MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 964: Boxer

Kingsley's form slammed into a towering mountain, ripping right through its fragile surface like soft mud, before hurtling onward to smash into yet another peak, then tumbling down a slope, until it halted abruptly at the foot of a third massif, the summit quaking fiercely from the lingering impact as his frame collided with devastating speed.

The extent of blood Kingsley had shed escaped his awareness by now, just as the span of time trapped in this relentless loop of wounds and healing eluded his grasp. He had been ripped apart and mangled beyond recognition, only to be pieced back together as if the world itself denied the harm, as if the torment had been undone and revised time after time.

His lips parted wide as he spewed out a heavy gush of crimson, the sharp tang flooding his mouth, his gullet burning fiercely like a harsh alert that no agony this severe had ever struck him since his first breath.

Kingsley's right palm lifted gradually to press over his torso, and in a brief instant, his pulse had nearly ceased altogether, Anthony's strike having ravaged the bottom portion in a horrific burst of tissue and skeleton, but still his heart pounded defiantly and mended with eerie determination.

No words were necessary; he realized his survival hinged on Anthony's restraint, similar to how his mind had suffered harm yet not total ruin, intentionally left to mend, and while his build verged on the freakish, he grasped inwardly that the Martial Rhythm could shred him effortlessly like tissue.

'Never before has my core been so devastated,' he mused while struggling to stand, wounds sealing with subtle, nauseating noises, bones clicking into alignment with crisp snaps, skin weaving shut, sinews reattaching, his pulse restoring to full vigor as if the devastation had been a mere illusion.

Kingsley clenched his jaws until they throbbed, 'I must unlock this cursed Martial Rhythm,' he resolved silently, having endured such punishment already, certain with icy dread that further torment awaited. His amber gaze flicked ahead to the spot he'd vacated, expecting Anthony to linger there still.

Yet Anthony was absent from that location, positioned instead mere inches away, the gap between them under a meter, Kingsley's stare bulging in raw, primal alarm as his respiration faltered, Anthony had loomed directly in his path all along, so near, but undetectable as if he'd materialized from nowhere, and had he not lifted his eyes precisely then, he could have overlooked him entirely.

But prior to any twitch from Kingsley, Anthony struck ahead, his knuckles slamming into Kingsley's torso in an erupting boom akin to lightning cracking the sky, Kingsley's ribcage buckling inward savagely then bursting apart, bits of gore and fragments flying, his frame recoiling as it pounded the cliff anew, the sheer power rippling into the rock, oddly leaving the structure intact as if an unseen force anchored it steady.

Anthony offered no pause for Kingsley to steady himself or draw air, pressing onward without delay with a sinister left swing to the jaw that whipped the breeze into a furious whirlwind, yet momentum seemed to hesitate as if the laws of nature recoiled from meddling. Anthony's grip seized Kingsley's throat, yanking him closer, his knee surging skyward to pulverize the midsection with shattering might.

Anthony pressed on relentlessly, morphing in the instant into a savage pugilist, bouncing nimbly as his steps danced across the terrain with flawless accuracy while his fists battered Kingsley without respite, treating him like a battered sack designed solely for unyielding abuse.

A savage right to the side of the head, a brutal left to the torso, chased by a sharp right thrust to the breastbone, then a clean left to the face landed true, front and back hooks rained down in quick bursts, a twisting strike blasted forth with whirling power, immediately trailed by a forehead smash against Kingsley's skull, then a looping right overhead, followed by its left counterpart, every blow landing with escalating ferocity and ruthlessness.

Kingsley's frame bounced repeatedly off the cliffside, each onslaught from Anthony hurling him rearward to crash against the base before springing forward once more, his body clashing into the subsequent assault in perpetual rhythm as if trapped in a warped cycle, though the ever-shifting nature of Anthony's hits revealed it as deliberate, progressing savagery rather than mere echo.

Kingsley's form howled with torment, blending waves of anguish, throbs, tenderness, torment, woe, and turmoil into one overwhelming storm, chunks of his tissue spraying to litter the ground nearby, vital fluid cascading and gathering in shadowy rivulets, his physique plunging into a frenzied pattern of ruin and renewal, harm and repair, breakdown and revival.

His physique strained to match the havoc and frenzy as Anthony rent through his sinews so deeply that his frame's bones flashed momentarily amid the carnage before fresh layers of tissue and skin reformed over them, rebuilding him repeatedly in a macabre wonder.

Despite the onslaught, Anthony never relented, fueling every assault with the Martial Rhythm, each motion blending seamlessly into the following with flawless grace, having cautioned Kingsley of unprecedented suffering ahead, now he could only pummel onward mercilessly until Kingsley's form adjusted, leaving it to Kingsley alone to stay aware amid the savage ordeal.

Quick jab, paired jabs, tripled strikes, forceful thrust, elusive flicker, Anthony deployed every boxing jab variant with terrifying expertise. He flowed effortlessly from pugilistic footwork to advanced maneuvers, tying them to each hit in ideal harmony as if he had pioneered the sport himself, and given the wild fury he wrought, it felt entirely plausible.

At last, a soaring fist rocketed into Kingsley's torso like an artillery shell, causing the cliff to crumble at last, rocks and masses tumbling in an avalanche, Kingsley's body blasting fully through the fracturing mass as it splintered into myriad shards.

Anthony gazed at the cascading debris and plummeting chunks without budging a step, unnecessary since any nearing froze suspended as Infinity engaged, guarding him with ease.

Not even the pooling crimson at his soles stained his footwear, nor did the ripped tissue from Kingsley graze him, despite flawless connections from his strikes, no part of Kingsley's form contacted him as if such proximity were an abomination, as if existence itself barred the touch.

A churning cloud of grit and rubble whipped around him ferociously as he held his ground without stir or sound, seemingly granting Kingsley a brief respite deliberately, for no matter Kingsley's absurd resilience, excessive strain could force a total failure or sudden leap, but Anthony aimed not to overtax the build without cause.

Amid the eddying veil of powder and wreckage, though his outline blurred in the chaos, his vivid azure gaze pierced through vividly, shimmering softly like a hunter's stare amid shadows, akin to a prowling beast lying in wait through the gloom.