Saitama hadn’t wanted to do it but what other choice did he have? It was either kill Boros, let Boros destroy the Earth or help the Association take the alien captive. Saitama couldn’t bring himself to kill the first person to excite a spark of something in him after years of nothing but he couldn’t let Boros kill billions of people.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, rubbing his thumb over the alien’s lower lip, pressing his hand where a human’s heart would be. Seeing him like this, seeing Boros like this, bound and chained thousands of feet below the earth in a special cell made just for him. It…it broke something in him.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated when Boros grabbed his forearm, eye so sad. They’d just the alien’s hair when they’d brought him down here, they’d hacked of the long pink strands and was using them for whatever.
“I’m sorry,” Saitama groaned, rocking onto his toes so he could press a kiss to the cold, unresponsive lips.
He did this every day, came down to this little hole in the ground said sorry. Every day Boros would lean forward, never able to get to his feet, and wait for Saitama to come to him. Boros never said anything, never made any sign that he ever heard Saitama’s voice.
“I didn’t have any other choice,” the hero explained, but they both knew it was a lie and even now, there was no betrayal or accusation in that lone, blue eye.
“I had no choice,” Saitama lied to himself as he looked away from the infinite sadness lurking deep in that blue eye. I’m sorry.
Someone is going to pay for this. I feel attacked and blessed.
“What the fuck is going on here!”
Boros doesn’t look up, he doesn’t respond to the voice. How many years has it been trapped in this wretched hole in the ground? How many years since the creature he pledged his undying affections to has come to visit him?
Human years work so differently to his own, perhaps Saitama is dead. Perhaps Boros is dead and this is his punishment. He doesn’t know.
“Boros? Boros, are you o-alive?”
He holds his breath, the scientists have been trying to get a rise out of him for months. They are cruel and relentless, the only thing Boros has left to him is his will. He will not let these people win, he refuses to bow to anyone other than Saitama.
“What are they doing to you?”
A hand lands on his leg, below his knee but he doesn’t move. He refuses to let their trickery and deception break him. Even as everything inside of him years for the one who made him live, who only did as he had to for this planet.
Boros has been here for years. His Empire has no doubt fallen to pieces, his loyal warriors are all either dead or as trapped as he. Trapped here in this desolate place and forced to endure whatever new and sickening tortures these people invent next.
“Boros please.”
He’s a fraction of his former, imposing size. His muscle has wasted away to nothing after so long without exercise. His skin is broken and cut, it refuses to heal, there is no energy left inside him for healing.
He, Boros, who once had enough run-off energy to destroy entire planets, to rival the collapse of a star, does not have enough energy to lift his head to look his tormentor in the face.
“They told me you were dead, they showed me a body!”
He can almost believe the charade. Can almost believe that they’ve let Saitama down to see him after however long it’s been. Boros wants to believe it but he is no fool. More than likely Saitama found a better match than this alien creature, someone who could provide everything the human deserved.
“I’m getting you out of here. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
He doesn’t move as the chains are torn from the walls, from his ankles and wrists and neck. Boros stays still and quiet as the impostor carries him out of the metal room in strong arms. He stares at nothing as he breathes in the scent of human sweat and fear and anger, he feels hope as the impostor takes him away but he refuses to believe.
“I’m so sorry.”
You were going for tragedy friend. I’m sorry but no one gets to be happy today.
The room Boros found himself in was small, so, so small, it was almost too much, being even more closed in than before. But for some reason it was always bright. Sunlight he realized after a time, actual sunlight. It was so hard to believe. And the smell, fresh, clean, ever changing as new meals were prepared for him as the days cycled on.
This place was…almost too good to be true, but he was no fool. He could recognize an imposter when he saw one, and of his own mate no less. How stupid did these humans think he was?
He’d done his own fair share of torture over the course of his life, one didn’t become as feared as he had once been without being ruthless enough to do whatever was necessary. So he knew how this worked, he refused to break for them, so they must have resorted to desperate measures.
All of this was fake, a lie, meant to give him hope, make him trust, let him become comfortable, even…happy, only to rip it all away. Because how could one truly suffer when they were hopeless? Pain doesn’t exist without happiness, anyone who knew anything knew that.
That’s how he lived now, with his mate always in his thoughts but not in his heart, never close enough to give him hope. It was easier to forget, no matter how much he wanted to remember Saitama’s face, his scent, the unrelenting aura of his power, and the feel of the humans lips against his own. He promised he would live for Saitama. These memories, the joy that they brought him, were luxuries he could no longer afford. Saitama was gone, years without him had proven that.
It didn’t matter how much this imitation whispered sorrowful apologies in his ear, how much time his false mate spent caring for him, making sure he moved enough to slowly regain his strength, feeding him, keeping ‘enemies’ away from their little ‘home’. The nights the unknown man spent glued to his side, fingers combing through his hair, tears streaming down his face as he begged for a response, anything at all, all meaningless. Lies.
Boros wouldn’t break. He would live for Saitama.
Saitama who he didn’t…couldn’t remember. Not even as his injuries slowly healed, as he grew in size, muscles, hair, and skin returning to their previous healthy, vibrant state. Not even as his energy once again began to pool inside of him, almost enough. Almost there.
He smiled at the imposter now. They had conversations, he gave just enough to make his false mate smile. Cold nights were made warm as they held each other close and proclaimed their love with their bodies. But the heat that poured off of Boros’ body wasn’t that of passion. No. It was rage, hate, and determination.
Let him be happy, let them all laugh and plot from where ever they were watching, waiting.
Because finally, after all of these years, his body once again brimmed with the energy he needed. Whatever they had had planned, whatever tortures awaited him when he was inevitably returned to that dark metal room no longer mattered. His victory was ensured.
He promised he would live for Saitama. And he will.
For energy can never be created or destroyed. Only changed from one form to another. And his was no different.
His Saitama. His perfect, all powerful mate was gone. Probably long dead, but they would still live together. Not the same as before, not perfect, but Boros didn’t need perfect. Not now.
Very soon they would walk together in cold, white starlight, as stardust and energy, be at peace, left alone to finally, finally explore the vast universe and each other and everything they had been deprived of before they’d even been given a chance.
He could be happy then. His heart would be filled once more with Saitama. And Saitama? Boros was sure he wouldn’t mind. Things would be different, but they would have forever. Plenty of time for Boros to make it up to him. Plenty of time to make sure Saitama was never unhappy again.
Letting out a sigh Boros smiled, comforted by the though of his mate as he pulled the sleeping imposter close before releasing all of his energy. More than enough to turn this wretched world to dust.
And to dust it went, breaking under his might. He heard the imposter shriek, shout out his surprise, his pain, his despair, but Boros didn’t care.
The freedom he felt as his body disintegrated was absolutely exquisite. Finally. After so long he was finally going home. He couldn’t help the tears that fell from his single eye as he went back to the stars with his mates name on his lips.
He had no idea what he was. Saitama had been his name, he had been human, once upon a time but not anymore.
Humans breathed oxygen, they laughed and loved and bled and died. They strove for something better, all their lives, working towards something better. That was their strength, their ability to change themselves.
So no, the thing that used to be called Saitama wasn’t human. He had stagnated, he was powerful, too powerful and now he was stuck.
When he’d been closer to human, when he’d been barreling towards his stagnation. There’d been someone he’d loved. An alien named Boros who was as powerful as a super nova, who burned bright and free.
Then the human known as Saitama had turned the one he loved over to human scientists. He’d let the one thing he cared about be broken, be torn into pieces. Saitama the human had stolen back those pieces but he hadn’t realised that he’d taken pieces.
He’d shined those pieces up, made them pretty until they looked like the picture he knew. He’d let himself live a lie, he’d let himself fall for a pretty picture of a thing that had died a long time ago. And he’d let an entire world pay for his few moments of happiness.
Boros had destroyed the Earth. He’d killed billions of people in a single move. He’d killed ever human, every man, woman and child but he hadn’t killed Saitama.
Saitama had found himself in space, in space where it was freezing and burning at the same time. In space where there was no air to breathe and no food to eat, where his lungs always felt like they were about to collapse and his stomach felt as though it was cannibalizing itself.
He floated in space, in the space where a planet of billions used to exist. He held the same breath he’d been holding for years and he stagnated. He lived on and on, remembering his faults and flaws and mistakes.
Maybe this was his punishment. For his arrogance, for his foolish ignorance. Maybe he was cursed to exist forever, alone and in silence with nothing but his failure to keep him company.
He…what was-they.
…They had been in the darkness for so long, had there ever been a time before the darkness? They couldn’t recall, couldn’t remember a time before this. Before the existence in the darkness where no light came, where no sound travelled and nothing happened.
Inspired by this art from the amazing @applesaucesensei
Boros’ dick was fucking huge, no two ways about it. Boros dick was huge and Saitama was fucked, and not in the good way. In fact, his current unfucked state was pretty damn annoying and needed to be resolved as soon as possible.
Now Saitama had known Boros was huge, in an objective way, sort of. Boros was tall, more than two entire feet taller than him, and Boros was broad, very broad. And he had muscles that Saitama could never take his eyes off; when the alien was shirtless, all of Saitama’s trains of thought derailed and went up in flames. Oh God and those legs, those thighs, so thick and hard and more defined than a god damn statue.
…what was he? Right!
Based on all these observations, Saitama had known that Boros had a big dick. One that was probably the same blue as his body and maybe even lit up and glowed with the same ‘cracks’ as his face. There wasn’t a possible way for Boros to have a small dick, it was just physically impossible so why had Saitama never considered the practicals?
There is a song that Saitama sings, a song without words, on a cold winter’s day.
Inspired by Snow Patrol’s song “The Planets Bend Between Us”.
Read on Ao3 here.
Saitama holds Boros close, his breath fogging up the window panes. The curtains are drawn as they lie in the futon, staring at the grey skies outside. It’s a cold day, the coldest winter that he has ever experienced. His alien lover is unused to this weather, having been born in a planet that rages and burns. Ice and water are unknown entities that envelop them in fear.
Boros trembles in his arms and Saitama smiles, placing a soft kiss on Boros’ cheek. The alien who towers over Saitama tries to burrow himself deeper into the blankets that cocoon them both. He attempts to make himself seem smaller, pushing his head into the crook of Saitama’s neck.
His legs tangle up with Saitama’s, hands interlocking at the hero’s back. His breath brushes against Saitama’s ear and he lets out a soft laugh from how ticklish it feels.
They hold each other in a tight embrace, sharing the heat between their bodies. The chill passes them by, gathering in the space that surrounds them. He rubs the alien’s back in gentle, slow strokes. Boros gradually stops shivering, letting out a soft sigh.
Day 7: Meeting under a different circumstance
Submitted by anonymous.
Boros arrives to earth three hundred years too late. He has every intention of conquering it, to raze it with flame and despair, to leave a sigil in this foreign world. Yet here he stands, on the floor of rust and dust, and the world is dead, flickering only with shadows and red cracks.
He certainly did not expect it.
Even the air is bland and it burns when it touches his flesh. Nothing can continuously survive in such environment. It’s impossible.
Perhaps leaving will be a better choice and for a moment, Boros weighs the option. It’s not an absolute loss to abandon such a virulent world but maybe there’s more to discover should he decides to stay for a few more moments. Earth is vast, it has lost its beauty but surely there’s richness that still lingers.
He’s an invader, but he’s also very much a scavenger.
***
He parts away from the group, allowing Melzalgald and Groribas to scour further away into the leveled area. Boros has inkling that this place used to be a megalopolis, something so bright and extravagant that it lights might just fire the sky.
Perhaps. He can’t tell anymore.
“Lord Boros?” Geryuganshoop moves to his side. “What is it that we’re seeking here? There’s nothing left in this world.”
Boros does not know. How can he explain it? The screeching in his chest, latching at him leisurely to this world, and preventing his desire to leave to be fulfilled.
“Something, perhaps. We’ll leave as soon as our search proves to be futile.”
This answer is enough to lighten up his lieutenant, for the next words are spoken with a little touch of enthusiasm. “Of course, my lord.”
Boros nods and continues searching.
There must be something at least.
***
There’s a lone tombstone there, near the edge of the cliff, overlooking the fallen earth and Boros moves towards it. He squints at the engraved-name but he can’t understand what’s written. The words are too shattered. So he opts with merely running his thumb along the curved lines.
Boros feels the sudden soft tingle in his chest, the easy murmur of comfort and need, the flow of a gentle touch on his skin and Boros instantly knows what it means, knows why he can’t leave just yet.
“I see,” the alien stands. There’s no fresh air to breathe anymore.
He’s arrived to earth three hundred years too late. But somehow, he’s still granted one last calling from his mate. It’s truly odd how even after death, the bond is still strong, still pulling at and searching for him, still beckoning him to come for their last farewell.
Boros smiles. Void from traces of all ill-natured. Perhaps in another world, maybe, he’ll make sure to arrive just in time.
He’s not easily put off by many things but Boros has to admit that the sight of his court sorcerer’s chamber is rather uncomfortable and a bit outlandish. It’s one of the places in the castle where he refuses to go if he requires no need for it.
Yet the King finds himself passing the narrowest hallway and the darkest corners where the candles barely lit, seeking the young warlock with a reluctant ease. Boros goes down the long stairway to the basement. He does not stop to study the new runes branded on the oak door when he pushes it open, a scowl is carefully set on his face.
“Saitama,” the king calls out. Hands on his hips as he takes a steady breath, before he looks up once more at the shadowy chamber. The quicker he gets this done, the sooner he can leave and attend to more important matters.
“Saitama,” He tries again.
“Be quiet– oh. No-” The distress in Saitama’s voice is followed by a loud crashing, a few muttered curses and a murky golden light flashes from behind the many shelves.
“Teacher! Did you see that? The fairies grew a mushroom on your head!”
“I see that, Genos. Now stay calm so I can remove the flowers from your hair– wait, Genos! Don’t-”
More crashing and clanking.
Boros raises a brow, looking rather annoyed if not anything else.
“Saitama!”
“Coming.” The shrouded echo in his tone only indicates how Saitama finds the king’s presence in his room to be untimely and a tad unwanted. Boros spots the robe first, then his court sorcerer’s monotonous facade and finally the small mushroom on his head.
The most powerful warlock in the land and he’s poking at the mushroom with mild interest.
“Yes?”
Boros sighs. “You have committed a crime.”
Saitama merely tilts his head. “You mean the cow from yesterday?”
“Yes-” the king blinks. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well, I was on my way to the forest yesterday, along with my apprentice, to scour for more herbs when we were attacked by Mrs. Lupin’s cow.”
Oh. “What happened?”
“The cow was possessed by a mad spirit, I purged it, Mrs. Lupin claimed that I sent the spirit myself and accused me of attacking her livestock.”
“You saved her cow.”
Boros knows how the people view his court sorcerer. Always with definite resentment and wariness. There’s never a moment of peace for Saitama when he’s in public. Whispers and accusations follow him like a shadow and at this point, acceptance seems impossible. And sometimes it’s tiring for the king when his trusted advisors keep hinting at him to exile the sorcerer.
Even though they know what and who Saitama is to him.
“Never mind then,” Boros offers tiredly. “I shall return to the meeting.”
Saitama stares up at him and for a moment, the king catches the tiny desire in those brown eyes.
Boros lets out a small smile at it.
His husband can be rather silly at the best of times.
Boros leans forward. A step or two. It’s not that Saitama is too far away from him and when he has him just a breadth away, Boros tilts his head down, wondering if Saitama will take the offer.
Saitama does though. Of course he does. The robe is long enough to cover his feet but Boros can imagine Saitama tiptoeing to put a hand on his shoulder, and to match his height as those familiar lips caress him.
Now, Boros possesses zero knowledge regarding magic and fairies and spells but he definitely knows how to smile into the kiss and encircle his arm around Saitama’s waist. It’s as easy as breathing, as easy as living.
In truth, Boros takes no pleasure in doing what must be done. And yet at the moment, fighting back is their only method for survival, their only salvation and he’ll be damned if he allows any more of his people fall by the intruders from another world.
Another faraway world where Boros can’t even imagine reaching it yet. At least, not in this lifetime.
“Boros!”
The young alien turns, the energy in his hands crepitate like an echo of whisper in the dark. His sister stands there, with her selected weapon in her hold as she stares at him. He knows that look all too well by now. The weariness, the fear, and the dissipating forbearance - he’s seen it too many times on his people and perhaps, even on himself.
“Boros, we need to hide. The humans are coming!”
“Not yet,” Boros snarls at her. “If we run now-”
“Boros, the humans are wiping us like anyone would to an unwanted dust! The children will die if we stay.” she tucks her weapon away and glares at him, but there’s no flame in her raised-voice. She’s too tired.
“The humans,” Boros hisses, “marked our lands, slaughtered our people and burned our world. Now you want me to back away? After everything?”
“Please-”
She stops, and looks up. The red of her pupil widens into a fraction of quota when a small curse escapes her throat. Her mouth flutters open, and whatever words she wants to whisper fade in seconds when a flurry of steel splits the air.
Boros blinks.
There’s a magnetic lance protruding from her chest, piercing through and impaling her crystalline-heart. Red spills around his sister like a gentle torrent.
His sister wheezes. Falls on her back. And dies. Just a step away from him.
“No-”
The same sound whistles again, cutting at the air but Boros is quick enough, far more alert, and he dodges it, sidestepping to his left before he draws enough source of dark matter into his hands.
(He can mourn later. He still has his people to protect)
“That’s cute.”
Boros glares at the human, at the one who leads the invasion. In his dark and red garments, the human’s eyes are sharp, unveiling the alien as if he wants to unfold him, to claw at him open until Boros is nothing but just a disheveled wreck.
Saitama.
“You murdered her!”
“And I was kind about it too. I’d have her persecuted but I didn’t. Your sister was quite a spitfire. Foiled my plans again and again and I’ll be honest,” Saitama jumps down from the ravine with ease, walking with a slow stride towards Boros.
And Boros hates that bland look on his face.
“She made me look bad in front of my own disciple. That’s not good, you know? She was a bad, little cretin and the sentence for being such a pest is…well, death.” Saitama shrugs, tilting his head, and stopping a few steps away from the other.
This is the man who can vaporize half of their population with a single shock wave. This is the man he has to fight. This is the man who wears the facade of apathy as he murders Boros’ people.
This is the man who’ll probably kill him.
Boros feels the energy from their sun in his chest, feels how it’s starting to grow and gnawing at him and it’ll be just seconds before he can throw the man away with adequate force to shatter a mountain. It needs to be enough.
“Whatever you’re thinking,” Saitama sighs, “It’s not gonna work-”
Boros fires the siphoned-energy at the human. Its latent force drives the human back as his surrounding slowly turns to rust from his projectile beam, and whatever seconds he’s been given to, Boros uses it to boosts himself.
He moves to gather his sister’s body. Only a step away.
“Like I said, that’s cute.”
Saitama appears before him, unharmed with and an insouciant stare, before he topples the alien down to the ground.
Boros glares at the human, his large hands clawing at the human’s smaller ones. They do not budge.
Saitama eyes him steadily.
“The only good thing about this rotten planet is you.”
Boros stops struggling once he feels one of the bald man’s arms goes around his waist. Saitama moves to inhale his scent.
“It’d be a shame to kill something so exquisite, right?”
Boros, in all his might, merely growls at the invader. He’d see his head roll than to succumb to this human.
“You’d best kill me. I will never stop hunting you for the millions of lives you’ve taken here,” Boros attempts to struggle, a final defiance before his supposed-death.
Saitama just grins at the threat, like he’s being handed something so precious and rare, like he has the entire universe conquered by his armada.
“Good,” Saitama pats the alien’s cheek and whispers the next words too reverently. “Now I know how to make you follow me forever.”
Day 4: Supernatural Creatures
Submitted by anonymous
“If you go to Tartarus and enter the kingdom where only the wicked and tormented ones scream, you won’t leave the abyss unharmed. You soul will be put asunder, and your mind will break.”
Bang breathes as he sharpens the steel. The flame from the furnace dances as the tiny sparks dissipate beyond the shadow. He does not look at the demigod, does not address him more than necessary.
Though at this point, it is pointless to offer even a resemblance of advice. Bang knows the possibility for the young Legion to heed his guidance is, well, close to zilch.
Saitama has always been like that since he was a mere child.
“I’m still going, old man.”
Bang sighs. “I know you will. Always so eager for a quest.”
From the corner of his eyes, Bang sees the way Saitama throw his lopsided grin, the way his legionnaire garb – gold-red mail armor and cloak - shine almost too brightly like a wildfire, and the way he rubs his hand at the contour of his blade.
There’s no stopping the demigod.
“I’m going to search the Cyclops,” is all Saitama offers before he bows at the bladesmith, and leaves in a flurry of red.
Bang continues to forge the blade. Perhaps Saitama will grant mercy to his prey this time.
***
“Master.”
“Genos,” Saitama supplies, almost with a low-octave in his tone. He needs to be quick and he doesn’t need Genos to follow him around this time. He can’t hunt and protect at the same time.
“I’m coming with you,” Genos says, pleads.
Saitama raises a brow at this, tightening the leather around his sword. From his vision, Genos looks young. Too young to become a praetor and to shadow him like a helpless fool. He wants his young charge to become stronger, to become a courteous legionnaire. But this is something Saitama must do alone.
And for that, Genos needs to stay.
“It’s Tartarus, Genos. You’ll break.”
“I will not! How can you expect for me to take your place one day as the Emissary of Rome if you refuse me even this small-”
“You’re staying,” Saitama claims calmly before he throws a golden coin from Juno into the nearby pond. It doesn’t touch the tip of the water before the gold shatters and merges with the surrounding air, and in seconds, a dark mist emerges from the lake, gradually forming an entrance to the other side.
“Master-”
Saitama enters without a second glance.
There will be time to argue with Genos later.
***
Saitama has no time to waste fighting against a hydra and yet here it is, fifty-gaping jaws creature, so vast that mayhap even the ocean can’t hide its colossus form. Saitama has killed something far lethal and this guardian will be no different but he is not here for a trophy. At least not yet.
“I come in peace, creature.”
Saitama keeps his sword sheathed. “I’m looking for a Cyclops. He is new to this realm. Sent here by Pluto himself.”
The hydra slams its talons to the black floor; its tremor shakes even the triple walls. Yet it doesn’t roar, merely observing as it leans its maws closer.
It smells like death.
And Saitama instantly understand the solemn gesture. The hydra wants an introduction.
He sighs.
"I’m son of the God, Jupiter, Champion of Juno, Prince of the Southern Kingdom, Emissary of the Roman Legionnaires and Leader of the Navy warfare. I’ve slayed the Trojan sea monster, taken down the titans and ended the line of the basilisks. My name is mine to keep.”
The hydra lets out a low ramble. Perhaps it’s placated, perhaps not. It’s hard to tell in the underworld.
There’s a soft whisper from the undead around them, humming, singing of the forgotten songs before the serpent finally huffs, and seeming bored as it succumbs its immense bulk to the floor and pays Saitama no attention.
Alright.
This is better.
“I’ll take that as my permission to enter then.”
Saitama passes the colossal creature and pushes the twin steel doors. Inside, he can hear the shrieks of the sinners, the cries and the small pleads for a moment of respite. Saitama barely acknowledges it. His mind is already lit with a rush of exhilaration. To see the Cyclops again– now that’s a true gift.
“Where are you?”
He passes the flaming river, Phlegethon. He passes the tall iron turret. He passes the Erinyes and he passes the gate to the sealed giants. And yet still no sign of the one sinner Saitama is searching for.
Can he call its name?
Might as well try it.
Saitama looks to the underworld and calls out.
“Boros!” His steps are harsher; eyes now are molded with red glint. “Are you hiding from me? Do you know I’m coming for you?” He tries not to chuckle when he sees all the familiar silhouette running from him in the darkness.
“You know I’d kill just to see you.” Saitama languidly walks towards the profile; hand on the hilt of his beloved gladius. “And I did, Boros. Did you see the way I slew the Satyr?”
“Then you belong here, among us instead of the living, for killing a benevolent soul.”
The voice speaks. Old and tired. It’s Boros, standing just near the dark-pitched lake where the border ends. The one-eyed creature looks smaller, laced with fatigue instead of his usual vigor and anger. Dark splotches of wounds and whipping marks appear on his body.
Saitama shivers. It looks good on the Cyclops.
“Have you been punished enough?” Saitama draws closer and closer until he can guide his knuckle along Boros’ wounded cheek, almost too gently.
“I do not have a moment of rest.” Boros answers. And it’s the truth. Tartarus has not been kind to him.
“Then come with me. We’re going back.”
Boros squints, looking at the demigod as if he’s made a pact with Pluto. “Why? Down here, it is safe.”
“Safe from what?”
Boros exhales. “From you.”
Saitama’s grin grows impossibly long. “Now you hate me? You and your kind should have not terrorized the village then. Innocent humans lived there.”
Saitama was blessed when he was sent to annihilate the Cyclopes. Boros caught his eyes like a flaring ocean, so different and raw in the midst of a battle, an embodiment of sun and fallen stars.
And Saitama has wanted him ever since, has dutifully chased after his hopeless little prey.
The only slight detour is the fact that Pluto is enraged by Saitama’s frequent delay to kill the Cyclops and so the God has banished Boros himself in a cage of internal torture. Still, Saitama craves for Boros and he’ll break Tartarus even if he must.
“You’re coming with me,” Saitama leans closer, breathes in Boros’ ear, plays with his rosy hair and kisses his pale neck. “You’re my pet, correct?”
Then Saitama backs away, eyes bright as if Apollo himself has endorsed the demigod. “Come on. I don’t want to delay any longer. Genos might throw a tantrum.”
Boros opens his mouth to retaliate, only for Saitama to herd him along with him like an abused slave.
Being with Saitama is a similar fate to spending an eternity in hell, but as of now, he can’t see a way to outrun this mad demigod. Perhaps, one day. Maybe.
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