Chapter 3

  The streets below were drowned, dark canals winding between buildings, water lapping at shattered windows and half-submerged cars. Planks, toys, and even a bicycle wheel drifted in the currents. The sun should've been climbing somewhere behind the storm front, but the sky was choked with smoke, rain, and mist, casting everything in shadow. It was hard to believe that this broken place was still home to almost four hundred thousand people. She wondered whether Brockton Bay would ever get the chance to recover. Whether it even could.

  Tattletale felt the telekinetic bubble drop as her feet touched down on the elevated highway ramp. The air here smelled like wet garbage and gasoline. Around her, one of the hastily assembled triage hubs buzzed with motion. These setups were standard in every Endbringer engagement. Well, every engagement except Simurgh zones. People didn't set up anything permanent when she was involved, except walls. Here, though, the goal was clear: gather the wounded, stabilize them, and get them moving to the more substantial field hospitals.

  Whenever possible, existing infrastructure, like hospitals, schools, government buildings, was repurposed into triage camps or command centers. It made logistical sense. But over the years, a pattern had emerged. Endbringers had a knack for leveling familiar landmarks first. Too predictable. Too vulnerable. So the Protectorate, the PRT, or whatever authority was in charge at the time learned to adapt. They began setting up their own facilities wherever they could fit them. No fixed patterns. No obvious targets. Harder to find. Harder to destroy.

  Government-affiliated medics and city crews moved with urgency, weaving through the pathways between tents and rubble. They didn't so much as stumble at their arrival. Civilians and capes alike were treated as they came in, triaged under tarps strung between lamp posts and cars. Steam hissed from portable generators, blending with the mist as stretchers were picked up or dropped off.

  Civilians who hadn't reached the shelters, but could still move, were given tasks. Anything to keep their hands busy and their minds from spiraling. Some handed out ration bars and bottled water. Others braced stretchers or anchored flapping tarps against the relentless wind. Bandages bloomed crimson across torsos, limbs, and faces. IV lines hung from whatever was available, including exposed rebar, swaying like wind chimes.

  Somewhere nearby, a siren wailed. Closer, a generator kicked to life with a mechanical growl, nearly drowning the sobbing of one of the nurses.

  Tattletale passed a brute in a dented metal harness, unconscious, his lower half wrapped in thick gauze, blood soaking through at the seams. Nearby, a cape in a tattered cloak coughed violently into a respirator mask while a medic checked his neck brace. His armor was charred somehow, and bits of ceramic plating had been sheared off clean. Another cape, her gloves scorched and melted at the fingertips, sat upright on a stretcher with a shock blanket around her shoulders. Her eyes were wide, glassy, unblinking.

  Triumph, the newest member of the local Protectorate team, lay on a backboard. His left boot was missing and his body was tense with pain as a field doctor worked to stabilize what looked like a compound fracture in his leg. The cape next to him was wrapped in thermal blankets. Her lips were blue. Hypothermia, maybe. She clutched a busted harpoon launcher against her chest like it was the only thing keeping her anchored to reality.

  What capes there were had their identities concealed, of course. She figured it was only a matter of time before the government corralled them into a single, secured area. It was easier to manage, and easier to keep the truth of the battle contained.

  To her mild surprise, there were just as many animals as people present.

  Scores of dogs and cats peeked out from beneath cars; a few even clutched protectively in the arms of evacuees. There was a raccoon huddled under the axle of an overturned van. A pair of chickens were perched atop a plastic crate underneath a tarp, while someone nearby tossed them pieces of a granola bar. Off to one side, corralled with a length of wire fencing and a couple of plastic poles, a pig snorted as it rooted through the piles of washed up garbage.

  If she was being honest with herself, Tattletale wasn't particularly moved by any of it.

  This was the natural consequence of the Endbringers. Cities broke. People and animals died. What could she do about it? Ask them to leave nicely? They were as routine as the turning of the seasons now, and she'd long since developed a stomach for violence in her line of work as a villain anyway.

  Tattletale took a slow breath. She realized she was getting cold.

  They came to a halt beside the concrete barricade as Eidolon patched through a message on his armband. Dragon's suit lay in ruin nearby, torn in half. The lower section was sprawled across the flooded street below, half-submerged, its severed servos still twitching in erratic spasms. The upper half had been hurled into the overpass itself, wedged into the concrete like a spearhead. Already, the severed components were breaking down from the inside, dissolving. Her power helped her come to a conclusion. It was a self-destruct protocol, built in by Dragon to ensure her tech couldn't be salvaged or reverse-engineered.

  Tattletale didn't spare the shattered mech a second glance, smothering the flicker of disappointment. It wasn't about the famous tinker as she'd already known Dragon didn't pilot her stuff in person. She was disappointed at the missed chance to snag a piece of tech. If she didn't keep it for herself, she might have been able to make some easy, albeit dirty, cash. Tinker tech was worth more than its weight in gold, after all, and twice that when you knew how to fence it.

  Overhead, a handful of fliers carried wounded capes away on stretchers wrapped in tarp and tied with straps, veering west, away from the ocean and the surging floodwaters behind it.

  Ahead of her, alongside Eidolon and Saitama, a sudden flare of light illuminated the camp. Two capes appeared out of nowhere, their eyes scanning the field. Each moved without a word, seizing the most critically injured nearby. In the blink of an eye, one disappeared in a flash of light, the other dissolved like mist in the wind, taking a handful of the wounded capes with them. Saitama watched them go, head tilted slightly, then turned his gaze to the wreckage slowly dissolving under the rain. His eyes tracked the rows of tents, the stretchers lining the pavement, the wounded groaning as medics and civilians moved around them.

  His expression changed.

  The casual detachment he carried faded. His brow creased.

  Well, guess there's something bouncing around in that shiny head after all, Tattletale thought, schooling her face into a look of casual disinterest as Eidolon turned around.

  "You'll get your shot," Eidolon said, voice clipped as he finished the brief exchange on his armband. He gave Saitama a measured look. "After that, we regroup and refocus the resistance"

  She raised an eyebrow. Someone's angry.

  Tattletale was still rationing her power, saving as much as possible for Leviathan. But Eidolon? He was too important a piece on the board to ignore. Even if she didn't get a thorough analysis on him, it was worth prodding for surface-level reads. She'd been in the game long enough to know when to trust instinct, lean on experience, and let deduction do the heavy lifting. Like stretching the flour in a recipe, she could conserve the real ingredients by knowing what parts to substitute. Hold back her power until it actually mattered, without frying her brain or wrecking her kidneys from painkillers in the process.

  For starters, the irritation wasn't aimed at her. That much was obvious. He barely acknowledged her presence.

  Saitama had built a sliver of rapport with Eidolon back at the last battle. If it hadn't meant something, Eidolon would've flown off the moment Leviathan retreated or sent someone else. But he hadn't. Saitama had left enough of an impression that he'd personally gone to retrieve the bald cape. But no, that wasn't what shifted things. As usual, it happened the moment she said something she shouldn't have.

  When Eidolon realized the bald cape was holding back, something fundamental shifted in him.

  Was that it, then?

  The notion that someone could hold back at a time like this, because they had that much power to spare?

  Was this an honor thing?

  Eidolon definitely had that distant, mythic vibe going for him. Like some wandering knight pulled from an ancient epic. The way he carried himself, the calm restraint, the sheer presence. Talk shows loved to point out how quiet he was, how composed.

  Yeah… it tracked.

  One of the top ten strongest capes alive, no question. Maybe even top five, depending on which list you looked at and who was doing the ranking. Scion, Behemoth, Leviathan, and the Simurgh were automatic entries. After that, it was a mix of global S-class threats and powerhouses.

  Eidolon had to be on that list. After all, he was one of the names most often credited with the rare "victories" against Endbringers, or what the news liked to spin them as.

  Huh.

  That thought gave her pause. When was the last time he'd actually scored a confirmed win against one of them?

  She cracked the faucet on her power, just enough to let it trickle through.

  Eidolon's victories have tapered off; Endbringers remain just as powerful. Avoids speaking on his powers during interviews. Eidolon's interviews have tapered off. His power is waning.

  Her brows knit together. If she was being honest, she didn't want to know that. The world was already bleak enough without learning that one of its strongest warriors was over the hill.

  With that knowledge, and everything she'd already pieced together, she had the skeleton of a rough profile. The aloofness, the flashes of anger, the carefully cultivated image he'd maintained over the years. The need to be seen as something unshakable.

  She tested things again.

  Stilted in conversation. Keeps people at arm's length. Few personal connections. No known family. Gave all that up. Sacrificed it willingly. For what? Careful about his presentation in public. Wants to leave something behind. A legacy. Proof he mattered. Still searching for a worthy fight. Chasing something he lost. Seeks challenges to tap into lost powers. The feeling of being limitless.

  She saw it clearly now. For a man who'd sacrificed everything, who'd forged himself into a living symbol of strength, it had to be a bitter pill to swallow being outshone.

  Worse yet, the one eclipsing him wasn't even trying… and looked like a walking billboard for staying in school too.

  That's what's pulling at him, she thought.

  Watching his own flame waver beneath the glow of a brighter, steadier light.

  Yikes! That was heavy.

  That old snake Coil was going to devour this.

  A streak of light tore across the sky and touched down on the rooftop in a sharp arc. Legend landed hard, boots skidding slightly on the slick concrete. He was streaked with soot, and there were distinct smears of red along his collarbone and jaw. Blood trickled from one nostril.

  "Alexandria, Armsmaster, and whatever capes we could scrape together on the way are buying us time," he said without preamble. His breath coming in short, shallow pulls. "We brought down a few buildings to force a chokepoint near the waterfront. It's bottlenecked Leviathan, slowed him down… but it won't hold much longer."

  He turned to Saitama, gaze searching.

  "If you can do more damage… it might be enough to force an early retreat. He's taken so many hits, he has to be close to cutting his losses," Legend said.

  Saitama blinked. "Retreat?"

  His brow creased. For someone who'd just been flinging an Endbringer around like a pancake, he came off… almost cartoonishly simple. He glanced around, taking in the shattered buildings, the flooded streets, and what, just minutes ago, had been one of the most advanced pieces of tech on the planet, now reduced to a sad slurry as it mixed in with the floodwaters.

  "Why not just finish it here?" he asked, tone casual. "You said this kind of thing's been going on for a while, right?"

  Tattletale's eyes narrowed, studying him, scanning for anything that would suggest he wasn't being dead serious.

  Nothing.

  Oh, cripes. He's dead serious.

  Talk about giving brutes a bad name.

  Problem? Smash.

  Bad thing? Punch it.

  Maybe she's been a little too harsh on Glory Girl. After all, there's something to be said for the enemy you know.

  She recalled the first read she'd made of him right after he tore open Leviathan's chest.

  Young; mid-twenties. But completely bald. Not genetic. It irritates him; not a choice. An ordinary man. No powers.

  She would have shaved her own head then and there if this man truly had no powers; a man who should have been reduced to paste at least five times over in the past hour alone.

  A liar, her power had concluded. Fraud. Faker.

  Yeah, not a chance.

  Athletic build; trains regularly. Strong. No powers.

  It was like watching someone juggle bowling pins flawlessly, then suddenly fumble, sending them all crashing down. Only, the pins were crashing down on her head.

  Her power had never been this far off on surface-level deductions, not even when facing other thinkers or high-tier stranger interference. There was always some kind of tell.

  She figured it must be some obscure stranger effect, like the kind Nice Guy's power caused. But instead of making him seem harmless, this one just made the guy get read as painfully ordinary.

  Whatever the reason, she'd had to shift tactics. Instead of zeroing in on him directly, she reframed her deductions around what he influenced, and who Saitama was as a person. It was like studying a footprint pressed into wet cement rather than chasing the boot that made it.

  Even that felt like pushing against a wall that wasn't supposed to be there. But it was enough for her to piece together one crucial truth: Saitama was holding back, even when he had a clear opportunity to deal Leviathan heavy damage. He confirmed it later, when she caught up to him just as he was about to leave with Eidolon. She had convinced the famous cape in green that her power could be useful, which was part of why she insisted on coming along.

  The other reason was far more personal: the evacuation zone, where the capes were regrouping after the massive tidal wave hit, included Taylor. Driven by a need to feel validated and useful, Taylor would almost certainly find herself close to the fight against Leviathan, despite having no good reason to be there. She had a strange way of convincing herself she wasn't in danger… by repeatedly placing herself directly in danger.

  Eidolon said nothing, standing with his arms crossed. Saitama's question, "Why not just finish it?" only seemed to make him more standoffish.

  Legend blinked, trying to make sense of the words.

  "I… don't know if that is even possible," he admitted, voice tight. "It is not like we haven't already tried."

  Frustration crept into his tone, the anger of one of the world's greatest blasters washing over Saitama like a breeze. Saitama remained unmoved.

  Eidolon's shoulders tightened, irritation flickering in his voice.

  "If you can do it, then do it," he said quietly, but firmly.

  Saitama gave a small nod, unfazed. "Alright. I'll give it a shot."

  Experienced. And bored. A fighter who's been through countless life-or-death battles. They're no longer a challenge. Seeks a challenge.

  The most consistent pattern she'd noticed was that her power worked better when she wasn't actively trying to analyze his abilities. The less direct her focus, the clearer the deductions.

  "I think I've fought stronger than him anyway, so it shouldn't be too bad," Saitama said casually, like he was commenting on the weather.

  She wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a joke.

  Eidolon let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Yeah, and I've got a bridge to sell you in Houston. You're not the first to make that claim, and the Endbringers are still here."

  Saitama looked the man where his eyes might be behind the mask. "Okay. Which way's the monster then?"

  "Let me come too," Tattletale said, stepping forward before Legend could get a word out, one hand raised halfway.

  Legend turned toward her, his head tilting slightly, just enough to suggest a raised brow. Like he'd only just remembered she'd been standing there this whole time.

  "And why exactly should we?" he asked.

  "Her power," Eidolon said before she could answer, his gaze fixed eastward toward the roiling coastline. "She gave me the rundown earlier. Claims she can get a read on Leviathan. That's rare. You know how thinker abilities usually scramble around Endbringers. But if what she says holds up, we might get something useful out of it."

  Eidolon hesitated, his shoulders tightening.

  "I'll head to the coastline. The next wave's closing in. If I can hold it off, maybe we keep the civilian casualties down."

  An explosion tore through the air. Dust and debris erupted from a distant intersection, sending a plume soaring above the rooftops of brick buildings. Farther off, a slender phone tower crumpled and fell.

  The four of them turned to look. Nearby, even the medics and patients on stretchers paused and glanced up.

  Seconds later, the armbands came alive, listing off names. Cloister. The Dart. Runecaster, Bastion. Geomancer. Alexandria. All of them dead or down.

  The faint creak of stretched rubber echoed as Saitama said, "Looks like it's time to go."

  Legend shot a quick glance at Tattletale before turning his gaze toward the distant battle. He hesitated, then gave a curt nod.

  "Fine. But stay back. If Leviathan gets close, you pull out. No heroics," he said.

  "Already on it, pal," Tattletale replied with a sharp salute, then faltered into a sheepish shrug. "So, uh… anyone up for giving me a ride?" She tried to keep it casual, but the awkwardness bled through her voice.

  "No need," came a voice from behind. "I've been waiting for you guys to finish up. I'm your ride."

  Strider stepped into view, every inch the overworked gopher Tattletale remembered. His cap was gone, exposing matted hair, and his were shoulders slumped. He looked even more worn than after the last teleport. If she remembered correctly, he was a recent addition to the PRT. New blood, drafted in as emergency support.

  And now they were running him like a rented mule. Sheesh. The PRT sure knew how to squeeze every drop out of a new contract. Talk about getting their money's worth.

  Still, he gave a curt nod, ready for another jump.

  Eidolon hovered just above the ground. "I'll hold back as much water as I can. But once Leviathan senses a crack, he'll bolt."

  He paused, as if weighing the words.

  "If you can hurt him badly… then do it."

  Without waiting for a reply, he rose silently into the air and headed east toward the ocean's edge.

  Strider, sensing the moment had passed, gave a quick thumbs-up, and then the world snapped sideways. When it settled, they were somewhere near the bay. Close enough to make out the distant crashing surf over the heavy rain. The docks were a few blocks over. A red-brick bank stood on the corner, familiar in shape but not the one she and her team had hit with Taylor.

  Streetlights leaned at awkward angles or had been torn away completely. Deep gouges marred the building walls, and every window below the second floor was shattered.

  Strider didn't linger. he gave a quick nod and disappeared as abruptly as he had appeared.

  "That's pretty cool," Saitama remarked, glancing back at the spot where Strider had vanished. Then he shifted his gaze to the streets around them. "Any people still around here?"

  "This section was already evacuated," Legend replied, "They turned it into a buffer zone once we forced Leviathan this way. Anyone who was still here ran the moment the fighting reached this far."

  "Got it," Saitama said with a nod, clenching one fist over his open palm. "I'll aim for the ocean anyway, just in case."

  Legend seemed momentarily thrown by the phrasing. "Aim?" He repeated.

  Ahead of them, the battle was still in full swing. Leviathan's massive form ducked and weaved through the ruined street as fewer than two dozen capes worked to hold him back. It was a sharp contrast to the nearly two hundred capes who had gathered before the monster had arrived. The brutal pace had worn them down, and now only a handful of reinforcements were trickling in to hold the line.

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  Leviathan's body was a mess of deep gouges, his dark blood leaking from torn muscle and split scaly skin. At the front of the fight, Armsmaster moved like a machine, twin halberds flashing in tight arcs. One trailed a strange mist, and each swing tore deep into the Endbringer's flesh. But even his most punishing blows couldn't compare to the damage Saitama had already dealt. The other capes had managed to make the massive wound deeper. Nothing else came close, except for the neat hole punched clean through Leviathan's shoulder.

  When the Endbringer struck back, Armsmaster grunted and let go of one of his halberds, sacrificing it to absorb the impact of a blow that might have cleaved him in half. The weapon shattered into pieces, metal fragments spinning through the air. He kicked off the ground in a tight, one-handed handspring just as the water echo surged in, flooding the space he'd occupied a heartbeat earlier. He landed hard, skidding on the wet asphalt, but stayed upright, his remaining halberd still clutched tight in his grip. His mouth was set in a grim line.

  From behind a crumbling wall, a girl from out of town raised her crossbow and fired. The black bolt flew fast and true, aimed perfectly at Leviathan's blindside. But the Endbringer turned at the last second, letting Armsmaster's blade slice deep into its leg just to snatch the bolt from the air.

  Three of its four eyes were already ruined.

  So how had it seen that coming? Sound? Something else?

  The shot came from a dead angle. Sound drowned by rain. Its eyes aren't primary sensory organs. They've been destroyed before. Shattered, gouged out. No loss in awareness. They don't see. They never did.

  What?

  In one smooth motion, Leviathan flung the bolt back like a dart, a blur in his massive hand.

  The girl froze, too slow to react.

  Saitama was already there. His white cape snapped in the wind, still catching up to the speed he'd moved with. Tattletale blinked, momentarily thinking he'd split in two, until she noticed the space beside her was suddenly empty. She hadn't seen him go.

  And she wasn't the only one. Legend hovered midair, arm half-raised, his laser flickering out as he registered there was no longer anything to intercept.

  Saitama caught the bolt inches from his face, fist closing around it with a faint sizzle as the friction melted the rubber of his glove. The momentum stopped instantly. He gave a slight squeeze, and the shaft snapped clean in two.

  "You should probably head out," he said, glancing over his shoulder.

  The teenager gave a quick nod, nervous and shaky, then stumbled back behind cover and out of sight.

  Seizing the moment, nearby capes let loose with everything: concrete slabs, laser blasts, arcs of green fire all pummeling Leviathan's exposed back. Armsmaster slipped behind its legs and slashed low, his blade biting into where the hamstrings should have been. Leviathan stumbled forward, but did not fall.

  Above, a flier screamed in panic as Leviathan's claw suddenly shot up and snatched the edge of their cape mid-flight. The monster raised its claws aiming to slash the flier in two.

  But a yellow blur cut through the air. With a sharp crack, Saitama's backhand met Leviathan's strike, unshaken. The blow staggered the Endbringer back a step, its massive feet gouging deep furrows. Water from Leviathan's echo spilled out, pooling in the cut asphalt.

  The flier wasted no time, wrenching free and shooting upward to safety.

  Armsmaster moved into position behind Leviathan, his blue and white armor battered and scratched, with a cracked visor at one corner. Rain ran in thin streams over his reinforced suit, while his remaining halberd hummed softly with faint energy.

  Halberd reduces matter to dust. Same effect as Eidolon's beam attack from last battle. Molecular damage. Bonds between atoms severed.

  Armsmaster had brought out a weapon that worked like a high-tech eraser, wiping out anything it touched with quiet efficiency. Tattletale watched, uneasy but grateful her team had never rated high enough to see that kind of firepower aimed their way.

  "Glad to have you back," Armsmaster said, voice steady despite the damage to his combat suit.

  Leviathan hunched low, head tilted, its one remaining eye fixed on the bald man standing still beneath the rain. Saitama's face, usually unreadable, was set in a rare, serious expression.

  Then, with a sudden surge, Leviathan lunged, narrowly dodging Armsmaster's trailing strike. Its clawed hands snapped shut around Saitama's forearm, and without a sound, it swung him overhead, slamming him into the nearby bank.

  The supports gave way beneath the impact, collapsing in a shower of concrete, rebar, and twisted steel beams.

  Dust exploded outward, instantly swallowed by the relentless downpour.

  The mound of debris twitched, then toppled over.

  Saitama rose, brushing off a twisted length of rebar clinging to his shoulder.

  Leviathan surged forward, claws raking the flooded street as it lunged to evade Armsmaster's grappling hook. Projectiles came at it from every angle, the water echo taking the brunt and vaporizing into steam with each strike. Only Legend's beams bent sharply, striking Leviathan near the abdomen, but he paid them no mind. Suddenly, Leviathan halted. The surge of water behind him kept its momentum, barreling toward Saitama. Shouts to dodge rang out. The cascade slammed into him, yet he didn't budge.

  Instead of washing past him, the water echo wrapped around his body, clinging tight. It formed a bubble that grew in the rain.

  Saitama moved his arms experimentally, this way, then that way, but the water tracked with him, as if magnetized to his presence.

  Leviathan grabbed a light post and crushed one end into a rough point. He raised it like a spear, aiming toward Saitama in the bubble.

  Legend flew in from the side and fired a quick burst of lasers. The makeshift weapon melted under the heat, dripping into the wet pavement with a sharp hiss.

  Leviathan snapped his tail toward Legend, the motion sharp and fast. But the hero veered away just in time. The shortened limb and trailing water echo sliced through empty air. Legend was already retreating, keeping well out of reach.

  What is he doing? Tattletale ducked lower behind the rubble.

  Inside the hovering bubble of water, Saitama tried walking forward. The sphere moved with him, seamless, like it was anchored to him.

  Then he stopped. He raised both red-gloved hands. And clapped.

  The water shell burst like a popped balloon, blasting out in all directions. Pavement buckled beneath the force. For a moment, the rain itself paused. Then it came back heavy and relentless, and the floodwaters rushed in to reclaim the crater.

  Nearby capes were tossed to the ground; some slammed hard while others slipped and tumbled in the rising water. Fliers caught in the blast jerked upward, fighting the recoil to regain control. Tattletale winced as the sharp spray stung her skin and raised an arm to shield her face.

  When she lowered her arm, Tattletale saw a figure struggling through the water, crouched beside someone sprawled on the ground. The second cape looked up just as Tattletale regained her balance, their voice breaking through the chaos before she could speak.

  "Tattletale…"

  Lisa's eyes widened in shock. She stumbled, slipping on the wet pavement as she hurried past the capes regrouping nearby.

  Skitter.

  No—Taylor.

  The girl pushed herself up slowly from beside the twisted shell of an overturned security truck, one hand braced against the metal for support. A door hung ajar, revealing several injured capes crumpled inside. Taylor's hands were slick with blood, and a streak of vomit stained the side of her mask. Tattletale rushed over and dropped into a crouch beside her.

  "Skitter," Lisa said, scanning quickly for injuries Taylor might hide. "You keep throwing yourself into these messes," she muttered, her voice tight with both frustration and worry.

  "Yeah…" Taylor replied quietly, her voice tired and worn. "Tattletale, you're here too."

  Tattletale gave a half-shrug, forcing a lopsided smile. "Yeah, well. Someone's gotta be the sensible one. What else are friends for, right?"

  Before Taylor could answer, Saitama's voice carried through the steady patter. Lisa lifted her head, eyes wide.

  "Consecutive normal punches."

  Saitama said calmly, standing squarely before Leviathan. He barely reached a fifth of the towering beast's height, his left fist drawn back. From afar, it looked as if the Endbringer could swallow him whole. Leviathan hunched forward, preparing to strike.

  Saitama's arm was already moving. It had already moved before her eyes could follow. The blows landed in rapid succession, each impact echoing like firecrackers if those firecrackers were cannons.

  When Tattletale finally pushed herself upright, heart hammering, she swiped the water from her eyes with a trembling hand.

  Am I dead?

  The thought came to her, clear and honest, and for a moment, she genuinely wasn't sure.

  When she lifted her head from the crook of her elbow, Leviathan was gone. Around them, capes struggled to their feet, still shaken and unsteady.

  Most unsettling of all was the sudden stillness. The rain had stopped again.

  Tattletale looked up, blinking through the lingering mist. The clouds had been pushed outward like a ring, the sky above the bay now cracked open. Pale gold and silver light spilled across the water as dawn began to break.

  Far off, car alarms started to wail, one after another. A deep metallic groan echoed close by. She turned her head in time to see a towering shipping crane sway, then buckle. It collapsed in a screech of tearing steel, crashing into the harbor with a splash that sent water spraying in all directions. The echo of the impact rolled through the empty streets.

  Leviathan was gone.

  A trail of shattered concrete and overturned soil marked his path as he was blasted through half a dozen buildings in a heartbeat toward the bay. Each impact sent towering dust plumes skyward, higher than any structure for miles.

  Slowly, the storm sealed shut overhead, thick clouds swallowing the last slivers of light. The rain returned heavier, colder, a solid curtain that pounded the streets. Water rushed through broken gutters, swirling with soot and debris. Dust from the blast was beaten down in sheets, forming muddy rivers on the ground.

  Amid the rain-pocked haze, a shadow stumbled, then slowly pushed itself upright.

  Leviathan.

  What was left of him.

  His lower torso and abdomen were ripped open, riddled with deep holes as if a swarm of piranhas had torn chunks from him. Through the shredded flesh, a skeletal frame of black, hazy bone gleamed like rebar jutting from a ruined building. He looked like a half-eaten fish carcass with only the upper torso, legs, and tail remaining on a bony husk in the middle.

  Saitama stood there, arm extended, as if he'd thrown a lazy string of jabs.

  "…Not bad," Saitama said, sounding mildly impressed. "You're kinda beefy. Or maybe fishy? Lizard-y?" He scratched his cheek, eyes drifting over the ruined figure. "Well… not so much anymore, I guess."

  Saitama flexed his hand, fingers curling into a loose fist. The rubber of his glove had melted and cooled again against his skin, warped and uneven.

  Lisa understood now. He wore cheap gloves because anything sturdier would get destroyed anyway. With the kind of friction his punches created, it was easier to just replace them.

  "Kinda felt that one," Saitama said, turning his hand over with a faintly satisfied look.

  He tilted his head, studying the wounded Endbringer.

  "Wanna go again?"

  Then, casually, he dropped back into his stance.

  Lisa wasn't much of a fighter herself, but after spending enough time around Brian, who actually knew how to box, she'd picked up on the basics of proper form and technique.

  And whatever that was… wasn't it.

  What even was that stance? He looked kind of goofy, like a kid copying a pose from a Saturday morning cartoon and taking it way too seriously.

  Stance shows no formal training. But movements are practiced. Fighting style pulled from real combat, cartoons, and whatever he thought looked cool; honed over time.

  Leviathan stirred again, its massive form twitching despite the horrendous damage marring its body.

  "How is it still alive?" Taylor murmured beside her, voice tight with disbelief, as she peeled herself from the side of the transport.

  Legend hovered above the ruined street, rain sliding off his cape in streams. He brought his armband close and muttered a phrase. One Tattletale recognized as a high-priority override code. Her own armband lit up at once. No synthetic voice this time. Legend's voice came through directly.

  "Anyone still able to fight, I'm sending new coordinates. Your maps will update automatically. Dragon is coordinating a five-by-five block cordon around the zone with the army. Somehow, Leviathan is still alive, but barely… I've never seen him take this much damage. We're not letting this opportunity slip away. Today, we end this."

  Legend was right. To her knowledge, no Endbringer had ever withstood the sheer punishment Leviathan had just taken. She couldn't fathom how so much blood could still flow out of him, even with a body as massive as Leviathan's.

  Damage too severe. Any living being would be dead from blood loss alone. Even Aegis would not survive this. The eyes do not function and are not used for sight. There are no working organs. The body is a shell, a fake life; to simulate damage. There must be a core to move the shell; an anchor.

  It has a core! This thing's not human anymore. Unless…

  A fake life; never was human.

  What… what is this? Tattletale had never felt so completely out of her depth.

  Leviathan loomed in the center of the ruined street, his single unbroken eye sweeping over the capes as they regrouped and tried to form a loose perimeter around him. No one moved. No one fired. They were all waiting to see who would make the first move and break the ceasefire that had settled over them.

  Leviathan's head jerked toward one cluster of the perimeter where the line was weakest.

  Tattletale's heart dropped.

  She heard Taylor's breath hitch beside her. "Oh no," she whispered.

  Leviathan lunged, heading straight for them and the overturned security truck still sheltering wounded capes.

  The fragile pause shattered. Nearby capes moved to intercept but were swatted aside like toys. Blasts of energy and projectiles struck home, tearing into his battered frame. Laserdream fired a rapid volley of lasers, strafing his flank. Purity followed above and hurled a blinding beam of compressed light that slammed straight down on his head, driving him to a knee.

  But Leviathan kept moving. He shook off the barrage and surged forward, faster. He dodged the followup barrage.

  Tattletale turned to run, but a thick cloud of insects swept past, the remainder of Skitter's swarm. They scattered into rough, human-shaped silhouettes, splitting and re-forming as Leviathan swung at them. Each strike thinned their numbers, but they kept distracting him.

  Taylor grabbed her arm, pulling her sharply in a new direction.

  Ahead, Armsmaster vaulted into Leviathan's path. The swarm peeled away as he swung his halberd in a wide arc, targeting the thinnest point of the Endbringer's abdomen. The blade crackled with energy, eating through flesh and scale, until it struck the hazy black bone inside.

  There was a sharp jolt. The halberd's shaft bent, vibrating violently. It had hit something solid that it could not cut through.

  "Impossible!" Armsmaster growled.

  Leviathan struck out with his claws. But Armsmaster ducked, slid, and twisted, narrowly avoiding each blow.

  He shouted at the nearby capes, "Get out of here!" The injured who could still move scrambled away, some stumbling and falling on the slick asphalt.

  Firing a grappling hook, Armsmaster wrapped it around Leviathan's limbs, attempting to freeze the beast in place. The Endbringer pulsed with water, soaking the wire with his echo. When the water froze in time, he jumped, using his slimmed-down form to slip through the trap.

  Leviathan lunged and latched onto the side of a high-rise building, his claws gouging deep as white brick crumbled beneath his grip. He scrambled upward, tearing handholds into the structure. A cape hurled a car at the wall he was on. Metal and masonry exploded on impact, collapsing the facade and sending Leviathan crashing down.

  He hit the ground hard but didn't pause. Dropping to all fours, he shot forward again. Even with half his body torn away, he wasn't any slower.

  The remaining blasters, strikers, and brutes saw their chance and opened fire. Plasma, fire, lasers, concrete, and wrecked vehicles were hurled at Leviathan from every direction. Legend flew low, unleashing a barrage of high-energy beams that tore strips of flesh from the monster. Lady Photon, Laserdream, and Purity arrived moments later, falling into formation behind him and unleashing their own barrage. But when any of the attacks hit the black, wiry structure beneath, they seemed to do nothing. Or rather, the damage was there, but it was just so slight that it barely registered to her eyes.

  Level of damage indicates high durability; outer attacks cause significant harm, but damage lessens deeper inside. Density suggests extreme mass compression, distorting physics beyond normal limits. If trend follows, the core must be the densest part of his body. Astronomically dense.

  What were they supposed to do against that? What else could they possibly throw at him? Did they even want to? What was going to happen if all that mass suddenly… popped?

  Tattletale staggered to a stop, gasping as she leaned against the cracked wall of a ruined bookstore. Taylor, naturally, wasn't nearly as winded.

  "He's getting away," Taylor said, pointing toward the distance. Her hand wavered slightly. "Wait… something's coming in fast. Whatever it is… it just wiped out a bunch of my fliers."

  Leviathan was nearly at the waterfront when a black shape slammed into him from the side like a freight train. Both figures tumbled, limbs scrambling for leverage. Alexandria locked her arms around his neck in a crushing rear chokehold.

  She grit her teeth behind her helmet, muscles straining as she dragged the monster away from the water. Leviathan bent backward under the pressure, clawed feet tearing up pavement as he struggled for traction.

  A tinker wielding a massive, oversized hammer dashed in and smashed one of Leviathan's limbs out from under him, forcing the monster to stumble. More capes surged forward, swarming the Endbringer like ants, ripping into him.

  Amid the chaos, stray blasts struck Alexandria, but she didn't flinch. Jaw clenched, she tightened her grip around Leviathan's throat, muscles straining as she hauled him backward.

  They're actually doing it, Tattletale thought, stunned, watching the tide turn. Then Taylor grabbed her shoulder and shook her hard.

  "Tattletale," she said. "Snap out of it. We need to get out of here. We'll just get in the way if he gets close again."

  Wait.

  "Oh no," Tattletale breathed, the words barely audible over the distant roar of the battle.

  She watched as Leviathan shrugged off another onslaught of attacks. Chevalier appeared, limping with blood seeping through his armor, and drove his cannon blade deep into the beast's thigh from a distance. Leviathan lost the foothold it had managed to make and got dragged further away from the water front.

  "They're not doing anything to it," Tattletale said.

  Taylor stepped closer, reaching for her. "Tattletale—"

  Lisa shook her off, eyes wide, frantic. "Skitter, it's got a core."

  Taylor blinked, her eye visible through the cracked lens. "A core? Like… a machine? Is it some kind of tinker construct?"

  "Yes. No. I don't know," Tattletale snapped, her voice sharp, mind racing. "Something's controlling it. I—I can't say what, but Leviathan's as fresh as when this all began. None of the attacks, not even that baldy's, have done any real damage. If he escapes, we're right back to square one."

  She lifted her arm to override communications and broadcast a priority message.

  But then she saw it. Her armband, spiderwebbed with cracks, the screen dark.

  Crushed during the shockwave. Useless.

  Her breath caught. One chance to end this, and her comms were dead.

  Lisa grabbed Taylor's arm as she scanned through what remained of Leviathan's frame.

  Where is it. Where is it. Where is it.

  There wasn't much of Leviathan left. If it was imitating life, there were only so many places to put something like a core.

  It had to be—

  "What—?" Taylor started, but Tattletale was already speaking.

  "Hard override. Tattletale speaking. Broadcast this immediately. Leviathan has a core. It's at the center of his chest, where the sternum would be. He's not human. His density increases the deeper you go. It breaks the laws of physics. Nothing else matters, not even his head. His core is the only important part of his body. Focus everything there."

  A beat. Then the armband crackled.

  "Transmitting."

  The message echoed from every armband in the area, even those on unconscious or injured capes. A ripple of hesitation moved through the battle lines, then, almost in unison, the attacks shifted. Dozens of capes turned their attacks toward the center of Leviathan's chest.

  With a sudden urgency it hadn't shown before, Leviathan thrashed violently, flinging aside the capes attempting to hold him down. His water echo swirled around him, forming a dense barrier. Alexandria held her breath within the bubble, trying to maintain her grip, but Leviathan reached back through the bubble, seized her by the helmet, and wrenched her off his neck. Shreds of his own flesh tore free in her clenched fists as she was pried loose.

  He twisted sharply and threw her toward the bay.

  She went flying, skimming across cracked pavement, then skidding over water, before slamming into the hull of a half-sunken cargo ship. The impact ripped open a hole in the rusted metal.

  Leviathan reared up from the swarm of capes clawing at him, water surging around his limbs as he flung them off one by one.

  He reached down and grabbed the cannonblade lodged in his thigh. Metal screeched against his claws as he wrenched it free, losing two fingers in the process. He hurled the weapon skyward, sending it spinning out of sight over the rooftops.

  Then Leviathan turned toward the nearby piers.

  "No—no no no—he's running!" someone shouted.

  Water crashed around Leviathan's feet as he bounded through the wreckage, tearing through streets and toppling buildings in his wake. Then he leapt.

  The impact as he hit the bay sent a geyser of seawater a hundred feet high.

  Moments later, a second explosion rocked the water as someone followed him

  The surface churned. Frothy blood rose.

  Leviathan's body burst from the ocean like a torpedo, flailing midair. He slammed into the docks, tearing up concrete and steel, skipping and tumbling like a rock before crashing to a halt in the twisted wreckage of a shipping yard.

  Tattletale hauled a protesting Skitter with her, heading toward the regrouping capes.

  From the foaming edge of the receding waves, Saitama emerged, one step after the other on the broken pier. Water streamed from his shoulders, his cape heavy with seawater.

  "Hope you can take this next one," Saitama said, shaking water from his boots as he strolled toward the mangled Endbringer.

  Leviathan's body twitched in the rubble. Metal, debris, and seawater flowed back into the torn frame, sluggishly refilling the hollowed cavities in his body.

  "If you've got a final form or whatever," Saitama added, his tone almost bored, "now's the time."

  Some of the gathered capes began to cry out, their voices rising with disbelief, frustration, and quiet despair as they watched the damage begin to reverse.

  Chunks of metal and rubble shifted. Water surged across the pavement and funneled back into Leviathan's broken body. The hollow gaps filled in. Torn flesh reformed. The wounds they had carved open with blood were slowly sealing before their eyes.

  Someone near the front whispered, "We were so close. What are we supposed to do with that?"

  No one answered. No plans, no orders. Just the sound of rain hitting pavement and the hiss of steam from broken piping.

  Saitama glanced over his shoulder. For a moment, it was like he'd only just noticed the crowd of battered capes behind him.

  "Can you all step back a little? Maybe cover your ears too. I don't want anyone getting hurt from this next one."

  Before anyone could respond, Leviathan lunged. He grabbed Saitama by the head and drove him into the street. The impact sent tremors through the ground, spiderwebbing cracks outward as rubble jumped from the force. He did it again. And again.

  Tattletale blinked. Her breath caught as the pieces clicked into place.

  Normal punches.

  That's what he'd called them. But if he had to warn them now, then this next one wasn't going to be normal. He had torn apart a storm system with his last attack. If he was actually trying now…

  Armsmaster, standing ahead of her, froze for a breath. Then he turned and began barking orders. "Pull back!"

  Legend was slower. He didn't speak. Just stared at the crater where Saitama had vanished, expression unreadable, before he finally lifted into the air and motioned others to retreat.

  The rest hesitated. Some exchanged nervous glances. But they moved. A few limped. Others flew. A brute lifted two teammates and broke into a run. The street slowly emptied, boots slapping through ankle-deep water as the sound of retreat rose.

  At the center of the ruined street, Leviathan hammered Saitama into the fractured pavement, again and again. Concrete cratered with each blow, waves rippling out. The water surrounding them surged upward in roiling waves, pulled by the Endbringer's hydrokinesis. The air was thick with steam. Rain sluiced down in torrents, mixing with the rising flood as the Endbringer tried to drown its target.

  Then, from beneath the water, a red-gloved hand emerged.

  Fingers closed around Leviathan's arm.

  With a crunch, the limb crumpled like foil in Saitama's grip. A wet snap echoed as the arm was ripped free, and the severed piece cartwheeled through the air before caving in the hood of a nearby van.

  Leviathan reeled, stumbling back. Blood spilled from the stump as debris and water began to churn and gather toward the wound, trying to add mass back into his body.

  In the pool of water, Saitama sat up, unbothered. His yellow suit was torn in multiple places, sleeves ragged, one shoulder exposed. But his skin showed no bruises. No scratches. No blood. Just steam rising off him from the force of the impacts.

  He exhaled, rubbing the back of his head. "Oh well. Guess there's no final form," he said, almost disappointed.

  Leviathan twisted and launched toward the bay, limbs coiling, water surging behind it as it moved to escape.

  Saitama reached out and caught the Endbringer's tail mid-air. The limb had nearly regenerated, slick and armored, but his fingers closed around it like a clamp. The flesh warped under the pressure and snapped taut in his grip.

  "Huh. So you are part lizard," Saitama said, eyebrows lifting.

  Leviathan's forward momentum died instantly. The creature slammed face-first into the pavement, claws gouging trenches in the broken street as it scrambled to pull free. Water fountained outward, and the echo pulsed, but Saitama held firm.

  The Endbringer twisted its upper body, reaching back. Two clawed digits jabbed toward Saitama's eyes.

  Saitama caught the strike in his free hand, fingers closing over the talons.

  The water echo struck him in the face, a mass of pressurized water. He didn't blink.

  Another crunch. The arm snapped, torn free, and spun once before slamming into the river behind them with a splash. Leviathan sank to one knee, struggling to stay upright.

  Still gripping the tail, Saitama rose to his feet.

  His expression had changed.

  The relaxed posture was gone. Rain slid off his shoulders as he cocked back his fist, the rubber of his glove creaking with the motion.

  "Super Move: Serious Series—"

  From behind cover, Tattletale's eyes widened as realization struck her like a slap.

  He's actually going to throw a real punch.

  "Wait! Don't aim that way!" she shouted, scrambling onto a jagged slab of concrete. She waved both arms frantically, voice cutting through the downpour.

  Skitter tried to yank her back down by the arm, hissing, "Tattletale! What are you doing?"

  Distantly, Saitama paused mid-step, glancing back at her.

  "What? I'm aiming at the ocean."

  "There are continents in that direction!" Tattletale yelled, voice shrill. "Europe, Africa, maybe even parts of Asia depending on the angle. You can't just rupture Leviathan's core… it's too dense. If it decompresses, you'll kill us all!"

  He blinked, tilting his head slightly. "Continents? Huh. More than one? That's weird."

  Then, with a small shrug, "Got it. Punch up and harder. Sure. Anyway…"

  The pavement split under Saitama's next step. His fist curled back, fingers flexing.

  Across from him, Leviathan reached down, trying to sever its own tail with a half-regenerated claw.

  "…Serious Punch."

  The air buckled at the point of impact. A cone of force ripped outward. The ocean behind Leviathan collapsed in a massive V-shaped trench, the water driven away. The storm overhead unraveled. Clouds tore apart in a spiraling shockwave, sunlight spearing through the eye of the blast. The rain stopped mid-drop.

  The vacuum left in the wake of the blow unleashed a deafening howl, the air itself tearing as wind and sea recoiled. Both Lisa and Taylor screamed as they were knocked over. For a long, breathless moment, the ocean held its shape—carved open to the seafloor—before roaring water surged back in, crashing and churning as it swallowed the trench.

  And Leviathan?

  Gone. Only two charred stumps remained, fused into the shattered road.

  Then came silence as the wind and water settled.

  Capes crept out from behind broken walls and shattered vehicles. Some limped upright. Others staggered, blinking through the sudden sunlight.

  One cape collapsed to their knees and laughed. Another let out a choked sob and clutched a teammate, shaking.

  Cheering began, scattered at first, disbelieving. Then louder. Raw.

  Legend touched down hard, dropping to one knee. His chest heaved. "It's… it's gone," he breathed. "He's gone."

  Armsmaster stood still in his cracked armor, one hand wrapped around the splintered remains of his halberd. A rare smile ghosted across his face.

  Not far off, Chevalier leaned against a crumbled wall, his armor leaking blood. He let out a long, rattling breath as Purity landed beside him, the glow fading from her hands.

  Laserdream and Shielder embraced tightly, trembling.

  Miss Militia stood in the muddy street, her weapon slack in her hands. She didn't speak, just stared at the empty horizon.

  Eidolon, having just returned, floated in the air, frozen. His arms hung limp at his sides.

  Tattletale was on the floor, water dripping from her hair, hands trembling.

  "I think we won," Taylor whispered, next to her.

  With heavy steam rolling off his fist, Saitama casually tossed what remained of Leviathan's charred and mangled tail into the water.

  "Cool," he said, nodding to himself. "That was a solid one."

  He turned toward the battered crowd.

  "Oh," he hesitated, awkward. Then gave them a thumbs-up, "Nice fight."

  Author's Note: If you comment, please watch your language and do not use profanity.