The immediate aftermath of Saitama's… passive de-escalation of the arcane catastrophe left an even deeper impression on Shadow Garden than his demolition of the summoned demon. The raw, physical destruction was something they could, on some level, comprehend. Power existed to break things. But the casual nullification of potent magic by sheer, apathetic presence? That was a different beast entirely. It poked holes in their worldview, a worldview where arcane mastery and shadowy finesse were paramount.
Shadow, for his part, was engaged in a furious internal monologue, a desperate attempt to recalibrate his entire understanding of… well, everything. Okay, okay, Cid. Don't panic. This is… an opportunity. Yes! An opportunity to study an entirely new paradigm of power! A power that transcends magic! A power that… that I can eventually claim to have foreseen and secretly guided! Obviously! This Saitama… he's not a bug in the system; he's a feature! A very, very confusing and overpowered feature that keeps accidentally upstaging me, but a feature nonetheless!
"The anomalous energies recede," Shadow announced, his voice regaining a measure of its customary gravitas, though even he could detect a slight tremor. He gestured vaguely towards the now-calm district where the green glow had been. "It seems the very… resonance of our combined presence was enough to disrupt the lesser machinations at play." Combined presence? Right. My oppressive dark aura and his 'I-can't-be-bothered-to-care' field. A match made in… well, somewhere.
Alpha was the first to truly regain her composure, though her golden eyes still held a flicker of profound bewilderment when they rested on Saitama. "Lord Shadow, the immediate threats appear neutralized. However, the city remains in disarray. The Royal Guard will be overwhelmed. We should coordinate reconnaissance and… damage control."
"Indeed," Beta chimed in, having retrieved her (third) pen and a fresh notepad. "The citizens will be terrified. Eyewitness accounts of the… events… will be contradictory and likely fantastical. An ideal environment to further cement the legend of Shadow Garden, and to… contextualize the actions of our new, uh, associate." She glanced at Saitama, who was now attempting to balance a piece of rubble on his head.
Saitama, oblivious to the existential crises he was inducing, finally managed to get the rock to stay. "Hey, look. Balance."
Delta, ever impulsive and easily impressed by displays of raw power (or, in this case, inexplicable feats of balance), gasped. "Baldy is amazing! Delta wants to learn head-balancing!" She immediately tried to emulate him with a much larger piece of debris, nearly braining herself in the process.
"Delta, focus!" Alpha chided, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness. She, too, was finding it hard to process the sheer, unfiltered weirdness of their current situation.
"Lord Shadow," Epsilon said, her slime bodysuit having reformed into its pristine, perfect state, though her expression was still a little dazed. "What is our next course of action regarding… him?" She gestured discreetly towards Saitama. "His power is undeniable, but his… methodology… is unpredictable. And his motivations seem… mundane."
Mundane? Cid thought. His motivation is a seventy percent off sale on crab legs! That's not mundane, that's a level of triviality so profound it borders on the cosmic!
"He is a wild card," Shadow intoned, turning to gaze at Saitama with an air of deep, inscrutable wisdom (which was, in reality, deep, inscrutable confusion). "A force of nature temporarily diverted onto our stage. We will observe. We will guide, where possible. His power, if channeled correctly, could be the storm that scours the Cult of Diablos from this world." Or he could accidentally punch a hole through the planet while trying to open a stubborn pickle jar. The odds are disturbingly even.
"But Lord Shadow," Gamma began, ever the worrier, "if his power is truly beyond magic, beyond our understanding… how can we possibly guide it? What if he inadvertently… unravels something vital? Something we cannot mend?"
This was a disturbingly pertinent question, one Cid had been actively trying to avoid. His entire persona, his entire raison d'être, was built upon the idea of being the unseen master, the one pulling the strings. But Saitama wasn't a puppet; he was a rogue nuke with a shopping list.
Before Shadow could formulate a suitably evasive and cool-sounding answer, Genos approached the group, his expression serious. "Lord Shadow, if I may. While my Master's motivations may seem simplistic, his core desire is to be a hero. He fights injustice and protects the innocent. If this Cult of Diablos you speak of truly threatens this world, then our goals align. We may not understand the full extent of his capabilities, but his intent is generally… benevolent." He paused. "Though his definition of 'acceptable collateral damage' can sometimes be… expansive."
Saitama, having grown bored of head-balancing, overheard the last part. "Hey! I always try to aim away from the buildings. Mostly."
Shadow seized on Genos's words. "Benevolence, however crudely expressed, is a foundation upon which alliances can be built." He turned to Alpha. "Alpha, deploy the Shades. Assess the city. Identify remaining threats, Cult activity, and any further dimensional instabilities. Zeta, Eta, focus your intelligence gathering on the nature of these interdimensional breaches. Find their source, their frequency."
The Shades, accustomed to their Lord's commands, snapped to attention, their earlier shock momentarily suppressed by duty. "Yes, Lord Shadow!" they chorused.
"And what of us, Lord Shadow?" Beta asked, gesturing to herself and the other core combatants. "And… Saitama-sama?" The "sama" slipped out, a testament to the sheer, mind-boggling power she had witnessed.
Saitama blinked at the honorific. "Sama? Am I getting a promotion?"
Shadow ignored him. Saitama-sama? Beta, you're supposed to be mythologizing ME, not the bald wrecking ball! "We will remain at the epicenter. This Crimson Tower district… it feels like a nexus. The initial breaches occurred here. The jester manifested here. It is likely that any… significant developments… will originate from this locale." Plus, if I stick close to Saitama, I can try to take credit for whatever insane thing he does next.
As if on cue, a new, unsettling phenomenon began. It wasn't a violent explosion or a monstrous apparition. It was a whisper.
A faint, insidious whispering seemed to emanate from the very stones of the ruined district. It was too faint to discern words, but it carried an unnerving cadence, a chorus of voices just beyond the threshold of hearing, promising secrets, power, and despair.
The Shades tensed. Even Saitama tilted his head, a faint frown creasing his brow. "Is someone talking? Sounds like a leaky faucet, but with more… mumbling."
Shadow's senses, honed by years of (imagined) battles against shadowy conspiracies, went into overdrive. This is it! The subtle threat! The psychological attack! The kind of thing only a true Eminence in Shadow can perceive and counter! Saitama's brute force will be useless against this!
"The very air corrupts," Shadow declared, his voice a low growl. "The whispers of the void seek to sow dissent, to break the will. Do not listen. Steel your minds."
The whispering intensified, becoming clearer, though still maddeningly indistinct. It seemed to prey on insecurities, to echo forgotten fears. Epsilon flinched, her hand unconsciously going to her slime-covered chest, a flicker of an old trauma surfacing. Delta let out a low, uneasy whine, her ears twitching.
But then, something truly bizarre happened.
Saitama, looking increasingly annoyed, clapped his hands over his ears. "Okay, seriously, can someone turn that down? It's really distracting. I'm trying to think about what kind of toppings I want on my udon if we ever find a restaurant."
And the whispering… lessened.
It didn't stop entirely, but its intensity dropped significantly, as if Saitama's sheer, mundane annoyance was somehow disrupting the ethereal, psychic assault.
Shadow stared. No. No, no, no. That's… that's not how this works! Psychic attacks are supposed to be subtle! Insidious! You can't just… get annoyed at them until they go away! He's not even trying to resist it with willpower! He's just… irritated!
Alpha, gritting her teeth against the remaining whispers, looked at Saitama with a new level of disbelief. "The… the psychic interference… it weakened when you… expressed displeasure?"
Saitama uncovered one ear. "Huh? Oh, yeah. It's still there a bit, but it's not as loud. Like when your neighbor's playing bad music and you bang on the wall, and they turn it down a notch out of spite. Still annoying, but manageable." He then looked around. "So, where are these whispers coming from anyway? A broken radio?"
This. This was the moment. The moment where a tiny, almost imperceptible crack appeared in Cid Kagenou's meticulously constructed facade of the omniscient, all-powerful Eminence in Shadow. It wasn't a crack born of fear, or defeat. It was a crack born of sheer, unadulterated, universe-breaking frustration.
His entire schtick was based on being the coolest, most enigmatic, most overwhelmingly powerful figure in the shadows. He thrived on manipulating events, on understanding the deep, dark secrets of the world. But Saitama… Saitama wasn't playing by any rules. He wasn't just breaking the game; he was oblivious that a game was even being played. He was a force of nature so fundamentally different, so utterly unconcerned with the tropes and drama Cid cherished, that it was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain the act.
For a fleeting second, under the oppressive gloom of his hood, Cid Kagenou felt an emotion he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years: the urge to just throw his hands up and scream, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"
But the Eminence in Shadow did not scream. The Eminence in Shadow observed. The Eminence in Shadow… adapted.
"The source… is deeper," Shadow said, his voice perhaps a fraction tighter than usual. He pointed towards the collapsed remains of the Crimson Tower's central structure. "Beneath the rubble. The whispers are a lure, a siren song leading to a corrupted core." Okay, spin it. He didn't stop the whispers; he just… mitigated the surface noise. The real threat is still down there, waiting for ME to deal with it! Yes!
"So, like, a spooky basement?" Saitama asked. "Are there gonna be bats? I don't like bats. They get in your hair."
"We must investigate," Alpha declared, her focus returning. "If the Cult, or some other entity, has established a foothold beneath the tower, it must be eradicated."
"Genos," Saitama said, "you got any flashlights? Basements are usually dark."
Genos's optical sensors glowed. "I can provide illumination, Sensei. And scan for structural instabilities and potential threats."
As the group prepared to descend into the unknown depths beneath the Crimson Tower, a final, almost comically mundane event occurred that further cemented Saitama's accidental godhood in the eyes of Shadow Garden, particularly for poor Gamma.
Gamma, ever diligent despite her clumsiness, had been trying to use a complex arcane device to analyze the residual energies in the area. It was a delicate, intricate instrument, pulsing with carefully calibrated magical light. Suddenly, a loose piece of debris, dislodged by a tremor no one else had even noticed, tumbled from a high ledge. It was a small, insignificant rock, but it was heading directly for Gamma's delicate, expensive device.
"Look out!" Beta cried.
Gamma shrieked, fumbling to protect her instrument.
But before anyone could react, before the rock could make contact, Saitama, who had been idly scratching his chin, simply… plucked it out of the air.
His movement was so casual, so unremarkable, it was almost insulting. He hadn't even looked. He'd just extended his hand, and the falling rock, as if guided by an unseen force or perhaps just succumbing to the inevitable gravitational pull of Saitama's sheer plot armor, landed neatly in his palm.
He looked at the rock. "Huh. Almost hit your… shiny thing." He then tossed the rock aside.
Gamma stared at Saitama, then at her intact device, then back at Saitama. Her glasses were askew, her mouth agape. The sheer, effortless, unthinking precision of it… it was beyond superhuman. It was as if he possessed a sixth sense, an intuitive understanding of trajectories and probabilities that bordered on precognition, all applied to something as trivial as catching a falling pebble.
For Gamma, the logistician, the strategist, the one who believed in meticulous planning and calculated risk, this was a moment of profound, almost spiritual crisis. How could one plan for a variable that operated outside the known constants of the universe?
Shadow watched this tiny, almost insignificant event, and the crack in his facade widened just a fraction more. It wasn't the big, flashy displays of power that were truly unsettling him anymore. It was these small, casual moments. The effortless defiance of physics, the passive nullification of magic, the unthinking, godlike reflexes. It was the sheer, mundane absurdity of Saitama's existence.
He was the Eminence in Shadow. He was supposed to be the one performing impossible feats with effortless grace.
And a bald guy in a cheap costume was doing it better, by accident, while wondering about lunch.
The descent into the depths of the Crimson Tower was about to begin. And Cid Kagenou had a growing, sinking feeling that his carefully crafted narrative was about to get a whole lot more… Saitama'd. The thrill was still there, but it was now tinged with a distinct flavor of impending comedic doom for his ego.