"I am invincible!" Apocalypse roared.
"So… what do you want from me?" Saitama sighed. Because of the One-Punch worldview he carried, he didn't feel much about this guy ordering his troops to wipe a city.
"Your power, of course." Apocalypse pointed at Saitama. With ordinary mutants, he absorbed their abilities directly into himself—elemental gifts could be folded into his body. For stronger gifts, especially physical-enhancement types, he preferred soul transfer into the host body to preserve the power intact.
He raised a finger toward the sky. "To make myself stronger—foolish humans, surrender all your might!"
Saitama shook his head. "Everyone's strength is unique. Even if you stack more and more power, so what? Even if you got mine—what would you actually do with it?"
All around the world, people stared at their screens. Some countries claimed it was a hacked broadcast or a special program. Many had already realized the truth.
This was real.
A veiled reality, uncovered.
"So mutants really exist?" a little girl asked. Her parents had no answer. For many adults, 'heroes' weren't a blessing—they shattered stable society. Like any special privilege, it sparked resentment: why do they get powers and we don't?
"In my era, everyone had a use," Apocalypse intoned. "Even a slave had a reason to exist. The strong deserved to enjoy; the wise deserved to lead. But when I awoke, I found a broken world—look at them: countless do-nothings. They eat well and live well while contributing nothing. This world is malformed. It should not be like this. Tell me… what must be done to set it right?"
He looked down at Saitama and smiled coldly. "So I devised the perfect remedy…"
Saitama watched his face and had a hunch: nothing good was coming.
"Cull half of this world's population," Apocalypse said. "Isn't that obvious?"
Viewers tensed across the globe.
"If you don't work, you don't eat. Bureaucracies won't bloat with mediocrity. Human or mutant—it's the same. Halve the numbers and problems vanish. Even war will shrink."
His grin stretched, manic.
And somehow—on couches and in control rooms—more than half the world felt themselves agreeing.
It wasn't conviction. It was power.
A talent Apocalypse had taken five millennia ago—the first he ever absorbed. With words alone he could sway belief, kindle assent, and drive men to "deception," "fraud," and "persuasion." It was how he had once become Pharaoh of Egypt.
He smiled. He didn't need every mind on Earth—only a majority. It was his "sure-kill" move. Face-to-face, its effect was strongest. Back when he was barely revived, a few strained sentences had bent Magneto to his will. This bald man would be no different.
Saitama picked his ear. "So you're not trying to destroy the world, exactly. But killing half of humanity still sounds like a bad plan."
What?
Ineffective?
Professor X understood instantly: Apocalypse had tried to seize Saitama's mind. He only sighed. His own telepathy didn't work on Saitama at all—why would Apocalypse's? Of course it failed.
"Huh? Did you just do something?" Saitama blinked, genuinely clueless.
Impossible. Apocalypse stared at his hands, refusing to accept it. In the past, a few words to anyone he coveted, and they'd calmly let him harvest their power. But now…
Saitama tilted his head. "If you're really set on that plan, I can't just ignore it."
His body rose until he hovered level with Apocalypse.
Apocalypse froze, shocked—could Saitama fly, too?
No… wrong. That was a massive reactive jump straight into the sky. With a body that tough, maybe that wasn't so hard after all.
(End of Chapter)
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