The atmosphere barrier turned from blue to black. The stars stopped twinkling and started staring.
The S.S. Discount rattled violently as it breached the exosphere. Inside the bridge, the silence of space was only broken by the sound of King hyperventilating into a paper bag.
"Okay," Fubuki announced, her voice projected through the ship-wide comms (and into the team's ear-pieces). "We are entering hostile territory. Child Emperor, shield status?"
"Atmospheric bubbles deployable," Child Emperor replied from his mech-suit console. "I've rigged the personal shield generators to recycle CO2. You'll have two hours of air. Don't hyperventilate... looking at you, King."
King gave a thumbs-up, his face pale green.
Saitama stood by the airlock, pressing his face against the glass. "It's really dark out here. Are you sure we can't turn on headlights?"
Genos stood beside him, his body retrofitted with space-capable thrusters that made him look like a golden Gundam. "Sensei, in the vacuum of space, headlights would not illuminate objects until the light reflects off them. Also, there are 10,000 enemy cruisers aiming targeting locks at us."
"Ten thousand?" Saitama squinted. "That sounds like a crowd."
Suddenly, the darkness lit up.
Not with stars. With lasers.
Ten thousand points of purple light flared in the distance. The Intergalactic Council fleet opened fire simultaneously.
On the bridge of the flagship Cosmic Order, Grand Adjudicator Xylar watched the solitary primitive vessel ascending from the infected planet. Xylar was a being of pure crystalline energy housed in a floating containment suit. He didn't have emotions. He had protocols.
"One vessel," Xylar droned. "Primitive propulsion. Unshielded hull. The arrogance of the infection is statistically improbable."
"Shall we vaporize it, Adjudicator?" a subordinate crystalline entity asked.
"No. Analyze it. Then vaporize it. Data is the only virtue."
The volley of purple energy—plasma torpedoes capable of cracking tectonic plates—streaked toward the S.S. Discount.
"Incoming!" Fubuki yelled. "Evasive maneuvers!"
"No need," a bored voice drifted from the top deck.
Outside the ship, Tatsumaki floated in the void. She didn't have a space suit. She had a sphere of glowing green psychic energy holding the air around her. Her hair floated wildly in zero-g.
She reached out a hand.
Psychic Barrier: Reflective Prism.
The 10,000 lasers hit an invisible wall ten miles in front of the ship. They didn't explode. They bent. Tatsumaki twisted her wrist, spinning the barrier like a giant lens.
The purple beams curved U-turned, and shot back toward the alien fleet.
BOOM. CRASH. SNAP.
Three hundred alien destroyers instantly vaporized, hit by their own friendly fire. Debris cluttered the orbital lane.
"Hmph," Tatsumaki's voice crackled over the comms. "Sloppy aim."
"Impressive," Atomic Samurai muttered, adjusting his rebreather mask on the ship's deck. "But a Samurai doesn't hide behind a barrier."
He tapped his sword hilt. "Metal Knight. Launch me."
"Acknowledged," Bofoi's drone said.
A hydraulic catapult on the deck fired. Atomic Samurai shot into the void like a human missile.
He flew toward an alien cruiser the size of a city. As he approached, he didn't slow down. He drew his blade.
The sword didn't cut the vacuum (obviously). But the Atomic Slash was so fast, so precise, that it cut the binding energy of the atoms in its path.
Atomic Slash: Vacuum Cut.
He flew through the cruiser. Entering the bow, exiting the stern.
A second later, the massive ship split perfectly in half down the middle. Explosions bloomed silently in the dark.
"One," Atomic Samurai counted, pushing off a piece of debris to find the next target.
Flashy Flash was running. Literally running on space debris, moving so fast he was a streak of light connecting the exploding ships. He wasn't cutting the ships; he was targeting their bridges, assassinating commanders before they could give orders.
Bang and Garou, father and son in spirit if not blood, leaped together. They didn't need weapons. They landed on a frigate.
Cross Fang Dragon Slayer Fist.
They struck the hull together. The vibration shattered the alien alloy like glass. The ship crumbled under their feet, and they jumped to the next one before the air vented.
"You're slacking, old man!" Garou transmitted.
"Save your breath for the fight, boy!" Bang retorted, kicking a fighter craft into a mothership.
It was a rout. The "Planetary Quarantine" fleet had come to sterilize a helpless world. They had found a hornet's nest of god-slayers.
Back on the S.S. Discount.
Saitama watched the light show. "Wow. Everyone's really working hard."
He looked at Genos. "What about us? Should we do something?"
"Sensei, we are the heavy artillery," Genos said. "We wait for the command ship."
Saitama looked at the endless sea of ships. "I see a big shiny one in the back. Is that it?"
He pointed to a ship that looked less like a vessel and more like a flying cathedral made of stained glass and hatred.
"That is the flagship," Child Emperor confirmed. "Readings indicate it's charging a... planet-cracker weapon. It's aiming past us. At the Earth."
Saitama's face went blank.
"Planet cracker?"
He opened the airlock.
"Hey, Fubuki. Hold my spot."
"Saitama, wait! You can't breathe out there!"
Saitama took a deep breath. A really deep breath. His chest expanded like a barrel. He puffed his cheeks out.
He stepped out onto the hull. He crouched.
Serious Series: Serious Hop.
He launched.
He didn't fly. He became a projectile. The S.S. Discount dropped a hundred feet from the recoil.
Saitama streaked through the silent battle. He punched through a frigate that was in his way without slowing down. He passed Atomic Samurai, waving. He passed a startled alien fighter pilot, who had just enough time to register a bald man in a grey shirt holding his breath before his windshield shattered from the sonic wake.
Saitama crashed onto the deck of the Command Cathedral Cosmic Order.
The impact shook the structure. Crystal spires shattered.
Saitama stood up, holding his breath, his face turning slightly purple.
A door opened. Hundreds of Crystalline Guards poured out. They wielded staffs that crackled with null-energy.
"Intruder!" they projected mentally. "Eliminate!"
Saitama pointed at his mouth and shook his head. Mmmph mmmph. (Translation: I can't talk right now.)
They attacked. Beams of energy hit him. They tickled. Spears of diamond-hard light struck his chest. They broke.
Saitama sighed (internally, so he wouldn't lose air). This was annoying.
He swatted them. Left. Right. Slap.
The guards shattered into glitter. It was like fighting chandeliers.
He walked to the main blast door. It was sealed with a chaotic, shifting lock mechanism.
Saitama knocked. Knock knock.
No answer.
Knock knock harder.
The door flew off its hinges, tumbling down the hallway and crushing a tactical response team.
Inside the bridge, Grand Adjudicator Xylar floated in panic.
"The primitives! How? The barrier was absolute!"
The door at the end of the hall crumbled. A bald earthling walked in, cheeks puffed out, looking like an angry pufferfish.
"Is that him?" Xylar shrieked telepathically. "Is that the Avatar of God?"
"Scanning," the ship's computer droned. "Power level: ERROR. Classification: Bal...dy?"
Saitama walked up to Xylar.
Xylar unleashed his full power. "CRYSTALLINE SINGULARITY!"
He fired a miniature black hole at Saitama's chest.
Saitama caught the black hole. It sat in his hand, a heavy, swirling marble of darkness trying to eat the universe.
Saitama looked at it. He squeezed.
Pop.
The black hole vanished.
Xylar froze. "You... you pinched a singularity."
Saitama pointed to his mouth again, then at the atmosphere controls.
Xylar understood. He hastily pressed a button. Oxygen flooded the room.
Saitama exhaled. "Phew." He took a deep breath. "Okay. Much better."
He looked at Xylar.
"So, you're the guy parking in my orbit?"
"I... We..." Xylar stammered. "We are the Council! We are saving the universe from the infection on your planet!"
"Infection?" Saitama picked up a piece of crystal fruit from a bowl (was it fruit? It looked like quartz). "You mean humans? Or the monsters?"
"The GOD Energy!" Xylar vibrated. "Your world is leaking it! If we don't burn it, the entire galaxy will become a vessel for the Void!"
Saitama crunched the crystal fruit. It was tasteless. "Gross."
He tossed it aside.
"Listen, shiny guy. We handled the monsters. We handled the ninjas. We handled the robots. We can handle the spooky god thing too."
"You cannot!" Xylar screamed. "You are just biological matter! You are dust!"
"Maybe," Saitama stepped closer. The ship rumbled. "But we're really stubborn dust."
He raised a fist.
"Now, turn your ships around. Or I turn them into scrap metal. And my disciple will use the scraps to build a toaster. He loves toasters."
Xylar looked at the fist. His protocols ran a simulation of the impact.
Result: Ship destruction.
Result: Fleet destruction.
Result: Self destruction.
"Recall..." Xylar whispered, his light dimming in defeat. "Recall the fleet. Planetary Quarantine failed. We... retreat."
Outside, the lasers stopped. The remaining 9,600 ships ceased fire and began to turn away, engaging warp drives.
The S-Class heroes floated in the void among the wreckage of their victory.
"They're running?" Metal Bat asked, hanging onto a piece of debris. "I was just getting warmed up!"
"He did it," Fubuki sighed on the bridge of the S.S. Discount, watching the command ship retreat. "He punched them into submission without punching them."
"Actually," Child Emperor noted. "Readings show he squeezed a black hole. That probably convinced them."
Saitama jumped from the alien ship back toward the S.S. Discount. He landed on the hull, opening the airlock.
He walked onto the bridge, dusting crystal shards off his shoulder.
"Okay," Saitama said. "They're gone. Did anyone remember to record the sale show? It was on at 4."
As the alien fleet warped away in terror, leaving Earth safe once again, something happened on the surface.
In the crater of the Monster Association—the one Saitama had jumped out of with the team earlier—a single, black hand reached out of the earth.
It wasn't mechanical. It wasn't alien. It was rotting. Or... regenerating.
Zombieman stood on the ship, looking down at the monitor. He felt a chill. Not from space. From his own blood.
"Doctor," Zombieman called Genus on the comms. "The experiment. The clone data we deleted..."
"Yes?" Genus asked.
"Did we delete the backup of the failed subjects?"
There was a long silence.
"We flushed them," Genus said. "Into the sewers."
"Sewers connected to the Monster Association," Zombieman whispered.
On the screen, a figure pulled itself fully out of the ground. It looked like Zombieman. But it had no eyes. And its chest was torn open, revealing a core that pulsed with pure, undiluted God energy.
The Undying Vessel.
The aliens hadn't been wrong. The infection wasn't coming.
It was already here.
"Saitama," Zombieman said, racking his slide. "Don't get comfortable. We missed one."