OPM in Dragon Ball OG

The battlefield stretched endlessly in every direction, a canvas of ruin where realities hung like broken ornaments in the void. Saitama, the bald-headed hero clad in his signature yellow suit and flowing white cape, hovered silently. His fist was still clenched, a faint wisp of energy dissipating from it. Before him stood what had once been the self-proclaimed "God of All Existence," a towering deity of infinite power, its form a kaleidoscope of shifting dimensions and colors.

Moments ago, this being had mocked Saitama, laughing at the "puny mortal" who dared defy the divine order. Now, the deity's remnants scattered like dust across the infinite abyss.

Saitama sighed, his expression blank but tinged with boredom.

"Another one-hit knockout," he muttered, shaking his fist absently. "I thought a god would at least make me sweat."

He floated aimlessly, glancing around the vast emptiness he'd unintentionally created. Every universe, every dimension, every timeline, and even the very fabric of the omniverse had crumbled. The punch hadn't just defeated the god; it had obliterated the concept of existence itself.

"I guess… I overdid it," Saitama said, scratching his bald head. "Genos isn't gonna believe this when I—" He paused. His eyes widened as he realized the weight of what he'd done. There was no Genos anymore. No Earth. No cosmos. Nothing.

"Uh… oops."

For the first time in his life, a pang of regret pierced Saitama's otherwise impenetrable apathy. He floated there, adrift in the endless void, wondering if he had finally gone too far. But before he could dwell on it, a ripple coursed through the emptiness, pulling at him like a whirlpool.

"What the—?"

The ripple expanded, growing into a vortex of energy. It swirled violently, crackling with flashes of light and echoes of voices long erased. Saitama felt his body being dragged into it, a force yanking him through space and time—or what was left of them.

"Guess I'll see where this goes," he muttered, resigned.

The vortex spat him out, and Saitama landed with an unceremonious thud on solid ground. He blinked, glancing around at his surroundings. Gone were the vast expanses of destruction and the infinite void. Instead, he found himself in a lush green landscape dotted with mountains and trees. A small dirt road wound its way through the area, leading to a cozy-looking house perched atop a hill.

"Huh," Saitama said, standing up and dusting off his cape. "Feels… peaceful."

His attention was drawn to a small figure walking down the dirt path, carrying a bundle of firewood. It was a boy, no older than twelve, with spiky black hair, a tail swishing behind him, and an air of innocence about him.

The boy stopped when he saw Saitama, his head tilting in curiosity. "Who are you, mister?" he asked, his voice cheerful yet cautious.

To be continued…