MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 963: Awkward Position

Anthony didn't merely evade the assault; instead, his foot plunged viciously toward Kingsley's skull with deadly accuracy, the strike so sudden it ripped the atmosphere in two. The fierce rush of air battered Kingsley's ears like an exploding blast, its sheer pressure capable of shattering inferior eardrums without mercy.

Kingsley's response came in an instant, his reflexes and gut feelings merging into a flawless unit that acted ahead of any deliberate thinking, allowing him to veer sideways just as Anthony's foot struck the pavement right after he touched down, shattering the surface and sinking it like fragile ice.

As Kingsley's foot lifted off the ground, Anthony touched down in an unbalanced stance, yet he seized the opening without a second's delay, driving his knee straight at Anthony's chin as if aiming to wrench it clean off his head. True to form, Anthony just grinned while his balance flowed with eerie ease, syncing perfectly to Kingsley's pace, flow, and beat.

His palm flashed up to seize Kingsley's knee right in its path, halting the savage drive as casually as snagging a drifting petal instead of a blow that could shatter worlds and topple stars.

Gripping it like a lever, he propelled himself up from the unsteady spot with casual power, his leg whipping back at Kingsley's head with amplified fury. Kingsley reeled from the abrupt shift, the comeback so fluid it bordered on illusion, though he remained unaware that at the height of combat arts or any fight, no stance was truly clumsy, since every seeming imbalance hid a potential strike ready to unleash.

Kingsley vanished in a blur to evade, creating space from Anthony as his survival sense rescued him once more, icy sweat trickling along his spine while the truth sank in further that one solid blow to the head could spell his end. He refused to block any strike targeting his cranium, even by mistake.

Anthony's strike whiffed once more, yet it fazed him not at all, his face steady, serene, and faintly entertained. He finished his spin with robotic exactness, refusing to hold back or pull away; on the contrary, he surged forward, claws sinking into the pavement like talons, then ripping it free with brute might, shredding the street like flimsy cloth.

Kingsley stumbled in shock, unprepared for Anthony to wreck the road itself and turn the landscape into a weapon, but during that split-second lapse, Anthony had already bridged the gap. He loomed right before his apparent pupil, near enough for Kingsley to sense the subtle heat of his exhale.

Kingsley's amber gaze dropped low, catching only Anthony's fist surging from below at his jaw, cleaving the air around it, yet escape or evasion proved impossible, since Anthony denied him both the moment and the room to respond.

When Anthony's fist connected with his chin, the lower jaw smashed into the upper one, bones fracturing from the raw power of the clash, the whole structure splitting apart in savage fury. The force shredded his tongue, then his mouth, then his nostrils, before hammering his mind and erupting from his skull in a horrific burst. In the instant that followed, his legs lifted from the ground anew as his frame rocketed skyward like a cannon-fired shell.

Kingsley teetered on death's brink, since total brain destruction would have ended him on the spot. His survival stemmed solely from his insane resilience and freakish build. Yet as he soared through the air, a fog gripped him, his mind reeling from the crushing agony and impact, making the world blur and warp.

'Is it a bird? Is it a plane?' he wondered absently while gazing at the clouds floating by, his mind oddly distant and slow. But right after, the stupor cleared as his brain mended, his jaw and head restoring to flawless condition through grotesque, lightning-fast healing.

His amber eyes snapped down, spotting Anthony far below at millions of meters, gazing up with that persistent, aggravating smirk. Moments later, he hit the height of his climb, and gravity dragged him back down without pity, his form hurtling earthward. Kingsley twisted in flight as he plummeted, his stare fixed on Anthony like a guided warhead locked on its mark.

Speed built with every meter he fell, the wind roaring by his ears like a tempest. Nearing the ground, his arm pulled back like a taut bow, fingers clenching into a tight fist as all the built-up velocity funneled into that one spot. Then he hammered down at Anthony's head with all his might.

Anthony's smirk widened into a bold, assured grin, and he countered without pause, his fist blasting up like a precision shot to clash with the descending blow. Their fists collided in a world-shaking, colossal crash. At the point of impact, the atmosphere shattered, the gale wailed in torment, the fabric of existence cracked, and then a barrage of follow-up shocks and blasts ripped outward in thunderous waves, erasing millions of kilometers in one clash as if wiping out being itself.

Gaping fissures split the terrain, debris and fog billowed upward into the heavens, blanketing all in a choking veil. Quakes that could pulverize worlds surged through the isolated realm they fought in, but it endured unmoved, as if the assault meant nothing at all, stoic and uncaring.

The whole urban warzone dissolved as structures evaporated, vehicles shredded into twisted metal scraps, sidewalks reduced to dust. Nothing endured but devastation, chaos, doomsday, and ruin, a quiet monument to the scale of their confrontation.

Kingsley's whole arm detonated from his shoulder like a bloated vessel popping open. Crimson sprayed toward Anthony's features, but Infinity stayed true, barring any inferior blood from staining its lord, deflecting it effortlessly as if the world itself spurned the intrusion. Anthony wasted no instant; he pressed on, his knee slamming into Kingsley's flank with pitiless power.

Kingsley sensed his ribs fracture, disintegrate, then pulverize completely, the shards stabbing into his innards. He grunted as fresh torment blazed through his thoughts, brutal and unyielding. Yet Kingsley chose not to fight it, letting the strike's force hurl him aside. In mid-flight, all his wounds sealed, his frame coiling as he hit the ground on his feet, his soles gouging long furrows into the soil before stopping.

His gaze whipped ahead to Anthony's spot, but nothing filled his sight except a palm expanding rapidly, dominating his view in every ticking instant. With the might of a collapsing star, Anthony's hand crashed into Kingsley's torso with an utterly devastating force, as if doom had manifested in flesh.

Kingsley felt his core lurch like never before, as if a hammer had pounded it straight on, then exploded through his whole being. He couldn't tell if it was agony, raw power, or sheer velocity, but it didn't matter, since it all blurred into one absurd, crushing wave of torment anyway.

He spewed another gush of blood, but Anthony clearly relished his agony and showed no sign of halting until Kingsley unlocked the Martial Rhythm.