Chapter Text
A lot had changed since Genos arrived. At first that was how Saitama thought of it, that order of events. Genos arrived, and then things changed. More gods started stopping by, more of them talked to him, even the realm started changing in little ways. No one else seemed to notice.
But it was the other way around. Things changed, and Genos arriving was one of those things, and all of it was happening because of that damn war. More specifically, the fact that it was over now.
For thirty years, Saitama had worked. It all blurred together, really. For gods three decades was a blink of an eye, but for Saitama it was half his life. He worked, and he gardened, and he worked, and he slept even though he didn't really need to. He had friends. He had King, and Mumen, and a couple others. He got along with most of the other residents. But it blurred, and some days felt like he'd lived them a hundred times.
And then things changed. Saitama changed. He wasn't – how could he put it? – he wasn't content with the blur any more. He wanted things. Even if he didn't like all the new stuff, he liked that it was new. And that was crazy because he hadn't even liked new stuff when he was mortal.
One thing hadn't changed at all since Saitama took over, and that was the throne room. He hated it. He hadn't touched a stone in there since he fought off the dozen or so gods who'd been arguing over it.
The throne itself was made of one huge chunk of obsidian, carved and polished into angles and points. The points were the problem. On each of the four on the top of the throne was impaled at least one skull. And the spike at the end of each armrest had pitted and decayed from all the blood that had soaked into them.
For the most part the throne room was well decorated, though even Saitama thought all the gold and bejeweling was showy. But when you looked closer you noticed more details.
There were tapestries and paintings of various bits of the realm… complete with tormented shades. The floor had drains. The walls had chains. The room was like a shrine to cruelty, and Saitama would have set the whole thing on fire if he could.
At the moment two people were standing in it arguing, and only the fact that Saitama knew them made him stop as he passed.
"You never listen to me!" one voice said. "You don't know everything!"
"I know this," the other voice said, more calm.
“I kill him, I win!”
“You might win, but you won't get what you want.”
Saitama poked his head around the massive (immobile) doors and saw exactly who he expected to see. Sonic, the south wind, arguing with Flash, the north wind. Both were psychopomps, when they could be bothered, but they weren't actually related by blood. At least, Saitama was pretty sure. He'd thought they were twins at first and gotten yelled at when he said it.
Sonic was the son of the late Pluton though, and he'd been furious when he learned after the fact that Saitama took his father's throne. They had sort of a game going, where Sonic tried to sneak-attack him, and Saitama gave him pointers. It was fun, sometimes. Sonic seemed to take it a little too seriously.
“Hey guys,” Saitama said. “What's happening?”
“I will put you in the ground!” Sonic exclaimed.
“So the usual then.”
Flash tossed fair blond hair out of his eyes, and gave Saitama the kind of look that the nobility had given him when he was mortal. A bit of disgust, a bit of pity, mostly no concern at all. “My lord Saitama, Sonic seems to believe that if he kills you he will gain your throne.”
“Oh yeah. I told him he could.”
“You told him?”
“Well I don't plan on dying, so.” Saitama shrugged.
“You're mad, you know that?”
Saitama shrugged again, and scowled at the throne. The points seemed to have gotten shorter, less pointy, but the skulls remained. “I hate this room.”
“When I'm the ruler of this realm, I'll change it,” Sonic said smugly.
“I don't even like setting foot in it.”
Flash suddenly huffed. “Well no wonder! Come here.”
“What?” Saitama straightened up. “I just said-”
“That's the problem, you foo- my lord. This is your realm. It changes by your will.” Flash walked forward and grabbed Saitama by the upper arm. Saitama allowed it, but didn't budge. “Listen, please, I know what I'm talking about. Have you sat on the throne once since you claimed it?”
“Of course not! I don't want anybody thinking I actually want to rule them.” Or put their head on spikes.
“You do rule this realm, whether you like it or not.” Flash tugged uselessly at his arm. “No one else will see it, my lord, you only have to sit for a moment.”
Saitama sighed. It wasn't as though he'd sworn not to, or anything dramatic like that. He just hated this room. “And if I do, it'll change? Just like the one on Olympus?”
Flash nodded, relaxing a little. “Just like.”
“Okay, fine.” He stepped over the threshold, a little disappointed that there was no crack of thunder, or sudden change in temperature. “Whose skulls are those, anyway? Do you know?”
Both Sonic and Flash shook their heads.
“Maybe nobody's,” Sonic said. “Father liked people to think he was worse than he was.”
“Really?” That gave Saitama a little hope. Although... “He did keep me a slave for a long time.”
“I said worse, I didn't say he was a good man.”
The room had definitely changed, Saitama noticed. The drains were gone, for one thing. And there were columns that hadn't been before, like the ones out in the halls. As he walked forward the spikes on the throne seemed to shrink, until the skulls slipped off and fell to the floor behind it, making him jump.
“We'll have them... properly buried?” Flash suggested, glancing at Sonic, who looked just as baffled as his counterpart sounded when it came to human mourning customs.
“Yes,” Saitama said. “Buried and with a marker for each, not just in one hole.”
“Whatever you say, my lord.”
“Right.” Saitama turned, looking at the wide open doorway. The throne room was far back from the lobby, down a narrow hall, where few people came. Saitama was only down here because he liked to take a longer route sometimes to avoid getting trapped in conversation. “What I say goes.”
He sat down.
And fell on his ass as the chair crumbled beneath him.
“Ow! Dammit!”
Flash seemed to be laughing behind his hand, but Sonic had drawn a knife from somewhere and dropped into a fighting stance. “You! You destroyed it!”
“It wasn't on purpose!”
“My father's throne!”
“Your father sucked!”
“My throne!”
“Well make a new one! Aren't there enough crafting gods or whatever? I'd rather hire a human, got plenty of gems to pry out of the walls to pay 'em.” Saitama pulled up his knees so he could rest his arms on them. The room was a lot less bleak when you were sitting on a pile of rubble that had once been used to intimidate visitors. “Or just put all this gravel into a sack and use it as a terrible pillow.”
“You have no respect for-”
“My lord?”
Saitama and Sonic's head snapped to the doorway. Flash turned slower, his cape falling off his shoulder elegantly as he did.
Genos – because of course Genos had to see every time Saitama embarrassed himself – was standing there. He was wearing that bright cloak of his, and a light tunic of undyed linen. He looked softer than Saitama had ever seen, and he was currently staring at Saitama in a mound of broken rocks.
“Genos!” He jumped to his feet and attempted to dust any clinging rock shards off the seat of his pants. “Hi. Hey. Uh. Trying something out.”
“I see that.” There was a twitch to his lips, and Saitama couldn't tell if it was a smile or a scowl. “You aren't the throne type, my lord.”
“I guess not.” What was he supposed to say to that? It was true.
“A desk,” Genos said. He tilted his head and pursed his lips. “Yes. You need a large desk, and a comfortable chair. To make you look authoritative but not oppressive.”
Saitama blinked. “Me? At a desk?”
“Yes,” Genos said, nodding firmly. “I'll help you once I'm back.”
“Back? Where are you going?”
Saitama heard one of the wind gods suck in a breath.
Genos' face faltered. “I... I have to leave, my lord. Go to the mortal realm to oversee spring.”
“Now? Already?”
“I've been here for half a year.”
“You have?” It had barely felt like weeks. Saitama was still getting used to the idea that Genos might actually, maybe, a little, like him for his company.
Genos pressed his lips together in an attempt at a smile. “I'm still getting ready. My lord, will you... see me off? When it's time?”
“Yes! Yeah, I mean, of course.” Saitama tried a smile that he was sure looked even worse. “Uh, when's that?”
“I'm not sure. I'll find you.”
“Okay. Um. See ya, then.”
Genos nodded, and then he was gone.
Saitama sighed and let himself fall backwards. Obsidian broke into remarkably sharp bits, but it didn't hurt any more than the fact that he'd once again made a fool of himself in front of the only guy he didn't want to.
Two faces appeared over him, one with ink-black hair and the other an icy blond. Sonic was wide-eyed, but Flash looked only slightly more pitying than his usual lack of concern.
“What was that?” Sonic demanded.
“Nothing, I don't know.”
“Was that the sun?”
Saitama covered his face with his hands. “Yeah.”
Calmly, Flash said, “Didn't you kill him?”
Saitama moved his hands.
“I thought I did!” Sonic exclaimed. “I stabbed that bastard through.”
Slowly, Saitama sat up. “You what.”
“Oh relax.” Sonic folded his arms. “It was the war. His brother killed my brother, maybe my father too, I forget.”
“You what?”
Sonic looked Saitama straight in the eyes. “We fought. I impaled him. I thought it would be fatal.”
“It was,” Saitama said as he rose.
For a split second Sonic seemed to realize how much trouble he was in, and then it was too late. Saitama slammed him against the wall, inches away from the old rusty chains Saitama's predecessor had used to hold anyone that displeased him – including Saitama, once. Sonic growled something around Saitama's hand on his throat, fumbling at his clothes, no doubt going for another knife. As soon as he saw the flash of metal Saitama smacked it away, sending it clattering against the floor.
Wind had started to stir in the room, despite being both indoors and underground. Behind him, Saitama heard Flash's heels clack on the marble.
“I think you should let him down.”
“He killed Genos,” Saitama said.
“Genos has killed others. As have I.”
“You don't get it.” Saitama's fingers tightened. Sonic gurgled. “You ruined his life! I could only give him half of it! And- and a quarter of the year he has to spend up there, plus driving the sun- He'll never be able to do it right now. Never! And it's all because of you!”
Sonic's eyes were darting around, his hand once again reaching for something.
“How many knives does he have?” Saitama asked, turning his head enough that Flash would know Saitama was talking to him.
“Always one more than you'd think,” Flash said.
Sure enough Sonic pulled another one, and Saitama pinned his wrist to the wall next to his head, twisting his grip until the pain made Sonic drop it.
“My lord,” Flash said. “Have you ever killed?”
“Not recently,” Saitama said.
“When you were mortal, you were a hero, correct? You've killed in self-defense, defense of others. But have you ever killed someone in anger?”
Dammit. How did Flash know this stuff? All the psychopomps were gossips, Saitama was sure. “No.”
“Do you intend to kill Sonic in revenge for his revenge killing? Do you intend to start the trouble all over again?”
“I'm not going to kill him! I just-”
Saitama turned, needing Flash to understand, and that was a mistake because before he even laid eyes on Flash he'd been stabbed in the shoulder.
“Ow!” Saitama exclaimed. “Dammit!”
It was the arm holding Sonic's throat, and the wound was right in the joint, robbing him of just enough strength to let Sonic twist and kick until Saitama had to let him go. Sonic didn't run, instead he pulled a second knife and threw himself at Saitama.
But this was a dance they'd done a dozen times before, and it was nothing for Saitama to knock him down and disarm him once again.
“Don't make me chain you,” Saitama said, pressing his foot against Sonic's chest. His arm was aching, and he could feel the blood dripping down his skin.
Sonic, panting, took hold of Saitama's ankle with both hands. “Chain me to the wall? Leave me on display? Just like my father?”
Saitama winced. “Did he do that to you too?”
Sonic said nothing. That was answer enough.
There was a click of metal, and Saitama glanced over to see Flash sheathing his sword. Which of them was he going to defend, Saitama wondered. Though he really shouldn't have. Flash might feign respect for Saitama, but Sonic was his counterpart, his mirror. They probably understood each other better than anyone who weren't twins.
“You killed Genos,” Saitama said, coldly.
“If I hadn't, he wouldn't be here.” Sonic grinned. “You'd never have met him, you'd never have a chance with him.”
“You still don't get it.” Saitama removed his foot and stood up, reaching over to grip his injured shoulder. Damn. He didn't heal any more, did he? “I'd rather have him whole and healthy even if he had no idea who I was. I'd give up everything for him.”
“Idiot.” Sonic sat up, rubbing at his chest. “D'you think he'd want that?”
Honestly, Saitama said, “I don't know.”
“My lord.” Flash cleared his throat. When Saitama looked at him he took in more of the details, noticed that the columns had sprung up every few feet. There was barely room to walk a straight line any more, there were so many.
“Uh...”
“I think we should leave this room.”
“Probably a good idea,” Saitama agreed.
He followed the two wind gods out, their heads ducked together in conversation. Saitama couldn't help thinking, as he glanced back, that from where he'd been standing inside those columns looked like prison bars.