The immediate aftermath of Prelate Kael's… fainting fit… was less a scene of triumphant victory and more one of profound, collective bewilderment centered entirely around Saitama and the small, evil, obsidian artifact he had just casually consumed.
The Royal Guards, who had been braced for a bloody last stand, were now awkwardly trying to secure the unconscious (and presumably deeply traumatized) Kael and his surrendered, whimpering followers, all while casting nervous, sidelong glances at the bald man who was currently patting his stomach thoughtfully.
Shadow Garden, masters of navigating complex, dangerous situations, found themselves utterly paralyzed by the sheer, unprecedented weirdness of it all. Alpha kept opening and closing her mouth, as if trying to formulate a tactical assessment for "ingestion of concentrated evil artifact," but no words came out. Beta's pen was moving, but it was less documentation and more a series of frantic, looping question marks. Epsilon was subtly using her slime to create a small, protective barrier between herself and Saitama, just in case he suddenly started radiating pure darkness or demanding everyone participate in a demonic ritual. Delta, however, just sniffed the air curiously and asked, "Did Baldy eat a shiny rock? Was it crunchy?"
Genos, predictably, was the first to react with anything resembling scientific rigor, albeit rigor laced with profound, almost worshipful, confusion. He immediately activated every scanner in his arsenal, pointing them directly at Saitama's midsection.
"Sensei!" Genos exclaimed, his voice tight with urgency. "My internal sensors are detecting… anomalous energy readings! The residual signature of the 'Umbral Heart fragment' is present, but it is not… corrupting your bio-signature! It appears to be… undergoing rapid, albeit chaotic, systemic neutralization! Your digestive tract possesses unanticipated arcane dampening properties!"
Saitama just patted his stomach again. "Neutralizing, huh? Feels more like heartburn. Like after eating three large pizzas by myself." He frowned. "Seriously, though. Kinda bland. Definitely needed salt. Maybe some paprika? Or that relish Genos made. That stuff makes anything taste… interesting."
Shadow stared at Saitama. He stared at the empty space where the Umbral Heart fragment had been. He stared at Genos, who was now muttering about "gastrointestinal dimensional phase shifting" and "potential assimilation of necrotic energy as… caloric intake?"
The Eminence in Shadow, a being who prided himself on understanding the hidden currents of power, the nuances of darkness and light, felt his carefully constructed worldview crumbling into dust, much like the original Umbral Heart had crumbled in his own fist.
Saitama hadn't just resisted the artifact's corrupting influence. He hadn't just destroyed it. He had eaten it. And then complained about the seasoning.
This wasn't just breaking the rules of magic and metaphysics. This was taking those rules, grinding them into a fine powder, mixing them with some questionable street food, and then declaring them "a bit gritty."
"Lord Shadow," Alpha finally managed, her voice regaining a semblance of composure, though her eyes still held a distinct 'does not compute' expression, "the immediate threat is neutralized. Prelate Kael is incapacitated. The remaining Cultists have surrendered. The orphanage is secure." She paused, then added, with careful understatement, "And Saitama-sama appears to have… processed… the artifact."
Shadow took a deep, steadying breath. He forced down the rising tide of existential vertigo. He was the Eminence. He needed to project calm. He needed to project control. Even if reality itself seemed determined to pants him in front of the entire multiverse.
"Excellent work, Alpha," he said, his voice a masterpiece of forced serenity. "Secure Kael and the prisoners. Administer aid to the guards and ensure the children within the orphanage are unharmed and… unaware… of the more… unconventional… methods employed in their rescue." He couldn't imagine trying to explain Saitama eating the bad guy's magic rock to a group of traumatized orphans.
As Shadow Garden moved to carry out his orders, efficiently restoring order amidst the lingering chaos (and occasional drifting scent of despair and burnt relish), Soma, the Crimson Challenger, approached Shadow, wiping his hands on his apron. He had watched the entire "fight" – Kael's pathetic posturing, Saitama's casual neutralization, and the subsequent, baffling act of artifact ingestion – with wide, fascinated eyes.
"Man," Soma said, shaking his head, a grin playing on his lips. "You guys run a weird operation, Mister Shadow-Man. One minute it's spooky cultists, the next your bald friend is eating evil jewelry like it's trail mix." He leaned closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "So, spill. What did it really taste like? Did it have notes of despair? A hint of existential dread? Or just, like, rocks?"
Shadow stared at Soma. He was actually asking for a flavor profile of the Umbral Heart fragment. Cid Kagenou felt a hysterical giggle bubble up again, threatening to shatter his carefully maintained composure. He ruthlessly suppressed it.
"Its… palate presence… was reportedly… underwhelming, Chef Soma," Shadow replied, his voice dangerously smooth. "Lacking… depth. And apparently… salt."
Soma clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Tsk, tsk. Amateurs. Gotta season your evil artifacts properly, people! It's all about balancing the darkness with a nice mirepoix of malice, you know?" He actually looked thoughtful for a moment. "Gives me an idea for a new dish, though. 'Despair Risotto with a Hint of Annihilation'... needs work."
Shadow decided, then and there, that Soma Yukihira might actually be even more terrifying than Saitama, in his own, uniquely culinary, way.
With the situation at the orphanage contained, Shadow Garden, along with their two baffling interdimensional companions (and their menagerie), returned to the relative sanity of their headquarters. The primary topic of discussion, naturally, was Saitama's digestive system.
"His internal energy readings remain stable," Genos reported, displaying complex graphs on a holographic projector that mostly just looked like angry scribbles to everyone except Eta. "The foreign energy signature of the Umbral Heart fragment has been completely neutralized, seemingly broken down at a molecular, possibly even sub-atomic, level. There are no signs of corruption, mutation, or… indigestion, beyond his initial commentary on flavor."
"So… nothing happened?" Alpha asked, still finding it hard to believe. "He consumed a concentration of pure, corrupting dark magic, and the only side effect was a critique of its seasoning?"
"It appears so," Genos confirmed. "Though I did detect a fleeting, anomalous energy spike approximately ten minutes post-ingestion, localized entirely within his lower intestine. It dissipated almost instantly. My best hypothesis involves a temporary, highly localized, reality fluctuation caused by the interaction between the artifact's necrotic energy and Sensei's… unique biology. Or perhaps," he added thoughtfully, "he simply needed to pass gas."
Shadow decided he did not want to contemplate the potential dimensional consequences of Saitama passing gas after consuming an evil artifact. Some cosmic mysteries were best left unexplored.
But the incident forced Cid to confront a question that had been nagging at him since Saitama's arrival. What was Saitama? He wasn't just strong. He wasn't just durable. He seemed to exist outside the rules, a living nullification field against threats both physical and metaphysical. Magic didn't affect him. Soul-severing blades didn't cut him. Cosmic horrors couldn't intimidate him. And now, apparently, concentrated evil artifacts were just… bland snacks.
Was he a god? A glitch in reality? A cosmic joke?
He retreated to his brooding-chamber, pulling out his sketchbook. He didn't draw Saitama this time. He didn't draw the void, or the mist, or the migrating furniture. He drew… himself.
He sketched the figure of Lord Shadow, cloaked and mysterious, wielding his ebony blade. But the lines felt… hollow. The pose seemed… forced. The darkness felt… thin.
He then sketched another figure beside it – Saitama, standing casually, hands on his hips, a blank expression on his face, maybe a grocery bag dangling from one hand. Simple. Unassuming. Yet, radiating an aura of such absolute, unshakeable presence that it made the dramatic figure of Lord Shadow look like… well, like a teenager playing dress-up.
He stared at the two figures, the meticulously crafted Eminence and the accidentally omnipotent Hero. One represented everything Cid had ever wanted to be – cool, mysterious, powerful, in control. The other represented… something else entirely. Something he couldn't define, couldn't comprehend, couldn't possibly emulate.
Saitama wasn't trying to be powerful. He wasn't trying to be a hero. He just was. His power wasn't a tool he wielded; it was a fundamental state of his being. His heroism wasn't driven by ideology or ambition; it was driven by boredom, by a simple sense of "well, someone's gotta do it," and by the occasional promise of a good meal.
And that, Cid realized with a clarity that was both depressing and strangely liberating, was why Saitama was truly powerful. Not just physically, but… narratively. He defied tropes. He broke expectations. He short-circuited drama with mundane observations. He was immune not just to physical harm, but to the very concept of being a conventional protagonist or antagonist.
And I… Cid thought, looking at the sketch of Lord Shadow, …am the ultimate convention. The walking trope. The chuunibyou dream made manifest.
Next to Saitama, his Eminence persona felt… fragile. Limited. Even… a little bit silly.
He crumpled up the sketch, tossing it aside. He couldn't be Saitama. He didn't want to be Saitama (the boredom alone seemed agonizing). But maybe… maybe he didn't need to be the sole Eminence anymore. Maybe his role wasn't to be the ultimate power, but the ultimate observer. The chronicler of absurdity. The shadow that highlights the bizarre, unexpected light.
He picked up a fresh sheet of parchment. He began to sketch again. This time, he drew the scene at the orphanage. Kael fainting. Saitama looking confusedly at the half-eaten artifact. Genos scanning frantically. Alpha facepalming internally. Beta scribbling furiously. Soma offering croquettes. It was chaotic. It was ridiculous. It was… real.
A new resolve settled within him. He would continue to be Lord Shadow. He would continue to lead Shadow Garden, to fight the lingering darkness, to unravel the remaining mysteries. But he would do so with a new understanding. An understanding that true power wasn't always about control, that true darkness wasn't always the greatest threat, and that sometimes, the most profound truths could be found in the most absurd situations.
He would embrace the chaos. He would document the absurdity. He would be the Eminence, not in spite of Saitama, but alongside him, a shadowy counterpoint to Saitama's blinding, baffling light.
His work was far from over. The Cult still needed to be fully dismantled. The remaining Night Blades, however terrified, were still loose ends. The dimensional scars needed monitoring. And there was still the lingering question of how, exactly, Saitama and Genos would eventually get home (preferably without flicking any more fundamental forces of reality).
And, of course, there was the matter of Saitama's insatiable appetite.
Just as Shadow was adding the finishing touches to his sketch (a particularly terrified-looking Cultist surrendering to Mr. Fluffles), Saitama himself poked his head into the room.
"Hey, robe guy," he said cheerfully. "Me and Genos were thinking. Since that evil heart thingy tasted so bland… maybe we could try using it as a seasoning? Like, grind it up? Maybe it just needed to be cooked properly?"
Shadow stared at him. Then, slowly, deliberately, he put down his charcoal. He stood up. He walked over to Saitama. He placed a hand firmly on his shoulder.
"Saitama-dono," he said, his voice filled with a profound, almost paternal, weariness. "Let's go get some cheeseburgers. My treat. And please, for the love of all that is holy and unholy, let us never speak of seasoning the darkness again."
Saitama just grinned. "Cheeseburgers? Awesome! Can we get extra pickles?"
Some battles, the Eminence in Shadow decided, were simply not worth fighting. Especially when they involved potentially weaponized condiments derived from consumed evil artifacts. Some absurdities were best left… undigested.