Galactus Dreamer Herald Chapter 3.

Chapter 3: The Boys.

When I wake, the ceiling fan is the first thing I notice—because I hit it with my head.

The blades clatter against my skull and bend at a warped angle before the motor gives a sputter and dies. I blink at the wreckage above me, then at my arm, which doesn’t look like my arm. It looks… thicker. Broader.

I sit up too quickly, and the mattress creaks under me like it’s about to split. My knees brush the edge of my desk, shoving it an inch across the floor.

I stand, and the room shrinks.

The doorframe to the bathroom catches my shoulder as I try to pass through. I angle sideways, squeeze into the light, and stop.

The mirror doesn’t show Nate.

It shows someone seven feet tall, built like a statue carved for intimidation. My skin is a dark purple, almost grey, stretched over muscles I didn’t earn. My eyes glow red, no whites left at all. Across my chest, etched into me like a brand, is the incomplete curve of an Omega symbol.

The rest is worse.

My body is cloaked in something that isn’t cloth, a weave of Power Cosmic shaped to look like clothes. Only, the energy is darker than it was before. Not silver. Not clean. Something else—something new.

I lean closer.

Silver Surfer’s sheen, Darkseid’s shadow, forced together. Marvel’s spark fused inside a DC god-body. Exactly the kind of hybrid I’d theorized might be possible if dimensions ever crossed and their energies didn’t cancel out.

Good.

One step closer to not being Galactus’s errand boy forever.

Not that I can exactly walk outside like this.

I close my eyes, focusing on the Cosmic hum inside me, try to push my body back toward what it was. Slowly, the height drops. The width shrinks. My head clears the frame of the door again.

But the skin doesn’t change. Still purple. The eyes still glow. At best I manage to look like a leaner alien version of myself, which takes half a day of concentration. By the end, I’m slumped in the chair, sweat sticking to me like I’ve been training instead of… whatever this is.

I give up. For now.

Night comes again, whether I’m ready or not. I put on the headphones, blindfold, the old routine that feels less and less like mine.

When I open my eyes, the world smells like smoke and cheap perfume. Neon lights pulse across billboards. Cameras flash.

And there they are—the Seven.

Not gods. Not even heroes. Celebrities. Brands. Vought’s prized products, standing on a rooftop like it’s a press shoot.

I know where I am. The Boys’ world.

I step forward, the cosmic dark flickering faintly across my skin. My voice carries louder than I expect, amplified by the dream-space itself.

“Galactus is coming.”

They laugh.

The Deep gives a theatrical gasp. A-Train shakes his head. Queen Maeve smirks and takes a drink straight from the bottle in her hand. To them, I’m a gimmick, another freak cooked up on Compound V.

Even Homelander smiles. Wide, blinding, perfect for the cameras.

“Big scary alien warning us about the end of the world,” he says, eyes twinkling. “Cute. Is this one of Vought’s promos I didn’t get the memo about?”

I don’t answer.

Because the only language anyone listens to in this world is violence.

Homelander moves first, streaking forward in a blur of red-white-blue. His fist collides with my chest—and stops. The air quakes, but I don’t move.

His grin falters.

The others swarm. A-Train hits like lightning, Black Noir comes silent from behind, Maeve swings with strength that cracks concrete.

I hold my own.

A sweep of my arm shatters the ground beneath them. A backhand sends Noir across the roof. Cosmic light burns in my veins, each blow heavy enough to throw them back but not kill. Not yet.

Homelander’s smile is gone now. His eyes burn, beams lancing out—red against violet as I raise a hand and split them apart.

For the first time in his life, someone is matching him. Beating him. And it eats at him more than any fist could.

Down below, cameras still flash. Vought execs will spin this as a rogue super. The CIA will blame more of Homelander’s leaks. Everyone will search for a narrative that keeps the world simple, explainable, safe.

But the sky darkens.

A shadow bigger than the city falls over us.

Galactus steps through the clouds.

And in that moment, every smirk, every laugh, every PR angle collapses.

They finally understand I wasn’t lying.

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So...what happens next on chapter 4?