"Master, the ones piloting the Apaches that destroyed Malibu Beach have all been marked," Saturday Sale's voice rang in Saitama's ear.
His vision locked onto the highlighted enemies.
Name: John J. Jeron
Category: Terrorist
Justice Value: -4
Name: Will
Category: Terrorist
Justice Value: -5
All negative values. These people had done plenty of killing and plundering. Saitama felt no sympathy. To kill in order to stop killing—that too was the way of justice.
"Who are you?!"
"Hands in the air, damn baldy!"
"One more step and we'll shoot!"
"Kill him!"
Under countless glares, Saitama strolled forward.
Ratatatatata—grenade launchers thumped, fire and explosions engulfed him.
But when the smoke cleared, the bald man stood untouched, holding a handful of crushed bullets.
"That's not a very friendly greeting. Guess I'll do this instead."
He flicked his hand. The bullet fragments shot out like shrapnel, cutting down swathes of terrorists in an instant.
"Monster! He's a monster!"
"Isn't that the guy on the New York Times cover… Stark Industries' spokesman?!"
"Run!!"
The once-arrogant militants scattered in terror.
"Hey. Stranger, you came back."
A cold voice cut the air.
The temperature spiked. The fleeing soldiers froze, eyes lighting with hope. Their organization's second-in-command—Cold-Blood Tag!
One of the Extremis soldiers, Tag's face burned with glowing cracks like molten rock. His hand glowed red as he gripped his blade.
The Desperate Virus. Genetically enhanced regeneration, flesh burning at 3000°C. Strong enough to cripple Iron Man in seconds.
Dr. Killian had warned him about Saitama. If possible, test the virus on men like him—or Captain America. Tag hadn't expected his prey to walk into his lap.
"Too bad. Soon, the world's powers will belong to us. Humanity will ascend to new heights. And you—don't you think it's too late to stop me?"
Flames licked his fists as Tag sneered.
Saitama scratched his head. "And that has… what to do with me?"
Tag's grin twitched. His blazing hand pressed against Saitama's chest.
The bald man's shirt smoked. But his skin… flawless. Not a mark.
What?! His skin's melting point was higher than 3000°C? Impossible!
"Lies! I'm superhuman now!"
Tag roared and slammed his fist into Saitama's chest. The blow could pierce a tank.
BOOM!
The sound was like striking a bronze gong. The backlash forced Tag stumbling back, his knuckles aching.
"Feels like an electric heater. Warm… kinda nice. You're hot," Saitama muttered casually.
Tag's face darkened.
"Go! Everyone, on him!"
Nearly a dozen Extremis soldiers charged. Faces split with molten cracks, their bodies radiating volcanic heat. Every stomp left scorched footprints as they swarmed Saitama.
Their blazing fists struck—
BOOOOM!
A wave of scorching air ripped outward. Terrorists screamed.
But the soldiers froze in horror.
Their crimson hands paled, cooling. The molten cracks faded. Their power… draining away.
[Talent Absorption Activated!]
[Desperate Power] Stored: 8%
The Extremis Virus' searing heat—refined within Saitama—now far more terrifying, capable of surpassing ten thousand degrees.
"…Oh? Desperate Power?" Saitama blinked. The soldiers' fists returned to normal, their energy stolen. All that fighting, and he only got eight percent?
"Well then. Done with your turn? Guess it's mine now."
His eyelids lifted.
The soldiers shivered, drenched in cold sweat.
"Run!"
Tag's thought never reached his lips.
BOOOOM!
Saitama's kick thundered. Heat flared—his body refining the Extremis into a blazing inferno.
A wave of fire erupted from him, scorching hotter than a star's breath.
In an instant, Tag, the second-in-command, and every Extremis soldier were swallowed in flames.
They didn't even have time to scream.
When the fire faded, ash blew away in the wind.
The hidden base was gone, reduced to smoldering rubble.
Only Saitama remained, standing alone in the silent ruins.
"…Desperate Power, huh. Feels pretty nice to use." He rubbed his chin.
"Master, I have bad news," Saturday Sale's voice cut in.
(End of Chapter)
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