The dust settled slowly, drifting down like fine grey snow, coating everything in the clearing and the surrounding devastated forest in a uniform layer of pulverized ancient stone. Sunlight streamed through the ragged new gaps in the canopy, illuminating the scene with harsh clarity: the immense crater where Saitama had punched the ground earlier, the smaller but deeper fissure where he'd bisected the boar, the scattered remnants of the Corrupted Hounds, the still-smoking embers of the extinguished fire, the colossal indentation where the Earth Titan now lay inert miles away, and at the center of it all, a bald man looking expectantly at his companions.
Gregor stood frozen, his hand still outstretched where he'd pointed at the Titan's leg moments (or was it lifetimes?) ago. His mind felt like the dust settling around him – shocked into stillness, unable to process the magnitude of the event. He'd faced death in the Labyrinth, stared down monsters, clung to survival by a thread. But watching Saitama obliterate a being of mythological scale with a single, almost casual, upward punch… it wasn't just frightening; it fundamentally broke his understanding of the world. Power like that shouldn't exist. It was the power of gods, or devils, or the chaotic forces that shaped creation itself, not something wielded by a man complaining about breakfast.
Lyra was on her knees again, not in despair this time, but in a state of near-catatonic shock. Her eyes were fixed on Saitama, not with fear, but with a profound, disorienting awe that bordered on religious terror. The line between savior and apocalypse had blurred into nonexistence. He wasn't just their protector; he was a walking, talking force that could unmake mountains as easily as swatting a fly. The implications were too vast, too terrifying to fully grasp. She felt incredibly small, insignificant, like an ant contemplating the sun.
Renn was simply sitting on the ground, rocking back and forth slightly, muttering incoherently. "...fist… stone… gone… boom… just… gone…" The successive waves of terror, relief, despair, and now reality-shattering power display had overloaded his young mind. He was adrift, untethered from the world he thought he knew.
Saitama looked at their stunned faces, then around at the dust-covered clearing. "Okay, seriously guys? You're kinda freaking me out with the silent treatment." He walked over and peered at Gregor. "You okay? You look kinda pale. Maybe you need some sugar? Low blood sugar can make you shaky."
Gregor flinched involuntarily as Saitama approached. He forced himself to speak, his voice a dry croak. "I… we… saw…" He couldn't finish the sentence. How could words possibly encompass what they had just witnessed?
"Yeah, the big rock guy? Told you I'd handle it," Saitama said nonchalantly, dusting off his own shoulder. "Bit noisy, though. Probably woke up the whole neighborhood." He seemed more concerned about the noise complaint than the fact he'd just disintegrated a mountain-sized limb belonging to a mythical being. He looked down at his fist again, flexing his fingers. "Felt that one a little bit, actually. Like punching… really stale bread? Still not satisfying, though." Another internal sigh for the lack of a challenging fight.
Lyra finally found her voice, a thin, reedy whisper. "You… you destroyed a Titan…"
Saitama blinked. "Titan? Was that what it was? Looked more like a badly assembled rock collection to me. Anyway, it was trying to smash us, so, you know." He shrugged, the universal gesture for 'problem solved, next issue'. "Can we please focus on breakfast now? My stomach's starting to feel like an empty cave. An echoey, grumpy cave."
The sheer mundanity of his concern, juxtaposed against the cosmic scale of his actions, was what finally seemed to break the spell for Gregor. He took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing down the existential dread, focusing on the immediate. They were alive. The threat was gone. Saitama, despite his terrifying power, seemed… benignly focused on food. That was something he could work with.
"Right," Gregor said, straightening up, though his legs still felt shaky. "Breakfast." He looked at the remaining boar meat, dusted grey now. "We… we should salvage what we can. And get moving. Quickly. That… noise… will attract attention." He glanced nervously towards the distant dust cloud. "And whatever that thing was, maybe it has friends. Or maybe whatever survived that fight northwest will come investigating."
This, finally, seemed to resonate with Saitama's practical side. "Attention? Like, more monsters? Or maybe people with food?" His interest perked up slightly at the latter possibility.
"More likely monsters, Saitama," Gregor said grimly. "Or worse. Let's pack the meat. Quickly."
Galvanized by a new, more comprehensible fear – the fear of being caught by whatever might be drawn to the Titan's fall – Lyra and Renn slowly got to their feet, helping Gregor wrap the remaining cooked boar meat in large leaves. They worked in silence, casting frequent, nervous glances at Saitama, who was now attempting to clean his dusty jumpsuit by vigorously slapping himself, sending up small puffs of grey powder.
On the ridge overlooking the scene, Kristoph slowly rose to his feet, brushing dust from his own uniform. The echoes of the explosion still seemed to ring in his ears. The sheer power… it demanded a reassessment of everything.
"Commander," Zenon said, his voice low and steady, pulling Kristoph from his thoughts. "The energy signature from the Titan's fall… it's propagating outwards. Like ripples from a meteor strike. Anyone with sensitivity to large-scale magical or kinetic events within hundreds of leagues will have felt that."
Elara nodded, her face pale but her professional focus returning. "He's right, Commander. I'm already detecting… probes. Faint, distant sensory spells, emanating from multiple directions. From the Royal Capital, certainly. But also… from the west. And the north. Powerful sources. They're trying to pinpoint the epicenter, analyze the nature of the event."
Kristoph's jaw tightened. The secret was out. The Deepwood was no longer just a regional problem concerning disappearing nobles and rumors of cult activity. An event of this magnitude, the fall of a mythological entity, would draw attention from major powers, arcane orders, perhaps even entities usually content to remain hidden. The game board had just been violently overturned.
"Our mission parameters have changed," Kristoph stated, his voice hard. "Observation is no longer sufficient. This event requires immediate reporting. The King must be informed. The nature of the Tempest, the fall of the Titan, the potential release of whatever was sealed in that valley… this is information of kingdom-altering significance."
He looked down at Saitama, now trying to braid a piece of vine he'd found, apparently bored again. "But we still need to understand him. His motives, his limits – if any exist. And his destination."
"Approaching him directly remains… inadvisable, Commander," Zenon cautioned.
"Agreed," Kristoph conceded. "But we cannot simply let him wander off, potentially towards Midgar, without knowing his intentions." He considered. "Plan remains the same for now: follow. Maintain distance. But prioritize speed. We need to get close enough to observe his interactions if he reaches civilization. And Elara…"
"Commander?"
"Can you send a message? A magical dispatch, shielded? Just the barest essentials: 'Titanfall confirmed, Valgothian Deepwood. Unidentified Class-Omega entity involved. Requesting immediate high-level assessment and advisory. Awaiting further intel.' Code it Crimson Shield priority."
Elara paled slightly. Crimson Shield was the highest emergency communication protocol, reserved for threats against the kingdom itself. "Commander, such a message… it will cause panic. And deploying the necessary power to shield it over this distance, with the background energy fluctuations… it will exhaust me."
"Understood," Kristoph said grimly. "But necessary. The Crown must know what we're dealing with. Send it when you have the strength. Our survival, and perhaps the kingdom's, might depend on it."
Elara nodded slowly, understanding the weight of the order. While Kristoph and Zenon prepared to move out, resuming the hunt, she would find a secure location, gather her remaining energy, and cast the spell that would inevitably send shockwaves through the highest echelons of the Midgar Kingdom.
Kristoph took one last look at the clearing. Saitama had given up on the vine and was now poking the embers of the dead fire. The escapees were bundling their precious meat. A bizarrely domestic scene painted against a backdrop of cosmic violence and impending geopolitical shifts. "Let's move," he ordered. "The echoes of this day will shake thrones. We need to stay ahead of them."
They melted back into the woods, resuming their pursuit, the weight of their knowledge, and the burden of the message Elara would soon send, heavy upon them. The Deepwood felt different now, charged not just with ancient magic, but with the impending arrival of external forces, drawn like moths to the impossible flame of Saitama's power.