MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 945: Two Versus Five [Bonus - ]
Previously on MIGHT AS WELL BE OP...
"Looks like my boy didn't come out on top," Riven remarked from nearby, his gaze fixed on Lucian, who was now chatting animatedly with Aura Nova and the others, full of laughter and chatter right after that intense clash that had shaken the world moments earlier.
"You didn't really believe he stood a chance, did you?" Mitchelle inquired, her words more of a tease than a real question. A broad grin lit up her features as she looked at Anthony. Of course, she recognized her son's incredible strength and his streak of unbroken victories, yet that wouldn't stop her from rooting for him fiercely, just like any devoted mother supporting her kid from the edges. No matter Anthony's growing might, he remained her child above all, a powerhouse only after that.
Vespera paused briefly before responding with a soft smile, "I'm simply glad he's kept that same joyful and lively spirit," a tender, maternal glow filling her heart and flowing through her as she said it. No parent would wish to watch their offspring suddenly overtaken by relentless drive to outdo others, vanishing into fixation and stress.
Sure, pushing limits and besting competitors was beneficial, but crossing that line could harm both spirit and form. Excessive drive might warp into something dark and ruinous, and she'd witnessed countless prodigies crumble beneath their own burdens.
Michael remained quiet in his seat. Normally, he'd explode into boisterous laughs and boasts about his little prodigy, flaunting Anthony's wild feats to all around, but today he stayed unusually hushed, his face pensive and grave. Mitchelle glanced his way, yet he was too immersed in reflection to catch her look. The source of his concern was straightforward: the sword skills displayed by Lucian and Anthony.
Truth be told, he'd have to concede that both had fully seized his focus now.
Michael had long recognized Anthony's gift with the sword. Ever since the boy first gripped a weapon, an eerie quality had marked him, something beyond rational grasp. He just hadn't realized its depth, hadn't anticipated it climbing to such a daunting pinnacle.
'Our sword skills are roughly on the same level,' he mused inwardly, not comparing to Anthony, but rather to Lucian.
Yet deep inside, Michael grasped the reality.
Earlier, he'd lagged a bit behind Lucian—a fact he loathed confessing, even privately—but after facing the Sword Origin and achieving a sudden insight, he'd caught up. That revelation had propelled him ahead, honing his edge to a razor-sharp terror.
Even so...
Gradually, his mind returned to Anthony.
He struggled to fathom the true extent of Anthony's mastery over the sword. It appeared endless, akin to peering into a vast sea without a discernible shore.
'Matching Klaus?' he pondered silently, though the idea struck him as absurd. Indeed, Anthony was formidable, outrageously so, but Klaus operated on a wholly superior plane of strength and being. Klaus transcended even the zenith of the Galaxy.
If only Michael realized how off-base his musings were.
Absolutely, regarding raw might, Klaus outstripped Anthony.
However, when it came to unadulterated sword mastery, to the essence of wielding the blade, Klaus flickered like a fading spark compared to Anthony's stellar blaze.
'Time to arrange a duel with my little beast,' Michael decided, a subtle smirk nearly tugging at his mouth. This had been a lingering aim of his for ages, but Anthony always dodged it, vanishing like mist whenever it arose. 'Once I'm done clashing with Klaus, I'll ensure we cross blades this round,' he resolved steadfastly. No more escapes for Anthony.
While Michael drifted in contemplation, Collins maintained his typical quiet demeanor. Silence defined him, his steady bearing conveying volumes beyond speech. Few ever pierced the veil of his thoughts, save for Irene, naturally. His gaze merely scanned all in stillness, resembling a distant thundercloud poised on the edge of eruption.
Zachary's words eventually pulled Michael from his reverie. "Our kids appear even mightier than we'd imagined," Zachary observed evenly. Though his features betrayed no shift, turmoil raged within him from sheer astonishment.
Indeed, the fight against the Angels had already revealed the younger crowd's freakish prowess, but this display soared past mere freakishness.
It was downright nightmarish.
'Does my boy wield such force too?' he reflected, his thoughts wandering to Aaaninja, stirring a subtle thrill of expectation. After all, his son ranked as the supreme Celestial talent alive, and thus the top prodigy among those gathered.
"Apparently... who'd have guessed we'd sire such beasts," Riven answered, his stare lingering on Lucian. A subtle grin played on his lips as he went on, "Looks like the era where they rely on our shielding is drawing to a close," his voice tinged with a bittersweet mix of sorrow, achievement, and an odd emptiness.
"Soon we could be the ones seeking shelter. That old proverb about the youth overtaking the elders rings true every time," Nyxss chimed in from beside them with a subdued laugh.
"What a reversal," Vespera chimed in, her smile gentle.
The gravity of their circumstances dawned on them all. As tensions mounted, could they alone repel an assault from the Twelve Winged Angels if it came? They'd already noted the vast chasm between a Ten Winged Angel and an Eleven Winged one—that divide had chilled them. The leap from Eleven to Twelve Wings would doubtless loom larger, maybe impossible to bridge.
And supposing they halted a Twelve Winged Angel, what of some unseen Thirteen Winged variant? Or their proclaimed deity at the end?
No doubt, their individual strengths couldn't eternally fend off such entities and their infinite hordes.
Ahead, they might linger in support while the rising stars charged the forefront.
"Guess retirement's knocking," Rain's voice drifted from nearby. For thousands of years, he'd reigned as his world's mightiest warrior. Maybe Aura Nova was ready to claim that mantle and advance.
"Ready to resume our bout?" Klaus called out steadily from the side. Nostalgia wasn't his style here. His daughter hadn't joined the matches, and besides, his overwhelming power made her overtaking him anytime soon a distant prospect.
They all agreed with nods, their attention snapping back to the display. They knew Aaaninja's turn was up next. The only unknown was his rival.
At that, the screen ignited once more, digits racing wildly. In mere moments, they halted on two radiant figures.
Two against Five.
Silently, Aaaninja stood. As number two, he launched from his spot, plummeting through the skies like a streaking meteor. Kingsley, his foe, had meditated with lids shut throughout. His amber eyes flashed wide, and wordlessly, he lifted and descended earthward.
Both touched down with precise, restrained steps, positioned several paces apart. Chatter wasn't their forte, but it wasn't needed. Their strikes would convey the message.
Aaaninja kept his eyes wide, a subtle gleam in them as if he'd already foreseen the spar's conclusion prior to its start.
"Start," Klaus boomed from overhead, swiftly relocating himself and the group into his personal realm, clear of the havoc these pair would unleash.