Black Noir Homelander Clone Novels & Stories

Another unloaded a clip at me; I dodged, pouncing to crush his skull under my paws, the crack echoing like gunfire. Finally, Hanlon stood alone, back against his SUV, megaphone discarded, a pistol shaking in his hand. Rain streamed down his face, mixing with blood from a gash on his brow. "You think this ends it, Blackwood?" he spat, voice cracking. "More will come. Your heir's a target forever—weak blood, tainted by your human mate."

he growled. The rouge in the black cloak laughs sardonically. “Oh, you can’t kill me, alpha. I’m the key to your heir’s life…” the rouge smiled wickedly, and a small bottle appeared in front of him at some point. “Does it ring a bell, alpha?” Drake and Beta Dillon look disappointed. “How dare you!” Drake growled.

"But if we just run, Duncan will hunt you to the ends of the earth. He will bring the entire Council army to the mountains. To keep you safe, the world needs to believe you are gone." He turned back toward the window and whistled softly into the dark. A second Wayne enforcer climbed through the frame, carrying a heavy canvas duffel bag. Without a word, the enforcer unzipped the bag and pulled out a specialized anatomical decoy body. It was a synthetic, medical-grade clone body often used by rogue packs for deep-cover extractions. It perfectly matched Amora’s exact height, her weight, and her general physical structure.

Shysie told her. “You mean to tell me that my husband has been cloned and there is a little lord Dario vampire hunter running around?” Lady Hannah asked shocked. “Not running around yet, he is still a baby and not an exact clone and not a vampire hunter, it didn’t work,” Shysie said. “Show me,” Lady Hannah said, standing up, shaking. “Perhaps you should get married first and I will take you to see the baby after?” Shysie suggested. “Why tell me?” Lady Hannah asked, clearly unsettled.

And with that, he turned and stalked out of the cabin as fast as he had entered, shutting the door hard behind him. My mother collapsed into a chair, shaking. "Who was that, Annie? His power.it was wonderful. I've never felt anything like it, not even from the Martial Lord." I kept mute, but I knew then my mom knew my state. I couldn't say a lot. I looked down at my babies, their tiny fists opening and closing. My sons needed a pack. They needed the best protection they would have. And Damon, for his wickedness, was still an Alpha, still known by all. The strange man was too much of a risk.

“This was the first attempt. Not to copy—but to create.” Elias blinked. “Wait. He wasn’t cloned?” “No,” Null whispered. “He was built. From code. From DNA fragments. He wasn’t modeled on an existing person. He was made from nothing.” Damien stared. “Then... why does he look like me?” Silence. Null’s voice turned distant. “Because you were never the first.” The realization hit like a pulse of electricity through the room. Damien wasn’t the origin. He was the second attempt.

IKHLAS POV On a faithful Thursday evening, I was with Haneefah in her home sipping lemonade and gisting about school stuff, lecturer crushes, wicked lecturers and other girlie fantasies when I heard a melodious Salam with a sweet scent of black oud, which made me raise my head to see a very beautiful creature of Allah. He has an average height with caramel dark skin and a little bit of plump lips, Don't mind my perverted self.

A massive bear-kin warrior stepped forward, swinging a jagged obsidian spear at the chest of the closest clone. The thick stone blade impaled the grey-skinned monstrosity perfectly through the sternum. The clone did not even flinch. It grabbed the shaft of the spear and violently snapped it in half. The wound in its chest knit together in a fraction of a second, the pale flesh aggressively regenerating around the broken stone tip. The clone stepped inside the bearkin's reach and drove a fist into the warrior's ribs, a blow so fast and heavy it sounded like a cannon shot.

They were filled with the realization that the Architect had finally seen the flaw in his own design. As the security team cleared the lobby, Zander pulled me into the shadows of a corridor. He looked at me, a mixture of awe and terror in his eyes. “Was it true, Livy? Is he really… a clone?” I looked at the tablet in my hand, then at the elevator where Ethan was safe. “Does it matter?” I whispered. “He tried to destroy our son, Zander. I just gave the world a design they’d actually believe.” Zander stepped back, realizing for the first time that the “Pure” girl he had married was gone. In her place was a woman who would rewrite reality to protect her own.

A man sat suspended in the fluid, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in a slow, artificial rhythm. He didn't look like Dominic. He looked like Silas Thorne at the age of thirty—the predatory curve of the jaw, the arrogant set of the brow, and the long, elegant fingers that had signed the death warrants of a million "donors." "A clone," Tommy whispered, his voice cracking. "He wasn't just trying to live forever through the blood. He was building a replacement." "Not a replacement," a voice boomed, not from the pod, but from the speakers embedded in the obsidian cube. "An archive."