The north tower of Castle Maleficus was, to put it mildly, having a very bad day. What had once been an imposing edifice of gothic architecture, a testament to centuries of vampiric dominance and questionable interior decorating choices, was now a smoldering, gaping maw. Chunks of ancient stone, tapestries depicting Valerius in heroic (and increasingly singed) poses, and what looked suspiciously like a collection of antique torture devices, rained down into the mist-choked courtyard below.
Crimson Count Valerius stood amidst the rubble of his (formerly) luxurious private study, which had been located in the now-decapitated north tower. He was covered in soot, his immaculate velvet robes were smoldering, and a single, very expensive, and now very broken, gargoyle-shaped candelabra was perched precariously on his head. His crimson eyes, usually burning with ancient arrogance, were now wide with a mixture of disbelief, fury, and a dawning, terrifying suspicion that he had severely underestimated the destructive potential of… indigestion.
"My… my vintage collection of Transylvanian torture implements!" Valerius shrieked, his voice cracking with a sound that was less terrifying vampire lord and more distressed antique collector. "My first edition 'Necronomicon'! My prize-winning taxidermied chupacabra! ALL RUINED! By… by what?! A spicy food induced… sky-vomit?!"
His remaining Sanguine Knights and Blood-Gorger captains, those who hadn't fled in terror after witnessing the "Great Relish Geyser of Umbraglen," gathered around him, their expressions a mixture of fear and profound confusion. Captain Vorlag, his usually stoic face pale beneath a layer of soot, ventured, "My Lord… the… the projectile… it appears to have originated from the valley. From the… the bald, yellow entity."
Valerius whirled on him, the candelabra wobbling dangerously. "The bald one?! The one who was complaining about a tummy ache?! You're telling me he did this?!" He gestured wildly at the devastation. "With a… a burp?!" (Valerius, in his sheltered, centuries-long existence, had apparently never encountered the concept of projectile vomiting and was defaulting to the closest, if woefully inadequate, equivalent).
"It was… more energetic than a mere eructation, my Lord," Vorlag corrected carefully. "More akin to a… a sustained, high-velocity, multi-spectrum energy discharge… with significant… particulate matter."
Valerius just stared, his ancient mind struggling to process the sheer, unadulterated absurdity of it all. He had faced angelic legions, battled rival demon lords, and outwitted sorcerers of immense power. He had never, in all his millennia of unlife, been defeated by a bad batch of chili.
It was at this moment of profound existential crisis for the Count that Shadow Garden made their decidedly less-than-subtle entrance.
Shadow, deciding that stealth was now a moot point (and frankly, feeling a reckless, almost giddy sense of liberation from the usual constraints of his meticulously planned infiltrations), led his team directly through the gaping, smoking hole where the north tower's main gate used to be. His cloak billowed dramatically in the fiery updraft, his ebony blade gleaming in the chaotic light. Alpha, Beta, Epsilon, and Seraphina fanned out behind him, their expressions a mixture of grim determination and a lingering, stunned disbelief at the sheer, unadulterated Saitama-ness of their current situation.
"Crimson Count Valerius!" Shadow's voice boomed, cutting through the crackle of flames and the groans of collapsing masonry. "Your reign of terror, much like your north tower, has come to an abrupt and rather… messy… end!" Okay, Cid, that was a pretty good line. A bit on the nose, perhaps, given the circumstances, but it has a certain… dramatic flair.
Valerius, still sporting the candelabra hat, spun around, his crimson eyes blazing with fury. "You! Shadow Garden! You dare to trespass in my ancestral home, amidst this… this culinary catastrophe?! You will pay for this indignity! You will all become exquisite additions to my… my slightly singed, but still quite impressive, collection of impaled intruders!"
"Your threats are as hollow as your ruined tower, Valerius," Alpha declared, her silver blade already drawn. "Your forces are scattered. Your defenses are breached. Surrender, and perhaps your end will be… swift."
Valerius just laughed, a wild, unhinged sound that echoed through the devastated courtyard. "Surrender? To you? Pathetic gnats! You think this… this accidental demolition… has defeated me? I am Valerius! I am eternal! I have feasted on the despair of mortals for millennia! A little… regurgitation… will not unmake me!"
He raised his hands, and dark, swirling energies began to coalesce around him. The ground trembled, not from Saitama's distant digestive distress, but from Valerius's own formidable power. Shadows writhed and twisted, taking on monstrous, vaguely bat-like forms. The remaining Sanguine Knights and Blood-Gorgers rallied around him, their eyes burning with a renewed, desperate fanaticism.
"You have merely witnessed a prelude!" Valerius shrieked, his voice now amplified by dark magic. "Now, you will face the true might of Castle Maleficus! You will face the wrath of a Night Blade denied his… digestif!" (It seemed the culinary theme was infectious).
Shadow allowed a grim smile to touch his hidden lips. Finally! A proper confrontation! A desperate last stand! This is more like it! Even if the castle is half-destroyed and smells faintly of burnt Demon-Peppers, this still has potential!
"So be it, Valerius," Shadow said, his ebony blade humming with anticipation. "Let the final act begin."
The battle in the ruins of Castle Maleficus's courtyard was a maelstrom of dark magic, flashing steel, and monstrous fury. Valerius, despite the earlier, unexpected assault on his fortress (and his dignity), was a formidable opponent. He moved with a speed and grace that belied his ancient age, his claws like razors, his eyes burning with a hypnotic, terrifying light. Dark tendrils of shadow lashed out from him, seeking to ensnare and crush.
The Sanguine Knights, his elite guard, fought with the ferocity of cornered predators, their ancient blades clashing against Shadow Garden's own. The Blood-Gorgers swooped and shrieked, their talons tearing at flesh and armor.
Alpha and Shadow fought back-to-back, a whirlwind of silver and black, their movements perfectly synchronized. Alpha's precision and speed were a deadly counter to the Sanguine Knights' brute force, while Shadow's unpredictable, flowing style kept Valerius himself off balance.
Beta, using her analytical skills and a barrage of arcane traps and explosive devices, controlled the battlefield, herding enemies into kill zones and providing covering fire for her comrades. Epsilon, her slime armor regenerating almost instantly from any damage, was a liquid shadow, her attacks coming from unexpected angles, her blade finding the weaknesses in the monsters' defenses.
Seraphina, fighting with a desperate, almost reckless abandon, seemed to be exorcising her own demons with every strike. She moved with the deadly grace of a Night Blade, but there was a new, raw emotion in her attacks – a fury born of betrayal, a desperate hope for a different path. She took down two Sanguine Knights in a flurry of perfectly aimed blows, her cracked sword whistling through the air.
But Valerius was powerful. He laughed as Shadow's blade drew a shallow cut across his cheek, the wound healing almost instantly. He batted aside Alpha's thrust with a dismissive wave of his hand, sending her stumbling back. He summoned swarms of spectral bats that harried and distracted them.
"Is this all, Shadow Garden?" Valerius taunted, his voice dripping with scorn. "A few flashy moves? A little coordinated flailing? You are no match for a true immortal! You are merely… appetizers!"
He lunged at Shadow, his claws extended, his eyes blazing with a terrifying, hypnotic light that sought to dominate the will. Shadow met his charge, their blades clashing in a shower of dark sparks. He could feel Valerius's immense, ancient power, the sheer weight of centuries of accumulated malice and dark magic.
This is it! Cid thought, a thrill of genuine danger, of real stakes, coursing through him. A true battle against a powerful foe! My skills, my resolve, tested to their limits! This is the moment!
He parried a vicious claw strike, then spun, his cloak a disorienting blur, aiming a precise thrust at Valerius's heart. But Valerius was too fast, too experienced. He sidestepped the blow, his own claws raking across Shadow's side, drawing a gasp of pain.
"You bleed, little shadow," Valerius hissed, a triumphant grin spreading across his pale features. "And soon, you will scream."
It was at this precise, dramatic, and potentially fatal moment for Shadow, that a cheerful, "Hey! Anybody seen a really big, fluffy bunny around here? He answers to 'Mr. Fluffles' and he really likes tiny hats!" echoed through the devastated, battle-torn courtyard.
Everyone – Shadow, Valerius, Alpha, Beta, Epsilon, Seraphina, the remaining Sanguine Knights, and even a particularly persistent spectral bat that had been trying to nest in Beta's hair – froze.
Saitama, looking remarkably refreshed (if slightly singed around the edges and still smelling faintly of regret and Demon-Peppers), strolled casually through the gaping hole in the castle wall. He was carrying a very large, very singed, and very confused-looking Sir Reginald Fuzzybottom under one arm. Genos followed a step behind, his cannons still smoking slightly from having to "clear a path" through some of Valerius's more persistent lower-level defenses (which had apparently mistaken Saitama for a very large, very loud, and very mobile buffet).
Saitama looked around at the scene of devastation – the burning rubble, the battling warriors, the snarling monsters, the enraged vampire lord with a candelabra still precariously balanced on his head.
"Whoa," Saitama said, his eyes widening slightly. "You guys are having a serious party. Did I miss the pinata?"
Crimson Count Valerius, who had been about to deliver a suitably gloating and villainous monologue before finishing off Shadow, just stared. His jaw, which had been set in a snarl of triumph, slowly went slack. The hypnotic, terrifying light in his eyes flickered and died, replaced by an expression of utter, profound, and soul-crushing disbelief.
"It… it's him," Valerius whispered, his voice barely audible. "The… the bald one. The one who… who burped on my tower."
Shadow, clutching his bleeding side, felt a familiar wave of despair, so profound it was almost comforting in its predictability, wash over him. My dramatic near-death experience… my moment of heroic defiance… my chance to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat… all about to be rendered utterly, hilariously irrelevant. Again.
Saitama, spotting the candelabra on Valerius's head, tilted his own. "Hey, pointy-teeth guy! Nice hat! Is that, like, a fashion statement? Or did you just forget to take it off after a fancy dinner party?"
Valerius's eye twitched. The candelabra wobbled. "This… this is an outrage! An affront! You… you peasant! You dare to mock me, Valerius, Lord of the Night, Master of Castle Maleficus, Scourge of—"
"Yeah, yeah, scourge of bad breath, probably," Saitama interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. "Look, have you seen a bunny? Big, fluffy, answers to Mr. Fluffles? He was wearing a tiny crown. It was pretty important to him. And to me. Because if he loses it, he gets cranky."
Crimson Count Valerius, a being of ancient power and terrifying majesty, a Night Blade who had struck fear into the hearts of mortals and immortals alike for centuries, found himself utterly, completely, and profoundly… lost. He had prepared for battle, for bloodshed, for a glorious, dark victory. He had not prepared for a conversation about a missing, crown-wearing, fluffy bunny with a man who had previously assaulted his ancestral home with weaponized indigestion.
His remaining Sanguine Knights and Blood-Gorgers, witnessing their fearsome lord being casually interrogated about a lost pet by the same entity who had caused the "Great Relish Geyser," began to subtly back away, their earlier fanaticism rapidly evaporating.
"A… a bunny?" Valerius stammered, the candelabra finally succumbing to gravity and clattering to the ground. "You… you destroyed my tower… you interrupted my glorious battle… for a… a bunny?!"
"Well, yeah," Saitama said, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. "He's a good bunny. And that crown really tied his whole look together." He then noticed Shadow clutching his side. "Oh, hey, robe guy. You're bleeding. Did pointy-teeth here scratch you? Not cool, dude. Not cool."
Saitama took a step towards Valerius. Just one.
Valerius, who had faced down angelic hosts and demonic legions, felt a primal, instinctual terror grip his ancient heart, a terror far more profound than any he had ever known. It wasn't the fear of death; he was immortal. It was the fear of… utter, absolute, and completely undignified obliteration by a man who was currently more concerned about a rabbit's headwear than about the fate of nations.
"Wait!" Valerius shrieked, holding up his hands, his earlier arrogance completely gone, replaced by a desperate, pleading panic. "The bunny! Yes! The fluffy one! With the… the shiny hat! I saw it! It… it went that way!" He pointed vaguely towards a pile of smoldering rubble that had once been his private library. "Towards the… the rare manuscripts! Yes! Definitely!"
Saitama's eyes lit up. "Really? Thanks, pointy-teeth! You're not so bad after all!" He then turned and began to cheerfully rummage through the burning remains of Valerius's priceless, ancient library, calling out, "Mr. Fluffles! Here, bunny, bunny, bunny! Daddy's got jerky!"
Shadow, Alpha, Beta, Epsilon, and Seraphina just stood there, amidst the carnage, watching as the most powerful being they had ever encountered searched for his lost pet in the ruins of a vampire lord's castle, a castle that had been partially demolished by his own, earlier, relish-fueled eruption.
Crimson Count Valerius, seeing his chance, didn't hesitate. He turned and fled, his Sanguine Knights and Blood-Gorgers scrambling after him, disappearing into the shadowy depths of his (rapidly diminishing) fortress with a speed that would have impressed an Olympic sprinter.
The battle for Castle Maleficus had ended. Not with a bang (though there had been a rather large one earlier, courtesy of Saitama's stomach). Not with a whimper. But with a desperate vampire lord giving directions to a lost bunny to avoid being casually erased from existence.
Shadow slowly straightened up, wincing as he clutched his side. He looked at the departing vampires. He looked at Saitama, who was now cooing at a slightly singed but otherwise unharmed Mr. Fluffles (who had apparently been hiding under a particularly large, overturned cauldron).
The Eminence in Shadow let out a long, weary sigh. His epic confrontation, his moment of glory… had been reduced to a missing pet recovery mission.
"Well, Alpha," Shadow said, his voice flat, devoid of all emotion. "It seems Count Valerius has… relinquished his claim to the castle. And perhaps… his dignity." He then looked at Saitama, who was now happily feeding Mr. Fluffles a piece of jerky. "Tell me, Saitama-dono. That relish… was it worth it?"
Saitama, after a moment of thoughtful chewing, grinned. "Totally. Once my eyeballs stopped sweating, it was actually pretty good. Needs a bit more… kick, though. Maybe some of those Demon-Peppers weren't ripe enough."
Shadow just shook his head. The universe was broken. And Saitama was holding the chili pepper that had broken it. The only thrill left was the morbid curiosity of seeing what he'd break next. And whether there'd be any snacks involved.