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Chapter 393: Even Homelander Was Defeated!
🕑 Added 2025-10-19 16:08:41 +0000 UTCA bomb.
That’s right — the Riddler had planted explosives in the ballroom ahead of time, weaving his traps into the evening like invisible threads.
Just moments ago, to silence the panicking crowd, he’d detonated one of them.
Fortunately, that bomb had been fixed to the great chandelier in the center of the hall.
It exploded spectacularly — a sunburst of flame and light that tore through the glittering crystals above, showering the guests in a rain of glass — but miraculously caused no actual casualties.
The sound had been deafening.
Now, only a faint hiss of smoke drifted upward, mixing with the scent of scorched velvet and perfume.
Still, the message was received loud and clear.
The chaos froze instantly.
Every scream, every shuffle, died in the air.
No one dared to move.
The once-frantic guests now sat trembling in their seats, terrified to breathe too loudly, their eyes darting toward the blackened chandelier swaying overhead.
> “There’s more than one bomb,” the Riddler’s voice echoed coldly through the ballroom speakers.
“So unless you want to be the lucky winner of tonight’s raffle… stay still.”
He let the silence hang, savoring the weight of dread that filled the room.
> “Otherwise, I can’t guarantee which unlucky soul will get blown to pieces.
Anyone care to test their luck?”
A nervous murmur rippled through the hall.
> “He’s insane!”
“Why is this happening to us?”
“Oh God — I don’t want to die here!”
But no one dared to move again.
The single explosion had been enough to convince them that the Riddler wasn’t bluffing.
He had their complete attention now.
> “Quiet.”
One word — and silence fell like a shroud.
Even the faint rustle of gowns and tuxedos ceased.
He chuckled, pleased.
The feeling of having all of Gotham’s most powerful people in the palm of his hand — the same men and women who normally ignored or mocked him — was intoxicating.
> “Good,” he purred. “Now… let’s continue our game.”
His voice zeroed in on Harvey Dent, sharp as a knife.
> “Harvey, I’ve prepared three riddles just for you.
If you answer all three correctly — congratulations. You’ve amused me, and no more bombs will go off tonight.”
> “But if you get even one wrong…”
The Riddler paused for effect, letting the seconds stretch, the guests holding their breath with him.
> “…then Gotham’s brightest star will burn out before our very eyes.”
Harvey’s expression darkened.
Riddles? Of course. With him, it was always riddles.
But who could possibly guarantee they’d get them right?
Even the sharpest minds could stumble.
This wasn’t a matter of intellect anymore — it was a duel against the Riddler’s twisted logic, and no one could predict how that worked.
In fact, while the Riddler had been “calming” the crowd with his bombs, Harvey had already been wracking his brain over that first question, trying to find a pattern, a clue, anything.
Even now, he had nothing.
> “If you want to kill me, then do it,” Harvey said firmly, his voice surprisingly steady.
“No need for this circus.”
> “Oh, but you’ll play,” the Riddler replied smoothly, his tone dripping with amusement.
“Because if you refuse, I’ll detonate every bomb in the building.”
That hit Harvey where it hurt.
He froze, jaw tightening until the muscle twitched.
After a long breath, he gave in.
> “Fine. I’ll play your damn game. But you have to swear — it’s just me. You leave everyone else out of this.”
> “Oh no, no, no…” The Riddler’s voice turned mocking, almost singsong.
“I noticed we have another guest tonight.”
Thunk!
A spotlight slammed down from the ceiling — a blinding white circle that cut through the smoky air and illuminated a tall, calm figure among the crowd.
Alex.
For a heartbeat, the entire hall froze again, the collective gasp rising like a single breath.
> “Homelander!”
Hundreds of eyes turned toward him, their fear mixing with desperate hope.
A wave of realization swept through the hall.
They’d almost forgotten — he was here.
And in that instant, hope flared anew.
Since the day he’d first appeared, Homelander had never once failed.
Not against street gangs.
Not against Gotham’s costumed freaks.
Not even against monsters like Mr. Freeze — each time, his victory had been absolute, effortless, godlike.
If anyone could save them now…
it was him.
Homelander had become Gotham’s last, shining hope.
> “Homelander,” the Riddler called out gleefully, “you can join the game too.
Three riddles — the same rules.”
> “If you answer them correctly, Harvey Dent lives.
If you fail…”
His voice hardened to ice.
> “Then Harvey dies — and everyone here dies.”
---
“What?!”
The fragile calm shattered.
Panic exploded again as people shouted, cursed, pleaded.
> “Why us?!”
“You said it was just him!”
“We didn’t do anything!”
Just seconds ago, they had been praying for Homelander to save them.
Now, they were begging him not to get involved, their survival instincts overpowering gratitude.
One second’s difference, and the mask of civility that Gotham’s elite wore fell away completely.
Their fear, their hypocrisy, their selfishness — it was all laid bare.
---
> “Hahahaha!”
The Riddler’s laughter rang through the speakers, jagged and wild.
> “See, Homelander? This is Gotham!”
“A city so rotten, it doesn’t even know it’s already dead!”
His voice echoed off the cracked marble, cruelly delighted.
---
> “Homelander!”
Harvey’s voice cut through the noise.
It was rough, desperate, but clear.
> “This is between me and him. Leave it!”
Unlike the others, his defiance was real.
Even facing death, he refused to drag someone else down with him.
It was… admirable.
Alex studied him for a long second. The calm mask on his face didn’t move, but his eyes—those sharp, unreadable eyes—registered something faint. Respect, maybe. Or pity.
> “Well then,” the Riddler drawled, “what’ll it be, Homelander?
Will you play my game — or walk away?”
Every eye turned toward Alex.
Moments ago, they had looked to him as a savior.
Now, they silently prayed he would keep his distance.
He stood there for a long, quiet moment.
The light from the chandelier’s wreckage glinted off his shoulders like armor.
Then he finally spoke — calm, emotionless.
> “I won’t play your game.”
A collective sigh of relief swept through the room.
> “Thank God.”
“He’s not insane.”
At least he wasn’t risking their lives.
But relief soon curdled into something else — disappointment.
Whispers spread like rot.
> “He backed down…”
“Homelander actually backed down…”
He hadn’t even tried to challenge the Riddler.
Even if his choice had been the rational one, even if it spared them all — the fact remained:
He’d lost.
Homelander — the invincible god of Gotham — had refused the challenge.
And that, in the eyes of the world, was defeat.
---
The Riddler’s laughter grew louder, triumphant, manic.
> “Ladies and gentlemen… witness it for yourselves!”
> “Tonight, Gotham’s untouchable hero has fallen!”
> “Homelander — defeated, without a single punch thrown!”
And with that, the Riddler’s mocking laughter filled every corner of the hall,
echoing long into the stunned, suffocating silence that followed.
Even Homelander, the god who ruled Gotham’s night, stood motionless — and for the first time since his arrival, the people saw him not as a savior… but as a man who could be defeated.
