Chương 126: Chapter 119: The Venomous Sting's Eclipse

The industrial plaza of Mantle was a swirling sea of vibrant campaign banners, thumping basslines, and the localized, suffocating heat of thousands of desperate citizens packed shoulder-to-shoulder. The Victory Block Party was in full swing, completely masking the grim reality of the kingdom's fracturing political landscape with the intoxicating allure of free food and loud music.

Standing near the perimeter of a massive, steam-filled catering tent, utterly oblivious to the geopolitical tension, was a man who fundamentally did not belong. Saitama, dressed impeccably in his sharp black suit, pristine white trench coat, and Roman Torchwick's bowler hat, was in absolute paradise. He held a flimsy paper plate stacked impossibly high with roasted skewers, delicate pastries, and his ultimate prize: the Limited Solitas Smoked Beef Brisket.

He took a bite of the brisket, his dotted eyes widening slightly as the tender, smoked meat melted on his tongue. He let out a contented hum, using a pair of wooden tongs to secure three more slices from the buffet tray.

"I've got to wrap the rest of this up in napkins," Saitama mumbled, completely unbothered by the cheering crowds around him.

"If I take this back to the penthouse, I won't have to buy groceries for at least three days." Suddenly, he felt a light, hesitant tap on his shoulder. Saitama slowly turned around, chewing his beef. Standing right behind him were Ruby Rose, Jaune Arc, Pyrrha Nikos, Nora Valkyrie, and Lie Ren. They were all staring at him with expressions ranging from sheer, unadulterated panic to profound bewilderment. Saitama raised his eyebrows, his expression remaining completely flat.

"Oh, you kids are here too."

"S-Saitama!" Ruby hissed frantically, stepping closer and dropping her voice to a desperate whisper.

"What are you doing here?! Professor Ozpin and General Ironwood explicitly told you not to leave the city of Atlas!"

"Yeah, you're supposed to be in the penthouse!" Jaune added, nervously scanning the crowd to make sure no Atlesian soldiers were watching them.

"If anyone recognizes you--""Relax," Saitama interrupted casually, taking another bite of meat.

"I saw a flyer for limited, free premium food. Do you know how expensive this stuff is up in the sky? Some of this beef was completely sold out at the Atlas supermarkets. I couldn't pass this up." Ruby, Jaune, Pyrrha, and Ren stared at him, absolutely baffled by the sheer, mundane absurdity of his motivation. While they were agonizing over the fate of the world, he was risking the entire shadow war for free catering. Nora, however, saw an opportunity.

Without a shred of hesitation, her hand darted out, plucking a beautifully roasted piece of beef directly off Saitama's plate and popping it into her mouth. She chewed happily, her teal eyes lighting up.

"Wow! He's right, this is amazing!" Saitama's left eye twitched. He pulled his plate back, shooting her a highly annoyed, comical scowl.

"Hey! Don't steal my stash! If you want some, you have to get in line like everyone else!"

"Saitama, please," Pyrrha pleaded softly, her emerald eyes filled with genuine concern as she leaned in.

"We need to take you back up to Atlas right now before the press or Robyn Hill spots you."

"Not yet," Saitama refused stubbornly, shaking his head.

"I want to collect the rest of the dessert tray before I head back. I promised the umbrella girl I'd get her a slice." Nora's hand became a blur, snatching another piece of beef from his plate while he was distracted. Saitama didn't notice, but Ren let out a long, heavy sigh of pure defeat.

"Mr. Saitama, please," Ren urged, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"It is incredibly dangerous. You are wasting precious time."

"I'm not wasting time, I'm preventing food waste," Saitama corrected sagely, before glancing down and noticing another gap on his plate. He glared at Nora, shifting the plate out of her reach.

"Stop taking my beef! This is for the penthouse!" He turned back to the stressed teenagers.

"It'll be fine. I can do a secret mission. Besides, I have the umbrella girl to cover me. She used her weird shiny magic trick to get us past the guards." He turned his head to gesture to where Neopolitan had been standing just moments ago. But the master thief was gone. Saitama's flat expression dropped into a deep frown. He stood on his tiptoes, peering over the heads of the dancing citizens. A few yards away, he spotted the familiar white scarf and black trench coat.

Neo was standing perfectly still behind a boisterous Mantle citizen who was chatting with his friends. With slow, practiced elegance, Neo's gloved hand slipped toward the man's heavy coat pocket, her fingers gracefully securing the edge of a thick, leather wallet. Just as she was about to pull it free, two red-gloved fingers appeared from behind her and clamped violently onto her left ear. Neo's heterochromic eyes widened in shock as she was physically yanked backward.

"Again? Seriously?" Saitama scolded, pinching her ear firmly. The civilian, entirely oblivious to the master thief who had nearly robbed him blind, laughed at a joke and walked away into the crowd with his friends. Saitama finally released his grip.

"You really gotta stop doing that. You're ruining the secret mission." Neo rubbed her reddened ear, her face scrunching into a massive, highly theatrical pout as she glared up at the bald hero, crossing her arms defensively. Back at the catering line, Ruby, Jaune, Pyrrha, and Ren watched the bizarre, sibling-like interaction with a mixture of immense stress and awkward amusement.

"They truly are something else," Jaune muttered, shaking his head. Ren was currently holding Saitama's flimsy paper plate, having been tasked to guard the beef. Nora's eyes locked onto the meat. She reached out, her fingers inches from the brisket, but Ren smoothly moved his hand away, holding the plate out of her reach. Nora crossed her arms, comically mimicking Neo's exact pout. Saitama tramped back over to the group, grabbing his plate from Ren.

"Thanks, kid. I'm going to go find a drink to wash this down. It won't take long. Keep an eye on her." As Saitama wandered off toward the beverage tents, the booming sound of a microphone tapping echoed over the plaza. Ruby and Team JNPR turned their attention toward the makeshift stage. Standing at the podium was Fiona Thyme, her sheep ears trembling slightly as she looked out over the massive crowd. High above her, the holographic election polls flashed bright green.

Jacques Schnee currently sat at 43%, while Robyn Hill commanded a dominating lead.

"I want to thank everyone for going to the polls today," Fiona's voice echoed, thick with profound, overwhelming emotion.

"This is Mantle's moment. I know that, like me, you're all thrilled that we chose Robyn as our voice in Atlas. No one has fought harder for Mantle than she has. And..." Fiona's voice cracked. She covered her mouth with her hand, desperately trying not to cry, and wiped a stray tear from her eye with her palm. The crowd erupted into supportive, deafening cheers.

"I know Robyn will continue that fight on the Council," Fiona smiled, her voice gaining strength.

"Will you share a few words?" Fiona turned to look off-stage. The crowd instantly began a deafening, rhythmic chant.

"ROBYN! ROBYN! ROBYN!" Robyn Hill strode confidently onto the stage, her mechanical crossbow shield glinting under the stage lights. The plaza absolutely exploded with applause. She took the microphone from Fiona, sharing a brief, excited whisper with her friend before Fiona stepped back into the shadows.

"I've never been much for public speaking," Robyn began, a self-deprecating smirk on her face.

"Probably wasn't my best idea ever to go into politics." The crowd laughed warmly. Above her, the digital numbers shifted. Jacques crept up to 45%, while Robyn dropped slightly to 55%.

"Thank you so much, everyone, for choosing me," Robyn said, her voice turning fiercely sincere.

"You said you believe in me. But I'm the one who believes in all of you. You've proven to me that as individuals, we are strong. But together... we're unstoppable." The numbers shifted again. Jacques: 46%. Robyn: 54%.

"So no matter what happens tonight, win or lose," Robyn declared, raising her fist into the air, "we will continue to fight for our city, because it is this city that brings us together!" Upbeat, triumphant music blasted from the speakers as the crowd roared in approval. Robyn smiled brilliantly, waving to her supporters as she walked off the stage. But the moment she stepped out of the spotlight, her smile faltered. She turned her head away from the crowd, looking nervously up at the giant holographic screen.

"We're in the final minutes now." The newscaster's voice announced over the broadcast.

"And it's looking to be a closer race than anticipated." Robyn stood in the dim backstage area, surrounded by her Happy Huntresses.

"Don't worry," Joanna Greenleaf grinned, clapping a heavy hand on Robyn's shoulder.

"It's in the bag." May Marigold leaned against a crate, grinning widely as she offered a confident wink and a thumbs-up. Robyn smiled faintly at her friends, but her sharp eyes darted nervously back to the screen. Jacques: 47%. Robyn: 53%. Robyn looked away, a deep, troubled frown creasing her features.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. Miles away from the celebration, in a dark, cold warehouse filled floor-to-ceiling with pristine Schnee Dust Company shipping crates, a vastly different operation was underway. Arthur Watts sat elegantly at a makeshift terminal, bathed in the sinister, pale cyan glow of an array of interconnected Scrolls laid out on a table before him.

On the center screen, Watts was watching a live, high-definition drone feed of Robyn's victory party. Next to it played a recorded security video of Penny Polendina fiercely battling a pack of Sabyrs in the snowy streets of Mantle. Surrounding these videos were complex, wireframe 3D models of both Penny and another figure, alongside a live, localized map of the Mantle election grid. The actual voting numbers on his screen had been entirely erased, replaced by executing lines of malicious code.

Watts tapped the glass screens gracefully. He adjusted the sleek, yellow rings on his fingers. Instantly, all eight rings lit up, pulsing with a synchronized cyan hue. He raised his hands in the air, striking the dramatic, satisfied pose of a maestro preparing to conduct a symphony of absolute chaos. He tapped his earpiece.

"You ready, Tyrian?" Back in the crowded, thumping plaza of Mantle, Tyrian Callows stood perfectly still amidst the dancing citizens. The heavy hood of his winter jacket obscured his maniacal, feverish eyes, but a sick, euphoric smile stretched across his scarred face. Robyn Hill walked past him on the stage, entirely unaware of the apex predator lurking in the crowd below.

"Always," Tyrian chuckled into his collar, his voice a wet, sadistic rasp. Near the front of the stage, Penny Polendina emerged from the backstage area. She spotted Ruby in the crowd and cheerfully threw a crisp, rigid salute. Ruby grinned, waving back at her synthetic friend.

"The polls are about to close!" Robyn announced over the loudspeakers.

"Twelve! Eleven!..." Penny looked over at Robyn, her internal systems humming happily as the massive crowd carried on the deafening countdown.

"TEN! NINE! EIGHT!..." While Jaune, Pyrrha, Nora, and Ren were looking up at the holographic screen, Ruby's silver eyes caught a sudden, unnatural movement in the peripheral of the crowd. Slithering silently through the legs of the cheering citizens, moving with lethal, biological fluidity, was a massive, chitinous, purple-brown scorpion tail. The hooded figure attached to it began to walk swiftly away from the stage, disappearing into the dense throng of people.

"SEVEN! SIX! FIVE!..." Ruby moved, leaning forcefully into the crowd, her heart hammering against her ribs as she desperately tried to track the owner of the organic stinger.

"FOUR! THREE! TWO--" Ruby found him. The hood shifted, revealing the scarred, psychotic grin of Tyrian Callows. Ruby's eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing panic. She saw his body coil, his biological tail arching, preparing for a devastating strike. She gasped, throwing her hand out toward the stage with all her might.

"WATCH OUT!" Ruby screamed. The very instant the words left her lips, every single light, speaker, and heating lamp in the plaza violently shut off. The deafening music died. The victory party was instantly plunged into absolute, pitch-black darkness. The crowd immediately began to murmur in blind confusion. Near the catering tents, Saitama stopped chewing his beef, blinking into the darkness, while Neo's grip tightened instinctively on her parasol.

Backstage, May and Joanna leaned against the wall, looking up at the dead stage lights in bewilderment. In his dark warehouse, Watts stared at his glowing terminal, his fingers dancing across the screens.

"Go," Watts commanded simply. He swiped his hand violently across the array of Scrolls. On the dark stage, the heavy thud of a microphone dropping echoed over the confused crowd. A split second later, the faint, sickening sound of tearing flesh and a wet blood spatter cut through the silence. A woman screamed. It was a raw, visceral shriek of pure agony. Absolute, unadulterated panic exploded through the plaza. The crowd surged like a tidal wave of terrified animals.

Someone violently elbowed Ruby in the chest, knocking her entirely off her feet. She crashed hard into the wooden side of the stage, her head striking the boards with a dull thud.

"Ruby?!" Jaune yelled, drawing his sword in the pitch black.

"Where is she?! I can't see!" Pyrrha panicked, trying to hold her ground against the stampeding citizens while Ren and Nora frantically searched the darkness. In the suffocating blackness, Tyrian Callows was an artist at work. He moved with blinding, fluid grace through the screaming crowd, laughing maniacally as he kicked people's legs out from under them.

His wrist blades flashed in the dark, slashing indiscriminately into the terrified civilians as his thick, muscular Faunus tail whipped and stung, poisoning anyone in its path.

"Penny, what's going on over there?!" Marrow's frantic voice crackled over the secure earpiece. Penny's optical sensors instantly whirred, shifting into an eerie, glowing green night-vision mode. She scanned the chaos. She spotted Ruby sitting with her back pressed against the stage, clutching her head and desperately trying not to be trampled, while Team JNPR held a defensive perimeter around her. Penny turned her head toward the center of the plaza.

Her targeting reticles locked onto Tyrian just as he viciously slashed another civilian across the chest. The serial killer licked his own blades, his eyes wide with euphoric joy. As Tyrian raised his arm, preparing to impale a fallen citizen, Penny deployed Floating Array. The mechanical swords detached from her back, hovering in the air and aiming directly at the assassin's chest.

"Put down your weapon and surrender!" Penny ordered, her synthetic voice ringing with absolute, unyielding authority. Tyrian paused. He looked at the glowing android, his smile widening into a grotesque, mocking sneer. With a swift, agile backflip, Tyrian vanished completely into the terrified crowd, using two fleeing civilians as a physical shield between himself and Penny's blades. Penny floated higher, her mechanical eyes frantically scanning the darkness for his heat signature.

Miles away, Watts's hands flew across his terminal. He was manipulating the live drone footage, combining it with the recorded video of Penny fighting the Sabyrs.

"Perfect," Watts grinned, a look of pure, evil satisfaction on his face. He intended to broadcast a fabricated video showing Mantle's beloved protector slaughtering her own people. As his fingers moved, the 3D model of Tyrian and the real Tyrian in the live feed gained a glowing cyan outline. A second later, the model of Penny and the recorded footage of the android gained the exact same cyan tracking outline, locking the digital frame-up into place.

"This is Ace Operative Marrow!" Marrow yelled frantically over his comms, sprinting toward the stage.

"Requesting immediate assistance! We have an active shooter situation!" Watts ignored the radio chatter. He casually swiped his hand across the screen displaying the Mantle election map. With a few malicious lines of code, the colors on the map violently inverted, erasing Robyn's lead and flooding the grid entirely in Jacques Schnee's favor. Back on the dark stage, Robyn Hill and Fiona Thyme stood back-to-back, their weapons drawn and ready.

"Huntresses, to me!" Robyn roared over the screaming crowd. May and Joanna vaulted onto the stage, weapons drawn, but they were effectively blind.

"I can't see a damn thing!" Joanna growled, straining her eyes against the darkness. Down in the crowd, Tyrian was carving a bloody path directly toward the stage. His target was Robyn Hill. But the dense, panicked mob was slowing his advance. He needed to clear the obstacles. He slashed a man across the thigh, laughing as the civilian fell. He leaped over the body, his eyes locking onto his next victim.

Standing dead in his path, completely stationary with his back turned to the killer, was a clueless-looking man in a white trench coat and a bowler hat. Tyrian's scarred face twisted into a psychopathic grin. He can't see me. Tyrian thought gleefully. Just another lamb. Tyrian dashed forward with blinding speed. He vaulted into the air, coiling his biological, chitinous scorpion tail over his shoulder, preparing to deliver a lethal, decapitating slash to the back of the man's neck with his venomous stinger.

But Tyrian was wrong. The man wasn't blind. The man didn't care about the darkness at all. Just as Tyrian's tail whipped forward with supersonic force, the man in the bowler hat casually turned around. He had a completely flat, slightly confused expression on his face. In his hand, he was proudly holding a flimsy paper plate stacked impossibly high with premium, limited-edition Solitas Smoked Beef Brisket.

Because Tyrian had already committed to the strike, and because the man had turned exactly at the wrong microsecond, the razor-sharp stinger missed the man's neck entirely. Instead, the stinger sliced cleanly, perfectly, and devastatingly through the paper plate. The plate shattered. The towering mountain of slow-roasted, perfectly seasoned, all-you-can-eat premium beef plummeted toward the icy cobblestones, scattering into the dirty, slushy snow. The man in bowler hat stood perfectly still.

His dotted eyes expanded to the absolute, comical limits of his face. He stared at the ruined beef lying in the dirt. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The screams of the crowd faded away.

"MY BEEEEEF!!!" The man shrieked, his voice cracking with profound, world-ending tragedy. Tyrian landed gracefully on his feet, his brow furrowing in deep confusion. The man hadn't flinched from the blade. He was staring at the ground, entirely unbothered by the serial killer standing inches from him, mourning a plate of catering. What is wrong with him? Tyrian thought, highly annoyed.

"Die!" Tyrian lashed out again, thrusting his organic, purple-brown tail forward with lethal, piercing intent, aiming directly for the man's heart. SMACK. Tyrian froze. The momentum of his strike was halted instantly, as if he had just tried to stab a solid mountain of titanium. He looked down. The man in the bowler hat had casually raised his right hand, effortlessly catching the razor-sharp stinger perfectly between his red-gloved thumb and palm. Tyrian gasped, his eyes widening in sudden, excruciating pain.

The grip on his stinger was impossible. The biological joints of his Faunus appendage began to crack and splinter under the sheer, localized pressure of the red glove. Tyrian looked up, staring into the face of his victim. The man wasn't mourning the beef anymore. The comedic, rounded features had vanished. His face was a mask of heavily shaded, hyper-detailed, absolute fury. His eyes burned with an intensity that made the serial killer's psychotic bloodlust feel like a children's game.

"You bastard." The man in bowler hat growled, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that vibrated through Tyrian's very bones.

"Take responsibility!" He didn't throw a punch. He simply closed his fist tighter around the chitinous appendage and yanked his arm backward with pure, unrestrained, absolute force. CRRRACK! The sound of shattering bone and tearing flesh was sickeningly loud. Tyrian Callows's eyes practically bulged out of his skull.

"AAAAAAAGH!" It was a raw, agonizing, blood-curdling howl of pure torment that completely overpowered the panicked crowd. The sheer kinetic force of Saitama's pull violently, completely ripped the organic scorpion tail entirely out of his lower spine. Thick, crimson blood sprayed across the snow. Tyrian was violently thrown to the ground, landing in a crumpled, agonizing heap. He clutched his bleeding back, writhing like a crushed insect.

"MY TAIL! YOU MISERABLE, FILTHY WRETCH!" Tyrian shrieked hysterically, spitting blood onto the ice as his mind fractured under the blinding pain.

"I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL GOUGE YOUR EYES OUT! AAAAAAAHHH!" Suddenly, the massive floodlights and the streetlamps flickered. The power grids surged, and the plaza was instantly bathed in bright, illuminating light once again. The screams of the crowd shifted from blind panic to horrified realization as they saw the blood staining the snow. Several people were lying on the ground, severely injured by Tyrian's rampage.

"Over here!" Ren yelled, sprinting alongside Nora toward an injured man. Forest was clutching a deep gash on his arm, groaning in pain.

"Hold on, buddy! I've got you!" Nora urged, pressing a clean bandage against the wound. Marrow, his rifle raised, sprinted to Penny's side near the stage, his eyes wide with shock at the carnage. But the chaos of the injured quickly faded into absolute, stunned silence as everyone's attention was drawn to the massive holographic screen above the stage. A towering, high-definition photograph of Jacques Schnee was displayed, with a massive, bold banner reading VICTORY! flashing beneath it.

"And the winner of the Atlas Council election is... Jacques Schnee!" The newscaster's voice boomed over the plaza's restored speakers. The screen cut to live footage of Jacques standing triumphantly at his podium in front of the Schnee Manor.

"Oho, thank you, everyone, thank you," Jacques gloated, a sickeningly smug smile on his face.

"It's all because of you. It's a new day in Atlas. We've won, we did it!" The people of Mantle stared at the screen, their minds fracturing under the weight of the impossible, devastating political loss. But the despair of the election was entirely overshadowed by the gruesome, baffling reality lying in the dead center of the plaza.

Ruby, Neopolitan, Team JNPR, Penny, Marrow, the Happy Huntresses, and hundreds of stunned citizens turned their gazes away from the screen, staring in absolute, paralyzed bewilderment at the scene before them. Tyrian Callows, the psychotic serial killer who had been terrorizing Mantle for weeks, was lying in a massive pool of his own blood, screaming and cursing in agony, entirely crippled.

And standing directly over him, looking incredibly awkward under the sudden spotlight, was the man in the black suit, white trench coat, and bowler hat. Saitama was blinking comically, his dotted eyes darting around the silent, staring crowd. In his right hand, he was casually holding the massive, dripping, severed biological scorpion tail like a bizarre, fleshy trophy. In his dark warehouse, Arthur Watts stared at his drone feed, his jaw hanging wide open.

The digital tracking outlines flickered uselessly on his screen. His masterpiece frame-up was entirely ruined.

"What the..." Watts breathed, his aristocratic composure shattering in sheer disbelief.

"Who is he?!" The distant, wailing sound of military sirens approaching the warehouse snapped Watts out of his shock. With no other choice, the disgraced scientist cursed loudly, abandoning his terminal and fleeing into the dark. Back at the plaza, the silence stretched on. Robyn Hill stared at the man from the stage, her crossbow lowered. Penny's eyes whirred in confusion. Ruby and Jaune slapped their hands over their faces in pure, unadulterated exasperation.

Saitama, feeling the heavy, questioning weight of a thousand pairs of eyes staring at him and the bleeding psychopath at his feet, let out a nervous, highly uncomfortable sweatdrop.

"Uh..." Saitama awkwardly scratched the back of his neck with his left index finger. He pointed the severed, bloody scorpion tail directly down at the writhing, cursing serial killer.

"He did it first."