The fallout from Saitama's "betrayal" was swift and catastrophic. The Kingdom of Midgar, and indeed the entire continent, was plunged into a new era of fear, an age defined not by a hidden, creeping darkness, but by the blinding, terrifying light of a fallen hero.
Saitama, now branded "The Mad Tempest," "The Kinslayer," and "The Great Betrayer," became the world's first and only global-level threat. He did not go far. He took up residence on the desolate, flattened plateau of the former Crown of the Heavens, a place already synonymous with his immense power. He created a crude shelter for himself by punching a perfectly square, depressingly empty cave into the side of the mountain. And there, he waited. Playing his part.
His "rampage," as orchestrated in the silent agreement between him and Sid, was one of terror and psychological warfare, not of mass destruction. He would appear, seemingly at random, a golden, silent specter in the sky above a major city – in Oriana, in Jotunheim, in the distant merchant republics of the south. He would hover there, motionless, his face a mask of cold indifference. He wouldn't do anything. He would just… watch. And the effect was more terrifying than any army. Cities would grind to a halt. People would flee into their homes, screaming. Economies would shudder. The silent, judging presence of a being who could erase them with a thought was a terror that surpassed any monster.
Occasionally, to maintain the illusion of his malevolent intent, he would perform a "feat of destruction." He would punch a remote, uninhabited mountain into dust. He would part the sea with a "Serious Water Gun," creating a temporary, terrifying canyon in the ocean that would baffle sailors for generations. He never hurt a single living soul. But he made it abundantly clear that he could. Effortlessly.
The world reacted with a unified, desperate panic. Old rivalries were forgotten. The alliance between Midgar and Oriana solidified, becoming the foundation of a new, global coalition, its sole purpose to "Contain the Tempest." Armies were mobilized, not for conquest, but for a constant, draining vigil against the sky. Magi and scholars from every nation pooled their resources, working feverishly to understand his power, to find a weakness, a defense, anything. The Benefactor's faction, seeing their own plans rendered moot by this new, all-consuming crisis, were forced to offer their own advanced technology to the coalition, their own quest for a "counter-frequency" now a matter of global survival.
The world, just as Sid had planned, was more "interesting" than it had ever been. It was united, it was innovating, it was struggling with a desperate, all-consuming purpose. It was, from the perspective of a cosmic TV producer, peak television.
And at the heart of it all, Saitama sat alone in his mountain cave, eating the last of his emergency snack rations and feeling a loneliness so profound it was a physical ache. This, he thought, as he watched a distant city scurry in terror at his mere presence, this was the true cost of being the ultimate hero. Not boredom. But absolute, total, and complete isolation.
For Shadow Garden, this new "Age of the Tempest's Shadow" was a golden era. With the world's entire military and arcane might focused upwards, on the lonely god in his mountain fortress, the world's shadows had never been deeper, or more empty of competition.
Sid, as Shadow, played his part to perfection. He emerged from the darkness as the world's only hope. His organization, "Shadow Garden," previously a whispered myth, revealed itself as a powerful, benevolent, clandestine force, the only group that had been fighting the real war all along.
They "leaked" intelligence, carefully curated truths and half-truths from the texts they had "recovered" from the Royal Archives. They exposed the remnants of the Cult of Diablos, painting them not as the main threat, but as pathetic pawns of the "Mad Tempest," servants drawn to his chaotic power. This, brilliantly, absolved the kingdoms of their earlier failures and refocused all the world's fear and hatred onto a single, bald target.
Shadow himself made rare, dramatic appearances. He would emerge to "save" a royal patrol from a "Tempest-worshipping" Cultist cell (a cell Shadow Garden itself had cornered and prepared for him). He would meet in secret with King Olric and the other world leaders, offering them his "wisdom," his "strategies," his "unique insights" into the nature of the Tempest, all of which were, of course, part of the script he and Saitama had silently agreed upon.
"The Tempest cannot be defeated by force," he would explain, his voice a low, impressive murmur, to the desperate kings and generals. "His power is absolute. But he is a being of simple, direct motivations. To defeat him, we must strike not at him, but at the source of the chaos that… fuels him. We must complete the 'Heart of the Hero' ritual."
It was the perfect narrative. He positioned himself as the brilliant strategist, the wise master of shadows, while Saitama played the part of the dumb, brutish final boss. He guided the allied kingdoms on their quest for the ritual components, using them as his unwitting army, clearing the path of any remaining obstacles, all while publicly appearing to be the world's only true hope against the very chaos he was secretly orchestrating.
Alpha, Gamma, and the others played their roles flawlessly, their admiration for their master's grand, complex, and utterly insane plan absolute. They were the heroes in the darkness, their deeds unsung, their purpose known only to their lord.
The world was being saved, manipulated, and rewritten, all at the same time.
The final confrontation was staged, of course, at the newly-flattened summit of the Crown of the Heavens, the site of Saitama's first "Serious" act. The allied armies of the world stood in a vast, silent ring at the base of the mountain. At the center of the plateau, Lyraelle and Princess Iris, now a true hero in her own right, prepared the final ritual, their faces grim but resolute, Anathema planted in the ground as the focal point.
Their performance was for the benefit of the world, a symbol of hope standing against despair. The real 'heroes' of the day, Shadow and his elite, were hidden, preparing for their own, silent role in the play.
And then, as the eclipse of the twin moons began, casting the world in a strange, bloody light, he arrived. Saitama descended from the heavens, his face a perfect mask of cold, villainous indifference. He landed softly on the plateau, his yellow suit a blasphemous splash of color against the grim landscape.
"So," he said, his voice magically amplified by Shadow Garden agents to carry across the plains, a cold, booming echo of doom. "You have come to be erased."
The final act had begun.
The plan was simple. Iris and Lyraelle would begin the ritual. Saitama would "attack" them, feigning an attempt to disrupt it. The "heroes" of the world would fight him in a glorious, hopeless battle. And at the final, crucial moment, Shadow would emerge, engage Saitama in a "climactic duel," and, using a technique they had discreetly coordinated, create the illusion of Saitama's defeat, his power being "sealed" by the ritual's completion. Saitama would then vanish, his role as the villain complete, his exile begun. And Shadow would be left as the world's mysterious, undisputed savior.
It was a perfect, tragic, heroic script.
But no one, not even the great Eminence in Shadow himself, had accounted for one, final, variable.
As Saitama prepared to play his part, as Shadow prepared for his grand entrance, a new, unforeseen presence made itself known.
The sky did not tear. No herald arrived. Instead, a voice spoke, not in the air, not in their minds, but in the silent, absolute language of pure, undeniable power. A voice that made the cosmic entity of the Star-Eater seem like a whispering child, a voice that made the very concept of The Silence seem noisy.
**
The word was a quiet thought that resonated through every atom of existence. On the battlefield, knights fell to their knees, their souls trembling. In his hidden sanctum, Shadow froze, his perfect composure shattering, a primal, forgotten fear gripping him. In the sky above, Saitama stopped, his mock-villainous expression replaced by a look of genuine, profound, and utterly thrilled, shock.
** **
A new figure began to coalesce on the plateau, not from a portal, not from the shadows, but simply… being there, as if it had always been. It looked like a simple man in a simple, dark suit, with a calm, almost bored, smile.
**
He looked from a stunned Shadow to a genuinely excited Saitama.
**
A new player had just entered the game. Not a cosmic horror, not an ancient evil. But something else. Something worse. A critic. And he was not impressed. The carefully constructed, world-saving lie was about to be interrupted by a far more terrifying, and far more powerful, truth.