Marvel: Starting with the Homelander Template

South Korea

The wind whispered through the dense canopy, rustling leaves that shimmered like emeralds beneath the dappled sunlight. Insects buzzed lazily in the air, birds chirped overhead, and every inch of the forest pulsed with serene vitality.

It was the kind of place one might mistake for paradise—untouched, ancient, almost sacred in its silence.

But that calm was suddenly shattered.

Whoosh!

A blurred figure streaked through the trees, so fast it left a ripple in the air behind it.

Mr. Sinister.

Clad in his unmistakable black and crimson armor, his pale face expressionless, he moved with eerie precision, as though guided by an invisible thread.

His glowing red eyes scanned the terrain, searching—probing not just with sight, but with telepathy and a sixth sense honed over centuries of genetic manipulation and psychic tuning.

Then, without warning—

He stopped.

His gaze narrowed, focusing on what appeared to be an ordinary hill nestled amid the forest floor.

A hill… with secrets.

"Here," he muttered, his voice filled with certainty and grim satisfaction.

BOOM!

He rocketed downward, striking the earth like a divine hammer. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the ground, shattering rock and uprooting trees.

Dust billowed into the air, revealing something extraordinary—fragments of ancient stone, half-buried and moss-covered, jutting from the earth like fossilized bones.

There had once been something here. A place of power.

A temple, long buried, long forgotten.

But Sinister hadn't forgotten.

This was no random ruin. This was the site of an awakening.

He knelt, placing a hand against the cracked earth, and closed his eyes. His mind extended downward, past the layers of rubble and time… and touched a dormant consciousness.

A slumbering giant.

A man, buried alive beneath stone and history.

A man whose heartbeat still pulsed with unnatural strength.

A man with destiny burning inside his bones.

Sinister's lips curled slightly. He sent a telepathic pulse—a sharp jolt into the man's subconscious.

"Awaken."

That one word struck like a thunderclap inside the man's mind.

Buried deep below, his eyes flew open, panic flaring within them.

He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't understand where he was.

Stone pressed down on him from every angle.

His heart pounded.

"No… I won't die here!"

And something inside him snapped.

With a roar of fury, his muscles bulged, expanding rapidly beneath his torn clothes. Skin stretched and rippled as veins surged like molten steel.

Crack!

His spine elongated. His shoulders widened. The ground above him began to tremble.

And then—armor appeared.

Not forged by man, but summoned—called forth by a relic fused into his very soul: the Crimson Gem of Cyttorak.

Blood-red metal enveloped his body, piece by piece. Gauntlets. Greaves. A titanic chestplate.

Finally, a massive dome-shaped helmet slammed down over his head, sealing away the human within and unleashing something far more dangerous.

CRRRAAAAAAAACK!

The entire hill exploded upward as he burst free from his subterranean prison like a cannonball. Dirt and debris shot sky-high, raining down like shrapnel as birds scattered in every direction.

He landed in the heart of the devastation, knees bent, smoke swirling around him.

And slowly… he stood.

A colossus. Towering. Imposing. Radiating an aura of overwhelming brute force.

He looked down at his hands—at the red armor that hadn't been there before—and laughed.

Not in confusion. Not in madness. But in sheer, unfiltered triumph.

"This… this power…"

Images rushed through his mind. The temple. The gem. The moment of collapse.

Somehow, it had bonded to him. Saved him. Transformed him.

And now—he was reborn.

"HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

His deep, guttural laughter echoed through the shattered forest, shaking leaves from trees, causing animals to flee in terror.

His voice rumbled like an earthquake.

"Fate has spared me! Cain Marko LIVES!"

He raised both fists skyward, his eyes burning with vengeance.

"And Charles… you will PAY."

---

Mutant Base – Training Grounds

The air inside the training field shimmered faintly from the psychic pressure.

Alex stood in the center, his gaze locked on a two-meter cube of reinforced steel that hovered silently in front of him.

Not by machine.

By will alone.

His right hand extended, fingers slightly curled, he focused—his telekinesis wrapping around the cube like an invisible net.

Then—

CRUNCH.

The cube twisted violently, edges warping inward as it collapsed into itself with a metallic groan. The result was a fist-sized ball of condensed, crumpled metal—crushed as if it were made of clay.

Alex exhaled.

It wasn't enough.

Not anymore.

Since the clash with Mr. Sinister, his perception of power had changed. He now understood what truly monstrous strength looked like.

And his?

Still growing. Still evolving.

Still not enough.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, turned—and heard footsteps approaching.

A familiar rhythm.

Selene.

Clad in her dark leather uniform, she approached with a subtle bow.

"Supreme One," she said, her tone neutral yet respectful. "Charles and Erik have arrived."

Alex gave a half-smile. "I know."

He'd sensed them the moment they landed.

Slipping on his jacket, he followed Selene into the war room.

Inside, the atmosphere was surprisingly… warm.

Charles. Erik. Hank. Raven. Emma.

Old friends, once divided by ideology, now united around a common table.

Laughter rang out—memories shared, scars recalled, battles remembered.

For a moment, it felt like the beginning of something new.

A united front. A real future.

But then Erik turned serious, eyes locking with Alex's.

"Alex, Charles and I found someone," he said, voice low and intense. "Someone extraordinary."

Charles nodded, his expression sober.

"A mutant unlike anything we've ever seen," he said. "Frankly, even compared to you."

The mood shifted.

Even Emma paused mid-sip of her coffee.

The others exchanged looks.

For two of the most powerful and experienced mutant leaders to speak like that—

Who could they mean?

Alex tilted his head, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes.

He already had a feeling.

"Let me guess," he said with a smirk.

"A little girl named… Jean Grey?"

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