CHAPTER FIVE - MULTI POV

Mark Callaway had never seen anything like it. The scene unfolding before him defied every grim expectation he’d carried into this fight. Everyone in the Protectorate knew that fighting an Endbringer wasn’t about victory—it was about survival. You stalled. You distracted. You minimized casualties and prayed you could hold out long enough for Leviathan to retreat on its own terms.

Defeating one? That was a fantasy. Not even Scion, for all his unimaginable power, had managed to do more than drive them away temporarily. And yet, as Mark watched from the relative safety of an overturned ambulance, it became increasingly clear that Superman—a name he’d only just learned from the frantic murmurs among the other PRT Agents; something something about a cape who had been rescuing civilians—wasn’t playing by their rules.

He wasn’t just holding his ground against Leviathan. 

Mark wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t someone who threw himself into battle like the Protectorate capes or other independent heroes. He was one of the many civilian emergency responders, coordinating evacuations, clearing paths, and doing what little he could to help the survivors of this catastrophic event. His training had taught him to stay out of the way of the capes, to focus on what he could control.

But how could anyone look away from this?

Leviathan, the unstoppable force, the walking cataclysm, was being beaten. The monster’s towering form stumbled as Superman delivered another devastating blow, the sheer impact of it rippling through the waterlogged streets. Buildings shook. The air seemed to shake.

Mark tightened his grip on the edge of the ambulance he was sheltering behind. His instincts screamed at him to move, to run, but his legs wouldn’t obey.

“How is he doing this?” someone whispered nearby—a field medic, pale and shaking.

Mark didn’t answer. He didn’t know. All he could do was watch as Superman, a man he’d never heard of until today, did the unthinkable.

Leviathan lashed out with his tail, the monstrous appendage slicing through the air with enough force to level a city block. Superman caught it. Caught it. His feet slid back slightly, the ground beneath him cracking, but he didn’t falter.

The sheer impossibility of it all made Mark’s head spin. He’d seen footage of Leviathan’s previous attacks, heard the grim reports of what the Endbringer could do. Whole teams of capes, the best of the best, had been reduced to broken bodies in moments. No one could stand against that kind of power. 

Just who was this Superman?

Mark’s gaze darted to the others around him. Emergency workers and capes alike had stopped in their tracks, their attention fixed on the battle. For the first time in his life, Mark saw something he never thought he’d witness during an Endbringer attack: hope.

“Do you think he can do it?” another asked, their voice barely audible over the battle.

Mark didn’t know. He didn’t want to hope. Hoping against an Endbringer was dangerous—it made losses hurt that much more. But as he watched Superman land another devastating blow, sending Leviathan skidding across the ruined streets, Mark couldn’t stop the thought from creeping in.

What if?

What if, for the first time in history, they didn’t just survive?

What if they won?

Mark swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he finally found the words. “Maybe this time… it’ll be different.”

. . . . .

Crystal Eve Pelham had noticed it earlier in the Endbringer fight, how the cape—Superman, Amy had called him, when she had gone to visit Dean with Victoria—had prioritized saving civilians. While other capes launched themselves into the fray from the beginning, desperate to inflict even the smallest amount of damage, Superman had swooped in to pull survivors from collapsed buildings, shield them from falling debris, to carry them to safety before rejoining the battle.

And now, as the rain redoubled in sync with Leviathan’s fury, Superman surged forward again, meeting the monster with the kind of ferocity that shattered streets. 

Laserdream’s hands trembled as she adjusted her flight path, trying to stay clear of the tidal waves and the winds that raged. Her light constructs flickered, barely steady. She didn’t need to fight now. Nobody did. The fight belonged to him.

And it showed as Superman drove his fist into Leviathan’s chest with enough force to send the Endbringer flying back. His laser vision followed each punch, carving into its armour-like hide with surgical precision, the beams so bright that Laserdream had to shield her eyes.

Leviathan roared, an oppressive weight that pressed down on her chest, and lashed out with his tail. The movement created a wave of destruction, snapping streetlights, tearing through abandoned buildings, and sending debris flying in all directions. Superman caught the tail mid-swing, and with a grunt of effort, swung Leviathan like a wrecking ball, slamming the Endbringer into the earth so hard that the ground beneath them caved.

“Holy shit…” Laserdream whispered, her voice lost in the cacophony.

Leviathan writhed, claws raking through the ground, sending geysers of water bursting forth to flood the area. The battlefield was rapidly turning into the monster’s element, the rising water threatening to drown what little remained of Brockton Bay.

But it didn’t matter. Superman wasn’t letting up.

He flew up into the air, dragging Leviathan with him. The Endbringer thrashed, its body twisting and contorting with inhuman speed, trying to slip free. It was fast—too fast for most capes to even track—but not for him. Superman’s grip didn’t falter.

With a roar of effort, he drove Leviathan back into the ground, creating another massive crater. Steam hissed and rose around them as Superman unleashed another devastating blast of heat vision directly into the Endbringer’s open wounds. 

Leviathan’s struggles slowed. Cracks radiated outward from the glowing wounds, splitting its armoured hide apart. The Endbringer’s once-unstoppable body began to crumble, its fins the first to disintegrate, then its limbs, and finally, its torso.

Laserdream’s heart pounded in her chest. She couldn’t look away. She felt she was on the cusp of something huge—something unthinkable. 

And Superman? His blows continued, each one echoing like a thunderclap, each one driving Leviathan further into the shattered earth below. Water flowed in around them, trying to claim the battlefield, but the heat radiating from his laser vision made quick work of them.

Finally, the Endbringer let out a final, deafening roar, the sound fading into a gurgling hiss as its body broke apart entirely. The light drained from Leviathan’s eyes, its form collapsing into pieces, its flesh turning gray and brittle.

Laserdream didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Leviathan’s body crumbled completely, breaking apart like over-baked clay.

Superman straightened, his figure shrouded in the steam rising from the battlefield. He looked down at the remains of the monster, his expression unreadable. He was still for a moment, as though waiting for Leviathan to rise again.

But it didn’t.

Laserdream’s voice trembled as she spoke into her comms, her words barely above a whisper. “Leviathan is… Leviathan is dead.”

Silence followed on the other end of the line. Even the storm seemed to pause, the rain slackening as if the world itself couldn’t believe what had just happened.

. . . . .

Marcus Langley staggered through the wreckage, a civilian lost among the rubble. His shirt was soaked, not just from the endless rain, but from blood—his own, and that of others who hadn’t been as lucky.

The fight had seemed eternal. From the safety of a half-collapsed grocery store, Marcus had seen glimpses of Leviathan’s monstrous form, a titan of water and rage. He had seen the heroes try to stand against it, only to be swept away like leaves in a hurricane. He had given up hope of surviving long before the fight had begun.

And then he came.

Marcus didn’t know the cape’s name, but the sight of him burned itself into his mind. A figure of absolute power, clad in red and blue, descending from the heavens like a wrathful god. While the others scrambled and bled, this man didn’t hesitate. He charged Leviathan as if he feared nothing.

Marcus had watched, mesmerized, as the impossible unfolded. The sky lit up with flashes of heat vision, beams of fiery light carving into the Endbringer’s flesh. The blows—those blows—resounded like cannon fire, each one cracking the earth beneath Leviathan and driving the creature to its knees. And then, impossibly, the Endbringer broke.

The beast’s flesh crumbled into dry, grey fragments, disintegrating like sand in a storm. Leviathan—the unstoppable giant lizard, the terror that had claimed countless lives—was no more.

Marcus fell to his knees as the rain stopped, his hands shaking. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the figure hovering before its remains, the very image of triumph. The cape stood there, his cape torn but still billowing, his face a mask of calm focus. The light of his heat vision still glowed faintly in his eyes, the afterimage of destruction incarnate.

Tears streamed down Marcus’s face, and he wasn’t sure why. Was it relief? Awe? Something deeper, something primal? This wasn’t a man. He couldn’t be.

This was a god.

And gods demanded worship.

Marcus clenched his fists, his trembling subsiding as a new resolve took root. His life—everything he had ever done, everything he had ever thought—felt insignificant now. He had witnessed a miracle, and he couldn’t go back to the way things were.

He wouldn’t.

“I’ll serve you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I’ll follow you. I’ll be yours, no matter what you ask.”

Superman turned and disappeared into the horizon, with the Triumvirate quick on his heels. But Marcus remained on his knees, head bowed. He didn’t need the god to hear his pledge. He only needed to prove it.