The metal figure leveled both hands at them. In the next instant, two crimson torrents—half metal, half energy—blasted straight toward the pair.
Magneto slipped aside at once.
Saitama stayed put and took it head-on.
Boom!
The hit actually forced Saitama half a step back—but that was all.
"Hey, System—what's the deal with this thing?"
Before he could get an answer, the machine raised its arms again. Another volley howled forth, that strange matter hovering between metal and energy—something pure physical defense could barely blunt.
Saitama tilted his head and let the barrage rip past.
He had to admit: the thing hit hard.
But to Saitama's eyes… that was about it.
He launched off the ceiling with a single stomp. The slab split and spider-webbed, collapsing into a rain of rubble that crashed down from the floor above—junk and twisted gear thundering across the hall.
None of it slowed him. Saitama shot forward like a round from a naval gun, driving straight for the metal man.
"Adjusting to target defensive parameters. Increasing output frequency. Adjusting to target movement. Increasing mobility."
The machine slipped past Saitama's first punch, then whipped a kick at his ribs.
They met midair—fist to limb—a shockwave cracking the walls.
Saitama hadn't put any real strength behind it. The metal man didn't budge.
A smile tugged at Saitama's mouth. "Oh? You might be stronger than Boros."
"Load received. Continuing adaptive adjustment…"
The construct's forearms bulked out, plates grinding and shifting. It hammered another punch into Saitama's guard.
"Load received. Continuing adaptive adjustment…"
Its hands reshaped again—another strike.
"Load received. Continuing adaptive adjustment…"
More transformation—another impact.
"Load received. Continuing adaptive adjustment…"
Saitama's grin widened. He couldn't help it—this was fun.
Something that got stronger in real time, again and again, in the span of a short bout? That only made him happier.
"System, show info."
[Name] Second-Generation Sentinel
[Codename] Second-Generation Sentinel
[Stats] Intelligence 0 (no intrinsic intellect), Strength 1–7 (state-dependent), Speed 3–7 (state-dependent), Endurance 6 (beyond human), Energy Projection 7 (near-limitless emission of multiple energy forms), Fighting Skills 7 (mastery of all combat styles)
[Special Ability]
Unlimited Evolution: Adapts to the opponent's attacks in real time, selecting optimal combat responses and evolving at maximum speed during battle.
"Ohh… unlimited evolution, huh?"
Saitama's interest spiked. If that was true, then as long as the fight kept going, he'd get to face a foe that climbed higher and higher in strength.
Just as he got a little excited, the Sentinel's eyes dimmed.
"Evaluation complete. Target cannot be terminated with current data set. Initiating retreat. Confirming retreat."
It pivoted and streaked in the opposite direction.
"Hey—keep fighting!" Saitama lunged after it, fist already coming down.
But the moment his punch fell, the machine liquefied, sluicing through a hairline crack in the structure and vanishing like quicksilver.
Saitama landed, scowling. First time he'd met an enemy like this: no obsession with battle—just cold calculus and a clean escape.
"Magneto! Can't you grab it?"
Magneto's face darkened. "I tried—several times. My power has no effect. Either its composition isn't metal… or it already analyzed me and adapted past my magnetism."
He turned back to Charles. There was no pulse. Half the chest was pulped, and a neat hole bored through the brow. No saving him. No resurrection. Not even black magic would take.
Magneto exhaled, long and ragged. Years of struggle with Charles—ended like this. Hard to accept… in any sense.
Footsteps pounded up. Illyana skidded into view, eyes wild. "B—bad! It's bad! A bunch of monsters—they're slaughtering everyone—wait… Ch—Charles!!!"
She threw herself at the body. A glance was enough; the Professor was gone.
"H-he… was he killed by those monsters?" she asked, voice shaking.
"Yes." Magneto's brows knit. The woman had been an enemy minutes ago; now he could barely muster the energy to snarl. "You said outside—slaughter? What exactly is happening?"
"Metal monsters!"
Magneto's expression sank even further. "Don't tell me… there aren't just ten of them."
Saitama's eyes lit up. He dashed out—and sure enough, the facility had become a charnel house. Sentinels stalked the corridors, hunting mutants with machine precision. The moment they saw a mutant, they tore in—no warning, no quarter. Most couldn't even resist; they were ripped apart on the spot. Those who managed a flicker of counterattack lasted only a few seconds before a beam cored them through.
Saitama clenched his fist.
"Consecutive Normal Punches!"
He blurred through the hall. Each step, a Sentinel exploded—torsos folded in half, adaptive plates turned to shrapnel. But for every one he blew away, more surged in from cross-corridors, adapting on the fly—energy frequencies shifting, armor sheens changing, footwork recalibrating to his charge.
Some melted around corners as liquid metal, reforming behind pinned mutants. Some rippled into filament nets. Some inflated with ablative layers, absorbing collateral shock as they pressed the attack.
"Fine." Saitama planted his feet.
"Normal Punch!"
The front rank vanished—punched into vapor that thundered down the passage like a gale.
He glanced over his shoulder. "Magneto—get the survivors moving! I'll break their line!"
Magneto swept both arms. Doors tore open. Struts screamed. He slammed bulkheads together into sliding shields, channeling panicked mutants behind him. "Move! Don't look back!"
Illyana ripped a circle in the air and dragged the wounded through. "Step through—now!"
Ahead, a dozen Sentinels synchronized.
"Adjusting to target destructive yield. Compensating for shock propagation. Reallocating armor mass. Optimizing pursuit route."
Their chests opened. Crimson lances converged.
Saitama stepped in.
Boom.
The facility shook like a struck bell. Dust rained from the ribs of the superstructure.
When the smoke thinned, a straight, clean gash ran the length of the corridor—Sentinels missing from it like erased chalk.
Saitama flexed his fingers, eyes narrowing. "If you're going to run… you'd better run faster."
Somewhere deep in the complex, more sirens began to cry.
(End of Chapter)
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