MIGHT AS WELL BE OP - Chapter 862

Chapter 862: Show Me

Michael stood with a wide grin on his face, blood splattered across his entire frame, though it was not his own blood, but the blood of those unfortunate souls he had reduced to shreds of meat prior to this moment. If there was one thing Michael loved, it was battle, not merely any battle, but immense, overwhelming, exhilarating battle, the kind that made the universe itself seem insignificant in comparison to the thrill of the fight.

And this moment appeared to be that perfect moment. In the past, he had believed he had reached the ceiling of his talent after attaining the title of Supreme Monarch back on the Blue Planet. But, after consuming that enigmatic fruit given to him by his baby monster, his latent talent had shattered every barrier that had ever restrained him. Every previous limit had been obliterated, replaced with something far more terrifying: unrestrained potential.

Since then, Michael had found scarcely any opponent worthy of his attention. Mid-tier races? Too weak. Top-tier races? Mere averages at best. None of them had truly evoked the familiar thrill, the pure elation that came with genuine challenge. While they provoked some emotion within him, it wasn’t even sufficient to push him to the edge he so often craved, a precipice of uncontainable chaos, desire, and power.

“HAHHAHA! That is more like it!” he bellowed, his voice tearing across the cosmos like a storm incarnate. “Show me the strength that gives you the audacity to wage war against my galaxy! Show me the power of your pitiful God! Show me!” His laughter, wild and unrestrained, echoed through the void, reverberating across the celestial bodies around him like the tolling of a madman’s bell.

With a surge of blitzing speed, Michael shot forward, a streak of black motion cutting across the void. An unknown warrior from the Divinora Galaxy dared close the gap, hurtling towards him with blinding swiftness. Michael did not hesitate; his blade sang through the air, meeting the oncoming threat in a symphony of violence.

A staggering explosion erupted as their weapons clashed, a violent detonation of force that sent shockwaves radiating outward. Through the hazy smoke and debris of their first collision, the unknown warrior was thrown backward, unable to withstand the force and might of Michael’s strike. Without affording his foe even a moment to comprehend its fate, Michael vanished from his position, reappearing instantly beside his adversary. His blade swept through the air, cleaving cleanly toward the warrior’s neck.

And as though a blade had passed through butter, his strike decapitated the enemy in a single, fluid motion. “Too weak!” Michael intoned, a mad intoxication of battle lacing his voice. Indeed, he was drunk on the ecstasy of combat. His figure vanished again, only to reappear beside a ten-winged Angel, his sword slicing the cosmic air as he moved to cleave the celestial being in two.

The Angel attempted to block, but it was futile. Michael’s blade shattered the Angel’s defense and tore through its waist as though it were no more substantial than parchment. Golden blood erupted into the cosmic void, a radiant spray illuminated by the distant stars, yet Michael had already vanished once more. He was a predator in his element, and those of the Divinora Galaxy were mere prey scattered across the battlefield.

He became a blur of black, his sword an extension of his will, dancing with lethal elegance. Blood and debris splattered across celestial and astral bodies alike, each strike a testament to his unparalleled finesse and terrifying efficiency. Michael did not pause, did not hesitate, did not ponder. He saw an enemy, and he annihilated it with the ease of a dragon crushing a rabbit beneath its claws.

His eyes flitted across the battlefield, scanning, calculating, seeking the next being to erase. At the instant his gaze fell upon a target, he surged forward in a glee tinged with madness, reflexes honed over years of unending battle and the raw refinement of his immense talent.

Suddenly, his senses screamed. Michael’s body reacted before thought could form. His sword streaked sideways just in time to deflect a tremendous attack, the force behind it sending shockwaves tearing backward across the void. Yet Michael, unperturbed, twisted through space, landing with the grace of a predator atop a burning sun.

His head snapped upward, black eyes locking onto the golden gaze of an Angel unlike any he had encountered before. Eleven pairs of wings unfurled behind the celestial being, yet unlike other Angels, it bore no arrogance, no pride, no disdain. It simply stood, tall and silent, as if defined by its essence alone, not by whom it worshiped or what it sought to dominate.

Michael’s earlier madness vanished in an instant, replaced by a clarity that sharpened his perception and quieted the chaos within.

‘Strong,’ he thought, his gaze searching as he studied the Angel before him. Its composure, its presence, its demeanor, it all radiated a power that demanded acknowledgment. At its waist hung a single sword, simple yet profoundly potent.

‘Sword Intent,’ Michael realized. During his whirlwind slaughter of the Divinora Galaxy’s warriors, none had displayed such a concept. Intent, the silent, immeasurable presence that dictated true mastery, had been absent from every other combatant. But here it was, manifest, undeniable, and utterly captivating. Michael smiled, a predator recognizing a worthy counterpart.

Without uttering a word, he lowered into a battle stance, sword poised by his side, ready to move with precision. The Angel responded, dipping its white knees slightly, a silent acknowledgment. Then, as though reading each other’s thoughts, they surged forward simultaneously, a thunderbolt of intent and purpose tearing through the cosmos.

They met, one swordsman against another, blades screaming as they collided. The galaxy itself seemed to shudder at their confrontation, an expanse of brilliant white erupting with overwhelming power. The sun beneath them was instantly snuffed, its flame, heat, and energy obliterated by the sheer force of their initial strike. Yet even before the echoes of this cataclysm had faded, they moved again, unstoppable, titanic in motion, as if the Galaxy itself had slowed to witness their duel.

Their swords hissed through the cosmic air, leaving trails of death and brilliance in their wake. Each strike was perfect, each parry an act of surgical precision. Steel met steel in a choreography of sparks and destruction, a brutal elegance that painted the void with the strokes of war. They were phantoms, ghostly yet lethal, slicing through the fabric of reality itself.

Every clash rang out like a tolling bell, not merely signaling battle but heralding the reckoning of two indomitable spirits. Time seemed suspended, every heartbeat drawn out, every motion a suspended instant of eternity.

Their swords carved luminous paths through the dim expanse of space, each swing a verse in the story of skill, will, and unbridled fury. The intensity of their duel was tangible, every movement a tongue of flame consuming doubt and hesitation. Their motions flowed like rivers of silver, relentless and fluid, each parry and thrust a symphony of death and beauty intertwined.

Every flash of steel was poetry; every movement was a storm contained within a single, perfect moment. Their blades met and parted like waves upon a cosmic shore, each impact reverberating with the raw force of nature itself.