Chapter 9: [The Forgotten Hero: A Necessary Sacrifice and a Corrupted Soul]

Chapter 9: [The Forgotten Hero: A Necessary Sacrifice and a Corrupted Soul]

[System Message: New opportunity detected. Target: Retired supe with offensive capabilities. Reminder: The greater the power, the greater the justification for acquisition. Think of it as a public service.]

"A public service? You're really stretching the definition of 'public service,' System. Next, you'll be telling me that setting puppies on fire is 'therapeutic' for the puppies."

The high from the supe bar, the raw power of the V, wore off quickly, replaced by the relentless, nagging pressure of the empty Blood Meter at 100/400. Six vials, a temporary fix, but the next goal was 400. The climb felt impossibly steep. My Liquid Manipulation (Lvl 1) was interesting, but still low-level. I could make a glass of water float, maybe create a small, controlled jet. Not exactly Homelander-proof. My Carbon Skin (Lvl 4) was good, my Metabolic Acceleration (Lvl 3) made me fast, and Kinetic Redirection (Lvl 1) was subtle. But I needed more. I needed power that could truly hurt.

Butcher was focused on Vought's deeper conspiracies. He'd gotten a tip from Mallory about a "forgotten hero," an early Vought experiment whose powers were too messy for public consumption. He thought the hero might have intel on early Compound V trials, on Vought's deeper, darker secrets.

"This bloke, 'Acid-Boy' they called him, got shelved because his power was too disgusting for the cameras," Butcher explained, gesturing to a grainy black and white photo of a grim-looking man in a corroded superhero suit. "Caustic Secretion. Basically, he sweats acid. Not exactly family-friendly, is it? But he was one of the early ones. Might know things."

My inner alarm bells started ringing. Caustic Secretion. An offensive power. One that could dissolve flesh and bone. The System practically vibrated with anticipation.

[System Message: Target: "Acid-Boy." Power: Caustic Secretion. Assessment: High utility offensive power. Acquisition recommended. Remember, sometimes the greatest kindness is a quick, decisive end to a tragic existence.]

"Oh, you're just full of profound philosophical insights, aren't you, System? 'The greatest kindness is a quick, decisive end.' You sound like a particularly nihilistic hitman."

"So, what's the plan?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant, my eyes glued to the photo. "Cozy chat over tea and crumpets? Or a full-blown assault?"

MM, ever the voice of reason, looked wary. "We approach with caution. He's a civilian now. He's been through enough."

Butcher scoffed. "Once a supe, always a supe, MM. Especially one Vought tossed aside like a broken toy. He'll be bitter. And dangerous. Hughie, you're coming with me. Your new… 'talents'… might be useful if he gets squirrely."

My heart hammered. He was giving me an opening. A perfect, bloody opening. The guilt was a familiar companion now, a dull ache in my chest. This man was a victim. A genuinely tragic figure. But his power… I needed it. The survival instinct, the hunger for growth, was overriding everything else.

We tracked "Acid-Boy," whose real name was Arthur Finch, to a rundown house in a forgotten part of the city. It was overgrown, neglected, a monument to a life ruined by corporate greed and uncontrolled power.

"Poor bastard," Frenchie muttered, observing the house from a distance. "Thrown away like garbage."

My Hughie-Prime conscience echoed his sentiment. My fan brain remembered his story – a lab experiment, a hero who couldn't be controlled, discarded and forgotten. But the New-Hue, the developing monster, just saw the power. And the opportunity.

We approached the house cautiously. Butcher kicked down the front door, because subtlety wasn't really his strong suit. The interior was dark, dusty, filled with the ghosts of a broken life.

"Arthur! We know you're in here, mate!" Butcher bellowed, his voice echoing through the silence. "We just want to talk!"

A low growl answered him. Then, a figure emerged from the shadows. Arthur Finch. He was older, gaunt, his skin discolored and scarred in places, a testament to his own corrosive power. His eyes, however, held a spark of defiant madness.

"Talk?" he rasped, his voice hoarse. "Vought's here to 'talk' to me, are they? Come to make sure I'm still a good little forgotten experiment, out of sight, out of mind?"

"We're not with Vought, mate," Butcher said, holding up his hands. "We're here to help you. To expose Vought. We know what they did to you."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. He looked at me, then at Frenchie and MM. "Help me? The only 'help' I ever got from Vought was a one-way ticket to obscurity. You think I'm a fool?"

Suddenly, he lunged, a desperate, animalistic attack. His skin shimmered, and a fine mist of corrosive liquid began to seep from his pores. It hissed as it hit the floorboards, eating through the wood.

"He's using his power!" MM yelled, scrambling back.

"Watch out! That stuff'll burn right through ya!" Butcher warned, narrowly dodging a stream of acid that spurted from Arthur's hand.

The fight was messy, chaotic, and terrifying. Arthur was desperate, lashing out with uncontrolled bursts of acid. My Carbon Skin (Lvl 4) provided some protection, turning direct hits into painful stings rather than agonizing burns, but I still felt the burning sensation. My Metabolic Acceleration (Lvl 3) allowed me to move with surprising agility, weaving through the corrosive spray. My Liquid Manipulation (Lvl 1) was useless here – this wasn't water, it was pure, destructive acid. And my Kinetic Redirection (Lvl 1) was too weak to deflect the full force of a corrosive blast.

Butcher was trying to subdue him without killing him, but Arthur was surprisingly resilient, fueled by years of bitterness and rage. MM was trying to cordon off areas, to minimize the damage. Frenchie was searching for some kind of tranquilizer.

My eyes, however, were on Arthur. His power was raw, untamed, dangerous. And I wanted it. The thought, cold and calculating, was terrifyingly clear. This was my chance. A powerful offensive ability. A way to truly defend myself. A way to truly threaten a supe.

[System Message: Opportunity is fleeting. Your strategic analysis is correct. This power will significantly enhance your offensive capabilities. Do not hesitate.]

"Don't hesitate? You're asking me to commit murder, System! A premeditated murder of a broken man!" The words screamed in my mind, but they sounded hollow, even to me. The hunger was too strong.

Arthur let out a guttural scream, unleashing a wide spray of acid. Butcher had to dive for cover. MM was forced back. Frenchie was still fumbling for his tools. This was my moment.

I moved. Not with heroic purpose, but with a cold, ruthless determination. I used my Metabolic Acceleration (Lvl 3) to dart around a piece of furniture, flanking Arthur. He turned, his eyes wide with surprise and a flash of recognition. He saw me, not as the terrified civilian, but as something else. Something dangerous.

"You… you're one of them, aren't you?!" he rasped, a fresh spray of acid erupting from his pores.

I ignored him. My Sound Manipulation (Lvl 1) focused a precise, high-frequency whine, directly at his inner ear. It was subtle, but enough to cause intense disorientation, a blinding headache. He staggered, clutching his head, his aim going wild.

Then, with a surge of adrenaline, I lunged. My Carbon Skin, Lvl 4, was humming. I tackled him, driving him to the ground. His acid burned, sizzling against my reinforced skin, but it was bearable. Painful, yes, but not debilitating.

He thrashed, trying to break free, to unleash another corrosive spray. But I held him down. My hands, surprisingly strong now, clamped onto his arms, pinning them. He looked up at me, his eyes wide with fear and despair.

"Please…" he whispered, "don't…"

My heart ached. The Hughie-Prime screamed in protest. But the New-Hue silenced it. This was necessary. This was survival. This was power.

With a grimace, I pressed down, cutting off his air. It was quick. Brutal. Unflinching. His struggles weakened. His body went limp. The corrosive mist stopped.

[System Message: Kill Confirmed. Target: Arthur Finch (The Forgotten Hero). Initiating "Supe Power Absorption" protocol. Choose wisely.]

The mental menu flashed, a stark white against the darkness of my conscience.

ARTHUR FINCH'S POWERS:

Caustic Secretion (Lvl 1)

I chose it. Caustic Secretion (Lvl 1). A burning, tingling sensation spread through my skin, a strange awareness of every pore. It wasn't just a power; it was a part of me now. A destructive, terrifying part.

I slowly stood up, my body still tingling from the residual acid. Butcher, MM, and Frenchie stared at me, their faces a mixture of shock, horror, and a dawning, terrifying understanding.

"Hughie… what did you do?" MM whispered, his voice barely audible.

"He… he was going to kill you," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. "He was dangerous. I… I had to."

Butcher just looked at me, a strange, knowing look in his eyes. He didn't seem surprised. Just… confirming his worst suspicions. He saw the monster I was becoming. And for the first time, I realized, he wasn't just using me. He was afraid of me. And I was afraid of myself.

The Blood Meter still sat at 100/400. No V from Arthur. The hunt was far from over.