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But here’s the truth, champ: Butcher dies choking on his own blood, still thinking he had a chance. And you? You die believing in losers. That’s the punchline. That’s the joke. You’re not laughing with power, you’re laughing from under its boot.
Good riddance? No. When I’m done, they won’t remember Butcher… and they sure as hell won’t remember you. You’ll vanish like the rest. And the only name the world whispers in fear, in awe, in prayer... is mine.
"AHAHAHA? No, no... that's my line."
AHAHAHAHAHA.
A few insults. A little posturing.
You standing there behind Butcher, thinking you’ve got plot armor or something.
It’s... cute.
Like watching a mouse bark at a lion.
But then you had to run your mouth.
‘F U Homelander’...
Like you’ve earned the right to even say my name without choking on it.
Like you understand anything about power.
You. Are. Nothing.
You hide behind that broken thug like it gives you meaning.
Butcher’s not your shield. He’s just a slower corpse.
And now?
Now I don’t just kill you.
I erase you.
I melt your face off the Earth and wipe your name from every memory.
You think I’m the villain?
No... I’m the end.