyes.

Homelander wasn't bluffing. When he said he'd kill them all, he meant it.

The father's hands shook as he made his decision.

He raised the gun to his temple, finger tightening on the trigger.

If someone had to die, why shouldn't it be him?

At least his death could save his wife and child.

Homelander's lips curled in disgust. This man's choice bored him to no end.

Kill the wife and find another. Kill the child and make another. Why waste yourself?

Bang!

The gunshot echoed.

The father closed his eyes, bracing for the end.

But nothing happened.

Opening his eyes, he saw Homelander standing inches away, holding the bullet delicately between two fingers.

"You've got one shot left," Homelander said, smiling. "Oh, and I forgot to mention—I respect God's will. God doesn't allow suicide, so neither do I."

The father's body trembled uncontrollably as he stared at Homelander, whispering a single word:

"Devil."

"Whether I'm a devil or not isn't your concern," Homelander replied, unfazed. "Take your shot."

But the father couldn't do it. His wife and child's tearful eyes pleaded with him, and he would rather die than harm them.

Finally, he pointed the gun skyward and fired his last shot into the air, wasting his final chance.

"Kill us," the father said, collapsing to the ground. "With you in this world, there's no hope or future. Just end it."

Homelander smirked. Everything was going exactly as he'd predicted.

"No surprises at all," he muttered as his eyes began to glow red, preparing to vaporize the family on the spot.

Then—

A sharp whooshing sound cut through the air.

Homelander frowned, not bothering to dodge. He casually caught the object between his fingers.

It was a crudely made projectile, shaped like a bat.

Homelander looked up and saw something unexpected.

From the top of Vought Tower, a spotlight pierced the darkness, projecting a bright symbol into the night sky.

Within the circle of light was a shadow.

A bat.

It matched the shape of the projectile he held.

"Interesting," Homelander murmured, a twisted smile spreading across his face.

It was a challenge—a declaration of war.

Someone had chosen this audacious method to send him a message.

"Looks like there's always someone who doesn't know their place," he said, tossing the projectile aside as his body disappeared in a blur of motion.

The family, now safe, remained frozen in place, unable to comprehend their survival.

Only the child stared at the bat-shaped projectile embedded in the ground.

For the first time that night, he felt no fear—only an unshakable sense of security, as though nothing could hurt him anymore.

---

Homelander's voice rang out above Vought Tower.

"So, you're the one challenging me?"

He hovered above the building, silhouetted against the moon, his cape billowing in the wind.

On the rooftop, a figure in black armor stood tall.

The suit clung to his body, muscles outlined with precision. The red bat emblem on his chest glowed menacingly in the dark.

Through his x-ray vision, Homelander saw the figure's identity.

Bruce Wayne.

"So, it's you," Homelander said with a cold laugh. "A tiny insect daring to provoke a god?"

"God?"

Prime Bruce's voice was icy. "If it bleeds, it's not a god."

"But I don't bleed," Homelander replied.

"No."

Prime Bruce shook his head slightly. "You will."

---

T/N: SICKKKKKKK

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