THE VILLAIN'S POV Chapter 747: Gehrman and Abraham vs Amon (1)

"Impossible..."

Abraham stumbled backward several paces, his eyes shifting to the location where Gehrman had stood mere seconds earlier.

He had no idea when or how it occurred, but Amon had somehow wiped out Gehrman with just one unseen blow. Neither Abraham nor the engineer with those piercing blue eyes had sensed it approaching.

"He relied way too heavily on his swiftness," Amon's voice echoed steadily from in front as he advanced, his hands folded behind him once more. "And he never imagined I could outpace it. Such a pity..."

Abraham whipped around to confront him, lifting his radiant blade high.

"What the hell did you do?" he snarled—

But a terrifying blast erupted beside him, immediately followed by scorching agony.

"...Huh?"

Abraham glanced to the side.

The arm gripping his sword had vanished entirely—obliterated, turned to vapor without any remnant.

No blood flowed.

No aura lingered.

Just void. Emptiness.

"I think that settles your query," Amon remarked with a sneer. Now, his right hand was out in front, no longer hidden.

Clenching his jaw, Abraham channeled his aura to the injury, sealing it shut. Gradually, the energy around it thickened—molding, building form—

Until a fresh arm materialized in place of the lost one.

"Oho?" Amon drew nearer, real curiosity sparking in his voice. "That's a fascinating power you wield, human."

He cocked his head a bit.

"Come to think of it... your entire form is made of aura alone. No blood. No organs inside. How exactly did you pull that off?"

Ignoring the question, Abraham finished reforming his arm and unleashed a furious torrent of Stellar Aura.

The power was staggering, so vast it rocketed skyward.

But Amon dismissed it entirely with a lazy flick of his wrist.

"Your strength matches the fourth stage of the SSS tier," Amon noted evenly. "Unless I'm wrong, that's the peak any human has attained."

Suddenly, Amon materialized right in front of Abraham, raining down a flurry of punches at his torso and midsection with horrifying velocity.

Abraham couldn't track them.

Couldn't guard against them.

The gap in their might was total.

He took hit after hit, but no blood emerged, no frailty appeared.

"You also have a skill I've never encountered," Amon went on, undisturbed. "Your very physique is exceptional."

Abraham fought to pull away.

"You talk too much," he growled. "Shut up and fight."

Amon chuckled.

"And where's the enjoyment in rushing it?"

He flashed back in front of Abraham, his fist wrapped in thick, shadowy aura.

"I don't face strong foes like you daily. I plan to relish each second... this chance won't repeat."

He halted for a beat.

"Oh—and relax. I won't end you. You're too captivating for death."

The pair clashed in a blur of motion. Abraham conjured dual blades and attacked with all his fury...

But Amon parried every strike using only his hands.

"Your form, all aura through and through..." Amon pondered aloud. "It echoes my father's in a way—Agaroth, the Demon King. Except his isn't aura; it's wholly different."

Despite the core distinction, Abraham had reached a condition akin to the Demon King's own—a rarity that only heightened Amon's intrigue.

"I planned at first to seize Nameless’s vessel by myself and eliminate the rest," Amon stated, the shadows under his mask growing darker. "But I've reconsidered."

His gaze dulled.

"I'll claim you too."

With those words, Amon's fist blazed with a strange, dark glow.

Right then, Abraham's eyes burst with brilliance.

"Stardust... Supreme Art: Dawn Barrier!"

BOOOM!!

In under a split second...

An unseen clash exploded, unleashing massive waves of aura.

Initially, no sign appeared.

Then, the world aligned.

Abraham Starlight remained standing, heaving for air, as Amon’s fist lingered just shy of his chest—stopped by a mighty shield of glowing light.

It was Abraham Starlight’s greatest defense, the very move he'd employed before to repel Wesker’s Domain.

"Haaah... right on cue," Abraham murmured, a tired grin crossing his features.

"...."

Amon stayed quiet briefly, then smoothly tucked his hand behind his back again.

"Your reflexes are extraordinary."

"It's just gut feeling," Abraham answered with a forced chuckle. "At my power now, I can't truly spot that blow."

Amon's tone turned icy.

"That only heightens your feat. No mere hunch blocks that strike."

At those words, Abraham retreated a step, sword poised, ready for anything.

"I was puzzled initially—about how you took down Gehrman when you're slower than him," Abraham pressed on. "To land a hit like that, you'd have to catch them off guard... or exceed their speed."

"I figured it was some hidden method or unique power at first. I felt nothing when my arm got erased."

His gaze sharpened as he aimed his blade at Amon.

"But seeing your arm shift from behind your back tipped me off."

Abraham drew in a breath.

"Your strike is basically a punch. One punch—so ridiculously swift it defies sight or counter."

"You're not quicker than Gehrman," he asserted. "But that punch is. Right?"

Amon erupted in laughter.

Boisterous, unchecked laughter...

Before cutting it off abruptly.

"You foresaw it all," Amon said, delight evident. "And readied your guard before I moved—letting you halt my hit."

"...Impressive."

Abraham lacked any way to detect or react to Amon’s bizarre punch—it moved too swiftly.

Yet he'd foreseen it ahead.

And that lone prediction enabled protection... through activating his top defense.

"You pieced it together in mere moments..."

Amon commended his rival earnestly.

Inside, though, he was reevaluating Abraham entirely.

’This guy... he's a threat. Not just from strength, but his keen intellect and quick instincts. He breaks down foes way above him fast—and adapts sharply. Can't let him advance further.’

Gradually, Amon drew both arms forward from behind.

"Human fighter," he uttered steadily, "tell me your name."

"I won't share my name with a demon."

"I understand," Amon responded. "Then I'll force it from you—once I've captured you."

Amon's arms lit up anew, gearing up for that same devastatingly rapid assault.

Abraham rallied his remaining power in reply.

’This is dire... Even grasping his move's essence, stopping it stays almost out of reach. I hardly blocked one with my best defense.’

Ideas swirled in Abraham’s head as he hunted for a way to counter.

"No point overthinking it," Amon stated icily. "Defeat is certain for you."

He voiced plain fact—Abraham held no true shot at triumph. The masked fiend wasn't even at peak effort.

"I know," Abraham said with a weak smile, his frame blazing with fierce glow. "Winning isn't my goal."

Truly, victory wasn't his aim.

He sought only to stall... awaiting the event Gehrman had mentioned.

Still, Abraham realized he couldn't endure much more... and Gehrman's setup didn't appear imminent.

Amon poised to unleash...

When, in the final instant, a surge of ice crashed into his flank from thin air, compelling him to divert from Abraham and ward it off.

Spotting that ice, Amon's eyes bulged as he spun toward a specific spot.

"That’s impossible..."

Simultaneously, Abraham looked that way too... and the view stunned him equally.

Bit by bit... a ghostly hand protruded from empty space.

Then, gradually, a known figure assembled before them—until those blue eyes snapped open again, locking onto them directly.