CHAPTER THIRTY - RORY

The streets of Brockton Bay were pandemonium. Fires raged in the distance, smoke blackening the sky, while the cries of the injured and the wails of grieving families filled the air. Rory Christner sprinted down the cracked pavement, his gold lion-helm catching the light from the flames.

He vaulted over a crumpled car, his boots hitting the ground with a thud. Around him, PRT officers shouted orders, directing terrified civilians to safer zones. Triumph kept his focus on the tasks at hand—rescue, recovery, and survival. Superman was keeping Jack Slash, Bonesaw, and the Siberian occupied, while the rest of the allied capes faced the other members, but the rest of the Nine’s legacy remained behind in the form of destruction and despair.

A burst of static in his comm pulled his attention. “Team Bravo needs backup near 5th and Winslow,” a voice crackled. “We’ve got multiple wounded and structures on the verge of collapse.”

Triumph tapped his earpiece. “On my way.”

As he rounded the corner, he saw it—a tenement building sagging under its own weight, its foundation buckled and walls riddled with cracks. A small group of civilians was trapped inside, their panicked faces visible through shattered windows.

He planted his feet and took a deep breath, feeling the familiar hum build in his chest. With a roar, Triumph unleashed a concentrated shockwave aimed at the rubble around the base of the building. The sound tore through the air, dislodging precarious debris and clearing a path for emergency crews to move in. The structure still groaned under its own weight, but his quick action prevented any immediate collapse.

“Move!” he shouted to the officers nearby. “Get them out now!”

They didn’t hesitate, rushing in to pull the civilians to safety. Triumph’s breaths came hard and fast, his body aching from the exertion. His sound manipulation wasn’t limitless, and the longer the day wore on, the more taxing it became. But he didn’t have the luxury of slowing down.

The comm crackled again, this time with a familiar voice. “Superman here. Status update?”

Triumph froze for half a second, startled. The voice was calm, steady, and completely at odds with the pandemonium surrounding them.

“We’re holding,” Triumph responded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Barely. What about you?”

There was a pause. “I have their attention. Keep everyone safe. You’re doing good work, Triumph.”

The line went dead, but the words lingered. Triumph clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. Superman was facing monsters—Jack Slash, the Siberian, and that terrifying child Bonesaw. If the stories about them were even half true, Triumph couldn’t imagine what kind of pressure the alien was under.

But that was the point, wasn’t it? Superman had the strength to confront them, to act as a shield for everyone else. It was up to Triumph and the others to make that shield mean something.

Turning back to the scene, he helped a young mother with her child out of the rubble. She looked at him with tear-filled eyes, whispering, “Thank you.”

He nodded, already scanning for the next crisis.

The roar of an explosion sounded in the distance, and Triumph glanced toward it, knowing exactly where it had come from. Superman’s fight. He couldn’t see it from here, but he could feel the ripples in the air, the distant thuds of impacts that shook the ground.

For a moment, he felt small, insignificant in the face of such overwhelming power. Then he shook the thought away.

“A lion doesn’t falter,” he muttered to himself, straightening his shoulders.

He charged back into the fray. There were people to save, and no time to waste.