MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 962: Pain

Anthony noticed Kingsley's posture and merely grinned, the Martial Rhythm enveloping his hand fading away briefly. Unlike Kingsley, he skipped adopting any stance—he had no reason for it. He was Null Anthony, after all.

Suddenly, he surged ahead in a haze, a thunderous boom echoing as the ground beneath him erupted in a savage explosion. Sand and rocks burst upward like a volcanic gush, fissures spreading out like a spider's web across the terrain in all directions, as if the earth had been hit by a bolt of lightning. He reached Kingsley's side in a flash, his punch slamming toward Kingsley's temples with the power of a falling sledgehammer, the air shrieking and parting around his knuckles.

Kingsley's response came without delay, shaped by endless fights and driven by pure instinct over reason, and he shifted immediately, his elbow whipping out at Anthony's chest while abandoning all defense to launch a full assault, embracing boldness instead of wariness with total certainty.

Yet just as his elbow neared Anthony's chest, Anthony had vanished, Kingsley's strike slicing only through the lingering afterimage. He reappeared behind Kingsley like a stealthy shadow in the night, his aura so subtle it seemed almost illusory. Without a second's pause, his fist shattered the wind barrier and sound barrier alike, both crumbling against Kingsley's back with the might of a bursting cannon, the blow warping the air and twisting space from its raw ferocity.

Kingsley sensed a whole universe crashing down on his spine, his backbone fracturing, bones crumbling into shards of their former selves, skin ripping open, muscles splitting apart as red blood sprayed into the sky like scattered paint on a blank canvas. Momentum took hold right away, ruthless and unyielding, hurling his form forward until he crashed into a distant structure, where concrete and metal crumpled around him like flimsy sheets under a mallet.

Agony burst inside his head, a torment he could normally brush aside now surging inescapably and forcing a response, gnawing at his nerves and overwhelming his awareness until his mind felt on the verge of shutdown. He hacked up blood from his throat, warm and metallic, while the edifice he'd hit caved in on him amid a roaring shower of debris and clouds of dust.

'Such devastation from one blow—the Martial Rhythm is indeed perilous and unique,' he mused inwardly while struggling upright, his sight blurring but his determination unshaken. That single hit had apparently turned his whole frame into a pulp of flesh and shattered bones, a hideous distortion of the human form.

Yet true to form, his regeneration kicked in rapidly, a new spine locking into position with a sharp snap, wounds sealing as if they'd never existed, tissue mending seamlessly, muscles reattaching, vessels rebuilding with eerie accuracy, his healing bordering on the macabre in its speed.

Even as he first encountered Martial Rhythm, he realized Anthony was restraining himself considerably to help him grasp and ignite it; that was the point of this bout, after all—a savage tutorial masked as a fight, an ordeal through agony designed to compel advancement via pure desperation.

The instant he stood, Anthony loomed right in front of him, his leading foot blasting at Kingsley's chest with comet-like velocity. But Kingsley reacted with lightning speed, his instincts blaring warnings, and he vaulted skyward to barely avoid the strike. Anthony's kick sailed past, ripping through the air and the spot where Kingsley's torso had been, the resulting shockwave tearing distant edifices and towers apart like they were mere dust, the cityscape quaking from the leftover power.

Kingsley's retaliation struck without pause, for while enduring torment was key to unlocking Martial Rhythm, it didn't stop him from firing back with his own assaults; they could miss, but that was irrelevant—he struck with faith that any hit might shift the battle, that every action counted, that doubt would lead straight to loss.

His punches exploded like sonic booms, the bursts howling at Anthony's rear while he hung in the air. Anthony showed no sign of response; upon landing, he dissolved from sight like a ghost, as if he'd never stood there at all, his form flickering and weaving past each of Kingsley's blows with seamless accuracy, every footfall deliberate, every shift economical and flawless.

In an eye's flicker, he bridged the gap, materializing before Kingsley, who kept pressing his offense unaware of when Anthony had spanned the divide. Anthony wasted no time, Martial Rhythm sheathing his fist, and with the resonance of a war drum booming over a field of battle, he drove it straight into Kingsley's abdomen, the collision echoing like rolling thunder.

Reality froze for a heartbeat, time suspending the scene as the world bleached to white and quiet engulfed all sound, only for everything to rush back the next moment with explosive fury. Kingsley's legs lifted off the ground as the energy yanked him skyward savagely, a circular gust blasting from his back and pulverizing whatever lay in its path.

Blood erupted from his mouth as his internals failed, his vital fluid arcing toward Anthony, but Infinity flared to life, deflecting it off the fabric of space before it spilled harmlessly onto the soil. This time his frame rocketed higher, slicing through the breeze with crimson streaks ahead, his belly literally torn apart by Anthony's hit, entrails nearly spilling free as gravity pulled at him relentlessly.

With a deafening thud, he smashed onto a rooftop, the building shuddering down to its core. Kingsley perceived his surroundings spin, endured suffering unlike any before—even the Executioner from the Fragmented World hadn't inflicted this level of agony. His awareness teetered toward blackout, vision dimming at the borders, but he resisted, grinding his jaws, compelling himself to remain alert, for passing out might mean Anthony wouldn't offer another chance like this.

Thus, he pressed on, regeneration mending his skeleton and form even as he stirred without delay, and right then Anthony's stomp hammered his spot, the roof buckling like elastic before caving in explosively, every level from the topmost to the base tumbling down in a devastating domino effect.

Anthony paid no mind to the destruction, merely trailing Kingsley with a serene smile, composed and at ease, akin to a teacher watching a pupil's development. As soon as he neared, Kingsley hurled a vehicle his way, which Anthony vaulted over with a smooth flip, light and elegant. While airborne and inverted, Kingsley surged close, his punch racing at Anthony's skull with frantic velocity and deadly purpose.

Anthony's azure gaze locked onto the approaching strike as if it crawled in sluggish motion, each aspect vivid, each gesture foreseeable, and with a sly grin, he evaded as though gravity and distance held no sway, as if they yielded solely to his command and to none other, the very realm curving to his desire.