The interrogation of the captured Cult of Diablos leader, a twitchy, fanatical man named Malakor, proved to be… frustratingly illuminating. Alpha, with her icy composure and subtle application of pressure (both physical and psychological), was a master at extracting information. Beta meticulously documented every word, every tremor, every desperate plea. Epsilon stood by, her presence alone a silent, unsettling threat.
Malakor, despite his initial bluster, crumbled relatively quickly under Alpha's unwavering gaze. He babbled about the "Great Awakening," the imminent return of Diablos, and the glory of the "Master" who guided them from beyond the veil. He also, in his terror-fueled ramblings, confirmed the existence of the "Thirteen Night Blades."
"They are the Master's chosen!" Malakor shrieked, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fanatical devotion. "Each one a vessel of unparalleled power, an apostle of the coming dawn! They are scattered, hidden, awaiting the signal! When they unite, no force in this pathetic world, or any other, will be able to stop them!"
Shadow, listening from the periphery with his arms crossed, felt a familiar thrill. Thirteen elite antagonists! Perfect! A classic setup! This is the kind of escalating threat an Eminence in Shadow lives for! Each one will have a unique power, a tragic backstory (that I will, of course, pretend to have known all along), and a cool, dramatic defeat at my hands… or, well, at someone's hands, hopefully mine this time.
"Their locations? Their identities?" Alpha pressed, her voice like silk over steel.
Malakor writhed. "I… I do not know all of them! Only whispers… fragments… The Master reveals only what is necessary! But one… one is said to reside within the very heart of this city… a sleeper… waiting…" He trailed off, a new wave of terror washing over him. "No… I have said too much… The Master will know…"
"He knows nothing more of value," Shadow interjected, his voice cutting through Malakor's whimpers. "His fear is now his only companion." He turned to Alpha. "Secure him. Zeta and Eta will conduct a… deeper debriefing. Perhaps his subconscious holds more pertinent details." Subtle euphemism for 'mind-probe until he spills every last secret or his brain turns to mush.' Classic Shadow Garden efficiency.
While the interrogation was underway, Saitama and Genos had, surprisingly, found something to occupy their time. Delta, still buzzing from her "fight" with Gorgonax, had challenged Saitama to a series of increasingly ridiculous feats of strength – uprooting trees (Saitama did it with one hand, looking bored), skipping boulders across the park's lake (Saitama's boulder accidentally created a miniature tsunami that drenched a nearby statue of a revered city founder), and attempting to punch a hole through a particularly thick, ancient oak (Delta managed a respectable dent; Saitama's fist passed through it as if it were smoke, leaving a perfectly circular, tree-sized hole on the other side and a very confused family of squirrels).
Genos, meanwhile, was meticulously scanning the area where the Cult's ritual had taken place, collecting samples of the corrupted energy and analyzing the structural integrity of the (now defunct) stone circle. Mr. Fluffles, the giant bunny, sat propped against a tree, an unwitting, fluffy observer to the casual defiance of physics.
"The energy signatures here are… complex," Genos reported to Shadow when he approached. "The Cultists were indeed attempting to tap into a residual interdimensional rift, likely one left behind by Xylos's presence. Their ritual was crude, unstable. Had it reached full power, it could have created a cascading dimensional breach, pulling through… unpredictable entities."
"And this 'Master' they speak of?" Shadow mused, gazing at the now-tranquil stone circle. "Xylos mentioned him. Malakor fears him. He seems to be the true puppeteer behind these recent events." A new ultimate villain! My nemesis! This is getting better and better!
"The data is insufficient to form a concrete profile," Genos stated. "However, the reverence and fear he inspires suggest a being of considerable power and influence, likely operating from a different dimensional plane or a deeply hidden sanctum within this world."
It was then that Beta, having finished her initial documentation of Malakor's interrogation, approached with a new piece of information. "Lord Shadow, Malakor mentioned one of these 'Night Blades' residing within the city. A 'sleeper.' He also spoke of a significant Cult gathering scheduled to occur within the next cycle, at a location known only by a codename: 'The Obsidian Mirror.'"
"The Obsidian Mirror…" Shadow savored the name. "Intriguing. A hidden stronghold? A secret meeting place? This requires… infiltration." His eyes gleamed beneath his hood. A classic infiltration mission! Stealth, deception, dramatic reveals! This is my bread and butter!
"Alpha and I will undertake this," Shadow declared. "Our skills are best suited for such a delicate operation. The rest of you will maintain vigilance, analyze the intelligence from Malakor, and prepare for any… repercussions." He conveniently omitted Saitama from this plan. The idea of Saitama on a stealth mission was… well, it was like trying to sneak a rhinoceros into a library. During an earthquake. While the rhinoceros was on fire.
Saitama, having grown tired of feats of strength (and having accidentally deforested a small section of the Arboretum), wandered over. "So, what's the plan, robe guy? More bad guys to punch? Or are we finally gonna find that t-shirt shop?"
Shadow paused. He couldn't exactly tell Saitama, "You're too much of a walking, talking calamity to bring on a stealth mission." That would be… undiplomatic. And might result in Saitama accidentally punching a hole in their new headquarters out of boredom.
"Saitama-dono," Shadow began, choosing his words carefully, "your… direct approach is best reserved for… overt confrontations. This next task requires subtlety, a whisper in the darkness. A different kind of strength."
Saitama blinked. "So… no punching?"
"Not… immediately," Shadow conceded. "Think of it as… reconnaissance in force. But the 'force' is silence and shadow."
Saitama just shrugged. "Sounds boring. Can Genos and I at least go look for that spicy jerky place? My bunny's probably getting hungry too." He patted Mr. Fluffles, who seemed to twitch an ear in agreement.
Shadow saw an opportunity. "Perhaps… while Alpha and I investigate 'The Obsidian Mirror,' you and Genos could… patrol the district where it is rumored to be. Your presence might… discourage any untoward activity, or flush out lesser operatives." Basically, be a very obvious, very powerful distraction so they don't notice us sneaking in. Perfect!
"So, I'm like, bait?" Saitama asked, a flicker of understanding in his eyes.
"A… deterrent," Shadow corrected smoothly. "A very potent one."
And so, the plan was set. That evening, under the cloak of a moonless Midgar night, Shadow and Alpha prepared for their infiltration. They were clad in their darkest, most form-fitting attire, their movements silent, their senses sharp. This was their element.
Their target, "The Obsidian Mirror," turned out to be a seemingly abandoned art gallery in a less reputable part of the city. The windows were boarded up, the paint was peeling, and a general air of decay hung about the place. It was the perfect, unassuming front for a secret Cult meeting.
"The energy signatures are faint, masked," Alpha whispered, her eyes scanning the building. "But they are there. Cult operatives, at least a dozen, and one… stronger presence. Likely the 'sleeper' Night Blade Malakor spoke of."
"Excellent," Shadow breathed, a thrill coursing through him. "We enter through the skylight. Minimal resistance, maximum dramatic effect when we reveal ourselves."
Meanwhile, a few blocks away, Saitama and Genos were conducting their "deterrent patrol." Which mostly consisted of Saitama looking in shop windows (most of which were closed) and Genos diligently scanning for threats. Mr. Fluffles was perched on Saitama's shoulder, its fluffy ears twitching.
"This is kinda boring, Genos," Saitama said, peering into a darkened bakery. "No bad guys, no giant monsters, not even a decent sale on day-old bread."
"Patience, Sensei," Genos replied. "Our presence alone is a strategic asset. And according to my calculations, the probability of encountering a hostile entity increases by 17.3% in areas with low illumination and suspicious-looking alleyways, such as the one we are approaching."
As they passed the mouth of a particularly dark and ominous alleyway, three figures in tattered cloaks, clearly low-level Cult thugs, emerged, brandishing rusty knives. "Alright, fancy boy and baldy! Hand over your valuables, and maybe we won't rough you up too much!"
Saitama blinked. "Valuables? I got, like, three coins and this bunny. You want the bunny?" He offered Mr. Fluffles.
The thugs looked at the giant fluffy bunny, then at Saitama's deadpan expression, then at the heavily armed cyborg standing beside him whose eyes were glowing with an ominous red light. There was a moment of confused silence.
Then, one of the thugs, perhaps not the brightest, lunged at Saitama with his rusty knife.
Saitama sighed. He didn't even move his body. He just… blew on the thug. A small, almost imperceptible puff of air.
The thug, who had been mid-lunge, suddenly froze. His eyes widened. Then, he was violently flung backwards, as if hit by an invisible cannonball, tumbling through the air and crashing into a pile of overflowing trash cans at the end of the alley with a resounding clang. He didn't get up.
His two companions stared, their rusty knives clattering to the ground. Their jaws were slack, their faces pale with terror.
Saitama dusted off his hands (which he hadn't even used). "Littering is bad, you know."
The two remaining thugs didn't need any further encouragement. They turned and fled, screaming, disappearing into the night.
Genos nodded. "A most efficient dispersion of minor threats, Sensei. Your control over air pressure manipulation via focused exhalation is… remarkable."
Saitama just shrugged. "He was in my personal space. And his breath smelled like old cheese." He then noticed something. "Hey, look, Genos. That building over there has weird statues on it. Kinda creepy. Let's go check it out." He pointed towards the abandoned art gallery – "The Obsidian Mirror."
Back on the roof of the art gallery, Shadow and Alpha had just silently disabled the archaic security system on the skylight.
"Clear," Alpha whispered. "No immediate alarms."
"Perfect," Shadow replied, a predatory gleam in his hidden eyes. "Now, for our entrance…"
He was about to make a dramatic, silent descent when he heard a cheerful, "Hey! This window's already open! Cool!" from below.
Shadow froze. Alpha froze. They both peered down through the skylight.
Standing in the dimly lit main gallery below, looking around with mild curiosity, was Saitama. Mr. Fluffles was still on his shoulder. Genos was right behind him, his optical sensors sweeping the room.
"Sensei," Genos said, "this appears to be an abandoned art gallery. The probability of finding spicy jerky here is low. However, I am detecting multiple concealed energy signatures. Hostiles are present."
Saitama peered at a particularly grotesque, abstract sculpture in the center of the room. "Huh. This art is weird. It's all… lumpy. And what's with all the angry colors?"
From the shadows of the gallery, figures began to emerge. Cultists, their faces grim, their hands reaching for concealed weapons. And from behind the grotesque sculpture, a taller figure stepped out, clad in sleek, black armor that seemed to absorb the light. This figure radiated an aura of cold, deadly power. This was undoubtedly the "sleeper" Night Blade.
The Night Blade, a woman with sharp, predatory features and eyes like chips of ice, fixed her gaze on Saitama. "You are not welcome here, outsiders. This is a sacred space. Prepare to offer your lives to the coming dawn."
Shadow, still on the roof with Alpha, felt his perfectly planned infiltration, his dramatic reveal, his entire cool entrance, crumble into dust. He just… wandered in?! Through the front door?! Because he thought the statues were weird?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!
Alpha looked at Shadow, her expression a mixture of disbelief and resignation. "Lord Shadow… it appears our… deterrent… has inadvertently initiated contact."
Shadow wanted to scream. He wanted to tear his hair out. He wanted to find a very small, very dark hole and stay there until Saitama decided to go back to his own dimension.
But the Eminence in Shadow did not scream. The Eminence in Shadow… adapted. Again. (He was getting very tired of adapting.)
"It seems…" Shadow said, his voice dangerously calm, "…the stage has been set… somewhat prematurely. No matter. Let us… observe how this particular masterpiece of chaos unfolds." He settled down on the edge of the skylight, peering into the gallery below like a disappointed theater critic who had just realized the lead actor was a golden retriever.
Below, Saitama tilted his head at the Night Blade. "Sacred space? Looks more like a dusty old museum. And lady, your armor is really pointy. You ever poke yourself in the eye with those shoulder pads?"
The battle for "The Obsidian Mirror" was about to begin. And Shadow had a front-row seat to watch his carefully crafted narrative get another casual, one-punch makeover. The thrill was still there, buried deep under several layers of profound, soul-crushing frustration. He just hoped someone remembered to save him some of those meat pies.