MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 862: Show Me

A wide grin stretched across Michael’s face as he stood drenched in gore. The blood coating his frame wasn't his own; it belonged to the unfortunate souls he had just shredded into remnants of meat. Battle was Michael’s singular passion—not just any skirmish, but the kind of immense, exhilarating conflict that made the entire universe feel small compared to the rush of the fight.

This felt like the perfect moment. He had once believed his potential peaked after claiming the title of Supreme Monarch on the Blue Planet. However, after he consumed the mysterious fruit provided by his baby monster, his latent talent had shattered every previous restriction. Those old boundaries were gone, replaced by something far more daunting: limitless potential.

In the time since that transformation, Michael had struggled to find a foe worth his time. Mid-tier races were pathetic, and even top-tier races were merely mediocre. None provided that familiar spark or the pure joy found in a true challenge. While they stirred some emotion, they failed to push him toward the edge he hungered for—the precipice of absolute chaos, desire, and power.

"HAHHAHA! Now this is more like it!" he roared, his voice slicing through the cosmos like a physical storm. "Show me the strength that gave you the nerve to declare war on my galaxy! Let me see the power of your miserable God! Show me!" His wild, unrestrained laughter rolled through the void, echoing against celestial bodies like the tolling of a lunatic’s bell.

Exploding with blitzing speed, Michael transformed into a streak of black motion cutting through the vacuum. A warrior from the Divinora Galaxy dared to close the distance, charging at him with blinding velocity. Michael didn't pause; his blade sang as it met the incoming threat in a symphony of carnage.

A massive explosion followed the clashing of their weapons, a detonation of raw force that sent shockwaves rippling outward. As the smoke and debris from the impact cleared, the unknown warrior was sent tumbling backward, unable to endure the sheer might of Michael’s blow. Before the enemy could even process its fate, Michael vanished. He reappeared instantly at his adversary’s side, his blade sweeping through the air toward the warrior’s throat.

The strike decapitated the foe in one fluid motion, as easily as a knife through butter. "Too weak!" Michael shouted, his voice laced with the intoxication of combat. He was truly drunk on the ecstasy of the fight. His form flickered and vanished again, reappearing next to a ten-winged Angel. He swung his sword through the cosmic air, intending to cleave the celestial being in half.

The Angel tried to mount a defense, but the effort was useless. Michael’s blade demolished the Angel’s guard and tore through its midsection like wet parchment. Golden blood sprayed into the dark void, illuminated by the glow of distant stars, but Michael was already gone. He moved like a predator in his natural habitat, treating the forces of the Divinora Galaxy like mere prey scattered across a killing field.

He became a black blur, his sword acting as a direct extension of his will in a dance of lethal elegance. Blood and wreckage splattered across astral bodies as every strike demonstrated his terrifying efficiency and unmatched finesse. Michael never hesitated or stopped to reflect. He simply identified an enemy and annihilated them with the ease of a dragon crushing a rabbit.

His eyes scanned the battlefield, calculating and searching for the next target to erase. The moment his gaze locked onto a mark, he lunged forward with a glee born of madness, his reflexes sharpened by years of constant Cultivation and the raw power of his talent.

Suddenly, his instincts screamed. Michael’s body moved before he could even think. He swung his sword sideways just in time to parry a massive attack, the impact sending shockwaves through the void behind him. Unfazed, Michael twisted through space and landed with a predator's grace atop a burning sun.

He snapped his head up, his black eyes meeting the golden stare of an Angel unlike any he had seen. Eleven pairs of wings spread out behind the celestial being. Unlike its kin, this creature showed no pride, arrogance, or disdain. It stood silent and tall, defined by its own essence rather than who it served or what it intended to conquer.

The madness in Michael cooled instantly, replaced by a sharp clarity that focused his senses and silenced the internal chaos.

‘Strong,’ he noted, his gaze intensifying as he analyzed the Angel. Its presence, composure, and demeanor all signaled a power that forced acknowledgment. A single sword hung at its waist—simple in design but profoundly dangerous.

‘Sword Intent,’ Michael realized. Throughout his slaughter of the Divinora Galaxy’s troops, no one had shown such a concept. Intent—the invisible, immeasurable trait of true mastery—had been missing from every other fighter. Yet here it was: undeniable, manifest, and captivating. Michael smirked, a predator recognizing an equal.

Without saying a word, he dropped into a battle stance, sword held ready at his side. The Angel mirrored him, dipping its white knees slightly in a silent sign of respect. Then, as if sharing a single thought, they both lunged forward, two thunderbolts of intent and purpose colliding in the cosmos.

The two swordsmen met, their blades screaming upon impact. The galaxy itself seemed to tremble at the collision as a burst of brilliant white light erupted. The sun beneath their feet was snuffed out instantly, its heat and energy erased by the force of the strike. Before the echoes of the cataclysm could fade, they were moving again—unstoppable and titanic, as if the universe had slowed down just to watch their duel.

Their swords hissed through the void, leaving trails of brilliance and death. Every strike was flawless; every parry was executed with surgical precision. Steel clashed against steel in a choreography of sparks, a brutal elegance that used the void as a canvas for war. They moved like phantoms, ghostly but deadly, slicing through the very fabric of reality.

Each clash rang like a heavy bell, signaling more than just a fight—it was the reckoning of two indomitable spirits. Time felt suspended, every heartbeat elongated into an eternity of motion.

Their blades carved glowing paths through the darkness, each swing a new chapter in a story of skill and unbridled fury. The intensity of the duel was a physical weight, every movement a flame that burned away doubt. Their motions were fluid like silver rivers, a relentless symphony of beauty and death. Each flash of steel was poetry, a storm trapped within a single, perfect moment. Their swords met and parted like waves on a cosmic shore, their impacts echoing with the raw power of nature itself.