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The knowledge of the Ultimate Hellfire Burst Wave Motion Cannon was a cold, dense weight in King's mind, a strategic ace buried deep within his aura. But strategy was worthless if his primary objective—the boy, Tareo—was vaporized by a stray shot from the gods fighting overhead. He had to move.
Royal Acceleration ignited, and he became a streak of gold across the hellscape, not running on the ground so much as using it as a series of launchpads. He bounded from the shuddering bedrock shelf, onto the collapsing façade of an upended support tower, then off a spinning chunk of psychic shrapnel the size of a bus. His King's Eyes processed the environment in a torrent of data: structural integrity percentages, thermal blooms from subterranean fires, the trajectories of falling debris.
Amidst the chaos, two clusters of signatures stood out. Far to the east, a dense knot of powerful, familiar auras pulsed—the S-Class, regrouping. The swirling signatures of multiple S-class heroes like Dark shine, Atomic Samurai, and a massively amplified Pig God were unmistakable. They were a spearhead, but they were distant.
Closer, and far more critical, was another signature. It wasn't a life force, but a sophisticated, dampened energy signature—a technological ghost against the backdrop of organic and psychic noise. It was camouflaged, emitting low-grade perception filter waves. A vehicle. A hidden rally point.
Above it all, Tatsumaki's psychic signature was a raging green supernova, but it was no longer just focused on her foe. Her power was warping the entire battlefield. King's Eyes saw the terrifying truth: she wasn't just fighting Psykos; she was telekinetically gripping the foundations of the entire upended monster lair and the shattered city beneath it. She was trying to squeeze the fusion monster, using the entire landscape as a weapon. The ground wasn't just trembling; it was being actively twisted, entire city blocks groaning as they were wrenched into new, impossible shapes to form psychic pressure points. The stability of any "safe zone" was measured in seconds.
He had to get Tareo to that vehicle. Now.
Blazing back across the battlefield, he found Tareo exactly where he'd left him, curled into a ball with his hands over his ears, the world disintegrating around him. King didn't speak. He simply scooped the boy up, securing him once more. "Hold on."
The return journey was a nightmare slalom. A skyscraper-sized tendril of Orochi's residual flesh, animated by the rampant psychic energy, erupted in their path. King didn't break stride. A Kinetic Blast from his free hand drilled a clean tunnel through its center, and he shot through the decaying mass before it could collapse. He landed near the source of the camouflaged signature—a seemingly ordinary mound of rubble and twisted rebar. But to his Eyes, it glowed with the outline of a sophisticated armored vehicle.
As he touched down, another presence made itself known. Not from the vehicle, but from above.
A shadow dropped from a crumbling overpass, landing with a heavy, metallic clang. It was a young man in a high-school uniform, a metal bat resting on his shoulder, his face a mask of furious determination and pain. Bandages were visible beneath his jacket, and he moved with the stiff aggression of someone running on pure adrenaline and fighting spirit. Metal Bat.
"King," Metal Bat grunted, his eyes scanning the apocalyptic scene with bloodshot intensity. "Hell of a party. Just slipped outta the hospital. Couldn't miss the main event." His gaze fell on Tareo, and a flicker of something softer—recognition, concern—passed over his hardened features before the battle-lust returned.
Before King could respond, the "rubble" in front of them hissed. Panels slid aside, and a holographic camouflage field dissipated, revealing a sleek, armored personnel carrier. The hatch opened, and figures emerged.
One was a hero dressed in a ridiculous pineapple-themed costume, looking utterly out of place and terrified. Another was a punk-rock styled hero, equally wide-eyed. Then came a man in a tattered HA officer's uniform, his left arm ending in a freshly bandaged stump—Sekingar, the mission commander. Clinging to his side was a clean, but pale and shaken, Waganma.
The moment Tareo's feet touched the ground, Waganma's eyes widened. "T-Tareo?!"
The two boys stared at each other—the rescued prize and the forgotten casualty—before Tareo gave a small, hesitant nod. The shared trauma in their eyes was a language unto itself.
Sekingar stepped forward, his face etched with exhaustion and pain, but his voice was firm with professional gratitude. "King. I saw your transmission. To retrieve the secondary hostage from this… this chaos… Your work exceeds all parameters." He gestured with his stump, a grimace of pain twisting his features. "The primary objective is secured, thanks to Child Emperor. You have completed the rescue."
Metal Bat spat to the side, his impatience palpable. "Rescue's over, then. Good. Means we can focus on the real work: smashing the rest of these monsters into paste." He hefted his bat, his fighting spirit visibly swelling. "You with me, King? Let's go find the head honcho and end this."
King was about to respond, his mind already analyzing the eastern cluster of S-Class signatures as the next logical point of engagement. But a small hand tugged at the fabric of his pants.
He looked down. Tareo was there, his face streaked with dirt and tears, but his eyes held a desperate, fierce courage. He looked from King to Metal Bat and back.
"Mister King," Tareo whispered, his voice almost lost in the distant roar of twisting earth. He then spoke louder, the words tumbling out. "Please… the uncle who saved me before… he's out there too. He's… he's not all bad. He protected me. Could you… if you see him… could you please help him? And please… please don't bully him."
The request hung in the toxic air. Metal Bat scowled, confused. "What uncle? Another civvy?"
But King understood. The vision from his King's Eyes in the deep ducts—the boy's concern cutting through his own fear. The name left unspoken. Garou. The Human Monster, the target of the entire Association, the reason Bang was here. And this child, who had seen the monster behind the monster, was begging for his life.
King knelt once more, bringing himself to Tareo's level. The action silenced Metal Bat and drew the stares of Sekingar and the others. He placed a heavy, armored hand on Tareo's small shoulder.
"I heard you," King rumbled, his voice devoid of its battlefield thunder, leaving only a grave, honest baritone. "I know who you mean. I make no promises of outcome. His path is his own, and it is paved with violence. But if the chance comes… if he lets himself be helped… I will see what can be done."
It was not a hero's vow to save everyone. It was a king's pledge to consider mercy, even for a foe. It was all he could, in good conscience, give.
Tareo searched his face, then nodded, a mixture of relief and fresh worry in his eyes. It was enough.
King stood, the moment of humanity passing as the war reasserted its claim. He turned to Metal Bat, whose fighting spirit was now buzzing audibly in the air. "The eastern sector. The others are there. That is where the battle converges."
A savage grin split Metal Bat's face. "Then what're we waitin' for? Let's go crack some skulls!"
King gave one last look at Sekingar, a silent transfer of responsibility for the two boys. The commander nodded sharply. With that, King and Metal Bat turned from the fragile island of safety.
One, a legend solidified into a force of nature, his internal system quietly tracking 305,000 BP and a weapon of last resort sleeping in his soul.
The other, a wounded teenager powered by an indomitable and growing spirit, his bat ready to meet any challenge.
Together, they launched themselves into the heart of the twisting, screaming ruins, leaving the rescued behind to face the converging storm.
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The ruined landscape between the hidden vehicle and the S-Class rally point was no longer just a wasteland; it had become a gauntlet. The violent upheaval of the lair and Tatsumaki's tectonic fury had flushed out every surviving horror from its depths. They weren't organized ranks, but a panicked, vengeful stampede of demons and beasts, all surging in a chaotic wave away from the epicenter of psychic destruction.
King and Metal Bat carved a road through them.
King's method was one of absolute, terrifying economy. He didn't use Seismic Clap or Kinetic Blast. Against this density of targets, such techniques were inefficient. He simply used his Dragon-Level Physique and Royal Acceleration in its purest form.
A horned, quadrupedal Demon-level monster the size of a tank charged, its maw dripping acid. King didn't dodge. He met it, his movement a golden flicker. His fist, moving faster than the sound of its roar, impacted its skull. There was no dramatic crunch, just a profound THUMP, and the monster's entire front half vanished into a conical spray of vaporized flesh and bone, the shockwave blowing the remaining hindquarters backwards into two scrambling lizard-demons, crushing them.
A flock of winged horrors dove from a crumbling spire. King looked up. The King Engine pulsed once, a focused, concussive beat of aura. The creatures simply froze in mid-air, their nervous systems shattered by the directed pressure, and fell like stones.
Metal Bat fought beside him, a symphony of violent enthusiasm. Where King was a silent force of nature, Metal Bat was a roaring engine of defiance. "OUTTA THE WAY!" he'd bellow, his bat singing through the air. A swing that started sluggish, blocked by a demon's claw, would gain impossible speed and power from his sheer fighting spirit, ending with the monster's torso imploding. "THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKIN' ABOUT!" He grunted, taking a glancing blow that should have broken his ribs, only for his aura to flare, his next strike returning tenfold the damage.
He watched King dispatch a hulking, crystalline demon with a single, precise fingertip Kinetic Blast that turned its core to dust. A grin, fierce and genuine, split Metal Bat's bruised face.
"Y'know," he shouted over the din, caving in the head of a scorpion-thing, "I heard all the stories! The King Engine, the unbeatable record! But seein' it…" He dodged a spray of venom, his bat whirling to shatter the attacker's fangs. "You don't mess around! No flash, no trash talk. Just… boom. Paste." He let out a short, barking laugh. "Doesn't disappoint!"
King gave a slight, acknowledging grunt, his King's Eyes already scanning the next cluster. His mind was a detached combat computer. Target density high. Optimal path: straight line. Minimal energy expenditure. Maximum lethality. He moved, and monsters ceased to be.
The system chimes were a rapid, almost musical cascade in his mind, the BP counter climbing with ruthless speed.
[Demon-Level Threat Neutralized: +32,000.]
[Tiger-Level Swarm Neutralized: +12,000.]
[Demon-Level Threat Neutralized: +28,000.]
The numbers blurred into a rising tide of potential.
As they neared the periphery of the main S-Class zone, the demonic tide began to thin, replaced by a new, far more oppressive pressure. King's Eyes, stretched to their limit, detected them. Not the chaotic blobs of fleeing monsters, but distinct, towering furnaces of malicious energy, each unique and devastating. They were arriving, drawn to the last stand of the heroes. Dragon-levels the Monster Association Executives, each one chaotic and strong.
[Alert: Multiple Dragon-Level Signatures Detected. Engagement Imminent.]
Metal Bat sensed it too, his fighting spirit spiking, his knuckles white on his bat. "Heh… the big shots are comin' to the party." He shot a look at King, his eyes blazing. "This is where it gets fun. But we're a big target together. Gotta spread 'em out, keep 'em from ganging up. I'm gonna go draw some fire, see if I can't crack a ugly mug or two before the main event."
It was sound tactics. Divide the enemy's attention. King nodded. "Do not overcommit. These are not Demon-levels."
Metal Bat's grin was all teeth. "The more they hit me, the stronger I get! See you in the winner's circle, King!"
With a roar, he launched himself on a tangential path, his bat held high, deliberately flaring his spirit like a beacon to any monster looking for a fight. King watched him go, a lone, defiant spark hurling himself at the gathering hurricane.
Then, King was alone.
The sounds of distant, colossal battle began—the wet, digestive roars, the sizzle of acid, the shriek of tearing metal. The S-Class had engaged. The final phase was here.
He stood on a high ledge of twisted rebar and concrete, overlooking the new, hellish valley that had been born today. The King Engine was a steady, deep drumroll in the silence of his immediate vicinity. He now had 595,000 BP. He had the Ultimate Hellfire Burst Wave Motion Cannon, a single, cataclysmic trump card.
But facing multiple Dragons, a trump card you could only play once was a gamble. He needed not just a finishing move, but a transformed state. A way to elevate his entire being to the level of the fight.
He closed his eyes and entered the Legend Shop. He scrolled past the now-affordable upgrades, past the variations of his existing powers, directly to the section that had always glowed with a prohibitive, awe-inspiring light. There, at the very peak of personal augmentation, was the ability he had gazed at since he first understood the shop's scope.
[Super Sparking King Mode]
Cost: 500,000 BP.
Description: Unleashes the latent, multiplicative potential of the King Engine. Temporarily supercharges the user's Aura, igniting it into a visible, Sparking Royal Energy. All physical parameters (strength, speed, durability, perception), as well as aura-based abilities, are multiplied by a base factor. Multiplier scales directly with the user's King Aura Level (Current Level 5 Multiplier: x5). Duration and recoil strain are dependent on user's physical constitution.
Five hundred thousand. It would leave him with a mere 95,000 BP—a pittance, all his grinding rendered down to this one, glorious, terrifying investment. The Ultimate Hellfire Burst Wave Motion Cannon was a directed explosion. This… this was becoming the explosion.
He looked inward, at the converging Dragon auras. He thought of the promise he'd made to Tareo, a promise that required him to be standing at the end. He thought of the heroes fighting now, and of Saitama, who was out there somewhere solving problems in his own incomprehensible way. To be relevant in this climax, to have the right not just to witness it but to shape it, he needed to operate on their scale. Not just in single bursts, but sustained.
The cost was everything. The reward was the power to face anything.
There was no more deliberation.
Confirm purchase: Super Sparking King Mode for 500,000 BP? [Y/N]
In the quiet of his mind, amidst the distant thunder of Dragon-level combat, King gave his final answer.
Yes.
[BP: -500,000. Remaining: 95,000.]
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, he felt it.
It began at the core of his being, deep within the mechanism of the King Engine itself. The steady thud-thud-thud didn't grow louder; it changed pitch, becoming a faster, sharper, somehow brighter rhythm, like a diesel engine hitting nitrous. A warmth, not unpleasant but intensely powerful, ignited in his chest and began to spread.
He opened his eyes.
Golden light, not the steady glow of his King armor, but a crackling, sparking corona of raw royal energy, erupted from his body. It wasn't an aura he projected; it was his very life force, his legend, set ablaze and supercharged. Tiny, lightning-like motes of gold spat and hissed around him, vaporizing dust and small debris in a crackling nimbus.
He felt it. The Dragon-Level Physique was no longer just strong. It felt limitless, a coiled supernova. The world through his King's Eyes didn't just sharpen; it slowed, as if time itself deferred to his heightened perception. He knew, without testing, that Royal Acceleration would now be less a speed and more an instantaneous translation. The density of his King's Armor would be unimaginable.
He flexed a hand. The air around his fist warped, compressed by the sheer passive energy radiating from him. A x5 multiplier to everything. Not a technique to activate, but a state of being to inhabit. It was the final piece. The Cannon was his sword. The Sparking Mode was the god-like arm to wield it.
The distant battle roars grew more intense. A building-sized glob of acid arced through the sky. A shockwave from a colossal impact rippled through the ground.
The Sparking golden corona around King stabilized, humming with contained, multiplicative power. He had spent almost everything. He had bought the right to step onto the same stage as the monsters threatening to end the world.
He looked toward the heart of the chaos, where heroes and Dragons clashed. The King Engine, now a rapid, sparking staccato beat against his ribs, was no longer just a sound of power.
It was the ignition sequence.
King stepped off the ledge, not falling, but descending like a thunderbolt clad in crackling gold, heading straight for the eye of the storm.
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The King VS The Monster Association Executives soon...