While it might have seemed like they'd won—mech destroyed, threat eliminated, city saved—Tatehan didn't feel like celebrating.

Not when he looked around at the aftermath and saw what the victory had actually cost.

He stood in the middle of what used to be a busy intersection in the eastern district, his armor still active, his helmet retracted so he could breathe the smoky air without filters. The street was unrecognizable. Buildings that had stood for probably decades were now nothing but piles of rubble, their facades collapsed, their interiors exposed like open wounds. Fires still burned in some of the wreckage, black smoke curling upward into the sky. Cars that had been caught in the crossfire were sliced cleanly in half, their metal frames melted and twisted where the mech's plasma cutter had carved through them like they were made of foil.

And everywhere, there was debris.

Chunks of concrete…shattered glass…bent rebar. The remnants of people's lives scattered across the pavement: furniture, personal belongings, things that had been precious to someone just hours ago.

All of it destroyed.

All of it because of one machine sent by one man who was powerful.

Tatehan sighed as he took it all in.

Lots of property had been destroyed. That much was obvious. But unlike the last attack—the one where monsters had flooded the city, tearing through crowds of civilians, leaving bodies in the streets—this time, the casualties had been lighter. The mech had focused its destructive power on infrastructure, on buildings and vehicles, not on people. Most of the civilians had evacuated before the worst of the damage occurred, driven away by the Red Crest Clan's emergency response teams and the terror of seeing a twenty-meter-tall war machine stomping through their neighborhoods.

There were injuries, yes. A few deaths, too.

Tatehan hadn't seen the final count yet, but he knew it wouldn't be as catastrophic as before.

And that made all the difference.

Back then, after the monster attack, Tatehan had felt hollow and disappointed. The bodies scattered across the plaza, the families mourning their dead, the children left orphaned: it had all weighed on him so heavily that the victory itself had felt shallow and meaningless. What good was winning a battle if the cost was measured in lives that could never be replaced?

But this?

This was different.

Yes, the destruction was massive. Yes, the city would need weeks, maybe months, to rebuild. Yes, people had lost their homes, their businesses, their sense of safety.

But they were alive (Eh…some died but you get what I mean)

And that meant something.

Tatehan exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. He allowed himself a small, grim sense of satisfaction. They'd stopped the mech. They'd kept the casualties low.

And the part they should give themselves more credit for was the way they'd adapted, strategized, and executed a plan that shouldn't have worked but did.

This was manageable, he told himself. This, at least, could be called a victory.

Not a perfect one. Not a clean one. But a victory nonetheless.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Lyra approaching, her own armor still active, her expression calm but tired. She stopped beside him, her eyes going over the destruction with the same quiet assessment.

"Could've been worse," she said quietly.

Tatehan nodded.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Could've been a lot worse."

They stood in silence for a moment.

Then Lyra spoke again, her tone shifting slightly.

"We should help," she said.

Tatehan glanced at her.

"Help with what?"

Lyra gestured vaguely at the rubble, the fires, the scattered debris.

"Cleanup," she said.

Tatehan looked around again, taking in the scope of the work that needed to be done. She was right. There was a lot they could do. Move debris, pull survivors from collapsed buildings and clear roads so emergency vehicles could get through.

But even as the thought occurred to him, he felt the exhaustion creeping in. The fight had taken more out of him than he'd realized. Using his gravity manipulation on something as massive as the mech, maintaining it long enough for the Thrust Anchor to do its job, had drained him. His muscles ached, his head throbbed faintly, and he could feel the telltale signs of energy depletion settling into his bones.

He was TIRED!

He wasn't the only one, either. Lyra looked tired. Riven, standing a short distance away near her Skyblade, was leaning against the hull like she needed it to stay upright. Even Torvan, who'd stayed airborne for most of the fight, looked drained when his craft touched down nearby.

They'd done their part. More than their part.

And besides, the Red Crest Clan had hundreds of members. Soldiers, engineers, medics, support personnel: people trained specifically for disaster response and recovery operations. They were already mobilizing and moving into the affected areas with equipment and expertise.

Tatehan and his small team weren't needed for this part.

"We'll help a little," Tatehan said finally, his voice quiet. "But we're not staying long. The others can handle the rest."

Lyra nodded, understanding in her eyes.

"Fair enough," she said.

They spent the next thirty minutes doing what they could.

Tatehan used his gravity manipulation sparingly, lifting debris that would've taken a team of people with heavy equipment to move. A collapsed wall blocking a street. A crushed vehicle pinning someone's leg. A section of roof that had fallen and trapped a family in their basement.

Lyra's augmented strength came in handy, her cybernetic enhancements allowing her to pull apart some twisted metal.

Riven coordinated with emergency teams, her sharp mind and quick thinking helping to organize the chaos into something resembling order.

But after thirty minutes, they were done. Exhausted actually.

Other Red Crest Clan members had flooded into the area by then, taking over the recovery efforts with efficiency. Engineers set up temporary power lines. Medics triaged the wounded. Soldiers cordoned off dangerous zones and guided civilians to safe shelters.

It was under control.

Tatehan, Lyra, and Riven exchanged glances, nodded silently, and made their way back to their vehicles.

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