"Hold formation! Watch all directions!" Phil barked in a low voice.
The elite squad instantly formed a defensive ring. Energy weapons were chambered, and every member stared tensely into the fog, tracking each swaying shadow.
Saitama stood at the very front.
His senses were sharper than any instrument. He could clearly feel it—on all sides, dark-corrupted "residents" were converging on them. Like a disturbed horde of zombies, they used the fog as cover, crawling out from streets, alleys, even from building windows, surrounding them with frenzied murderous intent.
"Protect the team. Clear the path," Saitama said to Phil.
Then his figure vanished into the fog.
In the next instant, a chain of dull thuds and faint bone-cracking sounds echoed around the squad. The controlled civilians that tried to pounce from the shadows were struck down by an unseen force before they could get close—neutralized, no longer a threat.
With Saitama silently clearing the way, the squad was able to push rapidly toward the city center plaza.
The closer they got, the thicker the fog became, and the mental pressure from the dark energy grew heavier—like an invisible hand squeezing down on their brains. The number of controlled residents also multiplied, flooding in like a tide, forcing Saitama to accelerate his cleanup.
At last, they broke through the final "barrier" formed by the raging crowd and reached the edge of the central plaza.
What they saw made even battle-hardened S.H.I.E.L.D. agents feel ice seep into their bones.
The entire vast plaza had been completely swallowed by an enormous, slowly rotating vortex of darkness.
Its center was bottomless, as if it connected straight into the cosmic abyss, radiating a terrifying pull that froze the soul. Buildings, statues, even the ground around the plaza were twisting and breaking apart under that suction—reduced into pure energy and devoured by the vortex. The thick black fog that blanketed the city was continuously spewing from this vortex, pouring out without end.
Along the vortex's edge, silhouettes in black robes moved busily, as if maintaining and guiding this horrific construct.
And directly above the vortex, space itself was warping in a bizarre way. Light was being swallowed, forming an unstable black void that was steadily expanding.
As though some unimaginable horror was trying to descend into this world through the vortex and the void.
"That's the source!" Phil's voice rasped. "They… they're opening a door!"
Saitama's gaze locked onto the massive vortex and the distorted void above it. In the fog, his bald head reflected a faint sheen. He could feel it—the power brewing at the vortex's core was far more terrifying than the seafloor beast ever was.
"Prepare for battle!" Phil raised his weapon, and the squad members snapped into combat positions.
Saitama didn't speak. He simply stepped forward.
His fist slowly tightened.
A war that would decide the fate of the entire city—maybe even the world—was about to ignite on this dark-shrouded plaza, any second now.
Above New York, the massive light-devouring vortex hung like a wound in the universe, continuously radiating dread and suction.
On the plaza, amid rubble and shattered stone, Saitama—white cape fluttering, shiny head gleaming—stood at the front. He looked up at the twisted black center, his face as calm as ever… almost even a little—
Bored.
"Hey… that big black circle thing," Saitama pointed at the vortex and turned to the tense Phil beside him, "that's the source of the trouble, right?"
(End of Chapter)
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