MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Chapter 638: Grenades

The Demon King’s body hurtled backward like a severed kite cast adrift in the wind, his frame crashing against the towering structure behind him. The building crumbled upon impact, collapsing in a torrent of stone and steel that rained down like rain.

Yet, from the wreckage, he emerged with an unsettling composure. His form was immaculate, untouched, neither dust nor debris dared to cling to him, as though the world itself feared to mar his presence.

His gaze fixed upon Anthony and the two newcomers.

Then, he moved.

A single step.

Another.

And another still, each carrying an ominous gravity until his pace quickened, breaking into a full sprint that tore through the air like a predator descending upon its prey.

Anthony, Aaaninja, and Lucian mirrored his advance, their steps deliberate at first, before instinct and battle intent drove them into a sprint of their own.

Anthony was the first to close the distance, his katana arcing forward like a blazing sun intent on cleaving through the heavens. The Demon King, however, parried the strike with effortless grace, as though dismissing a mere annoyance.

From the flank, Aaaninja materialized in a blur, his own blade descending with a wrathful force that carried the weight of judgment itself.

With a casual motion, the Demon King redirected Anthony’s strike, sending him skidding backward. His body flowed seamlessly into a sidestep, allowing Aaaninja’s blow to slice harmlessly through the air. Without pause, he pivoted, intercepting Lucian’s assault from behind with flawless finesse.

The Demon King stood unshaken, his presence radiating an aura of unshakable dominance. To him, numbers meant nothing, whether three or ten, it would change no outcome. They were but children brandishing their fangs against a predator. Even as nothing more than a clone, he regarded the battle with the same certainty: their struggle was futile.

In a thundering blitz, the four became phantoms, their forms blurring as three figures converged upon one. Strikes rained down from every conceivable angle, a ceaseless storm of steel and metal, as though the heavens themselves had split open to unleash a downpour of blades.

The clash resounded like a symphony of destruction, each collision of weapons detonating in the air like thunderous grenades.

The wind howled in anguish, the earth split beneath their feet, and tremors of varying magnitudes rippled outward as three godlike beings hurled themselves against another.

And yet, there was no energy at play. No mana, no chaos energy, no intent.

They moved with nothing but their bodies, physiques so transcendent they could have reduced planets to rubble as easily as casting aside stones.

Anthony, Lucian, and Aaaninja advanced in perfect synchrony, their movements flowing as though they had fought side by side since the dawn of existence itself.

Each step, each strike, was anticipated before it began, complemented with flawless efficiency, as if the three shared not merely strategy, but a single mind, body, and soul.

Though their paths had crossed only once before, that solitary meeting had been enough to forge a bond that now felt destined, as though fate itself had woven their blades into one rhythm.

Anthony’s katana flashed from the left, Lucian’s blade streaked from the right, and Aaaninja’s sword surged forward from the front. Together, their strikes converged in a trinity of steel, descending upon the Demon King with irresistible force.

But the Demon King was ready. His twin swords caught the sun’s rays as they arced forward, one blade parrying, the other intercepting, before his body twisted with effortless mastery to evade the third strike. His movements bore the weight of countless battles, combat experience honed beyond comprehension.

But he was not merely defending.

His blades lashed out with predatory precision, tearing through the very fabric of space as easily as a bullet ripping through paper.

What followed was a storm of sparks.

Swords clashed in endless succession, their exchanges carving trenches across the earth that stretched for kilometers. Trees toppled like broken spears, buildings collapsed into dust, and stone pavements shattered into fragments under the weight of their onslaught.

Yet none faltered. None blinked. None spoke.

They moved with a singular purpose, each strike aimed to claim a life, and nothing more.

In a single flash, they appeared upon the World Tree within the Elf Domain, their figures blurring into streaks of motion as they drove each other without pause or mercy.

The ancient tree groaned beneath the strain, its colossal trunk trembling as though the weight of eternity pressed upon it. Then, with a deafening crack, it shattered into splinters, unable to endure their wrath.

But by the time its ruin fell, the four combatants had already vanished, leaving behind only the lingering echoes of devastation.

Their movements burned with such ferocity that even the Mirror Dimension itself seemed to falter, struggling to contain them. Echoes hung in the air, afterimages etched into reality, spectral imprints of power that refused to fade.

They struck with the weight of titans, their clash rattling the bones of the earth, while above them the heavens themselves recoiled, darkening in fear of their violence.

Steel collided in a brilliant crescendo, sparks scattering like falling stars in the night sky. It was a spectacle of carnage and elegance alike, a brutal symphony forged from mastery and destruction. Each strike carried the promise of death; each defense was nothing less than defiance against fate itself.

Within moments, their bodies shot skyward, abandoning the earth as though it were no longer worthy to bear their presence.

With a single slash from Lucian, the heavens themselves split apart, riven cleanly into two, as though the sky had been divided by an invisible hand. Yet the Demon King was prepared. His form twisted midair with impossible grace, evading the blow by a hair’s breadth.

His eyes, black, cold, and merciless, burned with a chill that could have frozen the Abyss itself. His blade lashed forward in that instant, a killing stroke aimed unerringly at Anthony’s heart. But Anthony was already there, katana raised, meeting the strike with a flawless parry, and a smile tugging at his lips.

He was not alone in his amusement. Around him, the Human, Lucian, and the Celestial, Aaaninja, each bore the same expression, wide grins flashing as though they reveled in the dance of battle itself.

Though they fought the Demon King, none carried the weight of grim determination upon their faces. Why should they? Between them, they possessed enough overwhelming abilities, enough forbidden cheats, that even death would be little more than an inconvenience. Resurrection was a certainty, should it come to that.

But such thoughts only deepened the irony. For in truth, it remained to be seen whether even the Demon King’s clone could grant them that chance.

Reality blurred around them as they moved, their forms too swift for the world to contain.

But it was not merely speed that defined them, their teamwork sharpened with every passing heartbeat. They adapted instinctively, reading even the subtlest shifts in one another’s movements, as though three wills had fused into one.

No words passed between them, no sound left their throats. And still, they understood. A shared smile flickered across their faces, a silent thought coursing through their minds in unison, unspoken yet perfectly clear.

With another grin, their gazes turned back to the Demon King, predators locking onto their prey. Together, without hesitation, they thought to take the battle to the next level.