MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 968: Big Brother

Anthony and Kingsley streaked across the battlefield in a haze, while time dragged lazily in their surroundings. Even though their exchange lasted merely two minutes, that brief span felt infinite to them, thanks to the transcendent realm they'd stepped into together—the heightened awareness they'd unlocked, a domain of boundless perception where every second expanded into the infinite, and each motion bore the intensity of endless clashes squeezed into one fleeting inhale.

The two-minute mark passed swiftly, bringing their duel to a halt as they positioned themselves mere meters apart, gazing deeply into one another's eyes with gentle smiles lighting their features, reminiscent of instant love blooming at first glance. It was the serene, knowing grin reserved for warriors whose bodies and essences had clashed in unison, a wordless tribute to shared progress, mutual esteem, and a connection surpassing competition—profound, almost holy in nature.

The world grew still, the breeze halted its whisper, illumination hung suspended, noises faded away entirely, mana currents stilled, and even air particles and elements locked in place, as if the fabric of Being, Rules, and Harmony had frozen this instant to capture and preserve proof of such an unbelievable spectacle. It appeared that Anthony had stirred something profound within Kingsley, a force not meant to surface so soon, an archaic essence hidden under layers of ages, a might from lost ages and vanished myths.

"I honestly don’t know what to say, or exactly how to feel, thank you isn’t enough at this moment," Kingsley shattered the quiet with his words, his tone softer than before but brimming with profound honesty, "how can I repay you?" He inquired, sensing that the boon he'd gained was far too vast and overwhelming to measure with simple appreciation alone.

Indeed, Aaaninja had aided the First Supreme Monarch previously, but Kingsley suspected that even such kindness paled against this gift, since Anthony had explained that Martial Rhythm hailed from bygone eras and lay beyond the scope of this Galaxy tier, a force that shattered all ordinary boundaries.

"You don’t have to repay me, if you ever did, then this becomes a transaction, and not a present from a big brother," Anthony responded, a soft grin gracing his lips as his flowing white locks swayed lightly with the breeze, each filament shimmering subtly under the rays like strands of luminous silver thread, his voice steady, affectionate, and lightly playful, though utterly genuine.

Kingsley grinned once more, then shut his eyes briefly as he immersed himself in the feeling he'd experienced, gaining deeper insights in those four minutes than from years of practice and endless fights. His lids lifted again, golden pupils fixing on Anthony with fresh sharpness and resolve; he yearned to voice another thanks, but now utterances held no value—deeds alone mattered, and true advancement would be the fitting return.

'With this, his offensive capabilities will soar to unprecedented heights,' Anthony reflected inwardly while staying quiet, watching Kingsley's aura settle steadily; a bold notion surfaced in his mind, intriguing but risky, though he dismissed it with a subtle shake, unwilling to aid Kingsley excessively—it was wiser for him to uncover paths on his own, as power granted too freely seldom anchored firmly in one's core.

'I wonder what effect this power would have when Concept Of Destruction is combined with Martial Rhythm,' he pondered silently, a faint smile curving his lips.

Anthony hadn't tested it himself; the concept had merely flashed through his thoughts. With that, he rose into the air, his soles departing the ground as he hovered with ease, then darted toward the onlookers' spot, his glide fluid and silent, akin to a feather borne away by an unseen breeze.

Kingsley lingered motionless, his pulse thumping fiercely in his torso like far-off rumbles reverberating through a deep hollow. One might assume he'd simply relax and proceed, but that proved impossible for him.

'Big brother, huh?' he contemplated, remembering Anthony's self-proclaimed role as the elder sibling, 'I suppose that positions me as the little brother,' he gave a slight shake of his head at the idea, yet oddly, it didn't irk him—instead, a rare warmth bloomed in his heart, a sensation absent for ages.

Though he spanned over a hundred years while Anthony neared just twenty, the Acarnis Galaxy operated not by years lived but by might, aura, and determination, and Anthony commanded all three in overwhelming excess, sufficient to shatter norms and reshape the essence of genius.

Kingsley's gaze lifted skyward, beholding the drifting white vapors, but his vision pierced further, as if piercing into layers beyond the tangible veil of the world. 'Thank you,' he silently conveyed, yet this gratitude aimed not at Anthony, but at the Cosmos itself.

The Cosmos had stood by him through the years, observing quietly, steering subtly, and enabling survival in near-fatal perils, for without its favor, he'd be merely a lifeless form sprawled in his own crimson spill, lost and dissolved by the march of time.

As if detecting Kingsley's earnestness, the heavens glowed a touch brighter, like the Cosmos returning a gentle smile, a faint and discreet nod graspable only by one of his stature. The Cosmos rejoiced in his breakthrough, knowing full well that Anthony was an outlier, as were his companions—entities that eluded the strict confines of destiny.

The heavens normalized moments later, as if no shift had occurred, yet every witness present absorbed every instant without missing a beat. With a mere intention, Kingsley ascended skyward, then surged ahead, racing to join the viewers, his velocity restrained but markedly swifter, his aura keenly honed.

Vega, Aura Nova, Lucian, Aaaninja, Zachary, Collins, Mitchelle, and the other watchers froze in pure, unfiltered astonishment. They'd caught every word from Anthony and strained to absorb it, hoping to glean even a fragment of insight.

They'd observed the savage trials Kingsley faced to claim the Martial Rhythm. They'd also noted the abrupt surge in his prowess and fighting prowess right as he ignited the Martial Rhythm, a shift so profound it nearly mocked reason.

I want it.

The desire gripped them inescapably, and who could blame them—for what soul wouldn't crave such a gift? Anthony had revealed that wielding the Martial Rhythm demanded purging all energies, yet he employed it with flawless ease. True, he could harness every form of energy, but the Martial Rhythm transcended energy altogether; it was purer, attuned to the core rhythm of being.

Yet another idea sparked among them: If Anthony could master it, why not they? Each harbored methods to bend the conditions and pursue the Martial Rhythm's awakening, needing only the resolve to experiment. Though skeptics might deem their quests doomed, how could certainty arise without personal trial, without enduring the grind and setbacks firsthand?

But what escaped their knowledge—and they'd grasp in harsh detail before long—was that despite every attempt, no amount of toil, offering, or frantic tactics would lead them to ignite the Martial Rhythm; failure awaited them all.