The hydraulic piston on Twisted Mumen Rider's arm screamed as it fired. It was a weapon designed to puncture tank armor, fueled by the rage of a man who had realized that pedaling hard wasn't enough to save a dying world.
It struck Saitama directly in the forehead.
CLANG.
The sound was pure, high-pitched metal-on-bone resonance.
Twisted Mumen stopped. He blinked behind his red goggles.
Saitama stood there. He hadn't moved an inch. There wasn't even a red mark on his forehead. The piston, however, was bent at a ninety-degree angle, leaking hydraulic fluid that sizzled on the deck plating.
"Hey," Saitama said, pointing at his forehead. "You scratched the polish. I wax this thing, you know."
Twisted Mumen backed away, his world-view shattering for the second time in his existence. "Impossible. That strike broke the skulls of Demon-level tyrants. Who... what are you?"
Saitama sighed. "Just a guy. Listen, are your friends gonna park on the deck too? Because we're reaching weight capacity."
From the purple rift above, more figures dropped.
A version of Puri-Puri Prisoner landed, but this one wore a warden's uniform made of spiked leather and carried a shock-whip. His eyes were cold and devoid of love. "Submit," he growled. "Love is a lie. Discipline is absolute."
Next to him landed a creature that used to be Pig God. It was skeletal, starving, its skin hanging loose. Its mouth was sewn shut with heavy wire. It radiated a desperate, endless hunger that sucked the heat from the air.
And finally, descending slowly on a disc of pure black psychic energy, came the Twisted Sisters. Tatsumaki and Fubuki, fused together. Not literally, but joined by cybernetic cables linking their skulls. Their eyes were vacant, showing only scrolling code. They moved in perfect, eerie unison.
"Target identified," they spoke together. "Anomaly Saitama. Eliminate."
Real-Fubuki, watching from the bridge window, covered her mouth. "No... is that... us?"
"Looks like a timeline where you stopped fighting and started sharing a hard drive," Child Emperor noted, typing rapidly. "Fascinating. Their psychic waveforms are perfectly synced. Constructive interference. Their power output is theoretically squared."
Garou jumped down from the cannon turret, landing next to Saitama. He looked at the Twisted Rider, then at the skeletal Pig God.
"Freaks," Garou grinned, his blood pumping. "I like it. A carnival of failures."
Genos hobbled up, his one leg sparking. "Sensei, I detect high-level dimensional resonance. These entities are not fully real. They are anchored to our reality by despair. If we break their will, their physical forms will destabilize."
"So we just gotta make them sad?" Saitama asked. "I can show them my bank account."
"Physical defeat should suffice, Sensei."
"Right. Let's punch the sadness out of them."
The fight began.
The Warden Prisoner lashed out with his whip. It cracked like thunder, carrying a million volts.
Garou caught the whip. Barehanded.
"Discipline?" Garou laughed. He yanked the whip, pulling the Warden off his feet. "You think pain teaches lessons? Pain just makes you angry."
He clotheslined the Warden mid-air. BAM. The twisted hero slammed into the deck, cratering the steel.
"I learned that the hard way," Garou added, cracking his neck.
The Skeletal Pig God lunged at Genos. It didn't bite; it inhaled. A vortex of suction pulled at Genos's loose plating.
"Warning: Vacuum pressure critical!" Genos's systems alarmed.
"Incineration!" Genos fired his remaining cannon.
The Pig God swallowed the fire. It opened its sewn mouth—the wires snapping like thread—and gulped down the plasma blast. Its stomach glowed orange for a second, then faded.
It burped smoke. And looked hungry for more.
"Sensei, it ate my attack!" Genos panicked. "It consumes energy!"
"Don't feed the animals, Genos," Saitama scolded.
Saitama walked up to the Starving Pig God. The creature loomed over him, its jaws opening impossibly wide to swallow him whole.
Saitama reached into his pocket. He pulled out a chocolate bar. It was slightly squashed and warm from being in his pocket.
"Here," Saitama said. He unwrapped it. "You look like you need this more than me. Although I was saving it for later."
He tossed the chocolate into the maw.
The Starving Pig God froze. It chewed. It swallowed.
A tear rolled down its skeletal cheek. For a moment, the desperate hunger in its eyes vanished, replaced by a memory of flavor. Of joy.
"Delicious..." it rasped.
Its form flickered. The anchor of despair—the endless hunger—was broken by a single act of kindness (and processed sugar). The monster dissolved into grey mist and vanished.
"One down," Saitama dusted off his hands. "Candy saves the day."
The Twisted Rider charged again, roaring, wielding his bike frame as a club.
Mumen Rider—the real one—arrived on the deck. He had ridden his bicycle all the way up the service ramp of the grounded ship, pedaling furiously. He was sweating, panting, and wearing his dented, scuffed plastic armor.
"Stop!" Real Mumen shouted, parking his bike between Saitama and the Twisted version.
Twisted Mumen stopped. He looked at his mirror image. He saw the weak armor. The sweat. The hope.
"You..." Twisted Mumen sneered. "Pathetic. You still pedal? You still believe?"
"I do!" Real Mumen stood tall. "I know I'm weak! I know I can't beat monsters! But I stand here anyway! Because someone has to!"
"Silence!" Twisted Mumen raised his spiked wheel. "I will crush that naivety!"
He swung.
Real Mumen didn't run. He didn't flinch. He just held up his arms in a guard that everyone knew was useless.
CLANG.
The blow didn't land.
Saitama stood in front of Real Mumen. He had caught the wheel with one finger.
"Hey," Saitama said to the twisted version. "Leave him alone. He's cool."
Twisted Mumen shook with rage. "Why? Why defend weakness? Strength is everything! I modified my body! I became a monster to save the world! And I still failed! Why does he get to be happy?"
"Because he knows his limits," Saitama said gently. He shoved the wheel back, sending the Twisted Rider stumbling. "He knows he can't win. But he fights anyway. That's way harder than being strong."
Saitama tapped his own chest.
"Strength is boring, dude. Trust me. Keep pedaling."
Twisted Mumen looked at his own mechanical arm. He looked at Real Mumen, who was offering him a hand up.
The red light in his goggles faded. The spikes on his armor retracted.
"I... just wanted to be fast enough..." he whispered.
He took Real Mumen's hand. As their fingers touched, the twisted version shattered like glass, dissolving into light.
"Two down," Genos reported. "Moral victory achieved."
Only the Twisted Sisters remained. They floated high above, unaffected by the ground-level therapy sessions.
"Targets persist," they intoned. "Initiate singularity crush."
They pointed their four hands at the ship. Gravity twisted. The steel hull began to groan and buckle. The S.S. Discount was being crumpled like a soda can.
"We're going down!" Fubuki screamed from the bridge.
"Saitama!" Genos yelled. "You must separate them! Their sync is their strength!"
Saitama looked up. They were flying too high to jump without kicking the ship apart.
"Hey, Fubuki!" Saitama shouted toward the bridge window. "Do you have a megaphone?"
"Use the ship's PA system!" Fubuki's voice crackled from a speaker near him.
Saitama grabbed a deck microphone. TAP TAP.
The feedback squeal was deafening. The Twisted Sisters flinched, their sync disrupting for a millisecond.
"AHEM," Saitama's voice boomed across the sky, amplified by military-grade speakers. "Hey! You two! Floating Twins!"
The Sisters paused, looking down.
"Which one of you is the older sister?" Saitama asked.
The question hit the fused mind like a grenade. Even in a twisted timeline, even cybernetically linked, the complex about age and height was fundamental to Tatsumaki's psyche.
"I AM!" the left side screamed.
"NO, I AM THE LEADER!" the right side shrieked.
The sync broke. The harmonious code turned into chaotic static. Their psychic energy flared, fighting itself. They began to spin, their connection cables sparking.
"NOW!" Garou shouted.
He leaped into the air. "Monster Calamity God Slayer Fist!"
He didn't hit them. He hit the space between them. His strike severed the psychic link, cutting the cables and the energy bond.
The fused entity split apart. Two distinct figures tumbled out of the sky.
Saitama jumped up and caught them both. One in each arm.
He landed softly on the deck.
They weren't the real Tatsumaki and Fubuki. They were grey-skinned, fading ghosts. But they looked individual now.
The Twisted Tatsumaki looked up at him. "You... you interrupted..."
"You guys fight too much," Saitama said, setting them down. "Even in other dimensions."
Twisted Fubuki looked at her sister. "We were... together?"
"Too together," Twisted Tatsumaki grumbled, crossing her arms. "I need my space."
They looked at each other, then at the real Fubuki running out of the bridge. They faded away with a look of shared, mutual annoyance.
"Threat neutralized," Genos slumped against a railing. "Dimension breach stabilized."
The purple rift in the sky closed with a soft pop. The sun came out, shining on the battered deck of the ship.
Metal Knight's drone army had stopped advancing. With the "heroes" defeated, his calculated distraction had failed.
Dr. Bofoi sat in his bunker, his hands shaking. "Impossible... he weaponized chocolate... and empathy... and sibling rivalry. Variables... all unpredictable variables."
He reached for a red button on his console.
PROTOCOL: DAWN OF STEEL. RELEASE THE GUARD DOG.
"If monsters fail... send the machine that eats gods."
The ship's deck rumbled. But not from the sky. From the city below.
In the center of the impact crater—Saitama's crater—the ground opened up.
A massive, mechanical hand clawed its way out of the earth. It was the size of a building. It gleamed with a metal that wasn't on the periodic table.
Saitama leaned over the railing. "What now? A giant mole?"
Fubuki paled. "That crest... on the hand..."
It was the symbol of the Organization. But old. Ancient.
A robot pulled itself from the depths. It stood two thousand feet tall. It dwarfed the flagship. It had no head, just a massive, glowing red eye in the center of its chest.
This wasn't Metal Knight's creation. This was something he had found. Something buried eons ago.
THE ANCIENT WEAPON: PLUTON.
Its eye glowed. A beam of energy swept across the horizon, vaporizing a mountain range instantly.
"Okay," Saitama said, adjusting his glove. "Now that looks like a punching bag."
He stepped onto the railing.
"Genos. Hold my cape. Don't want it to get singed."
He handed the tattered white cape to his disciple.
Then, for the first time in a long time, Saitama bent his knees and jumped with serious intent.
The S.S. Discount dropped fifty feet from the recoil.
Saitama shot toward the giant robot like a golden bullet.
The end of the world was Tuesday. But the sale ended at 5 PM. And he was not going to miss it.