MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 966: Heavenly

Kingsley experienced a sensation of pure bliss. Words failed him in capturing the exact feeling; it was like stepping into an ideal realm, transforming him into a perfect entity, elevated high above as all else lingered far beneath. The transparent radiance enveloped his fist during the clash with Anthony's assault, the atmosphere fracturing nearby akin to delicate crystal, breaking and splitting in a silent vibration that appeared to undulate across the void, as if existence momentarily lost its cohesion before his blow.

He remained still, just as Anthony did. Kingsley held his position, seemingly still absorbing all that transpired, his mind wandering while staying keenly conscious, caught in a limbo of understanding and astonishment.

In the following instant, Martial Rhythm surged from his palms, winding upward until it sheathed his whole form, the power gliding like fluid satin, twisting and encircling his arms and legs with graceful intent. For a fleeting second, the surroundings hazed over before sharpening again, yet in that short span, he sensed the pulse of the earth, felt the world's exhalation brushing his flesh, soothing and constant, as if the structure of the cosmos itself recognized him.

Anthony held back from striking; instead, he faded back several paces to create some space from Kingsley, a broad grin spreading across his features as he halted, at ease and nearly beaming with approval. Kingsley had managed to rouse the Martial Rhythm, their objective was complete—in truth, Anthony had anticipated a more prolonged ordeal with intensified agony, which prompted his relentless strikes and inflicted wounds regardless of how near death Kingsley edged each time, compelling his frame toward advancement via raw ferocity.

Yet following Kingsley's Physique advancement, the individual's form had promptly ignited the Martial Rhythm on that initial impact and genuine torment, as if it had merely awaited approval to surpass the barrier.

Anthony positioned himself upright, hands clasped behind, resembling an instructor delighted by a disciple's correct response to his instruction, his stance noble, serene, and subtly content, the light wind pulling at his attire as if the breeze itself honored him.

Kingsley's whole frame cried out, his cells appearing to celebrate while the full Martial Rhythm draped his physique in a colorless sheen. His pulse quickened, his sinews tightened then eased, his veins expanding and contracting as if the Physique itself howled in ecstatic joy from the Martial Rhythm, as though each strand of his being had at last obtained the longing it harbored from the start. Each inhalation came richer, weightier, more complete, like drawing in not mere oxygen but essence of vitality, thick and sustaining.

'Beautiful,' Kingsley mused inwardly, pondering if this mirrored the essence of Enlightenment, for he felt elevated in that instant, buoyant yet grounded, aloof yet intensely attuned. Moments later, the encompassing Martial Rhythm dissolved from his form as if his command had faltered, the luster dissipating like fog in daylight, retaining just a subtle heat as evidence of its prior manifestation.

Kingsley's perceptions reverted to everyday sharpness, his consciousness anchoring to the present as his golden lashes lifted, unveiling his golden gaze. He lifted both palms, gazing at them in wonder, as if he had scaled the ultimate heights of martial prowess, as if those very hands had emerged anew into something superior, more potent, and extraordinarily polished.

"Congratulations, again," Anthony's voice drifted from the front, pulling him from his reflections and admiration, "I guess your Physique is more ridiculous than even you seem to know, after all, you adapted to the pain and achieved the next level of your Physique, then awakened the Martial Rhythm the next moment, a back-to-back achievement." A slight grin formed on his mouth as he uttered the words, truly pleased for Kingsley, the evident pride in his delivery clear.

Kingsley paused in silence briefly before his mouth opened to reply, "Thank you, Brother," his statement and tone brimming with appreciation and honesty, pure and direct—if he remained a pure youth, tears might have welled up right then. Even presently, a tender pressure built in his torso, on the verge of spilling over, an unfamiliar sentiment he had long neglected to handle.

To this day, the true nature of Martial Rhythm eluded him, yet it didn't trouble him. Across his existence, he had served as his sole mentor; no one had sheltered him or bestowed a hidden prohibited method or similar. He had tested alone, stumbled, attempted anew, faltered, persisted further, and ultimately triumphed. Every victory demanded blood, each enhancement etched from torment, every progress forged by unyielding resolve over tutelage.

His Concept of Destruction, his combat techniques, his powers—all crafted by his solitary efforts. Through his years, he had navigated as his own entity, isolated, and... solitary, treading a trail invisible and incomprehensible to others, a lone journey built on fractured skeletons and quiet conquests.

He owed thanks to none save the Universe that had favored him upon his death over a hundred years past, and now, he harbored profound thanks toward Anthony. For the first time in eras, his heart thrummed irregularly due to authentic concern from another, and that basic affection struck him as stranger than any warzone or foe encountered.

Anthony held his tongue, observing quietly, his All Seeing Eyes piercing Kingsley's feelings, a faint smile gracing his lips once more. He recognized the heavy load Kingsley bore, the man at times shrouded in a dark aura—not from malice, but from sealing himself away from all, barricading behind unseen barriers tougher than iron.

Yet at present, the shadowy veil that had gradually withdrawn since encountering Kingsley nearly vanished entirely, replaced by an unseen golden radiance enveloping him, perceptible solely to his vision, soft and comforting, akin to dawn's initial light after perpetual darkness.

Anthony rarely concerned himself with outsiders, focusing solely on companions and kin, which drove him to aid a comrade in apparent distress—a deed that, to him, resonated deeper than any lofty proclamation.

"You are welcome," he answered steadily, neither advancing nor retreating, fixed in place while eyeing Kingsley's shift, noting each fine alteration with subdued curiosity.

Though so faint that Kingsley overlooked it, upon rousing the Martial Rhythm, his physique appeared to initiate yet another phase of transformation similar to his prior physical leap. However, this instance proved too understated to detect, as even Anthony sensed he might have overlooked it without his All Seeing Eyes and Sense Dome, the alterations unfolding profoundly in bone and tissue, concealed under the exterior like gradual continental drifts.

Typically, such an event shouldn't occur; no one ought to gain any lasting enhancement right upon igniting the Martial Rhythm, yet Kingsley's Physique seemed to endure a gradual, enduring shift in the moment, maturing, honing, and fortifying as if driven by its independent intent.

This merely underscored the extraordinary nature of his Physique, a presence that subtly challenged logic and universal order, a form that rejected the world's governing principles.