"Target 1, Extremis Cheetah, locked."
The calm voice of Saturday Sale echoed through the armor.
"Wait, wait—that thing is too fast—" Stark shouted.
He'd seen its speed before, its claws cutting down even titanium like paper.
CLANG—
A black spike shot out from the Blade Armor's arm.
Shadow and crimson streak crossed paths.
CRACK—
A spray of boiling blood split the air.
The arrogant cheetah, a second ago roaring in fury, collapsed into two halves. Its molten guts spilled, stinking of rot.
Believe it or not—Stark thought he'd just seen a ghost.
"Target 2, Extremis Mantis, locked."
Saturday Sale's voice came again.
Stark felt like he was strapped into a roller coaster. His eyes couldn't keep up.
The mantis's scythes came down—sparks flying—only for its body to be pierced through and shredded.
Then came the tiger, the lion, the ape.
Beasts that had torn apart Stark's Iron Legion like toys were now falling like paper dolls.
The lion's maw was ripped open by Blade Armor's hands.
The ape—famous for hurling boulders—had its skull punched into its belly.
Spiders tried to retreat, only to be obliterated by railgun fire.
Stark: "..."
For the first time, the genius billionaire felt his intellect crushed.
This—this was a true suit of armor.
His Mark armors? Outdated trash. Saturday Sale's Blade Form was beyond comparison.
"All done. The rest is yours. I need to return to my master," Saturday Sale said.
The Blade Armor dissolved, black metal flowing like water, shrinking into a small black ring.
The wrecked Iron Man armor collapsed, broken, with Stark inside pale as a sheet.
"Damn it…"
The ride had been worse than any roller coaster. Ten Extremis beasts wiped out in thirty-seven seconds flat—just like the AI had predicted.
But inside, Stark was retching, nearly vomiting bile.
And yet—he'd tasted real combat.
Not brawling like some drunk in an alley. Real martial arts.
Saturday Sale, drawing from the S-Class heroes of One Punch Man's world, had incorporated techniques—martial masters like Gouketsu analyzed in detail.
Flowing Water Rock Smashing Fist.
Bagua Soft Style.
Dozens of arts, perfectly fused with the armor.
Using the least effort for the maximum result.
For Stark, it was a revelation. If he could digest even a fraction of those techniques, he'd surpass any so-called "super soldier." Even Steve Rogers himself would seem ordinary.
Rhodey, clueless, just watched Stark puke his guts out, face green, wondering if his friend would end up traumatized by armor forever.
…
Meanwhile, at sea.
A massive oil tanker floated, stacked with containers marked "Roxxon Petroleum."
This corporation, shielded for years by political ties, now had a new master.
Killian.
On deck, Killian stood, stripped of his armor, sneering at the bald man who landed calmly before him.
Saitama.
Dead-fish eyes. Bald dome. Expressionless face, radiating calm so heavy it was frightening.
Hundreds of Extremis soldiers and beasts surrounded him, snarling from cages.
"Originally, I prepared this ship as a stage for the president. Cameras, lights, everything. But he escaped," Killian laughed, voice wild.
"Better this way. Killing you, Saitama, will send a stronger message."
Hidden cameras whirred, live-streaming across the world.
"Behold—the death of America's pride, Saitama, the face of Stark Industries!"
The broadcast went global in an instant.
Saitama looked around, scratching his bald head.
"You're gonna… kill me?" he asked, puzzled.
…
(End of Chapter)
[Check Out My P@treon For 20+ Extra Chapters On All My Fanfics!!]
[[email protected]/Draumel]
[Thank You For Your Support!]