MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 870: Undivided Attention

Mitchelle drifted with a calm air in front of Azarion StarWeaver, her posture loose and her spirit undisturbed despite the carnage around them. Emerging from the hazy remnants of destruction, the eleven-winged Angel appeared before her, devoid of a single scratch. Having intercepted Mitchelle’s previous strike with a quiet, nearly mocking effortless, its luminous body pulsed with divine perfection.

"Leave," Mitchelle commanded flatly, not even sparing a glance toward Azarion StarWeaver. "Protecting you prevents me from engaging at my full potential."

Azarion’s eyes narrowed instantly. Never in his life had he been addressed with such bluntness, let alone ordered to retreat—especially by a woman facing an eleven-winged Angel alone. His pride surged instinctively, and his wisdom flared in defiance.

Yet, despite his arrogance and his own vast power, the reality of the situation was undeniable.

Mitchelle was correct.

Although he ranked among the most formidable beings on the battlefield, he could not face this specific Angel on equal terms. He would be nothing more than a burden.

Reluctantly, his attention shifted toward Zachary and Riven, the fathers of Aaaninja and Lucian. Those two were currently embroiled in combat with their own eleven-winged Angels, holding their positions without being forced back, without needing aid, and without showing any signs of panic. Their movements were precise, deadly, and infuriatingly efficient.

Azarion ground his teeth.

He bit his lip as the bitter sting of inadequacy gnawed at his insides. After a tense silence, he clicked his tongue in sharp irritation.

"Fine," he muttered curtly. "I will see you later, then."

Mitchelle offered no reply and did not turn around. Words were unnecessary.

Observing her silence, Azarion let out a heavy breath. In a flash, he vanished, dissolving into the empty void. He reappeared millions of kilometers away, far removed from the immediate clash. A fierce rage burned in his eyes as he locked onto a group of ten-winged Angels.

And so, the Sage of the Stars commenced his slaughter.

If an eleven-winged Angel was beyond him, he would instead annihilate every ten-winged Angel and any being of that caliber. He would wash away his frustration in a sea of blood and starlight.

Mitchelle watched for a brief moment as the perverted old man finally left. She then redirected her entire focus forward.

"I apologize for not giving you my complete, undivided attention before," she stated calmly. "You have it now."

Her voice wasn't sharp or cold. It simply carried the weight of fact.

A small light erupted from her chest—an orb of soft, pure radiance that floated in the air before her. It grew steadily brighter, its shape shifting until it became a hovering book forged from ancient runes and shimmering energy. A few of its pages fluttered softly, as if the object itself were breathing.

This was the Aetheris Codex of Mitchelle.

The eleven-winged Angel did not pause. It did not speak or wait.

It struck.

[Heaven’s Judgment]

As the command was issued, faith energy exploded from the Angel’s frame, thundering upward into the vast cosmic expanse. The heavens churned in response, warping and twisting as they gathered a staggering amount of power. High above, golden energies smashed together, creating crackling veins of divine lightning. Each bolt fused with the next, appearing as though the firmament itself had been driven to fury.

With a mere thought from the eleven-winged Angel, that golden lightning came crashing down.

It was pure madness.

Thousands of massive golden bolts ripped through the void, descending with apocalyptic force and wild speed, all aimed squarely at Mitchelle.

Her head snapped up, watching the sky rain ruin upon her. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

By her will, the Aetheris Codex reacted.

Its pages flipped at a blurring speed before coming to a sudden halt.

[Baston Dome]

Mana erupted violently from the Codex, flooding the void with overwhelming intensity. The mana bent and crystallized, manifesting as a massive, nine-layered barrier around Mitchelle. Each individual layer shimmered with incredible durability, stacked atop one another like layers of reality.

The golden lightning struck the moment the Baston Dome was fully realized.

The barrier shook with violence.

The first layer was obliterated instantly, shredded like thin paper. The second layer met the lightning next, but after offering only minimal resistance, it shattered into energy fragments. One after another, the layers were demolished in quick succession, each failure echoing through the vacuum.

By the time the barrage ceased, only the ninth and final layer remained intact. No more lightning fell. The spell had successfully endured the assault.

Mitchelle did not lose a single beat.

The Aetheris Codex flipped rapidly once more.

[Evaporating Rays]

The local temperature surged instantly. Space itself began to convulse, shaking under the extreme heat as if it might collapse. Swirling vortexes of searing energy converged around her.

Then, blinding columns of orange light erupted outward.

The Evaporating Rays tore through the void with terrifying velocity, vaporizing everything they touched. Space screamed and warped as the beams annihilated matter itself.

The Angel’s instincts flared with the warning of certain death.

Without a second thought, it beat its massive white wings and rocketed into the cosmic sky, turning into a golden streak. However, the Evaporating Rays did not miss. They curved mid-flight, adjusting like sentient predators as they relentlessly pursued their target.

The Angel twisted and lunged through the open sky, attempting to use the vastness to its advantage. Some rays smashed into each other, triggering colossal explosions that tore holes in the void. Yet the Angel kept moving, narrowly evading every blast.

It snapped its gaze back toward where Mitchelle had been, but she was gone.

However, its keen ears caught a noise.

Its golden eyes shot upward—there she was.

Mitchelle was hovering above, her Codex wide open, with power pouring out from both her and the grimoire.

[Spatial Degradation]

At her word, space itself twisted with violence. A shadowed spatial shell encased the Angel, locking it inside a warped dimension. Within that prison, space began to collapse inward, decaying rapidly with catastrophic force, as if a chaotic rot were devouring the very laws of existence.

[Divine Purge]

The Angel’s voice thundered from within the sealed space.

Faith energy exploded outward, filling the trapped dimension with a blinding light. The spatial shell shattered into pieces as the Angel used brute force to nullify the Spatial Degradation spell.

But the escape wasn't perfect.

Its left arm hung at an unnatural angle, corroded and withered as if eaten by spatial decay. The golden halo above its head flickered weakly, its light dimmed.

Mitchelle had inflicted serious harm, catching the celestial being completely off guard.