CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - WILLIAM

William Manton adjusted the rearview mirror, though it hardly mattered. His van was parked far from the fight, hidden in the shadow of a dilapidated building on the outskirts of the battlefield. The windows were grimy, offering no real view of the chaos outside. Not that William needed to see it with his own eyes—he could feel it.

Every step, every strike, every ripple of motion from the Siberian was tethered to him like a second heartbeat.

His real heartbeat, however, was uneven, and sweat pooled in his palms where they gripped the steering wheel. The stylised swan on his right hand—the mark of the victims of the Simurgh and those who stood in solidarity with them—caught the dim light filtering through the windshield. Focus. Control her. Keep it together.

The Siberian was perfect. She was unstoppable, relentless, invincible. But Superman wasn't crumbling under her power like the others. The alien was still standing. And that made William's chest tighten with something he hadn't felt in a long time: fear.

In the distance, the Siberian lunged at Superman again. She leaped across the ruined street, a black-and-white blur that sliced through the hero’s cape, rending it like tissue paper, before slamming into him with enough force to shatter the pavement beneath his feet.

She prowled around Superman like a tiger stalking prey, her sharp nails scraping across a fractured slab of concrete. Her smile stretched wider, revealing perfect teeth. Invulnerability didn't matter to her. She tore through barriers others could only dream of breaking. Still, Superman staggered back from her attack but didn't fall. Didn't break. Not yet. 

His chest rose and fell with calm, deliberate breaths. His jaw was set, and his piercing blue eyes never wavered from the Siberian.

"You're not like the others," he said, rolling his shoulders. His voice was almost conversational.

William clenched his teeth, his knuckles white against the wheel. Superman's confidence was maddening. The Siberian snarled, a low, guttural sound that sent shivers down even his spine. She didn't need his direction to attack again; she craved the violence.

You live for this, don't you? he thought bitterly.

The Siberian pounced, claws slicing through the air. Superman caught her wrist mid-swing, his other hand striking her in the chest. The force of his blow would have turned anyone else into a bloody smear. But she was the Siberian. She didn't flinch.

Instead, she smiled.

William allowed her that. It unsettled her victims. Even a man like Superman would eventually feel the creeping unease.

Inside the van, William adjusted his position on the worn seat, his breath shallow. The air inside was stifling, and his legs ached from sitting still for so long. He reached for the cracked dashboard, his fingers grazing a half-empty water bottle.

He didn't drink. He couldn't afford to lose focus. Not now.

Jack's voice crackled through the radio perched on the passenger seat. "You've got him dancing, Bill. That's gotta feel good, huh?"

“Damn it,” William hissed.

“You’re nervous,” Jack said, and Manton flinched, turning to glare at the radio. Not that Jack could see, though the smirk in his voice said otherwise, as always. “You shouldn’t be. She’s invincible, remember? Superman’s just… well, human in all the ways that matter.”

“He’s not human,” Manton snapped. His voice was sharper than he intended, but he didn’t care. “He’s something else entirely.”

Bonesaw giggled. “Are you scared he’ll figure it out?” she asked, her voice sing-song, her words dripping with mockery.

Manton didn’t answer, his gaze fixed on the dashboard as if he could see through it, his fingers clutching the steering wheel. Jack loved to taunt, to needle. But William couldn't afford distractions. The Siberian darted to the side, avoiding Superman's next blow with an almost lazy grace. She moved like liquid fury, unstoppable in her pursuit.

But fear was an insidious beast. 

What if he does figure it out?

The thought crept in, unbidden, and Manton shoved it down. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t lose control. Not now. Not ever.

“Come on,” he whispered, his eyes locked on the Siberian. “End him.”

Eventually, Superman made a mistake, choosing to block instead of dodge, and paid for his mistake. The Siberian’s claws slashed through his uniform, cutting deep into the muscle underneath. Blood spattered the ground.

Superman grunted, stumbling back, his hand pressing against his chest where three jagged cuts now marred his invulnerable skin.

The sight of the blood made the Siberian laugh. It wasn't a sound of joy or malice—it was something primal, a predator's delight.

William flinched. He didn't need to hear it to know how she felt.

Superman glanced at the blood on his hand, his brow furrowing slightly. "Impressive," he said, almost to himself. "You can cut me. That's... rare."

And yet... Superman wasn't faltering. He wasn't retreating. He wasn't panicking. That was the problem. Most people broke when they realized they couldn't hurt her, but she could hurt them. They ran, or they screamed, or they froze in terror.

Superman did none of those things.

Instead, he watched, and William could see the cuts close up immediately.

From the corner of his mind, William felt the Siberian's frustration. She was growing restless. Too predictable, too mechanical, she almost seemed to tell him, her essence prickling against his own.

He pushed back, reminding her who was in control.

"You don't fight like someone with a cause. You fight like a robot—a child, all primal actions, little thought," Superman said. 

The Siberian tilted her head, her grin widening. She liked it when they talked. It made the kill more satisfying. William didn't care for it. Words were dangerous, especially now. Superman wasn't just fighting—he was thinking.

"She's not listening to you," William muttered under his breath. Shut up. Shut up and die already.

The Siberian darted forward, faster than before. Superman dodged her initial swipe, the air cracking as her nails passed just inches from his neck. But her second attack caught him square in the side, claws raking through his ribs. He staggered, coughing as the ground beneath his boots cracked.

The tether between William and the Siberian thrummed with satisfaction. She could taste his pain, his weakness. Still…

“He’s… strong,” William muttered under his breath, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple. He hated to admit it, but the truth was undeniable. Stronger than I accounted for.

Superman grabbed the Siberian by the arm mid-swing, twisting with enough force to send her careening into the side of a building. Brick and mortar exploded outward as she vanished into the rubble. William felt the impact like a jolt to his own body. His hands trembled as he gripped the steering wheel tighter. The Siberian was fine, of course—she always was—but the fight was slipping out of his control.

Superman was watching. Learning.

"You don't tire," he said, his voice quieter now, almost musing. "You don't bleed. You don't hesitate." 

Manton clenched his fists tighter, his nails digging into his palms. Get up. You’re better than him. Get up.

And she did.

The Siberian emerged from the ruins, unharmed, not a single hair out of place. Her empty, predator’s gaze fixed on Superman, and she moved again. Faster. Harder. Manton pushed her to her limits, pouring every ounce of his will into her next attack.

He gritted his teeth. He could feel the strain creeping in at the edges of his mind, the toll of keeping the Siberian active for so long. But he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop. She was his masterpiece, his perfection. She was the only thing that mattered anymore.

But Superman was adjusting.

He began meeting her blows with counters, sidestepping her strikes with a speed that eclipsed her own and moving before she could retaliate. William could see it—the subtle shift in Superman’s stance, the way his eyes darted, flicking to Jack and Bonesaw, lingering for a moment, before shifting again—scanning the battlefield. He was looking for something. 

William's pulse spiked. “No, no, no.”

Superman wasn’t just strong; he was clever. 

The Siberian leaped again, faster than before. Superman was ready. He pivoted, grabbing her mid-air and slamming her into the ground. The earth cracked beneath the impact, but she didn't stop moving. Her claws lashed out, carving gouges into the street as she twisted free.

In the van, William's breath came faster.

His hands shook against the wheel. "Stay on him," he muttered. "Don't let him think."

But that was easier said than done as Superman paused, his gaze flickering toward the surrounding buildings.

William froze.

The Siberian didn't falter. She charged again, claws slicing toward Superman's throat. Superman dodged, his hands closing around her wrists. For a moment, they stood locked in place, immovable forces meeting head-on.

"Where are you hiding?" Superman asked, his voice steady.

William's vision blurred for a moment, his concentration slipping. The Siberian flickered—just for a split second.

Superman's eyes narrowed, glowing faintly grey.

The Siberian charged again, faster and more vicious than before, but though Superman evaded her strikes, his eyes weren't on her—they were scanning the surroundings, searching. Searching for him.

"No," William whispered. His fingers dug into the leather of the steering wheel. "No,

по, по—"

And then, as if a light had clicked on, his head turned toward the distant van. His gaze pierced through the rubble and debris, through the walls and shadows. It found William. 

Inside the van, William's stomach dropped.

Their eyes met, and in that moment, Manton knew. Superman had figured it out.

The alien’s expression hardened. “There you are.”

Manton’s heart stopped.