The Eminence in Shadow vs One Punch Man

While the princesses of Midgar pursued their divergent paths of heroic enlightenment and subtle manipulation, other, more sinister, threads were being woven in the city's hidden corners. The Cult of Diablos, though crippled by the loss of their monastery base and the neutralization of Prelate Malakor, was far from defeated. Their organization was a vast, sprawling entity, and the destruction of one regional command center only served to agitate the others, like a kicked hornets' nest.

In a secret laboratory hidden beneath a bustling tannery in Midgar's industrial district – a place whose noxious fumes provided excellent cover for even more unpleasant alchemical stenches – a man known as Dr. Alon Vistis was reviewing the reports of Saitama's exploits with a mixture of professional revulsion and ecstatic glee.

Vistis was not a priest or a warrior. He was a scientist, one of the Cult's foremost "Flesh-Weavers," a master of forbidden alchemy and bio-arcane engineering. He was a small, stooped man with thin, greasy hair, thick spectacles that magnified his unnervingly keen eyes, and hands stained with the chemical evidence of a thousand unspeakable experiments. While others in the Cult sought spiritual power or martial glory, Vistis sought the perfection of the physical form – a perfection he believed could only be achieved by deconstructing and reassembling life itself, often with gruesome and monstrous results. The Flesh-Golems at the monastery had been his early, crude work. He had moved on to far more… sophisticated projects.

"Incredible," Vistis murmured, re-reading a report detailing the obliteration of the Earth Titan. He held the parchment close to a sputtering alchemical lamp, his eyes wide with a manic, scientific fervor. "The energy required to not just shatter, but annihilate, a being of that geological density… it transcends mere physical strength. It's a fundamental violation of the law of conservation of mass! He doesn't just hit things; he unmakes them at a molecular level!"

His assistant, a pale, nervous young man named Fenris, shivered. "Doctor, the High Council has deemed the 'Tempest' an extinction-level threat. They have ordered all cells to avoid him, to operate in complete stealth—"

"Fools!" Vistis hissed, spinning around, his eyes blazing with a terrifying light. "They see a threat; I see the ultimate data set! The ultimate biological sample! They cower from him? I want to dissect him! Imagine, Fenris! A being with no discernible upper limit to his physical output! A biology that passively negates temporal magic, soul-draining parasites, and even, it seems, the very concept of physical injury! Do you know what we could learn from a single cell of such an organism?!"

Fenris swallowed hard. "I… I imagine it would be difficult to acquire a sample, Doctor. Given his tendency to… erase things."

"Difficulty is merely a catalyst for innovation!" Vistis cackled, pacing his lab, which was filled with bubbling beakers, arcane machinery, and several large, reinforced vats from which unsettling slurping sounds occasionally emanated. "The Council wants to hide. I say, we study! We provoke! We create a stimulus specifically designed to test his limits, to force him to reveal the secrets of his power! And in the process," his lips curled into a hideous grin, "we can also eliminate a few… annoyances… for the Cult."

His plan was simple, elegant in its monstrousness. The black-clad assassins who had confronted Saitama in the Deepwood – the ones whose survivors had brought back tales of atomized crossbows and gentle, coma-inducing pats – Vistis knew who they were. They were agents of the "Benefactor," a shadowy rival organization that had been a thorn in the Cult's side for years, competing for artifacts and influence. Saitama's encounter with them had provided Vistis with an invaluable piece of information: Saitama would react to protect those he perceived as innocent.

"The Royals are using him as a glorified guard dog, letting him 'patrol' the lower districts," Vistis mused, tapping a long, stained finger against his chin. "A predictable pattern. And predictable patterns can be exploited." He turned to Fenris, his eyes gleaming behind his spectacles. "Prepare Subject Epsilon-9 for deployment. The 'Regenerator.' It is time for a field test."

Fenris paled further. "Subject Epsilon-9? But… Doctor, its regenerative capabilities are… unstable! And its psychological conditioning is incomplete! It's just a rampaging engine of destruction!"

"Precisely!" Vistis beamed. "The perfect stimulus! We will unleash it in the Merchant's District tonight. We will ensure that agents of our 'Benefactor' are also present, drawn by the commotion. And we will observe what happens when an unstoppable force meets… a truly, truly unkillable object. And when they are both weakened from the encounter," he giggled, a high-pitched, unnerving sound, "we will be there to collect the samples."

That night, Saitama was on his "patrol," his 'Mysterious Cloak Guy' disguise firmly in place. He was, to be honest, a little disappointed. Crime-fighting, it turned out, was mostly just telling rowdy drunks to go home and occasionally stopping purse-snatchers (who usually fainted the moment he appeared in front of them). There was a distinct lack of supervillains or giant monsters.

He was wandering through a crowded nighttime marketplace, idly wondering if any of the food stalls sold deep-fried squid, when the screaming started.

It wasn't the usual scream of a startled citizen. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated terror, followed by the crash of splintering wood and the roar of something vast and inhuman.

The crowd in the marketplace parted like the Red Sea, people fleeing in every direction, their faces white with panic. And into the space they had cleared, a monster lumbered.

It was Subject Epsilon-9. The Regenerator. It was a hulking, vaguely reptilian biped, easily fifteen feet tall, its skin a thick, rubbery hide of mottled green and grey. It had no discernible head, just a massive, gaping maw filled with rows of serrated, shark-like teeth. Its arms were thick as tree trunks, ending in brutal, bone-like clubs. But its most terrifying feature was its ability to heal. A stray guard's crossbow bolt, fired from a nearby rooftop, struck it in the shoulder. The monster didn't even flinch. The bolt dissolved into sizzling goo as the flesh around it bubbled, healed, and reformed in a matter of seconds, leaving no trace of the wound.

The monster roared again, a sound that rattled the windows of the surrounding shops, and swatted a nearby fruit cart, sending apples and terrified merchants flying. It was pure, mindless destruction.

Saitama watched it. "Oh, cool! A real monster!" His boredom instantly vanished, replaced by the familiar, comfortable feeling of a hero about to do his job. "Finally, something interesting!"

He started walking towards the creature, cracking his knuckles. But before he could get there, other figures dropped from the rooftops, moving with a silent, deadly grace. They were the black-clad operatives, agents of the Benefactor, their faces hidden by visored helms. At least five of them. They had clearly been tracking the same disturbances as Saitama.

"Engage the asset!" their leader, the one with the metallic voice, commanded. "Subdue, do not destroy! The bio-kinetics are too valuable! Use containment foam!"

Two of the operatives fired strange, rifle-like weapons. Instead of projectiles, they launched canisters that burst, spraying a thick, rapidly hardening white foam. The foam enveloped the Regenerator's legs, attempting to immobilize it.

The Regenerator just roared, flexed its massive leg muscles, and the hardened foam, which could stop a charging rhynoc, shattered into a million pieces. It then swiped one of its massive arms, forcing the operatives to leap back with acrobatic skill.

Saitama watched this exchange with interest. "Containment foam? Neat trick. Never seen that before." He decided to let them have a go first. It was more fun to watch.

The battle raged. The black-clad operatives were incredibly skilled, a blur of motion as they dodged the Regenerator's clumsy but powerful attacks, peppering it with tranquilizer darts, sonic grenades, and cryo-charges. But nothing worked. Darts dissolved. Sonic blasts only seemed to enrage it. Frost from the cryo-charges melted away as the creature's body temperature skyrocketed to compensate. Every cut, every wound they managed to inflict, healed in a matter of seconds. They were fighting a creature that simply could not be put down by conventional means.

From a hidden observation post on a high rooftop, Dr. Vistis watched through an arcane spyglass, practically vibrating with excitement. "Yes! Yes! The regenerative factor is performing beyond all expectations!" he chittered to Fenris. "And the operatives… their tactics, their equipment… valuable data! All valuable data!"

Back in the street, the operatives were being pushed back. The Regenerator was simply too strong, too resilient. One operative was caught by a backhand swing and sent flying into the side of a building with a sickening crunch.

"Okay," Saitama said to himself, finishing the last of a meat skewer he'd found on an abandoned cart. "My turn."

He ambled forward, stepping out from the panicked crowd, his grey cloak fluttering. The remaining operatives, seeing him approach, paused in their attack, their leader shouting, "Hold! It's the Tempest! Fall back! Observe!"

The Regenerator, seeing a new, unmoving target, let out a triumphant roar and charged, its massive bone-clubs raised, ready to pulverize him.

Saitama just stood there, waiting for it. As the monster was almost upon him, he cocked his fist back. "Okay, big guy," he said. "Let's see if you can regenerate from… this."

He threw a single punch. A simple, straightforward, "Normal Punch."

The fist connected with the Regenerator's chest.

The result was… unexpected. For Saitama.

Instead of exploding into a fine paste, as he had half-expected, the Regenerator's rubbery, hyper-resilient flesh absorbed the impact. Its entire torso dented inwards like a massive punching bag, its body flying backwards at incredible speed, crashing through three buildings before finally coming to a stop in a cloud of dust and debris half a mile away.

Saitama stared at his fist, a look of genuine, profound surprise on his face. "Huh?" he said aloud. "It didn't… pop?"

In the distant observation post, Dr. Vistis was screaming with ecstatic joy. "He survived! He survived the punch! The cellular cohesion held! The kinetic energy was absorbed and distributed! My creation… my beautiful creation… it survived a punch from the Tempest!"

But his joy was premature.

In the crater half a mile away, the Regenerator began to stir. Its deeply dented chest bubbled and writhed, its incredible regenerative powers working overtime. It was healing. It was getting up.

Saitama, seeing this, felt a sensation he hadn't felt in a very, very long time. A slow, spreading smile. A genuine, excited, almost predatory smile.

"Hey," he said, his voice filled with a dangerous, happy glee. "It got back up." He cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing in the suddenly silent marketplace.

"This is gonna be fun."

The alchemist's gambit had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. He had created a being that could withstand a punch from the god. But he had failed to account for one crucial detail: what the god would do next. And the answer was… he would finally get the good fight he'd been craving.