The departure of the Nohara family (escorted by the gleefully oblivious Ice Duchess, bound for the undoubtedly soon-to-be-traumatized Northern Ice Kingdoms) and the subsequent, almost casual, decision by Saitama and Genos to "stick around Midgar a bit longer" (primarily due to the aforementioned "buy two, get one slightly less scorched" jerky deal) ushered in a period of profound, almost unsettling, normalcy for Shadow Garden.
The grand, cosmic threats had receded. The interdimensional portals had (mostly) sealed. The city, while still bearing the scars of recent apocalypses and pudding-related mishaps, was slowly, painstakingly, returning to a semblance of its former self. Street vendors hawked their wares with a renewed, if slightly nervous, vigor. Minstrels composed ballads, not of terrifying Night Blades, but of a "Bald Champion with a Fist of Indifference" and a "Mysterious Shadow Lord who Broods Most Magnificently." Life, in its own mundane, resilient way, was reasserting itself.
For Shadow, this newfound peace was… a double-edged sword. On one hand, the constant, high-stakes, reality-bending chaos had been exhausting. His Eminence persona had been stretched, battered, and often rendered utterly irrelevant. A part of him, the Cid Kagenou part that just wanted to read light novels and imagine cool fight scenes, craved the quiet.
On the other hand… it was boring.
His grand, shadowy war had ended not with a bang, but with a series of increasingly bizarre anticlimaxes. His ultimate evil mastermind had been one-punched into oblivion while complaining about bathroom breaks. His elite assassins had been defeated by art critiques and bad luck. His latest necromantic threat had fled in terror at the mere sight of a five-year-old demanding a butt dance.
What was an Eminence in Shadow to do in a world that stubbornly refused to provide him with appropriately dramatic, world-ending threats that he could then dramatically, and single-handedly, overcome?
He found himself spending even more time in his brooding-chamber, his sketches becoming increasingly introspective. He drew the silent Well of Whispers, its calmed energies a stark contrast to the chaotic power he had once envisioned unleashing. He drew the empty throne of Xar'Voth, trying to capture the sheer, unadulterated nothingness of its defeat. He even attempted a self-portrait, but found it difficult to capture the precise level of weary amusement and existential bewilderment that now seemed to be a permanent fixture beneath his hood.
Alpha, observing her Lord's newfound quietude, felt a mixture of relief and a subtle, almost maternal, concern. "Lord Shadow," she ventured one afternoon, finding him staring intently at a blank piece of parchment, as if willing a new, epic conflict into existence, "the city is calm. Our networks report minimal Cult activity. Perhaps… perhaps this is an opportunity to… rest? To consolidate our gains?"
Shadow turned, his cloak billowing with a slightly less theatrical, more… thoughtful… flourish. "Rest, Alpha? But the shadows never truly rest. They merely… recede. Waiting for the opportune moment to lengthen once more." (Even in peacetime, Cid couldn't resist a good, cryptic pronouncement). He paused, a flicker of something unreadable in his hidden eyes. "However… you are correct. The board is… quiet. For now."
The "quiet" was, of course, relative. Saitama and Genos were still in Midgar.
Saitama, having thoroughly explored the city's (surprisingly resilient) jerky vendors and armor discount outlets, had discovered a new passion: Midgarian public parks. Not for the "epic battles with squirrels" he had initially envisioned, but for the simple, unadulterated joy of… napping. He could often be found stretched out on a park bench, Mr. Fluffles curled up on his chest, Sooty the kitten batting playfully at his nose, Sir Reginald Fuzzybottom contentedly munching on nearby dandelions, and the one-legged raven offering unsolicited (and often surprisingly insightful) commentary on passing pigeons. It was a scene of such profound, almost aggressively peaceful, domesticity that it often drew bewildered stares from passersby, who still whispered tales of his "continent-shattering sneezes."
Genos, ever diligent, used this downtime to further his research. He had managed to establish a rudimentary (and heavily shielded, after the "Relish Incident") laboratory in their royal quarters, where he meticulously analyzed samples of Midgarian flora, fauna, and arcane energies. He was particularly fascinated by the concept of "mana" and was attempting to develop a "mana-to-bio-electric energy converter" that could, theoretically, recharge his core using ambient magical fields. His experiments often resulted in small, localized power outages and the faint smell of ozone, much to the consternation of the palace staff.
Shadow Garden, while maintaining their vigilance, also found themselves with more… leisure time.
Beta, with the primary narrative arc of Xar'Voth and the Night Blades now (hilariously, anticlimactically) concluded, had turned her attention to a new project: a comprehensive "Interdimensional Bestiary and Anomaly Compendium." It was an attempt to categorize and understand the sheer, bewildering variety of entities and phenomena they had encountered. She had a particularly lengthy, and heavily footnoted, section on "Nohara, Shinnosuke: Juvenile Chaos Elemental – Threat Level: Existential (to sanity and social order)."
Epsilon, her musical talents no longer solely dedicated to mournful elegies for fallen (imaginary) comrades, began composing… ballads. Epic, sweeping ballads that chronicled the (heavily embellished and significantly more dramatic) exploits of Shadow Garden, with particular emphasis on Lord Shadow's (mostly fictional) moments of brilliant insight and overwhelming power. She even, in a moment of inspired whimsy, composed a surprisingly catchy sea shanty about Saitama's quest for spicy relish, a tune that became inexplicably popular among the palace guards.
Gamma, with the kingdom's finances slowly recovering, found herself embroiled in a new, far more terrifying, conflict: royal bureaucracy. She spent her days navigating labyrinthine forms, attending mind-numbingly tedious committee meetings, and trying to explain to stuffy royal accountants why Shadow Garden required funding for "advanced rooftop surveillance equipment" and "emergency pudding-containment units." It was, she often lamented to a sympathetic (and equally bewildered) Chancellor Olba, a battle far more insidious and soul-crushing than any demonic incursion.
Delta, deprived of large-scale combat, had channeled her boundless energy into… competitive sports. She had single-handedly (and often quite literally) dominated every athletic competition in Midgar, from wrestling (her opponents usually forfeited after the first bone-jarring tackle) to footraces (she usually won by several city blocks) to, inexplicably, competitive flower arranging (her arrangements, while terrifyingly asymmetrical and often featuring sharpened sticks, were deemed "boldly innovative" by a panel of very intimidated judges).
Zeta and Eta, their research no longer focused on immediate, world-ending threats, had turned their attention to the lingering "dimensional scars" left behind by Xar'Voth's incursions and Saitama's… energetic episodes. They were mapping these subtle weaknesses in the fabric of reality, trying to understand if they could be exploited by future threats, or perhaps, even harnessed. Eta had also, much to Genos's chagrin, developed a keen interest in his cybernetic systems, often appearing silently behind him in his lab, her eyes gleaming with an unnerving, scientific curiosity, muttering about "optimizing his positronic net" and "the potential for arcane-infused firmware upgrades."
Seraphina, the former Night Blade, found a surprising niche within Shadow Garden: she became their unofficial "liaison to the rehabilitated." With her unique understanding of the Cult's indoctrination methods and the psychological toll of serving a dark master, she proved invaluable in helping other former Cultists (the ones who hadn't fled in terror at the mere mention of Saitama) reintegrate into society, or, in some cases, find a new purpose within Shadow Garden's own ranks. She also, much to her own surprise, found herself enjoying Epsilon's increasingly upbeat musical compositions, and had even, on one memorable occasion, been coerced into a surprisingly graceful (if still slightly melancholic) waltz with a very enthusiastic Delta during one of Gamma's (rare, and carefully monitored) "morale-boosting" social gatherings.
It was during one such period of relative calm, as Shadow was attempting to teach Mr. Fluffles the subtle art of "dramatic posing" (Mr. Fluffles was, predictably, more interested in a stray carrot), that Alpha entered his chamber, her expression unusually serious.
"Lord Shadow," she said, her voice low, "we have… a development. A rather… delicate one."
Shadow turned, his interest piqued. "Delicate, Alpha? More so than, say, a five-year-old attempting to use the royal scepter as a makeshift pogo stick?"
Alpha allowed herself a small, weary smile. "Perhaps. It concerns… the Cult of Diablos. Or rather, what remains of it."
"They dare to stir?" Shadow's voice took on a familiar, dangerous edge. "After the… events… that transpired? Their audacity knows no bounds."
"It is not audacity, Lord Shadow," Alpha said. "It is… desperation. And, it seems… a schism." She presented him with a series of intercepted communications, decoded by Zeta and Eta. "It appears the Cult is fracturing. With Xar'Voth gone, and the Night Blades scattered or… re-evaluating their life choices… several factions have emerged, each vying for control of the remaining resources and followers. And one faction… one particularly ambitious, and perhaps particularly foolish, individual… is attempting to reactivate an ancient artifact. An artifact known as the 'Umbral Heart.'"
Shadow's hidden eyes narrowed. "The Umbral Heart… I know of it. A relic of immense dark power, said to be capable of amplifying negative emotions, of twisting an individual's desires into monstrous obsessions. It was sealed away centuries ago, deemed too dangerous, too corrupting, even for the Cult's more… enthusiastic members."
"Precisely, Lord Shadow," Alpha confirmed. "And this individual, a former high-ranking priest named Malakorias (no relation to the earlier, significantly less competent, Malakor), believes he can control it. He believes he can use it to become the new 'Master,' to reunite the Cult and usher in a new age of shadows."
Shadow almost laughed. A new "Master"? After Xar'Voth? After Saitama? It was like a particularly persistent gnat trying to declare itself king of the eagles.
"And where is this… aspiring overlord… and his anemic artifact?" Shadow asked, a hint of bored amusement in his voice.
"That, Lord Shadow," Alpha said, her expression growing even more serious, "is the… delicate part. According to our intelligence, Malakorias has taken refuge, and is attempting to activate the Umbral Heart, in a place that is… well-known to us." She paused, then delivered the punchline with a quiet, almost apologetic, finality.
"He is in the catacombs beneath the old Royal Academy. The same catacombs where… where you first founded Shadow Garden, Lord Shadow. The place where you first gathered the Seven Shades."
Shadow froze. The Royal Academy. The place where Cid Kagenou, the chuunibyou dreamer, had first begun to spin his elaborate web of lies and half-truths, the place where he had "rescued" Alpha and the others, setting in motion the chain of events that had led them all to this absurd, unpredictable, and strangely wonderful, present.
To have that place, a place of such personal (if entirely fabricated, on his part) significance, defiled by some second-rate Cultist trying to play at being a dark lord… it was… insulting.
A new, cold fire kindled in Shadow's eyes. Not the theatrical fury of the Eminence, but a deeper, more personal, anger.
"Malakorias," Shadow said, his voice a low, dangerous growl, "has made a grave miscalculation." He rose from his chair, his cloak swirling around him with a renewed, almost predatory, intensity. "He seeks to desecrate our origins. He seeks to claim a legacy that is not his."
He looked at Alpha, and she saw in his hidden eyes not the weary amusement of recent days, but a flicker of the old, unwavering resolve, the fierce, protective instinct that lay at the very core of his complex, contradictory being.
"Alpha," Shadow commanded, his voice resonating with a newfound, almost chilling, purpose. "Gather the Shades. All of them. This is not merely a mission. This is… a cleansing. A reaffirmation." He paused, a grim smile touching his unseen lips. "And perhaps… perhaps it is time the Eminence in Shadow reminded this world, and himself, what true darkness, properly wielded, can achieve."
He did not, however, suggest involving Saitama. Some battles, some desecrations, were personal. And some messes, Shadow decided, were best cleaned up with a scalpel, not a planet-busting sneeze. The quiet after the storm was over. And a new, more focused, shadow was about to fall. The game, it seemed, was afoot once more. And this time, the Eminence was playing for keeps.