The passage Saitama turned towards was narrower than the main tunnel, a jagged fissure splitting off from the vast cavern of the Incubator. The pulsating purple light from the failing crystalline heart cast long, dancing shadows down its length, but the oppressive hum that had filled the larger space was fainter here, replaced by the distinct, albeit still muffled, sounds that had caught his attention: a scraping, like stone against stone, punctuated by ragged breaths and hushed, frantic whispers.
"Sounds like someone's doing some heavy lifting," Saitama observed, walking into the fissure. "Maybe rearranging furniture? Or possibly trapped under something heavy. Hope they're okay. And maybe have snacks."
The floor sloped downwards again, twisting sharply after about twenty feet. The air here, while still cold, lacked the overwhelming stench of sulfur and decay that permeated the Incubator cavern. Instead, it carried the damp, earthy smell of deep caves and… was that… stale sweat? Fear? Saitama wasn't great with nuanced olfactory identification beyond 'stinky' or 'not stinky,' but this definitely leaned towards the former, with an added note of desperation.
He rounded the corner and the sounds became clearer. Scraping, grunting, and desperate, hurried whispers in a language that flowed strangely to his ears, yet somehow, miraculously, resolved into understandable meaning in his mind – perhaps a lingering effect of his trans-dimensional journey, or maybe just a convenient narrative necessity.
"—almost there! Just a bit more leverage—"
"—quiet! Did you hear that? Footsteps!"
"—it's probably just another Guardian… Gods preserve us…"
"—move! Before it finds us! Before they come back!"
Saitama emerged into another cavern, much smaller than the Incubator chamber, perhaps only fifty feet across. This one was devoid of the pulsating crystals. The only light came from a single, sputtering torch jammed into a crack in the wall, casting flickering, inadequate orange light across a scene of frantic activity.
Three figures, looking ragged and terrified, were desperately trying to dislodge a large, heavy-looking stone slab that blocked another, smaller opening at the far end of the cavern. Their clothes were torn and filthy – simple tunics and trousers, the garb of commoners or perhaps low-ranking adventurers fallen on hard times. They were covered in grime, sweat, and what looked suspiciously like dried blood. Two men, one burly with a thick beard, the other younger and leaner, strained against a makeshift lever – a sturdy-looking stalactite they'd apparently broken off – trying to shift the slab. A woman, her face pale and streaked with dirt, her eyes wide with terror, kept glancing nervously back towards the passage Saitama had just emerged from, occasionally adding her weight to the lever with little effect.
They hadn't noticed him yet, too consumed by their escape attempt and their fear.
Saitama cleared his throat. A polite, slightly awkward sound. "Ahem. Excuse me?"
All three figures froze instantly, rigidity born of pure terror snapping through them. They spun around, faces pale as death in the flickering torchlight, eyes wide with horrified expectation. The burly man instinctively hefted the stalactite lever like a club, the younger man scrambled back against the wall, and the woman let out a stifled gasp, pressing a hand to her mouth.
They saw a bald man in a bizarrely bright, albeit tattered, yellow jumpsuit with a white cape, standing calmly at the entrance to their desperate sanctuary. His expression was placid, almost bored, a stark, surreal contrast to the life-or-death struggle they were engaged in. He didn't radiate the suffocating malice of the Guardians or the cold, calculating cruelty of the hooded figures who had brought them here. He just… stood there. Which was, in its own way, deeply unsettling.
"Uh," Saitama continued, feeling slightly awkward under their terrified scrutiny. "Sorry to interrupt your… rock moving. Looks heavy. Anyway, I was wondering if any of you know the way out of here? Or maybe seen a convenience store? I'm kinda lost. And really hungry."
Silence. Thick, bewildered silence, broken only by the sputtering torch and the distant, ominous thrum from the Incubator cavern.
The three captives stared at him, their minds struggling to process the sheer absurdity of the situation. A brightly dressed bald man asking for directions to a convenience store in the heart of a subterranean deathtrap controlled by nightmare entities and shadowy cultists? It was madness. Was he a hallucination? A new kind of trap?
The burly man, Gregor, tightened his grip on the stalactite, suspicion warring with utter confusion. "Who… who are you? Are you with them? The Shadow Walkers?" His voice was rough, laced with fear and defiance.
Saitama blinked. "Shadow Walkers? Is that like a brand of comfortable shoes? Because these boots," he gestured down at his worn red footwear, "are starting to pinch a bit after all this walking. Anyway, no, never heard of them. My name's Saitama. I'm just trying to find my way back home. Or at least find some lunch."
The woman, Lyra, exchanged a wide-eyed look with the younger man, Renn. Saitama? Yellow jumpsuit? Asking about food? This wasn't one of the cold, robed figures. This wasn't one of the monstrous Guardians. This was… something else. Something completely unexpected.
"You… you're not one of them?" Renn stammered, pushing himself slightly away from the wall. "You just… wandered in here?"
"Pretty much," Saitama shrugged. "Followed some big footprints, saw a weird leaky egg-thing, heard you guys making noise, figured I'd ask for directions. Seemed logical." He pointed towards the Incubator cavern with his thumb. "By the way, you might want to avoid going back that way. There was this big rock-monster guy, kinda grumpy. And that egg-thing looked like it was about to make a mess."
Gregor's eyes widened further. "Rock-monster? You mean… a Chasm Guardian? You saw one?" He lowered the stalactite slightly, incredulity replacing some of the fear. "And you're… still here?"
"Yeah, he was blocking the way," Saitama said nonchalantly. "Bit rude, honestly. Didn't even say hello before trying to smash me. So, I kinda… tripped him." He demonstrated with a small, innocuous foot movement. "He fell apart. Pretty shoddy construction, if you ask me."
Tripped… him? Fell… apart? Gregor, Lyra, and Renn stared at Saitama as if he'd just claimed to have swatted the moons out of the sky with a flyswatter. They knew the Guardians. They'd seen what those things did. They were engines of unstoppable destruction, impervious to blades, resistant to magic, creatures that haunted their nightmares. And this bald man claimed to have defeated one by tripping it?
Lyra, finding her voice, though it trembled, stepped forward slightly. "You… you destroyed a Guardian?"
"Well, yeah," Saitama confirmed, scratching his head. "Wasn't that big a deal. Anyway, about getting out of here?"
The three captives exchanged another look, this one filled with a dawning, desperate hope mixed with sheer disbelief. Could this bizarre stranger be… real? Could he actually possess the kind of power needed to survive this place, let alone destroy a Guardian so casually?
Gregor lowered the stalactite completely, leaning on it now, his suspicion momentarily overridden by the sheer impossibility of it all. "Look, stranger… Saitama… this place… you don't understand. This isn't somewhere you just 'wander out of.' This is the heart of the Tenebris Labyrinth, the feeding ground for… for the entity they call the 'Slumbering Maw.' And the Shadow Walkers… they serve it. They bring sacrifices." He gestured vaguely towards the Incubator cavern. "That… 'egg-thing' you saw? The 'Heart of the Maw'? They feed it life force, stolen from captives like us, channeled through that… that altar." His voice dropped, thick with horror. "We were next."
"They keep prisoners in cells deeper in," Renn added quickly, his voice high with fear. "We managed to break out during a shift change, found this passage… we think it might lead towards the surface, or at least away from the main chambers. But this slab…" He kicked the heavy stone blocking the smaller opening. "We can't move it."
"Sacrifices? Feeding an egg? Shadow Walkers?" Saitama processed this information with his usual filter. "Sounds like a lot of trouble. Do these Shadow Walkers run the local supermarkets too? Because the service here is terrible. No snacks, rude monsters, leaky architecture…"
Lyra almost choked, a sound that was half-sob, half-hysterical giggle. The sheer incongruity was breaking through her terror. "Supermarkets? Stranger, there are no supermarkets here! There is only death, shadow, and the Maw!"
"Right, right, death and shadows, got it," Saitama nodded absently. "So, no jerky aisle then. Bummer." He walked over to the stone slab they'd been struggling with. It was indeed large, at least six feet tall, four feet wide, and thick, easily weighing several tons, wedged firmly into the opening. He tapped it with a knuckle. Solid. "So, this is blocking your way out?"
"Yes!" Gregor exclaimed, hope flaring again. "We've been trying for an hour! If you… if you really destroyed a Guardian… maybe you can…?" He trailed off, hesitant to ask, yet desperate.
Saitama looked at the slab. Looked back at the three terrified, hopeful faces staring at him. Sighed internally. He just wanted food. But these guys seemed genuinely scared. And helping them might be faster than trying to find another way out himself. Maybe they knew where a town was on the other side.
"Alright, fine," he said. "Stand back. Don't want anyone getting squished. Safety first, even when dealing with poorly maintained evil lairs."
Gregor, Lyra, and Renn scrambled back, pressing themselves against the far wall of the small cavern, watching with bated breath.
Saitama faced the slab. He didn't brace himself. He didn't power up. He just… pushed it. One-handed. Casually. Like pushing open a slightly sticky door.
Scrrrrrrape… CRUNCH.
With a groan of protesting stone far louder than Saitama's effort warranted, the multi-ton slab slid sideways, grating against the floor before crunching to a halt several feet away, revealing a dark, narrow passage beyond. Dust billowed from the disturbed opening.
Gregor's jaw dropped. Renn's eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head. Lyra stared, speechless, her hand still pressed to her mouth. The ease, the utter lack of strain, the sheer, nonchalant power required to move that slab like it was made of cardboard… it was beyond anything they could comprehend.
"There you go," Saitama said, dusting off his hand on his jumpsuit. "Easy peasy. Now, does that tunnel lead anywhere useful? Like, say, a diner? Or maybe just outside?"
Meanwhile, at the Cave Entrance…
Knight-Commander Kristoph stood just inside the threshold of the ominous cave, the sickly purple light of the runes casting unsettling shadows on his grim face. Zenon was crouched beside him, examining the giant, three-toed footprints that led directly inside, confirming they matched the ones they'd followed. Elara stood slightly behind them, her eyes closed, her face pale, one hand pressed to her temple, the other gripping her staff so tightly her knuckles were white.
"Elara? Report," Kristoph commanded softly, his gaze fixed on the oppressive darkness within. The foul stench Saitama had noted assaulted his nostrils, a clear warning sign.
Elara took a shaky breath, opening her eyes. They were wide with a mixture of fear and awe. "Commander… the energy signature… it's… quiescent now. But moments ago… there was a spike. A massive surge of that same raw, undirected force we felt at the Wyrm site. Followed by… something else." She swallowed hard. "A psychic backlash. A wave of pure terror, disbelief, and… pain… emanating from deep within. Not from the 'Tempest' signature, but from that other, deeper resonance… the 'heartbeat' I mentioned. It felt… wounded. Shocked."
Zenon looked up from the tracks. "The boot prints go inside too, Commander. Right alongside the larger ones. Whoever this 'Tempest' is… he walked right in."
Kristoph processed this. The Tempest enters. A surge of power. The deep entity reacts with psychic terror. The logical conclusion was unavoidable, however unbelievable. "He confronted the source of the deeper resonance? Or perhaps one of its protectors?"
"The energy signature… it spiked, then stabilized, almost… casually," Elara continued, still looking shaken. "And the psychic backlash from the deeper entity… it suggests a profound, unexpected defeat. As if… as if its primary defense was shattered effortlessly." She looked towards the darkness, a shiver tracing its way down her spine. "And the Tempest's own signature… it feels… neutral. Almost indifferent. Like a hurricane passing over an anthill, utterly unaware of the chaos it's causing below. It's moving deeper still."
Kristoph exchanged a look with Zenon. The tracker's face was grim. Entering this cave felt like walking into the maw of something ancient and evil. Following someone who could apparently make such entities recoil in terror… was that safer, or infinitely more dangerous?
"Our orders are to observe and report, Commander," Zenon reminded him quietly, though his hand rested on the hilt of his long knife. "Going deeper… seems like exceeding the 'no unnecessary risks' mandate."
Kristoph knew Zenon was right. Every instinct screamed at him to pull back, report what they'd found – the cave, the energies, the psychic scream. But Shadow's words, the King's charge, the mystery of the disappearing nobles, and the sheer, world-altering implications of this 'Unknowing Tempest'… could they simply turn back now?
He looked at the dark passage. He thought of the casually destroyed Wyrm, the pathetic campfire, the effortless power Elara described. What kind of being were they dealing with?
"We proceed," Kristoph decided, his voice low but firm. "Slowly. Carefully. Weapons ready. Elara, maintain constant magical awareness. Zenon, watch for traps, physical and otherwise. We identify the Tempest, observe his capabilities if possible, and find a way to withdraw undetected. We are shadows here. We do not engage."
With nods of grim understanding, the three elite members of the Royal Knights drew their weapons, activated their own wards and stealth enchantments, and took their first cautious steps into the Tenebris Labyrinth, following the impossible footprints of the man who just wanted lunch.