The "liberation" of Castle Maleficus, much like every other major event since Saitama's arrival, had been less a strategic victory and more a chaotic, absurdity-fueled implosion of the enemy's will to fight (and, in this case, a significant portion of their real estate). Crimson Count Valerius, a Night Blade of supposedly ancient power and terrifying renown, had fled his ancestral home, not in the face of overwhelming martial prowess from Shadow Garden, but due to a combination of extreme property damage via projectile vomit and an acute fear of a bald man more concerned with a lost bunny than with vampiric dominion.
Shadow Garden found themselves in the awkward position of having "conquered" a largely empty, partially demolished, and still faintly smelling of burnt relish, vampire castle. The remaining lower-level ghouls and minor demonic entities, having witnessed their lord's undignified retreat and the earlier "Great Relish Geyser," had wisely decided that discretion was the better part of unlife and had either fled into the deeper catacombs or were attempting to blend in with the more grotesque pieces of statuary.
"Well," Alpha said, surveying the smoldering courtyard with a sigh that was becoming her signature sound, "this is… anticlimactic."
"Understatement of the millennium, Alpha-sama," Beta muttered, meticulously documenting the damage to the castle for her "Chronicles: Addendum on Unconventional Siege Tactics." She was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain a suitably epic and heroic tone when the primary catalyst for victory was often indigestion or a misplaced pet.
Shadow, leaning against a surprisingly intact (though slightly singed) stone griffin, was in a state of profound, almost meditative resignation. His grand plans, his dramatic confrontations, his carefully crafted image as the ultimate shadowy mastermind – all of it felt like a distant, slightly embarrassing dream. He was no longer orchestrating events; he was merely a bewildered observer, occasionally offering cryptic commentary that Saitama would then completely ignore.
Perhaps, Cid mused, a strange, almost liberating thought forming in his mind, this is the true nature of being an Eminence in Shadow. Not to control the chaos, but to… to surf it. To ride the wave of absurdity with as much dignity and dramatic flair as one can muster, even when the wave is composed primarily of chili peppers and existential dread. It was a comforting, if slightly unhinged, philosophy.
Saitama, meanwhile, having been reunited with Mr. Fluffles (who was now sporting a surprisingly fetching, if slightly singed, velvet drapery scrap as a makeshift cape), was exploring the less-demolished sections of the castle with the enthusiasm of a child in a very large, very creepy, and potentially lethal, playground.
"Hey, Genos!" he called out, his voice echoing from what appeared to be Valerius's former throne room. "Look! This chair is made of bones! Kinda comfy, actually. Though a bit pokey in the butt." He was, indeed, lounging on Valerius's obsidian and bone throne, kicking his feet up on a pile of (presumably priceless) ancient scrolls. Sir Reginald Fuzzybottom was attempting to climb onto his lap, while Sooty the kitten was batting playfully at a dangling skeletal finger on the throne's armrest.
Genos, ever dutiful, was scanning the throne room for traps, hidden passages, and, at Saitama's request, "any secret snack compartments the pointy-teeth guy might have forgotten about."
"Sensei," Genos reported, "I am detecting significant residual dark energy signatures in this chamber, likely from Count Valerius's prolonged presence. However, there appear to be no immediate threats. Or snacks. Though this tapestry depicting a rather gruesome disembowelment scene does seem to be hiding a small, locked alcove."
"Ooh, a secret compartment!" Saitama exclaimed, hopping off the throne. "Maybe that's where he kept the good stuff! Like, limited edition vampire cookies!"
While Saitama and Genos embarked on their quest for vampire snacks, Shadow Garden began the less glamorous task of securing Castle Maleficus. Alpha and Epsilon, with their combat prowess, cleared the remaining (and increasingly terrified) pockets of resistance in the lower levels. Beta and Seraphina (who was looking around her former comrade's devastated fortress with a complex mixture of residual fear, grim satisfaction, and a dawning sense of 'there but for the grace of an art critique go I') began to search for any intelligence Valerius might have left behind – maps, communication logs, anything that could lead them to the other Night Blades or the mysterious "Master."
Shadow, feeling a strange lack of urgency, found himself drawn to what had once been Valerius's private library – or rather, the smoldering, rubble-strewn crater where it used to be. He picked up a charred, barely legible fragment of a scroll. The ancient script, what little remained, spoke of forgotten gods, of pacts made in eternal darkness, of power beyond mortal comprehension.
This is what I sought, Cid thought, a familiar pang of his old chuunibyou ambition stirring within him. Ancient secrets, forbidden knowledge, the whispers of forgotten evils…
Then he remembered that the library had been largely demolished by Saitama looking for his bunny, and the last ancient evil they'd encountered had fled in terror because Saitama had asked him for directions to a relish recipe.
He sighed and tossed the charred scroll fragment aside. The universe, it seemed, was determined to mock his dramatic aspirations at every turn.
It was Seraphina who found something of actual significance. Hidden beneath a loose flagstone in Valerius's (surprisingly intact, if rather ostentatious) personal bedchamber, she discovered a small, lead-lined coffer. Inside, nestled on a bed of black velvet, was a single, intricately carved obsidian shard, pulsing with a faint, cold light.
"Lord Shadow," Seraphina said, her voice hushed as she presented the shard. "This… this is a 'Night Shard.' Each of the Thirteen Night Blades carries one. It is a conduit to the Master's power, a means of communication… and, some whisper, a fragment of his very essence."
Shadow took the Night Shard, its cold surface thrumming faintly in his gloved hand. A direct link to the Master… or at least, to his network. This was a significant find. Perhaps… perhaps his mission wasn't entirely a condiment-fueled farce after all.
"Can it be used?" Shadow asked. "To trace the Master? Or the other Night Blades?"
Seraphina hesitated. "It is… dangerous, Lord Shadow. To attempt to manipulate a Night Shard without the Master's sanction… it can invite his direct attention. His wrath. And his power… it is beyond anything Valerius or Jervois could command."
"Danger is a familiar companion," Shadow said, his voice resonating with a newfound, almost weary, authority. He wasn't just playing the part anymore. He had seen the suffering in Silberbrunnen. He had felt the oppressive aura of Castle Maleficus. The threat was real, even if its defeat was often hilariously absurd. "Beta, can you analyze this? Safely?"
Beta approached, her eyes gleaming with scientific curiosity. "With the appropriate arcane dampeners and containment fields, Lord Shadow, it may be possible to extract residual energy patterns, perhaps even trace communication pathways. But Seraphina-sama is correct. The risk of… feedback… is considerable."
As they were discussing the perilous implications of the Night Shard, a loud, triumphant "Aha!" echoed from Valerius's throne room, followed by the sound of splintering wood.
Saitama emerged, looking immensely pleased with himself. He was holding a small, dusty, and very old-looking wooden box. "Look what I found in that secret compartment! Vampire cookies!" He pried open the box. Inside, nestled on faded silk, were… not cookies. But a collection of antique, intricately carved, and disturbingly sharp-looking, silver fangs.
Saitama blinked. "Huh. Not cookies. Just… pointy teeth. Guess that vampire guy really liked his dental work." He shrugged and tossed the box of priceless (and possibly cursed) vampire relics aside. "Oh well. Anybody else hungry? All this castle exploring makes a guy crave a good cheeseburger."
Shadow just closed his eyes and massaged his temples. Some days, it really didn't pay to be an Eminence in Shadow.
Their "occupation" of Castle Maleficus lasted for another day, as Shadow Garden meticulously swept the fortress for any remaining threats or intelligence. They found surprisingly little. It seemed Valerius, in his hasty retreat, had either taken everything of value or had a remarkably spartan lifestyle for an ancient vampire lord (aside from his apparent penchant for collecting antique fangs and torture implements).
The most significant discovery, apart from the Night Shard, was a hidden chamber deep within the castle's catacombs. It was not a treasury, nor a torture chamber. It was… a shrine. A dark, unsettling shrine, dedicated not to Diablos, but to the "Master." In the center of the shrine was a large, obsidian mirror, its surface swirling with faint, shadowy images. This was undoubtedly the "Obsidian Mirror" Malakor had spoken of, a communication device, a focal point for the Master's influence.
"So this is it," Alpha murmured, her hand resting on her sword. "The conduit Valerius used. And perhaps… the one the other Night Blades will seek."
Shadow gazed into the swirling depths of the mirror. He could feel a faint, cold intelligence emanating from it, a whisper of immense, ancient power. The Master… he is watching. Waiting.
Before he could make a suitably dramatic pronouncement about shattering the mirror and defying the darkness, Saitama, who had wandered in after getting bored of trying to teach Sir Reginald to play the organ in Valerius's chapel, peered into it.
"Hey, cool mirror!" he said. "Is it, like, a magic TV? Can we get cartoons on it?" He then tapped the surface. "Hello? Anybody in there? Got any good snacks?"
The swirling shadows in the mirror seemed to recoil, the faint, cold intelligence faltering for a moment, as if profoundly offended by the request for cartoons and snacks. Then, the mirror went dark, its surface becoming a dull, unresponsive obsidian.
Shadow just sighed. It seemed even interdimensional evil masterminds were not immune to Saitama's unique brand of reality-breaking obliviousness.
With Castle Maleficus secured (or at least, thoroughly confused and partially demolished), and the immediate threat of Count Valerius neutralized (he was likely halfway to another continent by now, seeking extensive therapy and a very good dental plan), it was time for Shadow Garden to return to Midgar.
Their journey back was significantly less eventful, though Saitama did manage to accidentally "tame" a grumpy mountain troll by offering it a piece of his Dragon's Breath Jerky (the troll, after one bite, had apparently seen the error of its grumpy ways and had tearfully vowed to become a vegan poet).
As they approached the Royal Capital, they were met by a frantic, disheveled Gamma.
"Lord Shadow! Saitama-sama! Thank the spirits you've returned!" she cried, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste. "The Godsbane Gauntlet! It's… it's a disaster! Powerful, unknown combatants! Night Blades, or worse! People are… disappearing! The King is terrified! The city is on the verge of panic!"
Shadow's eyes narrowed. The tournament. He had almost forgotten, in the chaos of relish rampages and vampire valet encounters. "The Night Blades are using the tournament as a stage," he surmised. "To display their power. To eliminate rivals. And perhaps… to draw out Saitama."
Saitama, who had been happily munching on a freshly acquired apple (a gift from the now-poetic mountain troll), perked up. "A tournament? With strong guys? Awesome! I've been looking for a decent fight! Are there prizes? Maybe a lifetime supply of that Shadowfire Relish?"
Gamma stared at him, her face a mask of disbelief. "Saitama-sama… people are dying! This is not a game!"
Saitama blinked. "Oh. Right. Dying is bad." He then grinned. "But if there are bad guys making people die, then I guess I should go punch them, huh? And maybe win some cool prizes while I'm at it!"
Shadow looked from the frantic Gamma to the cheerfully oblivious Saitama. His grand, shadowy war against the Cult of Diablos and the mysterious "Master" had just taken another sharp, unexpected turn. It seemed their next battlefield would not be a forgotten ruin or a dark forest, but a crowded, panicked, and potentially lethal, martial arts tournament.
He wondered, with a familiar sense of weary resignation, if the prize for winning the Godsbane Gauntlet included a very large, very strong bottle of aspirin. He had a feeling he was going to need it. The curtain was rising on a new act of their absurd, interdimensional drama. And the main event, it seemed, was just about to begin.