Inside the hall, energy surged violently—howls and impacts never ceasing. Saitama's iconic yellow suit and red gloves had become a streak of unmatched speed, clashing in a fierce entanglement with Nazalor, the world-ending destroyer wreathed in oppressive dark energy.
Nazalor's attacks were unpredictable and uncanny. His form seemed to melt completely into shadow; each time he flickered, he appeared from the most unexpected angle. Claw strikes packed with destructive force and dark spells poured down like a storm, trying to swallow Saitama whole. Yet Saitama's body—tempered through countless battles—and his instincts let him slip past danger by a hair's breadth at the critical moment, or use those seemingly plain punches to precisely blast apart the surging torrents of dark energy.
The fight looked locked in a stalemate, but Saitama's gaze was more focused than ever. Those eyes that usually seemed a little blank were now sharp as a hawk's, locking onto every tiny movement Nazalor made. He wasn't rushing. In the rapid exchange of offense and defense, he watched patiently—observing, analyzing.
Blink after blink. Burst after burst.
Saitama caught an extremely subtle pattern.
He noticed that every time Nazalor was about to perform that ultra-high-speed spatial flicker, the dense darkness gathering beneath his feet produced a specific fluctuation—almost impossible to detect—like the faint ripple on water right before a fish breaks the surface.
That discovery made Saitama's heart stir.
He immediately changed tactics. Instead of blindly chasing where Nazalor reappeared, he shifted part of his attention forward—predictively—toward Nazalor's feet.
He waited.
He waited for the perfect moment—an opening that would completely disrupt that irritating teleport rhythm and let him land a crushing blow.
This deadlock needed a decisive force to break it.
And Saitama had found a possible breakthrough.
Not far away, shattered stones trembled faintly. Stephen Strange—the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth—wiped a trace of blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and struggled to brace himself up from the ground. The massive drain on his magic, combined with the internal injuries from taking Nazalor's attack head-on earlier, made every breath stab his chest with pain.
His eyes snapped toward the center of the battlefield, where Saitama and Nazalor were locked in a dazzling, ultra-high-speed duel. Shockwaves from their collisions kept expanding, underscoring just how fierce and dangerous the fight was.
Doctor Strange knew that even though Saitama's physical strength defied all common sense, against an enemy like Nazalor—this level, this kind of bizarre methods—any prolonged deadlock could hide unknown risks.
"I can't just watch."
Enduring the pain radiating through his body, Doctor Strange's eyes hardened with resolve. He took a deep breath, raised both hands to his chest, and his fingers moved like fluttering butterflies, rapidly weaving complex, profound casting gestures.
As he chanted in a low, forceful voice, the void inside the hall lit up!
Brilliant golden magic runes appeared out of thin air, linking together into a massive spell formation. Like living golden chains, they rapidly coiled and tightened toward the battlefield where Nazalor moved.
These runes weren't meant to deal direct damage.
They were meant to interfere and restrict—to drastically compress the space in which Nazalor could freely blink and maneuver, creating a target that would be easier for Saitama to catch and strike.
(End of Chapter)
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