MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 965: Torture

Right now, Kingsley's form rested in a deep gully, his appearance twisted beyond recognition, as if Anthony had peeled away his skin entirely, leaving behind nothing but bare bones and torn muscles, with every bit of flesh vanished like it had never been there.

His own blood pooled around him where he lay, as if the mere idea of drawing breath weighed him down terribly, his lungs heaving wildly to pull in air, his chest heaving and settling in quick, irregular bursts while forcing blood through his veins at a pace and vigor unlike anything before, the beat wild, urgent, and teetering on the edge of failure.

Battered didn't even begin to describe Kingsley's condition. Torture felt too mild a term right then, since every strand of his being howled in torment, his nerves, organs, bones, cartilage, ligaments, and even the small muscles around his eyes and lids all protesting sharply just from holding his gaze open.

In that instant, he appeared just a whisper from death's door, motionless in his spot, for he'd never recovered from damage this devastating prior to now, and for the first time, his incredible vitality seemed to waver in doubt.

Kingsley's golden gaze stayed locked on the heavens without stirring, unable to grit his teeth against the suffering since none remained, not one, after Anthony's ruthless strikes to the jaw had crushed them all, turning his gums into a wrecked void.

'My healing's lagging,' he mused inwardly, unsure of the cause, yet for the first time with his gift, his recovery stumbled and flickered like a flame on its last breath. He couldn't fathom it, had no clue why, but pinned it on the Martial Rhythm's influence, the sole reason his thoughts would allow.

Yet despite this insane level of torment, the Martial Rhythm still eluded him, leaving him to ponder what further torment awaited, if deeper agony could strike, if anything surpassed this horror, if he'd outlast it, bear it, or cry out.

In the instant that followed, Kingsley's healing wrapped up at last, sealing every wound on display across his frame, the anguish fading away like a scrubbed slate, though before he could haul himself up from the ditch, a faint tremor ran through him, escalating into fierce convulsions as if seized by uncontrollable fits.

A puzzled frown creased Kingsley's brow for a split second, but right after, a gradual grin spread over his features as he sensed the odd shifts stirring deep inside.

Once healing finished, his form surged ahead and transformed to the following stage after hitting total desperation, as if it had at last adjusted to such frenzy, hurt, and damage, with the ordeal serving like a smithy and his body the metal forged in its fires.

His muscles, hide, and every inner thread expanded then recoiled sharply, fortifying with tremendous might and velocity, his whole build readjusting on the spot, his pulse quickening to drive blood with crushing intensity, his cells buzzing with savage thrill as if he rose to a whole new realm of being.

Suddenly after, his frame let out a hiss as vapor escaped his pores into the surrounding atmosphere, warmth pouring off like from a blazing hearth. Kingsley leaped upright in a flash, raw might and vigor raging through his bloodstream as he rose with a broad, nearly wild grin, the agony just suffered now remote, akin to a vanishing dream, since he'd gained some payoff from it at least.

Anthony watched in silence, having just claimed he avoided driving Kingsley to the utter brink, but now the fellow's frame had adjusted to the hurt, wounds, and chaos, shoving itself past old boundaries by force.

"Congratulations, though this wasn't what we aimed for, it'll simplify things a lot," Anthony said with a subtle smile, holding his ground as always, serene and steady.

Kingsley, grinning like an idiot moments before, let the expression fade gradually, since despite his advance, he remained unsure of matching Anthony. Yet after a quick reflection, he saw it never really counted; he'd advanced in strength, and now only claiming the Martial Rhythm mattered.

Anthony grinned once more, then added, "With your body tougher now, your pain threshold must have soared, yeah!" he remarked evenly, ready to ramp up without pause.

Yet before Kingsley could respond, Anthony vanished like a gust, positioned right in front of him as if he'd never left. Kingsley's leap forward was massive and vital, bestowing superior might, but against Null Anthony, it changed nothing at all.

His foot lifted from the ground, the Martial Rhythm sheathing it like a hidden flow as he launched a Brazilian kick, his toes slamming into Kingsley's torso, and instantly a gruesome crack ripped through the air, meat bursting apart as now Kingsley's whole chest vanished utterly, his heart, breastbone, all gone, leaving just shoulders, gut, and legs below.

No blood sprayed, no innards or tissue flew about, no—it was pure, total erasure, as if existence had simply removed that part of him.

Kingsley's frame flew back with savage force, his fresh healing rate kicking in at once as bones, viscera, and flesh hurried to rebuild the void, piecing him together at horrifying pace. He slammed into a tree farther off before halting, but stayed put, slumped quietly as if adrift in thought.

And lost he truly was, for a subtle yet vast force coursed within, unnamed but vivid, nearly tangible in his grip. He eased up slowly, and as he gained his footing, Anthony appeared anew, his fist howling at his visage.

Kingsley's arm lifted on reflex, a pale, toneless shimmer wrapping his right hand, and in that flash, his limb streaked up smoothly to snag Anthony's strike in his grasp with stunning precision.

For the first time in the fight, Kingsley had parried a blow.

He had awakened the Martial Rhythm.

Martial Rhythm had finally met Martial Rhythm.