The refrigerated vault was, like everything else in Dr. Vistis's laboratory, built to withstand a siege. Its door was a foot of solid, rune-etched steel, secured by a complex alchemical lock that required a specific sequence of chemical reagents, arcane frequencies, and, for some reason, the blood of a mildly disgruntled badger to open.
Saitama just tore it off its hinges.
Inside, the vault was bathed in a cold blue light. Racks upon racks of swirling, luminous liquids in sealed glass vials lined the walls. This was Vistis's life's work – a horrifying library of plagues, mutagens, and bio-toxins. In the very center, on a pedestal, was a single, large container filled with a clear, golden liquid that seemed to pulse with a gentle, purifying light.
"Is that it?" Saitama asked Fenris, who was cowering near the entrance. "The anti-poison stuff?"
"Y-yes!" Fenris stammered, nodding vigorously. "The Universal Counter-Agent! It's… it's the only thing that can neutralize the Veridia Blight! It's designed to be aerosolized and dispersed over the city. It will purify the water, the soil, and cure the plague in any who breathe it!"
"Aerosolized? You mean, like a giant spray can?" Saitama said, picking up the large, heavy container. It was surprisingly well-insulated. "Cool. Seems efficient." He looked at Fenris. "So, you're not one of the evil evil scientists? Just, like, the assistant who gets yelled at a lot?"
Fenris just nodded again, looking pathetic. "He… he promised me funding for my research into… enhanced crop yields. I didn't know he was going to… to do this."
"Right," Saitama said, seemingly accepting this explanation. "Well, you should probably find a less evil boss next time. And tell the King's guys everything you know." He then looked around the vault, at the hundreds of vials of horrific plagues. "What about all this other stuff? Looks dangerous."
Before Fenris could answer, Saitama had already made a decision. He placed the container of the counter-agent safely outside the vault. Then, with a series of incredibly fast, yet surprisingly gentle, open-palmed taps, he began to move down the aisles.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Each tap connected with a rack of vials. The racks didn't break or topple. But the glass vials themselves, subjected to a precise, high-frequency vibration, simply… shattered. All of them. Simultaneously. The hundreds of different plagues and toxins mixed on the floor, their various arcane and alchemical properties reacting violently with each other. A thick, multi-colored, highly corrosive sludge began to form, eating through the metal floor with a furious hissing.
"There," Saitama said with satisfaction, stepping back from the bubbling mess. "Cleaned up the shelves. This should all just… neutralize each other, right? Like mixing all the paint colors together until you just get brown."
Fenris, a trained alchemist, stared in horror at the roiling, reality-warping toxic sludge that was currently dissolving the foundations of the laboratory. Saitama's understanding of chemistry was, apparently, as profound and as terrifyingly flawed as his understanding of everything else. "We… we really need to leave now!" Fenris shrieked.
"Good idea," Saitama agreed. He grabbed the container of the counter-agent, then grabbed the unconscious Dr. Vistis by the collar of his lab coat. "You can carry yourself, right?" he asked Fenris. Fenris just nodded frantically.
Saitama then, with the cure in one hand and the villain in the other, leaped back up through the hole in the ceiling, emerging into the now-empty, stinking tannery, with Fenris scrambling up a service ladder just behind him. Saitama looked back down at the lab, which was now beginning to shake violently as the toxic sludge reached some critical, unstable mass.
"Probably gonna be a bit of a mess down there," he commented. He then turned and started walking out of the tannery, dragging the unconscious Dr. Vistis behind him like a sack of particularly evil potatoes.
The return to Veridia was even faster than his initial arrival. Holding the precious cure, Saitama didn't bother with horses or roads. He just… ran. Not at his full, reality-breaking speed, but at a steady, ground-eating pace that still blurred the landscape into a streak of green and brown. He had deposited Vistis and the now-blubbering Fenris with a stunned but grateful Royal Knight patrol just outside the city, with simple instructions: "This guy's the head poisoner. This other guy knows how to make the cure work. Get 'em to the boss."
He arrived back in the blighted city, leaping onto the highest tower of the governor's citadel, the container of the golden counter-agent held firmly in his hand. He looked down at the suffering city, at the fearful, hateful faces that still occasionally glanced up at the sky.
"Okay," he said to himself. "Science guy said this needs to be… aerosolized. Like a big spray can."
He looked at the large, sealed container. It had a complex release valve with a series of arcane instructions. Saitama, as usual, ignored them. "Too many buttons."
He held the container high above his head. And then, he punched it.
A "Normal Punch."
The container, forged from enchanted materials designed to withstand immense pressure, instantly vaporized. The golden liquid within, subjected to the same overwhelming kinetic force, didn't just spill; it atomized, exploding outwards in a silent, shimmering, golden cloud.
The cloud expanded rapidly, a beautiful, ethereal wave of pure light and restorative energy. It washed over the entire city of Veridia, from the highest spires of the citadel to the lowest, darkest alleys. It was not a violent force; it was a gentle, pervasive mist that smelled faintly of ozone, honey, and fresh rain.
It settled on the withered fields, and the black sludge receded, replaced by the faint green shoots of new, healthy life. It seeped into the wells, and the brackish, foul water turned clear and pure. It drifted through the open windows and doors of the sick, and the hacking coughs subsided, the debilitating weakness receded, the creeping despair in their hearts replaced by a sudden, inexplicable sense of peace and returning strength.
In the space of a single minute, the Veridia Blight, a masterpiece of insidious, incurable alchemical warfare, was undone. Cured. Utterly and completely.
The people of Veridia, who had been huddled in their homes or staring with resentment at the sky, now stumbled out into the streets. They felt the strength returning to their limbs. They saw their neighbors, moments before pale and sickly, now looking around with the same dawning, bewildered hope. They saw the golden, purifying mist dissipate, leaving behind clean air and a sense of impossible renewal.
And then they looked up. They saw the lone, cloaked figure standing atop the highest tower, the source of the miraculous golden rain. He wasn't a monster. He wasn't a demon. He was… a savior.
A child, the same one who had been clutched by a whispering mother earlier, pointed up at Saitama. "Look, Mama!" she cried, her voice clear and strong for the first time in weeks. "The Angel! The Angel saved us!"
The word spread like wildfire through the streets. "The Angel." "The Golden Guardian." The whispers of the Cult, the seeds of hatred and doubt, were washed away in a single, glorious moment of undeniable salvation. The people, their hearts now filled with gratitude and awe, fell to their knees, cheering, weeping, offering prayers of thanks to the silent, cloaked figure who had descended from the heavens and cleansed their city.
Saitama, standing on the tower, watched this scene unfold. He saw the cheering crowds, the happy tears, the children laughing. He had done it. He had fixed it. He had won.
And he felt… absolutely nothing.
There was no thrill. No satisfaction. No sense of accomplishment. He had found the villain, punched the problem, and saved the day. It had been… a series of simple, logical steps. An errand. A chore. The profound, soul-deep boredom, which had been briefly held at bay by the hunt, now returned with a vengeance, a heavy, familiar cloak.
He looked at the cheering city, at the people now hailing him as a god, an angel, a hero beyond all heroes. And he felt a profound, almost crushing, sense of disconnect. They were celebrating a victory he didn't even feel. They were praising a hero who felt anything but heroic.
He sighed, a quiet, lonely sound that was lost in the roar of the grateful crowd below. He had saved them. But he still hadn't managed to save himself from his own, inescapable, absolute power.
With a final, indifferent glance at the city he had just rescued, Saitama leaped from the tower, a silent, grey phantom disappearing back into the sky, heading back towards the palace, towards his noodles, towards the quiet, gilded cage of his own profound, unshakeable ennui. The confounding calm had returned, both to the city of Veridia, and to the troubled, bored soul of its most powerful, most reluctant, hero.
In a hidden location…
The cowled leader of the Cult of Diablos watched the scrying mirror as the golden light of the counter-agent washed over Veridia, as the people cheered, as Saitama stood, impassive, on the tower.
"He succeeded," the porcelain-skinned Finger whispered, her voice laced with disbelief and fear. "Vistis failed. The gambit failed. The people… they worship him now."
The leader did not seem angry. They did not seem surprised. They watched Saitama's lone, indifferent departure with a cold, analytical focus.
"Did it fail?" the leader murmured, their voice a soft, dangerous hiss. "We sought to break his spirit with despair. And we did not succeed. This is true." They paused, a chilling, unseen smile forming in the darkness of their cowl. "But in the process… we have learned something far more valuable. We have confirmed the nature of his attachments. We have seen the limits of his emotional engagement. And most importantly… we have made him the undisputed, beloved hero of the common people."
The other Fingers looked at their leader, confused. How was this a victory?
"You do not see it yet," the leader continued, their voice filled with a triumphant, insidious glee. "A hero on a pedestal is a far easier target than a wandering anomaly. The world now has a symbol of hope. A great, shining beacon of absolute power."
They leaned forward, the darkness of their cowl seeming to swallow the light.
"And there is nothing in this world," they whispered, "that casts a deeper, darker shadow… than a great, shining light."
The gambit hadn't been about breaking Saitama after all. It had been about building him up. The true, final stage of their plan was about to begin.