CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE — SUPERMAN II

Delhi was burning.

The city, once a vibrant display of life and culture, was now a hellscape. Flames roared unchecked, devouring entire districts. Skyscrapers that had once pierced the sky now leaned precariously, their steel skeletons twisted and glowing red-hot. Streets lay shattered, split by seismic upheavals, and the acrid stench of smoke and charred remains clung to the air. The cries of the wounded and dying cut through the destruction—a chorus of terror, desperation, and loss.

Superman heard it all.

Even before he entered the atmosphere, the screams carried to him like distant echoes. As he broke through the stratosphere, they became deafening. He didn’t slow down. A sonic boom rippled through the sky as he descended, wrapped in a corona of superheated air, a streak of red and blue tearing through the sky like a comet.

Below him, at the center of the ruins, stood Behemoth—fifteen feet of armored flesh and crackling energy. The first of the Endbringers. His molten eye glowed with something far worse than malice—apathetic destruction, the sheer inevitability of ruin. With every movement, he radiated death, his presence warping the very air around him with an invisible haze of ionizing radiation. The earth cracked beneath his feet. He raised a clawed hand, and a bolt of lightning split the sky, annihilating an escaping helicopter in midair.

Superman landed with enough force to crater the ground, the shockwave scattering burning debris away from the crumbling skyscrapers. Before Behemoth could react, he was gone—a blur racing through the wreckage, ferrying people out of the destruction zone.

Move. Move. Move.

Thousands needed saving.

He blurred through the wreckage, calculating trajectories faster than thought. He caught a tumbling bus midair, setting it down gently just outside the destruction zone before vanishing again. He tunneled beneath the rubble of an apartment complex, sweeping up survivors in his arms before the rest of the structure caved.

But, even at his speed, it wasn’t enough.

For every life he saved, Behemoth took more. A single step from the Endbringer cracked the earth, swallowing entire streets into a chasm of fire. Another swing of his massive arm sent a wave of electrical energy surging through the city’s grid. Transformers exploded. The blackout spread.

Then Superman felt it—the charge building in the air.

He didn’t dodge. He could have, faster than thought, but the lightning wasn’t aimed at him. It was surging toward the evacuation corridor miles away where thousands of civilians were fleeing.

So he took the hit.

A blinding crack of energy slammed into his chest. It surged through him, rattling every molecule in his body, but it wasn’t the pain that made him clench his jaw. It was the radiation that came with it. An invisible death knell. The kind that would kill every human in the blast radius within minutes.

Superman absorbed as much of it as he could. He wasn’t immune, but he could endure it—contain it within himself, even as the charge burned through his veins.

Behemoth turned, seismic energy rippling outward as he lumbered toward him.

Superman’s eyes burned red.

He launched forward, fist driving into Behemoth’s gut with the force of a meteor impact. The Endbringer reeled—only for a moment. His core pulsed, and Superman felt it—his own kinetic energy vanishing, absorbed.

Behemoth grew stronger.

Superman cursed under his breath and rocketed upward as Behemoth swung, a hammerblow that shattered a skyscraper behind him. He hovered above the battlefield, analysing the situation in a heartbeat. Direct attacks were making things worse. The more force he used, the more Behemoth fed off it. He couldn’t win this with brute strength. Not this time.

He clenched his jaw. No more half-measures.