The spectral image of Aethel, the First Hero, hovered in the crystalline sanctum, his golden form shimmering with the light of a thousand forgotten dawns. He was the embodiment of legend, the repository of ancient wisdom, the last bastion of hope against a world-devouring evil. And he was currently being subjected to a line of questioning that was, to put it mildly, outside his millennia of experience.
"So, no punching, then?" Saitama asked, a distinct note of disappointment in his voice. "This 'True Enemy' guy… his whole deal is just being sneaky and making people sad?"
**
"Right. So, a feelings-fight," Saitama concluded. He sighed, a sound that seemed to momentarily dim the ambient golden light of the sanctum. "Boring." He looked down at the heavy book in his hands – the key to the world's salvation. "So, I just give this book to the princess, she reads all the boring parts, figures out a plan, and then… that's it? I don't get to punch anyone?"
Aethel's spirit seemed to hesitate. It looked at Saitama, at the being of impossible power and even more impossible simplicity. It had sensed his arrival, recognized the purity of his heroic spirit, a spirit even greater than its own. And now, it was beginning to understand the profound, almost tragic, nature of that spirit.
**
"So… I do get to punch him?" Saitama asked, his interest perking up again.
**
"Okay!" Saitama beamed. "Cool! I can do that. That's way better than a feelings-fight." He closed the heavy book with a decisive thump. "Alright, I'll give this to Iris, she'll do the boring reading part, and then you guys just call me when it's time for the punching part. Sounds like a good plan."
His simple, direct approach to world-saving strategy seemed to both baffle and, in a strange way, reassure the ancient hero's spirit. Aethel just nodded slowly. **
With a final, shimmering nod, the golden form of Aethel the First Hero faded, leaving Saitama alone once more in the silent, crystalline chamber. He tucked the salvation of the world under his arm like a newspaper and started heading back up the ethereal staircase.
The battle on the plateau was a chaotic, swirling melee. The three factions were locked in a desperate struggle, their objectives a tangled mess of conflicting priorities. The Royal Knights fought to defend the gateway and the princesses. The Benefactor's agents fought to seize the gateway for their own mysterious ends. And Shadow Garden fought to eliminate the Benefactor's agents and control the narrative, all while trying to appear as enigmatic and cool as possible.
Iris was a whirlwind of righteous fury, Anathema a golden arc of light, holding her own against two of the black-clad operatives. Lyraelle moved like a silver phantom, her celestial magic creating barriers of light and lances of pure energy that kept the enemy at bay. Kristoph and his knights were a wall of steel, their disciplined formations a stark contrast to the fluid, deadly grace of their shadowy opponents.
Alpha, her face a mask of cold concentration, was locked in a duel with the operative commander. Their blades were a blur, a high-speed conversation of parries and thrusts, a battle of two masters of their respective schools of combat.
It was into this chaos that Saitama emerged, walking up the last few steps of the ethereal staircase as if returning from a quick trip to the corner store. He was holding the ancient tome of heroes under one arm.
"Hey, guys," he announced, his voice cutting through the clang of steel and the hiss of energy weapons. "I got the book. You can stop fighting now."
Everyone froze. Mid-swing, mid-parry, mid-casting. All eyes turned to him. They saw the book under his arm, and they saw his other hand, which was currently clenched into a fist.
The operative commander was the first to react. His mission was to secure the legacy. The bald man now held the legacy. "The artifact!" he yelled to his troops. "Seize it from him!"
The Benefactor's agents, abandoning their fights with the knights and Shadow Garden, turned as one and charged at Saitama.
Alpha, seeing this, reacted instantly. "Protect the anomaly!" she commanded her Shadows. "Do not let the puppets claim the prize!" She disengaged from the commander and moved to intercept them, not to help Saitama, but to deny her enemies their objective.
The Royal Knights, seeing both hostile factions now charging at their "ally," also moved to intercept, and the entire chaotic battle re-converged, with Saitama and his book at the dead center.
Saitama just watched the converging mess of black-clad operatives and black-clad ninja-girls come hurtling towards him. He sighed. "Oh, come on. I just said you could stop fighting."
He was getting really, really tired of all this unnecessary drama.
He didn't punch. He didn't move. He just… let out a breath. A single, short, sharp, exasperated puff of air. The kind of sound one makes when they've been waiting in a really long line and another register fails to open.
FWOOOOOOOOOSH.
A solid, invisible, perfectly spherical wave of pure kinetic force erupted from him in all directions. It was not a destructive blast. It was a… push. A very, very firm one.
Everyone on the plateau – Royal Knights, Benefactor's agents, Shadow Garden operatives, Princess Iris, Lyraelle, even the unconscious Sir Kaelan who had been left near the entrance – was simultaneously lifted off their feet and sent flying outwards, away from the center of the plateau. They didn't tumble or get thrown violently; they just… sailed, as if caught in a sudden, impossibly powerful, yet strangely gentle, gale-force wind.
They all landed in surprisingly soft snowdrifts at the far edges of the plateau, dazed, disoriented, their weapons scattered, their formations shattered, but, for the most part, completely unharmed.
The plateau was suddenly, completely, empty, save for Saitama standing in the center, the book still tucked under his arm.
"There," he said to the profound, windswept silence. "Everyone take a time-out. And think about what you've done."
He then looked down at the ethereal staircase, which was now beginning to fade, its purpose served. He looked at the book. His job here was done. He'd gotten the quest item. Now he just had to deliver it to the main player.
He turned to Iris, who was picking herself up from a snowdrift, looking utterly bewildered. "Here," he said, and with a casual toss, he threw the ancient, world-saving tome of the First Hero across the plateau. It sailed through the air in a perfect, gentle arc and landed neatly in Iris's outstretched hands.
"You're the hero-princess, right?" Saitama said. "This is your book. You do the reading part. Just call me for the punching part."
He then looked around at the chaos he had so neatly, and so confusingly, resolved. He saw the various factions starting to stir, likely preparing to resume their pointless, complicated squabbles. He sighed. He was done with this. He was done with mountains, and magic, and sneaky guys in matching outfits.
He just wanted to go home. To his suite. To his noodles. To his comfy bed.
So he left.
With another small, almost apologetic, crouch, he leaped. A single, powerful bound that carried him up, up, and away from the chaos of the Silent Peak, a yellow-and-white streak heading south, back towards the relative sanity of Midgar, leaving behind three warring factions, two bewildered princesses, one unconscious liaison, and the beginning of a whole new chapter of world-altering legend.
From a hidden, shadowed vantage point, a lone figure watched him go. Sid. He had observed the entire, ridiculous, beautiful mess from start to finish. He had seen the book, the spirit, the three-way battle, and the final, absurd "time-out."
He smiled. It hadn't gone according to anyone's plan. Not the King's, not the Cult's, not the Benefactor's, not even his own. And that… that was the most perfect outcome of all. The board was now a chaotic, unpredictable mess. And there was nothing an Eminence in Shadow loved more than a chaotic mess.
"The hero has delivered the macguffin," he murmured to himself, a new, exciting narrative already forming in his mind. "And the stage is now set for the shadows to find its true meaning." He turned and melted back into the darkness, his own quest, the real quest, just beginning.