Z-City — Upper Atmosphere: 6:27 am
Above the clouds where no planes soared and the air thinned into space, a lone figure lay reclined atop a gleaming, golden Nimbus. The wind whispered through the upper troposphere, carrying nothing but silence and sunlight.
Damian Blood — the Sky God — held a small, gleaming container in his right hand.
Inside it: death.
The kryptonite crystal radiated a soft, malevolent green glow that slithered like mist against the container walls. Even sealed, its presence gnawed at his skin like icy tendrils.
Damian's crimson cape fluttered lazily in the thin air. His Kryptonian body absorbed the early rays of dawn hungrily, the golden sunlight painting him in a soft, ethereal halo. His sapphire-blue eyes remained closed as he inhaled deeply, feeling the universe itself stir around him.
He was ready.
But just as he braced to begin — a sharp chime echoed from the small comm device resting beside him on the cloud.
Incoming call: Hero Association — Director's Private Line.
Damian opened his eyes, one brow lifting slightly.
"Timing," he muttered under his breath.
He picked up the comm link, lazily flipping it open, voice casual.
"Damian speaking."
"Sky God," the Director's voice came through — professional, but friendly. "How are you this morning?"
Damian smiled faintly, a touch of impatience bleeding through.
"Good, Director. Hopefully, instead of being the number 2 hero, I'll reach number one soon... How can I help you?"
There was a slight hesitation.
Then the tone changed — immediate, heavy. Every word, sharpened with cold precision.
Damian's body responded before his mind even processed it — his heart rate lowering, senses sharpening. His superbrain kicked into overdrive. Something serious was coming.
The Director didn't waste time.
"We've confirmed it. A massive alien vessel — unknown origin, unknown capabilities — is en route to Earth. All we know is that the ship is being powered by enormous energy, and is capable of interstellar travel..."
Damian's casual posture stiffened slightly, his free hand clenching the Nimbus's edge.
He already knew what this was.
Boros.
Damian's mind ran simulations at sub-light speed:
-The expected timeline is based on One Punch Man lore.
-Kryptonite exposure goals: original plan, 60 eight-hour sessions.
-16-hour sessions are possible.
-New timeline: compress training into 25 days.
He grimaced slightly.
Possible… but brutal.
The Director continued, "Based on current velocity and trajectory, the ship will reach atmospheric orbit in 25 days, possibly sooner if they accelerate."
Damian closed his eyes briefly.
"…Understood."
Inside his mind, calculations continued: If he subjected himself to 16-hour trials daily, he could complete 48 sessions before Boros arrived. Increasing all of his stats by 100-fold. And if he added several 24-hour endurance sessions near the end…
He could not only adapt to kryptonite — he could transcend it.
The Director's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"We need you to lead this operation, Damian. The Hero Association will support you — we'll rally all S-Class and A-Class heroes to intercept secondary threats. But the core of this defense… must be you."
Damian slowly opened his eyes, the sun reflecting twin fires of blue and gold.
"Understood, Director. You have my word."
The Director exhaled, a rare break in his composure.
"Will you be ready?"
Damian smirked slightly.
"Director, I can hear your voice without the phone, even in the atmosphere, where I currently am," he said casually, his eyes narrowing toward the ground, directly pinpointing the underground West Bank headquarters with effortless accuracy. "Your office chair creaks too much when you lean back."
The Director froze momentarily on the other side of the line — not with fear, but a deep, bone-level relief.
Sky God was the real deal.
He truly was Earth's last defense.
"Very well," the Director said, steel returning to his voice. "We'll keep you updated. Focus on your training. We'll prepare the perimeter and evacuation protocols. Good luck, Sky God."
The line disconnected.
Silence returned.
Only the gentle hum of the upper atmosphere remained, the clouds drifting far below.
Damian let out a slow, controlled breath.
He glanced at the phone once more — a soft vibration, a group message from Fubuki and Tatsumaki:
"Hey, be careful today! 💚 Let us know when we can see you tonight!"
"Yeah, good luck! 😘 I'm taking Tatsumaki house shopping later so we'll be free after! Text us! ❤️"
Damian chuckled under his breath.
He quickly typed back:
"Thanks, ladies. Good luck house shopping. I'll be careful. Meeting with the Association might happen today or tomorrow, so stay alert. Let's plan for 10:30 PM tonight. I'll be ready by then — promise. 😏"
Two hearts popped up instantly.
He shook his head fondly.
A dangerous mission on the horizon… and still making time for two beautiful psychic women.
Typical.
Damian stored his device into his system inventory with a flick of telekinetic energy.
He spoke aloud, voice steady:
"Alpha. Begin Kryptonite Exposure Trial. Full monitoring. Set alarm for 16 hours."
The AI's voice responded instantly in his mind:
[Acknowledged. Initiating Trial. Time 6:30 am]
Damian sat up fully now, gripping the kryptonite container.
He unscrewed the lid.
A hiss of sickly green vapor escaped, swirling like venom.
Instantly, his body tensed — cells recognizing the radiation, energy draining like blood through an open wound.
His jaw tightened.
"Not today," he muttered.
Using Ruler's Authority, he suspended the kryptonite precisely six inches above his face — controlling its position with absolute, microscopic precision.
Unlike his first exposure — when agony crushed him within minutes — Damian now held it steady, his will unbreakable.
Above him, the sun shone like a golden deity, its rays slamming into his cells, feeding him, healing him, fighting the poison.
The two forces clashed inside him — the Kryptonite draining life, the Sun restoring it.
Pain wracked his muscles.
Every heartbeat was a hammer blow.
Every breath was a furnace.
But Damian smiled grimly.
The numbers on his internal HUD flickered — solar absorption efficiency: 12%, already stronger than his first trial.
And growing.
He closed his eyes, focusing his entire being on survival.
This was the crucible.
This was the fire that would forge a god.
Above the earth, floating alone against the endless sky, Damian whispered to himself — a prayer not to anyone else, but a vow to his own soul:
"Twenty-five days," he muttered. "Twenty-five days to become unstoppable."
He lay back, still keeping the large kryptonite crystal suspended above his face. Fully engaged and determined to overcome this weakness...
Golden light and green radiation clashed around him in a silent war — a miniature sunstorm raging atop a single golden cloud.
Down on Earth, cities buzzed unaware.
Heroes trained in their gyms, and civilians went about their lives.
But above them, unseen and untouchable, the true battle for Earth's future had already begun.
Damian's breathing deepened.
Pain became fuel.
Focus became a weapon.
And in the heart of the battle between poison and light…
A true God-level being would one day awaken.
Several Hours Later — Z-City Apartments...
The sun had started to rise high into the pale blue sky. The early morning haze was clearing, and the usual hum of Z-City life resumed.
Inside Saitama's small, slightly less-messy apartment, the sound of shuffling fabric and the occasional thud of footsteps filled the air.
Saitama, in his usual yellow jumpsuit (but still barefoot), scratched the back of his head lazily while Genos finished wiping down the tiny kitchen counter.
"You ready to patrol, Genos?" Saitama yawned.
"Affirmative, Master," Genos said crisply, holstering a cleaning cloth as if it were a sidearm.
As Saitama was slipping on his sandals, both their phones chimed simultaneously.
[Urgent Notification: Mandatory S-Class Meeting — Hero Association HQ. Attendance Required. ETA One Hour.]
Saitama stared at the screen.
Genos read the message aloud like it was a sacred decree.
"...Welp," Saitama muttered, "looks like patrol's canceled."
Genos nodded solemnly. "Master, should we head out immediately?"
Saitama stretched lazily. "Nah. Meeting's in an hour. Let's grab breakfast first. I'm not sitting through another boring briefing on an empty stomach. Especially since Damian has the pizza box..."
A few minutes later, the two strolled toward the mall food court — Z-City Mall, their unofficial second headquarters.
Meanwhile — Across Town...
Two familiar figures floated just above the ground in a four-bedroom styled Cottage House: Fubuki and Tatsumaki, giggling like conspirators in crime.
The girls had just finished a quick house tour — their first stop of the day.
"So..." Fubuki teased, brushing her hair behind her ear slyly, "should we even bother getting you a new house? It's just gonna explode after you 'hang out' with Dragon God again."
Tatsumaki flushed violently. "Sh-Shut up!" she hissed. "That's why we'll just do it in the sky again, smartass!"
Fubuki snickered — but then her own mind drifted dangerously into daydreams of her own future escapades… with Damian... soaring high above the city...
The housing tour guide, a poor man in a wrinkled suit clutching a clipboard, stood awkwardly nearby, utterly lost at why these beautiful, terrifying women were discussing sex and house destruction at 8 a.m..
He cleared his throat loudly. Starring up at them.
Neither psychic so much as blinked at him.
But Tatsumaki suddenly lifted a hand in his direction — psychic pressure pressing his lips together in a silent shhh — as a call buzzed through her earpiece.
She answered curtly.
"Director?"
The voice came sharp and official.
"Miss Tatsumaki. Please confirm your attendance at today's S-Class meeting. One hour."
Tatsumaki, sighing dramatically but already expecting this, replied, "Yeah, yeah. I'm aware. I'll be there. I'm bringing my sister too."
The call ended.
Fubuki, checking her own phone, saw the same urgent text flash across her screen.
"So... time to go, huh?" she said, smiling.
The realtor, who still hadn't moved, stumbled forward. "U-Um... d-did you want the house?"
Tatsumaki, not even glancing at him, flicked her wrist.
"Sure. Reserve it. We'll check it later."
The man nearly fainted with relief. "Y-Yes, Miss Tornado! The key will be under the mat! I'll finalize tomorrow!"
Without another word, the sisters turned and floated upward into the morning sky, their green auras shimmering.
Tatsumaki clutched her stomach. "Ugh. I'm starving. Damian and I only had a couple slices of pizza last night after, uh… everything."
Fubuki laughed, genuinely happy to have a casual morning with her sister.
"Let's get something quick before the meeting."
Their auras flared and they shot toward the mall like twin emerald comets.
15 Minutes Later — Z-City Mall Food Court
At a corner table, Saitama and Genos were already seated, each devouring a massive breakfast burrito the size of a small child.
King approached, waving one hand as he adjusted his game bag on his shoulder.
"Hey, Genos! Hey, Saitama!" he said brightly. "How's the apartment?"
Genos blinked. "No structural damage. No casualties. Minor electromagnetic disruption from Tatsumaki's psychic flares."
Saitama swallowed a huge bite. "Yeah. Miraculously... nothing exploded. Damian really does have the power of luck, huh?"
King chuckled nervously.
Ironically... that was supposed to be King's power, even if he didn't know it...
As the trio dug into their food, King leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"So… about Damian and the sisters... any fallout yet?"
Before anyone could answer, a sharp, playful voice cut through the food court:
"Hmm. You guys getting breakfast too before the big meeting?"
Tatsumaki floated down casually, arms folded, with a mischievous glint in her eye.
King immediately flinched so hard he nearly dropped his coffee.
Saitama, ever unfazed, stood up with a grin and extended a hand. "Hey, Tornado. I mean Tatsumaki."
She smirked, shaking his hand like a bratty kid getting praise from a teacher. "Morning, Caped Baldy."
Saitama scratched his gleaming head sheepishly but laughed it off.
"How was your night?" he teased, winking.
Tatsumaki's aura flared for a split second — a blast of psychic heat making King's hair stand on end — but then she let it drop, smiling gently as Fubuki arrived carrying trays of food.
"Oh, hey guys!" Fubuki said, cheery. "Mind if we join you?"
Saitama waved at the table. "Grab a seat."
"And you're heading to the meeting too?" Fubuki asked.
Genos, ever the robot, answered while precisely unwrapping another burrito. "Affirmative. Master wished to fuel up prior to the summit. The one-hour notice suggests an impending high-level crisis."
Tatsumaki and Fubuki sat down, casually merging into the group like they'd been friends for years.
King sat rigidly, still not used to sharing breakfast with two of the most powerful psychics on the planet.
He stared at his coffee.
"This is fine," he muttered. "Totally normal."
Saitama took another giant bite of his burrito and shrugged. "Hey. Could be worse. Could be trapped in a disaster shelter with Puri-Puri Prisoner."
King shuddered visibly.
The group ate and laughed lightly, the looming seriousness of the upcoming meeting briefly forgotten in the warmth of food and good company.
But overhead, the clouds began to gather.
And the countdown to war had already begun.
To Be Continued…