MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 963: Awkward Position

Anthony didn't merely evade the strike; instead, his toes lashed viciously downward at Kingsley's head with deadly accuracy, the action so sudden it ripped the atmosphere to shreds. Kingsley sensed and perceived the fierce rush of air as it battered his ears like an exploding blast wave, its intensity capable of shattering inferior eardrums on its own.

Kingsley's response came in an instant, his reflexes and instincts merging into a single fluid system that acted prior to any deliberate cognition, enabling him to veer aside right as Anthony's foot collided with the pavement upon touchdown, the surface splintering and collapsing under the blow like fragile ice.

As Kingsley's foot lifted from the soil, Anthony touched down in an unbalanced stance, and Kingsley seized the opportunity without a second's delay, his knee thrusting toward Anthony's jaw with the clear intent to yank it free from his skull. In typical fashion, Anthony merely grinned while his balance adjusted with eerie smoothness, as if it harmonized instinctively with Kingsley's motion, flow, and cadence.

Anthony's hand flashed upward, intercepting Kingsley's knee squarely and halting its ferocious drive as if he had snagged a drifting petal instead of a blow that could shatter worlds.

Gripping it like a lever, he propelled himself upright from his off-kilter spot with casual power, his foot slashing back at Kingsley's head with amplified might. Kingsley reeled from the abrupt reversal, the shift so seamless it bordered on illusion, though he remained unaware that in the heights of combat or martial prowess, no stance truly qualified as awkward, since every seeming imbalance concealed a potential offensive edge ready to unleash.

Kingsley blurred away in evasion, creating separation from Anthony as his gut feelings preserved him once more, icy perspiration sliding along his spine while the truth sank in further that one solid strike to the cranium could spell his end. He refused to block any assault targeting his head, even unintentionally.

Anthony's strike fell short once more, yet it failed to faze him at all, his face staying serene and faintly entertained. He finished his spin with robotic exactness, but rather than pulling back or hesitating, he surged forward, his fingers clawing into the pavement like talons before ripping it free with brute force, shredding the street as if it were mere flimsy cloth.

Kingsley stumbled briefly, unprepared for Anthony to demolish the road surface and turn the landscape into a weapon, yet in that split-second lapse of astonishment, Anthony had bridged the gap between them. He loomed directly before his apparent apprentice, near enough for Kingsley to detect the subtle heat of his exhalation.

Kingsley's golden gaze dropped low, catching only Anthony's fist surging from beneath toward his chin, cleaving the air in its path, but evasion or flight proved impossible since Anthony denied him both the moment and the room to respond.

When Anthony's fist connected with his chin, the lower jaw smashed into the upper one, skeletal structure fracturing under the raw power of the clash, the whole mandible splitting wide in a savage tear. The force ravaged his tongue, then his mouth, then his nostrils, before hammering his mind and erupting from his skull in a horrific gush. Instantly after, his feet deserted the ground anew as his frame rocketed skyward like artillery fire.

Kingsley teetered on the brink of oblivion, since total annihilation of his brain would have ended him on the spot. His survival stemmed solely from his outrageous resilience and freakish build. Yet as he soared through the atmosphere, a fog clouded his senses, as if the excruciating agony and velocity overloaded his thoughts, warping the world into a blurred haze.

'Is it a bird? Is it a plane?' the notion drifted through his mind while he gazed vacantly at the clouds floating nearby, his cognition oddly remote and lethargic. But in the following instant, the stupor lifted as his mind mended, his jaw and head restoring to flawless condition through grotesque, accelerated healing.

His golden eyes plunged downward, fixing on Anthony who lingered countless meters below, regarding him with that identical subtle, aggravating smirk. Soon after, he crested his upward path, and then gravity seized him without mercy, sending his form hurtling back earthward. Kingsley's posture realigned in flight as he descended, his stare zeroed in on Anthony like a guided warhead locked onto its mark.

Velocity built with every meter he fell, the wind roaring beside his ears like a tempest. Nearing his foe, his arm pulled back akin to a taut bow, digits clenching into a tight fist while all accumulated speed funneled into that focal point. Then he hammered downward at Anthony's head with his full arsenal.

Anthony's smirk widened into a bold, assured grin, and he countered without delay, his fist launching skyward like a precision shot to intercept the descending blow. Their knuckles collided in a devastating, colossal crash. From the point of contact, the atmosphere shattered, the gale wailed in torment, the fabric of existence appeared to splinter, and then a barrage of ensuing shocks and blasts rippled out in thunderous waves, obliterating vast expanses of land in one exchange as if the world had been nullified.

Gaping fissures ripped across the terrain, debris and fumes billowed and twisted into the heavens, enshrouding all in a choking veil. Quakes that could pulverize worlds surged through the isolated realm they fought in, but it endured steadfastly, as if the assault barely registered, utterly stoic and detached.

The whole urban combat zone appeared wiped clean as structures dissolved, vehicles shredded into twisted metal scraps, walkways disintegrating into dust. Nothing endured but devastation, chaos, cataclysm, and ruin, a mute witness to the sheer scale of their confrontation.

Kingsley's arm detonated from his shoulder like a pressurized vessel rupturing. Crimson sprayed toward Anthony's features, but Infinity remained steadfastly protective, preventing any inferior fluid from staining its lord, deflecting it effortlessly as if the cosmos itself spurned the intrusion. Anthony wasted no instant; he advanced anew, his knee driving into Kingsley's flank with pitiless power.

Kingsley sensed his ribs fracture, disintegrate, then pulverize completely, the fragments gouging into his innards. He grunted as torment detonated in his consciousness once more, fierce and unyielding. Yet Kingsley offered no opposition, letting the strike's drive hurl him aside. In the midst of the motion, all his wounds knit closed, his frame coiling as he touched down solidly, his footwear gouging furrows into the dirt while he skidded to a stop.

His gaze whipped ahead to Anthony's spot, but what filled his sight was a palm expanding relentlessly by the instant, dominating his view entirely. With the fury of a collapsing star, Anthony's hand plunged into Kingsley's torso bearing an authority that evoked final doom, as if retribution had manifested in flesh.

Kingsley experienced his heart lurch in unprecedented fashion, like an unseen hammer had pounded it straight through his core. He couldn't identify the sensation—whether agony, impact, or inertia—but it mattered little, since to him it all blended into an absurd torrent of torment.

He spewed forth yet another gush of blood, but Anthony appeared to relish his anguish and showed no intention of halting unless Kingsley unlocked the Martial Rhythm.