The silence in Xylos's (abruptly vacated) sanctum was heavy enough to be a physical weight. Shadow Garden, a group of elite warriors and espionage experts trained to handle ancient cults, demonic beasts, and interdimensional horrors, found themselves utterly flummoxed by an enemy combatant who had apparently recognized their accidental companion from wanted posters in the multiverse's post office and promptly self-yeeted out of existence.
Shadow, still holding his dramatic pose, slowly lowered his ebony blade. The carefully cultivated aura of menacing coolness felt… deflated. Like a magnificent, obsidian soufflé that had just collapsed because someone nearby had sneezed too loudly – or, in this case, because an ancient evil had recognized Saitama and decided that discretion was the better part of valor.
This is… this is untenable, Cid's internal monologue was a frantic scramble. My reputation as the ultimate shadowy badass is taking serious hits here! First, the cosmic horror gets one-shotted. Then the clown gets one-shotted. Now the ancient evil flees in terror before I can even deliver my cool pre-battle speech! At this rate, Beta's 'Chronicles of Lord Shadow' will be a pamphlet titled 'And Then Saitama Showed Up'.
"Well," Saitama said, breaking the stunned silence as he kicked at a loose stone on the altar, "that was weird. He seemed pretty worked up. Wonder what 'The Master' warned him about. Maybe I forgot to pay a parking ticket in another dimension or something."
Alpha finally found her voice, though it was laced with a bewildered reverence that was becoming her default setting whenever Saitama did… anything. "Lord Shadow… the entity known as Xylos… it seemed to possess prior knowledge of Saitama-sama. 'The Annihilator of Narratives'… 'The Bane of Final Bosses'… these are… unsettling appellations."
Beta was scribbling so fast her notepad was practically smoking. "Unprecedented! An interdimensional entity exhibiting awareness of Saitama-sama's… reputation across realities! This implies a level of notoriety that transcends single universes! The implications for understanding the true scale of Saitama-sama's existence are… staggering!" She paused, pen hovering. "Though, 'Caped Baldy' is perhaps a less… dignified moniker."
Saitama shrugged. "Eh, I've been called worse. Usually by guys I'm about to punch."
"The immediate threat beneath the Crimson Tower appears to be neutralized," Shadow declared, forcing himself back into character. He gestured towards the pulsating, empty altar. "This artifact… it is still suffused with corrupted energy. It likely served as a conduit. We must ensure it cannot be reactivated." He needed to do something, something that involved his power, to reassert his narrative dominance.
Before he could unleash a suitably dramatic and destructive arcane technique to cleanse the altar, Saitama walked over to it. He peered at the writhing crimson runes. "Huh. Kinda looks like that weird screensaver I had on my old computer. The one that always crashed it." He then reached out and… poked it.
Just poked it. With his index finger.
The pulsating crimson light of the ancient, evil altar flickered violently. The writhing runes froze, then began to crack. A low, groaning sound emanated from the obsidian stone, like something in immense pain. Then, with a final, pathetic pop, the crimson glow died completely. The runes crumbled into dust. The altar itself developed a massive crack down the center and seemed to… sag, all its malevolent energy gone, leaving behind nothing but a large, inert piece of rock.
Saitama withdrew his finger. "Guess it just needed a reset."
Shadow Garden stared. Again.
Gamma whimpered and actually hid behind Epsilon. This was too much. Ancient evil altars, conduits of unspeakable power, did not get "reset" by a casual poke.
Cid felt a nerve in his eye begin to twitch violently. He poked it. He POKED the ancient evil altar that was probably channeling the dark energies of a forgotten god from the void between realities, and it just… GAVE UP. My grand, dramatic cleansing ritual, my moment to shine with dark, purifying flames… reduced to a footnote because he treated it like a faulty VCR!
"Sensei," Genos said, his voice filled with unwavering admiration. "Your ability to disrupt complex arcane constructs with minimal physical interaction is truly a testament to your overwhelming power. The resonant frequency of your touch must have overloaded its energetic matrix."
"Or maybe it was just put together kinda crappy," Saitama suggested, already losing interest in the now-inert altar. "So, are we done down here? It's kinda damp, and I think I'm getting a rash."
Shadow took a deep, steadying breath. Or, he tried to. It came out a little shaky. "Yes. The… immediate corruption… has been… neutralized." He forced the words out. "We should return to the surface. There are other matters demanding our attention." Namely, my rapidly deteriorating sanity and the urgent need to find a scenario where Saitama doesn't accidentally solve everything before I can even pose dramatically.
Their ascent was significantly less eventful, mostly because any lingering demonic beasts or psychic phenomena had apparently gotten the memo from Xylos and decided that discretion was indeed the better part of valor when a bored-looking bald guy was in the vicinity.
When they emerged from the rubble of the Crimson Tower into the pale, dust-filtered sunlight, they found the area significantly changed. Royal Guards, their armor gleaming but their faces pale and drawn, were attempting to establish a perimeter. Injured civilians were being tended to by hastily assembled medics. And standing amidst the chaos, looking distinctly out of place in their pristine, formal attire, were several figures radiating an aura of authority.
One of them, a tall, slender man with sharp features and tired eyes, clad in the elaborate regalia of a high-ranking court official, spotted Shadow and Alpha. He hurried towards them, his expression a mixture of relief and trepidation.
"Lord Shadow! Lady Alpha!" the official exclaimed, bowing deeply. "A blessing you are unharmed! The city… it has suffered greatly. His Majesty, King Midgar, requests your immediate presence at the palace."
Shadow inclined his head. "Chancellor Olba. The situation?"
Chancellor Olba wrung his hands. "Chaotic, Lord Shadow. Utterly chaotic. Reports of… monstrous apparitions, dimensional tears, a clown causing widespread destruction… and then, it all just… stopped. We have eyewitness accounts of… a bald man in a yellow suit… and explosions… and…" He trailed off, looking utterly overwhelmed.
Saitama, who had been trying to get a stubborn piece of gum off the sole of his boot, looked up. "Hey, think he means me?"
Chancellor Olba jumped, finally noticing Saitama and Genos standing slightly behind the imposing figures of Shadow Garden. He blinked at Saitama's attire, then at Genos's gleaming cybernetics. "And… and you are?"
"He is Saitama," Shadow interjected smoothly, stepping forward slightly to subtly reassert his position as the primary point of contact. "An… ally from another realm. His assistance was… instrumental in quelling the recent disturbances." Understatement of the millennium, Cid thought. He didn't assist; he basically ended the party before the appetizers were even served.
Chancellor Olba looked from Saitama back to Shadow, his confusion evident. "Another realm? Instrumental? Forgive me, Lord Shadow, but the reports are… difficult to reconcile."
"The truth is often… stranger than fiction, Chancellor," Shadow said, his voice laced with its usual cryptic undertones. "We will accompany you to the palace. There is much to discuss." He glanced at Saitama. "It seems your… exploits… have not gone unnoticed."
Saitama just shrugged. "As long as they have snacks at this palace place. All this world-saving makes a guy hungry."
The journey to the Royal Palace was a somber affair. The devastation in the city was widespread. Buildings were shattered, streets were cracked, and an air of fear and uncertainty hung heavy. Shadow Garden, moving with their customary silent efficiency, observed everything, their earlier bewilderment at Saitama's power now tempered by the grim reality of the attack on their city.
Saitama, for his part, looked around with a surprising degree of… observation. He wasn't just looking for food stalls anymore. He saw the crying children, the overwhelmed guards, the general sense of despair. A faint, almost imperceptible frown touched his lips. It wasn't sadness, not exactly. It was more like… a quiet acknowledgment that things were Not Okay.
The Royal Palace of Midgar, while still standing, bore scars from the recent chaos. One of its ornate towers had collapsed, and the courtyard was filled with harried officials and worried nobles.
King Midgar himself, a portly man with a receding hairline and a perpetually worried expression, greeted them in a hastily prepared audience chamber. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, and his royal robes were slightly askew. Beside him stood Princess Iris Midgar, her expression a mixture of fear and a steely resolve that belied her youth, and Alexia Midgar, her older sister, whose usual aloof demeanor was replaced by a rare look of genuine concern.
"Lord Shadow! Alpha!" King Midgar exclaimed, relief flooding his face. "Thank the spirits you are here! This… this has been a nightmare! What in the blazes happened?"
Shadow, in his element, began to deliver a carefully curated, suitably dramatic, and mostly vague account of the events, highlighting the insidious nature of the Cult, the emergence of interdimensional threats, and the valiant efforts of Shadow Garden in protecting the city. He made sure to frame Saitama's involvement as a "fortuitous, if unconventional, intervention by a powerful but enigmatic ally."
As Shadow spoke, King Midgar listened intently, his expression growing increasingly grim. The assembled nobles murmured amongst themselves, their faces pale.
Then, it was Genos's turn to provide a more… direct account, focusing on the specific threats they had encountered and neutralized, including the Star-Spawn, Puddles, and Xylos. He spoke with his usual cyborg precision, his report filled with technical details and power level assessments that likely went over the heads of most present, but the sheer scale of the threats he described was undeniable.
When Genos mentioned Saitama one-punching the Star-Spawn, a ripple of disbelief went through the room. When he described Puddles being erased, and Xylos fleeing in terror at the mere sight of Saitama, the disbelief turned into outright, slack-jawed astonishment.
All eyes turned to Saitama, who was currently trying to subtly scratch an itch on his back by rubbing against a nearby pillar, looking profoundly bored by the proceedings.
King Midgar, his face a mask of incredulity, finally addressed Saitama directly. "Sir… Saitama, was it? This… cyborg… he speaks the truth? You… you truly dispatched these… these horrors… with such… ease?"
Saitama stopped scratching. "Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess. They weren't that tough. The clown was annoying, though. And that ghosty guy was a real scaredy-cat."
A heavy silence descended upon the audience chamber. The King, the princesses, the nobles, the royal guards – they all stared at Saitama as if he had just sprouted a second head that sang opera.
Princess Iris, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and something akin to hero-worship, whispered, "He… he truly is a hero…"
Alexia, however, looked at Saitama with a more analytical, almost suspicious gaze. She had always prided herself on her swordsmanship and her understanding of power. This… this was something else entirely. Something that didn't fit any known paradigm.
Then, a royal physician, who had been discreetly examining a piece of debris brought from the Crimson Tower district – a fragment of the "reset" altar – suddenly gasped. He rushed forward, his face pale.
"Your Majesty!" the physician exclaimed, holding up the inert piece of rock. "This fragment… it was part of an artifact of immense dark power! I've studied ancient texts describing such relics… they are said to be indestructible by conventional means, capable of channeling apocalyptic energies! Yet now… it is utterly inert! The dark magic within it has been… completely and perfectly nullified! As if… as if its very essence was unmade!"
He looked at Saitama, then back at the rock, then at Shadow Garden. "To neutralize such an artifact… it would require a power that transcends our understanding of magic! A power… of almost divine magnitude!"
King Midgar, who had been struggling to process everything, suddenly clutched his chest, his face turning a shade paler. He coughed, a wheezing, uncomfortable sound. "Divine… magnitude?" He looked at Saitama, who was now trying to subtly peek under a nearby tapestry, possibly looking for hidden snack compartments. "A man… who defeats cosmic horrors with a single blow… who makes ancient evils flee in terror… who nullifies apocalyptic magic by… poking it?"
The King's eyes widened, a look of dawning, horrified comprehension spreading across his features. He suddenly remembered the stories his grandmother used to tell him – ancient, almost forgotten legends of beings of immense, casual power, beings who could rewrite reality with a whim, beings who were less gods and more… cosmic janitors, cleaning up messes others made.
He looked at Saitama, at his plain face, his cheap costume, his utter lack of pretense or grandeur. He looked at the utter, unwavering belief in the eyes of the powerful cyborg beside him, and the stunned, almost fearful reverence in the eyes of the formidable warriors of Shadow Garden.
King Midgar, ruler of a kingdom, suddenly felt a profound, existential indigestion. It wasn't just the stress. It was the uncomfortable, dawning truth that the most powerful being to ever walk his world – possibly any world – was a bald man who was currently more interested in the thread count of the royal tapestries than in the fate of nations.
The carefully constructed reality of his kingdom, his power, his understanding of the universe, had just been punched squarely in the face. And the fist belonged to a hero for fun. The silence in the room was no longer just stunned; it was pregnant with the uncomfortable weight of a truth too absurd to ignore.