MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 864: Broken Limits

Michael lunged forward, closing the gap between him and the Angel with a burst of speed so violent the atmosphere screamed in protest. Every fiber of his being moved at a velocity that surpassed light itself. Reacting in an instant, the Angel swung his own blade with equal ferocity, his expression a mix of pure joy and long-awaited anticipation. Their eyes met for a single, electric moment—golden irises clashing against deep obsidian—before they vanished into a blur that defied mortal sight.

Their weapons carved through the void, slicing reality apart and severing the very fabric of time and existence. In the wake of their swordplay, nothing remained intact. Nothing else mattered.

Whatever took form or dared to exist was shredded by their blades as easily as a pair of scissors cuts through silk.

Michael’s strikes were heavy yet incredibly swift, flawless in their execution and precise to a point that bordered on the absurd. Slashes rained down from every conceivable angle and direction, creating a chaotic storm of steel that ignored all logic.

Left. Right. Above. Below. Center. Behind.

He attacked from every side simultaneously.

He was a hurricane in human form, a predator wearing a mortal’s skin—a man born for the path of the sword and nothing else.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Boom! Boom!

The sounds of their collision echoed like insane thunder, a rhythm devoid of pattern, mercy, or end. Michael’s blade flickered in a blitz of erratic motion, aiming for the Angel’s throat, yet the celestial warrior parried every strike with ease, maintaining his defense against the ferocious momentum without breaking a sweat.

Michael adjusted his strategy in a heartbeat. Without hesitating after his failed strike, he drove his sword toward the Angel’s shoulder. The Angel adapted once more, but Michael was already in motion; his waist, shoulders, and feet moved in perfect harmony as the tip of his blade flicked upward toward the Angel’s chin.

The Angel jerked his head back just in time to avoid a lethal blow, but the perfect movement wasn't enough to escape entirely. A thin crimson line appeared on his cheek as golden skin split open. A single drop of divine blood fell, though the wound vanished a second later as it healed. Small and insignificant as the scratch was, the reality remained:

Null Michael, the Sword Saint, had been the one to draw first blood.

Neither fighter reacted to the strike. They didn't even acknowledge it. Both were lost in a shared state of madness, intoxicated by the rhythm, the momentum, and the sheer high of the duel. Their presence intensified with every parry, every clash, and every high-level technique they unleashed.

Michael’s speed hit a new peak, and his physical power surged alongside it. He grew deadlier and more ferocious by the second. The Angel, who had initially defended with such ease, began to find himself lagging behind—subtly at first, but undeniably. Every blow he blocked felt heavier and faster than the previous one. Yet, the Angel remained silent. He simply continued to move, accepting that the battlefield was a place of constant change and merciless unpredictability.

’To think a mere human could possess such mastery over the sword,’ the Angel thought to himself while parrying another thunderous strike. Five wounds had already marked his flesh during this exchange, though each had been sealed instantly by his natural regenerative grace.

’He has even surpassed his own physical constraints,’ the Angel noted, pivoting as Michael’s blade cut through the air where his shoulder had been a fraction of a second prior.

A broad grin appeared on the Angel’s face. Finally, after an eternity, he had encountered someone who truly understood him. Other Angels spent their lives in prayer and worship, devoting their souls to their God. While he shared that faith, his obsession with the sword was just as profound. In his entire home galaxy, he had never found a rival capable of a true clash of blades.

Now, the dream he had pursued for centuries and millennia was right in front of him.

This wasn't a mere training session; it was a struggle for survival. But he didn't care. What value did the sword hold if one wasn't willing to risk their life for it?

His holy heart pounded with an indescribable sense of joy. Something he had hunted for across eras was finally standing before him. How could he not feel a surge of pure happiness?

Even as he was forced to retreat under the pressure, it didn't bother him. The only things that mattered were the blade, the opponent, and the final result of this moment.

With that realization, his battle intent exploded outward in a terrifying wave. His muscles groaned under the strain, fibers tearing and knitting back together as his holy physique was practically rewritten from within. The Angel barely felt it, entirely consumed by the moment he had waited his whole life for.

Then, with a world-shaking impact, he met Michael’s blade again, force meeting force and speed matching speed. Both warriors wore manic grins that completely transformed their faces.

Both had shattered their limits, growing stronger through the fight itself as they fed off one another's insanity.

The Angel’s sword came crashing down like a divine gavel delivering a final judgment. Its velocity outstripped both thought and light, making the cosmic winds howl in pain as it descended. Michael was prepared. He raised his steel to meet the heavenly strike head-on. The force of the impact caused the solar ground beneath them to cave in, the resulting tremor so massive that it distorted sound itself.

Michael’s feet sank into the molten solar crust. The shockwave ripped through his frame, splitting muscle and rupturing skin. Red blood sprayed across the glowing ground. Yet, Michael didn't flinch. His gaze remained sharp and focused. No amount of pain or injury could break his concentration.

The Angel didn't stop for a single breath. He pulled back his sword and launched another lightning-fast slash aimed at Michael’s flank. A rational fighter would have dodged to counter.

But Michael was no ordinary man. To dodge would be an insult to his very identity.

He shifted his weight slightly, his blade becoming a blur as he intercepted the attack directly. The entire galaxy seemed to vanish beneath the explosion of power generated by their collision. They were like titans in human form, gods defined by their own sheer will and celestial power.

The impact sent Michael soaring. The force twisted his body as he skidded across the sun's surface, carving burning trenches into the star. Blood welled in his mouth as he tumbled, but he looked up just in time to see a golden blade growing larger in his vision by the millisecond.

Following his instincts, he raised his weapon, once again refusing to retreat. The clash sent him flying back again, and his left arm fractured under the immense weight of the blow. He could feel it now: the Angel had overtaken him in terms of pure physical strength. Michael had broken his limits first, but the Angel had pushed even further beyond.

Michael didn't care about the disadvantage.

He understood his own body and soul. He was someone who evolved during the heat of battle. That was his essence; it was how he had reached this height.

His smile grew wider as his broken arm snapped back into place, his regeneration working in perfect sync with his battle instincts. His body felt like it was entering a dangerous state of overdrive, overheating with power, but for Michael, this heat represented something entirely different.

The Angel closed in again, refusing to give him any room to breathe. Michael didn't need it. He never had. With a surge of speed and power that eclipsed everything he had done previously, he met the Angel head-on once more.

This time, he didn't budge. He stood his ground, having shattered yet another ceiling.

And so, the Angel and the human continued their endless, beautiful, and catastrophic dance of madness.