The Eminence in Shadow vs One Punch Man

The Whispering Marshes did not care for the whims of men, heroes, or even paper airplanes. It was a place of deep silence, broken only by the hum of giant insects, the belch of swamp gas, and the slow, sucking sound of mud reclaiming the land. For Saitama, however, it was just… wet. And smelly. And currently standing between him and his paper airplane.

"Okay," he said to himself, pulling his boot out of a particularly thick patch of sludge with a loud schlorp. "He went that way." He pointed confidently to the left, where the paper airplane, his one and only map, had vanished into the dense, swirling fog.

Behind him, on the other side of the massive swamp-slide, Sir Kaelan was experiencing a quiet, yet profound, nervous breakdown. "He threw the map," Kaelan whispered, his voice trembling. "Our only guide through this godsforsaken bog. He folded it into an airplane… and threw it away."

Princess Iris was trying to remain calm, though a muscle in her eye was twitching. "Do not panic, Sir Kaelan. Lady Lyraelle can still sense the temple's resonance. We will find another way around."

Lyraelle nodded, though her serene expression was tinged with a faint, almost imperceptible confusion as she stared in the direction Saitama had gone. "His path… deviates from the resonance. He walks into… nothingness. Or something else entirely."

Saitama, blissfully unaware of the panic, was on a mission. The logic was simple: the map showed the way. The airplane was the map. Therefore, the airplane knew the way. He just had to follow it. He trudged through the murky water and grasping reeds, his hero suit surprisingly resistant to mud stains, humming a jaunty, off-key tune. He occasionally swatted at giant dragonflies with the casualness of shooing away a housefly, the insects exploding in puffs of iridescent dust upon impact.

After about twenty minutes of determined squelching, he saw it. Perched delicately, almost artistically, on the side of a strange, unnaturally smooth, black rock formation that rose from the swamp water, was his crumpled paper airplane.

"Aha! Found it!" he declared triumphantly. He waded over to the rock formation. It was odd. Unlike the surrounding mossy stones and tangled roots, this rock was a perfect, seamless dome of polished black material that felt strangely warm to the touch. It had no cracks, no moss, just a flawless, dark surface.

Saitama reached up to grab his airplane. As his fingers brushed against it, his other hand rested against the black dome for balance.

Click-hiss.

A faint, almost inaudible sound. The section of the dome he was touching depressed slightly, and then, with a silent, perfectly calibrated pneumatic hiss, a section of the rock face slid away, revealing a dark, square opening leading into the structure. A wave of cool, dry, filtered air washed over him.

Saitama retrieved his airplane, tucking it into a non-existent pocket. He then peered into the opening. It was a tunnel, lined with the same smooth black material, illuminated by faint, recessed glowing strips. It was clean, quiet, and smelled vaguely of ozone and floor polish. "Whoa," he said. "A secret clubhouse! And it's super clean! Maybe they have snacks. And a bathroom. That would be great."

Without a second thought, he ducked inside. The black door hissed silently shut behind him, leaving no trace of an opening on the seamless exterior.

He had just wandered into "Penumbra," the Shadow Garden's primary forward operating base for the entire southern region of Midgar.

Inside, the base was a hive of silent, deadly efficiency. Shadow Garden operatives, clad in their form-fitting black slime bodysuits, moved through the corridors like ghosts. In a central command center, a vast chamber filled with glowing arcane screens and strategic maps, Gamma, a woman of stunning beauty and even more stunning intellect (though with a legendary physical clumsiness she carefully hid), was overseeing regional operations.

An alarm, a silent, psychic pulse, rippled through the command center.

"Lady Gamma," an operative reported, her voice hushed but urgent, "unauthorized entry. Sector Delta-7, the primary water-level access point."

Gamma's sharp, intelligent eyes narrowed. "Impossible. That entrance requires a specific pressure sequence and magical energy signature. No one from the outside could open it by accident. Show me."

An image appeared on the main arcane screen. It showed a figure in a dark, hooded cloak (Saitama's disguise), ambling down Corridor C-4 as if he were out for a leisurely stroll.

"An intruder," Gamma breathed, her mind racing. "How did he bypass the outer wards? The pressure lock?" She analyzed the data feeds. "No magical discharge. No forced entry detected. The lock… it just… opened." It didn't make sense. The sequence was complex beyond measure. "Who is he? An agent of the Cult? The Kingdom?"

"Uncertain, my lady," the operative replied. "His energy signature is… null. We can't get a reading. He appears to be… just a man."

"No man just 'walks' into Penumbra," Gamma said, her voice turning cold, decisive. "He is a threat. He has bypassed our primary defenses. He cannot be allowed to proceed further. Deploy the silent hunters. And alert Lady Delta. Her patrol route is nearest to that sector. Tell her… to eliminate the intruder. With prejudice."

Saitama was enjoying his walk. "This place has nice floors," he noted. "Very clean. You could eat off these floors. If you had food."

As he rounded a corner, three shadowy figures dropped from the ceiling rafters, landing silently behind him. They were the "silent hunters," elite assassins even among the rank-and-file of Shadow Garden, their blades coated in a paralytic poison that could stop a griffin's heart in three seconds. They moved as one, their blades arcing towards Saitama's neck, back, and legs.

Saitama, sensing a slight breeze behind him, turned around. "Oh, hi there! You guys work here? Can you tell me—"

His turning motion caused the three perfectly coordinated, lethal strikes to miss completely. The assassins, their momentum carrying them forward, stumbled in surprise, their silent grace momentarily broken.

Saitama just blinked at them. "You guys okay? You almost tripped."

The assassins, recovering instantly, lunged again, a flurry of silent, poisoned blades.

Saitama, finding them suddenly in his personal space, just sighed and pushed them gently away with his open hands. "Hey, watch it. Personal space, okay?"

The "gentle push" connected with the assassins' chests. The force, though minuscule by Saitama's standards, was still far beyond what a normal human could generate. The three elite killers were sent flying backwards down the corridor, tumbling end over end before crashing into a wall with a series of muffled thuds, slumping to the floor, unconscious.

Saitama watched them. "Man. Very clumsy. And not very friendly." He shrugged and continued walking.

In the command center, Gamma stared at the screen, her teacup rattling in its saucer. "Report," she demanded, her voice strained.

"The… the silent hunters… have been… neutralized, my lady," the operative stammered. "The intruder… appears to have… gently pushed them into a wall."

Gamma's brilliant mind reeled. Pushed them? Three of their most elite assassins? It was impossible. Unless… "His physical strength is… un-catalogued. A brute force specialist?" This was Delta's area of expertise. "Where is Lady Delta?"

Delta, a beastkin with wolf-like ears and a tail that wagged when she was excited about violence, was having a great day. She had just "disciplined" a group of underperforming trainees and was now on patrol, looking for something, anything, to hunt. Her enhanced senses picked up the disturbance immediately – the scent of an outsider, the faint sounds of struggle, the sudden silence. Her lips peeled back in a feral grin. Finally, some real action.

She moved with breathtaking speed, a black blur streaking through the corridors. She arrived just as Saitama was peering into a room marked "Advanced Slime Suit Maintenance."

"Intruder!" Delta snarled, her voice a low, dangerous growl. She landed before Saitama in a low crouch, her hands extended, the slime of her suit morphing into long, razor-sharp claws. Her wolf ears twitched, her tail thumped against the floor once in sheer predatory glee. "You have trespassed in the garden of our master! Your life is forfeit! Prepare to be torn asunder by the fang of Shadow Garden!"

Saitama looked at her. He saw the wolf ears, the tail, the sharp claws. His eyes lit up. "Whoa! A dog-girl! Cool! Is your tail fluffy? Can I pet it?"

Delta's feral grin faltered, replaced by a look of sheer, baffled rage. "Insolent fool! You dare mock me?! I will rend you limb from limb! IRON SLASHER!"

She exploded forward, her claws aimed at Saitama's face, her speed breaking the sound barrier within the confined corridor. Her attack was pure, overwhelming physical force, honed by her beastkin nature and the rigorous training of Shadow Garden. It was an attack that could shred steel plating like wet paper.

Saitama watched the blur of black and silver claws approach his face. "Wow, she's even faster than the last guys."

He didn't move. He didn't flinch. He just held up one hand, palm open, and caught her attack. All five of her razor-sharp claws slammed into his palm.

THWANG!

The sound was like a massive tuning fork being struck. Delta's entire body seized up as all of her incredible forward momentum and savage power met an absolute, unyielding, and utterly indifferent dead end. The claws didn't break; they just… stopped. The force of the impact traveled back up her arms, making her bones vibrate, her teeth chatter.

She stared, her lupine eyes wide with disbelief. Her ultimate attack, a blow that could fell a troll, had been stopped. Casually. By his open hand. He hadn't even braced himself.

"See?" Saitama said calmly, his hand still holding her claws at bay. "This is why you shouldn't run in the hallways. It's a safety hazard."

Delta, her pride and predatory instinct overriding her shock, let out a furious roar and tried to pull back, to slash with her other hand.

Saitama just sighed. "Okay, okay, settle down, dog-girl." He then gave her hand a little shake, like a parent trying to dislodge a toy from a stubborn child's grip.

The "little shake" sent a kinetic ripple through Delta's entire body. Her muscles seized, her vision went white, and her connection to her own ferocious power was momentarily severed. She was sent tumbling backwards, not with a bone-shattering impact, but with a disorienting, momentum-canceling force. She crashed into the far wall, slid down into a sitting position, her head spinning, her ears ringing, her tail drooping in utter confusion. She wasn't seriously injured, but she had been… neutralized. Effortlessly.

Saitama looked at her, then at his hand. "Static electricity," he muttered. He then continued his walk, stepping past the dazed and profoundly bewildered wolf-girl. "Now, where was that cafeteria…?"

In the command center, a delicate porcelain teacup shattered on the floor. Gamma stared at the screen, her face ashen, her mind a maelstrom of failed calculations and broken paradigms. Delta… the "Blade," the "Fang" of Shadow Garden, their most powerful physical combatant… had been defeated. With a pat. And a little shake.

"Report to… Lady Alpha," Gamma finally whispered, her voice barely audible. "Tell her… tell her we have a situation that… defies all known logic."

The intruder wasn't just a brute. He wasn't just an anomaly. He was something else. Something that walked through their perfectly designed, deadly secret base as if it were a public park, casually disabling their most elite operatives while asking for directions to the snack bar. The Garden of Shadows had an uninvited guest. And they had absolutely no idea what to do with him.