Back in the transport aircraft, the atmosphere was markedly different from the ongoing chaos below.
The battle itself was violent enough that even the reinforced airframe occasionally trembled from the shockwaves travelling through the storm. And every so often, one of Dragon’s drones would have to adjust position as another plume of steam erupted skyward from the battlefield, obscuring entire sections of ocean beneath roiling clouds of vapor.
Nobody spoke much. There wasn’t really anything to say. Every monitor inside the aircraft was displaying some version of the same event, whether through conventional cameras, thermal imaging, radar, sonar, or systems Armsmaster only half understood and suspected Dragon had built specifically for situations like this.
Taylor Hebert was fighting Leviathan alone, and somehow she was winning.
Armsmaster folded his arms behind his back and watched the feeds in silence. Around him, technicians moved between stations, exchanging data and reports in low voices. Information flowed continuously between the transport, Dragon’s command centre, the local PRT department, and half a dozen other locations scattered across North America.
The Chief Director herself was watching, and that fact alone said enough. Rebecca Costa-Brown did not personally monitor many operations. She delegated, trusting others to handle problems beneath her level of authority. Today, however, she was watching. Every department head worth mentioning was watching, and soon enough, the entire cape community would know about it by nightfall.
Regardless of how today ended, history was being made. Humanity had spent decades reacting to Endbringer attacks, but today, humanity had finally gone on the offensive. More importantly, humanity had done so with a reasonable expectation of success.
Armsmaster glanced toward another monitor.
Leviathan’s outline appeared briefly through the steam before vanishing again beneath a fresh eruption of boiling seawater. A few nearby technicians smiled at that; one actually looked excited.
Armsmaster understood the sentiment. He simply didn’t share it. Perhaps that made him cynical, or maybe even realistic, but experience had taught him that there was a tremendous difference between appearing victorious and actually being victorious. Especially where Endbringers were concerned.
He remembered Kyushu, Newfoundland, and dozens of battles that had started well before turning catastrophic. Leviathan alone had spent years proving that confidence and competence were not remotely the same thing.
Sure, Hebert had driven off the Simurgh, and she was arguably the most dangerous Endbringer, but the circumstances were different. And perhaps most importantly, driving off an Endbringer and killing an Endbringer were not remotely comparable achievements.
Armsmaster had spent enough time studying Endbringer physiology to understand exactly how ridiculous the latter goal was. The amount of mass compressed within them bordered on the absurd. And even now, while watching Hebert pin the creature beneath a lake of its own boiling seawater, Armsmaster couldn’t honestly say whether she was causing meaningful damage.
Pain, perhaps. Discomfort, certainly. But death? He wasn’t prepared to believe that yet. After all, the world had a habit of punishing people who celebrated too early.
A nearby screen lit up with a message from another command centre. Armsmaster barely glanced at it before dismissing the notification, his attention wandering elsewhere, toward the opposite end of the aircraft past New Wave.
Toward the Triumvirate.
Legend stood closest to the monitors, watching the battle unfold with visible concern. Eidolon remained silent, arms crossed in front of his chest, while Alexandria looked exactly as she always did: calm, unreadable, and seemingly immovable.
For the first time since this operation had begun, Armsmaster found some comfort in their presence.
Regardless of his personal frustrations with the group—with the fact that he had to claw his way to the top, unlike them—there was no denying what they represented. If everything somehow collapsed into disaster, and Hebert found herself overwhelmed, humanity’s greatest heroes would already be on site.
The thought should have reassured him more than it did. Instead, Armsmaster found himself frowning.
Something was wrong. He just couldn’t explain why. Every available indicator suggested success; the operation was proceeding ahead of schedule, Leviathan was contained, casualties remained nonexistent, and the support teams had yet to engage.
Objectively, this was the most successful Endbringer operation in recorded history.
And yet…
His gaze drifted upward toward another monitor, one he had been checking repeatedly throughout the operation.
The orbital tracking feed.
The screen remained unchanged. There was no unexpected movement or incoming projectile, and that was the problem. Since the battle in Brockton Bay, the Simurgh had done absolutely nothing but float idly in Earth’s atmosphere. And that silence bothered him more than an attack would have.
A movement on one of the displays caught his attention, causing Armsmaster to look away from the orbital feed and back toward the battle. Taylor’s position remained fixed directly above Leviathan, steam continuing to churn across the ocean. Everything appeared normal.
Then he noticed it. A tiny inconsistency, so small he almost dismissed it. Almost.
Armsmaster leaned closer, one hand coming up to adjust the display. As the image sharpened, his eyes narrowed behind his visor.
A technician nearby noticed. “Something wrong?”
Armsmaster didn’t answer. Instead, he expanded the feed, and several nearby displays automatically synchronized with his.
The aircraft gradually grew quieter. Miss Militia pushed herself away from the wall, Legend looked over, and even Alexandria’s attention shifted away from the battle.
For a moment, as recognition struck, Armsmaster simply stared. Then the colour drained from his face.
“No.” The word escaped before he could stop it.
Several people turned.
“What is it?” Miss Militia asked.
Armsmaster barely heard her, his eyes remaining fixed on the screen. Fixed on something that absolutely should not have been there. Something that instantly explained the feeling that had been bothering him since the operation began.
His mouth opened. “What in the world…?”
The image on the monitor spoke for itself.
There was, unfortunately, a limitation in the system Taylor Hebert had built.
The device could locate an Endbringer anywhere on the planet. It could identify which one would attack, where it would appear, and the precise moment it would arrive. What it could not do was explain why, nor could it explain what the Endbringer was doing once it arrived.
That omission would prove rather important. After all, if anyone had taken a moment to stop celebrating and look a little closer, they might have noticed something interesting.
Leviathan’s position wasn’t random.
Directly above him, far beyond the clouds, the Simurgh watched.
And she was feeling particularly vindictive.