On the Helicarrier, Nick Fury and every agent seemed to have been collectively petrified, frozen in various ridiculous poses.
Around the world, everyone who had caught fragmentary glimpses of this "miracle" via satellite forgot to breathe.
Under the gaze of countless eyes.
The golden figure in the sky slowly dismissed the giant serpent phantom behind him.
The brilliant golden radiance, like sunlight itself, gradually withdrew back into his body.
He transformed from "god" back to "man."
Black hair, dark eyes, ordinary casual clothes.
He slowly descended from the sky, landing at the edge of the massive crater left by the Leviathan's impact.
He glanced at the sky he'd just "cleaned up."
Then at his still-empty hands.
Then, under the world's gaze, he let out a soft sigh.
The sound wasn't loud, but it reached everyone's ears through some inexplicable means.
"Sigh..."
"...Dinner's off the table now."
With that, he ignored the completely stunned Avengers, ignored the gazes of awe, fanaticism, and fear pouring in from all directions.
Like an ordinary office worker clocking out after a job, he dusted off his hands—though there was nothing there—then turned and strolled away, vanishing at the end of the street.
He left behind only a legend that would drive the entire world into frenzy and trembling.
New York now had a new "god."
...
The Battle of New York was over.
In a manner no one could have predicted or comprehended, it came to an abrupt end.
No prolonged, grueling war of attrition.
No heroic, tragic sacrifices.
Not even a proper victory celebration.
Just an impossibly clean sky, and fragmentary footage of a "miracle" spreading through various channels like mythology.
And one name echoing across the globe.
—Cloud.
In the seventy-two hours following the Battle of New York, this name swept every corner of the world like a Category 12 viral storm.
The internet completely crashed.
Not from attacks—from overload.
Countless people flooded social media, forums, and news sites, frantically discussing, debating, and worshipping that figure who had descended like a god in the final moment.
"My God! Did you see that?! That golden giant! He's literally a real god!"
"What giant? That was clearly a serpent! An Eastern dragon! No—something more ancient than dragons!"
"What did he say at the end? 'Dinner's off the table'? Does... does even a god have to worry about meals?"
"Bro, are you focusing on the right thing? The point is this deity LIVES in New York! We're sharing a city with a god!"
Countless organizations sprang up overnight—"Church of Cloud," "Sacred Order of the Hot Dog," "Sunlight's Blessing Global Fan Club."
Believers flooded into New York from around the world, converging on that massive crater left by the Leviathan. They named it "The Divine Crater" and gathered day and night to worship, hoping to sense even a trace of divine will.
In stark contrast to the public's fervent worship was the collective silence from world governments.
Every head of state, general, and senator, after viewing the classified high-definition satellite footage provided by S.H.I.E.L.D., fell into deathly silence.
It was the deepest fear that arises when human understanding is utterly crushed by absolute power.
They finally understood: their carrier battle groups, their nuclear arsenals capable of destroying the world several times over, probably didn't even register as a joke to that man.
Every war contingency, every defense plan, had become worthless paper before the world-ending yet world-creating might of "Sunlight's Blessing."
For the first time, humanity so clearly recognized how insignificant they were in this universe.
And, for the first time, how fortunate they were that the "god" standing atop the food chain... at least for now... seemed uninterested in ruling the world.
...
At the eye of this global storm of fanaticism and fear.
S.H.I.E.L.D. Triskelion.
Nick Fury's office was colder than a Siberian winter.
Director Fury, sporting dark circles blacker than a panda's, stared expressionlessly at a report on his desk.
It was a bill.
A damage assessment report for the "Battle of New York," rushed out overnight by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s loss evaluation department.
Page one contained standard damage statistics:
Buildings destroyed: Approximately 175
Public infrastructure damaged: Incalculable
Estimated economic loss: Over $160 billion
Fury's eye didn't even twitch.
He'd expected all this.
He turned to page two.
Page two's contents were... "supernatural."
The header read: Assessment Report on "Special Property Losses" Caused by "Traveler" Mr. Cloud During the New York Incident
Item One: "Papa's Hot Dog Stand" in Lower Manhattan was destroyed due to force majeure (Leviathan impact), resulting in total loss of cart and all ingredients.
Stand owner Mr. Miguel suffered severe psychological trauma and is currently undergoing counseling. According to Mr. Miguel's recollection, Mr. Cloud had purchased a $3.50 "Double Mustard Deluxe Hot Dog." Recommendation: Classify this loss as the highest priority matter for this incident.
Fury's mouth began to twitch.
He continued reading.
Item Two: Stuttgart, Germany, a certain hilltop, disappeared due to unknown causes (suspected connection to Mr. Cloud), resulting in permanent "two-dimensional slicing" of the terrain.
This has caused immeasurable damage to the local ecology and tourism industry. The German government has filed a formal protest and demands a "scientific" explanation from S.H.I.E.L.D.
Item Three: Helicarrier maximum-defense system. One "triple-barrel pulse energy cannon" was used for "lighting a cigarette," resulting in energy core overload and circuit burnout. Currently under repair. Estimated repair cost: $80 million.
Item Four: ...
Fury couldn't read any more.
...
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