MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 871: Influence

Looking down at the wounded Angel, Mitchelle offered a faint, serene smile. Silence hung between them; words were unnecessary. She truly relished facing foes like this—beings who met magic with magic, countering spell for spell and energy with energy.

Above all else, Mitchelle was a devotee of the arcane.

Her passion for magic was as profound as Michael’s devotion to the sword. Any individual capable of wielding sorcery at such a high level earned a small measure of her respect. It wasn't quite reverence or admiration, but a simple acknowledgment of their skill. To her, magic was far more than a weapon of slaughter; it was a refined art, a rigorous discipline, and a complete philosophy.

Though her love for Vega was deep, Mitchelle recognized that Vega wasn't a true magician by the strictest definitions. Vega didn't cast spells; she manifested her will. The distinction was monumental.

True magic was bound by law, structure, and theory. Complex calculations governed every incantation, providing the frameworks that dictated the flow of mana, the bending of energy, and the reaction of reality itself. There were equations to refine, rules to manipulate, and infinite methods to build or dismantle a single spell.

Mitchelle cherished every nuance of that process.

Yet, she could never engage in such high-level magical discourse with Vega. Because of her innate talent, Vega could utilize any magic simply by imagining it and providing the necessary mana. If Vega wanted a fireball, it appeared instantly, devoid of incantation, structural complexity, or true understanding.

While fascinating, such power lacked the depth of exploration.

However, Mitchelle never mistook this appreciation for genuine respect. She wasn't honoring the creature before her. Not in the slightest. She merely found the Angel’s reliance on magic to be... agreeable.

It was nothing more and nothing less than that.

Seeking to retaliate and return the agony Mitchelle had dealt, the Angel began to intone a spell. Suffocating pressure instantly saturated the void. As Faith energy surged violently from the Angel’s form, the surrounding space began to shake.

A gargantuan golden star started to manifest above the Angel.

Its brilliance far surpassed any natural celestial body. The sheer pressure it radiated was staggering, possessing enough gathered energy to grind entire worlds into dust. Reality itself seemed to shrink back from its terrifying presence.

The Angel released the attack without a moment's pause.

The Holy Star surged forward, triggering an explosion that blotted out the heavens. A reality-shattering burst of cosmic power tore through the void, drowning the entire galaxy in a flood of white-gold radiance. Apocalypse arrived in a heartbeat; solar systems were swallowed whole, stars burst, planets were pulverized, suns imploded, and moons were shattered into drifting shards by the concussive shockwave.

The universe was reduced to two colors: gold and white.

As space shattered like thin glass, cosmic smoke choked the void. The laws of space seemed to groan under the burden, struggling to mend the countless tears ripped into the fabric of existence.

As the haze began to thin, the Angel’s glowing golden eyes scanned the area for its foe.

But as its sight pierced the lingering smoke, it found nothing.

No corpse remained. No blood was spilled. There wasn't even a trace of residual energy. The area was utterly empty.

For a brief second, the Angel wondered if the Holy Star of Apocalypse had wiped Mitchelle from existence entirely. Then, like the skin of an onion being peeled back, space opened up right beside it.

The Angel whipped its head toward the ripple, but its vision was immediately filled by a glowing foot that grew larger with every microsecond.

The collision was monumental.

With the force of a colliding planet, Mitchelle’s foot smashed into the Angel’s jaw. A deafening boom echoed as the Angel was sent flying sideways like a discarded doll, its body surrendered to the whim of inertia.

The Angel slammed into a nearby star with cataclysmic force, causing the celestial body to crack upon impact.

Golden blood sprayed from the Angel’s mouth, turning to vapor almost instantly. Teeth were knocked into the void, though new ones began to sprout the moment they vanished.

The Angel’s mind reeled in confusion as its consciousness wavered. This was supposed to be a duel of sorcery—a confrontation of spells.

Why, then, had this inferior being suddenly turned to physical violence?

Before the Angel could recover, Mitchelle exerted her will. The star energy leaking from the fractured celestial body obeyed her command instantly. She seized the astral power, forcing it directly into the Angel’s open wounds.

The Angel froze in sheer shock.

It tried to flush the intruding energy out with faith power, desperately circulating divine energy through its body. However, before it could succeed, a serene female voice resonated through the emptiness.

The star energy inside the Angel’s body detonated immediately.

Internal organs were shredded by the chaotic force, and torrents of golden blood erupted from its mouth. The Angel shrieked, completely blindsided by Mitchelle’s sudden mastery over star energy.

Indeed, Mitchelle was capable of controlling star energy.

She wasn't alone in this; every Planetary level being in the Acarnis Galaxy held some ability to manipulate constellation and astral energy. While the degree of mastery varied, the power was universal. Had this control not been limited by certain factors, Mitchelle might have ended her opponent then and there with that single strike.

Before the Angel could find its footing, Mitchelle spoke again. Her Aetheris Codex had already turned to a new page.

Heat levels spiked as the air twisted violently. Millions of roaring fireballs manifested around Mitchelle, causing space to shimmer and warp. Each one was as massive as a comet, swirling with the fury of an inferno.

She sent them screaming forward with a single thought.

Gritting its teeth, the Angel forced its broken body to move. It became a golden streak, zigzagging through the void in a desperate attempt to evade the massive fireballs exploding all around it. Every blast hammered its form with ruinous power.

Mitchelle did not relent; she maintained her relentless assault.

She vanished instantly, teleporting to reappear right in front of the Angel. Flame energy condensed in her palm, shaping itself into a radiant blade. She swung without hesitation.

Battered, wounded, and completely overwhelmed, the Angel had no time to dodge or invoke a defensive spell. With trivial ease, its head was parted from its shoulders. The corpse began to drift aimlessly through the vacuum.

Mitchelle let out a soft breath.

Having spent decades at Michael’s side, it was only natural that she had learned a few things about close-quarters combat. That was the secret behind the sudden kick to the jaw and the flaming sword that was now fading from her grip.

She was a mage at heart, but her husband, the Sword Saint, had clearly left his mark on her.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE: Super gift?