The journey back from the smoldering, partially collapsed ruin of Diablos's Cradle was considerably less tense, though no less surreal. The Shadow Hounds, apparently unfazed by their master's existential musings or the fact that their passenger had casually pocketed the crystallized essence of a demon lord like a common souvenir, pulled the matte black carriage with their usual silent efficiency.
Inside, the atmosphere was a peculiar mix of exhaustion, disbelief, and a dawning, almost fearful respect for the bald man currently trying to teach a bewildered Alexia how to play "rock, paper, scissors" using only interdimensional hand-slapping gestures (which, given his strength, resulted in Alexia yelping and withdrawing her hand after the first "rock").
"See? Simple!" Saitama declared, after "winning" for the tenth consecutive time by simply not flinching as Alexia's "paper" bounced harmlessly off his "rock" fist. "You just gotta be… more decisive."
Alexia nursed her stinging palm, glaring at him. "Decisive? You're just… unnaturally dense! It's like slapping a brick wall!"
Iris, meanwhile, was attempting to debrief a surprisingly subdued Shadow. "The Heart of Diablos is neutralized. The Cult's leadership in this region is… incapacitated. What are the long-term implications, Shadow? Will they regroup? Will another faction rise to take their place?"
Shadow, who had been staring out at the desolate landscape with an intensity that suggested he was contemplating the fundamental meaninglessness of all existence, slowly turned his hooded gaze. His voice, when he spoke, lacked some of its usual booming theatricality, carrying instead a note of weary contemplation.
"The Cult is a hydra, Princess. Sever one head, and two more may yet sprout. Their faith is insidious, their roots run deep. This victory, while… significant…" (he almost choked on the understatement) "…is but a battle, not the war. They will analyze. They will adapt. They will seek to understand the… anomaly… that led to their downfall here." His gaze flicked briefly towards Saitama, who was now trying to explain the nuances of "jan-ken-pon" to a thoroughly confused Rose Oriana using the inert Heart of Diablos as a visual aid for "rock."
"Anomaly is one word for it," Iris muttered, watching Saitama demonstrate how the Heart "totally beats scissors, see?" by lightly tapping it against Rose's elegantly sheathed rapier, which vibrated alarmingly.
Rose, with remarkable composure, gently retrieved her weapon. "Saitama-san, perhaps traditional teaching methods would be… less hazardous to ancient weaponry?"
"Huh? Oh, right. Sorry." Saitama pocketed the Heart again. "Guess it's not a great teaching tool. Too… un-pointy."
Genos, ever the dutiful disciple, interjected, "Master, I have compiled a preliminary damage assessment report for Diablos's Cradle. Structural integrity is compromised by approximately 78%. Multiple load-bearing sections have been… pulverized. The geological stability of the surrounding mountain range has also been… significantly altered. I predict a series of minor to moderate seismic events in the coming weeks."
"So, basically, I broke it," Saitama summarized, not sounding particularly concerned. "Well, it was an evil lair. Probably wasn't up to code anyway."
Shadow let out a sound that might have been a sigh, or perhaps the universe itself groaning at the sheer cosmic indifference on display. 'He speaks of building codes while standing amidst the ruins of a demonic fortress he single-handedly unmade. The layers of his feigned banality are… bottomless. Or perhaps… it is not feigned at all. Perhaps this truly is the extent of his concern. The thought is… profoundly unsettling.'
His earlier revelation about Saitama being an "Eminence in Nothingness" still echoed in his mind. It was a concept that both terrified and fascinated him. If ultimate power was this devoid of ambition, this… boring… then what was the purpose of his own lifelong quest? Was his elaborate persona, his intricate plans, his shadowy manipulations, all just a complex game he played with himself, while the true nature of power strolled by, asking for directions to the nearest ramen shop?
"The immediate concern, however," Shadow continued, pulling himself back to the matter at hand, his voice regaining some of its former authority, "is the dimensional rift. It remains open above your capital, Princess. A beacon to… other entities. Entities that may not be as easily… dissuaded… as the Cult of Diablos." The implication was clear: while Saitama had handled the cult, other, perhaps stranger, threats might be drawn to Midgar.
Iris nodded gravely. "We understand. King Midgar has already tasked Sherry Barnett and the Royal Mages with studying it, attempting to find a way to close it. But their progress is slow. The energies involved are unlike anything they have encountered."
"Perhaps," Alexia piped up, a mischievous glint in her eye despite her earlier shock, "we could ask Saitama-san to just… punch it closed?"
Saitama, who had been trying to see if he could fold a piece of lint into an origami crane, looked up. "Punch the hole in the sky? Huh. Never tried that before. Think it'd work? Might just make it bigger. Or maybe it'd, like, suck my arm in. That'd be awkward."
Genos immediately began calculations. "Master, the spatio-temporal mechanics of such an action are highly unpredictable. The focused kinetic energy could potentially destabilize the rift further, leading to a catastrophic dimensional collapse. Or, conversely, it could provide the necessary concussive force to sever the interdimensional connection. The probability matrix is… alarmingly divergent."
"So, a fifty-fifty chance of either fixing it or ending the world, huh?" Saitama mused. "Sounds like a Tuesday."
Shadow resisted the urge to facepalm, a gesture far too mundane for the Eminence in Shadow. 'He discusses potential omnicide with the same casualness he discusses the weather. Is there no limit to his terrifying nonchalance?'
"A more… controlled… approach is advisable," Shadow stated firmly. "The energies of the rift must be understood before they can be manipulated. Brute force, in this instance, may indeed have… unforeseen consequences." He himself was intensely curious about the rift. It was a wound in reality, a gateway to the unknown. Such phenomena were rare and potent, and the knowledge gleaned from studying it could be invaluable to his own shadowy ambitions. And, perhaps, it held the key to sending their… guests… back to wherever they came from. A prospect that was becoming increasingly appealing, if only for the sake of his own sanity.
As they neared the Royal Capital, the mood in the carriage shifted subtly. The immediate danger had passed, but the future remained uncertain. An uneasy alliance had been forged in the crucible of Diablos's Cradle, but its longevity was questionable.
"Saitama-san, Genos-san," Iris said, her tone formal but sincere. "On behalf of the Kingdom of Midgar, I offer our deepest gratitude. You have saved us from a threat that could have plunged our world into darkness. We are in your debt."
Saitama shrugged. "No problem. It was… something to do. And the chicken raptor thingies were pretty good. So, win-win."
Alexia, surprisingly, added, "Yeah. Thanks, Baldy. You're… weird as hell. But you get stuff done. Even if you do cheat at rock-paper-scissors."
Saitama grinned. "Anytime, Spiky Hair."
Rose Oriana offered a graceful bow of her head. "Your intervention was… miraculous, Saitama-san. You have shown us a form of power we could not have conceived. It has been… illuminating." And terrifying, her eyes seemed to add.
Shadow remained silent, but his presence seemed to convey a grudging acknowledgement. He had witnessed something that had irrevocably altered his understanding of power. Whether that alteration was for the better, or would lead him down an even darker, more complex path of shadow-puppetry, remained to be seen.
Upon their return to the Royal Palace, they were met by a relieved King Midgar and a flurry of anxious courtiers. News of their success had, through Shadow's discreet channels, preceded them. The King, after hearing a heavily edited (and still unbelievable) account of their exploits from Iris, formally offered Saitama and Genos guest quarters within the palace, along with any resources they might require.
"Consider the Royal Treasury at your disposal," the King declared, his voice still laced with awe. "Anything you need, anything at all, to aid in your comfort or your study of this… dimensional anomaly."
Saitama's eyes lit up. "Anything? Really?"
The King nodded magnanimously. "Anything."
Saitama leaned in conspiratorially. "You guys got any of that instant ramen? The kind with the little dehydrated shrimp and the spicy soup packet? I've been craving some really good instant noodles. The fancy stuff is nice, but sometimes, you just want the classics, y'know?"
A stunned silence fell over the throne room. The King, who had been expecting requests for magical artifacts, vast sums of gold, or perhaps even a small dukedom, stared blankly. The courtiers looked scandalized. Iris buried her face in her hands. Alexia snorted with laughter.
Genos, ever helpful, clarified, "Master Saitama has a particular fondness for 'Tonkotsu Blast X-treme Flavor' instant noodles, Your Majesty. If your royal purveyors could procure a significant quantity, it would be most appreciated. He also enjoys a weekly manga subscription and a comfortable couch with good lumbar support."
King Midgar, after a moment of profound royal confusion, managed a weak, "Of… of course. The royal kitchens will… endeavor to source these… 'X-treme Flavor' noodles immediately. And a couch… yes, a most comfortable couch shall be provided." He looked like a man who had offered a dragon a hoard of gold, only for the dragon to ask for a pack of chewing gum.
Later that evening, as Saitama happily slurped down a bowl of surprisingly authentic-tasting instant ramen in his lavishly appointed guest suite (complete with a very comfortable couch), Shadow paid him an unannounced visit. He didn't knock; he simply materialized from a patch of shadow in the corner, his presence announced by a sudden drop in temperature and the faint scent of old tombs.
Saitama, mid-slurp, looked up. "Oh, hey, Shadow-dude. Want some ramen? Still got a few packs left. This stuff's pretty good. Not quite 'Tonkotsu Blast X-treme,' but a solid effort for a place that didn't even know what it was this morning."
Shadow did not respond immediately. He simply stood there, an enigmatic silhouette against the opulent backdrop of the room. His mind was still grappling with the implications of Diablos's Cradle. The ease, the indifference, the sheer, unadulterated lack of drama with which Saitama had faced down a world-ending threat…
"You perplex me, Caped One," Shadow finally said, his voice a low, resonant hum. "You wield power that could shatter stars, yet you seek solace in dried noodles and crude comic books. You face down demonic entities with less concern than most men face a rainy afternoon. What is the wellspring of your… apathy? Is it true detachment? Or a sorrow so profound it has numbed you to all else?"
Saitama slurped the last of his noodles, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at Shadow, his usually vacant expression holding a flicker of something… knowing.
"Apathy? Sorrow? Nah." He shrugged. "I just… got too strong. So strong that nothing's a challenge anymore. It's… boring." He sighed, a sound of profound, almost cosmic, ennui. "I became a hero for fun, y'know? To feel that thrill, that excitement of a tough fight. But now… everything just… ends. In one punch." He looked down at his fist. "Kinda sucks, actually."
Shadow felt a strange resonance with those words. His own path, the pursuit of ultimate shadowy power, had always been driven by a desire for… something. A stage. A worthy opponent. A grand design to orchestrate. But what if the ultimate power was, as Saitama described, simply… an end to the game? A state of being so absolute it precluded all challenge, all excitement, all meaning?
"So, you seek… a worthy opponent?" Shadow asked, a new, almost imperceptible note of interest in his voice. 'Could it be… that this 'Eminence in Nothingness'… this bored god… is inadvertently searching for the very thing I have spent my life cultivating? A stage vast enough, a conflict complex enough, to finally provide… a challenge?'
Saitama brightened slightly. "Yeah! Exactly! Someone who can take more than one punch! Someone who makes me go all out! That'd be awesome! You know anyone like that around here? Besides you, I mean. You look like you could put up a decent fight, with all the glowy sword stuff and the spooky shadow powers, but I get the feeling you're more into the… dramatic entrances and long speeches part of being a badass."
Shadow's unseen eye twitched. The casual, if accurate, dismissal of his carefully cultivated combat mystique stung, just a little. But the core of Saitama's desire… it was a spark. A potential.
A new, incredibly audacious thought began to form in Cid Kagenou's mind, a thought that transcended even his previous grand designs. A tournament. Not just any tournament. A tournament of champions, of heroes, of villains, perhaps even of beings from other dimensions, drawn together by the allure of ultimate battle. And at its center… this bored, ridiculously overpowered hero, yearning for a decent fight.