Interlude - Gorilla Grodd

Grodd sat upon his throne of polished obsidian, claws drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm against the armrest. His grey eyes narrowed, scanning the holographic projections before him, each flickering screen presenting a new piece of an unfolding puzzle.

He had lost his alternate universe Metropolis, this New York.

That, he had accepted.

For now.

But what burned at his core was not just the loss—it was the thief who had taken it.

Richards.

The so-called "Smartest Man Alive.”

A man Grodd had never even heard of before this Battleworld was stitched together.

Some human-level genius, some tall, rubber-limbed fool, who had arrived in his city like some messianic scientist, weaving together a safety net just strong enough to strangle New York’s independence.

Richards had done what Grodd had planned to do.

He had stitched the city's survival into a web of technology so intricate, so irreplaceable, that it could never again function without it.

The humans needed him.

Because their food, their water, their power, their entire infrastructure now ran on the technological wonders Richards had installed.

And with it, the Nexus Accord had made New York their colony.

Not through ****.

Not through fear.

But through dependence.

And that, to Grodd, was absolutely infuriating.

For that had been his plan!

When New York City and its surrounding thirty-mile radius were ripped from their world and deposited into Battleworld and onto Grodd's eastern border, the first weeks were chaos.

The supply chains that fed the city’s millions were severed.

The national infrastructure that kept everything running—law enforcement, military presence, even simple distribution of food and goods—vanished overnight.

Panic set in immediately.

Looting, riots, mass hysteria in the streets.

And in the power vacuum, with the U.S. government suddenly absent, one **** rose to the occasion.

Homelander took control.

Vought International, the odd superhero conglomerate, already a dominant presence, now became the government in full.

Its corporate board and remaining executives operated as de facto rulers, but in the eyes of the people, one man had all the power.

Homelander.

His superheroes became law enforcement.

His word became law.

And for a brief moment, New York had stability.

A terrifying stability.

The riots ended when Homelander lasered looters in Times Square live on VNN.

The chaos subsided as fear took hold.

He made one thing very clear.

He was in charge.

But even he couldn’t conjure food out of thin air.

And that was when he, the true protagonist in the piece, had stepped in.

Grodd’s eyes gleamed as he remembered the calculated precision of his arrival. From the west, across the jungled borderlands where the city met unfamiliar terrain, his forces appeared.

As a hyper-intelligent, telepathic warlord commanding an empire of genetically advanced gorillas, Grodd had seen immense opportunity in New York’s **** struggles.

Yet, he approached as a friend.

He didn’t openly challenge Homelander.

He didn’t directly test Vought.

Instead, Grodd offered aid.

His advanced agricultural technology and the abundant resources of his jungle domain became New York’s lifeline.

For the first time since the disaster, there was food.

There was order beyond ****.

Grodd, ever the tactician, played the role of an ally, though he saw clearly what Homelander was.

A mirror-image Superman.

A psychopath with absolute power—dangerous, volatile, but ultimately predictable.

And so, Grodd groomed him.

He fed Homelander’s ego, let him believe he was undisputed, while quietly expanding his own influence within the city.

It was a long game, but Grodd was patient.

Then everything changed.

Grodd’s massive fingers clenched slightly as he remembered the chaos that erupted the moment Beerus arrived.

The balance of power shattered instantly.

The so-called God of Destruction, a strange purple feline figure, descended from the sky, drawn by the raw scent of chaos and arrogance.

Homelander, predictably, saw him as a challenge.

As a joke.

He met Beerus in Times Square, cameras rolling, an audience watching.

And then, in an instant—

Homelander was gone.

Exploded into red mist.

A single effortless motion from Beerus, and the most powerful man in New York became nothing but a splatter of gore.

The city froze in horror.

For the first time, realization set in.

Homelander hadn’t been a god.

But something else was.

Beerus yawned.

And just like that, his attention wandered elsewhere.

He left.

No declaration, no conquest—just boredom, dismissal, an absence where once there had been a ruler.

And into that void, a new struggle began.

Grodd moved quickly, presenting himself as the natural successor to stability.

But even without Homelander, Vought wasn’t gone.

There were still Superheroes.

Still corporate remnants clawing for control.

And the people?

They had seen what absolute power meant.

They had seen it erased in an instant.

Fear gripped the city.

Grodd’s teeth bared in a silent growl.

That had been his moment. New York was his.

He had fed them when they had nothing.

He had brought order while they panicked.

He had been grooming them, slowly, carefully, letting them come to him on their own, allowing them to realize that human rule was obsolete.

And then the Nexus Accord had arrived.

Not as invaders.

No, they were too clever for that.

They had come as saviors.

A coalition of self-righteous conquerors from countless fractured worlds, the Nexus Accord had spent months fortifying their territory, watching the chaos on this side of the Gulf from a distance, waiting for the perfect moment to expand their reach.

And when they looked across the Gulf, they saw New York.

A version of their precious shining Metropolis.

A city ripped from its world, severed from its power structures, struggling to maintain order under Vought’s incompetent rule and under threat of Grodd's supposed villlainy.

To Nexus, it was ripe for acquisition.

A population of millions who, if properly conditioned, controlled, and molded, could be made useful.

A bridge-head for their inevitable invasion, if only Grodd could get the rest of these moronic warlords to see the obvious threat.

They had waited for Homelander to be destroyed, for Grodd’s slow consolidation to leave gaps just wide enough for them to slip through.

And then they had offered their protection, their food, their security—all in exchange for obedience.

The humans had been starving, and like the foolish creatures they were, they had jumped to the hand that fed them.

And the so-called heroes of Nexus?

They had no shame in their imperialism.

They patrolled the city as enforcers now, wearing their authority like a crown, strutting through the streets of a city that was never theirs.

But they weren’t as strong as they believed.

Grodd knew this because he saw everything. His agents were embedded deep, scattered among the city's population, their loyalties hidden beneath false identities and digital disguises.
His superior technology was woven into New York's infrastructure, tapping into its surveillance networks, its power grids, its fragile security systems.

Their Internet belonged to him as much as it did to them.

Grodd sat upon his throne, his massive frame draped lazily over its surface, chin resting against his palm, elbow propped on his knee. His eyes glowed in the dim light, scanning the holographic projections before him, each flickering screen presenting a new, delicious inconsistency in the Nexus Accord’s iron grip on New York.

The room hummed with supertech, glowing consoles casting eerie blue light onto the ancient, stone-carved reliefs that lined the chamber walls.

A fusion of primal savagery and unparalleled intellect.

A reflection of Grodd himself.

At his side, standing stiffly, was Science Minister Zaius—the aged, long-faced ape draped in the heavy robes of his dual office.

Both keeper of knowledge and guardian of faith.

An absurd contradiction.

And yet, somehow, the old fool balanced both in his mind.

Grodd did not fully trust him.

But he was useful.

And tonight, Grodd was feeling particularly generous.

Because he had found something.

A chink in the Nexus Accord’s armor.

He let out a slow, rumbling exhale, not in anger, but in satisfaction.

The largest display projected an image that had, at first, almost made him doubt his own perception.

Squirrel Girl.

Surrounded by cocks.

A plethora of human penises, all standing at attention, all receiving her bright, beaming smile as she switched from one to the next, lavishing each with eager attention, her tail flicking excitedly behind her.

She wasn’t being ****.

She wasn’t under duress.

Her cheeks were puffed adorably, her mouth stretched around one thick shaft before releasing it with a playful pop, before moving to the next with genuine enthusiasm.

The video title was, predictably, a pun about gargling nuts.

Grodd’s claws drummed against his throne.

He had no sexual interest in humans.

But he had spent years living among them.

And he knew this wasn’t normal.

Another screen flickered to life.

Starlight, kneeling before a grinning frat boy, her golden ribbons barely clinging to her heaving breasts as she finished swallowing his load.

She wiped her mouth, grinned up at him, wagged a playful finger.

"You better not post that online."

She winked.

The frat boy, laughing, held up his phone, still recording.

And Starlight?

She just smirked and walked off, unconcerned.

The screen went dark.

Grodd’s brow furrowed slightly.

There was no shame.

No hesitation.

No awareness that this was something that, just a few months ago, would have destroyed her reputation, her career, her standing.

And then the final screen.

A battle—Nexus enforcers clashing with the Ultron Wave, their once-practical armor reduced to scraps of fabric.

Their flesh bared to the world, their bodies bouncing, rippling, utterly exposed as they fought.

And none of them seemed to care.

Grodd turned his head slightly, casting a sidelong glance at Zaius.

The old gorilla’s face was unreadable, but his fingers twitched slightly in his robe.

“I imagine,” Grodd rumbled, “that you have some thoughts.”

Zaius exhaled heavily, folding his hands before him, his voice low and measured.

“This is unnatural.”

Grodd smirked. “Yes.”

“Disgusting.”

Grodd tilted his head. “To you, perhaps.”

Zaius’s wrinkled features tightened. “You find no offense in this?”

Grodd gestured toward the screens.

“Zaius, if the female of my species decided to bare her form, would I care? Would you? Would anyone? We do not have human modesty.”

The minister’s lips pursed. “And yet, you do not like this.”

Grodd’s golden eyes narrowed.

“No.” He turned back to the screens, watching Starlight’s carefree smirk, the way the Nexus heroines fought without a single thought to their exposure.

“This is not nudity,” Grodd said finally.

“This is control.”

Zaius tilted his head.

Grodd tapped his temple. “I have lived among humans, Zaius. I have worn their form. I have walked their streets. I have heard their prayers. The majority of this city’s people were raised with the influence of Christian values, even if they no longer believe.”

He gestured toward Squirrel Girl’s smiling, cum-coated face.

“This?” He flicked a claw toward Starlight, grinning at the frat boy’s camera. “This?”

“This is not faith. This is not choice.”

Zaius’s brow furrowed.

“What are you suggesting?”

Grodd leaned forward, fingers steepling.

“I am suggesting,” he said, voice heavy with satisfaction, “that the Nexus Accord is not in control of itself.”

A pause.

Then, slowly, a knowing smirk spread across Zaius’s wrinkled face.

Grodd sat back, exhaling deeply, contentedly.

“Someone is changing them.”

Zaius nodded. “Yes.”

Grodd’s claws flexed against his throne.

“And I intend to find out who.”

His lips curled into a hungry grin.

“And when I do…”

His grey eyes gleamed.

“I will either break them… or make them mine.”

Grodd sat in the heart of his throne room, his chin resting on his palm, grey eyes scanning the live battlefield feed flickering on the largest of his holographic projections.

Zaius stood beside him, hands clasped behind his back, the old gorilla’s long, furrowed face betraying a flicker of unease.

Because this was not war.

This was spectacle.

This was depravity masquerading as heroism.

Nexus forces were clashing with the Ultron Wave, fighting back an unrelenting tide of Parademons, their bodies twisted by techno-organic strains of Ultron’s code.

And yet, it wasn’t just mindless drones that Nexus was fighting.

Some had fallen.

Some had turned.

Starfire. She-Ra. Big Barda.

Once unstoppable warriors, now puppets of Ultron’s will, the twisted lite-version of the Anti-Life Equation allowing even lowly foot soldiers to command them.

The battlefield was chaos.

But what held Grodd’s attention—what captivated him, what amused him—was not the fighting.

It was the uniforms.

Or rather—the lack thereof.

Nexus’s superheroines weren’t just compromised in their battle strategy.

They had been stripped of dignity, of practicality, of even the pretense of modesty.

They fought as if they didn’t even notice.

As if they didn’t care.

As if tits flopping out, asses on display, and exposed pussies flashing mid-air were nothing more than background noise to them.

Power Girl, a living weapon of Kryptonian might, flew across the battlefield, her massive tits bouncing violently, her huge, heavy rack only concealed by pasties rather than being merely contained with that iconic boob window.

She-Hulk, a towering emerald giantess, had long since lost her leotard to the brutality of battle, leaving only ripped scraps clinging to her muscled frame like an afterthought.

Atom Eve?

She had been practical.

She had saved time for the men.

Her costume had been altered with deliberate efficiency—holes cut out for her nipples and crotch, giving the male soldiers something easy to stare at even as she hurled reality-altering energy across the field.

Then there was Starfire.

A goddess of flame and fury, her red hair wild, her orange skin shimmering with energy.

She was, in a way, Eve’s opposite.

Where Eve’s uniform had holes exposing her, Starfire’s had merely the barest coverage—tiny purple patches over her nipples and pussy, as if she had been designed for seduction first, war second.

Storm, She-Ra, Mirko, Tracer—

All of them the same.

They fought as if their exposed flesh was inconsequential.

As if they had never been taught shame.

As if they were made for this.

And to the humans of New York, watching from behind screens, from the rooftops, from the fringes of the battlefield, it must have looked like a goddamn porn shoot.

Grodd exhaled through his nose.

"Ultron is a fool," he muttered.

Zaius tilted his head. “And yet, you sympathize with him.”

Grodd let out a low, amused chuckle.

"Because he was right about one thing." He flicked a claw toward the screen, where Big Barda was pummeling her former allies, her enormous bare tits bouncing freely, her axe splitting the battlefield in two.

"This city is a bridgehead for so called superheroes." His voice carried the weight of irony. "A foothold in a world that should have crushed it."

Zaius exhaled. "And yet, no one can trust Ultron."

Grodd’s grin widened.

"Of course not." His claws drummed against his armrest. "A machine has no true loyalty. He would destroy even his allies the moment he deemed them unnecessary."

Zaius nodded. "And you would not allow that."

Grodd’s voice rumbled with satisfaction.

"My empire is protected from tech-subversion," he said. "Rick Sanchez saw to that. His immorality is a useful weapon when pointed at the right enemies."

He leaned forward, watching as Storm fought against Tracer, both half-dressed, both utterly unaware that their presence was more erotic than it was heroic.

"This isn't just the result of Ultron's influence," Grodd mused.

Zaius frowned. "Then what is it?"

Grodd’s grey eyes gleamed.

"Corruption, Minister."

His grin stretched wider, fangs glinting in the dim light.

"And I intend to use it."

Grodd leaned forward in his throne, claws steepling beneath his chin.

This was not Nexus doctrine.

Someone had slipped inside their ranks, beneath their notice, and was changing them from the inside out.

And that meant one of two things.

Either it was one of his supervillain rivals, playing the long game, hoping to topple Nexus from within—

Or it was an ambitious, unseen figure inside the Accord itself, someone brilliant, dangerous, and wholly unprepared for the consequences of their actions.

Either way, it was an opportunity.

If it was one of his enemies, he would sniff them out, break them, and take what was theirs.

If it was one of Nexus’s own, they would be far easier to manipulate, mold, and claim.

New York had been stolen from him once.

But the cracks had already formed.

And Grodd would be patient.

He would watch.

And when the time came—

He would make Metropolis his.