Niflheim. The Frozen Bottom of Existence.
This is not a place for souls. Even the dead do not travel this deep. This is the trash bin of creation, where the gods discarded the concepts they were too afraid to name.
Beelzebub stands on a glacier of black ice. His right arm, the one Saitama didn't break, clutches his chest.
The tattoo—the Curse of Satan—is moving.
It isn't writhing. It is migrating.
The ink slides off Beelzebub's skin. It drips onto the ice.
"It's leaving," Beelzebub whispers, teeth chattering from a cold that freezes magical energy. "I am... free?"
The ink hits the floor. It joins a river of shadows flowing from the cracks in reality—the "Ink" of the defeated Author Entity.
The shadows pool together. They bubble.
A shape rises.
It has no skin. Only raw muscle and starlight darkness. Huge, curved horns jut from a skull that looks like a crown of thorns fused with bone. Six wings, stripped of feathers, spread wide—skeleton fingers reaching for a heaven that rejected them.
Satan. The First Enemy.
He does not roar. He does not posture.
He inhales.
The glacier of Niflheim turns to ash.
The cold vanishes, replaced by a vacuum of heatless fire.
"The Script," Satan speaks. His voice is the sound of a book closing for the last time. "It ends here."
He looks up. Through the layers of hell. Through the crust of Valhalla. Toward the tear where the anomaly lives.
"If the Narrative cannot control the Hero... then I will remove the Stage."
Earth. Z-City. Streets.
Saitama stands on the sidewalk.
He is holding a cardboard box marked "Kitchen Stuff."
Genos stands beside him, carrying a tower of boxes balanced perfectly on one finger.
King stands nearby, holding his limited edition gaming console like a baby.
"This sucks," Saitama kicks a pebble. It shoots forward, punching a hole through a streetlight. "Evicted. Just like that. Because the building 'violated structural physics.'"
"Master," Genos says. "The building was technically condemned after Tornado-san used it as a projectile. The landlord's decision is legally sound."
"Where do we go?" Saitama sighs. "Fubuki offered her couch, but she lives in a tiny apartment with like thirty other people in suits. Too crowded."
"We could buy a house," King suggests. "With the S-Class pay."
"I spent my savings on the new hotpot," Saitama mutters. "And fixing the wall. I have 1,200 yen."
The Event.
The sky splits.
Not a portal.
The sky shatters.
Like a mirror struck by a hammer, the blue dome above Z-City cracks into a million jagged pieces. Behind the blue isn't space.
It is Valhalla.
The dimensions are colliding.
Satan isn't traveling. He is pulling the worlds together like two magnets crashing.
Gravity shifts sideways.
Cars start floating. The debris from the Ghost Town district rises into the air.
Saitama's box of kitchen stuff lifts.
"Hey!" Saitama grabs the box. "My cups!"
"MERGE."
The command rings across the planet.
Valhalla.
The reconstructed Arena vibrates.
Brunhilde looks up. She sees... Z-City.
An entire human city, upside down, descending rapidly towards them. Skytree first.
"Collision course!" Göll screams. "He's dropping the Human Realm on us!"
"Catch it!" Thor yells.
Thor, Lu Bu, Raiden, and Shiva (back from the moon) form a line. They look up at the descending city.
"Heave!"
The gods and heroes catch Z-City.
Atlas-style.
Thor shoulders a skyscraper. Raiden catches a stadium. Shiva uses four arms to stabilize a residential district.
With a groan that shakes the multiverse, they slow the descent.
Z-City lands on top of Valhalla with a deafening THUD, fusing the geography.
The architecture creates a bizarre hybrid: Neon signs flickering next to Greek pillars. Convenience stores nestled against Nordic shrines.
The Zero Point.
Saitama lands on his feet in the middle of this mash-up.
He looks around.
To his left, his favorite supermarket.
To his right, the Golden Palace of Odin.
"My commute just got really weird," Saitama notes.
From the cracks in the fused ground, He rises.
Satan erupts from the earth, growing to a height of 500 meters. His sheer presence creates a despair field so thick it liquefies the weak-willed.
Minor gods drop dead from heart failure immediately.
Civilians in Z-City faint en masse.
Even the S-Class heroes—Bang, Atomic Samurai, Flashy Flash—who were caught in the transfer fall to their knees, crushed by the malice.
Satan looks down.
He sees the gods trembling.
He sees the humans despairing.
And he sees a beige spot holding a cardboard box.
"SAITAMA," Satan intones. The name is a curse.
Saitama looks up. He has to crane his neck really far back.
"Who's the big red guy?" Saitama asks Genos.
Genos is currently rebooting. System Critical. Despair Levels Exceeding Hardware Limits. "Master... unknown... entity..."
Satan raises a finger. A finger of absolute negation.
"I am the End. I am the Blank Page at the end of the book. You have made a mockery of this story. You turned tragedies into gags. You turned gods into punchlines."
Satan spreads his wings. Dark ink drips from them, eating the reality of Z-City-Valhalla.
"No more jokes. No more anti-climaxes. I erase the CONCEPT of Fun."
Satan snaps his fingers.
Spell: The Joyless Void.
A wave of grey energy washes over the world.
It hits everything.
Color drains away.
Hope drains away.
The "OPPAI" logo on Saitama's hoodie turns into just the word "SHIRT" in Times New Roman font.
King's video game console turns into a block of wood.
Thor's hammer stops glowing; it becomes just a heavy metal rectangle.
Saitama stands there.
He feels... dull.
Not his usual boredom. This is different. This is administrative, bureaucratic soul-death. It feels like standing in line at the DMV for eternity.
Satan smiles—a horrifying tearing of flesh.
"Feel it. The reality of a serious narrative. Physics applies to you now. Gravity applies to you now. You are just a man in a costume."
Satan creates a spear of Pure Tragery. A weapon made of every sad ending in fiction.
He hurls it.
The spear targets Saitama's heart.
"Master!" Genos screams. His voice is monotonous, stripped of passion.
The spear hits Saitama.
THUNK.
Dust rises.
The gods watch in horror. Is this it? Is the gag over?
The dust clears.
Saitama is still standing.
The spear is shattered against his chest.
He looks at his chest. There is no wound.
But he looks... annoyed.
Really, genuinely, deeply annoyed.
He looks at the box in his hands.
The box of "Kitchen Stuff."
The wave of Joyless Void hit the box.
Inside the box was his favorite mug. The one that said 'Hero at Work'.
He opens the box.
The mug is... grey. The funny font is gone. It just says "Drinking Vessel."
Saitama picks up the grey mug.
He trembles.
"Do you understand?" Satan looms closer. "The humor is dead. You are mundane."
Saitama grips the grey mug.
It cracks.
Powder falls from his fingers.
"You turned my mug..." Saitama whispers.
He looks up.
The shadow over his eyes is absolute pitch black. His teeth are grit so hard sparks fly.
"...into corporate art?"
Satan pauses.
"What?"
Saitama takes a step. The fused ground of Valhalla and Z-City cracks spiderwebs for ten miles.
This isn't the serious punch.
This isn't the serious table flip.
This is the Serious Tantrum.
"I HATE MINIMALISM!" Saitama screams.
He launches himself.
He doesn't fly. He rejects the ground.
He reaches Satan's face in zero time.
Satan's eyes widen. He sees something in the bald man's eyes.
He sees the Ink. He sees the Author. He sees the Narrative trying to suppress him... and failing.
"Impossible," Satan gasps. "I erased the comedy! I erased the genre!"
Saitama draws his fist back.
The "Serious" Kanji appears in the air behind him, burning in burning white fire.
"You ruined my vibe!" Saitama yells. "Give me back my tacky font!"
Serious Series: Serious Reconstruction Punch.
He hits Satan.
But he doesn't just hit the flesh. He hits the "Concept of Seriousness" that Satan enforced.
The impact forces reality to invert.
Satan's body distorts. It stretches. It becomes cartoony. His eyes bulge out of his sockets like a Looney Tunes character.
KA-POW.
A literal comic book sound effect appears in the air, written in giant yellow letters.
Satan is blasted backward.
As he flies, the grey world cracks. Color rushes back in violently.
The "SHIRT" hoodie turns back to "OPPAI."
Thor's hammer starts pulsating to a techno beat.
King's console turns back on, leveling up his character instantly.
Satan crashes into the Asgardian mountain range.
The impact turns the mountains into a giant ball pit.
Colorful plastic balls fly everywhere.
Satan sits up in the ball pit. He looks at his hands. They are... rubbery. Funny.
"What... what is this?" Satan whispers. "I am... Dread... I am..."
He tries to roar.
A squeaky toy noise comes out.
Squeak.
The gods stare.
The humans stare.
Saitama lands. He holds up his mug.
The text 'Hero at Work' fades back in, crooked and colorful.
He sighs. "That's better."
He looks at the 500-meter-tall Satan sitting in a mountain-sized ball pit.
"Hey, Big Red!" Saitama shouts.
"If you're gonna stay, you're paying rent! We need to fix this city-sandwich you made!"
Satan looks at the bald man.
He feels the humor returning. The utter lack of dignity.
And for the first time in eternal history, the Adversary realizes he cannot win.
Not because he is weak.
But because he is fighting a protagonist who treats the Apocalypse like a noisy neighbor.
Satan shrinks.
He shrinks down to human size.
A man in a red suit with small horns.
He raises a hand.
"I..." Satan says, his voice normal. "I can cook."
Saitama blinks.
"Can you make curry?"
"Yes."
Saitama turns to Genos.
"Genos, we found a chef. And a roommate."
Genos opens his notebook.
Subject: Satan. Designation: New Cook. Note: Keep him away from spicy peppers.
Thor drops the building he was holding.
"He hired... Satan?" Thor asks Odin.
Odin sits on the curb next to Mumen Rider. They share a confused look.
"Just go with it," Odin says, accepting a juice box from the cyclist. "It's easier this way."
STORY END.
(Wait, for real this time? Probably. Unless the landlord complains about the ball pit.)