MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 869: Separate Haven
Previously on MIGHT AS WELL BE OP...
Mitchelle had not been merely teasing when she promised to watch; in the next instant, her form blurred, teleporting her onto the surface of a far-off moon. All around her, the thunderous echoes of cosmic ruin, death screams, and war cries raged, yet she ignored the chaos entirely.
The surrounding cacophony faded into triviality as she fixed her sight upon the Pervy Sage. He was already in the midst of a desperate struggle, barely managing to survive the onslaught of the eleven-winged Angel who was currently shredding the fabric of existence before him.
Shifting her gaze, she utilized her clairvoyance to locate Vega. "Her strength has increased once more," she whispered to herself, a gentle smile appearing on her face. Even as the battlefield crumbled and space warped under the clashing weight of divine and destructive energies, she watched with the calm detachment of one who had seen a thousand apocalypses.
Her clairvoyance then turned toward Anthony, her son. The moment her senses locked onto him, she went rigid. Her features were masked in shock; her abilities confirmed that the demonic, armored entity overflowing with pure chaotic energy was indeed her son. Mitchelle watched the armored figure move with an eerie, predatory rhythm, his very presence twisting the cosmic winds.
She knew it was him—no mother could mistake her own child—yet she was baffled by how he had mastered the usage of chaotic energy. It was a feat that defied every established law of reality and logic.
However, she ceased her questioning a moment later. After all, this was Anthony. The boy possessed a multitude of untraceable skills that even she and Michael could not explain. She had seen him personally alter the race of the Second Supreme Monarch and rewrite the laws of energy as if they were suggestions rather than absolute truths. By that standard, wielding chaotic energy was... acceptable. It was absurdly abnormal, yet for Anthony, it was strangely fitting.
Her attention returned to the Pervy Sage, who had already suffered the loss of an arm. Battered and on the verge of losing consciousness, he remained resolute, unleashing one planetary-level spell after another. Each incantation exploded with world-ending power, yet his celestial foe parried every strike with insulting nonchalance, as if merely playing with him.
Suddenly, a piercing shriek cut through the air. A golden spear whistled through the cosmic void, aimed with lethal intent at Mitchelle’s head. Without even turning to face her assailant, her hand moved in a blur. She caught the spear between her index and middle fingers, stopping its momentum instantly as if it were a mere toy.
Her blue eyes slowly drifted toward the attacker, a ten-winged Angel. "Have you not witnessed me slaughtering Angels of your caliber? Is your devotion to your God truly so blinding?" she inquired. Her voice lacked malice or mockery; she sounded purely curious, colored by a hint of detached pity.
The Angel attempted to yank the weapon back, but his efforts were futile. With a simple flick of her fingers, Mitchelle shattered the golden spear into a cloud of shimmering dust. The Angel stood paralyzed, his golden eyes wide with terror as the remnants of his weapon drifted into the void.
Despite being a mage, Mitchelle remained a Planetary-level existence, and an elite one at that. While her physical prowess did not match Michael or Anthony, it was still formidable enough to pulverize most celestial beings with ease.
Desperate to escape, the Angel beat his wings, but his vision was suddenly filled by a single fist—Mitchelle’s. With a sickening thud, the Angel’s head burst like a crushed fruit, sending golden blood and bone shards flying across the stars. His lifeless husk tumbled onto the lunar surface with a heavy crash.
"It appears that, in the end, you were the one who required intervention," Mitchelle remarked softly, already dismissing the Angel she had just deleted. Her focus remained solely on the Pervy Sage.
Space warped and the void bent to her will as she vanished, reappearing instantly in front of Azarion StarWeaver. He was gasping for air, broken and bloodied, only seconds away from a fatal blow.
Her voice rang out the moment she arrived. Mana erupted from her core, flooding the cosmic sky with a heavy, suffocating pressure as she seized control of the void. Reality groaned. The void was severed from space, folding inward to trap both her and Azarion within a private dimension, a sanctuary hidden from the current plane of existence.
The strike intended for Azarion passed through them harmlessly, as if they were nothing but ghosts. In that brief window, they truly existed nowhere at all.
Within the isolated pocket of the void, Mitchelle looked at Azarion with a small smile. "It seems victory eluded you this time."
Azarion let out a heavy sigh. He had faced the eleven-winged Angel and suffered a total defeat. His pride, which served as his greatest shield, was in pieces. He had to face the bitter reality: despite his resolve, the gap in their power was a chasm he could not cross.
Mitchelle shook her head, sensing the sting to Azarion’s ego at being rescued by a woman who made the impossible look simple. With a mere thought, she dissolved the spell. Reality reshaped itself, returning them to the primary layer of existence.
Without losing a single nanosecond, she prepared her next move, her voice radiating absolute confidence and the elegance of a ruler.
Mana roared from her core once again, surging forth like a boundless tide. A flood of molten gold burst from her body, a searing wave that raced across the void like a comet of living fire. The energy grew with terrifying speed, incinerating the cosmos with the heat of a thousand suns and turning nearby constellations to cinders.
The eleven-winged Angel, however, would not yield. Faith energy surged from its form, intensifying every millisecond as it invoked its own defense.
With a deafening roar, Faith energy condensed into a glowing cocoon, shielding the Angel in a sphere of blinding Holy light. A moment later, Mitchelle’s spell collided with the barrier with enough force to shatter stars. The shield shook violently, and the surrounding stars flickered and died as the impact tore at the very fabric of space.
Azarion StarWeaver watched in stunned silence, humbled and shaken. Mitchelle was effortlessly suppressing an enemy he couldn't even touch, using only a single spell. Such was the terrifying magnitude of the power she commanded.
There was a reason she was feared as the Elemental Queen and the Crimson Witch Of Destruction.
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