In a typical universe, Tony Stark's greatest psychological shadow would undoubtedly be the looming figure of Thanos. But in this alternate reality, his deepest fears revolved around the Celestials—a far more terrifying and existential threat than even Darkseid.
Unlike Thanos, who merely sought to eliminate half the population of the universe or Darkseid, whose invasion of Earth spanned millennia, the Celestials' connection to Earth ran far deeper. They were the creators of Earth's civilization itself and the engineers of much of the known universe's lifeforms. To Earth's people, this was a horrifying revelation.
The Celestials' operations on Earth made the gods' treatment of Earth as a pasture pale in comparison. At least in the age of gods, humanity was aware of their divine overlords. The Celestials, on the other hand, were a silent and hidden force. They didn't interfere directly, but the possibility that they might someday obliterate Earth as part of their "experiments" loomed over humanity like a ticking time bomb.
It was like being an ant under the observation of a curious child. Today, the child might enjoy watching the ants at work, but there was no guarantee that tomorrow the same child wouldn't stomp on the anthill, burn it with a magnifying glass, or flood it with water just for fun. And the ants, oblivious to the child's intentions, could only go about their daily lives, unaware of their precarious existence.
What made the Celestials even more terrifying to Tony was the fact that they were not a single entity but an entire species—or perhaps a collective. Even if Robert, Earth's strongest protector, was formidable, he was only one man. The Celestials, on the other hand, were an entire organization, and the weakest among them could still rival the power of gods. Records indicated that even a coalition of gods, led by Odin himself, had only barely managed to defeat a less-powerful Celestial.
If the Celestials ever descended upon Earth en masse, Tony doubted even Robert could hold them all at bay. Therefore, Tony concluded, Earth needed to find a way to counter the Celestials—or at least uncover their weaknesses.
This was why Tony was pouring his heart and soul into the creation of his "mini-Celestial." The project wasn't just about creating a potential super-soldier to lead his Iron Legion and bio-enhanced fire-powered army—it was also an attempt to reverse-engineer the Celestials. By mimicking their creations, Tony hoped to uncover their secrets.
The logic was simple: to truly understand an invention, one must first replicate it. By studying and copying the Celestials' designs, Tony aimed to crack their code, unraveling the mysteries behind their unparalleled power.
While Tony Stark was busy laying the groundwork for Earth's defense against a potential Celestial incursion, across the globe, Vought International was making moves of its own.
The company had just rolled out the fifth generation of its superhero team, with the Sentinel (Reynolds) as its leader. Unlike the largely forgettable second, third, and fourth generations, this fifth team was receiving Vought's full promotional backing. They were determined to make the Sentinel the most popular and beloved hero in Vought's roster—one who could rival household names like Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Clark Kent, and Steve Rogers.
Naturally, Homelander was not pleased.
Having spent his entire career being worshipped as Vought's golden boy, the idea of being overshadowed by a newcomer was unbearable. Homelander's entire identity was built on his image as the most powerful and adored superhero—a mantle he was not prepared to relinquish.
The situation was only made worse by the fact that Reynolds (the Sentinel) seemed to possess all the qualities that Homelander lacked. While Homelander's appearance was average at best, the Sentinel had movie-star looks that Vought's marketing team eagerly played up. Under their careful grooming, Reynolds' already-impressive appearance seemed to radiate an almost otherworldly charm.
But the final straw for Homelander was the announcement that he would be participating in a staged event where he would lose to the Sentinel in a public duel.
For Homelander, whose carefully constructed public persona hinged on his "invincibility," this was nothing short of character assassination. It was clear that Vought no longer intended to prop him up as their flagship hero. Instead, they wanted to transfer his prestige to Reynolds, allowing the Sentinel to take his place as the face of the company.
"This is unacceptable! A rookie replacing me?!" Homelander's fist smashed through his desk, the force splintering the wood into pieces. His glowing red eyes flared with uncontained rage.
No one came to check on him. The office remained eerily silent.
Homelander, used to being surrounded by sycophants eager to please him, suddenly realized just how isolated he had become. Without Vought's support, his power within the company was practically nonexistent. The same colleagues who once groveled at his feet now avoided him, unwilling to risk their own positions by associating with a fading star.
"The nerve of them…!" Homelander seethed. "They think they can push me aside for some pretty-boy puppet? I'll show them the difference between us."
At the same time, in a sleek Vought International conference room, executives gathered to discuss the situation.
"Do you think Homelander will take the bait?" one executive asked, nervously glancing at the security footage from Homelander's office.
"Of course, he will," replied another, smirking. "He's too prideful to back down. That's exactly why we didn't bother with any psychological preparation. This has to feel spontaneous—it'll make for better entertainment."
"But this could go sideways…" the first executive muttered, his concern evident.
"Relax. This is the perfect opportunity for us to showcase the Sentinel's capabilities. A real-time clash, broadcast live—it doesn't get more authentic than that. And when Homelander inevitably loses, Reynolds' reputation will skyrocket."
Unbeknownst to Homelander, Vought had orchestrated everything. Even the seemingly spontaneous confrontation he was about to initiate had been carefully planned and anticipated.
Meanwhile, Reynolds was hosting a live Q&A session with his fans, carefully following Vought's scripted responses.
"Yes, I can fly," he replied to a question. "Could I beat Homelander in a fight? I don't know… He's my senior and an incredible hero. I'm probably no match for him."
The modest answer earned him a wave of supportive comments in the chat. But before Reynolds could continue, a thunderous crash echoed through the studio. The heavy, reinforced door had been torn off its hinges and hurled into the room, narrowly missing one of the production staff.
Homelander stepped into the studio, his glowing red eyes locking onto Reynolds.
"Sentinel!" he snarled, his voice dripping with venom.
Reynolds frowned. He recognized that look all too well. Homelander was seconds away from losing control, and the live broadcast meant that millions of viewers were witnessing everything.
"Die!" Homelander roared, unleashing a blast of heat vision toward Reynolds.
Moving faster than anyone in the room could follow, Reynolds darted away, ensuring that every staff member was safely evacuated before returning to face Homelander.
"Damn it! Stop running!" Homelander bellowed, frustrated by Reynolds' blinding speed. In truth, Homelander couldn't even track his movements, much less land a hit.
In the control room, Vought executives cursed under their breath. While Reynolds' display of speed was impressive, it wasn't the explosive clash they had hoped for.
"Tell him to engage directly!" one of the executives barked into a microphone. "We need action—not just a game of tag!"
Reynolds received the command through his earpiece and sighed. He had no choice but to comply. After all, he wasn't free from Vought's control—yet.
"Gotcha," Reynolds muttered as he reappeared in front of Homelander. Before his rival could react, Reynolds delivered a devastating punch that sent Homelander crashing through the studio wall.
Homelander barely had time to process what had happened before Reynolds was upon him again. Blow after blow rained down on him, each one faster and harder than the last.
As he was flung through the air like a ragdoll, Homelander's rage was replaced by something far more unfamiliar: doubt.
"Am I… really this weak?" he thought, his confidence crumbling with every hit. For the first time in his life, Homelander began to question everything he had believed about himself.
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