The journey to the old Midgar Orphanage was a blur of speed and silent determination. Shadow Garden moved through the city's streets and across its rooftops like phantoms, their earlier lethargy replaced by a cold, focused anger. Striking at an orphanage, a sanctuary for the most vulnerable – it was a line the Cult had crossed, a desecration that demanded swift and merciless retribution.
Shadow led the way, his dark form a barely visible streak against the twilight sky. Alpha, Epsilon, and Zeta kept pace, their movements fluid and synchronized. Beta, riding tandem with a surprisingly agile Gamma (who seemed less prone to tripping when fueled by righteous indignation), monitored communications and energy signatures. Seraphina, her face grim, moved with the silent deadliness of her former life, her purpose now aligned with protection rather than assassination.
Bringing up the rear, with a speed that was somehow both incredibly fast and utterly casual, were Saitama and Genos. Saitama, his usual bored expression now replaced by a quiet, simmering intensity, easily kept pace, occasionally having to hop over a building Genos was meticulously vaulting. Genos, his cannons subtly whining, scanned their surroundings, his internal processors calculating optimal interception points and potential collateral damage zones (a calculation that became significantly more complex whenever Saitama was involved).
And then there was Soma.
Yukihira Soma, culinary prodigy and apparent interdimensional tourist, was surprisingly, almost alarmingly, fast. He moved with a chef's economical grace, vaulting over market stalls, sliding across rooftops, and occasionally using a discarded drainpipe as a makeshift grinding rail, all while somehow managing to keep a small, insulated container – presumably filled with "battle snacks" – perfectly balanced. He didn't possess Shadow Garden's ethereal stealth or Saitama's reality-bending speed, but he moved with a focused, almost frantic, energy, his amber eyes burning with a strange mixture of excitement and indignation. ("Wasting good ingredients and picking on kids? That's just bad form!")
As they neared the southern district, the signs of conflict became apparent. Distant screams, the crackle of dark magic, the clash of steel. The sickly green glow associated with the Cult's corrupted power pulsed faintly against the darkening sky, centered on the orphanage.
The Midgar Orphanage was an old, sprawling stone building, surrounded by a modest garden, usually filled with the sounds of children's laughter. Now, it was a battleground. A ragtag group of Royal Guards, hopelessly outnumbered, were attempting to hold a defensive line at the main gate, their swords clashing against hunched, snarling figures – Cultists, their bodies warped and empowered by crude, unstable magic, their eyes glowing with mindless fanaticism. Dark energy bolts slammed against hastily erected magical barriers, which flickered and threatened to fail.
And leading the assault was a figure Shadow recognized with a cold fury – Prelate Kael, one of Malakorias's former lieutenants, a cruel, ambitious man known for his sadistic rituals and his penchant for preying on the weak. Kael stood behind his front lines, laughing maniacally as he directed his warped followers, a smaller, less stable version of the Umbral Heart clutched in his hand, pulsing erratically.
"Yes! YES!" Kael shrieked, his voice shrill with mad glee. "Their fear! Their despair! It feeds the Heart! Soon, its power will be mine! I will succeed where Malakorias failed! I will become the new Master!"
"Pathetic," Shadow spat, his voice a low growl as they observed the scene from a nearby rooftop. "Feeding on the terror of children. He dishonors the very concept of darkness." This wasn't the grand, theatrical evil of Xar'Voth, nor the arrogant cruelty of Valerius. This was just… ugly. Vile.
"The guards won't hold for long," Alpha assessed clinically, her eyes scanning the battle. "And the energy signature from that corrupted Heart fragment… it's unstable, but growing. Kael is drawing power directly from the fear generated by his attack."
"A feedback loop of terror," Beta murmured, her expression grim. "The more fear he inspires, the stronger he becomes. We need to break his connection, disable the artifact, and neutralize him – swiftly."
"Divide and conquer," Shadow commanded, his voice sharp, decisive. The Eminence was back, fueled by a cold, righteous anger. "Alpha, Epsilon, Zeta – reinforce the guards, protect the orphanage perimeter. No Cultist gets inside. Beta, Gamma, Seraphina – locate any hidden Cultist operatives, secure potential escape routes. Delta," he added via communicator, knowing she was likely already en route after hearing the commotion, "containment. Ensure none of Kael's forces escape the immediate area."
He then turned his attention to the chaotic battle raging below, his gaze locking onto Prelate Kael, who was still cackling, oblivious to the storm about to break upon him. "Kael… is mine."
He was about to make his dramatic, rooftop descent when Saitama tapped him on the shoulder.
"Hey, robe guy," Saitama said, pointing towards the orphanage. "Looks like those kids are in trouble. Mind if I… uh… handle the main jerk over there? Looks like he's the cause of all this fuss. Seems quicker."
Shadow paused. His initial instinct was to refuse, to claim the kill for himself, to deliver the satisfying, vengeful blow against this despicable prelate. But then… he looked at the fear on the faces of the struggling guards, heard the faint, terrified cries from within the orphanage, and saw the genuine, unwavering resolve in Saitama's usually placid eyes.
This wasn't about his narrative. This wasn't about being the Eminence. This was about protecting the innocent. And Saitama, for all his absurdity, was undeniably, almost terrifyingly, effective at stopping bad guys.
Shadow sighed, the sound barely audible. "Very well, Saitama-dono. The… primary instigator… is yours. But try… try to be… surgical? Minimal… structural reorganization of the surrounding district, if possible?"
Saitama grinned. "Sure thing, robe guy! Surgical! Got it!" He then cracked his knuckles. "Okay, playtime's over."
And then he jumped.
Not one of his reality-bending leaps across mountains. Just a simple, straightforward jump from the rooftop down into the courtyard in front of the orphanage, landing with a soft thud directly between the struggling Royal Guards and the snarling Cultist front line.
Everything stopped.
The Cultists froze mid-snarl. The Royal Guards lowered their swords, blinking in disbelief. Even Prelate Kael's maniacal cackling faltered.
They all just stared at the bald man in the yellow hero suit who had just appeared out of nowhere, currently dusting off his cape.
"Uh, hi," Saitama said, looking around. "Sorry to interrupt your… uh… evil rampaging and stuff. But you guys are kinda scaring the kids. Not cool."
Prelate Kael, recovering from his surprise, sneered. "Who is this fool? Another pathetic guard? Kill him! Add his despair to the Heart's power!"
Several of the closest Cultists, their bodies warped and bulging with unstable dark energy, lunged at Saitama, their claws and makeshift weapons aimed to tear him apart.
Saitama just sighed. "Guess you guys didn't get the memo."
He didn't even seem to move. There was just a blur of motion, a series of soft thuds.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
The charging Cultists simply… collapsed. Not exploded. Not disintegrated. Just… crumpled into unconscious heaps, their dark energy dissipating harmlessly, their warped bodies slowly returning to their normal (if likely very bruised) human forms. It was like they had simultaneously run headfirst into an invisible, infinitely hard, wall.
A wave of stunned silence washed over the remaining Cultists and the Royal Guards.
"What… what sorcery is this?!" Kael shrieked, clutching his pulsing Heart fragment tighter, his eyes wide with a mixture of rage and dawning fear.
"No sorcery," Saitama said, cracking his knuckles again. "Just… pest control." He then started walking towards Kael, his expression calm, almost bored, but with an underlying current that made the remaining Cultists instinctively back away.
"Now," Kael screamed, panic rising in his voice, "Minions! Protect me! Swarm him! Overwhelm him!"
The remaining Cultists hesitated. They had seen what happened to their comrades. They looked at their master, then at the approaching bald man who had just neutralized a dozen magically enhanced warriors with what looked like zero effort. Their fanaticism warred with a sudden, powerful instinct for self-preservation.
It was at this moment that Shadow Garden made their move.
Shadow dropped from the rooftop like a phantom, landing silently behind Kael's remaining forces. Alpha, Epsilon, and Zeta engaged the flanks, their attacks swift and decisive, cutting off escape routes and neutralizing the wavering Cultists before they could even decide whether to fight or flee. Beta, Gamma, and Seraphina secured the perimeter, ensuring no innocents were caught in the (rapidly diminishing) crossfire. Delta arrived with a joyous howl, immediately tackling the largest remaining Cultist brute and proceeding to use him as a chew toy.
The Cultist resistance crumbled in seconds. They were caught between the terrifying, unstoppable force of Saitama advancing from the front, and the deadly, efficient predators of Shadow Garden closing in from behind. Most simply dropped their weapons and surrendered, sobbing hysterically.
Prelate Kael found himself suddenly, terrifyingly, alone, facing a very calm, very bald, and very clearly unimpressed, hero.
"My… my power…" Kael stammered, holding up the pulsing Umbral Heart fragment like a shield. "The Heart protects me! Your despair feeds me! You cannot defeat—"
Saitama didn't punch him.
He just reached out and… took the Heart fragment. Plucked it right out of Kael's trembling hand as if taking candy from a baby.
Kael stared at his empty hand, then at Saitama, who was now examining the pulsing, evil artifact with mild curiosity. "Huh. Kinda looks like a weird gummy candy. Is it cherry-flavored?"
He then, before anyone could react, before Shadow could shout a warning about its corrupting influence, before Beta could scream about potential arcane feedback loops… popped it into his mouth.
And chewed.
CRUNCH.
The sound echoed in the stunned silence.
Kael's jaw dropped. Shadow felt his soul momentarily leave his body. Alpha actually staggered back a step. Genos's optical sensors flared red with alarm.
Saitama chewed thoughtfully for a moment, his expression neutral. Then, he swallowed.
"Meh," he declared. "Kinda bland. And a bit gritty. Needs salt. And maybe some of that Shadowfire Relish."
He then looked at Kael, who was staring at him as if Saitama had just eaten the sun. "So," Saitama said, "you were saying something about power? And despair?"
Prelate Kael, his power source literally just consumed and critiqued like a disappointing appetizer, let out a high-pitched, terrified shriek, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fainted dead away, collapsing into an undignified heap.
Shadow just stood there, watching Kael fall, watching Saitama casually dust off his hands, watching Delta proudly present him with a thoroughly chewed Cultist boot.
He had planned for a swift, decisive, shadowy takedown. He had envisioned a display of Shadow Garden's coordinated might, a testament to their growth and resolve.
Instead, Saitama had ended the entire conflict by non-lethally disabling most of the combatants, stealing the villain's evil artifact, eating it, complaining about the taste, and then causing the main bad guy to faint from sheer, unadulterated, existential shock.
Shadow sighed. It was, he reflected, a remarkably efficient, if deeply unsatisfying (for him, at least), resolution.
Just as the last of the Cultists were being rounded up by the now significantly more confident Royal Guards, Soma skidded into the courtyard, looking slightly out of breath but exhilarated, his insulated container held aloft.
"Alright!" Soma yelled. "Who needs battle snacks?! I whipped up some quick 'Energy-Boosting Griffin Croquettes' and 'Courage-Enhancing Custard Tarts'! Perfect for mid-fight munchies!" He looked around at the scene – the unconscious Prelate, the surrendered Cultists, the slightly bewildered Shadow Garden members, and Saitama, who was currently trying to get Sir Reginald Fuzzybottom to wear the fallen Kael's pointy hat. "Uh… did I miss the fight?"
Saitama looked up. "Oh, hey, Soma-dude! Nah, it just ended. But," his eyes lit up, "did you say croquettes? Awesome! I'm starving!"
And so, the battle for the Midgar Orphanage concluded not with cries of vengeance or pronouncements of doom, but with Shadow Garden awkwardly explaining the situation to the arriving Royal reinforcements, Prelate Kael being unceremoniously carted away (still unconscious), and Saitama happily devouring a batch of "Energy-Boosting Griffin Croquettes," declaring them "almost as good as that pork roast thingy, but they could really use some of that spicy relish."
Shadow watched it all, a sense of profound, almost cosmic, weariness washing over him. His life as an Eminence in Shadow was never going to be the dark, dramatic epic he had envisioned. It was destined, it seemed, to be a series of increasingly bizarre encounters, punctuated by moments of accidental heroism, culinary critiques, and the quiet, simmering threat of his own impending aneurysm.
He looked at Saitama, who was now sharing a croquette with Mr. Fluffles. He looked at his Shades, who were efficiently, if slightly bemusedly, restoring order. He looked at Soma, who was enthusiastically offering custard tarts to the traumatized Royal Guards.
Maybe… maybe this wasn't so bad after all. It wasn't the narrative he had chosen. But it was, undeniably, his. And it was, in its own strange, chaotic, and often delicious, way, kind of… fun.
He just really hoped Saitama wouldn't get indigestion from eating that Umbral Heart fragment. The last thing Midgar needed was another relish-fueled geyser incident. His insurance premiums, he suspected, were already astronomical.