A/N: Alright, no Baki story for now. I'm just going to focus on this story for the time being.
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The tension in the Hero Association's highest council chamber was a physical thing, thick enough to taste. Around the immense, crescent-shaped table, the assembled S-Class heroes were a gallery of clashing ideologies, barely held in check by the gravity of the crisis.
Amai Mask, standing at the head like a sculpted general, was holding court. "Sentimentality is a luxury we cannot afford! A direct, overwhelming assault on the known entry point is the only language monsters understand. We form a spearhead, with myself coordinating the vanguard for maximum public impact and efficiency."
Tatsumaki, floating above her chair with an aura of green psychic energy, scoffed audibly. "A spearhead? Led by you? Don't make me laugh. The only plan needed is for the rest of you to stay out of my way. I'll rip their lair out of the ground and shake them loose."
Atomic Samurai, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, cut in. "A blunt tool is easily dodged. We need precision. My disciples and I will clear the path. Your psychic waves, Tatsumaki, could bring the entire tunnel complex down on the hostage."
Child Emperor, surrounded by holographic schematics of the known underground topography, pushed his glasses up. "The geological data is incomplete. A reckless assault risks a total collapse. We need scout data, psychological profiles of the key Monster Association executives and a clear rescue priority for Waganma."
Pig God paused mid-bite into a sub sandwich. "Mmmph. I'll eat whatever's in the way."
Zombieman, smoking in the corner, let out a slow stream of smoke. "None of you are talking about the real problem. It's not the tunnels. It's what's in them. We have confirmed multiple Dragon-level threats. Who fights whom? If two of them come at once, this 'spearhead' turns into a coffin."
Flashy Flash remained silent, a statue of perfect, disdainful stillness, clearly finding the entire debate beneath him. Dark Shine, polishing his bicep, nodded along with Amai Mask's talk of a frontal assault, liking the simplicity. Puri-Puri Prisoner sighed dreamily, already envisioning a dramatic rescue of the "poor, delicate boy."
The debate was a cacophony of supreme power with no conductor—a recipe for catastrophic, friendly-fire disaster.
It was at this peak of discord that the great doors swung open. The Association executive at the entrance, his voice cutting through the argument, announced, "S-Class, Rank 7: King has arrived."
The room fell silent. All heads turned.
King entered not as a debater, but as a testament. He was a mountain of a man painted in the visceral evidence of a different, more honest kind of meeting. His clothes were a grim tapestry: the right sleeve and chest were stiff with the dark, dried violet blood of the Screaming Mandrill. The left leg of his pants was speckled with burns and the acidic green ichor of the Venomous Doom-Scale. Smears of amber Giga-Roach viscera clung to his collar and the backs of his scarred hands. The scent that entered with him was not of cologne or polish, but of ozone, corrosive poison, and alien death.
He was the battlefield, walked into the war room.
Amai Mask, his flawless presentation suddenly seeming absurdly fragile in the face of such raw evidence, was the first to recover. He swept forward, his initial arrogance morphing into theatrical concern that couldn't mask his shock. "King! You look... You're just in time to hear the finalized strategy. I was just explaining the command structure for the frontal—"
He reached out instinctively, as if to adjust King's stained collar, then his hand jerked back as if burned. Up close, the reality was undeniable. This wasn't for show. This was layers of gore from monsters.
Before King could offer a word, the two Association agents who had escorted him, their faces still etched with awe, stepped into the doorway. The lead agent spoke, his voice ringing with defensive pride for the legend he now served.
"Respectfully, Amai Mask-sir," he began, bowing deeply to King before continuing. "King-sama did not delay. We were ordered to await his return at his residence. He arrived at dawn, coming directly from the Z-City quarantine zone border."
He gestured to King's state, his voice dropping to a reverent hush that carried in the silent chamber. "He had been engaged in sustained, unilateral combat against multiple, simultaneous high-yield monster incursions throughout the entirety of the night. After neutralizing the threats, his only priority was a brief period of personal recuperation to restore his stamina before honoring this summons. We met him at his doorstep like this."
The silence that followed was profound. The petty strategizing over formations and public image evaporated.
Puri-Puri Prisoner let out a shuddering sigh. "So brave... fighting all alone in the darkness, for love!"
Child Emperor adjusted his glasses, his analytical mind switching from terrain maps to forensic analysis. "The spatter patterns indicate close-quarters combat against large, biological targets. The fabric degradation suggests exposure to potent toxins and high-impact blunt force. The engagement parameters were extreme."
Zombieman took a long drag, his cynical eyes glinting. "Looks like you had a more productive night than this whole committee."
Atomic Samurai gave a single, sharp, respectful nod—a swordsman acknowledging a warrior who had already crossed blades with the enemy.
The most significant reaction came from the top. Tatsumaki, who had been radiating impatience, let her eyes—usually full of bored contempt—track over the battlefield that was King's person. Her tiny, imperious smirk returned, but this time it held a grain of something else. Acknowledgment.
"Hmph," she sniffed, floating an inch higher. "Not bad." She turned her glare on Amai Mask, whose face was tightening with suppressed fury. "At least someone here isn't just talking about fighting."
The dynamic in the room had irrevocably shifted. Amai Mask's posturing about command crumbled before the evidence of a commander who had already been in the field. King had not argued for his place at the table; he had earned it in blood and chitin, and walked in wearing the proof.
King finally spoke. He didn't address Amai Mask. He didn't justify himself. His voice was the same low, tectonic rumble, but in the new silence, it carried the weight of experience.
"The night was active," he stated, his golden eyes sweeping the room. "The enemy is not waiting.
Amai Mask stood frozen for a moment longer, his flawless face a mask over a storm of thwarted ambition and dawning, unwilling respect. The evidence on King's person was irrefutable. While they had debated spearheads and public perception in this sterile room, the "recluse" had been waging a private war in the hellish borderlands. The moral high ground Amai Mask had been trying to claim had just evaporated beneath a layer of dried demonic gore.
He let out a long, controlled exhale, the sound theatrical but carrying a newfound weight. "Well," he began, his voice smoother now, the sharp edge of command blunted into something closer to rueful acknowledgment. "It seems there are, in fact, S-Class heroes who take their duties seriously enough to dispense with the pre-meeting theatrics."
His gaze swept the room, lingering on Tatsumaki's smirk and Atomic Samurai's approving nod, before settling back on King. The ambition wasn't gone from his eyes, but it was now tempered by a cold, strategic reassessment. Arguing with a legend over conference room tactics was foolish. Arguing with a legend who had just single-handedly culled a pack of high-level monsters was suicidal—for his credibility, if not his person.
"To continue squabbling amongst ourselves," Amai Mask declared, drawing himself up, "in the presence of such… tangible commitment, would be the height of folly. Very well." He gave a short, sharp bow in King's direction, a concession as dramatic as his earlier posturing. "The floor is yours, King. I shall reserve my strength for the strike itself.
With that, he turned on his heel and strode from the chamber, not in defeat, but in a tactical retreat. He had removed himself from a losing battle of words to preserve his role in the coming battle of strength. The door sighed shut behind him, leaving the core S-Class to their grim work.
The focus in the room tightened. With Amai Mask's performative dissent removed, the real obstacles became clear.
It was Child Emperor who broke the new silence. The young genius approached King's end of the table, his small frame dwarfed by King, but his presence no less serious. The holographic schematics of the subterranean labyrinth still glimmered in his pupils.
"King," he said, his voice earnest, cutting through the residual awe. "Your capability is… clearly beyond our previous estimates." He gestured at the bloodstains. "But what we face underground is different. It's not an open battlefield. It's a hive.
He summoned a smaller hologram, showing the last known signal ping from Drive Knight before it had vanished. "Drive Knight went in alone to scout. We've lost all contact. That was six hours ago. If an adaptive combat unit of his caliber can be neutralized or isolated, it underscores the peril."
Child Emperor looked up, his expression grave. "Even for you, venturing in alone would be an unacceptable risk. Not just to yourself, but to the mission. If you're captured or led into a trap, it would devastate morale and deprive us of our single most powerful concentrated asset."
He paused, letting the strategic truth hang in the air. It wasn't a challenge to King's power; it was an appeal to his reason. "We need to move as a coordinated unit. We need your strength at the forefront, yes, but as part of a system. To break their lines, to hold the Dragon-level monsters at bay while the rescue is effected. Will you join the strike force?"
All eyes were on King. Tatsumaki watched, her impatience now colored with curiosity. Atomic Samurai waited, his hand still on his sword.
King did not look at the holograms. He did not offer a lengthy rebuttal or a boast. He turned his head slowly, his golden eyes meeting Child Emperor's. The low, steady thrum of the King Engine filled the space of his silence, a sound of considered power.
After a moment that stretched into eternity for the watching heroes, King gave a single, slow, deliberate nod.
It was not the enthusiastic agreement of a subordinate. It was the nod of a man who understood that even the sharpest sword needed a steady hand to guide its thrust into the heart of darkness.
Child Emperor did not ask for confirmation. He did not smile. He simply returned the nod, a profound relief flashing in his eyes. That was all the agreement he needed—all any of them needed.
"Good," Child Emperor said, the word heavy with finality. He turned back to the main hologram, his small hands moving with renewed purpose. "Then let's finalize the approach vectors. King will come along. Our objective is not to lear the labyrinth, but to punch a direct, irreversible corridor to their central chamber…"
The planning resumed, but the air had changed. The discord was gone, replaced by a focused, grim energy.
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The strategic murmur of the S-Class heroes faded behind King as he stepped into the sterile, quiet hallway. The excuse of needing the bathroom was a flimsy but universally accepted escape hatch, a moment of solitude to process the weight now settled on his shoulders. He moved with purpose, but the Hero Association's headquarters was a labyrinth of identical, opulent corridors. His internal focus—already mapping subterranean assault routes and Dragon-level threat responses—meant his external navigation suffered. A wrong turn, then another, and he found himself not near any restroom, but in a secluded, plant-filled atrium.
Two familiar figures were there, a picture of contrasting serenity amidst the impending storm. Silver Fang, Bang, and his brother, Bomb.
They paused as King's immense frame filled the doorway. Bang's keen eyes, which missed little, took in King's still-bloodied clothes and the focused, distant look in his golden eyes.
"King," Bang said. "You seem… driven."
King halted, the King Engine giving a soft, almost embarrassed thump. "I was… seeking facilities. I must return promptly. The others are waiting to depart."
"Depart?" Bomb inquired, his voice a calm rumble. "The assault is imminent, then."
King stiffened. Child Emperor's warning about classified information echoed in his mind. He was terrible at deception. "The operational details… are compartmentalized. For security."
Bang studied him, not with suspicion, but with the wisdom of an old master reading a student's tension. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a gentle, yet insistent tone. "King. We have fought side-by-side. We have shared a meal in your friend's home. The Monster Association holds a child. They have declared war on all we protect. My brother and I will be a part of this, whether officially or otherwise. If we are to fight in the same darkness, should we not at least know the shape of the tunnel?"
The logic was unassailable. King was a strategist at heart, and Bang's argument appealed directly to that. Holding information from allies who would be on the same battlefield was inefficient, even dangerous. The King Engine hummed softly as he weighed protocol against pragmatism. Pragmatism, as it often did when facing Saitama or Bang's simple wisdom, won.
"A direct assault," King rumbled, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the walls themselves might be Psykos's ears. "Primary breach team. We descend at the known entry point in the ruined districts. The objective is a frontal penetration to the central chamber."
Bang and Bomb exchanged a look. It was the brute-force approach they had feared, but hearing it confirmed, and knowing King would be at its tip, made it feel less like folly and more like a focused avalanche.
"A perilous path," Bang nodded. "One that will draw their fiercest defenders. It is where the strongest must be." He paused, a new thought occurring to him. "Saitama. And his disciple, Genos. Will they be joining this official strike force?"
King shook his head. "They are not… convened."
A slow smile touched Bang's lips. It was the smile of a man who had seen Saitama's casual power and understood its world-altering value. "A oversight that should be corrected. An irregular, independent force, operating outside the official chain of command… can be a powerful wild card. They can respond to threats the main force cannot, or strike where the enemy least expects."
He was speaking King's own thoughts. Saitama was the ultimate insurance policy. Genos, for all his damage, was a powerful, loyal asset. And bringing them… it felt right. It felt like having his own flank secured by the only force in the universe he trusted completely to hold it.
"Garou will be there," Bang added, his smile fading into grim certainty. "His path leads into that darkness. I feel it. Having Saitama present may be the only thing that can… resolve that situation without catastrophic loss."
That settled it. "I will retrieve them," King stated, the decision solidifying into a mission. "Before the main force descends."
"We will accompany you," Bang said, not asking. "Three visitors are less conspicuous than one knocking on a door. And it will save time."
With a final, shared nod, King turned and retraced his steps, this time with purpose. When he returned to the main deployment hangar, the scale of the operation hit him. It wasn't just the S-Class anymore. The vast space buzzed with heroes of every rank. Various A-Class heroes were checking gear. B-Class teams were receiving final briefings. The air was thick with tension, bravado, and fear. He saw other heroes, face set with determination, ready to do their part however they could. It was the entire might of the Hero Association, marshaled for a single, desperate plunge into the abyss.
Catching Child Emperor's eye across the hangar, King gave a brief, decisive nod, signaling his readiness. As the official mobilization orders began to ring out, creating a controlled tumult, King, Bang, and Bomb melted away from the gathering throng, a silent trio slipping into a service elevator while the army prepared to march.
Alone in the descending elevator, King's mind finally turned inward. The immediate social and tactical hurdles were cleared. Now came the final, personal preparation.
He summoned the [LEGEND SHOP]. The blue interface overlapped with the elevator's brushed steel doors.
[Total BP: 280,250]
The number was staggering. It represented weeks of grinding, days of public heroism, and the obliteration of multiple Demon-level threats. It was a king's treasury.
And there, at the top of his wish list, was the crown jewel:
[Ultimate Hellfire Burst Wave Motion Cannon]
The pinnacle of destructive energy projection. Channels and magnifies the user's King Aura into a beam of incalculable thermal and concussive force. Cost: 250,000 BP.
A quarter of a million points. It would consume almost everything he had. The power was undeniable. A single, fight-ending blast that could, in theory, match or surpass the output needed to vaporize an Elder Centipede. It was the ultimate trump card, the final argument.
But was it the right purchase?
His High Combat Instincts ran simulations. The tight, enclosed spaces of the Monster Association lair. The potential for hostages, for collateral damage to the very structure holding the city up. A weapon of that magnitude in a confined space was not just overkill; it was suicide. It was a Dragon-slaying tool, useless against a horde of low-level monsters in a tunnel, or worse, a liability if he needed to use it near an ally.
Furthermore, spending 250,000 BP would leave him with a mere 30,250. Pennies, in the coming economy of a war against multiple Demon or Dragon-level monsters. What if he needed an emergency upgrade mid-fight? What if he faced another "Blank Sheet" entity that required a different kind of power?
The Ultimate Hellfire Burst Wave Motion Cannon was a symbol. A finish line. But he was not at the finish line. He was at the most dangerous starting gate of his life.
Wisdom, he thought, the word resonating like the deep note of his King Engine. Not just power, but the right power. Applied correctly.
With a resolve that felt more significant than any purchase he'd yet made, King closed the shop interface. The points would remain. A strategic reserve. An unspent potential more powerful in its flexibility than any single, costly blast.
The elevator doors opened to an underground garage. The path to Saitama's apartment was clear. He had his demonic strength, his speed, his armor, his eyes, his authority. He had his allies, old and new. And he had a friend who was, himself, the ultimate expression of overwhelming force.
The preparations were complete. Now, it was time to go get his friends, and descend into hell.
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Hope y'all liked the chapter. Monster Association assault is gonna happen soon, so stay tuned for some serious grinding focused chapters.