The Eminence in Shadow vs One Punch Man

The Dragon's Tooth Mountains were a brutal, jagged slash across the northern landscape of Midgar, a realm of sharp peaks, treacherous winds, and ancient, slumbering power. The air grew thin and cold, the verdant hills giving way to hardy alpine flora and vast, unforgiving slopes of scree and granite. The "road" they followed was now little more than a goat track, winding precariously along cliff edges, offering stunning, vertiginous views of the world below.

For the Royal Knights and the escapees, the journey became a grueling test of endurance. The horses struggled on the steep, uncertain terrain, and they were often forced to dismount and lead them. The wind was a constant, keening presence, plucking at their cloaks and chilling them to the bone. Sir Kaelan, in particular, looked miserable, his face pale, his lips blue, constantly muttering about palace heating charms and the utter insanity of his current assignment.

Saitama, however, seemed entirely unaffected. The thin air didn't trouble his breathing. The cold didn't seem to penetrate his thin yellow jumpsuit. He navigated the treacherous paths with the easy, sure-footed grace of a mountain goat, often hopping from one precarious ledge to another just for fun, much to the collective horror of his companions.

"Hey, look!" he called out, standing on a narrow pinnacle that offered a sheer thousand-foot drop on three sides. "You can see the whole world from up here! Kinda. It's mostly just… more rocks. And clouds. Disappointing view, actually. 2 out of 5 stars." He then performed a single, perfect backflip, landing neatly back on the path beside a terrified-looking Sir Kaelan, who promptly sat down hard, his legs having turned to jelly.

Lyraelle, too, seemed at home in these high, desolate places. The crisp, clean air and the proximity to the sky seemed to invigorate her. The silver light that clung to her seemed a little brighter, her steps even lighter. She would often stand at the edge of a precipice, her silver hair whipping in the wind, her eyes closed, as if listening to whispers no one else could hear.

"The resonance is different here," she explained to Iris one evening as they made a cold camp in a sheltered rock overhang. "In the swamp, the temple's power was a deep, quiet hum, buried beneath layers of damp and decay. Here… the power is sharp, clear, like starlight. It sings."

"The Silent Peak of the Star-Gazers," Iris murmured, looking up at the towering, snow-dusted peak that dominated the skyline, its summit lost in the swirling clouds. "It is aptly named." She clutched the hilt of Anathema, which she now wore constantly. The sword felt… alive here, pulsing with a faint, eager warmth against her back.

Their journey was not without its dangers. They were attacked by a flock of screeching mountain harpies, their claws like razors and their cries capable of disorienting unprotected minds. Saitama dealt with them by grabbing a large, flat slab of rock and using it as a makeshift fly-swatter, batting them out of the air with a series of bored-sounding thwaps. The surviving harpies fled in panicked disarray, leaving Saitama to complain that they were "all feathers and screeching, no actual meat on 'em."

They also narrowly avoided a massive avalanche, triggered by the roar of a distant, unseen beast. Saitama "stopped" the avalanche by simply standing in its path, bracing his feet, and letting the tons of snow, ice, and rock crash against him. He emerged a few minutes later from the massive snowdrift, shaking powder from his shoulders and grumbling that it was "colder than leaving the freezer door open." The knights, who had been preparing for an honorable but certain death, could only stare in numb silence at the newly formed mountain of snow and the man who had treated it like a minor inconvenience.

As they drew closer to the Silent Peak, the feeling of being watched intensified. It was a multi-layered sensation now. Lyraelle and Iris could feel the cold, disciplined observation of the hidden Shadow Garden operatives. But there was something else, too. A more direct, more malevolent presence. A crawling, scratching feeling at the edge of their senses, thick with the familiar, sickly sweet taint of dark magic.

"The Cult is here," Lyraelle stated, her voice low, her silver eyes scanning the surrounding crags. "They have arrived before us. They are waiting."

"Then we must be prepared for a fight," Iris declared, her hand on her sword, her expression grim.

Saitama, who was trying to build a small snowman, looked up. "A fight? Cool! Are these guys stronger than the noodle hoarders? Because that last boss was a real let-down. All spooky voice and no follow-through."

The final approach to the Silent Peak was a narrow, winding path carved into the mountainside, known as the 'Stargazer's Step.' It was treacherous, exposed, with the wind howling around them. As they rounded a sharp bend, they found the path blocked.

Standing in their way were a dozen figures, clad in the dark, hooded robes of the Cult of Diablos. But these were not mere acolytes. Their robes were trimmed with silver, and they carried staves tipped with jagged, pulsating dark-energy crystals. They radiated an aura of confident, practiced power. In their midst stood a woman. She was tall, statuesque, with long, blood-red hair that stood out starkly against the grey rock and white snow. Her face was sharp, beautiful, but marred by a cruel, mocking smile. She held a wickedly curved sacrificial dagger in one hand.

"Well, well," the red-haired woman said, her voice a seductive, dangerous purr. "The little princess and her celestial pet. And… whatever this is." Her gaze flicked dismissively over Saitama. "I am High Priestess Morwen. The Master has foreseen your arrival. This sacred ground is being reconsecrated for a new, darker purpose. Your pilgrimage ends here."

"Morwen," Lyraelle's voice was cold as the mountain wind. "A scavenger, picking at the bones of a dying age. The power you seek to corrupt will be your undoing."

Morwen just laughed, a sound like shattering glass. "Bold words from a dusty relic! We are merely preparing the way for the true lord of this world! My Reapers will offer your souls to him as a small token of our devotion!"

The twelve silver-trimmed cultists raised their staves in unison. Dark energy crackled, forming shimmering shields of purple light around them, while simultaneously beginning to chant a complex, multi-layered curse aimed at the party.

Sir Kaelan and his knights formed a defensive wall in front of the princesses, their own shields raised, though they knew conventional defenses would be of little use against such powerful magic.

Saitama watched, unimpressed. "More glowy stuff. And chanting. Why do bad guys always love chanting? It's so slow. Just get to the punching part already."

Morwen's cruel smile widened. "Your brute will not avail you here, Bald One. This is a battle of will, of magic! Our combined Hex-Ward is impenetrable! And our Chorus of Despair will rot your minds from within!"

The air grew heavy with the dissonant hum of the curse. Iris and the knights felt a wave of nausea and despair wash over them. Lyraelle stood firm, a faint silver light radiating from her to counter the worst of the psychic assault.

Saitama sighed. "Impenetrable, huh? You guys always say that."

He then did something so simple it was almost insulting. He picked up a small, loose pebble from the path. It was about the size of a coin. He held it between his thumb and forefinger.

"You know," he said, "the other day, I was thinking about skipping stones. It's all about the spin. And the angle. And getting the right amount of… flick."

He then flicked the pebble.

It was not a throw. It was a flick. A tiny, almost imperceptible snap of his thumb and forefinger.

The pebble left his hand. For a microsecond, it was just a pebble. Then, imbued with an impossible amount of kinetic energy and spin, it became a miniature, hypersonic projectile. It didn't whistle; it shrieked, tearing a hole in the very air as it traveled, leaving a shimmering trail of incandescent heat in its wake.

The pebble struck the 'impenetrable' Hex-Ward.

The combined magical shield of twelve powerful cultist mages, a barrier that could have withstood a dragon's breath or a volley of catapult stones, did not shatter. It didn't explode. It simply… popped. Like a soap bubble touched by a needle. The complex magical matrix that formed the ward was so utterly, comprehensively overwhelmed by the pinpoint kinetic impact that it ceased to exist in an instant.

The pebble, having lost none of its momentum, continued on its path. It struck the lead chanter, the one directly behind where the shield had been, squarely in the forehead.

POP.

The chanter's head vanished in a fine red mist. His body stood, headless, for a full second before collapsing in a heap.

The pebble, still traveling at hypersonic speed, passed through where his head had been, struck the crystal on the staff of the cultist behind him, shattering it into a thousand glittering shards, then ricocheted off the mountainside with a sound like a thunderclap, before finally embedding itself a foot deep into a solid granite cliff face a mile away.

The chanting stopped. The remaining eleven cultists stared, their mouths agape, at their headless comrade, then at the hole in the mountain a mile away, then back at Saitama, who was now examining his thumbnail with a critical expression.

High Priestess Morwen's cruel, confident smile had vanished, replaced by a mask of slack-jawed, horrified disbelief.

"Huh," Saitama said, mostly to himself. "Guess I put a little too much spin on that one. My bad." He looked up at the remaining cultists, who were now trembling, their magical shields gone, their confidence shattered. "So. Anyone else want to try 'impenetrable'?"

The whispers of the peak were now silent, replaced by the ringing in the ears of a dozen cultists who were rapidly coming to the conclusion that their new, darker purpose might need to be seriously re-evaluated.