Chapter 4: Shadows Against the Sun
The roar of Sung Jin-Woo's army drowned out the world.
The stands shook with the sound—metallic clashing, monstrous screeches, dragonfire igniting into molten arcs across the sky. It wasn't just an army; it was a storm given flesh. A living tidal wave of darkness, spilling from one end of the arena to the other, choking the battlefield in an endless tide of shadow soldiers.
The crowd pressed against the barrier, some pale with terror, others wide-eyed in awe. Even behind the protective dome, the air vibrated with such raw hostility that lesser hearts quailed at the mere sight.
Jin-Woo stood at the heart of it all, his black cloak billowing like a monarch presiding over a kingdom of nightmares. His eyes glowed with cold fire. He did not flinch. He did not blink. This was his full strength revealed—no restraints, no hesitation, no reserve.
"Crush him," he commanded, his voice like an executioner's verdict.
Igris bellowed in obedience, the crimson flames of his greatsword igniting into an inferno. He led the charge, his armored form crashing forward like a comet of destruction. Beru, wings vibrating at impossible frequencies, launched into the sky before plummeting like a spear aimed straight at Saitama. Kamish reared back, its maw glowing with molten fire before loosing a dragon's roar that split the heavens.
The rest surged behind, claws scraping, weapons flashing, thousands of footsteps pounding as one.
It was the image of apocalypse itself.
And then… Saitama sighed.
His cape fluttered once in the hot wind, snapping like a flag at half-mast. He rolled his shoulders, his expression still one of mild inconvenience, but his eyes—their sharpness betrayed something new.
Focus.
The wave of darkness swallowed him whole.
From the stands, the audience gasped. The sight was overwhelming—Saitama vanished under a mountain of monsters, titans, dragons, and shadows. The sheer numbers were suffocating. Even Genos' mechanical eyes strained to track the chaos, readings spiking off his HUD.
"Sensei…!"
The roar of the army grew deafening. Blades struck, claws tore, fire scorched, wings beat the air into storms. The ground cracked beneath the endless assault, dust and smoke rising to obscure the battlefield.
And then, silence.
It was subtle at first. A flicker in the smoke. A ripple through the horde.
One by one, the shadows nearest the epicenter froze mid-swing, as if some invisible force had struck them dumb. The silence spread like a shockwave. Dust cleared, smoke scattered, and the truth revealed itself.
Saitama stood in the middle of the chaos.
Untouched.
His glove smoked faintly from a single punch, the air around him shimmering with heat. Shadows nearest him—hundreds of them—had evaporated into black mist, wiped out in the blink of an eye.
"…That all?" he muttered.
The arena shook again.
Kamish screamed, unleashing a torrent of fire hot enough to turn steel into slag. The flame engulfed the battlefield, a pillar of destruction roaring into the sky. The audience gasped, shielding their eyes as the brilliance seared their vision.
When the fire finally died down, Saitama stood in its center. His suit was slightly singed, his cape still smoldering at the edges. He looked down at the scorch marks on his chest.
"…That was new."
Kamish roared again, wings tearing at the air as it reared back for another strike. This time, Saitama vanished.
The dragon's head snapped sideways with a thunderous crack. A bald fist slammed across its jaw, sending the titanic beast skidding across the battlefield, carving deep furrows into the stone. The impact made the entire arena quake like an earthquake.
Gasps erupted. Some spectators screamed outright.
"Kamish…!?" Jin-Woo's eyes widened, not with fear, but with exhilaration.
Above, Beru swooped, claws like guillotines descending on Saitama's skull. But before they could reach him—
CRACK!
Saitama's fist shot upward, clipping Beru's chin mid-dive. The insectoid general's massive body rocketed into the barrier above, smashing into it with such force the entire dome reverberated like struck glass.
Saitama didn't stop. He blurred again, his movements too fast for unenhanced eyes. Each step, each flick of his wrist, each lazy jab—another dozen shadows disintegrated into mist. The tide that had seemed unstoppable moments ago now parted around him like water fleeing from a boulder dropped into a river.
Igris was next.
The knight general swung his flaming greatsword with enough force to carve through a skyscraper. Saitama caught it in one hand. The flames roared, the steel vibrated, but his grip never faltered. His bored expression twisted into the faintest smirk.
"Not bad. But—"
He yanked the sword downward, dragging Igris forward off balance, and drove his fist into the knight's chest. Armor shattered like porcelain. Igris slammed into the ground with the force of a meteor, flames extinguished.
The crowd erupted in disbelief.
"Those are… his strongest generals!" someone shouted from the spectator stands.
"And he's tossing them around like—like toys!"
Still, the army did not falter. Jin-Woo's will bound them tighter than chains. If one fell, a hundred surged forward. If a dragon crashed, a legion of soldiers filled the gap. The shadows fought without fear, without hesitation, their only purpose to overwhelm the impossible man standing against them.
And through it all, Jin-Woo's eyes gleamed brighter.
So this is the wall I've been searching for… The strength beyond strength.
He clenched his fists. The shadows were not meant to win alone. They were meant to carve a path—to force Saitama to move, to block, to fight back. To make him engage.
And it was working.
For the first time, Saitama was exerting effort. His suit bore marks, his cape was tattered, his fists swung faster. His eyes sharpened.
Jin-Woo's smirk widened. He raised both hands, summoning even more power. The abyss surged again, darker than before, swallowing the ruined battlefield. The army's ranks swelled, denser, larger, fiercer. Giants rose where soldiers once stood, and beasts of unimaginable size clawed their way out of the dark.
Saitama paused, staring as the horde doubled, then tripled. His blank face tilted slightly.
"…This might take a while."
The crowd held its breath.
The shadows roared.
And then the clash began anew.
The arena became a blur of fists and claws, fire and shadow, destruction layered upon destruction. Every strike from Jin-Woo's army could have leveled a city. Every punch from Saitama could have cracked the earth. Yet here, confined within the indestructible barrier, the two titans let loose.
From above, the scene was chaos incarnate: a single bald hero in a yellow suit carving through an ocean of black, while a lone shadow monarch stood with fire in his eyes, summoning the abyss itself to meet him.
Neither side yielded. Neither slowed.
And as the dust swirled, as the shockwaves tore apart what remained of the arena floor, one truth became clear to all watching:
This was no longer just a battle.
This was the collision of worlds.