new chapta yes
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The journey through Z-City's desolate outskirts was a silent procession through a graveyard of past calamities. King led, a monolith of quiet purpose, his golden eyes—activated at a low, scanning frequency—picking out the heat signatures of burrowing creatures and the cold, hollow spaces of collapsed sewers that might conceal ambushes. Behind him, Bang and Bomb moved with the synchronized, fluid grace that spoke of a lifetime spent mastering the flow of combat, their sandaled feet making no sound on the fractured concrete. The air was thick with the ghosts of recent battles and the ever-present pressure of the Monster Association's distant, seething malevolence.
Bang watched the set of King's broad shoulders. There was none of the arrogant swagger he sometimes saw in younger, powerful heroes. Instead, King's posture was that of a seasoned general moving through hostile territory, every sense extended, every muscle coiled with efficient potential rather than boastful strength. The low, rhythmic thud… thud… thud of the King Engine was not a nervous tremor but the steady, intimidating beat of a war drum. He truly is a different man from the one who shared hotpot with us, Bang thought, a deep respect settling in his chest.
They arrived at the bizarrely intact apartment building, an island of mundane neglect in a sea of ruin. As they climbed the stairs, King's internal system, a constant companion in his vision, pinged a quiet notification.
[Passive Scan Complete: Area clear of immediate hostile presences. Residual energy signatures: High-output combustion (Genos), Dense psychic potential (Fubuki), and… Ambient Background Anomaly (Saitama). No active threats.]
King dismissed the notice. The "Ambient Background Anomaly" was the system's best attempt to quantify the unfathomable void of power that was Saitama when he was just… existing.
King knocked. The door was opened not by Saitama, but by Genos. The cyborg stood framed in the doorway, his body gleaming with new, reinforced armor plating. Subtle vents glowed with a hotter, bluer light, and the core in his chest hummed with a more potent frequency. Dr. Kuseno's upgrades were evident—he looked less like a hero and more like a walking siege engine.
"King. Bang. Bomb," Genos acknowledged, his synthetic voice precise. His optical sensors flickered over the dried, multi-colored gore staining King's clothes, performing a micro-second analysis. "You have been in combat."
Before King could respond, another voice, smooth and laced with controlled authority, came from inside.
"So, the legendary King himself arrives. And with such esteemed company."
Fubuki stepped into view, her green trench coat pristine, her expression a mask of calculated composure. Yet, her eyes, sharp and observant, betrayed a flicker of surprise at King's appearance and a deep wariness at the presence of the two martial arts masters. She had come seeking Saitama or Genos, a move to secure powerful, unconventional allies for the Blizzard Group in the chaos to come. Finding the S-Class's top-rated heroes on the same errand reshuffled her strategic calculus entirely.
"Fubuki," King rumbled in greeting, giving a slight nod. He stepped inside, his presence making the small apartment feel even more cramped. "I was not aware you would be here."
"My group has a vested interest in the outcome of the Association's operation," she replied smoothly, crossing her arms. "I came to… discuss coordination with Saitama and his disciple." Her gaze swept over King again, the evidence of his night-long battle a silent, powerful argument. "It seems I am not the only one thinking beyond the official chain of command."
"We are here for the same reason," Bang stated calmly, taking a seat by the small table. "Saitama's unique strengths would be a decisive variable."
"Where is Saitama?" King asked, turning to Genos.
"Sensei departed earlier for the supermarket. A limited-time sale on premium beef was announced," Genos reported, his tone utterly serious. "He stated he would return before any 'big monster fuss' began. I have calculated the likely duration of his shopping trip and subsequent travel. He should return within twenty-three minutes."
A profound silence filled the room. The fate of a kidnapped child, a war against a city of monsters, and the delicate strategy of the S-Class all hinged, in part, on a supermarket sale flyer. Bomb stroked his mustache, a faint, amused smile on his lips. Fubuki's eye twitched, her carefully maintained composure straining against the sheer absurdity.
King, however, simply absorbed the information. This was the Saitama Constant. It was not a variable to rage against, but a fundamental law of the universe to be accounted for, like gravity.
"Time is a resource we lack," King stated, his voice the deep, grounding note in the room. He looked at Genos. "The main assault force is mobilizing now. The official strategy is a frontal penetration. Your firepower and Saitama's… capability would be most effective as an independent force, disrupting their internal lines."
Genos's optics brightened. "A sound tactical assessment. Acting outside the rigid Hero Association structure would allow Sensei and me to respond to threats with maximum efficiency and minimal bureaucratic delay. I will await Sensei's return and convey the situation. We will follow."
King gave a single, firm nod. He trusted Genos's dedication completely. "We will proceed ahead. Your arrival could be usefull."
"To their hammer," Bang finished, standing up. The plan was set.
Fubuki watched the exchange, her mind racing. King was not asking, not ordering. He was coordinating with the disciple of the strongest being on the planet as an equal strategist. The casual authority was staggering. She saw her opportunity.
"I will accompany you," she announced. All eyes turned to her. "My psychic abilities are suited for area control and defense. In confined spaces, I can create barriers to isolate high-level threats or protect strategic positions." She met King's gaze, her pride tempered by pragmatism. "The official raid is a blunt instrument. Our smaller, elite unit can perform surgical strikes they cannot."
King's King's Eyes assessed her for a brief moment. He saw the swirling potential of her psychic energy, the fierce determination, and the strategic mind that led the Blizzard Group. She was powerful, disciplined, and her motive—to prove her group's worth and secure her standing—aligned with the mission's success. In the labyrinth, a versatile esper could be invaluable.
"Allright," king nodded. "Bang and Bomb lets go."
Fubuki's lips tightened at the directive, but she nodded. It was a sensible order, not a dismissal.
As they prepared to leave, King took one last look around Saitama's apartment—the cheap furniture, the discounted calendar, the empty cup noodles on the counter. A sanctuary of absolute normalcy that housed the ultimate weapon. He turned to Genos.
"Inform Saitama…" King paused, then found the perfect phrasing. "Inform him the 'big monster fuss' has started. The best seats are underground."
Genos bowed sharply. "Understood. We will see you on the battlefield."
The trek toward the foreboding entrance of the Monster Association's territory was a study in contrasts. Above them, the sky was a bruised purple twilight. Ahead, the earth itself seemed to yawn open into a jagged maw, exhaling a chill, foul-smelling wind. The sounds of distant combat—explosions, monstrous roars, the collapse of stone—had already begun to echo from other sectors where the Hero Association's vanguard had made contact.
King walked at the front, his internal HUD a busy, silent scroll of data.
King allowed the King Engine to emit a steady, pervasive thrum that vibrated through the ground. It was a blanket of dread for any monster that sensed it and, though he would never say it, a stabilizing rhythm for his allies.
Fubuki walked behind the martial artists, her senses extended. The sheer density of monstrous auras from the labyrinth below was like a psychic cacophony. It was overwhelming, terrifying. But ahead of her, the deep, resonant pulse of the King Engine acted as a breakwater against that tide of fear. It's not just sound, she realized, her analytical mind working. It's a tangible energy field. It's suppressing their morale and… strengthening my focus? She felt her own psychic energy respond, swirling with more disciplined cohesion under the unspoken authority of that rhythm.
Bang and Bomb flanked the path, their senses attuned not to energy signatures, but to the minute tremors in the earth, the shifts in the foul air currents, the ancient instinct for ambush.
"Brother," Bomb murmured, his eyes on a cluster of unnatural shadows near a collapsed archway. "They are watching. Like rats in a wall."
"Let them watch," Bang replied, his hands loose at his sides. "They see four invaders. They do not see the avalanche."
King heard them. His King's Eyes, glowing softly in the deepening gloom, had already identified seven distinct, bestial lifeforms hiding in the rubble—scouts and skirmishers, Tiger-level at best. They quivered, paralyzed by the conflicting impulses of hunger and the primal fear induced by his aura. They were not the mission.
Ahead, the main entrance loomed: a gaping tunnel reinforced with monstrous architecture, leading down into absolute darkness. The sounds of a larger battle—the distinct shink of a monofilament whip, agonized screams—echoed from a side canyon to their right.
Fubuki's head snapped toward the sound. "That's the sound of the weapon of Do-S. She's a Monster i fough once, i could recognize the sound of that whip anywhere. She must have engaged a forward team."
King didn't break stride toward the main entrance. "Our objective is the core for now."
"But the heroes she's fighting—" Fubuki began, her professional instinct clashing with his cold strategy.
"Are part of the frontal assault," Bang said, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "Their purpose is to draw out and occupy such forces. If we divert for every battle, we will never reach the heart. Our role is different."
Fubuki fell silent, understanding. They were the spear-tip, not the line. To stop and fight every enemy on the perimeter would blunt them before they struck anything vital.
As they reached the cavernous mouth of the tunnel, the darkness within seemed to swallow the twilight whole. The stench of rot, strange chemicals, and raw malice was overpowering. From the blackness, a chorus of guttural growls and clicking mandibles began to rise, a wave of hatred moving toward them.
King stopped. He turned to face the tunnel, his back to his companions. The King Engine's beat shifted, deepening, amplifying. THUD… THUD… THUD…
"Stay close," he instructed, his voice calm.
He didn't activate his Royal Acceleration or summon the King's Armor. Instead, he took a single, deliberate step into the threshold of darkness. He then drew a breath, and with a focused exertion of will, he pushed.
It wasn't the Seismic Clap. It was the raw, unrefined power of the King Engine and his Aura, concentrated by his will and expelled as a wave of pure, annihilating authority. The sound that erupted was not a clap of thunder, but the deafening, final roar of a lion claiming its domain.
" DOOM. "
The golden light that flared from him was brief but blinding. It illuminated the tunnel for a hundred meters, revealing a seething mass of grotesque, charging forms—a hybrid swarm of insectoid and bestial monsters.
The wave of force hit them.
It did not knock them down. It did not push them back.
Where the wave passed, the monsters simply… disintegrated. The leading ranks vaporized into clouds of ash and shimmering motes. Those behind them crumbled like ancient statues, their forms unraveling into base components before hitting the ground. The wave traveled down the tunnel, silencing the growls, extinguishing the glowing eyes, leaving behind a perfectly clean, sterile corridor of stone.
The light faded. Silence returned, deeper than before.
King stood, a faint wisp of golden steam rising from his shoulders. The notification chimed softly in his mind.
[Multiple Tiger/Wolf-level Threats Neutralized. BP Awarded: +8,450. Current BP: 288,700.]
He glanced back at his team. Bang and Bomb had settled into slight defensive stances, their auras flared instinctively against the outburst. Their expressions were of grim approval. Fubuki stood utterly still, her green eyes wide. She had felt the psychic component of that blast—it wasn't just force. It was a decree of un-being, a command that reality itself enforced. It was the power she had felt in him during the Jumping spider fight, magnified a hundredfold and focused into a weapon.
"An efficient clearance," Bomb noted, the first to speak.
King merely nodded. "The path is open." He looked into the now-quiet darkness, his golden eyes seeing the heat trails, the structural weaknesses, the descending spiral of the tunnel. "We move quickly.
--
The sterile corridor left in the wake of King's annihilating aura did not remain empty for long. As the quartet ventured deeper, the tunnel complex branched and twisted, a living ecosystem of malice carved from rock and reinforced with monstrous engineering. The initial, shocking silence gave way to the skittering, growling, and dripping sounds of a reclaimed habitat.
They moved as a unit of controlled violence. King was the unbreakable tip of the spear, his King's Eyes painting the world in golden-hued data—outlining ambushing creatures hiding behind fungal growths, highlighting structural load points, and tagging threat levels. A pack of blade-limbed, canine-like creatures lunged from a side vent. King didn't break stride. A single, sharp Seismic Clap, focused into the confined space, pulverized their front ranks into paste; the concussive aftershock stunned the rest, allowing Bang and Bomb to flow past King like water. Their movements were poetry of precise destruction—a finger-tap to a pressure point here, a sweeping palm-strike there—each motion resulting in a silent, crumbling collapse of a monster's internal structure.
Fubuki held the rear, her role evolving from a seeker of prestige to a vital linchpin. Her psychic power flared, not in massive, showy displays, but with surgical efficiency. When a hulking, rock-skinned brute charged Bomb's flank, a shimmering green barrier materialized at its feet, tripping it perfectly into the path of Bang's finishing elbow strike. When acidic spores rained from the ceiling, a canopy of telekinetically gathered rubble deflected them. She was learning their rhythm, and they, in turn, acknowledged her value with curt nods. The King Engine's steady thrum was the bassline to this symphony of ruin, a psychological weapon that made monsters hesitate for the fatal half-second and sharpened the focus of his allies.
After clearing a large chamber of its chittering, insectoid inhabitants, they faced a new challenge. The main tunnel ended in a rough-hewn archway that split into two identical, descending passages. Each exhaled the same foul, warm breath and echoed with distant, indistinguishable snarls.
The group halted. Bang stepped forward, peering down each path with senses honed by decades of experience. "The air currents are equally disturbed. Both are heavily trafficked."
"A classic divide-and-weaken tactic," Bomb grunted, cracking his knuckles. "The architecture is too symmetrical to be natural. This is a gauntlet."
Fubuki extended her psychic senses, wincing as they brushed against hundreds of violent minds in both directions. "The density of malevolent consciousness is equal. I cannot discern which path leads to the core. It's a fork designed to split forces."
King's mind raced, his Adaptive Combat Instincts and King's Eyes feeding him data. His system calculated probable endpoint convergence, threat cluster sizes, and optimal team distribution. The logical conclusion was clear: to maintain pressure and cover the most ground, they should split into two pairs.
"We divide," King rumbled, the decision made. "Fubuki, you are with me. Our abilities can cover range and close combat. Bang, Bomb, you take the other path. Your synergistic fighting is its own army."
It was a sound, tactical order. But it was immediately met with resistance.
"No."
Bang's voice was calm but absolute. He turned to face King, his old eyes serious. "That is not the optimal distribution, King."
King's gaze turned towards Bang, the gold in his eyes waiting for an explanation.
"Fubuki's psychic barriers are exceptional for defense," Bang said, gesturing to the esper. "But against the overwhelming, close-quarters brutality we are likely to face, they are a single layer. My brother and I… we are a complete system. We defend each other not with external force, but with impervious unity. Our Whirlwind Iron Cutting Fist and Water Stream Rock Smashing Fist form an aegis no monster has ever breached. She will be safer with us."
Bomb nodded, crossing his muscular arms. "My brother is right. You, King, possess overwhelming, singular power. You are a fortress and a cannon. You do not need a guardian. You need a clear field of fire. Taking a companion would force you to limit your scope, to worry about collateral damage. Alone, you can be… unrestrained."
Fubuki, though her pride bristled slightly at being discussed as an asset to be allocated, saw the ruthless logic. She had felt the edges of King's power. The focused King's Authority at the entrance, the casual obliteration of swarms. To fight beside that fully unleashed was to stand in the heart of a storm. With the martial arts masters, she was a force multiplier. With King, she risked becoming a liability.
"Their assessment is correct," Fubuki said, her voice firm despite the underlying unease. "My abilities are better suited to supporting their style. You operate on a different… scale, King."
King looked at them—the two old masters, resolute and united; the B-Class leader, pragmatic and brave. They had already formed a squad, and they were tactically sidelining him for the mission's greater good. A strange, cold feeling settled in his gut. It wasn't fear of monsters. It was the isolation of command. The weight of being the ultimate weapon meant you were often deployed alone.
"You are leaving the path to the core to chance," King stated, his voice a low vibration.
"We are trusting in our collective strength," Bang corrected, offering a small, respectful bow. "Your path is as likely to lead to the heart as ours. And if you find it first, you have the power to hold it until we arrive. If we find it, we have the skill to secure a foothold until you do."
There was no time for further debate. A fresh wave of clicking, scraping sounds echoed from both tunnels, growing closer. The decision, in practice, had been made for him.
"Allright," King sayd with a sigh. He turned towards the left-hand tunnel without another word.
Bang, Bomb, and Fubuki moved into the right. "Do not hold back on our account, King!" Bomb called out, a fierce grin in his voice.
Then, King was alone.
The silence that followed was profound. Not true silence—the drip of water, the grind of distant machinery, the skittering of life—but the absence of allied breath, of coordinated movement. The King Engine was the only sound.
He strode forward, the golden glow of his eyes cutting through the gloom. If division was necessary, he thought, the logical pairing was Fubuki with me. Her barriers could have created perfect kill zones for targeted, high-yield elimination. Now I must consider structural integrity with every major strike.
His nerves were not jangling from the darkness or the unknown. They were humming with strategic frustration. And with a deeper, more potent concern: the Executives.
Child Emperor's briefing flashed in his mind. Confirmed Dragon-level threats. Monsters like Fuhrer Ugly, Gums, Nyan, Overgrown Rover… Each name was a catastrophe. Meeting one alone, in these confines, without the option of a tactical retreat or a distracting ally, changed the equation entirely. A direct confrontation with a Dragon-level Executive would not be a grind; it would be a desperate, all-or-nothing struggle for survival, likely requiring the immediate expenditure of his entire BP reserve on an emergency upgrade.
He shook his head, physically dispelling the spiral of worst-case scenarios. His King's Eyes flickered, updating the constantly refreshing tactical map in his mind. He was not in a corridor of fear. He was in a corridor of opportunity.
The system made a passive scan that painted a beautiful, brutal picture. His HUD was alive with soft, pulsing markers.
[Threat Clusters Detected:]
200m Ahead:4 x Tiger-Level
Branch, 150m Right: 1 x Demon-Level
350m Deep, Large Chamber: Mixed swarm. 12+ Tiger, 3 x Potential Demon-Level.
A slow, deliberate smile touched King's lips, invisible in the dark. The nervous energy sublimated into pure focus. The strategic reserve of 288,700 BP was substantial, but the shop's high-tier upgrades or even his desired Ultimate Hellfire Burst Wave Motion Cannon. Here, in the enemy's belly, was the quarry needed to summit them.
"A perfect place to grind," he murmured to himself, the rumble of his voice mixing with the King Engine.
He adjusted his mental parameters. Royal Acceleration was set to a constant, low-level enhancement, making his walking pace a silent, golden blur. King's Armor shimmered just beneath the surface of his skin, ready to flare at nanosecond notice. He felt like he was navigating a dungeon ready to grind for loot.
The first cluster appeared just as scanned. Four insectoid drones, each the size of a car, mandibles clicking, armored in glossy black chitin. They charged in a disciplined wedge formation.
King did not stop moving forward. As the lead drone lunged, he simply raised his right hand, index finger extended.
PANG.
A Kinetic Blast, no wider than a coin, lanced out. It punched through the first drone's head, exited, and drilled through the core of the second behind it. Two collapsing heaps of twitching chitin. The remaining two split, attempting to flank. King clapped his hands once, downwards.
KA-RUMP.
A vertical Seismic Clap shockwave smashed them into the floor, splattering them into their component parts against the stone.
[+4,800 BP. Total: 293,500.]
King continued walking, the notification a sweet chime in his mind.
Then he found the entrance to the large chamber—a cavernous space that might have been a natural geothermal vent, now filled with pulsating organic nests and scurrying hybrids. It was a monster hatchery. The second his silhouette filled the entrance, a dozen bestial eyes locked onto him. A gurgling roar rose as the swarm—a mix of flightless flyers, multi-limbed crawlers, and a hulging, spiked shell-beast at the rear a Demon-Level—surged toward him.
King finally halted. He planted his feet at the threshold, a single man blocking the tide. He took a breath, deep and controlled, feeling the King Engine power within him, the well of belief-made-manifest. This was not for a single, focused decree of annihilation. This was for sustained, overwhelming dominion.
He unleashed his King Aura as a wave.
The very air in the chamber grew heavy, thick with golden-tinged dread. The charge faltered. The roars turned to confused, fearful whimpers. The weaker Tiger-level monsters at the front simply dropped, eyes rolling back, hearts seizing under the psychic and physical pressure. They weren't killed by a blow; they were extinguished by the sheer, intolerable weight of his presence.
The stronger ones and the Shell-Beast Demon pushed through, but they were moving through syrup, their movements slow and strained.
King moved. Royal Acceleration turned him into a storm of deliberate violence. He didn't use fancy techniques. A palm-strike fueled by his Demon-level Physical Condition cratered a crocodile-headed monster's torso. A spinning back kick shattered the leg of a scorpion-thing. He grabbed a flying creature by the wing and used it as a bludgeon to crush two others. Each movement was economical, brutal, and fatal. He was culling, not just fighting.
The Shell-Beast Demon, enraged, lowered its head and charged like a living battering ram, its spike aimed at King's heart. King stood his ground until the last moment, then sidestepped with impossible grace. As it passed, he delivered a single, hammer-fist blow to the side of its colossal head.
CRACK-BOOM.
The shockwave reverberated through the chamber. The Monster's head snapped to the side, its neck breaking with a sound like a falling tree. Its momentum carried its body crashing into the wall, where it slumped, lifeless.
Silence fell again, deeper than before. The hatchery was a charnel house. King stood amidst the ruins, unblemished, steam rising from his glowing forearms where the King's Armor had briefly flared under impact.
The system chimes were a rapid, pleasing melody.
Swarm Neutralized. +22,400 BP
Demon-Level Threat Shell-Beast Defeated +31,000 BP
Total BP Awarded: +53,400.
[Total BP: 346,900.]
Three hundred and forty-two thousand. The number resonated in his soul. in minutes, deep in the enemy's heartland, he had added another fortune.
He took a final look at the carnage, his expression one of cold satisfaction. This was the path. Not the anxious hope of avoiding Executives, but the active, aggressive harvest of the power to face them.